Halsey National Forest - Nebraska
July 7-9, 2025
Corn. That is the image and word that comes to mind when someone mentions Nebraska. Corn. Rows and rows of corn. After all, the college mascot for the University of Nebraska is the Corn Husker. The image and picture I have of Nebraska is that it is flat and full of rows and rows of corn. And maybe some soy beans from time to time. Nebraska was never on my radar for a hiking trip. Yet I was recently in Omaha for another event and thought I might see if my image of Nebraska was correct. I contend that every state has something beautiful to offer and wanted to see if that would be true for the Cornhusker State.
The Halsey National Forest in Nebraska has the unique distinction of housing the largest hand-planted forest in the world. Over 100 years ago, someone had the great idea of planting a bunch of trees in the plains and hills of Nebraska so that someday we would have supplies for the timber industry. I was intrigued with the idea of hand-planted forest and the prairie of Nebraska in one space. I had never had the opportunity to hike in an honest-to-goodness Midwest prairie, so this might be interesting. Aside from flying over them, I don’t think I have ever seen a prairie up close. I was curious to see the second most diverse ecosystem in the world. And, the hiking would not be on any trails and dispersed camping. There are some ATV “roads” (dirt ruts), but not many, and no designated backcountry campsites. This meant that I could just wander and roam and stop where I wanted to for the night. I’m used to hiking on trails, sleeping in shelters or campsites for my wilderness experiences. This would be different.
It was open. The prairie would expand for miles, undulating hills of green and brown, speckled with bright spots of wildflowers of primarily purple and yellow. Here and there were prickly pear cactus and yucca threatening to pierce and scratch me making it tricky to just walk in a strait line. I had just missed the blooms of the prickly pears and was a little early for the yucca.
To navigate the prairie and the forest I used a map, compass, and wandered from windmill to windmill (where there would be water). In the open prairie this was not so difficult to walk a fairly straight line. In the hand-planted forest, this was trickier. The trees were close, there was no manicured trail, and I often had to get under and then over branches, push them aside, or just force my way through. There were times when I had to figure a way around a thicker stand of trees and got a little off of my baring. Luckily the windmills were tall enough that I could usually spot them from about 50 feet away. There is something exciting and freeing about hiking with just a map and compass. I was able to return to skills that I have not used in a while and felt good knowing that I did not need to rely on electronic technology to find my way around.
I saw birds. Lots of song birds, some raptures, and heard even more. The sound of the birds mixed with the insects was continuous and wonderful. A number of times I was able to catch a deer leaping through the prairie away from me and noticed a gopher running up a hill in the distance. There were a lot of cows grazing and mooing (which meant a lot of barb wire fences to climb over). The coyote bayed in the evening and the morning and partly through the night, and there were plenty of insects (though they were not unbearable). The night sky was exactly what I hoped – the tell-tale band of stars that make up the belt of the Milky Way was easy to see and admire.
As much as I liked being among the trees, I camped in the prairie both nights. There was something about being in such a big, open space that felt good. I did not feel special, I did not feel like everything was about me, but more that I was a part of being present in the space. I was a part of the landscape, not demanding to be seen and noticed, but grateful to be included. I would like to think that all of the diversity of the prairie invited me to enjoy the sun set, the morning lightning storm in the far distance, and the cool breeze from time to time. I would like to think that my presence made some difference to the ecosystem and at the same time made no difference. Today, tomorrow, and beyond, all of the places that I slept, walked, and wondered through will continue to thrive and struggle and flourish and fail as if I was never there. There is a kind of awe that can be found in such a thought. The prairie is bigger than I am, and yet allows me to fall into the yawning expanse.
