Theodore Roosevelt himself, reflecting on his younger days, once said that had it not been for his experiences in North Dakota, he may never have gone on to become President of the United States.

While I don't plan on ever running for president, Ol' Teddy and I do have one thing in common - our love for the rugged, desolate, perhaps melancholy beauty of western North Dakota. It is a place where one can disappear for days without seeing another human being, and it is a place where the landscape is shaped by past violence; both geological and cultural.

To make a long story short, some friends and I had been planning a canoe expedition for quite some time, and we decided that the 110-mile stretch of the Little Missouri River from Medora to Grassy Butte was a most excellent destination. However, in the final moments, our six-person team dwindled to four, then three, and then two.

Being bust-ass college students, the two of us who remained could barely afford the gas to make it across the state; but we scrapped and saved and decided that instead of canoeing, we would try our hand at some wilderness backpacking. Our new destination: the North Unit of Theodore Roosevelt National Park, and the somewhat infamous Achenbach Trail.

The next morning, we went to talk with a ranger about our plans. She was very helpful, and we ended up buying a waterproof trail map for $10 (well worth every penny). After explaining our situation, she pointed us towards a USFS prairie trail which led to the "back door" of the park - where we could enter directly into designated wilderness without having to pay the park entrance fee.

This ranger understood us, and she definitely pointed us in the right direction for a good time.

We parked the truck outside the huge gate (the park has a giant fence around it to keep in the wildlife), and gathered our gear. We were hasty in our last-minute preparations, but soon we were finally covering some ground. The wind was picking up, along with the rain, and we debated holing up someplace until it stopped; but we decided that we had wasted enough time already, and it was time to get a move on.

The backcountry trails in the park are not exactly maintained, in fact they seem to exist as nothing more than regular bison trails. There were a few times when I had to break out my little hunting binoculars and survey the landscape for the little wooden marker posts, because the bison are really bad at blazing proper trails. Oh, and you might want to watch your step. The bison are also very bad at pooping away from where they (and we) walk.

After arriving at the Achenbach Spring, just 4.5 miles from where we started, we realized three things. One, that was probably the roughest 4.5 miles I've ever done. Two, our packs were grossly overloaded for the trip (funny how you never realize this until you're already too far out to turn around and repack). And three, we only had 2 liters of water each, and fresh water in the badlands in April is of short supply.

The next water source was the river itself, another mile and a half away, and the river was little more than a mudflow. Its waters are murky and silty, and the intermittent streams we kept crossing were dry as a bone. But there at the spring, the water was plentiful, so we decided to camp there for the first night. Neither of us can start (or end) a day in the backcountry without a hot cup of camp coffee.

When the sun started going down and we actually started to listen to the sound of this crazy new world around us, we realized how far out into the sticks we really were. Our campsite was at the edge of the highlands overlooking the rugged river valley, and the view from the tent door was absolutely breathtaking.

We named this first campsite Camp Solitude.

This was supposed to be a stepping stone back into the lifestyle of health, fitness and wild-ass adventures; and it certainly served its purpose well. We decided to stay at Camp Solitude and explore the wilderness around us; so we spent the day clambering around the valley looking for excitement.

We followed game trails up and down the hills, in awe at the uniqueness of the landscape itself. The badlands are akin to another planet; and in fact, the week after we were there, a group of students and some NASA reps tested an experimental space suit somewhere out there. I later read that they chose the badlands because it closely resembled the landscape of Mars.

That night, we returned to camp and spent the evening taking pictures; and letting the view and the silence become permanently recorded into our memories. We would be packing out the next day, and though we had just arrived, both of us were growing restless.

To make a long story short, I strained a quad the next morning while fetching water from the spring, and even though it was April, the temperatures soared to the high 80-degree mark. It was HOT, and we spent the entire day looking for shade to hide us from the sun's rays. Strain or not, darkness or not, we were hiking out that day.

We waited for sunset, and then broke camp and took off.

Crossing a dry stream valley, I strained my other quad, and our pace slowed to a miserable, painful double-limp. It was now pitch black out, as the moon wouldn't come up for another few hours, and we were pushing trail using our poor human eyes with the occasional assist from our LED headlamps. There was no way we were going to make it back up the 600-foot shortcut we used on the way out, and we got turned around for a while looking for the proper trail back into the high country.

Being a non-believer in GPS technology, preferring the "old school" methods of surveying and navigation, we were able to follow the valley wall to locate the trail valley, after a few humiliating moments of backtracking and muttering strings of incredible profanity. Once back to the highlands, we were able to use the stars to guide us back to the truck, where we spent our last night; tattered and exhausted, but far from defeated.

Though it wasn't the most glorious weekend ever, we certainly left the badlands with a whole bag of hard-learned lessons for the next adventure. No matter how terrible a situation is, if you can learn from it, the whole experience is worth it, if not absolutely necessary.

Remember, we strictly follow the Leave No Trace ethics in the backcountry, and we left the campsite in better shape than we found it. If we lose the wilderness, we will lose everything that makes us human.