Though technically the temperatures were seasonably warm for January, a stiff wind blowing across the wide open prairie had dashed any hopes I had of spending a pleasant day outdoors.  That's not to say I hadn't tried my best, but all attempts lead me towards a comfortable bed tucked in the back of an inconspicuous little minivan. The set up complete with space heater, occasional fits of cell service and a little dram of bourbon.

Ah the great outdoors.

Still, any camping trip you can manage in January is a bonus, despite how little outside time you can actually bear.  Earlier in the day I had braved the wind for a small hike around the badlands in search of compositions.  My heart tugged me in all different directions across the big muddy landscape, but my head reigned in my impulses to trample over the fragile terrain.  Instead, I followed the paths, skittering down icy slopes and clambering up muddy slippery hills. When the trail dictated that I wade through a slushy pond of meltwater, snow and mud I grudgingly obliged and ran across with such a quick tip toe my knees nearly hit my chin to save my boots from a thorough soaking.  Perhaps in the dry heat of summer, it might be acceptable to meander through the badlands in search of new vantage points, but in these soggy conditions a single step on the muddy ground leaves unsightly footprints and beckons others to do the same. 

It was probably for the best to stay on the well worn trail anyway.  Despite my good intentions, I found myself more than a few times standing in a sea of prairie, wondering where the trail may have wandered to and where I might happen to be standing in relation to it. And more importantly, where the hell would I be currently standing in relation to the car?  It's funny, I rarely need a compass when I'm in the mountains, with such discernable landmarks it's easy enough to find your bearings. But in the prairies more than a few times I could feel concern creeping in as I looked for any sign of a way back to where the car was parked. My focus as usual had been more on potential photos than my actual surroundings, not always the best tactic for solo wanders.

Although I never managed to catch a glimpse of them in the maze of peaks and gullies, a pack of coyotes was very near and I interrupted their conversations more than once with a shout or two of my own, though I was unsure if alterting them to my presence would keep them at bay or raise their curiosity to come find me. At times it seemed like there must be dozens of coyotes in the pack, their numbers likely amplified by my solitude. 

Being just a tad bit lost without a compass and alone with a pack of coyotes was one thing, but the sheer number of places to point a camera at was another thing altogether. Around every corner I'd spy an interesting formation, unpack the camera, take a photo and enjoy the surroundings.  No sooner than one photo was taken I'd wonder what might be around the next corner that I might be able to point a camera at. Another formation, some interesting textures, maybe even a dinosaur bone? Not wanting to miss out on the potential of something better around the bend, I'd quickly pack up the camera and dart around to find the next composition.  The coyotes chirping one another in the distance while I took in life through the lens.

The variety and abundance of photo compositions kept me occupied for a while, but ultimately they were no match against the wind.  With few places to hide from it's bite, my nose and cheeks turned rosy and my fingers began to burn with the threat of frostbite. Reluctantly, I made my way backwards through the winding trails, looking for familiar landmarks in a sea of distinct formations towards camp.  The coyotes and wind howled at my heels as I found my way back to the car and crawled into a cozy little bed in a sea of weather and wilderness.  Arguably the best part about camping anyway, particularly a bonus trip in January.