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The weekend started well enough. Clarissa is running a yoga teacher training at Moccasin Springs Natural Mineral Spa in Hot Springs, South Dakota. Tom stayed with Uncle Tim, and I drove down to join her for the night. We enjoyed a nice soak, spent a quiet evening together, and I even got to sleep in a little. All in all, a great date night. And although this is just the starting point of this story, if you fancy a soak and you’re in the area, I highly recommend a visit to Moccasin Springs.
But this isn’t a story about hot springs. Instead, it’s a story about what happened after leaving the hot springs.
The next morning
After bidding adieu to my darling wife, I paid a visit to Mornin’ Sunshine Coffee House, got a latte and a breakfast sandwich to go, and took a quick stroll on the Freedom Trail alongside Fall River. The river is fed by a thermal aquifer that stays at a constant 87 degrees, which caused a beautiful fog to roll off the river in the morning. Munching and caffeinating as I walked, I enjoyed the cool morning air—though it was much more temperate than the recent -20s temps we’ve been experiencing.
But I digress.
The scenic route.
Hitting the road, I had a lot of time to waste. Sure, home was an hour away, but I had more than three hours to get there. So, I made a rather last minute decision to take a scenic route through Wind Cave National Park. If I had been a little smarter, or had a little more forethought, I might have simply taken US highway 385 from Hot Springs to the park. But I was neither smart at that moment, nor overburdened with forethought. No, instead I began heading home on South Dakota highway 79, then kicked around on the 7-11 road. I think. In all honesty, this plan was so poorly conceived, that I’m not entirely sure how I got there, or what entrance I arrived at. That’s not always the best way to get started.
Also, these road names and numbers probably won’t mean anything to you if you’re not familiar with the area—all you need to know is that it was kind of a dumb way to get from one point to the other.
Wind Cave National Park
Rounding a bend I saw one of the park entrances. On the other side of a cattle guard stood a group of bison, watching my approach. This wasn’t surprising—the Wind Cave bison herd, which ranges in size from 250 to 400 individuals, is one of the few free-roaming genetically pure herds living on American public lands. This sets them apart from a large number of bison across the country that now have cattle genetics.
I parked and we eyed one other. Five minutes passed. Then ten. Then fifteen. I was just about to turn around and leave when the herd spread out and left the road clear. “All good,” I thought, and pulled ahead.
Dear reader, it was not all good.
Cresting a hill maybe a half mile from the entrance, a few bison were laying in the road. I slowed my approach, hoping that they would stand up and be on their way. They did not move, so I stopped the car. The bison stood and I watched with curiosity as they turned, walked to the vehicle, and began licking it.
It was then I realized that after driving in icy sub-zero conditions for weeks, my Kia Sorento had become a salt lick. And it was apparent that I wasn’t the only one who recognized it, as 20-30 members of the herd converged on my location and took turns licking my party wagon.
Life inside a salt lick
I said take turns, but that isn’t entirely accurate. Some took turns, like ladies and gentlemen. But some of the bulls were impatient, and they had no compunction about ramming and headbutting other fellas out of the way. To be clear, none charged or horned my car, but when a bull charges past your car at speed, you hold your breath. When two of them are competing and one slams its ass into your bumper, you feel it.
A lot of thoughts went through my head while I sat there.
“Do I try to back up?”
I was walled in on all sides. There was no way that would work. I don’t think my little SUV was going to move 8,000 pounds of bison. So I just stayed in park and waited.
“Do I hit the horn?”
That seemed like a good way to piss one of them off and elicit a charge. I’m hoping to keep this vehicle a little longer if possible, so I did my best to wait quietly and not make any sudden moves—I’m uncertain of how well they could see inside the car, but I sure didn’t want to startle them if we were operating under Jurassic Park rules. So I sat and waited, listening to the sounds of bison tongues licking the exterior. And I tried to take calming breaths.
And finally I thought, and muttered under my breath, “What the hell is he doing?” as a bull bucked up and placed his hooves on the hood.
“Come on dude!” I practically shouted—the first thing I had said out loud in probably 40 minutes. I don’t know what his plan was. We’re well out of rut, but… well, maybe he liked the look of the old girl? Or maybe he was just trying to get to some harder to reach areas to lick off some minerals. Either way, I’ve got a nice hoof scratch and a dent in the hood thanks to the big guy.
After an hour, they began to lose interest. Although there were plenty of bison still around, those actively licking my ride dwindled to fewer than ten. When those behind me finally moved out of the way and I saw I had a clear path in which to move in reverse, I took a deep breath, shifted into gear and ever so gently pressed the pedal.
As I inched back, a few bison followed, and as I began clearing the herd, I sped up a little—not a ton, since the road isn’t maintained in winter and was mostly compressed snow and ice at that point. And then, once I reached a good 50 yards of distance from them, and they had lost interest in following, I made a multi-point 180-degree turn and got the hell out of there.
Type-two fun
There is a commonly used framework in outdoor recreation and the adventure community, describing the three types of fun. Type-one fun is enjoyable in the moment and pleasant to remember. Type-two fun sucks in the moment, but is fun after the fact or in hindsight. Type-three fun is a bit of a misnomer since it isn’t actually fun at all, even after it’s all said and done.
And this experience in Wind Cave National Park was, in my opinion, a quintessential example of type-two fun. I was anxious as all get out—my Garmin watch kept informing me that my stress level was higher than normal and that I should take a relaxation break. I worried that they might damage my vehicle, and—if I’m being honest—I was a little afraid. Come on, that’s not irrational, the bulls can reach up to 2,000 pounds. That’s a whole lot of animal, and if my little Kia pissed one off, I could have been in bad shape.
And yet, during the encounter I texted pictures to a few people. My mom replied, “I hope you don’t have to be anywhere soon,” and Tim referred to the situation as a “uniquely South Dakota experience.”
After getting out of the park and getting enough service to actually make a call, I reached out to my mom to let her know I was alive. During the call, I couldn’t help but laugh, admittedly a little maniacally, and nearly shouted, “that was some wild-ass bananas shit!” Not my most eloquent moment, but you’ve got to admit it sums up the whole situation pretty well.
And right now, as I write this, I’m getting some chuckles. It makes for a cool story, all in all.
That’s type two-fun for you.
When it’s all said and done
In the end, I emerged unscathed, although running a couple hours late. The Sorento has that dent and hoof scratch on the hood, a few other possible nicks and dings, and a hell of a lot of tongue marks. I’m sure there are lessons to be learned here, or a moral to the story. Maybe the bison at the entrance were warning me off, or—more likely—there’s a takeaway about being ill-informed and underprepared. Honestly, I’m going to let you interpret it however you want. We can agree I was kind of a dummy, but smart enough to stay in the damn car.
I still think Wind Cave National Park is a lovely little-known treasure and recommend a visit. But if I had today to do over again, honestly, I’d have just gone home.
