EBERTS RANCH - Out on the grasslands, there is a huge difference between confused and lost.

I didn't expect to be confused, but there I was.

I had set out on a wing to see who was using North Dakota's newest public land, the 1,900 or so acres purchased by the U.S. Forest Service from the Eberts family.

The land is composed of three sections, nice tidy squares on the Little Missouri National Grasslands map. I knew which squares they were because the Forest Service posted their location shortly after it wrapped up the acquisition last month.

The Eberts family wants the ranch, which borders the Little Missouri River about 25 miles north of Medora, to be preserved because it's historically important.

It was no big deal to cross-reference the brand new public sections 35, 27 and 1 on my own grasslands map and circle them in pencil. It's a dandy map I purchased several years ago for $12 to replace the one I'd had since 1980 that was so worn across the folds I couldn't read it anymore.

I love the grasslands map for its detail - the numbers of all the oil wells and oil well roads; the names of all the ranch families; the names of creeks, draws and plateaus; and the locations of special features, like the ice caves and Devil's Pass.

The land on the map is coded green for the 1 million-plus Forest Service acres, white for private land, pink for National Park Service, and blue for state land. On the map, the former Eberts sections are still white. But in reality they're green, which means people can hunt, hike and hang out just like they can on other federally owned grasslands acres.

You'd have to be just plain stupid to get lost with a grasslands map in hand.

Maybe I'm giving myself too much credit, but I think to be confused, all you have to be is human.

I knew better than to expect billboards announcing, "Hey, dummy, you're here!"

Still, I thought with such a detailed map, it would be a fairly simple matter to sort out exactly where I was out there.

I also imagined there would be, well, not scores of people, but several folks out roaming around with the same idea of exploring the land for their first time.

Unless I count a Billings County grader operator patiently working up the road and a young rancher "quading" a white bull all sway and attitude to the right pasture, I didn't see another living soul the whole blessed day. And I do mean blessed.

I hiked extensively around what I hope was section 1. I took some nice photographs of what I hope was section 1.

Note to self: If it's rained an inch or more the day before, leave the dog at home. I took our golden retriever along for company and for snake protection, though by now, the rattlers should have denned up for the winter.

She - the dog - likes to go ahead, and I have less trepidation about wading through heavy buck brush when she's provided snake clearance. I know that sounds wussy, but honestly I would go first if my companion were a young child, or someone's grandmother.

I also imagine if I fall off a cliff, or break an ankle, the retriever will turn into a collie and go get help.

While I was out on what I hope was section 1 - if not, I was trespassing - I heard the distant report of a rifle shot … I thought. I hit the ground and hollered, only to hear the same sound over and over.

I peered up and realized it was the mechanical clang of a pump jack and that I was in no mortal danger.

There is a great deal of oil development in the immediate vicinity of what I hope was section 1.

The golden retriever always sets a joyful tone outdoors, and I was glad to have her. We watched what, by the end of the day, must've been 100 red and rough-tailed hawks circling and hunting. We watched a pair of mule deer come unexpectedly close and bound away.

We watched a foursome of bluebirds flash from tree to bush, their color an amazing contrast to the dull reds and bright poplar yellow foliage. We watched a rabbit veer left and right like a running gunner, and there's where the note to self kicked in.

The golden returned from the rabbit hunt panting and happy to my side. I led off back to the Pathfinder so we could search and hopefully explore sections 35 and 27. At least that was the plan until I looked at the retriever and realized that her golden coat was dripping gray bentonite clay dissolved in creek runoff.

My choices were limited to a) load her in the vehicle and visit a divorce attorney on the way home; or b) take another turn around what I hope was section 1 through enough high grass and buck brush to clean her off.

We took the rational option. A good man is much harder to find than a golden retriever.

Section 1 joins section 35 at the corner and cottonwood studded Blacktail Creek winds through 35. By then, I equated creeks with a muddy divorce, so I turned south. I took East River Road south to Road 702A, a left turn just past Mike's Creek.

According to the map, the new public land, also known as section 27, was roughly three and a half miles that-away.

We took off that-away on a road covered with scoria cobbles the size of moon rocks.

The country back there is astounding. The road rises sharply, falling away to thick juniper-forested buttes and I could see distant erosion points worn down to enormous petrified stumps.

I should mention that I was becoming petrified myself, not only because of the muddy patches of road next to 75-foot drop offs, but also because of my "f" fear.

This is fear of flat tires, of which I have had five and counting in the Badlands. The last time it happened, I was pulled over, consulting my map, when a young man drove up, rolled down his window and said, "Lady, do you need help with that flat tire?"

I didn't know I had one, so I guess I did. His name was Justin Berger, a Dickinson State College student, home after serving in Iraq.

We talked while he familiarized me with the tire-changing kit under the rear cargo area. His mother, I told him, had raised a fine boy.

Out on what I hope was section 27, I knew I wouldn't be so lucky to have a kind ex-soldier pull up like a hero action figure.

The tires held, and I learned that one of North Dakota's newest acquisitions is exquisitely rugged, so much so, that it's a sure bet that few humans have ever truly explored it.

I saw none out there. I think it's safe to say those of you who go looking for yourselves won't either.

And therein, for the scenery that takes your breath away, for all the hawks, the shy deer, the bluebirds and rabbits, not to mention the joy of discovery, the "f" fear and the muddy dog, lies the beauty of it all.

(Reach reporter Lauren Donovan at 888-303-5511 or lauren@;westriv.com.)