Buffalo Encounters

"I'm going to get you in shape, even if it kills you," announced Andy when we were back at the car after the tour of Wind Cave in South Dakota.

"Great," I told him unenthusiastically. "Does that mean a hike?"

He pulled out the map and spread it on the hood of Little Red. "We will do this loop from Lookout Point Trail to Centennial Trail. Then later we can do the one-mile nature trail at the old fire tower."

The first 4.6-mile trek crossed mixed grass prairie, followed a ravine, crisscrossed a brook eight or ten times and led back up the slope to the parking area. But it was hardly uneventful. As we watched for rattlesnakes in the first mile and rounded a small stand of pine trees, we came upon a lone bull buffalo not 50 feet away. For several minutes we froze, as the two-ton adult animal stared and stood his ground a few feet from where we would follow the trail. I wanted to turn back, but I also knew it was not wise to turn my back on a wild animal. He pawed the ground.

"SSShhhhh," said Andy. "Let's just see what he is going to do."

"Great!" I thought, this time panicking and already backing slowly up the hill behind me.

Eyeing us, the bison crossed the trail and then moved a short distance toward the pine trees.

"Let's go," called Andy. He took off at a jog down the trail. "Stay close behind me," he ordered, already running 20 feet ahead.

Gasping for air, the camera bouncing on my hip, half racing to keep up and half walking fast so as not to attract the attention of the buffalo, I followed. My chest pounding, I doubled over in agony.

"I knew when he started rubbing on the tree and stopped looking right at us that we could get by," Andy explained matter-of-factly as we continued on the hike.

Two hours and a lot of deep breaths later, we drove up a ponderosa-covered slope toward the old fire tower for the second hike of the day along Rankin Ridge Trail.

"Wouldn't you know it," I said to Andy. "Look over there." By the side of the road grazed another big bull.

Keeping an eye on the animal, Andy zipped past him a few hundred feet and pulled into the parking lot. The bison was out of our line of sight down the slope in the trees. "That one won't be coming any farther," he said confidently. "There is nothing to eat way up here in the woods."

Following trail signs, we climbed to the fire lookout and gazed on the world below.

Half an hour later as we stepped from the tree cover to the edge of the parking lot, Andy said, "You go over to the post holder and put away the trail guide. I'll open the car."
As I put the pamphlet back into the holder, I looked right into the huge black eyes of the bull, not 30 feet away.

"Aaaaannnnnnddddeeeee!" I backed up, turned and ran for Little Red.

We haven't hopped into the car quite so fast in a long time! It was a good thing Andy had already unlocked the door on my side or I probably would have aimed for the roof. The bull walked right past my window, a few arms lengths to the right of the dwarfed red Saturn.

But things always happen in threes. The next buffalo encounter of the same kind happened as we left the park and almost drove into a herd of 30 animals blocking the road. A truck coming from the opposite direction had the same reaction: stop dead. Momentarily we felt uncomfortable as some of the larger animals headed right toward Little Red.

"How do buffalo feel about the color red?" I asked Andy with mounting skepticism.

After ten minutes of sitting quietly and watching the herd change position, we were passed by a silver Cadillac that wove between four young cows and took off. The truck followed from the other direction, and then Andy made his move before the buffalo closed ranks on other cars in the roadside congestion. We were free and hopefully done with buffalo jams for one day.