The Buffalo Roundup

Custer State Park

If words are images and I can connect the images from the words spoken by others... listen with me to the voices of South Dakota... to the thunder of hooves as hundreds and hundreds of buffalo stampede across the prairie every fall during the Buffalo Roundup at Custer State Park.

The Buffalo Roundup is a real “people connecting” event. At first it seems as if I know everyone. But that's the way people make you feel in South Dakota... it's “home”.

Protagonists... more than 1,500 bison, cowboys on horseback, park rangers in pickups, and a whole lot of people at an authentic happening that culminates in foot-stompin' Western music and elbow knocking at the “Chuckwagon Cookout”.

It's a real “people connecting” event. At first it seems as if I know everyone. But that's the way people make you feel in South Dakota... it's “home”. It's a place where I feel comfortably intimate with myself.

In the faint light of daybreak, it's “hi there” or “how 'ya doing?” with the “locals”. The sky, still heavy with stars, acts as a backdrop on this crisp fall morning as I head down to the general store of the Game Lodge... the air already thick with excitement as the morning mists begin rising. In front of the store bighorn sheep are too busy breakfasting to take note of my arrival.

Inside, there's always hot coffee... and as it's too early for everyone to gather around the front porch of the Lodge to head out at 7 for the buffalo corrals, I hang around the festival grounds. Out from under the big tent the air begins to fill with the scent of hot pancakes and sausage... as people set up their booths for the fair: there are a lot of local crafts to be seen and useful items like handmade wool mittens and sheepskin ear warmers from Montana, leather jackets, dream catchers from Wyoming.

I say “hi” to Jim Bechtel of Montana who's hanging out his photos of bison.

And there's Rick and Barb setting up their chili wagon which they brought all the way from their ranch in Harrison, Nevada. Today, cookers from across South Dakota and the Midwest are testing their chili cooking skills in fierce but friendly competition.

Former Governor Bill Janklow intuited the great potential of this event... he, himself, can't do without being in the heart of bison action. His last words to us before we take off for the corrals:

“Just listen to your driver!”

Getting close to thundering, stampeding buffalo is that easy... Or is it?

South Dakota’s colorfully painted countryside

I turn... looking for a storm cloud... but the low rumble I hear is coming from the herd of massive buffalo moving up to the top of the hill in the distance, heads lowered and horns thrust forward. It’s a magnificent sight! The sound of the noble “Tatanka”, as the Lakota Sioux Indians call the buffalo, envelopes me... captivating me... I want to get closer.

“Hang on,” shouts Rick, abruptly stompin’ on the gas and turning the pickup round with a jerk. We bounce and jounce over rough, potholed terrain... like being on the saddle of a wild buckin’ horse.

Luckily, I’m wedged between our driver Rick Woods and Mike DeMersseman... inside... protected... but back in the open bed of the pickup Nico and four others are bracing themselves, clutching the roll bars in one hand and cameras in the other.... eating and breathing in the swirling dust we’re kicking up.

“Is there any danger?” I ask Rick... just for the record.

“Well, the buffalo can dent these 4-wheel pickups pretty good... no, not really... in the back the only danger is if you’re not paying attention and hanging on. Like I said... I’ll give them as many pictures as I can... but then they’re gonna have to hang on.”

What a challenge... to capture these emotions... to create memories...

“When you see the buffalo run... you'll see! ... you'll see! It's a fabulous sight! I've been out here at least a half dozen times and each time it's just absolutely terrific.”

Yelping cowboys on horseback, choreographed into patriotic red, blue and white teams, and park rangers in pickups, just like Rick’s - all with radios and walkie-talkies and each assigned an area within the 73,000 acre Park - begin racing up and over the undulating hills around Lame Johnny Creek.

As our pickup heads north... I can see the Creek below stretching out with the warm rays of the autumn sun and the gentle prairie wind creating waves of golden yellows, coppers, deep browns, the color of the noble “Tatanka”.

It’s so intoxicating... inciting hundreds and hundreds of buffalo down to Lame Johnny Creek... then up the hill to where the crowd is waiting and past the viewing areas... and into the corrals... never mind if it takes me almost the entire roundup to get my bearings straight... it’s like being on a twister at the county fair... impossible to know in which direction I’m moving.

Rick says he wouldn’t have minded riding a horse this time... “if I had the right horse! But then, the horse’s gotta get the scent of the buffalo. They’ve got a different scent... it excites the horse. They’ll get use to it this morning. If one’s really acting up because he’s nervous about the buffalo, the cowboy will ease ‘em into it... although some of the horses are pretty high spirited.”

“What’s fun,” adds Mike, a lawyer, businessman and fly-fisherman from Rapid City, “is when a couple of the old bulls start picking on each other. It happened a couple of years ago and we were close enough to watch them. They didn’t want to be taken in... and the clods... they started throwing the clods up...”

As we talk about the wildlife in the Black Hills of South Dakota where he grew up, Mike chuckles, “The hunting season is also the mating season for elk.” He says it’s not a contradiction, “No... that’s when they’re the dumbest... when they’re thinking about sex...”

Mike’s favorite sport, besides fly-fishing, is hunting pheasant and grouse. He says, “Horses are an expensive hobby...”

“There’s a guy that made a lot of money in gambling,” Mike begins. “He bought a ranch and he's just making it into a beautiful place and along the creek there are a few rows of milo and midget corn which he never harvests. He just leaves it for the pheasants. And man! ... Have you been down Battle Creek lately?... I've never seen so many pheasants... They're really going to be set up! Good winter cover!”

From hunting pheasant to cooking it... anything’s game during the Buffalo Roundup especially when you’re people connecting! So we end up in Mike’s virtual kitchen even if it’s only 9 in the morning. It’s a great way to pass the time as we wait for instructions over the airwaves.

While Ross and his horse Buck ride over to us... and then Bruce... and Pat... little Will feeds his horse Montana an apple and Mike continues on the culinary arts, “The breast of the pheasant is very good, if you prepare it like you would a veal marsala. It's just delicious. The breast is quite large... it's better to hammer it and thin it out.”

“Do we have to go out and find where the buffalo are today?” I ask.

“No...,” Rick says. “They know where they are,” Mike adds, “It takes a couple days, doesn't it, to bring them in? You leave a bunch of the old bulls, but in about two or three days you push them into the big corral?”

“Yeah... to finish branding them and stuff?”

“No... I mean to get them to this stage,” Mike explains.

“Every year is different and simply doesn’t happen anywhere else ...sometimes it gets pretty wild... a lot of horses get pretty excited around them... it's the smell... and sweat... and the sound... and the buffalo are just different looking...”

... in three strides, the buffalo can go from 0 to 45 miles per hour... turn on a dime and even outrun a quarterhorse...

“To get them to this stage?... the buffalo pretty well moved down here by themselves... this year,” Rick states.

“How convenient!” I chime in.

“Yeah,” Rick says, “they're getting use to the routine.”

Like Bruce Rampelberg... who loves the “routine” of being a cowboy at the roundup... and a banker in Rapid City. “Actually, this is my fifth year riding,” he tells us... as Ron Williamson from Sioux Falls gets out of his pickup and joins us.

“Buffalo are unpredictable,” Ron says... explaining how he use to ride, that is until he fell and broke his hip. Now he’s afraid to mount a horse... but loves being up close for the roundup.

“I think it's just in their nature...,” he continues, “and they're very powerful. When you see the buffalo run... you'll see! ...you'll see! It's a fabulous sight! I've been out here at least a half dozen times and each time it's just absolutely terrific.”

“I understand that in three strides, the buffalo can go from 0 to 45 miles per hour... turn on a dime and even outrun a quarterhorse... I can see it takes your heart away,” I quickly interrupt.

“Yeah!” he sighs.

“Every year is different and simply doesn’t happen anywhere else,” says Pat Walker of Custer State Park, pointing towards the southwest, “...like right now, the buffalo are turning around and going back up the hill.”

“What's that edge of excitement that you like about the roundup?” I ask Pat, who has ridden in probably all the Governor’s roundups.

“Just staying ahead of them when they start moving. Just staying up with them. Nobody’s suppose to get right in the middle,” he goes on to explain. “Our job is to keep them from coming up over here. So they'll come off that hill and we'll try to keep them in the bottom... sometimes it gets pretty wild... and you have to hurry a lot to keep them turned... a lot of horses get pretty excited around them.” And a bit agitated and scared, I imagine. “So it's the smell... and sweat... and the sound... and the buffalo are just different looking... a combination of all those things.”

“Do you see them coming down off the hill right now?” Ron calls out. “The buffalo are running pretty fast. Here comes another group of them down that side. There's a fence over there so they can't go too far.”

“They look like they're running in all directions,” I notice.

“But they'll all stop,” Ron assures me, adding, “they sort of do whatever they please.”

Why is the noble “Tatanka”... the undisputed king of Custer State Park? It isn’t simply because he’s the largest land mammal in North America, weighing in up to and over 2,000 pounds... or because he stands up to 6 feet tall at the shoulders?

Even with his mountain of muscles... horns and thick hide of fur... almost immovable prehistoric stance... his knowing stare... so active, proud, human...so powerful... I’m not afraid of him... I would love to touch him... to play with him... to create a mock battle just as he does with others in the herd, or to create a playful stampede or a game of “race-andhide”. It’s as if he loves the game of the roundup... he loves to run...

DJ Mertens, a banker from Murdo, recalls, “Last year we had a terrible time with them, because the herd spread on us. They were working against us... they say that there’s no other herd in the world like this one... the genetic makeup of this buffalo herd is the same as it was a 1,000 years ago... these are like the herds that inhabited the plains of America before the country was even founded.”

The real condottiere at the roundup is the noble “Tatanka”. He must be so amused... he decides the moves... letting us believe that he’s turned in a particular direction because we are forcing him into turning with our pickups and horses.

What a delightful game... it’s his game... a great game... he wants to play... like now... we expect him to be in front of us but... he’s playing “let’s race and hide”... surprising us and coming up from behind.

The airwaves crackle on the radio in the pickup... a voice breaks the charming colloquial. “If you guys can be ready over there, that'd be good.”

We quickly head for our pickups... as the cowboys mount and ride off howling and snapping their bullwhips.

“Hang on,” Rick yells out... and with that we turn and head further uphill, seemingly attacking every hole and boulder.

I hear a voice I recognize... it’s Walker coming through over the radio, “We're right on the wing K fence. We're watching everything back from here. We’re moving east slowly... I’ll let you know where they’re at.”

“Stop where you're at!”

Such a babel of voices now begins to fill the airwaves!

“They're a lot of animals over here.”

“You've got about a dozen, maybe thirty, that are crossing mid-slope back to the west. Now, you're going to have to drop back and catch them and bring 'em back to the east.”

“Matter of fact, Bill, I'd bring your whole team back to your gate there... and just go ahead and start 'em again. Red team, you can hold up in the valley... we're going to start on the north side again.”

“That's us... the north side,” Mike says, looking puzzled. “They must have come in behind us, huh?”

“Yup! Just as I thought!” Rick points to the buffalo.

“Just let them all come over here and push 'em all down at one time.”

“Do you want us to go all the way to the gate?”

“Well, let's just kind of ... we've got buffalo coming all around... kind of clear the vehicles out a little bit and let the buffalo go and then we'll push them all through in one bunch.”

“We got a bunch of them coming up over the hill and they're swinging back to the left now... clear down on the north fence. (That's us!) We got three strays here that we're trying to keep down there but we have about 50-60 heads coming over here.”

“Bob Lantis, bring your team back and we'll let 'em start 'em again on the north fence. You've got some in the bottom, just stay behind them and we'll see what happens on the north side.”

“We're back in the corner...”

“Get a vehicle down there and protect that gate... Rusty, go ahead.”

“Brian, we've got a lot of buffalo coming over...”

“We're heading back to the west side.”

“Vehicles up here... if you can keep them four buffalo down there with that blue Suburban and you and them other two vehicles and maybe work this draw... if they want to come back up that draw.”

“Breske and Bill, see if you can start them down the bottom again.”

Buffalograss has short curly leaves that look like a buffalo’s hair. It grows in mats that rarely reach more than 5 inches tall.

“Roger, where are you?”

“I'm right behind you Bill... Rusty and another vehicle down there at the bottom will push 'em.”

“Okay, we need to move the buffalo here pretty quick.”

“Well go ahead... Rusty, get up on 'em and Millie, go ahead and start pushing 'em.”

“Let's move them off the fence.”

“Hopefully, we'll help keep 'em there or we'll end up going back up the hill again, I think. Is that a fair assumption?” Mike turns to Rick.

“Yeah, see... our objective, Doug Scott and I ... if the buffalo get going and keep going, we'll have to protect the people down at the viewing fence. We gotta make sure the buffalo cut to the right instead of going into the viewing area.”

“Okay. I gotch’a.”

Ron: “Breske, Walker...”

Rusty: “Go ahead Ron... I suspect we'll bring that bunch out of the creek back up to the top...”

“... do you read that?”

Ron: “Lantis, Walker.”

Walker: “Go ahead, Ron.”

Ron: “Where are you?”

Walker: “I'm right here on the north side of the road just coming down the hill. I'm about 50 yards from the road.”

Ron: “Okay, here's what's going to happen. All those buffalo on the north side are going to go back to the corner and they will cross the road and we'll bring 'em back up to the top of the hill. All vehicles... read that? And if you can communicate that to whatever horseback people there are near you, do that.”

“We'll get 'er done.”

“Doug, you and Rick back there in these vehicles in the bottom, why don't we back off and see if we can't bring 'em back down through this first jaw where these two buffalo are coming in. Get 'em over there to that other herd.”

“Blake, you might want to turn around.”

Blake: “I'm trying to find a spot.”

Rick: “Hang on.”

Ron: “Lantis, Walker.”

“Go ahead, Ron.”

Ron: “I'd suggest you gather your team up again and come back to the west fence. I'm going to have you push 'em to the top. You've got riders scattered all over creation down there.”

“I realize that. I've got about half my team here but we'll get some more here.”

“You want to bring all those guys over there with you back to the fence. All the extra team riders you see there, take them to the fence, the west fence.”

“... Stigman.”

“Go ahead, Jeff.”

“We got somebody in the pickup down there. We want to let these buffalo come up to the top. You got any on the south rim there?

“I believe that's where they're gonna go.”

“We might as well get them off of Breske's side and bring them in.”

“Yeah Reed, I think all the buffalo are going to come back south of the loop road... 'um, if some want to stay on the bottom, that's fine. Those who want to come up to the top, that's fine.

“So they want to let the buffalo go up there?” I add, finally getting my bearings straight, what with all the turn-arounds of the pickup.

“I would think they want to keep them in the bottom, if they could, don't you?” Mike turns to Rick.

“I don't understand why he wants to take them back up to the top,” Rick shrugs.

“Make sure the north side is clear,” we hear over the radio.

“Bill... heard that? He's right in front of me. I'll notify him and I'll take the pickup crew and help you guys over there on the other side.”

“Go ahead Bill.”

“I'm going to take half my team and make sure this is clean back here and drop the south half off at the bottom in case we have another blow up.”

“Nice curl to his horn,” Rick points out on the huge bison slowly and fearlessly passing our pickup... going in the opposite direction. He’s old enough... to have made up his mind that he’s not heading for the corrals. The cowboys and rangers let him be... with great respect.

“How old could he be?” I ask myself. I see in his eyes the great wisdom of the noble “Tatanka”... he doesn’t want to play today...

“Okay. I'm just going to kind of sit here with this group that I've got and see that everything goes good, then I'll kind of head up on top to the north here too.”

“Dan, let the buffalo go ahead and go all the way down to the fence. We'll use the fence. They're all wanting to go that way anyway.”

“Hang on!!! They do whatever they want to,” Rick calls out.

“Do you want me to head back that way off the sixth?”

“I think you probably ought to stay there, Jeff. We're gonna move 'em down to the south end and bring them to the east on that.”

“Do you think that's a good idea for Ron to go down there and take that corner?”

“Yeah, that's probably a good idea. I think we're going to move him down to that corner and head 'em east from there anyway.”

“How many more are still coming up the hill?”

“Oh we still got 60, 70, 75 head coming up... horses behind them.”

“They're pushin' them up... they're going to take up...,” Rick explains, cut short by...

“The governor's comin' up too!”

“Lantis, Walker.”

“Six hundred and twelve up there. Sounds like they're going to take them clear down, and then east.”

“I know it. They're...”

“Hey, we got a bunch coming up over east. You see 'em coming up on the ridge?

“No.”

“Okay. I've got some buffalo on Lame Johnny down there in the middle. You can let me know when you're headed east and we'll move them.”

Lame Johnny Creek. There must be some story to that name, I ask.

“He was just an old prospector, I think,” Rick replies.

“Ron, we're just lying out here right now. We're going to make a sweep right straight through there.”

“Our cowboys are to the north of us.”

“Okay, keep that buffalo in there so you'll be chasing him out.”

“We'll keep 'em movin' so they'll stay up on your side.”

“There's a whole lot of cowboys ahead there! Right behind the tree,” I tell Rick.

“I'm sorry guys,” Rick apologizes as he jerks forward, turning up the dust over everyone in the back of the pickup.

“...I'm apologizing to the guys in the back... they can't hear me, I know,” Rick explains about the photographers perched in the open bed of the pickup. I look back through the trailing cloud of dust and count how many we’ve still got aboard...

“Breske...”

“Go ahead.”

“We’re staying on the

Wildlife Loop Road. Is that correct?”

“Well done, Roger.”

“Ron, Walker.”

“Go ahead.”

“Talk to us a little bit down here in the bottom 'cause we can't see nothing. We don't know if we should be moving forward, or trying to go to the crooked bridge or...”

“Hang on!!” It’s Rick again.

“Ron, you can go forward to the crooked bridge.”

“There's some nice mule deer running out in the open down there,” Mike observes.

“Everything looking good up there?” a voice interrupts. “Yeah, the deer are just wondering down the loop...,” Rick replies.

The spectacle is spilling out into the valley... the air cracks and snaps with bullwhips and yelling cowboys moving alongside the agitated, panting buffalo. The horses, too, are excited and overheated... I see the sweat around their girth... and I feel the heat of stampeding buffalo in the rear-view mirror... they’re so close as they move alongside us... I can almost touch...

“Hold up now, let them go through.”

“Did you see his eye?” I ask Rick.

“It won't be long now,” he replies rapidly... suddenly... everything’s accelerating... wildly unrestrained... the radio is almost silent now... instead there’s the thunder of the stampeding buffalo, the screamin’ yeehaws of cowboys darting in and out of the herd, the snorting of the horses, the clicking of Nico’s camera.

“Keep the vehicles in a straight line.”

“Okay, you're going to have to push hard now. Don't let them turn around. Get right after them.”

“You’re pushing them all the wrong way. They ought to be moving up quicker over here to get them into the gate.”

“It sounds like they went through the gate.”

“Yeah.”

“They’re going to lose them,” a voice howls...

“No, we’re going to bunch ‘em up right down here.”

“Keep your line in. EASY... EASY... EASY... EASY... EASY... EASY... There are only so many that can get through there at once.”