This Might Be the Most Demanding Hike You Can Do in Kansas

Rolling through the surprisingly verdant, early summer Kansas countryside, our car crunches over a loose gravel trail dividing endless plains of waving grass. I watched my son in the rearview mirror, hand sticking out the window, surfing the air currents, just like I did when I was a kid. We were fresh off I-70, scratching our way through northwest Kansas back roads searching for the most extreme hike in Kansas. Most people don’t exit here, but likely push the pedal to the metal to speed up the endless, flat road that connects Kansas City to Denver. 

But not us. I’m on a quest to show people how shockingly worth it interstate diversions can be. I’ve learned time and time again that every state is chock-full of hidden gems — you just have to get off the darn exits. Kansas has lots of places like that, so many in fact, it’s my favorite state to recommend for road trips in the Midwest. I love suggesting it partly to see the look of shock and bewilderment on people’s faces, but mainly because Kansas genuinely has the most hidden gems in nature compared to the 13 other states in the region. It seems many people simply don't know what they’re missing, but I suspect they also haven’t taken the time to look. And nobody is expecting the most extreme hike in Kansas to include aerial views of a beach from atop 150-foot-tall Cretaceous bluffs.

On this particular trip, we came through Kansas, strategically avoiding every major city, and very intentionally finding epic diversions off Interstate 70. Cedar Bluffs Reservoir is by no means a hidden gem; it’s a well-known boating lake partially designated as a state park. Most people flock to either the well-developed Bluffton Area or the more rustic Page Creek area. We’re going beyond all that, 8 miles past the White Tail Campground, the westernmost developed area. At this point, Cedar Bluffs essentially goes rogue, dropping off the grid and isolating us from any type of convenient development. No pavement, no trailheads, to vault toilets, and no ranger or lifeguards either. Essentially, it’s the wild west half of the gargantuan 7,000-acre lake.

But it doesn’t look like much from the car, just plumes of gravel dust and very tall, very green grass. We don’t have a GPS signal anymore, and my husband gives me the side-eye, certain I’m about to get us lost or horrifically stuck in the mud on a Level B Road. That’s what we call a low-maintenance dirt road back home in Iowa, and yes, I’ve put him in that predicament a time or two before. Fortunately, I know exactly where I’m going — to the most extreme hike in Kansas. But right on cue, we come to a rolling stop at a gravel turnaround. He chuckles at my wide-eyed expression when I note the nothingness around us, devoid of the 150-foot bluff I thought was here.

From the backseat, my daughter calls out that she’s staying in the car. My husband echoes the sentiment, but my son, unfailingly, announces that he’s got my back. Together we walk the plank from gravel into nothingness, both pretending we’re on an epic quest that the other two will surely regret missing out on. I let him take the lead, watching him run ahead into a flat, broad grassy knoll when his feet suddenly come to a halt. He raises his arms to the side, like an eagle coasting across the valley. 

As I get closer, a grin spreads across my face as I see exactly what I came for. Where he stands is the bluff. A breathtaking pedestal rising high above the sea; deep teal waters with tiny white, peaked waves, and swelling tides rolling over white rocky beaches beneath towering white bluffs. Only it’s not the sea, it’s the Cedar Bluff Reservoir, and this is its hidden gem, the Cedar Bluff Overlook.

A moment later, the other half of our pack catches onto our discovery and trudges the 100 steps from our car to the bluff top. It’s not long before we start picking our way to the bottom, following an unmarked, unruly, rugged trail that descends between two walls of bluffs. It’s steep and loose, causing us to interchangeably run or scoot down on our heels to keep from toppling over. But we giggle all the way, exclaiming success when we reach the shoreline, celebrating as if we’ve found a hidden cove in Greece. But it’s just Kansas. Glorious, undiscovered, underrated, and underappreciated Kansas. And we have it all to ourselves!

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