Whiterock Conservancy:
Dark Skies,
Wild Wonders,
Working Lands
by Staci and Eddie Mercado
Whiterock at a Glance
Whiterock Conservancy is a 5,500-acre nonprofit land trust in Coon Rapids, established in 2004 after the Garst family donated the land. One of the largest nonprofit land trusts in Iowa, its work is built around a simple but ambitious idea: care for the land while inviting people to experience it. That mission shows up in several ways, from regenerative agriculture and conservation to trails for hiking, mountain biking, and horseback riding. Visitors can camp or choose from a range of overnight rentals, depending on how close to the land they want to be.
The landscape itself is part of what makes Whiterock so distinctive. The Conservancy includes prairie, savanna, forests, and wetlands, and lies along a stretch of the Middle Raccoon River. It also manages the nation’s first soil health easement program. This private-land conservation model includes multiple easements and requires practices such as buffer strips, prairie strips, and cover crops. Altogether, Whiterock helps monitor and manage roughly 8,000 acres, extending its conservation work well beyond its property boundaries.
Iowa Natives staff spent four days at Whiterock, sampling what the Conservancy offers visitors and witnessing how recreation, agriculture, and stewardship come together on the landscape.
Uphill All the Way: Biking the Main Loop
Somewhere between hopeful and desperate, Eddie lost his sunglasses.
We were a quarter mile into a planned ten-mile bike ride around Whiterock Conservancy. The Main Loop Trail was marked “easy” on our map, so it seemed doable in theory. In practice, two factors made it feel anything but easy on two wheels: terrain that shifted among grass, dirt, gravel, and sand, and hills that never seemed to end.
To be fair, a pamphlet (which we unfortunately picked up at the Visitor Center after our bike ride) says, “Main Loop trails are no cakewalk for mountain bikers due to elevation changes.”
Psychological defeat set in quickly when we found ourselves walking our bikes a mere sixty seconds into the ride. I wish I were exaggerating.
The Main Loop Trail offers amazing views of prairie and oak savannah.
There were also a few things we failed to properly consider before venturing forth: 90-degree heat, a cloudless sky, and the fact that we were in our fifties.
At the quarter-mile mark, we rested on a shaded bench overlooking the prairie and discussed the need to conserve water. Eddie’s sunglasses may still be there.
For the next two and a half hours, the pattern of riding, walking, and resting repeated itself. Our hopes rose each time we were sure we’d seen the last hill, only to be dashed into the hot, hard ground. Vultures kept a close eye on our waning resolve.
When you are losing water faster than you are taking it in, it’s hard to appreciate the beauty of restored prairie and oak savanna. It’s even harder to muster the energy to take pictures. Our visual reminders of this day are few.
Old oaks offer much-needed shade.
At one stop, Eddie slumped onto his back, chiggers and ticks be damned. I sat nearby and kept a close eye on his fire-red coloring.
When he finally rousted himself, I asked how much farther we had to go. He fumbled with the now-damp map and identified a shortcut that would shave some distance off our self-imposed torture.
After many more hills, a bridge crossing the Middle Raccoon River came into view. Hope blossomed—until we got close enough to spot the orange safety fencing blocking the entrance. When you are that desperate for a shortcut, caution feels more like a suggestion. We rolled up to the bridge anyway. It was most definitely out. Tall grasses partly obscured a significant gap between the bank and the bridge.
For a moment, taking the long route seemed more impossible than superheroing ourselves across the expanse or swimming the river, bikes in hand. I entertained escapist options while Eddie made peace with reality.
Whiterock Conservancy sits on a vast expanse of rolling hills.
We pressed on, and the details blur—lost in an endless cycle of hills, sun, and heat. At one point, the trail turned into a short stretch along Highway 141. Eddie’s full repertoire of curse words got a workout as air-conditioned trucks sped past our dejected frames.
We spotted the Bur Oak Visitors Center from afar, beckoning like the Holy Grail. Though it wasn’t our planned endpoint, we knew Whiterock Conservancy’s Guest Services Manager, Laura Larson, would be there. We had rented the bikes from her, and though we’d agreed to meet her back at our starting point four miles away, we hoped she might show mercy.
Unfortunately, the Visitors Center sits atop a hill. Of course it does.
Cool air greeted us as we entered. I chose to compose myself in the restroom just inside the entryway. Eddie had no such restraint. He burst through the main doors and declared, “I’m spent,” while dripping half his body weight in sweat onto the rug.
Thankfully, Laura took pity on us. She had the truck that day, she said, and could take us back to our car. An angel. On the drive, we talked about our planned kayaking trip down the river the next day. “That will be much easier,” she said. We managed some uncomfortable laughter and hoped it would be true.
Safely in our own air-conditioned vehicle and on the way back to the rental cabin, Eddie let out an exasperated sigh. I wondered what was wrong, but knew before I asked.
We were going uphill.
This long-exposure photograph captures star trails tracing circular paths around the North Star.
Photo by Jeff Glock
Dark Skies Over Whiterock
A shower, a long nap, and dinner at Chuck’s Bar and Grill in Coon Rapids helped us recover from our naivety and remember the primary reason we chose Whiterock Conservancy in the first place: dark skies.
The area had been recognized as having some of the darkest night skies in Iowa, and Kate Compton, Whiterock’s executive director, had begun the years-long application process with Dark Sky International to obtain an official designation. If successful, the Conservancy would be the first such location in Iowa.
The best spot at Whiterock Conservancy to view the night sky is the Star Field Campground. As we set up a couple of chairs in the open field, coyotes howled beyond the woodlands bordering the area. Though our eyes had yet to adjust to the darkness, we marveled at what we could already see—many more stars than are visible from our own yard. Close to the ground, fireflies lit up all around us.
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The Milky Way from the Star Field Campground
Photo by William Benson
The dark new moon gave us optimal viewing. Scorpius whipped its tail in the south, Cassiopeia reigned in the north, and the Summer Triangle beamed brightly overhead. Though we could still see some mild light pollution near the horizon, the Milky Way became more and more defined the longer we sat, and we became utterly transfixed by the magic of the night.
A few cars of other observers came and went, but for the most part, our only other companions were a parliament of barred owls, a chorus of noisy katydids, and a sound we struggled to identify until many days later: the screech of nighthawks.
Neither one of us wanted to leave, but as the clock hands crept past midnight, our aching backsides got the better of us. It was time to sleep. After all, we had another excursion planned for the next morning.
Whiterock offers canoe and kayak rentals.
Natural Harmony on the Middle Raccoon
Morning found us trading wheels and star charts for paddles.
Whiterock Conservancy has over forty miles of multi-use trails, and while those paths offer amazing views, the route that offers some of the best opportunities for spotting wildlife is the eight-mile stretch of river that runs through it. Unlike its counterpart, the South Raccoon, the Middle Raccoon is blessedly wild. Whiterock Conservancy, nearby parks, communities, and wildlife areas protect the river from development and cropland. Woodlands and native grasses hug the shoreline. Sandstone walls rise overhead, and wildlife can be spotted everywhere you look.
We rented equipment from the Whiterock team once again, and this time we met Matt Reiling, land operations manager, who hauled us and a couple of kayaks to the put-in upstream. Reiling and his wife, Emily Babin, own our cozy rental cabin—The Rookery—on a private parcel nestled in the heart of the Conservancy.
The Rookery is nestled in the Middle Raccoon Valley. The 12-acre property includes prairie plants and old oaks.
Whiterock hosts several places available for overnight stays, but as we planned our trip and looked at lodging options online, we were charmed by this acreage rental with easy access to the Conservancy’s trails. While we sat in our dark living room and considered The Rookery for our stay, a firefly somehow made it into our house and lit up the room. We took that as a sign and booked it.
Though the river was a little higher than usual for that time of year, Matt advised us to be on the lookout for rock riffles and tree sweepers. We were glad we chose kayaks rather than heavier canoes, as we encountered many spots where our behinds dragged on tree falls and the rocky riverbed. The technical challenges forced us to keep one eye on the river at all times, despite the many wonders all around.
Sandstone rock formations along the Middle Raccoon River.
A young eagle roosted close to its nest. Daring kingfishers dove into the water after small fish. Bright blue indigo buntings flitted from low branch to low branch. Turkey vultures circled, teetering on the wind. Silent deer peered at us from the tall bank grasses. Red and blue damselflies and black and gold dragonflies skimmed the water’s edge. Occasionally one hitched a ride on our kayaks.
Other than to steer around obstacles, we didn’t bother to paddle. The river’s speed was fast enough for us. Occasionally we heard the deep croak of a bullfrog. The eyes of countless green frogs peered at us from the shallows. If we got too close, they ker-plunked away. Their caution was justified by the raccoon and heron prints pressed along the shoreline. Frog legs were on the menu.
Raccoon and blue heron prints along the shoreline.
Sandbars allow paddlers to stretch their legs along the way.
Our constant flight companion for the duration was a curious great blue heron who kept his distance at first. Each time we rounded a bend, he flew up and around the next to hunt for frogs and fish until we disturbed him once again. At one point, he surprised us with an overhead flyby, so close that his long, thin toes were visible.
For the remainder of the trip, the heron let us get progressively closer. We rounded a bend to find his tall frame just twenty yards away. He tolerated us for a moment, then flew away, disappearing from view.
Just ahead, another scene unfurled: a mother deer and fawn drinking from the river. Their white tails flicking, they reached down for a drink several times before spotting us. Camera in hand, Eddie took many photos of the deer. It wasn’t until later in the day, as we looked through his photos, that we realized the heron was in the frame, too.
A doe and fawn drink water while a great blue heron hunts along the shoreline.
The biggest surprise of the day was a family of otters. Were they napping on the bank? Is that why they allowed us to get so close? We don’t know, but we found ourselves parallel with a mother and some pups before any of us knew what was happening. With chirps and rolling dives, their torpedo-like bodies disappeared from view before we could get picture proof.
We stopped a few times, of course, because no river trip is complete without sandbar foraging for feathers and cool rocks. It was hot—ninety-degree hot—but that kind of heat doesn’t feel nearly as bad when you are near the water. We lingered, slow-floated, and lazed our way to the end of what became a three-and-a-half-hour passage.
Reluctant to depart the river, I let Eddie get out first. As he pulled his kayak out of the water, our blue heron made a final appearance. Just across from the pull-out spot, he had tucked himself beneath a felled tree. The sound of Eddie’s kayak jostled him out of hiding, and with a clatter of wings, he flew back down the way we’d come.
Great blue heron
Evening primrose
The Work Behind the Wonder
The Rookery offers excellent sky views. Like Whiterock Conservancy, Emily and Matt respect the night sky and keep outdoor lights to a minimum. We found the magic of the night just as alive there as it was at the Star Field. The barred owls hooted every night, and nighthawks and katydids provided an active background chorus. We felt like little kids, unwilling to go to bed for fear we’d miss out on the next shooting star. But we had work to do the next day—a meeting with Kate Compton. We’d hiked, biked, floated, and stargazed at Whiterock, but we had yet to speak with its executive director.
The last time we’d been at the Bur Oak Visitors Center, we were a bit disheveled. This time, we felt a little more ourselves. Laura Larson greeted us and inquired about kayaking. We assured her that the float was, in fact, much easier than the bike ride.
Kate Compton gave us a warm greeting as she came out of her office and took us back to the wood- and stone-walled event space. Surrounded by windows on three sides, the room was all about the view. The prairies and woodlands of Whiterock beckoned. If only it were not 90 degrees once again. As we seated ourselves, both Eddie and I saw the bikes we had ridden the other day looming in the corner and suppressed mutual shudders.
Kate’s sense of humor was immediately apparent as we laughed about the bike incident and the challenges we faced when the bridge was out.
The Big Dipper Trail wraps around the Star Field Campground.
We learned that, unfortunately, bridge repair is out of Whiterock’s hands for the time being. The bridge and surrounding area are in the Wetland Reserve Easement (WRE) program, “a voluntary USDA initiative that compensates landowners to restore and protect degraded or marginal wetlands.” Bridge improvements must be approved by the Natural Resources Conservation Service (NRCS) first. Though the bridge is critical infrastructure, repair takes time wrapped in a bit of red tape.
For the sake of the next unsuspecting 50-year-old gasping for air on a bike, I hope that roll of red tape is running out.
Whiterock’s trails and night skies are what visitors notice first, but the Conservancy’s mission gives those experiences meaning. Kate is no stranger to the challenges of meeting mission goals while balancing county, state, and federal regulations. She came to Whiterock with over twenty years of natural resource experience with Iowa DNR, county conservation, and other nonprofits. This lady knows her stuff. With humility and openness, she shared the rewards and challenges of her four years at the Conservancy and some of the goals for the future.
A self-described “farm girl through-and-through,” Kate grew up on a small family farm in Guthrie County, and her parents live on that same farm today. Her parents and grandparents taught her to enjoy the land and treat it kindly, and that upbringing was the perfect bridge for her work at Whiterock. The Conservancy’s mission balances regenerative agriculture, ecological restoration, and recreation. Since those things often feel at odds with each other, that can be a tough act. Ag and conservation often seem like an either-or proposition, but Whiterock’s mission is proving that old paradigm wrong.
Alfalfa flourishes as a living cover crop.
A bumblebee gathers nectar and pollen
from a grey-headed coneflower.
Trees and prairie grasses frame the Middle Raccoon River,
Kate said, “I love the aspect of Whiterock combining regenerative ag with conservation, building those things together while providing recreation for people to see what we're doing on the land. We draw people to Whiterock through recreation, but once they're here, we want them to learn about our other two pillars. We want to show that you can be self-sustainable and economically profitable with regenerative ag while also improving soil and water quality.”
Regenerative agriculture is both a mindset and a set of practices that keep the land alive year-round. At Whiterock, that means maintaining living roots in the soil whenever possible, using cover crops to reduce erosion and build soil health, and moving beyond the familiar corn-and-soybean rotation to include small grains like oats and rye. Through partnerships with local farmers who lease Conservancy land, Whiterock integrates a mix of livestock, including cattle, sheep, and goats, each playing a role in restoring and cycling nutrients through the system. It’s a working landscape, but one that’s constantly healing itself, demonstrating that productivity and ecological care don’t have to be at odds.
View of the River House Barn and surrounding prairie from the Bobcat Trail.
Whiterock’s ecological restoration work is wide-ranging. Across the Conservancy, remnant and reconstructed prairies, oak savannas, wetlands, and a river corridor are managed to rebuild native plant communities and the habitat they support. Prescribed fire helps reduce woody encroachment and bring back prairie diversity, while goats browse invasive species in savanna restoration areas. Timber stand improvement clears out unwanted trees and shrubs when fire alone hasn’t done the job. Taken together, these efforts reflect a long-term commitment to keeping the land resilient, diverse, and rooted in native ecology.
Whiterock’s recreational appeal is vast, with opportunities for hiking, biking, horseback riding, canoeing, camping, fishing, and stargazing drawing visitors to the Conservancy year-round. Kate is working to build on that natural draw by pursuing an official Dark Sky designation, a process that has already led Whiterock to make its outdoor lighting more sky-friendly. The effort reflects a larger commitment to preserving the quiet darkness that already makes the landscape so memorable. Whiterock may not yet have the designation, but it is well on its way, and that goal fits naturally with the experience the Conservancy already offers: wide-open trails by day and an expansive night sky after dark.
From the dark skies of Whiterock Conservancy, the Whirlpool Galaxy (M51) swirls across the night, a reminder of the vast, luminous worlds beyond Iowa’s prairies. Photo by Sean Marczewski
Whiterock’s dark skies are part of what make it such a destination for amateur astronomers, and that appeal is on full display during the Iowa Star Party, hosted by Ames Area Amateur Astronomers and the Des Moines Astronomical Society. Held each fall at the Conservancy’s Star Field, the event brings together stargazers, telescope owners, and curious visitors for a weekend of sky watching under some of the darkest skies in the state. For Whiterock, the event is both a celebration of what already exists there and a reminder of why preserving darkness matters.
Kate sees Whiterock as both a rare opportunity and a real responsibility in a state that has changed more than any other. Iowa is the most ecologically altered state in the nation, and it is not only the land that has changed—the sky has changed too. That makes Whiterock’s work feel all the more urgent, and all the more hopeful. For visitors, the Conservancy offers a different experience each time they return: dark skies one visit, blooming prairies the next, autumn color after that. In a place this wild, there is always something new to discover, and, as Kate suggests, the uphill work of protecting it is part of the beauty.
After the bike ride, a few hikes, nights under the stars, and our slow float down the Middle Raccoon, Whiterock’s mission came into sharper focus. The Conservancy’s recreation is what draws people in, but the deeper story is the work of restoring, protecting, and reimagining what Iowa land can still be.