Snowy owls typically nest in the Arctic tundra of Canada and migrate south for the winter. This season, however, these Arctic natives are participating in a dramatic migration called an irruption, during which large numbers of birds migrate to areas where they are not commonly found.

“Every year there’s a few that migrate south because there’s simply not enough food to get all of them through the winter, but normally they don’t come this far south,” said Kent Jensen, associate professor of ornithology at South Dakota State University.

Irruptions can cause snowy owls to migrate remarkable distances from their normal ranges and this season the owls have been spotted from coast to coast in the northern United States.

One of the nation’s hotspots has been Lake Andes National Wildlife Refuge, located on the Yankton Indian Reservation, where 20 different snowy owls have been spotted.

“At their peak, there were approximately 35 sightings a day,” recalled refuge project leader Mike Bryant, who said there has not been an irruption of this magnitude since 1955.

Bryant noted that the refuge saw a spike in visitors—an estimated 500 more than usual—from Dec. 21 through the first two weeks of January, when snowy owl sightings were at their highest due to lack of snow in the area, which makes it easier for snowy owls to hunt.

“We’ve had pretty good local interest,” said Bryant, adding that the curiosity surrounding snowy owls at the refuge transcends the surrounding states. “Even a guy from England came to see it.,” he said.

While most visitors have been birders and wildlife photographers, the unusually large presence of snowy owls in Lake Andes has drawn plenty of non-birders as well.

“A large white bird attracts interest,” Bryant said. “It’s something that people haven’t seen before.”

As their name suggests, snowy owls are easily recognizable by their snow-white coloration. Males have a shock of pure white plumage, while female and juvenile snowy owls demonstrate dark scalloping and barring. Their keen yellow eyes and sharply taloned feet festooned with thick feathers make them superior hunters in their native Arctic habitat. Standing nearly two feet tall, snowy owls are powerful birds of prey.

Snowy owl irruptions are associated with cyclical lemming population crashes that occur every four to five years, but the cause of this season’s irruption of unusually large proportions has generated much speculation among ornithologists.

Jensen suggested that lemming the population was very high last spring and summer and that the large food supply resulted in a very successful breeding season, during which one snowy owl can lay up to eight eggs. The surplus of lemmings then led to the survival of an unusually high number of snowy owl chicks, which have now migrated south for the winter due to a sudden food shortage.

“The situation was just right for a real high reproductive year and then as they moved down we ended up with this doughnut hole of no snow here in the Dakotas that really concentrated the birds,” said Jensen. “That’s my best guess.”

As snowfall has increased in South Dakota, snowy owls have dispersed and sightings have become less clustered at Lake Andes, but this doesn’t mean the owls have disappeared.

“They’re somewhere,” Jensen said, adding that people will continue to enjoy snowy owl sightings until they migrate back to the Arctic in March

Dan Houg, an SDSU alumnus and avid outdoorsman, had been working with my dad for several years at this point and had just convinced him to participate in what he assured both of us was a favored pass time of the SDSU student body. I didn’t find out until years later why he was laughing as he said it. We were going coyote hunting and no, we weren’t anywhere near Vermillion.

In fact, we were fairly close to Brookings as I recall. Given the high winds and blowing snow, we relied very heavily on the truck’s heater and a good pair of binoculars to find the wily predators. Not the manliest form of hunting to be sure, but then again, it was really freaking cold.

These were the days before the widespread use of electronic calls, before predator hunting had even begun to regain its popularity following the demise of state-sponsored bounties and the fall of fur prices.

Coyotes, despite being South Dakota’s state animal, are listed as varmints. This means they’re considered troublesome animals and in this case they’ve been known to eat livestock.

Because of their varmint status, anyone who holds a South Dakota resident hunting license can shoot as many coyotes as they want, year round. The S.D. Game Fish and Parks Department has even set up an online registry for hunters to post their contact information so that farmers and ranchers can find people to help control the predators on their land.

Coyotes in S.D. have spent the last few years recovering from a widespread outbreak of mange, a parasitic disease that causes coyotes to scratch off their fur. This tends to kill them fairly quickly during the cold winter months. West River has seen an especially large increase in coyote numbers and East River has a fairly sizeable population as well.

Ever since North American wolf populations were decimated, coyote numbers have been steadily increasing. They are one of the most adaptable predators in North America and can be found wandering as far north as Alaska and as far south as Mexico. They’re so adaptable that in some cities, like Los Angeles, Calif., for instance, they’re found in large numbers and make a habit of eating house cats.

Coyote hunting is usually better during the winter; the snow and low temperatures combine to get them moving around and looking for food. This makes them easier to call in and has the added bonus of giving them a thicker more luxurious coat, which can translate into some extra adult-beverage money for those who are of age.

A 10-year-old is very impressionable and I’ll never forget the first coyote I ever had the chance to hunt. It was making its way across a pasture on top of something like 24 in. of snow. My dad placed a remarkable 200-yard, open-sight shot into that coyote’s pump station and it dropped on the spot. Naturally, I took off running toward the dead dog before my ears stopped ringing. I dragged that thing all the way back to the truck myself.

What do you do when you’re a snowboarder in Eastern South Dakota and Larson hill is about as exciting as College Algebra?  In the words of the late Steve Jobs, “Innovation distinguishes between a leader and a follower.”  When in doubt, make something up.  Snowmoboarding is the brainchild of fifth-year SDSU senior, Ben Ekeren from Yankton.  In the winter of 2011 (that’s last year’s winter, math majors), Ekeren stood on the balcony of his Third Ave. apartment staring out across the snow-covered fields of Sexauer Park.  Boredom had his mind reeling for a cure and consequently, snowmoboarding was born.

This past Sunday, Jan. 29, Ekeren and his roommate Levi Ringquist once again fired up their relic 1978 Polaris Cobra snowmobile.  In a huge cloud of exhaust fumes and with a loud whine of the engine, Ekeren pulled away with Ringquist in tow.  Ringquist’s smile could be seen from campus if you looked close enough.

Their set-up is rather simple.  Ekeren purchased his girl (the snowmobile) for $50 from a farmer.  They use an old, retired rock climbing rope from the SDSU Wellness Center, and a plastic gymnastic ring made for pull-ups.  With a description like that, you can imagine seeing this performed by some unfortunate soul on America’s Funniest Home Videos.  However, I’ll give credit where credit is due.  These guys whipped out some high-end snowboards, donned their expensive goggles and astounded me with their seasoned skills.

Ringquist, a native of Little Rock, Iowa, obviously had few snowboarding opportunities during his childhood and is now a fifth-year wildlife and fisheries major here at SDSU.  It has been less than two years since Ringquist plummeted down the 100-yard-long Larson Hill for his first snowboard ride. Since then he’s been to both Whistler Blackcomb Ski Resort in Canada and Copper Ski Resort in Colo., where he and Ekeren spent their Christmas break enjoying real snow.  It’s safe to say that Ringquist is hooked, and has evolved into wanting something much greater than Larson Hill.  You could say, he’s had a humble beginning.

“Snowmoboarding is the only way we can get good boarding in without mountains around,” says Ekeren.

The prairie of Eastern South Dakota is not the most productive habitat for die-hard snowboarders.  On top of that, current Campanile-high gas prices put an end to any ideas of traveling to resorts.

The two of them say that while snowmoboarding is fun, nothing can substitute their connection with mountains.  As for now, Ringquist’s LTD brand snowboard is condemned to etch maze-like trails all over the blank snow of Sexauer as he weaves back and forth behind the snowmobile.

The two friends swapped roles throughout the few hours they spent gliding across little bits of snow left during these warmer days.

“It’s a lot like wakeboarding,” claims Ringquist. “Except it hurts worse when you fall.”

Ekeren and Ringquist are the small town heroes of their sport.  They don’t let the weather conditions or their region bring them down.  Even on the plains of South Dakota, where it’s so flat you can watch your dog run away for days, they have found a way to maintain their passion for snowboarding.

Mention the unseasonably nice weather and people will nod fervently, extolling the lack of ice and bitter cold while knocking on the nearest wooden surface, as though premature joy will cause tundra to descend upon our little village at any moment. I’ve even heard some complain that they wish it was a little chillier and that there was more snow to play in.

Whether you’re loving this downright tropical January or wishing you had a reason to pull out that heavy coat and brave a whiter winter (in which case I must assume you’ve got beluga blubber for blood), this is the perfect season to exercise outdoors.

Those of us who enjoy exercising outside know a South Dakota winter typically forces many indoors and onto a treadmill, track or stationary what-have-you. Weather this nice, however, makes the case for hitting the pavement rather than the gym all on its own.
Just in case you do need a little persuading, though, here are a few reasons to get outside this season:

It can help prevent Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD).

SAD is defined by the U.S. National Library of Medicine as episodes of depression that occur at a certain time of the year, most commonly during winter. Studies have also shown that individuals who choose to exercise outdoors during winter—whether they are sufferers of SAD or not—enjoy an improved sense of well-being and better mood overall.

There’s plenty of season-suitable gear out there to keep you warm.

There have been innumerable advances in outdoor equipment over the past decade. Outdoor gear has become lighter, more waterproof and, luckily for South Dakotans, significantly more windproof without demonstrating the breathability of a buffalo pelt. It also looks a heck of a lot more fierce than it used to. Being outside is good for you.

Enjoying time outdoors is enormously beneficial to both physical and mental health.

The Be Out There campaign is a national movement to get children and young people outside based on 14 scientific studies about the benefits of being active in an outdoor setting.

So get outside this season and keep your body hot even while it’s cold. Be winter weather smart: wear a hat, layer your core and watch for cars and those pesky patches of ice. Enjoy being outdoors and carpe the heck out of that diem, even if it snows.

Editor's note: Nick Lowrey is a News Editor at The Collegian. Contact him at nlowrey@sdsucollegian.com

Pheasants occupy a special place in the hearts of upland hunters everywhere. Their thunderous explosion from cover into flight, bright colors and great taste combine to attract hunters from all over the world.

Ring necked pheasants originally came to North America from China in 1881 when Judge O.N. Denny brought 100 breeding pairs across the Pacific to Oregon. Since then the birds have spread through the continent to any place with suitable habitat. South Dakota has proven to be an ideal place for the birds.

Pheasant hunting in South Dakota is widely regarded to be the best in the world. There are more square miles with more pheasants in them than anywhere else on the planet.

Hunting these wily birds is to say the least, a challenge. Their legs are built for running and they use them more than their wings. When they finally do take to the skies they burst from cover with the sound of thunder beneath their wings. To this day that rush of wings still gives me a jolt.

For me, pheasant hunting has always meant more than just a rush of adrenaline and the thrill of the chase. In the fall of 1991 I was just six years old and my family lived in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. On one late October day my brothers and I welcomed our dad home from what we thought was just a normal business trip. Like many fathers he would usually bring us something back from his trip. This time he brought each of us the tail feathers of a pheasant.

This was the first time either myself or my two brothers had ever seen anything to do with pheasants and the first time we’d ever heard of a place called South Dakota. I had grown up hearing my dad tell stories of growing up and learning to hunt from his grandfather but this was my first real taste of hunting. I was hooked from that moment on.

A few months later we moved to Sioux Falls and I spent the rest of my formative years hunting with my dad and brothers. Pheasant hunting still holds a special place in my heart, though I’ve lately become more interested in duck hunting. When pheasant season rolls around I can’t help but get excited. If I don’t spend at least one day wandering around a field chasing ring necks, my year feels incomplete.

Riding a bicycle is about the squarest thing you could do. At least, that’s what anti-bike advertisements want you to think.

They’re always the same: some dork wearing a suit and an ill-fitting helmet is riding down a congested highway—usually in the pouring rain—looking  generally terrified and uncomfortab

Editor's note: Kalie Swails is a wildlife and fisheries major and a native of Tennesee. Contact her at kswails@gmail.com

le while he struggles to hold onto his lunch, a briefcase and presentation materials. Beautiful people in expensive cars speed past him, soaking him in exhaust or rainwater sprayed from their shiny new tires.

Cue the voiceover for State Farm Car Insurance, Audi cars or Autozone Auto Parts.

General Motors recently pulled an anti-bike ad it was running that targeted college students following loud opposition from the cycling community. The ad portrays a guy on a bicycle being passed by an attractive woman in a car. The woman is looking at the man with a snide, demeaning smile while the cyclist, obviously humiliated, hides his face with his hand. The headline reads “Reality Sucks.”

The ad, which encourages consumers to “Stop pedaling… start driving,” ran in a number of college newspapers and as a poster on college campuses, offering a discount on several GM models to college students, according to the Los Angeles Times.

While the advertisement’s intent may have only been to cheekily persuade college students to purchase GM vehicles, the negative feedback it received was so boisterous that GM pulled the ad from rotation.

The reality of riding a bicycle sucks? What about the reality of driving a car?

It certainly sucks for the environment.

The National Highway Traffic Safety Administration estimates that the average American drives between 12,000-15,000 miles per year. In the five years I have owned my car, I’ve put 65,000 miles on it, averaging 13,000 miles a year.

I own a small 1997 Toyota Corolla that I bought used in 2006. It has a 13 gallon tank and gets around 23 miles to the gallon. While it is a fairly efficient vehicle, driving 13,000 miles a year still emits 4.24 metric tons of carbon dioxide, the greenhouse gas which the EPA says contributes the greatest to global warming.

If my Corolla emits 4.24 metric tons of carbon dioxide per year, then in four years of college my car would emit 16.96 metric tons of carbon dioxide. That’s a greater carbon dioxide emission in four years than many individuals in Africa will emit in a lifetime.

Let us not forget that the GM ad was targeting college students, the number of which the U.S Census Bureau projects at 19.1 million. If all of those students drove cars and their cars all emitted the 5.44 metric tons of carbon dioxide that the average American car emits, then in only one year the college-attending population of the United States would emit 103.9 billion metric tons of car

bon dioxide into the atmosphere.

That’s just shy of the total carbon dioxide emissions for the entire country of Japan, according to a 2009 study by the U.S. Energy Information Administration.
The reality of driving a car not only sucks for the atmosphere, it sucks for your wallet, too.

The combined cost of fuel, insurance and activity depreciation (representing economic cost as well as maintenance and repairs) costs me $3,862.31 a year. After four years of college, this would total $15,449.24.

The financial cost of a car gets even more outrageous if you’re still making payments on it, live in a state where your car is included in property tax or just have a nicer, newer car than I do.

The reality of driving a car also sucks for your health.

Even if you only spend 20 minutes a day driving, that amounts to almost 122 hours a year sitting in your vehicle. Then add those hours to the time you spend sitting in class, sitting on the couch or sitting at an office desk. Americans spend and awful lot of time sitting down, which experts say leads to greater risk of obesity and heart attacks.

Breaking up the time we spend sitting with bouts of exercise throughout the day is a great way to keep our bodies healthy, especially when done outdoors where we can enjoy nature and soak up vitamin D from the sun. Depending on weight, you can burn 150-300 calories in just 20 minutes of biking at 15 miles per hour (which is no Lance Armstrong pace).

Since I began using my bike as my primary means of transportation this summer, I’ve noticed a difference in my cardiovascular shape and on the scale. By being more active and moderating my diet, burning body fat rather than fossil fuel has not only been fairly easy, it’s been enjoyable.

So what’s the reality of riding a bike?

You might get a little sweaty and you’ve got to hope you don’t send yourself flying over your handlebars on accident. Sometimes it does rain; sometimes you are a little overloaded with stuff.

But by biking, you’ve got so much more to feel good about than you do driving your car, like no carbon dioxide emissions, zero fuel cost and improved health. Not mention the indescribably liberating joy of soaring down a hill and feeling like a kid again.

So if GM wants to tell cyclists how lame we are for caring about the environment, saving money and being healthier, they can have at it. We’re the ones pedaling all the way to the good karma bank.

The auto industry would love for us to be fat, up to our eyes in debt and dependent on cars to get anywhere. Your body, wallet and planet disagree.

It was Friday Oct. 7 and I had just arrived in the only noteworthy region of South Dakota, the Black Hills.

Ben Ekeren and I drove out west to do some climbing with SDSU alumni Kristen Wiles and Bryce Drefke, with Wiles coming from Colorado.  It’s a crisp evening in Rapid City as we go enjoy some watered-down $1 pints at a local bar.  I lay my head down on the pillow a couple of hours later knowing that I’m climbing in the most secret, yet world class crag (climbing area), the next morning.

Editor's note: Reed Rombough is a wildlife and fisheries major. You can reach him at crrombough@jacks.sdstate.edu

Saturday morning is no ordinary morning of climbing endeavors. Every year the Black Hills Climbing Coalition (BHCC) hosts a special event in the astonishing Needles of the Black Hills called the Needles Pumpkin Party. The BHCC protects this area’s secrecy with the intensity of a T-Rex with kidney stones.

The pumpkin party is a chance for local climbers to gather, socialize and celebrate what they have to enjoy at their disposal.  The premise is basic: show up with a pumpkin, drink beer, carve your pumpkin, drink beer, climb a spire and put your pumpkin on top of the spire.  It also involves a swap of pumpkins once you reach the spires. The event provides a social, healthy and happy climbing atmosphere for the whole day.

Not this year though. This year I’ve come, which of course brings the first rainstorm in four weekends.

We roll onto Needles Highway in a cold, windy rainstorm knowing that no climbing is going down today.  We get the word of the cancellation of the pumpkin party. I’m sad about the rain and thwarted climbing opportunity, Ekeren is stoked because you can always bike in the rain.

After six hours of wet biking followed by a hot shower and a few movies, I once again lay down with dreams of the Needles in my head.

“YOU HAVE TO BE KIDDING ME!” I whine as I gaze at yet another storm whipping across the Black Hills.  It looks like Sunday is going to be a bike day too.

With two days in and no climbing, Monday morning brings saving grace.  We wake up early to a gorgeous sunshine glazed over the hills and eat a quick breakfast before heading for the Needles. Today is the last day that the Needles highway will be open for the season, so it is a momentous day for climbing.

We decided on a route called God’s Own Drunk. It is located on the north side of the Khayyam spire in the Cathedral Spires area of the Needles. It was in the 40s but the sun shone bright and the rock was dry. What more could we possibly ask for? I normally would be staring at the ceiling in public relations class.

Big climbs like this are done in legs like a relay, called pitches.  The first pitch is the meat and taters of the route. I can look down between my legs to see a 25-foot gap between my feet and my last piece of gear. I pull up to the first set of anchors and clip in and let a “Yippy ky-yay” yell echo throughout the unworldly Cathedral Spires.  Ekeren follows up and meets me at the anchor where we consolidate gear again and I take off for the second pitch.

As I started, it felt like I was climbing with a 50 pound weight attached to my waist. By the time I reach the ledge with the next anchors I can barely squat the amount of weight from my rope drag as it pulls back against my upward progression.  The rope has become so twisted that it is struggling to move through the carabiners on my gear but some fancy rope work and improv saves the day again.

We both climb the last few feet to the summit.  We are 170 feet up, straddling a chunk of ground that maybe 100 other people have ever sat on.  We take pictures and high-five on our summit as we take in the overwhelming view provided by the Cathedral Spires.  But the best is yet to come.

We grab a rope we’ve been trailing and start hauling our pre-carved pumpkin up the face.  It may not be the official Needles Pumpkin Party, but that pumpkin cost $3.38 and we’re not wasting it.  We relish in the idea of a pumpkin on this tiny little summit and then we make our way down.

Before long we are headed back home feeling like we were a little bit more radical than the rest of the population.  More proof that adventure is what you make it.

The days of the question “Can Timmy come out and play?!” are long gone.  Now, even 75 percent of our student body stays inside and plays video games – 99 percent of all statistics are made up on the spot.

Ben Ekeren hits a jump in a race in Crested Butte, Colo.

Not Ben Ekeren, though. He is 23 years old, and he’ll still play outside with you. Ekeren is a fifth-year senior landscape architecture and environmental management double major, but ladies, he’s also much more.

Ekeren is the Travis Pastrana of SDSU – his friends will be the first to tell you that he seems to be good at everything. He grew up on a farm north of Yankton, but this guy is not an ordinary farm boy.

He was the classic adolescent wannabe stuntman. However, when other kids hit age 16 and their Walmart “Next” bikes started cobweb farms in the garage, Ben just biked harder. He got a job at the Yankton bicycle shop in high school and turned his hard-earned greenies into the $5,000 worth of bicycles now chilling on his Subaru wagon. Ben Ekeren is a prairie-raised, downhill mountain biking machine.

At the age of 17, Ekeren won the Terry Peak Downhill Race, making him the number-one downhill mountain-biker in South Dakota before he could even grown hair on his chinny-chin-chin. Since that race, Ekeren has competed in downhill races all over the country, including major venues like Crested Butte, Colo., and the John Fisher in Fresno, Calif.  Since his debut on the downhill scene in 2004, the popularity of the sport has skyrocketed, making the competition even stiffer.

Two weeks ago, Ekeren once again made the two-wheeled plunge down Terry Peak with slightly different results: fifth place. I sat with Ben at his SDSU Rockwall job the day after his race and asked him how he went from first to fifth.

“Downhill’s gotten more popular now. Stiffer competition. Oh, and I ate it on my second run; that doesn’t help,” he said.

Ekeren came around a sharp turn and his front tire smoked a rock, throwing him to the dirt and adding 22 seconds to his time. That rock dropped him from third place on the stand to fifth and an honorable mention. When I asked him if he was mad he just smiled and said, “No, I just had fun, man.”

Downhill isn’t Ekeren’s only hobby. He’s dabbled in snowmobile racing and he’s easily one of the top five rock climbers in the region. Not only that, he’s an avid archer and sportsman, an up-and-coming mountaineer, and a slackliner; he also shreds double black diamond powpow on his snowboard.

Why am I promoting Ekeren like a contestant on a bad TV dating show? He is a good example for all of you who should put down the video game controller. There is a whole world outside of your flat screen TV that has endless possibilities. If you want more out of your life, if you want to look back on your life with a smile, if you want to experience the world like never before, then go outside.

Editor’s note: Reed Rombough is a wildlife and fisheries major. You can reach him at crrombough@jacks.sdstate.edu

It’s in the granite outcroppings, modest to monolithic, which so embody the island of mountains in a sea of prairie.

It’s in the Ponderosa pines, some the United States Forest Service reports as ancient as 700 years, which dominate the landscape in one of the purest stands in the world.

It’s in the mineral called Mica which glitters in the rock face and flakes into the soil, bringing to mind the shimmering of fish scales.

Lakota holy man Black Elk nailed it when he reached the top of Harney Peak and the horizon looked so infinite that he likened it to seeing the “whole hoop of the world” beneath him.

Different strokes for different folks, but go for a hike in the Black Hills and you’ll know what I’m talking about.

Take heart, though. Sacrality demands reverence is always ready to put you in your place. People underestimate how challenging and physically demanding the wilderness is. We overestimate our own ability. It seems that unless we stand daily on the shore of the ocean or the rim of the Grand Canyon that we forget how small we are.

It was Fourth of July weekend and the boyfriend and I were camping in Boxelder Forks Campground outside the small town of Nemo, S.D. Boxelder Forks is my kind of place. Campsites are limited, generously spaced and fairly primitive despite the luxury of a rustic restroom facility—no flushing required—for those of us ladies who love to be in the woods, but do not love to pee in the woods.

Boxelder Forks is as quiet as it is picturesque. The campground is shaded by mature pines and surrounded by Black Hills National Forest. Boxelder Creek rushes adjacent to the campground, brown and rainbow trout hiding in its rippling waters.

We woke up early. I boiled water for oatmeal on our tiny camp stove while my boyfriend set about loading lunch, bug spray and first aid gear into our pack. The day before, we spotted the trailhead for a path on the opposite side of the creek that riders on horseback had been enjoying throughout the weekend. After spending the previous morning trying to enjoy the enormously over-run shores of Sylvan Lake, we had yet to hike and were eager for some secluded foot-travel.

We set off into the wilderness. As we wandered down the trail, we talked about Black Elk and mountain majesty and the great misfortune of those who, voluntarily or otherwise, do not enjoy enough of the great outdoors.

As we hiked, we noticed the trail continually curved west. As if we had been tracking animals in the bush all our lives, we decided the path must be a loop, as horse trails commonly are. Emboldened by our imaginary navigation skills, we hiked enthusiastically, climbing steep hills, wading across creeks, traversing grassy hollows.

After some time, I began expecting to see the town of Nemo from the peak of every hill we climbed. A nagging uncertainty crept in the back of my mind, but as the trail spilled onto a remote gravel road we were sure we had driven on the day before, I swatted at my doubt like a cloud of mosquitoes. I have always been a worrier; I needed to loosen up.

As miles passed with no trace of Nemo, I felt the proverbial bad feeling sinking like a stone in my stomach. After an hour, I was legitimately concerned. After two, I felt the single deadliest emotion a hiker can feel: panic.

We were out of water. We had no idea where we were. We were lost.

My sense of calm confidence replaced itself with despair. Our dehydration increased minute by minute. I went through a mental checklist of the food we had left in the pack: some granola, a pack of fruit snacks and a pouch of tuna. The temperature had dropped below 40 degrees the night before. We were in shorts and T-shirts; what if we had to spend the night out there?

I thought of the map they would show on our episode of the Discovery Channel’s “I Shouldn’t Be Alive”. I could imagine the line tracing our trail, illustrating the deadly misconception that we were heading toward civilization when in fact we were descending deeper into the wild. I pictured rescue teams searching for our bodies. I envisioned our names and photos in the local paper.

No longer did the Black Hills seem charming and inviting. Instead, the landscape around me became treacherous, overwhelming, enormous. I felt as if I had been swallowed.

As words like hypothermia and starvation rang in my ears, we spotted a sign in the distance. It felt like a miracle, like a lighthouse in the pines.

“Nemo – 5 miles.”

I felt overjoyed. The trek back to Nemo and the two miles from town to camp would almost triple the distance we intended to hike that day, but our exhaustion gave way to elation regardless.

Seven very long, thirsty miles later, we arrived back at Boxelder Forks. We drank water from the hand-pump well like maniacs. We laid in the chilly creek as if it were a thermal spring. I was so happy to see our tent I could have cried.

As unnerving as the situation was, I am deeply appreciative for the some 14 miles I spent lost in the Black Hills. We live in a world determined to overpower nature rather than obey it. It is therefore a very humbling experience to be dominated by that which we try so hard to dominate.

I encourage everyone to get lost in the woods. Take lots of water. Bring a map and a compass and one of those blankets that folds to the size of a deck of cards. Do it in June, not January. And for the love of God, don’t do it while filming a documentary about a local child-snatching witch (we all know how that movie ends).

I don’t promote seeking an experience that will require bloodhounds and a helicopter, but I fully support anyone willing to step off the trail for a moment and savor the magnitude of the natural world. Learn about yourself and those you go with. Reawaken what your smartphone, iPad and TomTom try to tame.

Go forth. Get lost.

Editor’s note: Kalie Swails is a wildlife and fisheries major and a native of Tennessee. Contact her at kswails@gmail.com