The sweeping grasslands of the Nebraska Sandhills sail into effortless motion at the behest of the slightest breeze. Winds of change have altered many landscapes at the expense of their first inhabitants – wildlife. But in the Sandhills, species that once shared the prairie with thundering bison herds find refuge and hang on.

Ranching is king in Cherry County. Billboards along U.S. highways 20 and 83 claim it as “God’s Own Cattle Country.” Cows, bulls and calves outnumber humans here 30-to-1. With two federal wildlife refuges protecting critical habitat in Cherry County, there is plenty of room here for livestock, native animals and people who thrive in the wild.

Valentine National Wildlife Refuge protects sand hills, natural lakes and wild animals in central Cherry County. Cattle filled the bovine void after unregulated hunting eliminated bison from the Sandhills by the 1880s. The low impact of ranching on the fragile land is why the region remains the largest intact grassland in North America. Cherry County makes up nearly a quarter of the undulating 20,000-square-mile Sandhills region often referred to as a prairie sea.

Neighboring ranchers graze herds on Valentine NWR to help manage the grass-stabilized sand dunes hemming in wetlands and lakes known for producing large numbers of ducks, geese and other waterfowl. Fort Niobrara National Wildlife Refuge preserves waterfalls and nearly 6 miles of the unique Niobrara River ecosystem east of the community of Valentine. Alongside its own unique suite of creatures – including prairie dogs – elk and bison have reclaimed their historic grazing roles.

Today’s annual bison roundups are much gentler than the “Wild West cowboy stampedes” that former refuge manager Steve Hicks remembers from when he first came to Fort Niobrara in 2008. The former U.S. Army paratrooper went airborne once while helping move the herd.

Tension hung in the Sandhills air as refuge staff on horseback moved in to drive the bison north toward the Niobrara River. Progress was slow as the herd had no interest in moving to greener pastures. Hicks wasn’t a greenhorn, but he wasn’t a cowboy, either. His horse was a seasoned pro, knowing when to stand its ground against a buffalo’s bluff, and when to canter aside at the last second to avoid being gored.

When the stallion shifted aggressively to push a stubborn bull, Hicks fell to the ground. The horse galloped away with its saddle hanging off one side.

Hicks was surrounded by angry bison when the dust cleared. His two-way radio crackled to life as he ran for his, scaling the enclosure’s 8-foot-tall fence to safety. “There goes Steve’s horse. Has anyone seen Steve?”

Bison were introduced to the former frontier military fort in 1913. Hicks said that the refuge’s breeding program played an important role in preserving the species. The animals’ hoof action and grazing preferences stimulate plant diversity. After bison reintroductions elsewhere, prairie plants not seen in decades emerged from long dormant seeds lying in wait for the right conditions.

Warm summer days and blue skies fuel the emergence of a different species of Sandhills wildlife: the canoeists, kayakers and inner tube riders who travel to the Valentine area to put in at Fort Niobrara.

No matter how hot it is, the spring-fed stream charged by the Ogallala Aquifer is always cool. The river here is a refuge within one, with 76 miles of its length designated in 1991 as the Niobrara National Scenic River. 

Six thousand people float this scenic stretch of river through the refuge each year. Another 15,000 launch downstream from the refuge. Local outfitters equip the tourists and set them drifting toward aquatic adventures.

They float through the confluence of six ecosystems. Rare bird hybrids hatch here where the ranges of eastern and western species overlap. Stands of aspen trees – relics from the last ice age – survive on shaded north facing slopes cooled by groundwater that originated as snowmelt in Wyoming and Colorado. Trees common in the Rocky Mountains reach the eastern limits of their range along the Niobrara. The river corridor is home to more than 500 plant species. Even during drought years, wildflowers, sedges and trees thrive in the showering mist of the refuge’s popular Fort Falls and more than 200 other waterfalls flowing into the Niobrara River.

Above the river canyon, the Fort Niobrara Visitor Center teaches about the rare ecosystem through interactive displays and wildlife mounts. Fossils reveal what creatures used to take refuge here. Visitors can look a stuffed bison in its glass eye before heading back outside to look for live ones while driving Fort Niobrara’s self-guided auto tour route.

They crane their necks looking for the refuge’s 350 bison and 100 elk. As big as they are, the megafauna have a knack for disappearing in the grass. Looking toward the ground provides a reliable wildlife spectacle, a front seat glimpse into the lives of prairie dogs.

Cultivation, development and an indiscriminate poisoning campaign has reduced the prairie dog’s historic range by nearly 99 percent in North America. Named for their barking calls, these ground squirrels serve as food for prairie predators and their burrows as shelter for at least 150 other wildlife species. The social creatures are often seen kissing and grooming one another. They watch for hawks and coyotes from the elevated dirt mounds surrounding the entrances to their burrows.

Raspy, high-pitched chirps send the animals running for cover when danger appears. Great prairie dog photos are easy to get on the refuge since the small mammals are used to the traffic. Fortunate photographers look through their viewfinder to see families of diminutive burrowing owls staring back from a prairie dog hole of their own.

Valentine newspaper editor and photographer Laura Vroman remembers her first visit to the refuge. She was new to the Sandhills, riding along with her children’s school field trip only weeks after they moved to the area.

“The local Sandhills kids knew what they were looking at, but everything was new to me,” Vroman said. “I was supposed to be helping the teacher, but my face was pressed against the bus window as we drove through the prairie dog town – I was amazed. Twenty-five years later, Fort Niobrara still amazes me.”

Vroman travels the 5 miles from Valentine to the refuge to unwind and take photos several times each week.

“The baby prairie dogs have no fear and remind me of myself how they don’t always listen to their mother barking at them,” said Vroman, who arrives straight from work and often stays until dark. “It doesn’t happen every night, but sometimes I get lucky and see the bison or elk magically appear out of the Sandhills toward sunset.”

Thirty-three miles to the south, U.S. Highway 83 feels like a long suspension bridge where it bisects Valentine National Wildlife Refuge between West Twin and East Twin lakes. Chain-link fencing flanks the road but it isn’t there to keep people out – the 71,516-acre refuge is open to the public.

At barely belly high to a longhorn, no herds are being contained. But the fence is keeping one protected Sandhills species from becoming roadkill.

Habitat destruction has devastated Blanding’s turtle populations north and east from Nebraska and into Canada. The Sandhills is the strongest of strongholds for these turtles.

The fences aren’t meant to keep the animals in, rather, they guide the semi-aquatic reptiles to culverts passing under the road. These turtles likely live a century or more in the wild if they can steer clear of oncoming traffic – one Blanding’s turtle captured as an adult in Minnesota was marked and then recaptured 77 years later. These animals weighing up to 5 pounds are recognizable by their spotted shell and permanent black and yellow smile.

Some locals weren’t happy at the use of federal dollars to build the turtle fence in 2001, but the conservation tactic worked. Now, there are fewer Blanding’s bumps in the road where the highway crosses the refuge, and less poaching and deliberate strikes since the animals can now cross to the other side unseen.

Other species benefit, too. Mink, raccoons, weasels and three other turtle species have been observed passing through the culverts.

Area ranchers rent refuge grasslands, following grazing plans to help maintain prairie plant diversity for the benefit of wildlife. Along with controlled burns and manual removal of invasive species, the cattle thin vegetation as they graze. The animals’ hooves disturb the sandy soil, giving unseen seeds a chance at life.

George Kinsley Sawyer came here to die in 1898. His Illinois doctor gave him six months to live and a prescription to move west. The physician thought the dry Sandhills air would sooth his tuberculosis symptoms during his last days. They were right. Sawyer and his cattle ranching brothers accumulated 30,000 acres and he lived for another 45 years.

The family moved further west in 1935 after the U.S. government forced the sale of their land for $7 an acre to create “a refuge and breeding ground for migratory birds and other wildlife.” Valentine National Wildlife Refuge was born.

After an absence of nearly a century, trumpeter swans moved back to the Sandhills to nest in 1964, the area’s interdunal lakes and wetlands perfect habitat for the birds once feared extinct. Now, four pairs of the 30-pounders nest on Valentine NWR each spring. The same pristine landscapes that lure the swans provide for the migratory mallard hens trailing long skeins of fluffy, golden ducklings through the refuge’s nourishing marshes each summer.

Len and Peggy McDaniel raised their own brood here, three children, in a one-story cinder block house built along with other refuge structures by the Civilian Conservation Corps during the Great Depression. 

McDaniel’s experience as a government trapper came in handy after being tasked with monitoring 5,000 duck nests on a refuge island.

“There were so many ducks that one hen would move her young out of the nest and another would hop in and lay eggs,” McDaniel said. The web-footed bird buffet attracted a lunch rush of predators.

A badger dogpaddled to the island, badgered three nests and left unscathed. Then a mink munched 11 duck clutches before it slinked into McDaniel’s trap. He estimates having “removed” more than 2,000 bullsnakes during two decades spent guarding the island. The largest was 84 inches long, said McDaniel, who insists that the serpents have their place and need to eat, too.

Love for his favorite places – this refuge and the Sandhills – is why he declined four promotions during his 37-year federal career. Changing jobs would have meant hefty pay raises but also having to transfer. He wasn’t willing to leave his best fishing spots and grouse hunting haunts.

Though it might seem contrary to the term “wildlife refuge,” hunting and fishing are two of the most popular pursuits at the Valentine and Fort Niobrara refuges. The species harvested are strictly managed and some areas are off limits to the public.

Good fishing brought Iowa native Patricia Schemmer to the Sandhills and she never left. When not casting brushstrokes while painting or teaching art, she can often be found tossing colorful spinners toward hungry bass and pike from her kayak at Valentine NWR.

A recent cancer battle left her frail and unable to “be with God and nature in the refuges that I consider to be my church,” said Schemmer, who also sets up her easel for landscape painting sessions at Fort Niobrara. Missing her refuge respite and recreation, she prayed for her strength to return.

As if heaven-sent, an artist friend picked her up for a drive around on refuge roads. They stopped at nearly every wildflower to take photos.

“To hear the birds again was so soothing. I could feel the healing power of the land, water and wildlife,” said Schemmer, who is now cancer free. Her strength is growing day by day, so much so that she is back to hauling her kayak in and out of the refuge lakes. “I’m still weak and can’t go very far, but I’m hanging on,” Schemmer said. “You don’t have to go far to get lost in the beauty of our refuges.”