Scott S. Stuckey
The Badlands, South Dakota

The Badlands of South Dakota seem like another planet. As you approach, the rolling prairie is suddenly torn by weird erosion. Here, in a manner probably unique, wind and rain and ice have had their way, carving deep gullies and erecting steep ridges of naked earth. These forces, in play for ages, came to bear on a land that was once thick with volcanic ash. As a result, today’s soft, eroded formations are whitish and ghostly, unexpected and disturbing—yet irresistible.

During an adventurous weekend, I and a small group explored the Badlands on horseback, crossing the 64,000-acre [26,000-hectare] Sage Creek Wilderness Area in Badlands National Park. Halfway across this wilderness, once a Sioux hunting ground, we came upon a herd of grazing bison. Something spooked the herd. The shaggy beasts stampeded, running one way, then another, changing direction in unison, like a flock of birds. When they turned toward us, our horses overreacted, as horses do, and fled in panic. I didn’t know horses could run so fast. The photographer riding with me was mildly injured when the camera strung around his neck bounced from his chest into his face, leaving a swollen, lens-shaped lump on his forehead. I came away with a saddle sore the size of a silver dollar—and a memory that will last a lifetime.

Scott Stuckey is a senior editor at TRAVELER.