Even for the hopelessly obsessed, the prospect of a National Preserve hardly stirs the blood to a boil. Like so many, we get faint at the thought of a National Park, Monument, or Historic Site, but whenever we’re forced – either by passport stamp necessity or simple proximity – to spend time and treasure in search of a mere Preserve (the same usually holds for a Recreation Area), we cling to duty, even as we long for greener pastures and more thrilling adventures. No, a 10,984-acre patch of grass is no one’s idea of a mind-blowing vacation, but as our original plans were quite literally washed away (late May thunderstorms in Montana, who knew?), we had to suck it up and hit Kansas once again, even if it’s usually the last state on any sane person’s itinerary. But as the Tallgrass Prairie National Preserve (created in 1996) is, at this moment, the remaining 4% of what once covered 140 million acres in the Flint Hills of the Sunflower State, we figured that at the very least, we’d be face to face with a genuine rarity. I mean, I’m no fan of outhouses, but if you’re telling me that you have the very one where Jesse James shat forth his last meal, I’ll spend a small fortune to see it in the flesh. And while Tallgrass is more endangered ecosystem than historic human waste, it still holds a great deal of appeal, even if we couldn’t see most of it thanks to the single most inefficient use of rangers in the history of the NPS.
So yes, this is where the lush fields of green turn to bitterness, in case you had any doubt. While there are historic buildings at Tallgrass Prairie (the Spring Hill/Z Bar Ranch maintained a hold from 1878 until 1986), you’re here to see the vast grasses, of which there are four types: big and little bluestem, switch grass, and Indian grass. As expected, the prairie is host to a complex ecosystem of birds, plants, and other creatures, including the Greater prairie-chicken, Eastern meadowlark, coyote, and American bison. And though you can climb up into the heart of the ranch complex and see endless stretches of windswept color before you, it’s best if you leave the confines of the parking lot. If only. You see, no personal vehicles are allowed in the midst of the prairie, leaving only tour buses to flesh out the mere hints of what is available to the eye and ear. Sure, there are hikes, but the shortest one is several miles long (they run from several to no less than thirteen, and unless there’s buried treasure at the end of the rainbow, hell will never get cold enough for me to embark on that journey). This being Memorial Day weekend, I was under the impression that buses would be running non-stop, and as the crowds were ever-increasing (cars pulled up throughout our stay), it seemed reasonable to conclude that we’d be taken care of by the NPS faithful. Not on this day. There were two tours – two and only two – and having just missed the 11am bus by mere minutes, we were told that we’d have to wait until 3pm for the next one.
So without irony or the hint of a sly grin, the humorless, bastard son of a ranger told me that if I wanted to bathe in the Tallgrass, I’d have to wait four hours. This not being an amusement park, and having just explored the rest of the site in under fifteen minutes, I’m not sure how I was supposed to spend these four hours, unless I was content to watch a sound-free orientation video several hundred times. Bully for Tallgrass for building a new visitor center (before, the site had to make do with the ranch house or the barn), but if you’re going to consider it open for business, make sure you have more than, well, a sour ranger to distract tourists. The passport stamps were all in order – thank the stars – but nothing other than immaculate restrooms greeted us. And where the hell were the magnets? Nothing, in fact, was for sale, and given the potential wait (did I mention it was FOUR HOURS), the least they could have done was haul in a Ms. Pac-Man machine to pass the time. What on earth were the rangers not conducting tours doing? Making sure that no one stole the broken DVD? From what I could tell, their only job on this windy Sunday was to inform once-smiling blue hairs and cyclists that they could not see the actual Tallgrass because no one expected crowds on the busiest holiday weekend of the year. Worst of all, a shiny, freshly-washed bus was sitting right in front of the facility, mocking anyone who dared ask why it wasn’t, you know, driving through the site with fat and happy alike.
If, then, you are one of the unlucky majority who misses the bus tour, what can you do at Tallgrass Prairie National Preserve? Well, there’s a three-level limestone barn (measuring 110’ x 60’), though no ranger will be around to tell you anything about it. And then there are the corrals and fences, but no ranger to provide a clue. Next, there are outbuildings and a scratch shed, but – shocker – no rangers about. The chicken house, carriage house, curing house, and ranch house (Second Empire-style limestone mansion, built in 1881) are also available, but barring a fire you just might have to set, no one will be around to provide any facts or figures. There’s also the Lower Fox Creek School (1/2 mile walk from the ranch headquarters), but unless you care to consult the rusty swingset, good luck finding out anything about it. From all appearances, the crowds were content to wander around without guidance, but they could just as easily have been suffering from heatstroke. Odds are, the tornado-like fury of the day’s wind was blowing away what shit remained for them to give. I snapped a few photos, of course, muttered vague threats at the rangers under my breath, and then, as I reached the car, I settled down a bit. Sure, two tours a day on such a weekend was silly and grossly inefficient, but save the grass, what the hell was out there that should get me so upset? Had they transferred the Upper Geyser Basin from Yellowstone? Created a mock-up of El Capitan to compete with the birds? I didn’t have my history wrong and Lincoln was actually assassinated somewhere near Strong City, right? It’s a National Preserve, you grouch. You saw what you could, stamped your book, and moved on. Save the rage for a National Park.
FINAL RATING
4/10
We had an experience at a park where we made it all the way through the park and no ranger said a word to us. No one greeted us or told us anything about the park. The only one that talked to us was the gift shop lady who told us how much the magnet cost.
ReplyDeleteOther parks we could not get them to stop talkin. It is kind of a crap shoot as to what you get.