Wait, are those animals *real*?!

I read that central Oklahoma has a scenic road, so I routed today’s drive along part of it. I expected some nice, possibly mountainous scenery. Or something. Whatever it was, it didn’t really matter: this was just a driving day, from southern Oklahoma all the way over the Texas panhandle. Need to eat up some miles and get closer to some National Parks, which as you’ll recall is the actual destination of this trip.

And for the second day in a row, Oklahoma astounded me with a landscape I would never have anticipated because I don’t know any better. For the road went through the Wichita Mountains Wildlife Refuge, and not only was the scenery jaw-dropping but I saw some animals hanging out by the roadside I couldn’t have foreseen.

It began after Masayo and I drove from our campsite in Chickasaw National Recreation Area down the back roads of this flat and funny-shaped state. At first things were merely pleasant, and when we turned north and entered the wildlife refuge, we pulled over to check out the visitor center.

The fact that there was a visitor center was already more than I was expecting. Maybe this area would turn out to be substantial after all.

The visitor center was nice, full of proud and impressive displays about the animals and the grasslands that surrounded us. I asked the lady behind the desk which fork I should take north of the visitor center, noting privately that the route I’d carefully planned went north before turning towards Texas.

She suggested the western fork though, and that’s what we took. As we rounded a bend and found the turn-off for a side road with a picnic area, we saw what made Wichita Mountains WR so special:

Vast, uncannily colorful yellow fields stretched out before us, nearly overtaking the green grass completely and supporting a row of low, rocky outcrops above them. It’s blooming season in central Oklahoma, apparently: I’ve never seen a sight like this anywhere.

We got out to gawk and take photos – I even left the car door wide open as I crept closer and closer toward the endless meadow, snapping photos and letting out an actual gasp when I cleared a small ridge and saw a fat blue river sitting on the valley floor.

Impossibly, the scene had just got even nicer.

From there we climbed back in the car, chattering excitedly together about what was around us and eventually stopping at a picnic area in a small, lightly wooded field. We chose the large round concrete table smack dab in the middle and had our lunch.

And it was on the way out, as we drove along with respectful slowness and looked forward to seeing the field of yellow flowers again, that Wichita Mountains Wildlife Refuge started the wildlife show.

A rock, silhouetted against the sky, became visible on a distant hilltop as we rounded a bend. I couldn’t take my eyes off of it; there was something suspicious about this rock. As I kept looking I saw that it was shaped like a bison, which only made it more suspicious.

And the more I looked, the more it looked like a bison until finally it became unmistakable: the shape shifted its head and the penny dropped for both Masayo and I. A real bison!

I hit the emergency lights on the car and pulled over the best I could to point my camera out the window and try to capture the scene. Oncoming cars didn’t seem to be stopping; it was just me. I was in awe that a beast like this was still roaming the open countryside. Why were all the other drivers so blasé about it?

Eventually we continued on and found out why: there were a couple dozen bison, scattered across the hills. They were different sizes, and mostly dark blobs on the horizon. Some were standing and eating, others sitting in the grass idly watching the world go by like suburban canines. Many had a bird hitching a ride on their back. As a matchmaker, Mother Nature is full of surprises.

Trying not to cause too much traffic headaches for others, Masayo and I stopped a few more times to get photos and look astonished at each other. Soon we crested another hill on the main road through the park and saw a yellow diamond road sign saying PRAIRIE DOG XING. The lady at the visitor center had mentioned this place but hadn’t explained it. I envisioned some little structure dedicated to prairie dogs, whatever they are. Little exhibits and photos and stuff.

Again I was happily wrong: Prairie Dog Town is just a field where prairie dogs live. We joined several other cars in a gravel lot and got out to take a look.

There were holes in the ground, and atop the nearest was a little tan rodent figure. It was in a perfect spot, and in a perfect pose: clearly a model. But why? Were local scientists trying to coax real prairie dogs to this hole? Was the staff of the Refuge just giving us tourists something to photograph?

Again I’d underestimated my planet: the “model” moved, shifting his gaze to some other point in the distance. My eyes adjusted to the field and its many holes: there were dozens of these things, all real and all moving!

As the humans took photos and laughed, the sleek-looking, short-fur prairie dogs slithered through the grass, dove in and out of their dusty holes, and (best of all) would suddenly stand erect, casting a suspect eye on whatever or whomever happened to be around.

We watched the dogs scurry around and entertain us for a while and, feeling the rug of hundreds of miles yet to go, got back in the car. I changed the route around and found the originally intended road that took us to Dumas, TX. But the whole rest of the day, the color, the landscapes, and of course the unbelievable animals of Wichita Mountains Wildlife Refuge stayed in our minds.

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