About My Romance With This Land

There's a place smack dab in the middle of North America that is known to few. Ask most anyone about the Sandhills and they will give you a blank look. It's a twenty-thousand square mile solitaire centered in what is arguably the most socially advanced country in the world. This is a mystical place indeed.

Maybe it's that I too, being a bit of a lone wolf, am drawn to this land. Imagine floating adrift ocean waves on a one-man raft. That's what hiking the Sandhills is like. Cresting one rise only reveals endless waves beyond. This ocean of sand is frozen in place by a thin mantle of grass, giving life to a myriad of critters that call this place home. I, being of the curious sort, am intrigued with what might lie over that next knoll... maybe a family of burrowing owls, or possibly a short-tailed weasel dressed in his white winter suit. I've seen enough to realize that nothing is impossible out here.

Canoes and Columbias

If you seriously want to experience the Sandhills you need to do one of three things: you can live here, you can learn how to paddle a canoe, or you can buy some good hiking boots. Most people don't have the luxury of living in the Sandhills so that narrows our options down to either a canoe or boots. With one of these means you can experience the magic of this land.

My first eye-opening encounter with the Sandhills was a canoe trip down the Dismal river back in 1982. A buddy and I packed our old fiberglass canoe with enough provisions to sustain us for the seventy mile excursion. We experienced hundreds of fresh-water springs spilling from the canyon walls into the cold, clear swiftness of the Dismal. We ate from grapevines hanging over the river as we quietly passed underneath. We shot over a mini waterfall and shouted in victory as the canoe bobbed back to the surface. We climbed the tall hill behind our campsite to view a late summer thunderstorm passing to the north. We learned how to survive on wild plums when our provisions ran dry. This two and a half day trip would be forever etched as a safe mooring haven for my soul.

There is something about floating quietly among the exotic life forms in the Sandhill marshes. In late April the yellow-headed blackbirds return from their wintering grounds in Mexico. Their loud, distinct mating calls fill the air with background music. The strange african bongo drum sound coming from somewhere back in the rushes is the mating call of the shy bittern. Canada geese utilize the numerous muskrat lodges to rear their young, pretending not to see you when you happen too close.

I've spent countless hours over the course of my life quietly slipping into secluded bays and inlets of Sandhill lakes as I guided anglers in search of the northern pike and largemouth bass that thrive in these clear, fertile waters. The fish even seem to find life more abundant here, growing to enormous sizes compared to the rest of the world. Below is a plaster mold of a two pound-two ounce bluegill that I mounted for my uncle which he caught in Pelican Lake back in the 90's. The quarter is for size comparison.

You don't have to be an angler or a bird watcher to enjoy the quiet beauty of the Sandhill's lakes and rivers. Anyone looking for a peaceful interlude will find all kinds of breathing space adrift the blue water lakes or cool streams that adorn this enchanting land. To add icing to the cake, cell reception is scant in this remote expanse, so enjoy!

If you don't own a canoe, or you're afraid of water, then simply tie on a pair of high-top boots and go explore the three-hundred-fifty thousand acres of public land in the Sandhills. Designated hiking trails are few, so you are free to blaze your own. Traversing these expansive hills will give you an exhilarating feeling of individual freedom like none other. Imagine embarking on a trek across the sand dunes of the Sahara. The Sandhills of Nebraska is the same, only with grass to cool the air and water in the valleys to bring all forms of life. Hiking in the sand is easy on the joints and exercise for the muscles. Mostly, though, it's medicine for the soul.

I've been privileged to work for a hunting outfitter for going on a quarter century, giving me ample opportunity to hike the Sandhills. Thankfully, my boss doesn't believe in hunting out of motorized all-terrain vehicles and our trucks are not to leave the ranch trails. This leaves us with one means to hunt. Over the course of the years I've legged over a thousand miles in the rugged terrain of the western Sandhills. Speaking for myself and dozens of hunters from across the country, there is no other hunting like this. Hoofing it through these hills has a way of melting away the hard callouses of life. I've witnessed a transformation not only in myself, but in almost every hunter that arrives from all walks of life. Hunting the Sandhills is more than just harvesting an animal; it's a soul cleansing experience that transcends description.

So am I just a fool obsessed with a spot on Earth? Maybe so, but I guess we all have our obsessions. Mine just happens to be one that brings me peace, joy, and closer to the heart of God. Merry Christmas!