The Lakota called this country mako sica and French trappers called it les mauvaises terres à traverser; both mean roughly the same thing: bad lands. It is also one of the richest fossil beds on Earth, and it is eroding away at about an inch a year, which by geological standards is a sprint.
Badlands is one of the 63 national parks in ParkStamp. Like every park in the app, it has its own original stamp designs in the WPA poster tradition, and each one illustrates a real place you can go stand in front of.
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The name is a straight translation. Lakota and French speakers arrived at the same verdict for the same reasons: little water, clay that turns to grease in rain, and a maze of ravines between anywhere and anywhere else. The feature that defines the park is the Wall, a rampart of carved rock running roughly sixty miles between the upper and lower prairie. It erodes about an inch a year, fast enough that in roughly half a million years the Badlands will simply be gone. The area became a national monument in 1939 and a national park on November 10, 1978: protection, in effect, for a demolition in progress.
American paleontology grew up here. Fossils from the White River Badlands were being collected and described by the 1840s, before the Civil War, and the beds remain among the richest anywhere for mammals of the late Eocene and Oligocene: three-toed horses, early camels, oreodonts by the herd, rhino-sized brontotheres, and nimravids (cats in every respect except ancestry, saber teeth included).
The Big Pig Dig started with a picnic. In 1993, visitors at the Conata picnic area spotted a large backbone weathering out of the ground and reported it. The bone was assumed to belong to Archaeotherium, a giant pig-like scavenger, so the site got its name; the skeleton turned out to be a hornless rhinoceros, but the name stuck. Crews and students excavated the site for fifteen summers and recovered more than 19,000 fossils. The lesson stuck too: bones surface here constantly, and the park asks visitors to photograph and report finds, not pocket them.
The South Unit is a different story, and a harder one. The Stronghold country lies inside the Pine Ridge Reservation and has been co-managed with the Oglala Sioux Tribe since the 1970s. In 1890 Stronghold Table held one of the last Ghost Dances before the massacre at Wounded Knee. In 1942 the Army Air Forces took hundreds of square miles of it for an aerial gunnery range, giving resident Lakota families little time to leave, and unexploded ordnance still turns up in the ravines.
The black-footed ferret was declared extinct twice. Then in 1981 a Wyoming ranch dog dropped a dead one on a porch, a wild remnant population was found nearby, and every black-footed ferret alive today descends from 18 animals taken into captive breeding. Reintroductions began in the 1990s, and the prairie in and around this park became one of the recovery's strongholds. Ferrets are nocturnal and live down prairie dog burrows, so you will almost certainly never see one. The point is that it is out there.
Prairie dog towns are the infrastructure. Their digging turns and aerates the soil, their burrows shelter burrowing owls, snakes and salamanders, and the ferret eats almost nothing else. Roberts Prairie Dog Town, along the gravel Sage Creek Rim Road, sprawls across the flats in every direction, and the standing-sentry silhouette is as much a signature of this park as the rock.
The big grazers came back by truck. Bison were reintroduced in 1963 and now run wild in the Sage Creek country. The Badlands' original Audubon's bighorn went extinct early in the 20th century; Rocky Mountain bighorn were brought in beginning in 1964 and now pose on the pinnacles, frequently right below the overlook railings.
Pronghorn are overbuilt. The fastest land animal in the Western Hemisphere, capable of well over 50 miles an hour, evolved that speed outrunning the American cheetah, which has been extinct for around 12,000 years. Nothing on the modern prairie can touch them. They run like that anyway.
The high western anchor of the Badlands Wall, looking down over the Sage Creek wilderness where the park's bison herd lives. Bighorn sheep turn up on the spires below the railing often enough that the parking lot doubles as a wildlife jam. It is the classic sunset overlook, when low light picks out every band of red and gray in the rock.
A mile-and-a-half round trip that behaves like a much bigger hike: up a canyon of soft rock, straight up a log ladder, then along a ledge to a notch in the Wall. The reward is the drop-away view over the White River valley toward Pine Ridge. Not the place for a fear of heights or a wet day, since the clay turns slick in rain.
Hills striped mustard-yellow and purple along the loop road, and the strangest geology lesson in the park: these are fossil soils. An ancient black seafloor shale weathered into soil in the open air, was buried under later sediment, and is now being exhumed. The color is a landscape that existed tens of millions of years ago, dug back up.
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