Outdoors

Outdoor Connections: Why we are drawn back to the prairie

Certain places remain with you long after you’ve left. For me, it is northwest North Dakota that I return to each September.

The country around Stanley and north toward the Lostwood area is some of the prairie country I remember most clearly. Rolling grasslands, open fields and wide skies seem to stretch forever. Farther west, near Williston, the Missouri River cuts through a landscape of rolling bluffs and river bottoms. These are places that have become part of my September memories.

The scent returns with it--the smell of dry prairie grass, sun-warmed earth, and a slight hint of spice carried on the cool morning air. That aroma is one of the things I remember most clearly about northwest North Dakota. It is what makes that country distinct and brings September immediately to mind.

As the wind moves through the grass, you can sense the season changing. Mornings become cooler and days grow shorter. Walking across a North Dakota field, you hear your boots crunching through the vegetation and feel the early morning dew soaking into the soles of your boots. At that moment, you begin wondering what might be holding tight somewhere ahead.

And then you wait.

You can’t tell which step will be decisive.

You slow down, your eyes working the cover ahead, knowing that at any moment a sharp-tailed grouse or Hungarian partridge might explode from the grass.

When that first bird finally flushes, there is more than excitement. There is satisfaction in knowing your scouting paid off. You walked those fields, studied the cover and tried to understand where the birds wanted to be. Now, in one explosive rush of wings, you know you got it right.

That is what I remember most about North Dakota.

It wasn’t necessarily the bird in the bag. It was everything leading up to that moment, the prairie stretching out in front of you, the smell of the grass, the sound of your footsteps and the anticipation of not knowing what the next few yards might bring.

Part of the experience was also the small-town stops along the way. After a morning on the prairie, there was something special about pulling into a little North Dakota town for lunch. At Joyce’s Cafe in Stanley, a hot beef sandwich with mashed potatoes and gravy, a cup of coffee and a warm small-town welcome made you feel at home even when you were miles from your own.

You didn’t just hunt the prairie. You experienced the country around it.

That is what September has always done to me.

After a summer of thinking about water, September begins pulling me toward the field. The boat may still be sitting in the driveway, but my thoughts are starting to change. I notice the cooler mornings. I hear geese overhead and instinctively look up.

Recently, I was visiting with someone I had never met. Our conversation had nothing to do with hunting or fishing. We were simply two strangers talking.

Then a flock of geese passed overhead.

The conversation stopped.

We both looked up.

For those few seconds, we didn’t need to say anything. Although we were strangers, we both understood why we were watching.

That moment reminded me that our connection to the outdoors often exists before we ever put it into words. We may not know one another, but a flock of geese crossing the September sky can bring something out in both of us that needs no explanation.

That could be what being an outdoorsman is about.

It isn’t simply the fish we catch or the birds we harvest. It is the places that shape us, the smells, sounds, people and anticipation that stay with us long after we have left.

For me, northwest North Dakota is one of those places.

Years later, I might be somewhere else and suddenly recall that September prairie, the dry grass, cool morning air and excitement about what might happen next.

Just like that, I’m back.

Once more I am in a field in the Lostwood area north of Stanley, waiting for that first sharp-tailed grouse or Hungarian partridge to flush.

The prairie is quiet. The anticipation grows.

Suddenly, the cover blows apart, and wings beat against the September sky.

That could be what a place can become after enough years.

More than a memory.

It becomes a part of you.

Gary Korsgaden is an outdoors writer from northern Minnesota. A native of North Dakota, he's spent more than 60 years fishing, hunting and enjoying the outdoors.