Today was a particularly good day. What makes a perfectly good day when one is on the road for 90 days? Well… a leisurely morning for one, a morning where you don’t have to pack up camp or hit the trails early to beat the heat. Instead, you wake with the sunrise, enjoy your ritual of boiling hot water and steeping tea leaves, read a little, write a little, listen to the world wake up and feel the chill slowly dissipate and the pine needles release their musky scent when the sun heats the ground and then you breathe, deeply. The moment arrives when you feel immense gratitude.
Custer State Park is a jewel I’d never heard of. We had planned two days here, but we extended our stay to four. We camped for a few days at Game Lodge Campground and stayed in a cabin for a night in the Blue Bell area. Custer is smack in the middle of the Black Hills of western South Dakota, an area rich with plant diversity, huge bison herds, granite peaks and clear mountain waters. Once we got a handle on the variety of things to do here, we made it our base for exploration.
Mount Rushmore is another one of those iconic American Road Trip destinations that is a must do. I knew I wanted to check it out but I was unprepared for the detailed and thoughtful design of the entire project beginning with the beautiful Iron Mountain road and its tunnels and pullouts designed to showcase the monument from afar, giving one an initial perspective that magnifies as you approach. The massive granite monument is constructed in a way that enables you to hike around it to gape at the wondrous feat of artistry at every angle. We avoided the gift shop but checked out the artist studio where historical photos showcased the brave and talented stonecutters and told the story of the artist, Gutzon Borglum.
We managed to visit the Crazy Horse Memorial the same day and the controversy was not lost on me. The fact that Mount Rushmore features the mugs of four white guys and is a tribute to manifest destiny in a land that some consider illegally occupied is still offensive to many local tribes. The Crazy Horse Memorial, commissioned by a Lakota Chief in 1948, and a sculpture still in progress, will be the largest in human history when completed. The atmosphere here is in marked contrast to Mount Rushmore. There is a palpable respect and reverence for Native American culture, with a museum, authentic craftspeople on site, and ambitious future plans including a medical school and university. The Memorial is also non-profit and completely funded by admission fees and donations. The original sculptor, Korzak Ziolkowski vehemently scorned any government funding. While we could only view the profile of Crazy Horse, the completed sculpture is easy to imagine.
The weather has been ideal for hiking and we found a little used trail that wound its way between two small fishing lakes. The Grace Coolidge Fishing Area trail followed a rushing stream that occasionally opened up into reflecting pools at the base of soaring granite outcrops.The only soul we encountered in the 6 mile trek was an elderly gentleman outfitted in fly fishing gear. He stopped to show us his catch, a handsome trout. He mentioned that his wife was back in camp and they had an arrangement, he caught the meal, she cooked it. Sounded like a good deal to me.
Hiking in environs like this induces a state of contentment that is hard for me to describe. The sound of the wind in the cypress trees, the gentle gurgling of the stream and the shooshing of our hiking boots against the forest floor. The trail crossed the stream countless times and required some balancing on slim logs placed strategically. At one point, Mark and I were silently walking and engaged in our own thoughts when a great shadow swooped over us and into a nearby tree. It was a Great Horned Owl! It sat there in the distance while we scrambled for our binoculars to check him out. I took this as a good omen, a fortuitous blessing of sorts. It was only later that I discovered that some Native American tribes consider this an ominous sign in a journey. Nevertheless, it was thrilling.
Our last day in the area was spent driving the Needles Highway, a 14 mile crazy zigzag of a road that wove its way between pine and spruce forests and sculptural masterpieces of rock that climbers have named Thimble, Super Pin, Tent Peg, and Four Little Fishes, to name a few. The road led to Sylvan Lake, an alpine lake at an elevation that is so picturesque ,weddings are held here often. There was one in session when we got there.
The trailhead for the Black Elk Peak began here. It was a challenging hike , topping out at 7242 feet, the highest peak east of the Rockies. The views extended to four states and were breathtaking. In Lakota, the mountains called “hinhan kaga”, are the site where Black Elk, a Lakota medicine man, received his vision. There is a fire tower at the peak constructed in the 1930’s by the Civilian Conservation Corps. At the summit, we found colorful strips of prayer cloths tied in abundance to the sparse trees, a Native American tradition. By the way, Black Elk Peak used to be Harney Peak, many of the park signs still identify it is as such. As a kind lady explained to us on the way up, Harney was a butcher of Sioux women and children, Black Elk was a peacemaker. It is a positive sign to see the trend towards correcting the namesake recognition of sacred places.
And so we come full circle to the end of a perfect day. A leisurely morning, a spectacular scenic drive, a hike that challenged my body and provided wild vistas at every bend, a return to a tiny log cabin, where laundry is done, a hot shower is waiting, a gin & tonic is mixed. Mark prepares a roaring fire as the sun begins to set and I make a delicious chili that bubbles over the hot coals. We eat as the light wanes. We read by the fire, I bring out the s’mores. And the stars shine bright.
