The Last Stand of the Tallgrass Prairie
Protecting the last remains of a diverse and important ecosystem that was once synonymous with the middle of the United States.
From shining seas to purple mountain majesties, America the beautiful is home to some of the most striking natural wonders on the planet, including the world’s first national park, its tallest trees, and largest cave system. Yet, in between it all, the country’s tallgrass prairie is second only to the Amazon rainforest as the most complex and diverse ecosystem on the planet. But today, what was once a 170-million-acre sprawl of un-fragmented grassland—stretching from Saskatchewan to Texas, and the Rockies to Appalachia—has been reduced to 4% of its former glory, a fractured landscape confined largely to the Flint Hills of Kansas and Oklahoma.
That said, what tallgrass prairie remains is as stunning as it is vital, sustaining life for pivotal species, combating global warming, and preserving an environment like nowhere else on Earth.
Where All That Tallgrass Came From
In terms of geology, the tallgrass prairie isn’t nearly as old as, say, the Rocky Mountains, but in its own way, its roots run deep. “The tallgrass prairie came into being after the last Ice Age, 8,000 to 10,000 years ago,” explains Ivan Levin, Senior Director of Strategic Partnerships with the National Park Trust. “Glaciers left behind rich, deep topsoil. In some areas, winds blew river flood sediments across the land, further enriching the soil. The expanse was the largest continuous ecosystem in North America.”
Covering the entirety of the present-day Great Plains, and thriving in regions that are too wet for desert yet too dry for full-blown forests, the prairie is as biodiverse as it was expansive, hosting hundreds of species of flora and fauna, including more than 300 kinds of forbs (flowering plants that aren’t grass) alone. Hearty grasses, like Indian grass and big bluestem, particularly bloomed in the eastern reaches of the plains, where rainfall was more abundant, proving capable of growing taller than most people.
The ample vegetation provided nourishment for grazers like bison, whose numbers in the tallgrass prairie once ranked in the tens of millions, along with predators like wolves, panthers, and grizzly bears. Below the surface, root systems extend more than five feet, storing carbon and absorbing enriched soils from prescribed fires and low-impact grazing (i.e., movement and migration, not stagnant grazing).
Unfortunately, though, the rich soil also put a big bull’s-eye on the prairie for developers. “Beginning in the 1800s, the rich soil and rolling or flat topography made it an ideal area for raising crops,” Levin says. “Much of the prairie was plowed under for raising crops. Development, overgrazing, eliminating natural fire from the landscape, and invasive plants further impacted and eliminated prairie lands.”
The ease in which farmers could replace the land with crops with shallower roots, coupled with urban sprawl, hastened the disappearance of this once-mighty expanse. But now, in the Flint Hills and beyond, conservationists are helping to stop the hemorrhaging of this great American resource, while promoting the singular landscape as a bucket-list destination for responsible tourism.
Protecting the Prairie
Throughout the fragmented plains, various state parks and wildlife refuges have been created to both highlight and preserve these vulnerable grasslands, including Prairie State Park in Missouri, Northern Tallgrass Prairie National Wildlife Refuge in Minnesota, and Goose Lake Prairie State Natural Area in the “Prairie State” of Illinois. But the most sweeping protections are in and around the Flint Hills, courtesy of Kansas’ Tallgrass Prairie National Preserve, the only unit of the National Park Service dedicated to the ecosystem, and the Joseph H. Williams Tallgrass Prairie Preserve in Oklahoma, home to the largest protected piece of tallgrass prairie on Earth.
The latter, encompassing about 40,000 acres, is managed by The Nature Conservancy, which helps sustain the topography through prescribed burns and a free-ranging bison herd, while prohibiting hunting, fishing, camping, dogs, and off-roading. “The preserve was started because grasslands are the number one converted ecosystem in the world, and they’re diminishing left and right,” says Aaron Morvan, director of communications and marketing for The Nature Conservancy.
The organization first purchased 10,000 acres from the land’s original ranch owners, before a nationwide fundraising campaign for the conservancy allowed for considerable expansion in Osage County, resulting in the largest protected area of tallgrass prairie in the world. Since the Flint Hills are rockier than much of the plains, making it hard to farm, this particular patch of prairie wasn’t converted to farmland, leaving low-impact grazers free to trod the topsoil. It’s that grazing, along with prescribed fires, that keep the balance in check, and keeps everything healthy.
“We burn about a quarter of the preserve every year,” Morvan explains, noting that they rotate burn areas annually to prevent encroachment from trees and shrubs that are harmful to the area, like the eastern red cedar. “These trees gobble up carbon, which might sound great, but they’re very thirsty, and they consume like 30 gallons of water a day. They’re everywhere, and they’re just soaking up all this water and making drought conditions a whole lot worse.” Thanks to their lack of fire tolerance, though, they can be kept at bay, allowing more of that water to absorb into grasses.
Unlike trees, which eventually lose carbon back into the air, grasses are more powerful adversaries against climate change. “When we burn our grasses, only the aboveground part is effected, and the roots are fine and healthy,” Morvan explains. “So instead of killing the native plants, it invigorates the soil, and allows these deeply rooted grasses to continue storing carbon for decades.”
Maintaining a healthy grassland is also crucial for prairie wildlife. In the tallgrass prairie, which over 700 species call home, different animals need different types of grass conditions to survive. Morvan cites prairie chickens as an example, which need higher grass to safely lay eggs in, but shorter grass for mating rituals. “We use fire to help manage different conditions and make the space optimized for all sorts of species.”
This means managing the largest mammal in the prairie as well: bison. The biggest draw for tourists, Oklahoma’s Tallgrass Prairie Preserve is home to about 1,800 free-roaming bison, while Kansas’ National Park unit relocated bison to the preserve in 2009, from South Dakota’s Wind Cave National Park, as a means of contributing to a larger conservation herd with a healthy amount of genetic diversity. The key for North America’s largest land mammal is in the balance between low-impact grazing that’s healthy for the soil without excessively dwindling its resources.
Says Morvan of herd management, “We’re the wolf. We have to keep the mammals in balance, or bison might get too populated and overgraze.” Each year, The Nature Conservancy rounds up the bison (“the one time a year the bison get handled”) to see how many calves were born, if any died, and give the bison ear tags and vaccines. To keep the herd numbers in check, the preserve sells a determinate amount of animals to meat purveyors. This keeps the flora and fauna in check, allowing smaller animals—including rare or endangered species like prairie chickens and monarch butterflies—to use the grassland too.
“Biodiversity is the key to ecosystem stability,” explains Levin. “Some species in tallgrass prairie may be found nowhere else. Other species, like bison, flourish there because it’s their ideal habitat. Part of species survival is genetic diversity; smaller areas mean smaller, genetically limited populations, which could also lead to extinction.”
Responsible Tourism
Both free-to-visit preserves in Kansas and Oklahoma are teeming with Indian grass, little bluestem, and big bluestem, the latter of which is the quintessential tallgrass, capable of exceeding most people’s heads. Speaking of which, the season and how many bison have grazed the area can effect the height of the grass. Typically, though, fall is when the grass reaches its peak.
In Kansas, visitors will find three designated hiking trails, accessible 24 hours a day, along with 40 miles of backcountry trails through bison territory, and ranger-led tours of historic ranch houses and barns. No personal vehicles are permitted on the preserve, but views of the tallgrass can be safely seen from the Flint Hills National Scenic Byway. There’s also a fully staffed visitor center, complete with an orientation film, exhibits, and a bookstore.
Oklahoma’s preserve, only a portion of which is accessible to the public, operates a visitor center on a limited basis (check the docent schedule here ahead of time), along with hiking trails, a 15-mile scenic driving loop, and monthly guided tours of a historic cabin led by Osage historian John Joseph Mathews. Like Kansas, personal vehicles aren’t allowed on the preserve, limiting trails to foot traffic to best conserve the land. It’s also important, anywhere in tallgrass prairie, not to alter or take anything from the environment, and to pack out whatever trash you bring in.
Each season lends unique beauty to the landscape, with wildflowers blooming from spring into summer, the aforementioned grasses reaching their peak in the fall, and snow-swept serenity the theme of winter. Morvan notes that bison calves are fittingly born around Mother’s Day and are exciting to observe from a safe distance (bring binoculars!). While it’s pretty much guaranteed you’ll see bison any time of year, Morvan says they’re the most active during mating season, from June through September. Sunscreen and bug spray are especially crucial in the spring and summer, while water is always an essential. Be mindful of visiting after a big rain, as many roads are gravel, and can pose problems for vehicles without four-wheel-drive.
“The prairie is more of an intentional destination,” concludes Morvan, comparing it to the no-duh majesty of western mountain ranges. “At first glance, it might seem underwhelming, but if you listen, look, and observe, it starts to reveal itself in different ways.”