Introducing Roaming Crow
John Hunt's Second Nebraska Sandhills Novel
I will never forget the first time that I saw this tree. A decade ago, I was squinting through 12 power binoculars from a hilltop on a neighboring ranch. The deer hunter by my side had no idea that I was temporarily taking a break from the tedium of scanning endless hills, hoping to spot some wild game. For just a moment, I searched the southwestern horizon for a much larger quarry. I was looking for "the hill."
I had read about this hill in a geography book describing my favorite place in the world: the Nebraska Sandhills. Not only was this hill the tallest from base to summit in the entire Sandhills, but it's the first place west of the Appalachians to exceed 4,000 feet in elevation. From my lofty vantage point that afternoon, the hill stood out like the Matterhorn on the distant horizon. I could only describe it as a hill upon a hill. What really caught my eye, though, was a lone tree growing halfway up on the northeast side. "How in tarnation did that tree get started," I mumbled under my breath.
"Say again?" my hunter asked.
"Oh, nothing," I replied, momentarily forgetting about the task at hand . "Looks like there should be a deer out there somewhere."
Inside, I was telling myself that someday, I was going to climb that mountain over there.
A few years later, I had the incredibly good fortune to get invited to hunt on the very ranch encompassing the hill. I was beyond ecstatic. I was going to check off one of the biggest goals on my Sandhills bucket list.
When the rancher told me the name of the hill on his place, my jaw dropped again. It was the same name as the hill that mystified an area homesteader over a century ago. A few years ago, I read the story about this young pioneer lady and her puzzlement about this hill. All this lore only added to my fervor to explore this mysterious mountain of sand.
One blustery December day I was alone on the mountain with a muzzleloader rifle slung over one shoulder and a camera over the other. I had walked up the north side with the wind at my back. I made a circle and started back down against a gale so strong that I had to lean into it. My path happened to take me directly above the lone tree that grew from the base of a steep incline. Wind is relatively quiet on the prairie: no whistle through pine needles, no rattling of cottonwood leaves, just the soft waving of grass. As I approached the solitary tree, though, a strange sound filled my ears. The rush of air through the naked limbs created a haunting roar that I can't begin to describe. Suddenly, a story hit me like an ocean wave. In a matter of seconds, a plot, a setting, and two characters came to mind. All I needed was a theme and a whole lot of research to write my second novel about the Nebraska Sandhills.
My first book, Secrets of the Sandhills, included many of the wonders of this land, but in 20,000 square miles, these marvels are countless. Sadly, I failed to include a most impressive work of nature: the Dismal River. I wanted to weave the Dismal into the story line, but it just didn't fit. This river is so spectacular that it justifies its own book, so I watched and waited, hoping for an inspiration.
Then, that day on the hill, the wind came through. It accosted my mind, showing me a way to link a young pioneer woman, a Pawnee man, and the Dismal River with this mountain of sand. The common thread tying this all together is this lone tree, standing watch over its rolling domain.
I hope you enjoy Roaming Crow: my endeavor to describe this incredible land and its first people.
