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Honoring the Sober History of the Badlands Bombing Range
In the vast solitude of the Badlands of South Dakota can be found a curious automotive graveyard where art, war, and spirituality interweave with tall buffalo grasslands.
While compelling and photogenic, the former Badlands Bombing Range is not a convenient or cheerful tourist destination like the roadside Americana of Cadillac Ranch or Carhenge. Rather, it is solemn ground that was taken from its ancestral owners to train American B-17 pilots for World War II. In a corner of the range, long since abandoned, lies a circle of rusty car bodies once used as target practice, a sobering reminder of ingenuity and patriotism as well as injustice.

The Badlands Bombing Range was established when the United States War Department acquired more than 340,000 acres from the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation in 1942—mostly by eminent domain and often without fair or even any compensation to the landowners from the Oglala Sioux Tribe. More than 125 families were forced to relocate with little notice just before that winter.

Dozens of salvaged late ‘30s and ‘40s car bodies without engines, suspensions, or interiors were sourced from the area and arranged in a 500-foot circle divided into quadrants by two perpendicular lines and surrounded by an outer trench, measuring 1500 feet across. Pilots and bomber crews from nearby Ellsworth Air Force Base practiced by dropping 100- to 500-pound sandbags on the cars, while live ordnance was used in other sections of the range.
The military left the area in the late ‘60s and returned some of the land to the locals, but these targets were never removed. Because of their isolation in the prairie grass, the cars have been relatively undisturbed for decades.

I first became aware of these relics 10 years ago, when I moved from California to the nearby Black Hills. A photographer by trade, and looking to expand my horizons, I researched the Badlands National Park. It’s one of the best dark-sky locations in the country—perfect for shooting the Milky Way and other astrophotography. The stark terrain of the area also provides engaging foregrounds for sunsets and moonrises. Plus, wildlife like buffalo, bighorn sheep, and burrowing owls residing there make great photo subjects.
During my internet searches, I ran across obscure references to the bombing range and the cars. The site was clearly visible on Google Earth (search “Reflector City”), but it was obvious the roads leading there weren’t marked, and I knew that they likely crossed private land. Respect for tribal sovereignty prevented me from planning a solo expedition to the site, regardless of advanced GPS options that could provide accurate directions. However, my urge to learn more grew.

A few years ago, I rebuilt the 289-cubic-inch V-8 in my ’65 Mustang fastback and posted the leftover and unused small-block Ford parts on Craigslist. I soon got a call from a local gentleman who lived two hours away, on the reservation, and wanted to buy the parts. As we were discussing prices, I asked if he knew about those old cars on the bombing range. He had been out there many times, he said, and was well aware of the site’s history. I offered to give him all the parts if he would take me there. We set a date.
As we approached, I could see why he had told me to bring a rugged 4×4. The roads leading to the site hadn’t seen a blade for quite some time. Torrential rains had left long, deep ruts and a few stubborn mud holes. About 45 minutes after leaving the main highway, we arrived.
There isn’t much to see from the east side of the circle. Not until you mingle with the cars do you get a sense of the circle and the expanse of the crosshair pattern. My guide takes out a marker and draws a circle, intersected with a cross, on a small rusted section of sheetmetal. What I identified as a set of crosshairs the Lakota nation knows as a “medicine wheel.” It represents the circle of life and the four directions, each of which has distinct significance in tribal lore. On the west side of the circle, where the land’s elevation is highest, one can see for miles in all directions. The only signs of civilization are the 73 pre- and post-war Detroit stampings.

I move from car to car for the next two hours, always aware of the sun’s direction for the best photos and where rattlesnakes could be hiding in the deep grass. It’s as silent as any graveyard. Occasionally the wind rustles the grasses or whistles through the car bodies.

It’s astonishing to remember that all this land was underwater millions of years ago and filled with an abundance of marine reptiles. Dinosaurs followed when the waters receded, and humans were first thought to walk the area some 11,000 years ago. The Sioux tribes pushed into the Great Plains in the early 17th century, eventually adapting the horse and adjusting their livelihood to rely on buffalo hunts. When they came to this part of the Dakota Territory, the Lakota called the land “mako sica,” which literally translates to “land bad.”
The battered car shells among the buffalo grass tie the land to a larger, more violent story. America’s military-industrial response to Hitler’s Nazi threat was heroic, especially given the short time frame to respond—which may explain but doesn’t justify the way the locals were treated when the bombing range was ordered. Many of these old cars could have been built in the same factories that were reconfigured to produce tanks, airplanes, and other crucial hardware. Others are from the late ‘40s, suggesting additional or replacement units were brought in for further training after the war.

Closer inspection of the bodies reveals just how robustly cars were constructed in those days. Whether by luck or skill, hundreds of heavy sandbags hit these targets dead on. There is heavy damage, to be sure, but I couldn’t find a single roof that was completely pancaked.
Today, finding the artistic beauty in these steel skeletons as they are being reclaimed by nature’s sprawling landscape comes rather easily. The human suffering associated with this land isn’t as obvious.
Many locals believe the pilots and crews who flew the Hiroshima and Nagasaki missions were first trained here. And just 35 miles to south, in 1890, hundreds of Lakota—mostly women and children—were slaughtered for no reason by the U.S. military at Wounded Knee. Follow that disaster with broken treaties, and religious indoctrination, and cultural assimilation programs that tried to break the Lakota nation, and it’s easy to understand why the reservation is among the most poverty-stricken areas of the country. Yet the nation’s spirit endures.

It’s become easier to arrange a trip to the circle of cars since I first discovered it. Internet searches reveal tour guides, such as my escort from White Thunder Ranch, who can deliver a rewarding and informative visit to all the popular reservation and Badlands sites. For automotive enthusiasts who don’t require roadside junk food, loud T-shirts, or cheesy souvenirs, the former bombing range is a place to expand their consciousness and explore deeper connections between industry, Mother Nature, and those who see in the arrangement not a crosshairs but a blueprint for fulfilling life’s journey.
Here’s hoping the rattlesnakes stay hidden and the prairie winds guide your spirits.
















Great feature, Mike!
An interesting story. Thank you.
It is a rather cold stark place to be. A certain somber beauty to it yet too easily overcome by too much melancholy. Not for the faint of heart.A great place to bring out the old 35 mm and shoot film. I still love my old Pentax K. If you’re that sort I’d recommend watching the movie ‘Badlands’ ( 1973 ,directed by Terrence Malick, Martin Sheen,Sissy Spacek and ) based on the Starkweather killings in the 50s. But I assume you probably have.
Looks like such quiet place in black and white.
The area is indeed striking and awe-inspiring. The horrible mistreatment and genocide perpetrated against Native Americans has ironically cost the Country a lot of wisdom and understanding. If you look into how Tribal law worked vs the European model, it’s stunning. They were better in touch with their environment and the laws of nature, but their lives and lifestyle were doomed…
I thought they were stills from a David Lynch film
nailed it
Very interesting. I was born and raised in SD and graduated from SD School of Mines in Rapid City not far from this place, and I had never heard of it until now.
the photography is excellent.
it reminds me of some of the old farms around here in NC. cars stripped down an scattered rusting everywhere- like they just died in their tracks. like an asteroid hit.
I think an aerial drone video would be very interesting to watch . This would give a different perspective of the layout of the target range from the air, much like being in one of the bombers flying past .
Not a drone. The perfect opportunity to break out the ‘ bat camera’. A Widelux ultra-wide for that CinemaScope vibe. With the subject matter I’d shoot color. All the cars all have that same rusty ruddy sepia tone and the grasses much all the same as well. Almost a three color print. Make that John Ford-ish sky a long horizontal blue ribbon running across the top, adding depth and emphasizing how desolate and vast this location is.
I’ve been to Badlands twice, as it is the namesake for one of my vehicles. But I was unaware of this. Having also been to Little Big Horn and other areas, I am well aware of how the U.S. has systemically screwed over native tribes. We were always more than willing to kick them off their land with value and give them another land we thought had no value. When it turned out that new land had value, we would kick them off that land. We repeated this until we finally found the most worthless land possible. When the gambling loophole was discovered, profiteering companies partnered with tribes to offer them the tiniest sliver of gambling profits in exchange for building casinos on their land. Thank you, Mr. Magda, for not whitewashing history while presenting this interesting story.
A technical note…
I’m a student of aviation history, while sandbags may have been used, most of the actual bombardier training was done in the southwest in small twin engine trainers dropping small practice bombs.
What is now Ellsworth (back then it was Rapid City Army Air Field, it wasn’t named Ellsworth until the ’50s) was more of a pilot and crew training base.
A big clue to its use is in the name you mentioned…”Reflector City”.
By the mid point of the war, radar guided bombing was emerging, primarily because of the bad winter weather obscured targets precluding visual bomb sight use.
The fact that the cars were laid out in a pattern seems to suggest that was its use. Certainly any post war use was by radar.
A bomber would “attack” the target, without dropping anything, and its accuracy measured electronically.
Also, as stout as 30-40s cars were, I’m sure being hit by sandbags from any height would do more damage then we see. After all, they had fender benders back then, so cars weren’t immune to body damage despite their thick metal.
When I was in the Air Forve, I flew on a low level route in Montana (the training areas are marked and well publicized…contrary to popular belief, they just don’t fly just anywhere) it’s a exciting way to the more remote parts of the country, and a reminder of how large it is.
You might want to talk with the Museum or historian at Ellsworth AFB to correct any inaccuracies in your understanding of the bombing training. I doubt if local oral histories are very accurate.
In 2019 when I photographed the vehicles, I contacted the 28th Bomb wing historian at Ellsworth, who put me in touch with someone in Civil Engineering who had first-hand knowledge of the bombing area. Despite their diligent efforts, my questions about the range, the vehicles, the formation and other relevant matters could not be answered—most likely due to discarded records. They did give me more about the types of planes training at the base and a little more info on other types of practice bombs used throughout the range, but they had no definitive info on that particular site of the range. The base still has control over a section of the range due to unexploded ordinances, but as far as anyone can determine—included tribal officials—live bombs were not used at the site I visited.
I also contacted Lt. Col. George A Larson, who wrote the book, “Thunder over Dakota: The Complete History of Ellsworth AFB.” He told me he had a large file on that section of the bombing range and sent it to a journalist in Washington but never heard back from him. “So it is gone,” he told me in an email. With that in mind, I will stand by the local lore that has been passed down through a couple of generations. While your observations are keen, I’m not going to admit to any inaccuracies just yet. I welcome your research and if you can find accurate, reliable and definitive sources with information that applies to that particular training site, then I would be most grateful to you and happy to write a followup story that corrects any misinformation on my part.