Grasslands
I woke up, and to my pleasure I was still alive after the first night in my new tent. I crawled out, wiped the dust off the tent walls (I later learned this was a pointless action), and packed it up.
The land was full of golden fields with grain swaying from the slightest breeze. I was camping in between a row of trees outside a small museum shaped like a train, or a train built into a museum, I’m not sure (I remember there were rails). I peered through the museum windows the day before and saw nothing but a dark room with antique objects, and a sign saying that I was on camera. Something more notable that happened the day before was that I saw two small birds warring against an owl which dwarfed them considerably. I didn’t hear the owl’s wings as he flapped them in a figure-eight pattern. I saw him again later in the day, perched on a wooden fence pole. He turned his head and looked at me, his body staying as still as stone, and his eyes turning those he looked at into stone. He flew off silently. I wonder, did he keep his eye on me all night long without me knowing? It’s possible, owls are nocturnal creatures you know, and I, on the other hand, am not.
By my calculation, the place where I slept had a population of thirty, solely based on the number of cars (I had interrupted the town hall meeting by mistake the night before). This was one of those western prairie towns that were slowly disintegrating into the dust that surrounded them. I wondered who lived there and why, also how, it didn’t seem like there was much to support them. What kind of jobs do people have around here? Are they all farmers? One store clerk? Any mechanics? I thought to myself. One truck, the same truck, would drive back and forth across town on their main road that was paved—no, compressed— with fine dirt.
Cell phone service was abysmal. I was in a place that was somewhere, but for all intents and purposes that place was better known as nowhere, and I still had over an hour of driving further into nowhere to get to Grasslands National Park for my first solo backcountry trip. I never set an alarm, but I wanted to leave as early as possible to drive down to the park before the heat of day settled in. This was during the heatwave that spread itself over western Canada in early July 2021. I saw the same truck again that morning, an old beat-up red pick-up truck that was covered in layers of dirt, not washed since the last rainfall. I brushed my teeth in the bathroom across the road, the same bathroom that I inquired about the night before (hence the interrupted meeting), and took off towards the south, trying not to stir up too much dust behind me.
I wasn’t sure if the grasslands had smoke in the air or an ambient fog as I drove through. I had heard of all the forest fires and presumed it was smoke, even imagining the smell of smoke slowly creeping its way into my car. It wasn’t smoke. I passed by many ranches that covered southern Saskatchewan, there was always a fence that separated the field from the road. Before I arrived at the East Block, and before I arrived at the long dirt roads, I passed by several other disintegrating towns which all had an old, run-down grain elevator as their major point of interest once upon a time.
I turned right onto a long dirt road that led me to another dirt road, the second one narrow enough that two vehicles had to slow down significantly when passing each other. I arrived at the East Block at nine o’clock, right as the park office was opening. I had to buy a park pass that would be valid for the entirety of my trip, and hopefully pick up a piece of memorabilia too. I didn’t picture myself ever returning here.
I asked the park ranger many questions. I had not run into rattlesnakes before. I had not run into black widow spiders before. I had not run into scorpions before (I had things to know!). She said the park hadn’t seen rattlesnakes, black widows, or scorpions—which, she demonstrated with her fingers, were minuscule in the park for over twenty years. I wasn’t going to let my guard down, but this was a sweet sound to my ears. I left a lineup of people behind me to get into the park office. My feet merrily clanked down the boardwalk ramp (my feet would cease being merry in six hours). As I was filling my water bottle up from the local ground water well, a park ranger came by and said to me,
“Hey! You look familiar! We’re you the one camping in McCord last night?”
How did she know? “Yes,” I answered.
“I thought that was you! I saw you in McCord, I was at the meeting. It’s awesome that you camped there last night, people are encouraged to!” (It was free).
I nodded my head, slightly embarrassed.
“Enjoy the park, and the water from that well is the best I’ve ever had!” she said.
It was good, I must admit, but I was about to have better in the weeks to come.
I zipped up the last zipper on my bag and headed off into the unknown. I crossed over a stream on a wooden footbridge before opening the large fence gate past the giant tepees to my left and started my journey on the worn dirt path. In that same gate-opening moment, I also embarked in an educational course where nature would be the teacher. Now, I had an idea of where I was going but only had a picture from my memory to refer to. I thought that as soon as I saw the image from my memory, I would have made it. I can still picture that image from my memory to this day, yet I do not recall seeing that exact image in person.
There’s not much to talk about when it comes to grasslands, but if you’re like me and have not seen them before, you’re not thinking of the correct picture. You may be thinking of literal grass for as far as the eye can see, healthy untrimmed green grass blowing in the wind. That’s not what I saw at all. I saw not only a land I hadn’t seen before but an atmosphere I had not seen before. Colours in this place had a low saturated hue. It didn’t look real to me at any time. The land was very silent, I noticed that right away. I didn’t hear the sound of bugs (or see them for that matter), or the wind. There was nothing for the wind to disrupt to cause sound. The only thing I could hear was my dust-muffled footsteps going clunk, clunk on the hardened ground. The hills were rather large and long, stretching past the horizon. The wind only blew in high places. Shade was non-existent. In fact, the land was shaped as if its sole purpose was to have no shade. I myself was the tallest standing structure.
I made my way out of the valley I was walking in and continued hiking up a long hill with a low incline, step by step. The land was so vast that with every passing minute it felt that I was getting nowhere, slowly treading through the wavy landscape. I saw an arch made out of old dried-up log posts with wire holding it together and I walked through it (I followed the path, don’t be superstitious). At this same location, I could see an old fence line stretching out in the east and west lining up with this arch.
I continued treading higher up the wave. I reached the top of the hill where a large yellow rock boasted itself. I humbled the rock by climbing up its sides and cementing my feet on its head. I looked out over the grasslands trying to peek at where I’d be going next. I saw a place far off in the distance where I imagined the trail was taking me. I saw more to my left, which intrigued my curiosity, a mound of grey-brown dirt shaped like a large fat cone with a red colour at its peak. Another mound, twice as far maybe, stood past it, but it was too far off in the distance to accurately describe.
The hill started lowering in elevation now, bringing me into a small valley on a ridge before taking me back up another hill on the other side. I passed by a small blooming cactus plant. A pink flower sprung up in the middle, masking its thorns with beauty. I had never been in a place where cacti roamed freely.
I made it to the middle of the ridge overlooking the red-tipped dirt mound with a steep hill leading towards it below. Now was a good time for a snack break, as clouds still hung in the sky above me. I took out my folding chair from my backpack and ate my favourite blueberry energy bar. I forgot to mention that an ATV trail occasionally intermingled with the hiking trail. At times it would veer off to the left or right with no destination in mind only to meet up with the trail again further ahead. It had veered off behind me at this moment in particular, to the left of me prior to sitting, and didn’t reconnect to the trail further down. Behind me was a field that dropped off about eighty meters away from me, or so the skyline made it seem.
I could see where the “what seemed to be grass” turned into dirt, a dry light clay-coloured dirt, with patches of dark grey mixed in starting to overtake the trail. I started seeing more and more mounds pop up out of the earth. My eyes opened up wider. I began to get excited and I picked up my pace. There were more and more “dirt dunes” —no, not just dirt dunes, but also rocks. Wait, it drops off? I set down my bag and hiking poles, positioning them carefully so they wouldn’t fall into the valley. I had a slight fear of falling or dropping something because it wasn’t apparent how I’d make it back up. I walked out onto the lookout point. The further I walked, the windier it became, the wind almost pushing me over at one point. Unfortunately, the wind started blowing the clouds away too. I was looking out over the valley of a thousand devils. The ground I was standing on was dehydrated dirt. If I got too close to the edge, I was sure the dirt would have crumbled away and fallen out from under me, creating a mini landslide. This place looked like it was created by receding water eons ago, where now no water could be found with the dirt still undisturbed. The dirt looked like a fluid, with colours of white, red, and grey, with dark and light brown covering the landscape spanning a couple of kilometres on either side of me. There was a white dried-up river bed that was the lowest point of the valley, meandering through the dirt dunes from end to end. The whole landscape was dull and lacked essential colour. Colour wasn’t what brought people out here. Maybe they came to see a place where people are unable to live; an “uninhabitable” place sounds like quite the challenge for an adventure.
I picked up my stuff and continued following the trail. It brought me past the top side of a dune where I could see attempts to climb its summit four meters above my head. I slid down a hill six feet, faster than I should’ve. Do I panic here? No, I had all day to pitch up my tent, a full eight hours really, but a whisper of concern did start creeping in. The trail seemed to split. To my left it circled back to the lookout and straight ahead it led down into the valley below. The path straight ahead was thicker and more defined, plus I could see a trail further out in the valley where I was facing. I chose the trail leading into the valley. I wasn’t sure if I heard a bush rustling or laughter.
The trail would be flat then drop six feet, be flat again, then drop another six feet until I reached the final dune close to the bottom. I saw a shortcut, and by saw, I mean I made a shortcut leading towards the ground. I only had to manage not losing my balance sliding down a seventy-degree-angle hill covered in loose popcorn dirt. I left a scar on the side of the hill and did not apologize. There’s a chance it could still be seen to this day.
It was hot, the clouds themselves had left now, probably in search of their own shade. My backpack was getting heavier even though I slowly emptied it of water. I followed the trail along the bottom of the towering dirt mounds, and although they towered, they didn’t provide shade. The trail would disappear and then reappear, leaving me in a state of anxiety for several moments. I was walking through what looked like an old river bed following bike tracks. If I looked closely, I could see fine grains of white dust shifted by water leaving it in a teardrop shape and then almost petrified. There was an open expanse of dried-up land, never-ending, with a few dirt mounds in the distance to complement it. I was at the edge of my coral reef, and any exploring I did in the open ocean may have been fatal. I turned the corner around the mound I had been walking close to and saw a dead end. There was no trail leading up and no trail leading around. The tire tracks left by the bikes also vanished. The mound I was staring at was the same mound with red dirt on top that I saw before, from a land of ever so slightly greener pastures more than a kilometre away.
Listen closely, there was a slight breeze this whole time until I turned that corner, that dreadful corner, and I felt the effects immediately. Any tears that were formed from fear instantly vaporized on my distressed cheeks. Every square inch of my body rose in temperature, and I instantly broke out in a heavier sweat soaking the two backpack straps on my shoulders. I took my bag off and set it down briefly. The heat from the sun was reflecting off the light brown, but more of a bright brown, dirt in every direction. It was as hot as hell. I couldn’t see them, but I must have been close to a devil’s lair, several lairs possibly for every degree the temperature rose. What made this place more unsettling? I heard dead silence. Nothing sings in hell. My ears started ringing, and I wasn’t sure if I was hearing the beat of drums underneath me or my own heart working tirelessly to keep me alive. I broke out of my paralysis and took action, climbing up the red-topped mound to scope out my surroundings, finding only that I was far away from home. I paused for a moment, looking at a hole. I wanted to believe it was something innocent like a rabbit den, or at worst a coyote den, but I’m not that naïve, I’d been adding things together, and I knew there was way more of a chance it was a tunnel to the underworld. I said a quick prayer (oh God, help me find my way!) and climbed back down, deciding to retrace my steps back to the ridge overseeing the valley.
As soon as I turned the corner again a breeze cooled me off. I would later learn that even the breeze here was a devil, deceiving you into thinking you were cool and weren’t being burned by the sun. I arrived where I created the scar on the side of the hill. I couldn’t climb up what I slid down, so I was forced to find another way up. I couldn’t make out if I was following a trail or an old water run-off path, but it helped me get back to where I was. The dirt felt hollow as I walked up it.
Now that I’d made it up, I decide to follow that side trail I saw earlier as it went in the opposite direction. I could feel my arms start to hurt. The trail I followed led me to a cliff I couldn’t pass, and when I say cliff, don’t think of a ninety-degree angle. It wasn’t; it was a semi-circle, no, a quarter circle that slowly then suddenly curved towards the ground, making it impossible to climb back up.
I remember seeing cow patties, a lot of cow patties, and some were in places even I couldn’t get to. I wanted to explore further but didn’t want to become lost. I headed back to the overseeing rock. I had one last resort. I checked my cellphone and to my surprise, I had service, enough for a phone call. I called the office to ask them where the trail ended.
“The end is, like, a Mufasa rock overlooking the valley, you can’t miss it.”
My next question involved where I was to go next.
“You can go anywhere you like actually, there are no tent pads so you can camp anywhere you want, but be careful of pitching your tent on a hill, it might blow away.”
I gave them my thanks and, reassured, immediately set out to conquer every hill ahead of me.
Bad idea. I should’ve set my heavy backpack down and then explored. I conquered the first three dunes with ease, walking fast and intently. I saw the colour red popping out from the landscape across a small ridge a valley away from me. Yes, red was the target. I followed the trail on my right towards the target. I should mention here that I’d been following a trail the whole time since my phone call and wasn’t hiking sporadically through the Badlands. Red Adirondack chairs overlooking another part of the valley formed in front of my eyes. I made it to the chairs and took a seat. The chairs were quite hot but provided a clean place to sit.
I started getting a headache and my arms hurt to touch. I wanted to drink all the water I could and splash the remaining water on my face, but I refrained from doing so. My main focus now was to look for a place to camp for the night and to set up my sand brown tent, but the priority to find shade overtook the campsite momentarily.
I found shade straight ahead of me, forty meters away, beside a mound with a wall shape that spanned two meters high. It was enough shade for my hand, and I could fit my head in it if I turned my neck and touched the dirt wall with my cheek. It wasn’t sufficient. I looked and looked, but couldn’t find real shade anywhere. I prayed that clouds would come and provide me shade, and two small ones came for a total of four minutes. It was a drop of water on a burning tongue. I scoped out a place in the middle of another valley, flat enough, but too much in the open to pitch up my tent. I kept it in my memory and continued forward. I climbed another small hill, giving me visuals of another area. Nothing. There was a large hill behind me that looked promising for a spot, and perhaps shade would be on the other side too, so I pursued its possible bounty. I couldn’t tell from the angle I was climbing that it was the tallest hill in all the land.
I still saw cow patties. I took a break to recover some of my energy two-thirds up the hill, leaving my backpack behind to make the rest of the climb easier. More problems arose. My left quadricep muscle started cramping and my leg seized up as I was close to the top. Saying I started worrying was an understatement, I couldn’t get anywhere if my legs wouldn’t allow me. I pushed through the pain and made it to the top of the hill, taking small steps and trying not to activate my torn muscles. I made it. The view was beautiful on top of the world, but it did not get my leg off my mind. I rested considerably in the sun before heading back to grab my belongings. Baby steps. I found a flat spot perfect for my tent and pitched it up on the hill the park ranger told me not to. There; I created my own shade.
My tent looked picturesque on top of that hill. I sat down escaping the sun for several minutes. However, the temperature rose every minute inside until it became unbearable and worse than being in the sun. There was a strong wind that cooled me down, yes, but it was too windy to stay there (it was extremely loud), so I had to pack up and leave, forced to find a new camping spot. After several minutes of searching, I spied a spot down below and headed towards it, watching my step for desert critters and loose rocks. The spot was perfect, it was a six-foot drop from a smaller hill yet flat and out of the wind. The ground was hard and several cow patties were lying around, but that wasn’t enough to deter me, so I pitched up my tent again. It was a dried-up area where water used to collect above the old river below. The dust from the water bed was so fine it could get through my tent screen and it is still on my tent to this day despite being rained on multiple times.
The sun started getting low enough in the sky that the tall dirt mounds created shade on their east side. There was a spot not far from me, forty meters maybe, that had enough shade to fit one person sitting down. I brought everything I needed into that shaded spot: my snacks, pocket stove, fuel, folding chair, and book. The shade felt like touching cold water, soothing my skin as soon as I walked into it. I set my chair up, made sure it was sturdy, and tried to start a fire for my pocket stove so I could eat a high-caloric meal. To my surprise, it was easier than I anticipated, starting a fire for my first time, taking me less than three minutes. A breeze came to cool me down further, enough that I put on my dark-blue hoody. It felt so good to sit down in the shade and rest, restoring the energy that I would need for tomorrow. I wanted to sleep right then and there, although bright-coloured dots moving in the distance accompanied by human-like sounds kept my interest enough to stay awake.
The sky started turning yellow. I climbed the largest hill (above me) to watch the sun set across the barren land, and it reminded me of fire. If a wildfire came in the night, I don’t think it could’ve gotten to where I was, there was nothing to burn. As I packed up my belongings getting ready for bed and entered my tent, leaving the inside zipper down to let air flow through, I heard howling in the distance, somewhere towards the west, possibly the devils themselves getting ready for a night of mischief. I was exhausted. I peeked out of my tent attempting to see the Milky Way in all its glory, but a veil of clouds covered the night sky. I shut my eyes until morning.
Although my eyes were closed, I remember this night very well. The devils were up to no good. They continued to howl and laugh and play with unsuspecting visitors. They found their way to me. I found a spot that was out of the wind, remember, so how could it be the wind that was shaking my tent? Yes, the devils came for me and would shake my tent, causing it to make enough noise that it kept sleep out of arm’s reach. It also became uncomfortably cold. My tent would shake in the opposite rhythm of my sleep. Just as I would be nodding off, my foundations shook, bringing me to attention. You don’t think devils do that? You don’t think devils love to deprive their victims of sleep? I peeked my head outside my tent here and there for a chance to see the famous stars again, but they hid from me the whole night.
Black turned to grey. It started getting lighter outside. I was still extremely tired and didn’t remember sleeping at all. The muscle on my left temple, whatever muscle is there, started to twitch and still twitches to this day. Do I continue to try to sleep? I needed sleep. Do I get up and leave immediately? I can walk while it’s still relatively cool, or chance some sleep for comfort. I got up and packed my bags.
My water resources were running very low, and I knew I couldn’t explore further without filling up my bottles again. I had enough water to make it back to the freshwater well at the beginning, so I walked back, planning on eating at my car too. The walk back was shorter than I remembered, maybe because time passes quicker in the morning, or maybe because I was so tired that when I finally came to, I was already back at my car. Or was it because I took that shortcut? I could roam anywhere, so I was told, so why not roam in a straight line instead of following a meandering path?
I filled up my water bottles, drank as much as I could fit in me, and headed back out right away, not wanting to waste any time. I wanted to go to the place I saw off in the distance, the place where I heard the howling.
My legs and back were extremely sore from exercise I wasn’t prepared for. The sun was out at full strength now. There was no breeze today. I passed under the wooden arch and past the yellow rock, knowing I was extremely close. I saw the dunes in the distance and adjusted my trajectory towards them. I cut right and walked through dusty fields, valleys sprinkled with thorny bushes and old river beds filled with holes. I was on high alert for snakes, snakes kill animals, and I am an animal (to the snake but not to you). I felt that heat I felt yesterday which cooked my body slowly like meat on a rotisserie. I thought I was going to a place where few people have been before, but the trails I saw told another story. I’d later learn the trails I saw were made hundreds of years ago by ancient people traversing through the land. It made sense, most of the trails followed the river. Since then, the river stopped flowing and I assume the people stopped flowing as well.
I made it to the first pair of dunes off the main trail. They were smaller, bright white and very smooth, looking like a wave turned into stone. I didn’t see any other footprints around. I looked for holes coyotes or devils might be hiding in, but there were no holes, and again, no shade. I was searching for a place to pitch my tent right away so I could explore weight free. I found several flat spots again but decided to venture further out into the open ocean. I had booked two nights in Grasslands National Park, one in the Valley of a Thousand Devils, and the other out at Red Buttes. I had talked to the park ranger about it prior, asking if I could instead stay out in the valley for two nights, hearing that that was the better location anyway. But if I changed my mind, they told me of a shortcut to get to Red Buttes: “Just walk north and you’ll meet up with a fence, then follow the fence and you’ll get there.” I was already wandering, but I didn’t want to wander that far (several kilometres north) for a lesser experience.
It was now open field after I passed the small dunes, and a valley I couldn’t yet see. I found a deer’s antler on the ground with four points on it. As I got closer to the valley, which was the only green place out here, I saw a deer jump up out of the corner of my eye. She pranced away as if she had just bested me. There were animals here like deer, I actually saw several sleeping in awkward positions on the side of the highway before I arrived, but it didn’t make sense to me where they hid. There was almost nowhere to hide. Cheers to them for finding the “almost.”
I was overheated wearing pants in the sun, but they came in handy when sliding past some of those thorny bushes in the valley. I was almost where I had wanted to go, and a trail was leading me right to it.
It was almost impossible to climb up this dune, it was too steep and too high. I set my pack down and started exploring, hoping to find some washed-up dinosaur bones that the last person out here missed (and hopefully not his). Cow patties. Not what I was looking for. I looked carefully at the ground, searching for something out of place. Nothing was out of place here; every rock had its home and was happy there. I misplaced some of them out of pure spite. I walked around to the other side of the dune and climbed up. Despite this dune being fifty feet high and having a relatively flat side to the north, it too provided no shade for me. The only shade I had was the rim of my hat.
The wind died again. I didn’t find any fossils on the north side either, or holes for critters, only rocks that sat quietly in the sun. I looked out at the horizon, scanning the ocean landscape. Faded green hills rolled forever underneath a faded blue sky. I can’t stay here, I thought to myself. What am I going to do for five hours, just sit and bake in the sun? Yeah, no thanks, time to go. I climbed down the hill carefully, knowing that if injured, it would take days or weeks for someone to find me. I drank some water, ate an energy bar, and promptly put my backpack on, ready to steamroll through whatever came my way.
I started walking back aggressively, knowing that the lesser amount of time I spent in the sun, the better. After stomping a hundred yards through only fields, I was regretting my decision to want to camp out there again. A larger headache returned, my skin felt and looked like it was hot enough to fall off, and my strength to stand on two legs was declining rapidly. I was very thankful I bought hiking poles the day before I left home. To induce a reward response, I thought of the shaded gazebo and all the snacks I was going to munch on when I got back. It was now three in the afternoon, which was peak heat time in the Badlands, and I treaded through it boldly.
I walked through dry river beds with holes, small valleys sprinkled with thorny bushes and fields filled with dust. In between the valley and the fields, I saw two men wearing dark-green shirts and khaki shorts planting pink flags. What a strange game, I thought. It didn’t even look like fun. They came closer and wished me, hello, not questioning at all what I was doing where I was. They turned out to be park rangers creating a new trail. They told me they wanted to make a new one that wasn’t as “dull” and that covered more area. They also told me all the planning and work that goes into making a new trail that included animal ecosystems, points of interest, elevation changes, and more. I said goodbye and moved on, pointing my undefined path slightly left of where I originally walked down, taking out as much elevation gain as I could calculate with my eyes. I figured I had walked about two kilometres further out into unmarked territory initially, and when I met those men, I was still another kilometre off trail.
It wasn’t easy walking up that long hill back to the trail, I was a train losing steam. Downhill was much easier. I stopped consciously thinking and only walked. I had one more hill to climb now, and my legs couldn’t hold up much longer, shaking with every step. I conquered it with all the energy I had, knowing that comfort was just a downhill stretch away, but I didn’t see the starting point anywhere.
The trail heading back was longer than I remembered. Disappointed but not defeated, I prepared myself mentally in the valley before starting to make it up the last hill (it better be the last hill). About halfway up my left quadricep seized up again and it hurt to try and walk, let alone hiking full stride. I rested for a moment until the pain went away. I made it thirty more steps, pushing myself up the hill with whatever energy my legs had in conjunction with my arms using my hiking poles before both my legs completely stopped working, flooded with lactic acid. Just like when my lawn mower engine would flood, I too had to wait before starting up again. I set up my chair and sat there resting, my legs limp, improving my already scorched tan (I’m lucky I tan considerably before I burn). My impatience grew. I stood up from my chair too soon and felt the lactic acid eating away at the muscle tissue in my legs before I stood up straight fully. I took several baby steps forward. Hey! I can see the campground! I could see my car and even the food in it! That’s embellishment, I admit, but I knew it was there.
I pressed on, trying not to use my quadriceps as much as possible, using more strength in my arms to hold me up with my hiking poles than my legs with my swollen feet. I remembered the ground here, how it felt, it was fairly hard to walk on, feeling something like concrete that my knees didn’t appreciate. I walked through the metal gate and past the giant tepee for the last time, closing the gate and latching it, keeping the devils locked in.
I drank as much water as I could drink before bringing my attention to anything else, drinking until my insides felt a chill. The rest of the night would be bliss, making new friends and eating meals fit for a wild king. I saw the trail planners again and gave them a nod. One of my new friends took me to several interest points that we could drive to. He looked out into the expanse with excitement, looking forward to explore, and I looked out into the expanse with gratitude, thankful to be out.
With what cellphone service I had, I tried planning my route to Dinosaur Provincial Park in Alberta, about five to six hours away. A light rain formed before a thunderstorm came, chasing the devils back to their den, and also incentivizing me to take shelter in my car, where I’d sleep for the night, a night I would not remember.
