Where what once was...still is

I've written a number of articles and stories about Oklahoma's Tallgrass Prairie.  I've also taken thousands of photographs of the area.  Some might say there's a bit of obsession involved.  Maybe so...but, I prefer to think of it as...well, let me try to explain.

Most people have never heard about the tallgrass saga, and most probably aren't aware that there are three distinct prairie regions in North America.  First, there's the short grass prairie which encompasses the western sections of the plains states.  It is characterized by short scrubby grasses...a hot and dry climate...and higher elevations found along the landscapes that reach eastward from the Rocky Mountains.  Then there is a thin ribbon of an area called the mixed grass prairie where the climate begins to change and a blending of the short grass and tallgrass area begins.  Finally, there is the tallgrass prairie.

The tallgrass region at one time was perhaps the largest eco-system in North America...it was a massive sea of tallgrass species that grew taller than a man and stretched from southern Canada, across the eastern Dakota's, Nebraska, Kansas, Oklahoma, and into Texas almost to the gulf coast.  It stretched across southern Minnesota, almost all of Iowa and a good part of Illinois and northern Missouri, and there were even isolated pockets in Kentucky and Arkansas.

Three forces helped to create and sustain the tallgrass prairie:  1. The climate with hot summers, cold winters, and good moisture.  2. Millions of American Bison (buffalo) roamed across the area which grazed the grasses low, disturbed the soil, and dropped tons of fertilizer. 3. Fire...which burned across the grasslands often for days or even weeks clearing thousands of acres and preventing the encroachment of brushy plants and trees from choking out the grasslands.

The tallgrass prairie saga today is one of loss and restoration for between 1840 and 1890, in less than one generation, over ninety percent and in some areas as much as 99 percent of the tallgrass prairie was destroyed.  This destruction took form in multiple ways when civilization discovered the rich fertile lands.  The tallgrass region was plowed under, replanted with crops, fenced off and replaced with single species of range grasses.  The bison were killed, and fire was suppressed.  Within 50 or 60 years, almost all of the original tallgrass area was gone. The only place now where horizon to horizon vistas of original tallgrass prairie can still be found, is the Flint Hills region of eastern Kansas and northern Oklahoma.  It's difficult to grasp, but the Tallgrass Prairie is the most endangered land form in the world...even more endangered than the rain forests.

Northern Oklahoma is home to the largest of the few protected areas that remain...The Tallgrass Prairie Preserve, owned and maintained by the Nature Conservancy, is unique in the world.  No other location still uses all three of the original forces that sustained the prairie.  The climate has remained basically the same in the region, and there are around 3000 bison that roam free and wild across the preserve.  Fire is also used, although controlled, in the same way as the wildfires that once scarred the landscape.

I began my affair with the tallgrass saga over 15 years ago when I first visited the preserve.  It was pretty new at the time and only a few hundred bison were on the preserve.  Most of them I was able to watch from high atop a knoll as they grazed across a slope a few hundred yards away.  I watched my first legendary prairie sunset that day and even though I didn't own any quality camera equipment at the time, I made a promise to myself to return and photograph what was there.  It took over ten years before I would live up to that promise, but eventually I did return with camera in hand and began capturing the flavor and drama across this wonderful landscape.  Little did I realize at the time that six years later I'd still be searching that landscape for all of its photographic potential.  I've not even come close to finishing.

Oklahoma's Tallgrass Prairie is truly a place where what once was...still is.  At one time I thought of the prairie as just a big field full of weeds.  No more...for I've spent hours sitting under the shade of an isolated cedar tree just letting the sounds of the prairie infiltrate into my heart.  I've watched legendary sunsets and amazing sunrises.  I've face prairie storms and encountered close up angry bison.  I estimate that I've driven hundreds of mile on the gravel roads and hike dozens of miles through its fields and across its hills and arroyos.  I've sat atop a high knoll and surveyed a landscape that stretched from horizon to horizon with not a single man made object in sight.  I've watch white clouds drift across a blazing blue sky.  I'm still in wonder of this landscape and will continue to search its quiet beauty and the soul cleansing that it affords.

I'm often questioned about why I keep returning after all the thousands of photo's I've already taken.  I quit trying to find an answer because there is no answer that will satisfy that question.  The best I can do is to show you what I've experienced.  Please find time to watch this video...after doing so...maybe you will understand as well.   http://www.facebook.com/video/video.php?v=182132195149227

Campfires I Have Known - Part2

Here is Part two of a story taken from the archives of stories I've written over the years.  I suppose it fits well into the category of "Beyond the Campfire".  

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I'll never forget the soggy fire my long time friend Rocky and I attempted to nurse into life back in our college days.  We thought we knew all there was to know about the outdoors...we didn't. We were home for the summer and apparently had nothing else better to do, so we put together a spur-of-the-moment trout fishing trip over to the Illinois River below Tenkiller Dam not far from Tahlequah, Oklahoma, where we were attending college.  What we lacked in actual experience we made up in enthusiasm.  We piled close to three tons of camping gear...2.9 tons of which we didn't need...into the back of his old VW he had converted into a dune buggy.  Dune buggies were pretty cool back then.  Of the 0.1 tons of gear we did need, almost none of it was food...we were going to be real pioneers and live off the land by catching trout and cooking them over a campfire.  We actually did catch some fish, but mother nature did not cooperate with us and a steady rain fell the entire trip.  We soon discovered that the old Coleman stove we brought along no longer worked...or more than likely we didn't know how to make it work.  So...we set about building a campfire...with now very soggy wood.

About all we could accomplish to that effect was a smoldering mass of wet smoke which did little to warm our cold hands much less provide enough heat to cook a fish.  Our filleting skills were also somewhat lacking and the soggy mixture of cornmeal and assorted fish parts fell well short of winning any gourmet cooking awards.  Even so, at least it kept us from starving...but just barely.  Had some other campers not taken pitty on us and loaned us a working Coleman stove, we certainly would have had a most memorable outing.  As it turned out...we still get a big chuckle about that experience even today.  Oddly enough...it was the campfire...or maybe the lack there of...that helped to create that memory.

Our skills at building campfires improved over the years...but we still had our share of shriveled tennis shoes, holes burned into tent fabric, and choking lungs filled with smoke.  One of the first float trips we made on the Buffalo River in northwestern Arkansas could be classified as the "no sleep float trip from hell."  One of our troop...who had been invited by one of our regulars...had without a doubt the worst case of snoring I have ever had the displeasure of experiencing.  Now I've heard some pretty good snoring over the years...even contribute my own style to this serenade...but, I've never heard such vile noises come out of a sleeping person ever...I never knew such noises could come out of a sleeping person.  Now, it's not all that unusual for someone to snore a bit when you get four to six guys together on a camping trip...it's somewhat expected and no one seems to be bothered by it...too much.  But, on this single occasion the snoring exploits of our guest not only kept all of us awake...but we had campers thirty yards away complain the next morning about the hideous and foul noises.  Cotton in the ears...nothing could muffle the thunderous rumble. Only two people got any sleep that 3-day weekend...the culprit...and Ralph who was able to disconnect his hearing aid and slept in silent bliss each night.  The rest of us suffered unmercifully.

I'll never forget the puffy eyed look of our crew as we all stood around the campfire each morning.  Never had coffee smelled so good nor offered more relief than on those mornings..that was the most memorable campfire we've ever had if not the most miserable.  Oddly enough, our guest turned out to be one fine camp cook...so when meal time came...all was temporarily forgiven.

The Buffalo River has been the focal point of many such campfires creating an array of unique evenings and images of smoke drifting across the campsites on cold mornings.  The aroma of coffee brewing and bacon sizzling on an open fire becomes an historical point of reference for each of those adventures.  Who could forget the sound and fragrance of freshly caught fish frying over a hot bed of coals as evening approaches...or the sound of the whip-o-will as smoke from the fire drifts low over the camp.  One of my favorite things to do after a campfire meal is to sit back and look up at the stars which are unfiltered by city lights and hear the crackle and feel the heat radiating from the hot coals.  These are memories that can only be experienced around a campfire.  When the stars come out...lost in another world...there is something magical about the fire.  They bring comfort...a sense of home yet a feeling of distance...and generates an enduring legacy that
remains vivid well after the amber coals have cooled.

Countless stories of embellished adventures we have told over the years while sitting around the campfire...hunting and fishing adventures...and more often than not...mis-adventures are recounted again and again.  It's one of the best uses of a campfire...they just seem to go together.

In more recent times I constructed a campfire area on the backside of our yard.  We live in the country and our yard is a long and skinny yard so the fire pit is situated a good hundred yards from the house.  We're surrounded by cornfields and wooded areas.  On occasion we venture out there and sit in the swing that I built and watch the fire run through its life cycle.  I enjoy adding logs to the fire and watch it flare up.  On those cool fall or spring nights...it's quite relaxing to sit out there and just talk about this and that and listen to the coyotes yipping and yelpping at dusk. My wife Kris and I certainly enjoy sharing those moments.

Wilderness may disappear in time...I pray that never happens...but the priceless images of those campfires will never be lost. I am certainly fortunate to have visited such moments...I plan on visiting many more.

Campfires I have Known - Part One - The back yard.

Here's part one of another story taken from the archives of stories I've written over the years.  I suppose it fits well into the category of "Beyond the Campfire".  It's a bit too long to make into one story so I will break it up into two parts.
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The ethics of backcountry travel in today's wilderness often dictates an absence of a real campfire, but, there are still places where the warmth of that enduring symbol can still be felt on those cold starlit evenings.  A campfire adds that unique touch and helps to create a bonding with the outdoor experience...especially within the domain of the night.  They are like snow crystals in that no two of them are ever alike.  I guess that is what is so endearing about them.  Each one develop their own personality and become the personification of that particular outdoor adventure.  The aroma of the burning wood...the heat generated by the amber coals...the soft glow and dancing shadows created by the flames can transform even the most cold of nights into a memory that will last long after the coals are extinguished.

I have known many campfires over the years and have watched them grow from a tiny infant flame into a roaring fire casting an hypnotic glow across the camping site.  Not all the fires were equal...some were downright inferior..but each of them contributed to the pleasure of their respective moment in time.

My first experience with campfires and camping out in general occurred in my grandparents backyard in the small town of Wister, Oklahoma.  The stately old house in which they lived for almost 70 years was situated at the top of a knoll not far from what was downtown.  The yard was over an acre or so in size and was covered with old stately oak and elm trees.  (The elms have probably fallen victim to that nasty Dutch Elm disease by now I'm sure).  In that backyard stood an old well with a crudely built covering.  On those hot and muggy summer days so prevalent in that part of the country, my grandmother would draw three or four loads of the crystal clear ice cold water and place a watermelon or two in it to cool them down.

One summer when I was about 9 years old, my dad purchased an old army surplus canvas pup tent for us kids to use and with that simple piece of outdoor gear I lived dozens of adventures within the shadow of that old well.  My grandmother would allow me to build a small campfire in the dirt...as long as I was careful.  There was no shortage of wood as the old oak and elm trees constantly shed dry branches at the slightest breeze.  She would give me a blanket or two and along with an old army cot that barely fit inside the tent, I would sleep out under the stars...not more than twenty feet from her back door.  She'd take a peak out the window as night came just to make sure I was alright.

The highlight came the next morning when I would rekindle the campfire...grab a couple of eggs and some bacon from the frig and cook breakfast.  My grandmother would always offer to make breakfast...but I insisted on doing it myself cooking on the open fire.  It was great fun...and a wonderful learning experience for an 8 or 9 year old boy.

Those campfires were my pride and joy.  I actually felt like I was living an adventure as grand and exciting as Lewis and Clark.  That old tent eventually rotted away and was discarded but the memories of sleeping out on those hot summer nights...and those first campfires set in motion a lifetime of outdoor discoveries.  They added a sense of realism to a small boy's imagination.  I'll never forget those days, and all the campfires since then had their roots planted during those summer nights.