Guernsey State Park

I spent three and a half hours on Monday morning birding in Guernsey State Park. I picked it primarily because it was there. I got out of my car several times, but I never wandered far from it. The park surrounds a man-made lake. The central feature is a hill-top overlook high above the reservoir. By the end of my visit, I’d seen 35 species, including a rare-for-the-area Eastern Bluebird.

Three Turkey Vultures perched on posts along the reservoir next to a boat ramp. They were disinclined to leave as I walked by, and one of them decided to brave it out. I’m not sure if this is a threat display or what, but I appreciated it.

There were campers in scattered sites around the park, but otherwise very few people. It was a beautiful place and a pleasant way to spend a morning.

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Adventures on a Sunday Afternoon

I drove back roads south into Wyoming and stopped in Sheridan. In preparation for a long stretch of driving, I bought a drink at the same Qdoba where I’d bought supper the night before. Once I cleared Buffalo, about 35 miles south of Sheridan, there were no services until Casper, 112 miles away.

I-25 wasn’t busy. There were stretches of half an hour or so when I neither passed or was passed by another vehicle. I was relaxed and looking for Pronghorns along the highway. It occurred to me that I have undoubtedly seen more cows than any other animal. But I got to thinking about wild animals. I have probably seen the most White-tailed Deer, but after living in the west the past three years, I’m guessing Pronghorns are a close second. I was seeing individuals and and herds almost every mile.

I was looking at a herd of Pronghorns on the east side of the highway. I looked up in time to see a doe Mule Deer strolling casually across the pavement in front of me. Deer aren’t usually active in the heat of the afternoon, so I wasn’t anticipating it. I had just enough time to swerve around behind it at 80 mph. It never quickened its pace. I probably missed it by four or five feet. Aloud I said, “That would have been a stupid way to die.”

My original plan was to spend the night in Casper, but I decided at some point to continue south another 45 minutes to Douglas where I’d noticed on my trip north that there was a Hampton Inn. But there was a restaurant in Casper I had been planning on visiting, and that was still in the cards.

The place was called Sanford’s Grub and Pub. It was most famous for its decor.

A friendly young woman took my order — a medium cheeseburger and onion rings. I waited and waited. And waited. After an hour, I was pretty irritated. The people who were seated just before me were also complaining. The people who came just after me were so upset that they announced that they were leaving. Their food magically appeared moments later. My burger finally came a hour and 20 minutes after I ordered. And it was decidedly well done. The server was very apologetic and offered to make me another one, but I told her I didn’t have another hour and a half to wait. To my surprise, the burger was pretty tasty, as were the rings.

When I finally escaped, I decided to get gas at the Pilot station next door. As I was pumping gas, I got a notice from my bank asking if I had charged $151 worth of gas and automotive at that same station. I hadn’t of course. Some clown in another car was skimming my card as I pumped gas. I got back on the road and chatted back and forth with my wife about it for a while, then pulled off and called Visa. They guy I spoke with was helpful, although he was very difficult to understand. The charge was erased, but I decided I wasn’t a big fan of Casper.

I got a room at the Hampton Inn in Douglas, but it was expensive — $150 plus taxes. I spent the evening logging my bird lists from the trip and planning Monday’s adventure.

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Rosebud Battlefield

The Army campaign of 1876 was intended to move the Indian tribes of the northern plains onto reservations. Unwilling to go, the Indians had banded together into a force of about 1,500-2,000 warriors. The Army’s strategy involved an encirclement of the Indian camp by three columns: Gibbon from the west, Terry (including Custer and his men) from the east, and Crook, with the largest column, from the south. Crook left Fort Fetterman on May 29.

On June 11, Crook’s army stopped to rest along Rosebud Creek. The Indian scouts who were employed by the Army raced into camp chased by hostile Indians. For the next two or three hours, soldiers and Indians maneuvered, taking advantage of any opportunity to attack weak spots. There weren’t really lines of battle. The soldiers looked for any substantial group of warriors to fight while the Indians moved around and fought from every direction.

Crook had been misinformed and thought there was a large Indian village nearby. He sent eight companies of cavalry to attack it. The Indians thought the Army was retreating and left the field. Crook had expended so much ammunition and supplies that he felt that he had to return to Fort Fetterman to resupply. That meant that he wasn’t able to meet up with the other columns, which may have been a significant factor in Custer’s defeat seven days later and about 30 miles to the northwest. Crook had 10 men killed and 21 wounded at the Rosebud, and it’s estimated that Indian casualties were about the same.

I drove though the beautiful Montana countryside to the battlefield, located on a dirt road a long way from anything resembling a town. There were a few other people at the entrance but once I headed further into the park, I only saw one moving car and one parked car and nobody else on foot.

The tour road was two dirt tracks divided by tall grass. My Honda Accord scraped the grass the entire time, but the road was otherwise in good shape and I had no problem.

Because of the fluid nature of the battle, there weren’t really battle-related things to see. A few sight posts were scattered about with holes through which I could look to see particular landmarks. The Indian name for the battle is “Where the Sister Saved Her Brother,” named for an incident that happened during the day. A Cheyenne warrior had his horse killed under him. He became a target for the soldiers until his sister, Buffalo Calf Road Woman, rode up on her horse and carried him to safety.

At the beginning of the road, I saw a female Pronghorn and her calf running away from me.

At the top of the hill in the above photo, there was a place to pull over. I parked and walked a trail across the hills. I spotted the Pronghorn calf poking its head up above the grass about 40 yards away.

I walked a couple hundred yards further and heard an odd huffing sound I didn’t recognize. It was the female. She was maybe 80 yards away, staring at me. Every minute or so, she’d make the noise. After a little while she ran up the ridge and disappeared. I’m guessing she was trying to attract my attention away from her calf which was hiding nearby. I didn’t see either of them again.

I walked with care up a grass-covered trail in an area where rattlesnakes are common. I was 40 miles from Sheridan, Wyoming, the nearest place where I was likely to find a hospital. I probably strolled a mile up toward Crook’s Hill, where the general had his headquarters on the day of the battle. There were very few birds, and no battle markers. But it was a beautiful day and the surrounding country was also beautiful. I enjoyed myself tremendously.

I didn’t go all the way to the top of Crook’s Hill. The trees on the hill may look close in the photo above, but the crest was deceptively far away. I took the video below from the place where I turned around. It was the heat of the day. There wasn’t really anything different I could see by going further — just more of the same scenery. I had gotten up early and had a long drive ahead of me. I would have definitely kept going if the reward had been worth the effort. But I suppose a contributing factor in my decision was that I’m not used to be quite this alone. I was a mile or so from my car, which was a mile or so from the park entrance, which was three miles from the nearest paved road, which was 40 miles from the nearest town, which was 480 miles from the nearest person I knew.

I drove the rest of the tour route without stopping or getting out of my car. By the entrance, I spotted a marmot on a rock outcropping. I was surprised to see one at this low an elevation.

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Little Bighorn

On Saturday I realized that I had planned my visit to Little Bighorn Battlefield two days before the anniversary of the battle — which meant I would be there on the weekend closest to the anniversary. I figured there would be reenactments and ceremonies and a lot of visitors, but there wasn’t anything I could do about it at this point except get there early.

The park opened at 8:00, and I arrived around 8:04. It cost $25 to get in, which surprised me. I entered the visitor center but then decided to see the battlefield itself before the crowds and heat arrived. I walked up Last Stand Hill past the Indian Memorial, to the 7th Cavalry Memorial. There was one other guy in the area, but he soon left, so for about 10 minutes I had the hill to myself. Later in the day, there were always at least 40 people  crowded around the monument and even more during the expected reenactment.

In the next photo, the visitor center is in the right distance. The deep ravine can be seen as a darker line of green leading toward the distant trees left of center. Custer’s marker is the one with black paint in the center of the cluster. These aren’t gravestones. Many of the men were moved elsewhere — Custer is buried at West Point. Others are buried under the 7th Cavalry Monument. The stones mark where the soldiers’ bodies were found.

From Last Stand Hill I walked the Deep Ravine Trail. Three guys in yellow vests were spraying something on the vegetation along the path, but for the most part I was alone here too until the very end. The next six photos were taken on that trail.

I once read a book titled Custer Fell Here that contained pictures of the battlefield taken over the years alongside more recent ones. It was interesting, but I made fun of the author because he kept referring to the four-foot black fence around the last stand area. Now I understand. The battlefield sprawls over treeless rolling hills that all look very similar. Points of reference are the cluster of trees around the visitor center, the river valley, and the Last Stand Monument and fence. Without looking for these landmarks, it would very difficult to know where on the battlefield you were.

I got back to the visitor center just as a ranger was beginning a talk on the covered patio. I found a post to lean on in the shade. (The sun was already intense.) The guy began by telling us that he had been a history teacher so we would know he was a brilliant authority. Then he told us that we all misunderstood the battle. We all thought there were no survivors when, in fact, thousands of Indians survived. (Of course there wasn’t a single person there who thought all the Indians also died, but that didn’t matter to him. He had a point to make.) He told us that if we had visited in the 1960’s, a park ranger would have told us that Custer and his men were courageous heroes who died for their country in defense of the American way of life. We were allowed to think the soldiers were courageous if we wanted to, but none of the rest of it was true. He then launched into a diatribe on racism. At that point I left. A bit later, I walked through the cemetery where a marker explained how the men buried there were heroes who had died protecting my freedoms in, among other places, the Indian wars. I was a bit confused. Were the soldiers heroes or not?

I wasn’t really confused. The National Park Service is in full political correct mode. I wish they would just present the facts and let visitors make up their own minds. But of course the government doesn’t think we’re capable of thinking for ourselves. Here’s my opinion: combatants on both sides were fighting for their ways of life. Both ways of life had good points and bad points. The Indians won the battle, but their culture was unsustainable in the face of developing technology and an increasing world population so they lost the war. There were bad men on both sides. There were also men on both sides who worked hard to find ways for both cultures to coexist peacefully. As bad as it was, maybe it was as good as humans are capable of. I don’t really see any of those who fought here on either side as heroes or villains. The battle was was just another example of humanity’s brokenness.

End of rant.

I made a quick trip through the one room of displays in the visitor center, bought a couple hats in the store, then walked through the cemetery. I spotted a nighthawk, which surprised me at that time of day. (It was around 10:00 by this time.) Over the next couple days I saw nighthawks flying at midday in a couple other places.

The photo below is a view of the whole battlefield from the cemetery. A bit of the Deep Ravine Trail can be seen right of center. Last Stand Hill is on the left. If you enlarge the photo, you can see the Wolf Mountains in the distance. One of Custer’s Indian scouts climbed to a lookout point in the mountains and spotted the Indian village along the river. On a nearer ridge, you can see a flat-topped butte. That’s Weir Point. Some of Reno’s men made it that far and saw that Custer and the soldiers with him were wiped out. They retreated across Sharpshooter’s Ridge back to the hilltop where Reno and Benteen were besieged. That hill is out of sight behind Weir Point. This gives some idea of the size of the battlefield. I believe I heard that it’s more than four miles from the siege hill to Last Stand Hill.

Last Stand Hill was packed with people as I drove by. I pulled over to allow about seven guys in soldier uniforms to ride past on horses. It wasn’t a very convincing demonstration. One of the riders dropped a piece of equipment and wasn’t familiar enough with horseback riding to get off and get it. A ranger had to pick it up for him.

I drove the tour route, stopping at all the pull offs on the right side of the road and taking photos. Most of the battlefield is on the Crow Indian Reservation, but there were tour stops there too. I took the next photo to show some of the markers scattered around the battlefield. The white ones in the distance are soldiers. The two red ones in the foreground are Indians.

It’s hard to make out in this photo, but the rise beginning on the left and angling into the right distance is Greasy Grass Ridge

Reenactors at Medicine Tail Ford.

Looking west from Sharpshooter Ridge. Notice the fort-like building with the red roof. It shows up in several photos. It was from a point a little beyond that building that Reno made his first attack on the village.

There was a trail at the Reno-Benteen battle site. I got out and walked the whole thing. At the top of the bluff overlooking where Reno and his men retreated across the river, a volunteer was standing by to answer questions. I was the only one there, so I chatted with him for a few minutes. He pointed to the places across the river where the battle began and where the Indian village was located. By the time I left that end of the park, all the spots in the small lot were taken. The next several photos were taken from the Reno-Benteen battle hill.

The flat area on this side of the river is where Reno and his men crossed during their retreat up the hill. If you enlarge the photo, you can make out a gas station right along I-90 (just to the left of the log buildings with green roofs). That is approximately where the southern edge of the two-mile long Indian village was located. Reno took up his second position in the trees between my location and the red-roofed building.

During the two days of battle on the hill, some of Reno’s men crept down this ravine to the river to get water for the troops while sharpshooters covered them.

The southernmost point of Reno’s Hill looking toward the Wolf Mountains in the distance.

Looking southeast toward the Wolf Mountains. The depression in the grass just beyond the bricks is a reconstructed trench on the spot of a trench dug by Reno’s men.

This panorama distorts the view, but it shows all of Reno’s hill from the southern rise on the left to the area just beyond the parking lot.

Cedar Coulee along which Custer advanced (toward the left) after locating the Indian village.

The view looking north from Weir Point. Enlarge it to see Last Stand Hill as a tiny dark spot to the right of the trees around the visitor center.

On my way back through the park, I stopped at all the pull offs on the other side of the road. At Medicine Tail Ford, I could see across the river out of the park. Two tepees were set up in front of a couple sections of bleachers. People were filing onto the seats to watch another reenactment.

Medicine Tail Coulee leading down to Medicine Tail Ford on the left.

Last Stand Hill is on the left. On this portion of the battlefield, Myle Keogh and his men were overrun as they tried to join Custer.

When I got back to the visitor center, the main parking lot was jammed and people were sitting in their cars waiting for spots to open up.

I stopped in Crow Agency for something to drink and decided to buy a gas station hot dog for lunch. A pleasant guy who was also getting a couple dogs advised me to take advantage of all the available packaging because “you will place it on your car seat and take a corner too fast and there goes your hot dog onto the floor.” I told him he spoke with the voice of experience and thanked him for his wisdom.

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Sheridan, Wyoming

Although I’d planned what I wanted to do every day on my trip, I left things open enough to account for some spontaneity. The one nonnegotiable was Little Bighorn, which meant that I had to stay somewhere reasonably close on Saturday night. That meant Sheridan. To make sure I had a room, I went online and reserved one. The franchise hotels were expensive, so I opted for the Mill Inn. It’s an old flour mill, built in 1919 and converted to a hotel sometime after 1974 when the mill shut down.

I guess I ordered a suite, because that’s what I got. But the price was still much less than I would have paid elsewhere. I had two rooms, connected by a wide opening. Each of them had their own queen-size bed and bathroom. My room was in the lower section between the mill tower and the office tower. My windows looked out on the mill tower.

My room wasn’t fancy, and the mattress and pillows were made of cement, but it was clean and convenient. I checked in and then went for a walk with my binoculars. About half a mile from the hotel, a path winds along the banks of Little Goose Creek. The water was high and moving fast. I didn’t see many birds, but it was a pleasant evening and anything was better than sitting in a hotel room. I did spot a Great Blue Heron rookery.

And some “wild” Turkeys. One was foraging in the front yard of a home.

I also saw a pair of pheasants and a handful of more common birds. My walk lasted perhaps an hour and a half. On my way back to the hotel, I stopped at Qdoba for carry-out. I ate in my room while watching the last half of Sweet Home Alabama.

In the morning, I ate a waffle at the hotel, bought a egg mcmuffin and pop at the McDonald’s across the street, bought gas and headed for Montana. Early on Sunday morning, Interstate 90 was empty. At times there was no other traffic that I could see in either direction.

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