In January 2024, I was accepted into my first art residency, at Agate Fossil Beds National Monument. When I got the email that I had been accepted, I was ecstatic. Years of applications and dozens of rejections (with several runner-up finishes tossed in there) finally morphed into a "yes." At that point, I began researching all I could find about the park.
I arrived on a Sunday afternoon with my wife on March 17th, 2024. That time of year, the transition period between winter and spring, is an odd time on the plains. Temperatures can fluctuate from 0 to 70 degrees Fahrenheit, winds bounce between a gentle breeze to hurricane force, and the ground may be caked in ice or brittle, fire-prone brown. The afternoon of my arrival, thankfully, was none of those extremes; it was a pleasant 50 degrees, fairly windy, but with beautiful blue skies and wispy clouds far above.
As part of the residency, I was given a room in one of the park houses. And, because of the time of year, the house was unoccupied except for me and my wife. After picking up the house keys from the visitor center, we drove the final half mile or so to our home for the next two weeks. Once we got settled in, it was finally time to explore the park a bit.
Agate Fossil Beds National Monument is not a large park by any means. Measuring at slightly under 5 square miles (a bit more than 12 square kilometers) and surrounded by private ranches on all sides, it certainly doesn't have the expansiveness of a Yellowstone or Death Valley. That said, what the park lacks in size it makes up for in character. Grasslands and the plains don't receive the attention or respect they deserve. While there may not be dramatic mountains, canyons cutting thousands of feet into the earth, or spectacular waterfalls, the plains have an aura about them that is harder to describe.
In Agate Fossil Beds you are not required to stay on an officially designated trail. The park has two scenic, fun, and informative trails—the Fossil Beds and Daemonelix Trails—but I spent the majority of my time wandering aimlessly across the grassy slopes that comprise much of the park. I clambered up the rocky buttes on the north side of the park, strolled along the snakelike Niobrara River, which cuts a meandering path through the heart of the park, and stood in waist-high grass along the park's southern edge. On these hikes, I spied abundant wildlife, heard the eerie call of coyotes across the hills, dipped my hands into the Niobrara, stumbled over gopher mounds, and experienced the solitude and remoteness of the plains.
As a black and white landscape photographer, I am interested in strong contrast, striking forms, and abundant detail. On the grasslands, especially in March, I was concerned that the park would not have enough to offer for two weeks of photography.
I was absolutely wrong. A dedicated photographer could spend years here and not uncover the hidden charm of the plains.
During my two weeks, I witnessed two snow storms, bright sunny skies, wispy clouds passing over the rising moon, elegant sunrises, massive flocks of red-winged blackbirds, bald eagles and hawks patrolling the skies, and some of the darkest night skies left in the contiguous United States.