Blue Side of Nowhere Pt. 2

On a recent trip to Pawnee National Grasslands looking for early migrating raptors and antelope herds moving north through the short-cropped grass, we were on the lookout for anything moving. The land was empty to the horizon with nothing stirring but tufts of last years golden grass waving in the fitful wind.

Pawnee National grasslands is located 40 miles west of nowhere and 61 miles east of too far. This makes it hard to find unless you really want to get there. We did so we persevered. Not really lost but unsure of where we were we would drive into little towns like Grover, population less than you’d expect and ask “Where are we?”. One reticent local we spoke to answered with gestures more than words, saying we were here pointing downwards, and we should go that way indicated with outstretched arm, and then with a flick of his thumb indicated we should then go that way, which may have been to the right. It was clear as mud but helped us on our way.

There are two large monolithic limestone buttes that rise several hundred feet into the air, sort of like a miniature Ayers Rock, or Uluru as the natives musically call it but doubled, that tell you have reached the virtual center of the Pawnee National grasslands. The full view of these is best obtained by climbing up a steep rutted dirt road that you thought when you turned onto it from another steep rutted dirt road, might take you to the Buttes as they’re called. And the joy and relief you feel that you were right adds to the enjoyment of seeing them, standing there in all their glory, just where the rumors had it they’d be.

Since we were high up on a neighboring ridge with the buttes and half the world at our feet we felt like it was a good place to stop and consider. Much time was spent watching the buttes, waiting to see it they’d move, they didn’t, but the wind through the grass did. The occasional bird flying overhead did, the sun did, but not us. We stayed as still as the buttes and had lunch. Beauty doesn’t negate hungry. All your senses must be fed.

It wasn’t long before the sun had made its relentless journey to the West and threatened to dive behind the blue wall of mountains ending another day. The sky turned an even deeper shade of blue and the realization that we were on a ridge in the middle of nowhere and had many miles to go before we saw civilization again made the decision to leave for us. We began the bumpy jolting journey down towards blacktop and waiting modern life.

The lights jumped crazily over the two ruts that were the road and darkness raced towards us at the speed of light. The hundreds and thousands of miles it felt like we had traveled, although the speedometer said much less, seemed even longer in the encroaching darkness and it was a small relief to suddenly top out and find smooth blacktop under our wheels again. We were on a low ridge forming one side of a wide flat valley that the magic began to happen.

Fog, or mist, no it was fog, much much thicker than mist, substantial and definite as it began to form what looked like, from a distance, impenetrable clouds of pale blue light rising out of the valley floor. At first it was just wispy and directionless. Then as if deciding it was its time to become alive it rapidly formed into opaque fingers that quickly stretched across the valley seemingly barring all access to the outside world. Strangely beautiful it wasn’t long before the entire valley was engulfed in it’s eerie luminescence. It seemed slightly intimidating in its ghostly beauty but if we wanted to get home and at that moment home seemed like a welcome place to be, we entered the valley and trusted to the fates that our journey would be a safe one. Entering the blue side of nowhere had its risks but what doesn’t these days.

The odyssey to Pawnee Buttes National grasslands was a unique experience. Meeting strangers who became helpful, finding lost roads and quirky little side trips, locating the buttes and watching them turn from pure white sandstone to the golden colors of end of day on its smooth-sided walls made every moment one that will be permanently etched into our memory. But what made this a truly meaningful and unforgettable experience was the pale blue fog of the high plains grasslands. What we now call the Blue Side of Nowhere.

Prairie Mansions

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Out on the prairie there are places where you can see for three days. There is nothing to obstruct your view except for the occasional rock outcropping or the stunted tree that has managed to eke out a living, somehow defying the odds to remain one of the prairie’s only permanent citizens. The hills roll on forever and if you are standing on top of one of them the only thing taller than you are the huge clouds that sail slowly past like the prairie schooners that pushed through here on their way further west. The wagons left two ruts to show their passage towards dreams unrealized, the clouds leave only shadows.

Not all the dreamers went west. Some stayed and gambled that there was a living to be made here. Maybe to run cattle, there was plenty of grass, but there was also drought and tornadoes and fire. Some tried farming but Mother Nature was a cruel landlord and taught a hard lesson to those dry land farmers. There was rain but only when she allowed it, and very often she didn’t. Others, though not very many, brought their fortunes with them and bought their existence, building grand prairie mansions and becoming royalty here on the plains, ruling what they could while their fortunes lasted.

But the plains are nothing if not eternal. They have the stamina and constancy that humans can only dream of. You may affect change here for a while and even look like you’re successful but the prairie has patience, and sooner or later it will watch your dreams and desires fade away, and all traces of your passage will be as if they never happened. Sad for those who dreamed perhaps, but nothing at all to the winds and clouds that blow across the prairie.

For those of us living on a time-table that is measured in minutes and seconds all this change appears to be very gradual, lasting for what may be half a lifetime before you see a dream crumble back to earth. But if you stop and take a good long look you can occasionally see into the future, and what you see will be green grass waving in the wind and huge white clouds sailing overhead and perhaps a chance for the next dreamer to try his luck.