Kansas prairie - St. Jacob's well and bison story

 

We ran across St. Jacob's well by accident.  There was a small sign marking a gravel road to nowhere and we turned. 

 

 

 

 

The "well" pictured here is not a well but a depression where water stands. Running low on gas we turned back without realizing the extent of what we had found. Not too much further down the road was a basin with a mile of water. And there is supposed to a spring that has never gone dry. 



 

The road to the bigger "well". 

 

 

 

The Tall Grass National Prairie Preserve where I got lost.  

 

 

 

 

 

Bison Story

I think about an old movie, The Big Country with Gregory Peck. He is a ship captain who comes West to prairie country to marry his true love whom he met back East in coastal country. Early in the movie the Peck character rides out on the prairie with a compass to get a feel of this vast land.  That’s what it looks like in front of me now. Low rolling hills that go on forever. I expect to see Custer or Geronimo or Wild Bill in any moment come over the next crest.

 

I am on a park service trail in the Tall Grass National Prairie Preserve in the southern part of Kansas. The trail is three miles long and I’ll get back in an hour and a half to the parking lot where Mr. Bob waits.

 

Cobble stone size rocks have been stacked into a wall beside the trail. Beyond that is a stand of scrubby trees. It will make good foreground for a picture – shooting low, leading the eye to a vanishing point. I slip over to the wall and walk to the trees. Standing, squatting, moving to one side and the other I take the pictures; the digital camera makes  clicking  noises as if it has a real mechanical shutter. I think the shots will be good.  I move down the hill turning back to get other views.  

 

During the course of this movement I think I have circled around the hill as went down. I cannot see the park service trail. Just hills, all different but all the same. There is an uneasy feeling in my gut.

 

I walk up the hill where the trail should be. It is not there. Moving faster, but still careful of the pebbles I continue to the top of the hill. It is the same in every direction except for a creek at the bottom of the hill. I have seen this creek before.

 

I take long strides down to the creek. It is maybe ten feet wide and no more than six inches deep. There is a barb wire fence on the other side. I might have seen the creek from the other side of the fence.

 

I leap across the creek trying to stay out of the mud but I don’t and it comes over the top of my boots.  I squish.

 

The bottom strand of wire is at most two feet off the rocky soil. I stand here for a moment.  I shrug mentally, sit, lie on my back. I push myself under the wire. I have to lift the bottom strand for my chest to pass under. No dirt or pebbles have worked into my clothes.  That’s good.

 

I walk to the top of the next hill. It is lower and not so far. There is nothing but other hills. Whoever said the prairie is like an ocean and the hills are like huge swells is right.

 

I look into sky say out loud, “Ah.” The sun is in the East, the Ranger Station is South. I am a little embarrassed. I should have thought of this before. Even if I miss the Station I’ll cross the East-West road that passes in front.  Relieved I squish South up the hill.

 

There is a snorting noise. I look around. “Goddamn.” I see Buffalo and they are close. I was so focused I didn’t see them just below the crest on the other side of this hill. . One seems to be in front. A clump of stringy hair hangs from his belly so I assume it is a male. All of them face West. He is the lead animal in that direction so he must be head bull.

 

The ranger warned us about Buffalo, saying not to get too close. Cross a line, about 100 yards and they will charge. I crossed the threshold when I slid under the fence.

 

Slowly I edge back to the fence. It is might be a 100 yards away.  I guess the bull is about 100 yards away, at the threshold. We are a triangle. I look at him; he looks at me. He snorts. Snot comes out of his nose. The rest of the herd also look.

 

The big one charges and the rest follow. I run. Their hooves beat the ground like a drum. I wiggle back under the wire, tearing my shirt but managing to beat the bull.

 

My cap fell off on the other side. The bull bellows, pees on the cap, stomps it and hooks it with a horn. The horn penetrates the fabric and when the bull lifts his head the cap stays on.

 

The bull wears the cap. He lumbers off and the others follow the leader with the rakish red cap.

 

I walk up another hill and there is the trail. I decide to continue my walk.