Month: July 2025

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Road Trip Part Two, Wyoming to South Dakota, June 15-18, 2025 (47)

It’s 346 miles from Thermopolis, Wyoming, to Rapid City, South Dakota, with detours for the Crazy Horse Monument and Mount Rushmore, and also for cheese enchiladas in Gillette, Wyoming.

The cheese enchiladas were at Los Compadres Mexican Restaurant, and they were perfectly decent Tex-Mex, that glorious bastardization of borderland Texas and Mexico that is a Texan’s comfort and joy and Diana Kennedy’s horror.1 It’s a commonplace that you should never trust Tex-Mex north of Dallas, which is actually too far north for my taste, but I liked the Los Compadres enchiladas, even as far north as Wyoming, and there was a patio where Roo could stand guard while we ate. I even got to practice my Spanish, at least as far as buen día.2

In South Dakota we fished two days in the Black Hills on Rapid Creek. We fished with David Gamet of Dakota Angler in Rapid City. David was great to fish with, younger than us, but not young enough that we felt like we were being bossed around by our children. He had grown up in the Black Hills, and there was no doubt about his bona fides.

There were rainbow trout and brown trout, but unlike in Wyoming, the browns and rainbows didn’t displace native cutthroat. One of the peculiarities of the Black Hills is their geographic isolation, with the prairies of South Dakota to the right and the prairies of Wyoming to the left, and without connecting trout rivers for trout to migrate. Illegal European immigrants3 had to bring in the trout, and before that there were none.

There are now trout in New Zealand and South Africa, India, Tasmania, and Australia, none of which held trout until the English came with their craze for trout fishing. All of those trout were invasive species brought along as part of the English diaspora–I’m thinking that anyone of English heritage (or Scots or Irish) shouldn’t complain too loudly about immigration. Just follow the trout. And the pheasants. And you can add South Dakota to the list of places where neither trout nor pheasants were but now are.

Having myself inherited the English craze for fly fishing, the Black Hills are a delightful place to fish for trout. The water is too small for drift boats, so you have to work a bit, but for small water the trout seemed uniformly decent-sized–not as big as Wyoming, but close enough, and in memory growing ever larger. Rapid Creek is shallow riffles punctuated by deep holes, and the challenge is to find water deep enough to hold fish, and then cast from a place where the trout can’t see you.

But you need to see the trout. We would sneak up on the deeper, greener water, peer into the pool while David said there, there, look there . . . And then if I was lucky I would see a fish, and then another, and then another, no more than a darker space in the deeper water, holding in place while I watched until it would gently drift a few inches to one side or the other to feed.

Looking at the photos, I’m surprised again at how shallow the water was. In the deepest pools it might have been waste deep. It made the discovery of such good fish so startling. Honestly though, even without the excuse of a fly rod, it was fun just to walk into the water. There is something so childlike about it, like petting a dog, riding a bicycle, watching a cloud . . . In the movie, A River Runs Through It, in the last scene, the old man is on the river threading a fly onto the leader, and you know exactly what he is thinking–this is me, after all that history, I am still the child whose father believed in the Presbyterian God and fly fishing, and it’s not memory, at least not merely memory. While standing in the water that old man knows that at least somewhere inside he is still that child.

Because David knew the water so well fishing with him felt like cheating–he knew where the holes were already, and would lead us from place to place, often circling around the stream to approach as stealthily as possible. It’s another commonplace that if you can see the trout they can see you, too, and that seeing you will put them down. David picked our flies, of course–what do we know of trout flies?–but it was basically the same trico nymph formulation that we had used in Wyoming. Like Wyoming, we were told the bigger surface hatches of larger mayflies happened in May, not June, and that May was when we could expect to successfully fish dry flies. Now mind, I’m still not convinced that hatches exist, and that they’re not a ruse to dupe gullible Texans, but I would love to fish dry flies with David during a Black Hills mayfly hatch. I might even catch a fish.

We fished a full day the first day and a half day the second. The second day we considered fishing Spearfish Creek in Spearfish Canyon, but stuck to a different part of Rapid Creek because it was a long drive to Spearfish. We were fishing through the morning into the heart of the day both days, but on our full day we quit early because of the water temperature. It’s hard to catch fish once the water approaches 70°, and the lower oxygenation of warm water makes it hard for the trout to survive if they’re caught. This was June, and I had planned the trip for when I thought the water would still be cold. Maybe we’re just more conscious of water temperatures than we used to be, or maybe water keeps getting warmer earlier and earlier.

One of our favorite discoveries was the Driftless Region, the geological anomaly where Iowa, Minnesota, and Wisconsin come together, and where for some reason the glaciers failed to flatten the landscape. The Driftless is on roughly the same longitude as the Black Hills, and a few hundred miles east. It’s surrounded by farmland, not mountains. Like the Black Hills, the trout streams are small, and both places involve walking and wading, not boats. The fish that we caught in the Driftless were smaller.

But both places, the Driftless and the Black Hills, have pretty, manageable water. They are similar sized regions open for exploration, and both have trout. I am not much of a trout fisherman, but trout are such great fish for a fly rod. While we fished in South Dakota, I kept comparing the Driftless and the Black Hills, and I finally decided that I liked fishing in South Dakota and the Driftless as much as any of the places I’ve fished.

I will say that while the scenery probably has the edge in the Black Hills, the cheese is better in Wisconsin.

  1. Diana Kennedy (1923-2022) was the leading authority writing in English on interior Mexican food, and wrote nine cookbooks which are as much anthropology as cookery. She famously despised Tex-Mex and Cal-Mex as foreign goop, but later writers properly consider them authentic borderland cuisines of greater Mexico. After his success with the Gulf of Mexico, President Trump will presumably redesignate Tex-Mex as Tex-American, and Ms. Kennedy will smile from heaven. ↩︎
  2. Writing this, I finally looked up the difference between buen día (which is singular, but that’s not the difference), and buenos días (which is plural, but that’s not the difference). “Buen día” is more formal and means “good day.” It can be used any time during the morning, afternoon, or evening. “Buenos días” literally means “good days,” but is used as “good morning.” It’s more common than buen día, but is only used in the morning. Buenos días for the morning, buenas tardes for the afternoon, and buenas noches for the evening and night. Buen día is for any occassion when the sun shines. ↩︎
  3. See the description of South Dakota. The US violated its 1868 treaty with the Sioux in 1874 by sending Custer to explore the Black Hills. After reports of gold leaked from the Custer expedition, the Black Hills were illegally flooded by prospectors with gold fever. The US then wrongfully took possession of the area in violation of its earlier treaty. See United States v. Sioux Nation of Indians, 448 U.S. 371 (1980). ↩︎

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Road Trip! Texas to Wyoming, June 9-15, 2025 (46).

We drove 3,783 miles through eight states. We spent $833 on gas. We fished in three states, and we caught fish in all three–well I did, anyway, Kris didn’t fish in Nebraska. We took our dog for protection.1

I love road trips. I let myself eat junk food on road trips.

We’ve taken lots of road trips. To fish we drove to all the states that surround Texas, to most of the next states over, and to all of the next states over from there except Arizona. We drove to North Carolina during Covid, and we drove to the Driftless Region at the junction of Iowa, Minnesota, and Wisconsin. We’ve seen a lifetime supply of corn, grass, pine trees, and gas stations. We did not drive to Alaska, which still seems an opportunity lost.

Our first food stop after leaving Houston was for burgers and onion rings at Bevos Drive-In, Vernon, Texas, 437 miles.2 You can usually find a good burger in most American towns. It may shorten your life, it may add to the methane load in the atmosphere, it may be inhumane, but it’s going to taste pretty great.

In Amarillo that evening (611 miles), we ate steak at the Big Texan Steak Ranch. Big Texan is that gaudy theme restaurant in Amarillo where, if you manage to eat the 72-ounce steak in an hour, then your meal is free.3 Big Texan is Route 66 incarnate. I ate there first 50-odd years ago, and once when our children were small, but I’ve never taken the 72-ounce challenge. It’s not the risk of failure but the certainty of after-dinner discomfort that’s daunting.

Our first fishing stop, Thermopolis, Wyoming, 1,439 miles, was a three days’ drive from Houston. I suppose we could have made Houston to Thermopolis in two days, but it would have been exhausting, and we wanted to see baseball in Denver. The Rockies have the worst record in the major leagues, and they didn’t disappoint. They led until the 9th inning when the Giants scored four runs.

Traffic in Denver was memorably frightening. Denver may be worse than Houston for traffic, though it’s probably a shade better than Naples or Mexico City. Coors Field, on the other hand, is a great place to watch baseball, even losing baseball, and this season it’s easy to get tickets.

The landscape from Denver to Thermopolis is about as full of empty as any place I’ve seen. I have in my head a notion of where trout are supposed to live, and it involves tumbling clear water, big hunks of granite, and plenty of trees. The water we fished in Wyoming was clear but not very tumbling. The rocks were mostly crumbly ancient sea sediment, not granite. For shade on the river there were no trees. We ate lunch under bridges.

We had rented an AirBnB outside of Thermopolis, a mile or so from the central business district. We arrived during a thunderstorm, and I was reasonably certain that the storm would blow us, the cabin, and the car on to Montana. It didn’t, and by the time we unloaded the car the storm had blown through. In the late day heat for the next two days there were also storms, big thunder, big wind, big rain, but it was for reasonably short durations. The rough weather never stuck around for long.

We fished with Wind River Canyon Whitewater and Fly Fishing on the Bighorn River, downstream after the Wind River passes through Wind River Canyon and becomes the Bighorn. We fished three days, and caught a lot of rainbow trout. We also caught a lot of brown trout. Neither the browns nor the rainbows are native, but they’ve driven out the native cutthroat. The browns and rainbows were still great fish.

The Bighorn is a moderate-sized river, not Missouri River-big, but too big to fish easily wading, and anyway Wyoming public access law is on the extreme side of landowner friendly. In Wyoming the adjoining landowner owns all rights to the river bed to midstream, so while you can float on the navigable water, you’re trespassing if you stand on the private riverbed. A drift boat is not only handy, but unless the river flows through public land, you can only fish from a boat. You can’t get out of your boat to pee without landowner permission.

There’s plenty of traffic on the Bighorn–the first day we launched with a kayaking church group, singing Shall We Gather at the River as they floated away.4 All day there was a procession of other kayakers, tubers, and other anglers in drift boats. The second day we launched below Thermopolis at Hot Springs State Park, and the river was considerably less crowded. The fishing was better, too, though apparently it’s usually better above Thermopolis.

I was pretty certain that we had arranged to fish the Wind River in the canyon when we booked the guides, but apparently I misunderstood, or the outfitter misunderstood what I was trying to say, and fishing Wind River Canyon wasn’t happening. The Wind River through the canyon is part of the Shoshone and Arapaho Wind River Reservation, and the outfitter is only permitted to fish two boats in the canyon a day. That was two boats other than our boat.

The canyon is famous for its fish, but so is the Bighorn below the canyon. There were plenty of healthy, 16- to 20-inch fish, and maybe even a few bigger–Kris says that these were the largest trout she’s caught. We fished with three different guides over the three days. I usually think it’s better to fish with the same guide, but the guides were good and it probably didn’t matter. We caught fish.

We mostly fished with tiny underwater trico nymphs5 under some sort of attractor fly and an indicator, but on the first day our guide found a single rising fish and switched me to a dry fly, a bit of white fluff that floated on the surface. I made the cast and the drift, and there is nothing like watching a good fish take a dry fly on the surface of a river. The current adds to the drama, the fish comes out of the water, and then everything is working towards failure until the fish is finally landed. Or lost. Or never hooked in the first place.

The second day we found a deep hole where rainbows were stacked and feeding. Kris was busy taking bird photos, so I didn’t have to trade off after each fish caught, and I pulled one good fish after another out of the river. I’m still surprised I didn’t find an excuse for us to stay there the rest of the day.

The third day I got tangled, and then I got tangled again, and then I got tangled some more. When I did manage to cast I had a few strikes, but would promptly lose each fish that struck. Finally, late in the day I caught an unremarkable rainbow. I was so grateful to catch that fish.

Even as great as the fishing was, I don’t think that I had managed my expectations for Wyoming. We had purposefully left Wyoming and Montana until the end–unlike say, New Jersey, which we’ve left to the end for no good reason. Unlike Montana, I had never fished in Wyoming before. Wyoming is famously good fishing, and it was good fishing. The Bighorn is a famously good river, and it was a mighty fine river. That said, it never felt like enough.

So we’ll go back to Wyoming. Not, I think, to Thermopolis, great as the fishing was. And maybe we’ll fish some without guides if Congress hasn’t sold all of our public land. I’d like to see the other side of the Wind River Range, and further south towards the Green before it flows into Utah. I’d like to go further north towards Yellowstone. In fact, when we fish Montana in September, we’ll spend a couple of nights in Wyoming, in Yellowstone at Old Faithful Inn. We’ll fish in Yellowstone for native cutthroat, and it still won’t be enough of Wyoming. There is so much of Wyoming to see, and with the Bighorn it feels like we barely got started.

Western Meadowlark

You know what I liked best though about fishing in Wyoming? It wasn’t the fishing, it was waking to the morning bird chorus, and listening to the songs of the Western Meadowlarks. I’ve never heard anything more beautiful.

I guess I’m finally old enough just to listen. Of course I’m also old enough to spend a day getting tangled, but I’ve been that for a long time.

  1. Roo is a mostly chihuahua rescue who as a puppy seven years ago showed up collarless and chipless on our daughter’s front porch. Kris took her to the vet, nursed her through heartworms, and she’s been with us since. She is an excellent travel companion, and is reasonably well socialized for a mostly chihuahua. She did bark at the lady in the Kansas toll booth. ↩︎
  2. I lived in Vernon, Texas, for my first 17 years, and Bevo’s was owned by my cousin James. They have the world’s best cheeseburger. Bevo is the name of the mascot at the University of Texas, but my cousin James didn’t go to the University of Texas, or as far as I know to any university at all, so I’m not sure why he picked the UT theme. Still, hook ’em. ↩︎
  3. There is a livestream of the Big Texan 72-ounce steak challenge. It’s oddly mesmerizing to watch. If you do the challenge, remember that in addition to the steak you have to eat the baked potato, shrimp cocktail, salad, and bread. ↩︎
  4. Not really, but they should have. ↩︎
  5. Tricos are a tiny mayfly, Tricorythodes. Trico nymphs are the nymph phase of the trico mayfly’s life cycle. Trico hatches are common in summer, and bigger mayflies apparently hatch earlier: May is a great time for bigger mayflies. Since we were in Wyoming in June, this was a variant of the common guide explanation that we should have been here last week. ↩︎

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South Dakota

The Black Hills

The United States ceded South Dakota’s Black Hills to the Sioux in 1868, in the Treaty of Fort Laramie. The government intended that the Fort Laramie Treaty would settle the disposition of rights between the US, the Sioux, and the Arapaho, but what the government got was a mess. The Ponca, for instance, were not invited to Fort Laramie, but the reservation that the government had already ceded to the Ponca by treaty in 1858 was re-ceded to the Lakota without Ponca consent. Ultimately the US forcibly removed the Ponca to a new reservation in Oklahoma. It’s estimated that one in four of the Ponca died during the removal.

Photograph of General William T. Sherman and Commissioners in Council with Indian Chiefs at Fort Laramie, Wyoming, 1868, National Archives and Records Administration.

The Lakota1 didn’t actually live in the Black Hills. That was holy ground, and their claims to the Black Hills were relatively recent. Until the late 16th century the Lakota were concentrated in the upper Mississippi Valley–eastern North Dakota, eastern South Dakota, Minnesota, Wisconsin, and Iowa–but were pushed west by the Anishnaabe and Cree, who in turn were being pushed west by Europeans. The Lakota took the Black Hills from the Cheyenne in 1776.

The geology of the Black Hills is complex. There’s some volcanic stuff, and some sedimentary stuff, and some metamorphosis going on, and layers of rock were deposited horizontallly beginning about 1.8 billion years ago. Beginning about 80 million years ago there was a period of North American uplift, known helpfully as the Laramide Orogeny.2 The uplift raised portions of the Rockies from Canada to Mexico, and also raised the Black Hills (which are a kinda Rockies’ distant cousin) so that all those horizontal layers were now tilted upwards. What we’ve all seen of the Black Hills, Mount Rushmore, is carved from the oldest granite core.

The granite core of the Black Hills.

The highest peak in the Black Hills, Black Elk Peak, is 7,242 feet, which is pretty tall, but not above tree line, and roughly half the height of the tallest peak in the Rockies.3 It’s a smidgeon taller than the highest peak in the Applachians, Clingman’s Dome, at 6,643 feet.

In the 1868 Fort Laramie Treaty the US gave the Lakota the Black Hills forever. The Lakota naively thought that “forever” meant forever. They didn’t know that the US were Indian givers.

Kmusser, Great Sioux Reservation as established in 1868 by the Fort Laramie Treaty, from Wikipedia.

In 1873 the US and Europe suffered a major economic depression. Before the Civil War, the US was principally a farming economy, and economic downturns weren’t so hard on localized farm economies. By 1873 railroads were booming, and they were the nation’s second largest employer. Railroad speculation was rampant, and then the railroad speculation economy crashed. It’s estimated that following the crash unemployment in New York City reached as high as 25%.

The 1873 Panic was caused in part by the conversion from a silver and gold monetary standard to a gold standard, which resulted in less money in circulation and higher interest rates.4 Suddenly there was no money to invest and railroads began to fail. Gold was rumored in the Black Hills, and President Grant believed that exploration for gold in South Dakota could both put the unemployed to work and increase the government’s gold supplies, resulting in more money in circulation and lower interest rates. In 1874 Lieutenant Colonel George Custer led an expedition of somewhere north of 1000 men, including the 7th Cavalry, geologists, biologists, photographers, and journalists, into the Black Hills to, among other things, explore the possibility of mining for gold.

View of General Custer’s Camp, Black Hills, S.D., postcard printed 1947, Library of Congress, LC-DIG-pcrd-1d06527.

It’s unclear if the Custer expedition found any significant gold, but true or not rumors of gold finds leaked. In violation of the Fort Laramie Treaty prospectors poured into the Black Hills. The flood of Americans annoyed the Lakota greatly, because they had those silly notions about forever. The US offered to buy the Black Hills, but not for what the Lakota thought it was worth, so the US took the hills without payment. The Lakota learned that in the context of the Black Hills, “forever” meant less than ten years. The Lakota went to war, and Custer was one of the big losers. The Lakota were also one of the big losers.5

Charles M. Russell, The Custer Fight, 1903, Library of Congress.

Population and Geography

South Dakota, with a 2024 population of 924,669, is the fifth-least populous state. At 77,116 square miles, it is the 16th largest state by area, and with 12 people per square mile it’s the fifth-least densely populated state.

With seven Sioux Reservations spread across the state, about 8.5% of the South Dakota population is Native American. Anglos are the largest group, at 80.5%. Hispanics are 5.1%, Blacks 2.6%.

File:National-atlas-indian-reservations-south-dakota.gif

Sioux Falls in the state’s southeast, roughly where Minnesota, Iowa, and South Dakota meet, is South Dakota’s largest city, at 209,289. Rapid City in the Black Hills has a population of 79,894. There are no other South Dakota cities with populations greater than 50,000. Pierre, the state capitol, has a population of 13,788. Pierre isn’t on an interstate highway.

The Black Hills are South Dakota’s only mountains, and they’re an isolated range in the state’s far west.6 Tourism has replaced mining as the Black Hills’ principal industry, and towns like Deadwood, Custer, and Keystone are tourist destinations.

Badlands National Park, parts of which are in the Pine Ridge Reservation, is located south and west of the Black Hills. The badlands are the product of deposition of horizontal layers of soft sedimentary sandstones, siltstones, limestones, shale, and other stuff that are eroded by wind and water into magnificent layered displays of time. The oldest formations are from the Western Interior Seaway and date from 75-69 million years ago. The most recent formation includes a layer of volcanic ash from volcanoes in Utah and Nevada, and are 34-30 million years old.

South Dakota is divided roughly in half by the north-south Missouri River. The east of the state is plains: the Dissected Till Plans (which also covers parts of Iowa and Nebraska, and which is an excellent place to grow corn), the Couteau des Prairies (which also covers parts of Minnesota and Iowa and is an excellent place to grow corn), and the James River Basin which cuts eastern South Dakota north to south.

Other than the Black Hills, South Dakota west of the Missouri River is arid, and is part of the Great Plains.

In addition to the Missouri River, the James and the Big Sioux Rivers cut the eastern half of the state north-south and meet the Missouri at the Nebraska state line. The east-west Grand, Moreau, Cheyenne, Belle Fourche, Bad, and White Rivers are spaced fairly evenly through the western half of the state, and they also feed the Missouri. All of the state’s best-known trout streams, Rapid Creek, Castle Creek, and Spearfish Creek, are small, relatively isolated creeks fed from springs and runoff in the Black Hills.

Black Hills Fish

The Black Hills are not only geologically isolated, they are biologically isolated as well. During Custer’s expedition, William Ludlow, the chief engineer for the Corps of Engineers’ Department of the Dakotas (and an angler), declared that there were no more suitable streams for trout anywhere than those of the Black Hills. He also noted that, in fact, there were no trout. He was right on both counts. There were the important game species of chub, suckers, and dace,7 but no trout.

We have spread more trout to more places than any other species of fish. I can now fish for trout in Texas, Chile, New Zealand, and Costa Rica. I have fished for non-native trout in non-native habitat from Argentina to Utah, and have fished for non-native species of rainbow or brown or brook trout just about everywhere. We love to move the various species of trout around, and they often thrive with changes in scenery.8 By the 1880s we were introducing trout into the Black Hills.

The Black Hills trout streams are now managed with reproducing wild fish supplemented by stocking, but none of the trout are native.

Politics

All of South Dakota’s state officials, from Governor on down, are Republicans. Even Kristi Noem’s dog was a Republican, for all the good it did her.

South Dakota has only a single member of Congress,9 and he’s Republican. Both US Senators are Republican.

In the 2024 election, Donald Trump received 63.43% of the South Dakota vote. The \counties that didn’t vote for Trump were either Clay County, where the University of South Dakota is located, or majority Native American.

Wikipedia, 2024 South Dakota presidential election results by county.

Kristi Noem’s Dog

The character of some places is forever shaded by a single moment: the Pilgrims landed at Plymouth Rock, David Crockett died at the Alamo, Charleston fired on Fort Sumter, North Dakota fracked . . . In South Dakota, Governor Kristi Noem shot her dog. Then she bragged about it.

If you have a German wirehaired pointer and it has messed up your pheasant hunt, you don’t have to shoot it. There is a national rescue just for GWPs. I don’t think Kristi Noem is on the board. For a good discussion of what went wrong with Kristi Noem’s dog, All Things Outdoors did a nice job.

German Wirehaired Pointer, the State Gun Dog of South Dakota. Sourced from Wikimedia Commons.
  1. Lakota is one of two closely related Siouan language groups, Dakota and Lakota. The Dakota are further divided into the Eastern Dakota (the Santee) and the Western Dakota (the Yankton and the Yanktonai). The Lakota people are also known as the Teton Sioux. ↩︎
  2. Sarcasm. Geologists can be baffling unintelligible when they name things. I might bet that orogeny means the process by which mountains originate, but I wouldn’t give my odds at better than 50-50. ↩︎
  3. Mount Elbert, Colorado, 14,440 feet. ↩︎
  4. It’s often said that Nevada silver had paid for the Civil War, but banks far preferred a gold-based currency. The conversion from a silver/gold currency to a gold currency was also happening in the newly united Germany. Germany pretty much mirrored the US during the depression. ↩︎
  5. In United States v. Sioux Nation of Indians, 448 U.S. 371 (1980), the Supreme Court awarded the Lakota a $108 million judgment against the US for the uncompensated taking of the Black Hills. The Lakota refused to accept the judgment, wanting not compensation but return of the Black Hills. The damages were set aside in an interest bearing trust, and are now valued at close to two billion dollars. Seems like a lot, but I’d guess that buying the Black Hills would cost more. ↩︎
  6. There’s also a sliver of the Black Hills in Wyoming. ↩︎
  7. Sarcasm. Chub, suckers, and dace, whatever their excellent personalities and ability to dance well, are not considered important gamefish. ↩︎
  8. The only game animal we’ve moved around as much as trout may be the pheasant. Pheasant hunts in South Dakota may be common, but they ain’t natural. Pheasants originate in Asia. ↩︎
  9. There are currently seven states represented by a single congress member, Alaska, Delaware, Montana, North Dakota, South Dakota, Vermont, and Wyoming. ↩︎