Now in Colorado, the vegetation has turned decidedly drier. Fortunately, our campground is actually just below the dam of a good-sized reservoir. Lots of wildlife, including this turkey who was completely unbothered by us setting up camp. And I watched a very cute raccoon at the water’s edge paddling his paws in search of edibles.

The campsites are under lovely old cottonwood trees, so there’s lots of shade. Unfortunately, there’s also lots of flies. The flyswatter’s been getting a workout. Oh, and cicadas. This fellow overnighted on our tent (I wondered what that buzzing was).

Moe made a new friend—a little boy named Logan, who greeted me during our first evening walk with “My mom’s inside (their camper), but I don’t know where my dad and sisters and brother are.” So we chatted about possible places they could be until they returned (they were walking). He admired Moe, I told him he loves to fetch balls, and that’s all it took—Moe had a new best friend (or Logan did; I’m not sure which).

I brought Moe over to say goodbye the next day as they were leaving. Logan bent down to Moe, patted his back, and said “I love you, Moe. You’re so handsome.” Ever the Marshall, I immediately teared up. Sweet kid.

I wanted to do some birding, so set out early one morning to hike through one of the two sloughs near the lake. Both were, unfortunately, pretty dried up, so no exciting new birds. Beyond the slough was a portion of the old Santa Fe Trail, set aside by the DAR in 1908-ish. I’d been told that you could sometimes pick out the old wagon ruts by the different vegetation (maybe they’re mower lines, but I like to imagine, so I say they’re wagon ruts).

Later I had to drive back there so Russ could see it. He wanted to drive across the dam, which was very cool, but see his blog—russloomis.com—for pictures, because I was driving. On the other side I spotted a network of dirt roads that led to the south shore of the reservoir and off I went, with Russ hanging on in white-knuckled terror that we were about to get stuck up to our axles and die there. I finally pulled out onto what had been under probably 10 feet of water before the drought, but was now rocks and dried mud:

And THAT was worth it, because I finally saw a snowy plover!

And we didn’t get stuck (I was having great fun acting out my own off-road Subaru commercial in my KIA). Back at camp we had a catfish fry with fresh sautéed vegetables and holy moley was that good! They stock all the lakes in this region with channel catfish, and they are mighty fine eating.

Just before leaving the next morning, Russ pointed out a loose dog and a ranger trying to catch it. Ever helpful, I brought Moe out on a leash and BINGO, she came right over and I was able to catch her collar. She was very friendly, and we pointed out where we thought her people were, as we’d seen her before. Dog and owner were reunited, and we took off for Pueblo Lake State Park in Pueblo, Colorado.

Beaver Dunes having been a disappointment, we left early for Lake Meade State Park in Kansas. This is MUCH nicer!

And much cooler! The park is notable for its diverse bird population; sadly, wildfires only three weeks ago destroyed large sections of the park and surrounding areas. Watching birds gathering nesting materials, I wondered how many nests, eggs, and young were destroyed in the fires.

Plenty of adult birds remain, though.

I suppose midwesterners become inured to the sight of red-headed woodpeckers (they are pretty common here), but I never fail to thrill to the sight of these birds with their Mondrian-like blocks of black, white, and red.

All of the park’s trails were closed because of fire damage, so we opted instead to see what was going on in the nearby town of Meade. Driving in, I spotted a sign for the “Dalton Gang Hideout.” Looked interesting, so we swung in. Our tour almost ended before it began, as the elderly man in charge started in on some story about how he wanted to retire, and a woman was going to take over, but her 14-year-old daughter “thinks she wants to be a boy,” he said with disgust. I have a beloved trans niece, Russ a trans grandson, so I took umbrage. As things threatened to get heated, I stopped myself and informed the gentleman that we were not going to have this conversation. Good thing, too, since Russ was already backing away looking for an escape route.

Things got more congenial after that, and the host turned out to have a great deal of knowledge about local history. We toured the house (owned by the sister of the Dalton ‘boys’) and the tunnel they dug from the house to the barn for an escape route. In the end, members of the gang were shot and killed as they attempted to rob two banks in broad daylight in a nearby town. Brother Emmett survived the melee, though he must have looked like a strainer with the number of bullets and shotgun pellets he received. He did some 15 years in jail and ‘was a model citizen’ after that, according to our host.

Interestingly, (to me, at least) also in the upstairs room with the sewing machine was a treadle-driven tatting machine, something I’ve never heard of before. The sister was a milliner, so perhaps she used it for trimmings. Unfortunately, the host could not give us any information. They had two ‘beautiful’ ones in another museum this fellow had worked for. “Did they know how it worked?” I asked. “They didn’t know nuthin’,” he said with scorn.

We asked for recommendations for a place to eat, were told Bob’s Burgers was the place to go, and we found really good sandwiches and onion rings there. Even better, there was a nice city park nearby, so we went there to enjoy our meal at a shady picnic table with Moe.

And that’s where Moe met Sweety, his sister from another mother:

Back at camp, the evening turned cool and we were able to open the windows to fresh air for the first time in days. Excellent sleeping weather!

A city-run park whose attraction is the sand dunes which people come to ride in ATV’s and dirt bikes. Not our scene. We are at a secondary campground on a (very) small lake. We quickly discover there is nothing to do here except explore the adjoining tent campground and compare notes on the dilapidated restrooms (his had no hot water in the showers; mine had no working toilets). We perk up a bit when we are told there is a restaurant in town that has just reopened (after having its roof repaired). They are reported to have excellent steaks and ‘truffle fries’. Intrigued, we head there about 4:30, thinking we will beat the dinner rush.

We do, but to no avail. The waitress (there appeared to be only one for the six or so tables) took our order and brought generous margaritas. And then we waited. Occasionally she would reappear to reassure us that it would be ‘just a minute’. An hour passed. Other tables, arriving after us, received their food. We inquired about our orders. She looked confused and asked if we’d already placed our orders. At that point we got terse. After some confusion it transpired that they’d given our order to a takeout customer by mistake (why? We hadn’t placed a to-go order.) More reassurances of a prompt arrival by the waitress. I stared at Russ in astonishment as he informed the waitress we expected a discount on our meal (I’d never heard him demand anything before, except from me). Finally our order arrived, packed to go (we’d told them our dog would be going ballistic by now) accompanied by the owner, who apologized profusely and gave us everything gratis.

Back at camp, I discovered my ‘Goucho’, basically a cheesesteak, was so salty it was inedible, and the ‘truffle’ fries were barely cooked. Guess you get what you pay for. In any case, we won’t be recommending the BS Bar and Grill anytime soon (BS indeed!).

Fortunately, the town of Beaver had other amusements. I’m just gonna leave these here as examples:

And our campsite, by the lake and the stream that feeds it, had abundant birds: red-winged blackbirds, grackles, northern flickers, red-headed and red-bellied woodpeckers, swallows, Mississippi kites, mourning and Eurasian collared doves, blue jays, and brown thrashers. I’m sure I missed others in the dense foliage.

However, we are done with Beaver Dunes. We’re leaving early to go to Meade State Park in Kansas before heading to John Martin Reservoir in Colorado.

A hot night, but the AC was working and we woke to a slightly cooler day. First order of business, after breakfast, was to get tickets for the tour of the caves that give this park its name. We were ready to go for the 10 am tour.

Now, of course, they didn’t mention that a rock slide a few years ago had meant that we would only go about halfway through the caverns and return, in order for the next tour to start on time. Personally, I’d have paid extra to see as much of the caverns as possible, but nobody asked my opinion.

However, the caverns were undeniably spectacular.

Entrance to the caverns

Totally worth it!

We got back about 11 and noticed that the day had actually become pleasant (for 95 degrees). Some clouds had come in and the wind wasn’t as fierce. We decided to check some of the canyon trails, and hiked down into the canyon we’d seen yesterday evening.

Moe, of course, led the way:

Things got a bit steep, but we made it back!

It amazes me that we are literally walking on alabaster everywhere (you have to be careful putting your hand down on a steep climb, as the rocks are all sharp crystals). I gathered a couple of rocks for Rachel, one of my students who is a professor of geology.

And you can tell we’re moving west by the variety of cacti that now appear.

Ticks are still a problem, but at least they’re not the microscopic ones we found in Missouri. Moe is exceedingly tired of being plucked at. It was so nice to sit outside in the evening as it cooled down and the wind gentled. I’ve been watching cardinals, lark sparrows, and great crested flycatchers moving about. A hairy woodpecker appeared briefly. (I even caught sight of a red-headed woodpecker earlier.) We watched horses grazing on a hill as the sun came down. We are the only people in the campground, so it is beautifully quiet. A very pleasant evening.

Our first day at Salt Plains State Park wasn’t too bad—the wind was enough to keep the sun from being blistering, I thought, so we sat and gazed across the river as flocks of pelicans and cattle egrets drifted by. No neighbors to bother us…

until three big RVs moved in, one of them not 12 feet from our camper. So much for privacy and quiet. Russ only cared about not losing his hammock spot, just on the river bluff. It turned out the shade wasn’t as effective as I’d thought, either. Between the sun and the wind, I was so burnt I was practically incandescent.

The next day I wanted to see Salt Plains National Wildlife Refuge, one of the few nesting habits for snowy plovers and good chances to see other waterfowl. There was a driving loop, so I figured I’d be OK. HOWEVER, you had to walk out a 1/4 mile trail (paved, thank god) to a viewing platform to see the salt flat nesting grounds. We got there with a 30-40 mph wind whipping past—I couldn’t hold steady enough to focus my binoculars, even resting my arms against the railing. I MIGHT have seen one plover scurry out of some scrub before scurrying back. Honestly, I can’t blame them for hiding. I did get to see quite a few black-necked stilts, however, so the trip was not a total loss.

Back at camp, I immediately retired to the air-conditioned camper and Moe panted in the shade.

Russ is greatly disappointed in dinner choices, as I’m too hot and miserable to even imagine cooking. Peanut butter and jelly is just fine with me. That night, the winds topped 40 mph and I could feel the camper rocking and creaking. Even Russ finally gave up on being bounced around in his hammock (I can’t imagine) and retired to the camper.

The next day, the wind and the heat were even worse, so I remained inside most of the day. We did take a short walk through a wooded trail and I got pictures of some of Oklahoma’s native wildflowers:

As I was drifting off to sleep, I heard Russ calling me to “Come quick!” The owner of a large RV was trying to back into a campsite, apparently with no driving experience. Backing up and turning was apparently too much multi-tasking, so instead of going around the loop to come at it from the other direction, she (yes, it was a she) elected to pull forward over the lawn, across a ditch and up a small rise—where she promptly bottomed out the rear of her camper and couldn’t move. I knew it wouldn’t end well, so went back inside. Russ stayed to watch several nearby campers castigate her for being a idiot, then one of them pulled her out with his diesel truck and finally got her into her site.

I did get to see her leave. She stopped beside a dumpster to throw out her trash, then proceeded to take a tight corner without steering wide AT ALL. She scraped the dumpster with the side of her camper so hard she pushed it into a tree, all the while smiling and blithely waving to Russ, who was walking toward her.

Camping—never a dull moment!

Tomorrow it’s off to Alabaster Caverns for a short (two day) stay.

Sunday we left Osage Hills for Salt Plains State Park, which lies at the eastern end of a big lake and wetlands. We arrived about 5 pm and quickly set up at the Sandy Beach Campground in site 18, which was the number on my reservation. We were surrounded by daisies, on a lovely breezy hill overlooking the lake. And yes, there was a beach and swimming area down below.

But that was not our campsite! This was our campsite!

Prodded by a sneaking suspicion that we might not be in the right spot, we went in search of the camp office. Never did find that, but on the way we spotted another camping area and drove in—this one marked River Road Campground. We drove in and, lo and behold, there was a site 18. Now the RR018 on my reservation made sense. We returned to the first site, hooked up (thank goodness we had not bothered to unpack) and headed to the new site.

And this was a MUCH nicer spot. Right on the river, just below the dam, breezy, shaded—everything you could hope for. Russ even found a perfect spot for his hammock, which he’s taken to sleeping in every night that doesn’t rain.

The next morning we took Moe for his pre-breakfast constitutional up to the dam and spillway, where there were already fisherman on the banks. There is also a more primitive campground right next to the dam—really quite nice, with lots of shade trees and water hookups for each site (but no electricity).

Back in camp, we had breakfast. The wind is so brisk, Moe’s chair keept blowing over and Russ had trouble keeping the camp stove lit, so he had to use the burners in the camper (much to his discomfort).

Maybe later we could visit the wildlife preserve at the other end of the lake?

Later that evening, I wasn’t feeling so great (I’m looking at you, Sonic chicken sandwich). But Moe needed his evening pee poo walk, so I set out slowly around the campsite loop. Almost immediately, I saw a small animal moving down the paved road in the middle of the campground. It seemed awkward, or maybe ill.

Now, I grew up in Pennsylvania and we had opossums there, so I thought I knew a thing or two about opossums (not stopping to acknowledge that almost all of the possums I’d ever seen were roadkill). However, I HAD personally encountered a raccoon that was acting that way, and that ended with my ex-husband shooting it. (Then what? According to the PA state wildlife officer we called, “double bag it and throw it in the trash.”)

Anyway, this possum was headed, slowly, toward someone else’s campsite, so I went to warn them. A tall man, totally bald, with a goatee-wide beard that was 6” long, came out to investigate. “Oh, hun,” he said, that’s just a possum looking for food” and to my amazement he walked over, PICKED IT UP BY THE TAIL, and carried it away from the campsites into a wooded area. The possum just hung there, legs akimbo, the entire time.

The man came back. “Aww”, he said, “it just wrapped its tail around my finger and hung on.” Then he patted my shoulder consolingly. “It’s OK,” he said. “Just a possum.”

The day threatened rain, so we changed our plans to go hiking and drove up to the Joseph Williams Tallgrass Prairie Preserve, a 29,000 acre nature preserve and the largest contiguous area of tall grass prairie in the United States. Despite the rain and general dreariness, there was plenty to see:

Fields of Black-Eyed Susans

But the main attraction, of course, is the chance to see some of their over 1,100 bison roaming freely throughout the preserve. And we saw bison!

Lots of bison!

Even MORE bison!

And best of all, baby bison!

A park ranger told us that calving peaks in April and May, and that the lighter-colored red calves are less than two months old. As they age, they gradually darken to the dark brown of the adults.

We even got a private tour of the original 1910s bunkhouse and kitchen, and were told that actor Ben Johnson, Jr. grew up here while his father was ranch foreman. His first introduction to Hollywood was as a horse wrangler and stunt man, but he went on to act in many films with John Wayne and others.

All in all, an unexpected treat!

When we got back to camp (after a stop at Sonic to inhale some much-overdue lunch) the rain had stopped, and since neither of us were ready for dinner, we decided to hike to the remains of the CCC camp that housed the men who built all of the original camp buildings, roads and trails.

First, we stopped at Lookout Lake:

Then we headed up past the primitive campsites, where we found a CCC-built lookout point:

While there wasn’t as much to see of the camp as we’d hoped, that’s not to say there wasn’t anything to see:

While it wasn’t a long hike, I was almost undone by one other thing I discovered on the trail—a tarantula! For a person terrified of spiders, that is a nightmare come true. I insisted Russ walk in front of me the rest of the way, as I made whimpering noises behind him. Who knew tarantulas lived in Oklahoma?

I’m done for today.

Woke on my second day at Osage Hills to good, if hot, weather. Russ planned to arrive today, so I headed out to go grocery shopping in Bartlesville. I was nervous when I saw that the supermarket Apple Msps sent me to was closing, but they still had plenty of stock. I picked up a few extras, as most things were 30-40% off. I stopped to chat with one employee about the closure, and she said they’d be gone in two more weeks—everyone on staff was trying to transfer to positions in one of three other stores. The only alternative (and the only option in many small towns) is Dollar General. I mentioned how, in our travels, that was so often the only grocery in a small town, we talked about “food deserts,” and I expressed my hope that she’d land on her feet before I left.

Russ arrived shortly after I got back, with tales of Kenny, the man he’d met in his last campground, who was handing out small snack pies and cakes. After they discussed how nice it would be to have a hammock, Kenny returned to give him one! Russ was quite pleased with his new accessory, and set it up beside the camper (after checking every possible combination of trees and locations) to use that night. I was pleased not to have to rearrange my bed.

We were talking to neighboring campers, a man and his daughter with a large but securely tied German Shepherd, when another camper started yelling about ‘vicious dogs’, pointing at our neighbors, and acting very agitated. Later, a park ranger came and situated his truck near the agitated person. I was amused to find out that he was the one who called the ranger, about the dog, but ended up being the one chastised! (Apparently the rangers had had run-ins with him before.).

The next morning we set out to hike to some waterfalls on nearby Sand Creek. It was a short hike to some really lovely little falls.

I was so tempted to jump in, but contented myself with soaking my feet and legs. Leaving the falls, I laughed to see an array of free life vests to use when swimming, despite the “No Swimming” signs posted below. A park ranger later told us that they could not stop the locals from using swimming holes they’d used for generations, so they decided to at least offer safety equipment.

On our way back, we walked through a lovely picnic area with an impressive stone pavilion:

And a little further on, a mysterious ruin.

Russ and Moe had to find out more—see Russ’s blog, russloomis.com, for the pictures of an old CCC-built bathhouse, made entirely of dry fitted sandstone blocks.

Back at the park office, when he came in for cold sodas, Russ learned there were remnants of an old CCC camp nearby, with barracks, kitchens, workshops, and even an education building. The camp was built for CCC Company 895, who built the state park between 1936 and 1940. I’d never realized before that the CCC was managed by the Army (which makes total sense). It existed during the Depression to provide jobs and job training to unemployed men and to conserve the nation’s resources. From the informative brochure we were given:

For $30 each month ($25 of which was sent home) over 2 million men and boys across the country worked to slow erosion, replant forests, build dams, bridges, buildings, and parks, build 126,000 miles of roads and trails and install 89,000 miles of telephone lines.

In fact, the picnic shelter we saw was the first building built for the park, and it is still in use today, as are the several handsome cabins for rent, built of native stone and wood, and including kitchens, bathrooms, bedrooms, and living rooms with fireplaces.

We made plans to see the CCC camp the next day and had dinner. Things were much quieter this evening.

I nearly forgot—Moe got a girlfriend at Stockton Lake! I present Ella.

Thanks to camp host Marci for sharing this picture.