344 
FOREST AND STREAM 
June, 1918 
LAKE ANDES IN THE PRAIRIE VALLEY 
A STORY OF THE TRANSFORMATION OF A STAGNANT SLOUGH ON AN INDIAN RESER¬ 
VATION INTO A MIGHTY ARTIFICIAL BODY OF WATER TEEMING WITH BLACK BASS 
T HE acorn that stretches from out its 
frail shell until it towers a mighty 
oak, builds well, and the matured 
forest pinnacle stands a monument of glory 
to the tiny pod that patiently fetched the 
salts of the earth until all beholders must 
proclaim the giant tree a perfect work. 
Analogous to the towering forest oak 
and its history of slow but steady growth 
is the rise of Lake 
Andes out of a prairie 
valley where there 
was only a stagnant 
slough and a bone 
dry expanse that 
knew no living thing 
save the muskrat, 
mud-hen, and the bad 
boy of the wild—the 
coyote. 
Previous to the 
yeaj 1890, Sioux In¬ 
dians, and now and 
then a squaw-man, 
meandered to the 
little marshy stretch 
of ground in quest of 
fur, fin or feathers. 
No settlers were to 
be found within a 
radius of ten miles 
from the marsh for 
the reason that the 
land was (and still 
is) the property of the Sioux Indians. It 
is a reservation, but the lake is free to all 
who desire to seek recreation and pit their 
prowess against the black bass. 
During the summer of 1890 governmen¬ 
tal functionaries brought in two six-inch 
flowing wells close to the nucleus around 
which grew the mighty artificial body of 
water and at once began a transformation 
as marvellous as that of an acorn to the 
stateliest of oaks. 
This fountain in the arid Valley gushed 
forth a stream six inches in diameter and 
continued to perform, rain or shine. The 
officials in charge of the work sank an¬ 
other a mile west of this producer and it, 
too, has lived up to the par of the fondest 
hopes of the intrepid experimenters. 
What few fish were then in the little 
puddle were saved to the occasional visit¬ 
ors. No more did the hungry' rays from 
the midsummer sun parboil the piscatory 
pioneers and suck to the heavens all but 
the last drop of nature’s harvest of dew, 
rain and melted snow-flake. No more did 
the industrious muskrat see where nature 
made a mistake in not supplying him with 
a pair of wings or a post-hole auger. That 
By JOHN BERNARD O’SULLIVAN 
is, until the year 1893, when a series of hot 
winds floated across the middle west and 
the fire-soaked zephyrs evaporated the shal¬ 
low lake until fish cavorted like jack- 
rabbits or parched and died by thousands. 
In the face of the fact that two six-inch 
streams of water spouted continually, the 
tremendous evaporation which took place 
the entire summer again lowered the life 
of the project until utter extinction of the 
sanctuary was not only threatened but 
grew apace before the eyes of the daunt¬ 
less governmental experts. 
During 1896 another brace of artesian 
wells were successfully drilled. The bat¬ 
tery of four continued to belch forth a 
river of clear crystal until some time in 
the year 1898, when came another sum¬ 
mer with breezes brazenly proclaiming they 
had lately flirted with scorching regions. 
Again down went the auger that knew the 
home of incessant solace for fish and fish 
fancier. Of the six wells brought in not 
one but continues to emit a powerful cur¬ 
rent that unceasingly adds to Lake Andes. 
R ECENTLY the writer was invited to 
join a party destined to chug-chug to 
Andes for the express purpose of 
framing up on the wily black bass. Our 
mental picture of the place was not roseate. 
We saw a vast valley filled with an un¬ 
broken array of y'ellow clay hillocks, the 
whole of which was framed with a chain 
of sandy ridges. No trees were in sight 
and the carpet of buffalo-grass was shriv¬ 
elled. Not a single sign of civilization. 
No delight awaited the roving eye save the 
stagnant-juiced, squatty sink-hole called 
locally Lake Andes. 
Time and again we had been told the 
place had been transformed from a leaf 
from the book of desolation to a glowing 
canvas of rare handiwork, but the old im¬ 
pression, that which we saw and experi¬ 
enced when our throat threatened to crack 
for one drop of fresh 
water, held forth no 
glittering oasis for 
him who would fly 
for the home of the 
bass. But the boys 
were determined. 
So we started. E. 
H. Whelan is Mayor 
of O’Neill. Mike 
Horisky is a mail 
clerk on the Burling¬ 
ton. Parnell Golden 
is a real estate op¬ 
erator. Mike Kirwin 
is an artist and the 
writer—well, the last 
time he got caught 
rustling cattle by the 
light of—well, never 
mind; we can say we 
have never committed 
matrimony anyhow! 
Lake Andes is in 
the southern part of 
Bon Homme County in the state of South 
Dakota. The lake proper is still the prop¬ 
erty of Uncle Samuel and is free to all. 
The land adjoining the water is, save a 
small strip fringing the lake, the property 
of government wards. It is 61 miles due 
north of O’Neill and 7 north of old Fort 
Randall. The city of Wagoner lies on 
the east side and Lake Andes on the west. 
The Milwaukee railway runs through the 
latter. 
So we came to a halt. Instead of a val¬ 
ley of wind-seared grass our eyes feasted 
on a sheet of water which is 18 miles in 
length and from one to three in width. 
The average depth is twenty feet. Two 
thousand persons, whose homes lay to the 
four winds, were ducking and dodging and 
slipping and sliding in skiff and canoe and 
bark and launch. We hung our hats on 
pegs in the country tavern and took a 
spin in a powerful gas launch. No sooner 
had the sun snuggled in the bosom of the 
western hills than came the fantastic moans 
and whispers from the instruments that 
made music for the disciples of Terpsi¬ 
chore who were solving the intricate enig¬ 
mas decreed for heel and toe. Such span- 
r 
1 
The shores of Lake Andes are dotted with inviting club houses 
