Hiker Report:Hiker Report:
Adapted from the October-December 1995 North Star: The Magazine of the North Country Trail.
by Joan Young
"North Dakota! Why? There's nothing THERE." This has been a typical response from friends and acquaintances over the past year as a friend and I planned for a two-week backpacking trip in the Peace Garden State. When people learned that we were not going to the Badlands area, but mostly remaining east of the Missouri River, the response was even more incredulous. We explained that the western terminus of the North Country Trail is located at Lake Sakakawea State Park, and that we were hiking sections of the trail each summer. Hiking in the plains would be a new experience for us as well.
Two weeks before we were to leave, just as food preparation was beginning, we added two hikers to our band. So with one car safely stowed at the State Park and another parked beside a "minimum maintenance" road south of Harvey, the four of us began walking west on Monday, July 3, 1995. Marie Altenau, a teacher from Kingston, New York, and I are old friends and hiking/camping companions. Mathilda Nance of Ann Arbor, Michigan, and David Castro, a student from St. Paul, Minnesota were the last-minute additions. This was Mathilda's first backpacking experience, but David is a veteran hiker of our company, being Marie's son. Also hiking with us was my dog, Chips, a cheerful and enthusiastic backpacker. (Yes, he carries his own pack.)
The first thing that had struck us as we had driven to the starting location was that North Dakota is not flat. From the east we drove across the ancient plain of Glacial Lake Agassiz, and up an escarpment to the first of several "coteaus" which rise in elevation toward the Missouri. These areas are glacially sculptured plateaus covered with low rolling hills, moraines, and prairie potholes. We were later told that because this year had been so wet, we were treated to green, rather than brown, landscape. And what a treat it was! The potholes (breeding grounds for half of North America's waterfowl) with dark green hardstem bulrush, and brighter green umbrella sedge ringing each blue gem were a highlight for me, since wetland systems are my field of study. Grebes, spectacular white pelicans, Bonaparte's gulls, black terns, yellow-headed blackbirds, and many other water birds added to our wonder at the unexpected beauty of the area. The "big sky" encircled us and always seemed to offer some new sensational showing. Clouds formed, changed shape and color, scuttled away, and reflected evening and morning light. The distant thunderstorms provided light shows of titanic proportions. (Three nights of ground zero thunderstorms were also quite spectacular!) Mathilda was awed by the clarity of the stars, unmasked by city lights. Red wood lilies and blue-white silverleaf scurf pea dotted our trail for the first few days through the Lonetree Wildlife Management Area. Seas of squirrel-tail grass shimmered around our ankles, always looking slightly out of focus as they rippled. Clouds of orange dragonflies hovered and danced on ripe grass heads. Purple coneflowers, gray-headed coneflowers (yellow), blue lettuce, flax, and wild prairie rose (the state flower) completed the prairie color wheel.
The trail route offered varying challenges and delights. Our first three days through the recently certified Lonetree section of the trail were relatively easy and beautiful. We had been warned that markers were difficult to spot, and we certainly found this to be true. The yellow color is not easily picked out of the tall grass, and spacing is often too distant. Several times we lost the trail until a road was crossed where we could redetermine where markers should be. David aptly described walking through thigh-deep alfalfa as "proceeding at a stumble." It took us an hour to cross the small dam at the end of Coal Mine Lake since there was no bridge and we declined to completely wet our boots so early in the hike. On the other hand, clean water was available from pumps at the established campsites, and the constant discoveries of flowers and birds kept us awed as we crossed and recrossed the meandering Sheyenne River.
Early on the fourth day we joined the McCluskey Canal which we would follow for the next 74 miles. This section of the trail is only proposed, although the canal offers a good opportunity for the right-of-way. (Editor's note: this segment was certified in 1998.) We walked on the canal maintenance road which is usually well below the surrounding countryside. Road walking allowed us to bunch into a close enough group to visit together and sing. The road afforded easy passage, but hopefully the trail will eventually be placed on the upper rim of the cut, since canal walls are not particularly scenic, and they hold the heat in while blocking the breeze. The loose gravel road surface, and the heat, now reaching 100+ in the early afternoons, took a serious toll on our feet and stamina. We rested long at lunchtime, feeling a bond with pioneers who looked eagerly for a distant cottonwood tree which meant shade and water. Of course the canal provided us with constant access to water, which we filtered for drinking. Chips took regular "belly dips" to keep cool, so we filled his pack with items which could be wet without damage. There is little to compare with plunging into the cool water of the canal after a day of slogging with hot, sore feet and shoulders, drenched in sweat and sun screen. Many jokes were made about how far we might be able to swim with a backpack.
Several times the canal opened out into lakes. These were often heavily used by recreational vehicles, which dampened our sense of wilderness. But we certainly can't begrudge Dakotans for wanting to enjoy the water.
On day ten of hiking we passed the water gates at the east end of Lake Audubon. After seeing few trees for so long, the scattered clumps along the lake looked like a genuine woods. We followed the Audubon Wildlife Refuge auto tour route around the southern end of the lake. This is a beautiful route with marked points of interest (the guide brochure is needed). We met only three cars using the route, so there was little conflict of usage. The next day we passed through the Wolf Creek Wildlife Management Area. This too was a beautiful shore route, although we cut off some mileage on a county road, since we had already fallen a little behind our planned itinerary. With growing regret that the hike was coming to an end, and at having to rejoin civilization, the next day brought us to paved roads and the city of Riverdale, where we were interviewed by the local press. Just five more miles the next morning took us across the Garrison Dam to Lake Sakakawea State Park. This dam on the Missouri is the world's largest packed-earth dam, and is responsible for creating the sixth largest lake in the United States, only surpassed by the Great Lakes. Ranger and trail supporter, John Tunge escorted us to the marker at the western trailhead. "Where the trail BEGINS," he says! Showers, clean clothes, fresh salads and Fleishkiekla at the Riverdale Bowling Alley, ice cream at the Turtle Lake parlor, a can of moist dog food for Chips, sorting of our wet equipment, and some time to reflect on the trip punctuated the remainder of Saturday, July 15, our last day together for this summer's adventure.
Many people helped us on our way, and also helped us to understand the local feelings. The McCluskey Canal is a delicate topic. Many people are still bitter about its unfinished condition, and low hope for future operation for irrigation. We met a family whose house used to stand on the very spot where we were camped, but who had been bought out. The farmer told us with difficulty of the feelings of coercion they experienced. On the other hand, the popularity of boating, fishing, skiing and camping around the lakes dotting the canal speaks for acceptance by some. McLean County commissioner, Tom Beierle, brought us our cache box midway through the trip. He treated us to cold orange juice and fresh radishes from his garden, enlightened us with tales of local politics and soothed Chips to "be at peace, dog" in Russian. Our progress was noted by Tom and others as we inched along the canal in the heat. Being a country-raised gal myself, this lack of anonymity while seemingly being so alone was not resented. On the contrary, I suspect that if we had failed to show up on the trail any day after the severe thunderstorms someone would have been out checking on our condition. Bob Oswald, operation and maintenance superintendent for the canal allowed us to use his phone, obtain easy water, and expressed a different perspective on the canal and its future. Others also helped us with directions or water, and always to see a bit more into life in the Dakotas. At Audubon we happened on a group of ranchers and farmers who were participating in a day-long seminar on integrated management. It was encouraging to hear their excitement about, and endorsement of practices which will benefit both landowners and wildlife.
The least appealing aspects of the hike were the heat, thunderstorms, sore feet and ticks. On two days it was still above 95o at 7:30 p.m. This led to the build-up of some impressive thunderstorms which hit during the nights. We only knew that we were spending some of the most exciting nights of our long camping careers in tents. Afterwards we learned that the severe weather had made national news. Wind gusts of 70mph were recorded in the area, and up to 100mph just north, in Minot. The tents flattened over our bodies in these gusts and the force of the wind pushed water through the waterproofed nylon. We felt fortunate to remain even a little dry. Being separated from the center of a thunderstorm only by two layers of nylon is a good reminder of how vulnerable we really are, and how nature commands respect as well as sharing beauties. Although the views from the bluffs were spectacular, tenting on the highest level was not prudent since clear skies in the evening meant little. Storms appear suddenly, and we advise future Dakota hikers to choose tent sites with this in mind. The heat and loose gravel roads gave all of us blisters and sore spots to varying degrees. Marie worked wonders with moleskin "doctoring" and this chore took a serious chunk of time each day, but kept us moving. I discovered that never having previously had sore feet was not a guarantee that it couldn't happen. Even Chips had one less than enthusiastic day when instead of coming to have his pack put on, he trotted across the road, sat down and looked at us as if to say "You must be joking!" We all laughed with him, but heartlessly strapped his pack on anyway (as we also hoisted our own to our backs).
The ticks were incredible. We are not a group easily bothered by "bugs," but by the end of the trip they were beginning to crawl through our dreams. Each stop was routinely used to check each other's heads, the dog's ears, our legs, armpits, etc. Nights were spent waking occasionally to remove "hikers," our euphemism for ticks crawling over our bodies. We stacked ticks (the art of holding more than one at a time before throwing them out of the tent), passed ticks (the person sleeping on the side away from the door had to relay them to the person who could reach the zipper), squashed ticks with increasingly deft techniques, sunk to photographing them (how could such a memorable part of the hike be ignored), and were thoroughly grossed out by the gray ones which (thankfully) preferred the dog and swelled to ten times their size with dog blood and looked like beached balloons with legs stuck on. Oh, the mosquitoes were also impressive in the late evenings, but they just can't compete with the ticks for general "yukkiness."
I have no desire to dwell on the negative aspects of the trip. They were far outweighed by the good times and the satisfaction of reaching a goal. One of my reasons for choosing a North Dakota hike was for the different experience, since most of my hiking has been in the East. Each region, indeed each trip offers its own rewards and challenges. We hiked 131 miles, discovered many unexpected joys in the natural beauty of the area, endured severe weather, overcame seriously blistered and swollen feet, and met many new friends. Backpacking, to be on the trail with only what I have brought or can improvise, never ceases to thrill me. Each new experience, whether difficult or pleasant, becomes part of the joy of meeting the challenge of being prepared to handle whatever life tosses my way.