A Homerun Hike in Toadstool Geologic Park
Jun 05, 2025 05:15PM ● By Story and Photography by Lisa Ballard
I always welcome a reason to go hiking, but in Nebraska? When I received
the invitation from my colleague Kerri, it dumbfounded me. My
impression of Nebraska was flat fields of corn as far as the eye could
see, but a quick search online revealed that Nebraska had elevation. On
average, the state lay 2,600 feet above sea level. By comparison,
Woodstock is about 700 feet high. The highest place in Nebraska,
Panorama Point, at 5,429 feet, was over a thousand feet higher than
Mount Mansfield (4,395 feet)!
Chimney Rock
The bones of a pioneer-era covered wagon by the trailhead to Chimney Rock in the distance.
During the mid 1800s, over 350,000 emigrants heading west on the Oregon Trail were overjoyed to reach Chimney Rock, a 325-foot-tall phallic spire made of volcanic ash, sandstone, and clay located in the North Platte River valley near Bayard. It was the first hint that they had successfully navigated across most of the Great Plains. I was less happy. The “trails” were actually paved sidewalks and were closed for maintenance. They would reopen in three weeks. Strike one.
Scotts Bluff
Determined to hike, we drove west to the 3,000-acre Scotts Bluff National Monument. Scotts Bluff, the cliff for which the national monument is named, forms one side of Mitchell Gap, another important landmark for pioneers heading west with their covered wagons.
“Beware of rattlesnakes,” warned a ranger as we got out of the car.
Rattlesnakes! That was something I hadn’t considered. Born and raised in
the Northeast, the only snakes I ever encountered on a hike were
innocuous garter snakes.
Suddenly, something lurched in the grass. “A snake!” I panicked, but
there was no warning rattle. Instead, a painted turtle about the size of
my hand foraged for insects beside the trail. With a chuckle of relief,
I moved it away from passersby and continued toward the bluff.
Fort Robinson State Park
After aborting our climb at Scotts Bluff, I wondered if trying to hike
in Nebraska was a silly idea after all, but Kerri had another
suggestion, Fort Robinson State Park near Crawford. Fort Robinson was a
former United States military base and Native American resettlement post
during the 1800s. Chief Crazy Horse surrendered and died there in 1877.
Two years later, the Northern Cheyenne broke out of the fort after the
US Army nearly starved and froze them to death during the winter. The
army chased and killed the escapees in one of the worst massacres of the
Indian wars of that era.
Though its history was tragic, the park had good hiking potential. It
published a trail map with 130 miles of trails for “hikers, mountain
bikers, and horseback riders.” The topography on the map looked more
like badlands than prairie. My optimism returned, and Kerri insisted the
Turtle Rock Trail would not disappoint me.
The next morning, we parked at the trailhead. I got out of the car,
laced up my hiking boots, and shouldered my pack, but Kerri hadn’t
moved. “Aren’t you coming with me?” I asked. “No, I prefer to do this
route by Jeep,” she replied. “I’ll meet you in town later for a beer and
a burger.” Her answer confused me. A sign at the trailhead clearly said
“No motor vehicles,” and a dirt footpath trail lay before me, so I
waved goodbye, happy to finally see a slice of Nebraskan backcountry,
though her Jeep comment niggled at me.
The start of the Turtle Rock Trail resembled an overgrown two-track. It climbed moderately at first, but after a half mile, it turned downright vertical, and the two-track merged into one recently graded path about the width of a one-lane road. Instead of hiking boot treads, tire tracks imprinted the newly exposed soil. I figured the tire tracks were from the grader. “Maybe that’s how Nebraskans do trail work?” I thought.
Suddenly three Jeeps approached me, bombing down the trail, filled with
happy tourists. Surprised, I quickly stepped aside. The first two Jeeps
barely slowed to pass me, but the third stopped. “Are you lost?” asked a
park ranger. “No. I was told this is a nice hiking loop,” I replied.
The ranger gave me a thumbs-up then accelerated downward to catch up to
the other two Jeeps. Turns out, the state park officials offer Jeep
tours on the park’s trails as a revenue source and recreational
opportunity. Though the rest of my hike had some nice views along the
clifftops, it was entirely along an unpaved road. Two more Jeeps went by
before I closed the loop back at the trailhead. I had struck out on
hiking in Nebraska.
Toadstool Geologic Park
Ancient rock formations are visible from the hiking trail at the Toadstool Geologic Park.
That evening, I packed up my hiking gear and resigned myself to seeing a few more historic sites and then heading home. One of those historic sites was the Hudson-Meng Education and Research Center in the Oglala National Grasslands, 20 miles from Crawford. The center houses one of the most significant paleo-archeological discoveries in North America. Shortly after the last ice age receded from this part of the Great Plains, 14,000 years ago, 600 Bison antiquus, an oversized predecessor of the bison we know today, Bison bison, died in that spot creating an enormous bone pile. No one knows why, but their bones reveal an ancient prairie giant that was 7.5 feet tall, 15 feet long, and weighed 3,500 pounds.
After touring the Hudson-Meng Education and Research Center, Kerri
suggested I hike from there to the Toadstool Geologic Park. “It’s one of
my favorite hikes, about three miles one way,” said Kerri. “Just follow
the brown fence posts with the yellow paint on top.”
I wasn’t interested. Kerri had lost all credibility regarding hiking
routes. “I don’t have any of my hiking stuff with me,” I said. No pack.
No water. No map. Nothing, though I actually wore a pair of Lowa hiking
shoes, hiking shorts, and a technical sun hoody—my standard summer
traveling getup. But Kerri insisted. I finally agreed to go if Kerri
would meet me at the other end with the car. At least I would get some
exercise.
The faint trail started at the door of the research center across a
pasture. Several black angus cattle stopped grazing to watch me pass.
Tall grass tickled my bare legs as I crested a slight rise on what
seemed like a cow path rather than a footpath.
A few steps later, an ocean of grass engulfed me. I felt alone and
exposed, like hiking solo in the alpine zone. The landscape had a
similar windswept, massive feel. Grasshoppers scattered in front of me
with each footfall, as I carefully followed the fence post trail
markers. There were no other landmarks for guidance, and I felt
dangerously unprepared if I got lost.
A mile into the hike, I came to white sandstone breaks that looked like
underwater sand carved by waves. They probably were just that, millions
of years ago. The route dropped into one of these ravines, then the
fence posts disappeared. Now what?
I spotted an old boot print among a maze of deer prints in the sandy
soil, and trusted it was a clue where to ascend the opposite side of the
ravine. With relief, another fence post appeared above me as I
scrambled up a steep crumbly hump and back into the ocean of grass.
A half mile farther, I came to a junction. According to a wind-battered
sign, both trails led to the Toadstool Geologic Park and forbid motor
vehicles. One continued across the prairie while the other dipped
steeply into another ravine with equally steep, aggressive waves of
hardened sediment on the other side. Wishing to avoid another experience
like the Jeeps in Fort Robinson State Park, I chose the ravine. I
figured a Jeep couldn’t possibly navigate its unforgiving walls.
Once in the bottom of the ravine, its sides quickly grew to 50 feet
tall. The fence posts disappeared again, but the direction was obvious.
There was no way out except the way I had come or along the mucky gully
floor. I plodded through the shoe-sucking mud, continuing within the
ever-taller chasm.
The landscaped eventually morphed into a canyonland and then a slot
canyon. Walking became more difficult as gumbo caked the bottom of my
shoes. “If it rains, there’s no place to escape,” I thought nervously,
but the sky was blue. Powerful, flowing water had worn the rock on
either side of me into smooth, rounded walls. Striations in the bulges
and curves resembled artful sculptures carved by the periodic hydraulics
that rushed through the sandstone gorge. Then I saw it: a giant
toadstool on top of a low ridge. The farther I went, the more rock
toadstools appeared. Some stood alone. Others were clumped together like
mushroom forests. And yet others lined up like bulbous sentinels. I
felt like Alice when she stepped through the looking glass, except that
this Wonderland was all rock in shades of white and beige.
FIND OUT MORE
Travel info: discovernwnebraska.com
Chimney Rock:
nps.gov/places/000/chimney-rock-national-historic-site.htm
Scotts Bluff National Monument:
nps.gov/scbl/index.htm
Hudson-Meng Education and Research Center:
fs.usda.gov/recarea/nebraska/recarea/?recid=10621
Toadstool Geologic Park:
www.nps.gov/thingstodo/hike-toadstool-geo-park.htm <http://www.nps.gov/thingstodo/hike-toadstool-geo-park.htm>
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