Updated July 17, 2023 at 1:16 PM ET
Just before dawn, I let myself in through one of the cattle gates in the Tallgrass Prairie National Preserve, an hour's drive north of Wichita, Kan.
These fences, maintained by the National Park Service, keep a bison herd from roaming outside the preserve's 11,000 acres.
From the trailhead, I can't see any of the big animals. But as I lace up my sneakers to run, I realize the fields around me are flush with birds.
Their songs color the morning as I set off running west on the gravel trail, climbing toward a full moon that hangs above the horizon.
As the sun rises, a sea of grass surrounds me. There are great waves of hills rolling in every direction, and at this hour I'm the only human here.
Soon, up ahead, I see the herd of 50 or so bison. The shaggy, big-shouldered beasts have gathered across the path, blocking it.
I want to keep my distance, but also want to keep exploring, so I turn and wade into the waist-high grass.
Then on a ridge ahead of me, maybe a football field away, a massive bull lumbers into view. A half-dozen bronze-colored calves dance around him, sprinting through the grass.
I back away, following a path down into a valley along a muddy creek, past a grove of cottonwood trees. Here again the sky is full of birdsong.
And there are wildflowers everywhere. I think of the prairie as rough, arid country, but the blossoms are as delicate as anything you'd see in an English garden.
Before running back to the gate, I stop for a while and just look. Tallgrass prairie like this, with big bluestem and switchgrass, used to cover 170 million acres of North America. Most of it is gone now.
Standing there, I can see no human footprint. There are bison and swales of sweet grass all the way to the horizon, and a vast blue sky, all completely wild.
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