Capturing the Badlands: A Photographer's Journey Through Dickinson & Beyond

After years of setting up temporary homes everywhere from floating villages in Cambodia to remote cabins in Maritime Canada, I've developed a sixth sense for selecting strategic base camps. Dickinson proved to be the perfect launching pad for my Badlands photography expedition—close enough to Theodore Roosevelt National Park to catch both golden hour and blue hour in a single day, yet equipped with the amenities needed to clean sensitive gear and review footage.

I settled into a charming Airbnb on the eastern edge of town, allowing for quick pre-dawn escapes toward the park. While chain hotels abound near the interstate, I preferred having a proper kitchen to prepare early morning thermoses of Filipino-inspired ginger tea (a family recipe that sustains me through chilly sunrise shoots).

Dickinson itself offers more than just convenience. The historic downtown provided interesting architectural subjects during midday when the harsh light made landscape photography challenging. The Dickinson Museum Center became an unexpected resource—their paleontology wing offered fascinating context about the geological forces that created the very landscapes I was photographing.

Before arriving, I mapped my week using my trusty photography planning app, which proved invaluable for calculating exactly where the sun would rise relative to key formations. The app's augmented reality feature helped me visualize potential shots days before actually taking them—essential for maximizing limited time in the field.

Theodore Roosevelt National Park's South Unit, just 40 minutes from Dickinson, became my dawn ritual during my week in North Dakota. I quickly learned that arriving at least 45 minutes before official sunrise was non-negotiable—those precious moments when the landscape transitions from blue hour to golden light create opportunities for dramatic silhouettes against the horizon.

The 36-mile Scenic Loop Drive offers numerous pullouts, but I found myself repeatedly drawn to Boicourt Overlook. This elevated vantage point provides a sweeping panorama where you can capture the sinuous curves of the Little Missouri River cutting through the badlands. During fall, the cottonwood trees lining the river valley burst into vibrant yellow, creating a stunning contrast against the rugged terrain.

My veterinary background gave me a unique appreciation for the wildlife encounters that enhanced my landscape photography. Bison frequently appeared as powerful foreground elements, their massive silhouettes adding scale and drama to the layered buttes behind them. I spent one memorable morning observing a small herd from a safe distance using my telephoto zoom lens, which provided the reach needed without disturbing these magnificent creatures.

The park's prairie dog towns offered another fascinating subject. These social creatures are most active in early morning and late afternoon—precisely when the light is most magical for photography. Their behaviors create delightful storytelling opportunities as they stand sentinel atop their mounds, backlit by golden hour light.

While Theodore Roosevelt National Park rightfully commands attention, some of my most compelling images came from lesser-known locations surrounding Dickinson. The Little Missouri National Grassland—the largest accessible public grassland in the country—offers photographers a chance to capture badlands formations without another soul in sight.

Maah Daah Hey Trail, with its 144 miles of rugged pathway connecting both units of the national park, provides access to perspectives few visitors ever witness. I spent a full day hiking a 7-mile segment south of the Elkhorn Ranch Site, where the undulating landscape revealed itself in layers of increasing drama. Here, I relied heavily on my carbon fiber tripod, which proved worth every ounce of its weight when capturing tack-sharp images in the gusty prairie winds.

The area around Sentinel Butte offered another photographic treasure. This imposing landmark rises dramatically from the surrounding plains, creating opportunities for powerful compositions that emphasize scale and geological drama. I arrived mid-afternoon to scout compositions, then returned for sunset when the western light transformed the butte's face into a canvas of warm tones and deep shadows.

One unexpected discovery came through a conversation with a local rancher at a Dickinson coffee shop. After hearing about my photographic mission, he granted me permission to access his property near the Killdeer Mountains, where a hidden box canyon featured remarkably preserved petroglyphs alongside dramatic rock formations. These encounters remind me why I travel with my camera—not just to capture landscapes, but to connect with the people who know them most intimately.

My veterinary background has taught me to read animal behavior—an invaluable skill when photographing the diverse wildlife inhabiting the Badlands ecosystem. While many visitors focus exclusively on bison (understandably so), I found myself equally captivated by the region's less celebrated residents.

The prairie falcon population provided extraordinary photographic opportunities. These agile hunters frequently perch on prominent buttes during morning hours, surveying for prey. With my background in raptor rehabilitation, I recognized their hunting patterns and positioned myself accordingly. One particularly memorable morning yielded a sequence of hunting dive images that captured the raw speed and precision of these aerial predators.

Pronghorn antelope—often mistakenly called 'pronghorn deer'—presented a different photographic challenge. These remarkably fast mammals (second only to cheetahs in land speed) require patience and telephoto reach. I spent three consecutive evenings near a watering hole in the park's western edge, using natural vegetation as a blind. The resulting images of these uniquely American ungulates silhouetted against the sunset became some of my portfolio favorites.

For serious wildlife photography in the Badlands, I relied on my telephoto lens paired with a crop-sensor camera body for maximum reach. The combination allowed me to maintain respectful distances while still capturing intimate wildlife portraits. When photographing crepuscular species (those active at dawn and dusk), I often pushed my ISO higher than comfortable, but found the grainy quality added a documentary authenticity to the images.

Remember that wildlife photography here requires both ethical awareness and safety precautions. Bison, despite their seemingly docile demeanor, remain wild animals capable of charging at speeds up to 35 mph. No photograph is worth risking your safety or disturbing these animals in their habitat.

The Badlands transform into an otherworldly landscape after sunset, offering photographers a canvas of extraordinary potential. With minimal light pollution surrounding Dickinson and the national park, the region qualifies as a dark sky territory—perfect for astrophotography.

I dedicated two nights to capturing the Milky Way arching over distinctive Badlands formations. The Wind Canyon overlook proved particularly effective, as the curved walls created a natural leading line toward the galactic core. For these technical shoots, I relied on my night photography headlamp with its red light mode that preserved my night vision while allowing me to adjust camera settings.

Beyond traditional star photography, I experimented with light painting techniques that highlighted the textural quality of the badlands formations. Using a small tactical flashlight with adjustable beam, I gently illuminated foreground elements during long exposures, creating a three-dimensional effect that daytime photography rarely achieves.

One technique I developed specifically for the Badlands involves capturing a series of images during blue hour (just after sunset), then returning to the exact same composition after astronomical darkness for star photography. Later, I blend these exposures to create a single image that shows both the landscape detail and celestial elements with equal clarity.

The cold fall nights presented their own challenges—primarily battery drain and lens condensation when temperatures dropped. I kept spare batteries in interior pockets close to my body heat and used hand warmers secured with rubber bands around my lenses to prevent dew formation. These small adaptations made the difference between successful night shoots and frustrating technical failures.

While the photography results were spectacular, I must acknowledge the profound personal experience of standing alone beneath that vast North Dakota sky. In those quiet moments, camera clicking periodically on its timer, I felt a connection to the landscape that transcended the mere capture of images.