I did it. I arrived with my overstuffed suitcase in tact, ready, willing and able to begin my ten days of book presentations, signings and related events. But before my author adventures, there was a South Dakota tradition I wanted to experience, one custom-made for a Buffalo gal.
Fifty four years ago, the State of South Dakota decided to undertake a yearly roundup of the buffalos in Custer State Park. Their purpose was to medically treat the herd for the highly contagious Brucellosis disease, which threatened their continued existence.
Today, that practice is still in effect for medical reasons as well as a way to maintain a balance between the bison and the available forage in the park. It also has become one of the great tourist attractions for the state, drawing over 14,000 people from around the world to what has become a buffalo roundup and arts festival.
When I realized I would be in South Dakota on the date of this year’s roundup, I made a plan to not only attend, but to be there as an “official” reporter. I was determined to get up-close-and-personal to these impressive animals for which my hometown is named. Retreiving my media credentials at the park and following the advice of the roundup organizers, I set my alarm for 4:30am and went to sleep dreaming of thundering herds.
The thing about South Dakota is that their roads wind through gorgeous landscapes, often at perilious angles.
As I began my 45- minute drive to the park in the black of the early morning, those curves, coupled with the unreliability of my GPS in the mountainous terrain, kept me on the edge of my driver’s seat.
It was only as I came upon another driver, who I prayed was headed to the same destination, that I realized I hadn’t been breathing!
As our mini caravan continued on in the darkness, we slowly began to gather more adventurous travelers snaking our way along the two lane roads.
When the sign for Custer State Park finally appeared, I felt the blood return to my fingers that had been gripping the car’s steering wheel for almost an hour.
Glancing at my car’s clock, I saw it was 5:55. Officlally I was 20 minutes earlier than the suggested time to arrive in order to avoid a long line of traffic coming in to the park.
At 5:58am, everyone in my caravan came to a halt as we drove over a rise in a hill to the sight of cars as far as we could see.
It took until 7:15 am before we were finally directed into the west viewing area parking lot, settling in among cars with licence plates from throughout the United States. Energy and excitement filled the early morning air as people of all ages made their way to the feed tent for the roundup’s traditional pancake breakfast.
I chose to skip the pancakes and instead headed directly to my exclusive reporting vantage. I was anxious to get a good spot and to chat up my fellow journalists, whom I’d been told were an international group. Feeling priviliged with my official purple media credentials around my neck, I followed a roundup official’s vague directions to go beyond the feed tent and down the hill. Once again, South Dakota gives a whole new meaning to certain terms…one of them being “hill.”
As I approached the cliff between me and my reporter’s assigned spot, visions of movie scenes where the heroine tumbles and rolls down a rocky mountainside came to mind.
The fact that thousands of people were comfortably settled in their chairs at the top fo the cliff, ready to monitor my descent did nothing to enhance my confidence.
For the sake of storytelling brevity and my pride, let’s just say I made it down the hill without tumbling (one small slip doesn’t count) and took my place along a fenceline of camera-toting, lens-loaded journalists.
Considering the early hour and the time most had arisen to arrive, pretty much everyone along the fence was in a state of sleep, or at least semi-consciousness. Except, of course, for me, who was so excited to be there and share the story of the day with all of you….NOT.
Once again the same mountains that interferred with my GPS made live broadcasting impossible. Undaunted, I recorded a few videos to post later and then began looking around, trying to figure out how to occupy myself until the estimated arrival of the buffalos——some two hours later.
Thankfully, a gentlemen claimed a spot alongside me on the fence. He was a 70-something retired research scientist, presently living in Texas, but truly a citizen of the world.
For the next two hours we shared stories of our lives. His involved residencey in six different states and travel to all 50, along with adventures in every continent of the world. He focus at the roundup was to capture that “one” photo that would satiate his photography hobby/passion.
We whiled away the time until at last we heard the far-off sound of what roundup veterans around us assured us was the approaching herd.
Word spread through the gathered crowds like an electric energy as people started standing and trying to spot any sign of the buffalo’s approach.
Then the moment came. With a “there they are,” shouted out from the hill, the first brown dots began appearing on the far off landscape.
Within minutes the thousand plus buffalo were wrangled by horses and their riders along with pickup trucks and their drivers across and down the rolling hills into a fenced off area leading to pens. Everyone who had waited hours to witness this roiundup cheered and clapped in respectful awe.
Riding alongside the herd was a trio of flagholders on horseback. The American flag led the way followed by the South Dakota State Flag and a POW flag—an inspiring sight that brought another round of applause from the audiences on both sides of the viewing areas. And for a few moments the Buffalo grazed while the horses, riders, trucks and drivers got into position to drive the buffalos into the waiting pens.
The lull in the action didn’t diminsh the crowd’s appreciation for the majesty of these animals that are a part of our nation’s history and heritage. It was almost magical to be separated only by wood and wire while observing them.
But suddenly our shared reverie was disconnected as riders commanded their horses to begin moving the herd. Slowly edges of the gathered animals started moving forwarded as mandated. Conversation among all gathered began to ripple as the energy of the brown furry beasts transferred through us. Then the eternal power struggle of man v. beast played out before our very eyes as the buffalo took control of the roundup to the delight of every person watching.
It was surely a South Dakota Roundup adventure custsom made for this Buffalo Gal.
