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The Badlands are a work of art still in progress. Water and wind continue
to sculpt the pliant soil into sharply eroded buttes, pinnacles, and spires
that resemble medieval castles made of sand. It's in the golden light of
sunrise or sunset that the artistry is on full display, when the duff-colored
soils glow in shades of red, pink, and purple. Hikers, backpackers, cyclists,
and casual wanderers can explore this Byzantine labyrinth of shifting sands
and experience the vast expanse of azure sky and forbidding land that greeted—and
ultimately defeated—the earliest settlers. Each panorama offers a
glimpse into millions of years of geologic history, paleontology, and the
inevitability of a changing earth.
I've been to Badlands National Park perhaps ten times now, and in all four
seasons. I never grow tired of its stark, craggy beauty and peaceful nature.
If you get away from the Visitor Center, out on one of the more rustic trails,
you can walk for miles and never have your ears molested by anything other
than the wind, the western meadowlarks and the sawing of grasshoppers. Your
eyes won't detect the current century if you press on far enough; there
are no antennas, telephone poles or roads to corrupt your view. I have a
friend who wonders why I keep returning. As I tell him, I'm not a dilettante;
I want to know everything about this place. In fact, it took me more than
six return trips before I could say I had hiked all of its trails.
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