Month: September 2022 (Page 3 of 3)

Short post here—I’ve got a touch of altitude sickness in the form of a dull, wraparound headache. Nothing to worry about as long as I rest. Today’s accomplishments, in bullet form:

• Arrived at Rocky Mountain early to catch a glimpse of wildlife. I was rewarded by a herd of elk crossing the road, a mischievous pika scurrying through an alpine rock garden, and a pair of moose who decided they liked the paved path better than the meadow. As the mother was the size of my car, I ceded right of way and let them pass.
• Spent some time in Estes Park, the eastern counterpart to Grand Lake. Not as picturesque, but with more commerce and the excellent Smoking’ Dave’s BBQ. Lunch was fried catfish, red beans and rice, jalapeño hush puppies, green beans, and cornbread, all for a very reasonable price.
• Drove by the Stanley Hotel, where Stephen King once stayed and dreamed up the bones of The Shining. It also served as the hotel in Dumb and Dumber. No tours or pictures—parking alone cost ten dollars, which was too rich for a photo op in my opinion.
• Drank plenty of water. The thin air up here causes you to take more breaths and therefore expel more moisture, so I’ve been hydrating by the quart.

Tomorrow’s plan is to hike to a couple of mountain lakes, if I feel well enough. Otherwise, I’ll head down to lower elevations and rest up.

Woke up, fell out of bed, dragged a comb across my head. I’m off to Rocky Mountain National Park. I spent the first half of the drive in the Denver suburbs, which was pretty lame—and then the sprawl fell away and the Rockies began. I drove in the long way, which took me past clear mountain streams and through thick pine forests. The road climbed and climbed, and around each bend was another spectacular view of hazy peaks in the distance.

The park begins at an altitude of over 7,000 feet, and the road kept climbing past open meadows and aspen groves. Eventually I cleared the timber line and set out into the delicate tundra. Visitors are confined to paved walkways, as the vegetation is so fragile that it would take decades to recover from a good stomping. Rocks speckle the brush, and the temperature cools about twenty degrees as the atmosphere thins and heat escapes. Over two miles up, I looked out on mountains still taller.

I completed the main road through the park, passing pristine alpine lakes and more ponderosa forests. Not a great day for wildlife—I plan on getting up early tomorrow to spot elk or moose

I spent the later part of the afternoon exploring the tourist town of Grand Lake. Less commercial than some of the other money sinks I’ve visited, but still pricey. I eschewed the steakhouse for a corn dog and jumped back in my car, parking in a loose collection of free campsites off the beaten path. The forest around me is burnt, which is good. Forest fires are an important part of both prairie and mountain pine forest ecosystems; they keep any one species from getting out of hand. I guess the Lord of Light had a point with the “purifying fire” trope.

Going to bed so I can get up before the sun tomorrow. Let’s hope my dawn sojourn is worth it.

Not much to report today. Nothing super interesting, no cool pictures. I figure these days will happen every now and then, and that’s alright.

I drove south through Nebraska, stopping at the comparatively large town of Scottsbluff to complete the dreaded task of laundry. To my utmost surprise, it was pleasant and painless. Scottsbluff Laundromat, I owe you a life debt. Also—adding an additional delicious Tide pod makes all the difference in the world.

I crossed into Wyoming again, cutting through the southeastern corner and spending an hour in the comfort of the Cheyenne library. Once the worst of the heat was over, I plunged down to Colorado, stopping for dinner at Johnson’s Corner, which is the mile-high version of Red Arrow. I did appreciate the time to rest, unwind, and think. Things over the next week are looking more lively: I’m heading into the Rockies for the first time, and I’m catching up with a friend in Denver. Lots to do—stay tuned!

Before camping last night, I went to a ranger talk about paleoart, which is a quasi-official name for artistic renderings of prehistoric creatures. Fossil records only tell paleontologists so much about what certain species looked like; the rest is the collective educated guess of the paleontologist and the artist. The speaker was adequate, but the material was fascinating. Science has progressed to the point where we can tell what color fossilized feathers were—no more guesswork there.

I woke up early again to get into Badlands before the heat became unbearable. I set out into the backcountry, armed with a topographic map and a compass in case I lost my way in the canyons. One of the sage employees at Wall Drug, font of knowledge, told me the prairie rattlesnakes have been more active this year, so I kept my eyes peeled for them as well. Turns out I needn’t have worried. My planned two-mile loop was a breeze, and while I spotted rabbits, birds, and squirrels, nothing slithered my way. Most impressive was that on a busy Labor Day weekend, I had this corner of the world all to myself.

As much as I enjoyed South Dakota, it was time to move on, but I would have one more encounter before I left the state. My route south took me through the Pine Ridge Reservation, belonging to the Oglala Lakota people. Farms are few and far between, as are businesses, and houses are in poor repair. Chronic alcoholism has crippled the reservation. The crimes of European settlers resonate here as strongly as anywhere I’ve seen.

The point was made most strongly as I pulled into Wounded Knee, site of the last significant armed conflict between Native Americans and the United States government. The Wounded Knee Massacre occurred after the death of Chief Sitting Bull and the surrender of Chief Big Foot, also known as Spotted Elk. The surrendered Lakota people were surrounded by the US military, who disarmed the men of the tribe. A disagreement broke out, a rifle was discharged, and soldiers rained down fire upon the mostly-weaponless Lakota men, women, and children with mountain guns. If you haven’t seen a mountain gun, it is a small howitzer.

I read this not in a well-maintained visitor center, but on a single wooden sign; the word “BACK” was spray-painted at the bottom to indicate the text continued. The clearing where the massacre occurred was mostly empty save for a couple of simple pavilions. A woman had set up shop nearby, and invited me over after I finished reading. Valerie pointed me in the direction of the cemetery where the victims were buried, showed me her jewelry for sale, and offered stories about life on the reservation. She couldn’t have been older than my parents, but did not look well. Her fluffy white dog yapped angrily at my heels through the tablecloth. Feeling very much overmatched by the situation, I bought a buffalo-tooth necklace with beads of the four primary Lakota colors: yellow, white, black, and red.

I drove up to the cemetery. A single brick arch, whitewash fading, announced the small graveyard. Newer headstones surrounded a marker commemorating the victims of Wounded Knee. Over two hundred and fifty Lakota, buried in a mass grave. Wall Drug boasts two million visitors a year; only an hour away, I was all but alone.

Hello! I’m on the moon!

The moon, otherwise known as Badlands National Park, is incredible. I woke up at the crack of dawn to avoid the ninety-degree heat of midday, and hit the trails early. This particular snapshot is from the cratered surroundings of the Door trail, where eroded mini-canyons pockmark the landscape. For reference, the bottom layer is waist-high, and the furthest visible outcroppings are thirty feet away. You could spend days exploring only a square mile here.

I would have spent far more than two and a half hours in the badlands, but I’m already fairly burnt, and staying outside would have been medically irresponsible. So instead I retreated indoors to the overwhelming Wall Drug, located in the town of Wall. I had seen at least sixty-six billboards for the place during the forty-mile drive from Rapid City. What is Wall Drug? Well. It’s like a department store crossed with a mall, covered with kitschy Wild West flavor, advertising five-cent coffee and free ice water, with animatronic jug bands and a splash pad out back, taking up an entire city block, sporting its own chapel, filled with people browsing for hats and cowboy boots and jewelry and local artwork and snowglobes and Wall Drug sweatshirts and hot beef sandwiches and those souvenir rock bags. Somewhere in here, there’s a drugstore as well.

Wall Drug seems to be famous because it’s famous—the Kim Kardashian of shopping centers. It frequently rides the line between inane and insane, but you can find quiet corners to rest and relax. It’s been a welcome place to read and plan tomorrow’s early-morning excursion into the badlands. I picked up a topographic map and a compass just to be safe. I’m planning on a 7-10 morning jaunt and attending a ranger program or two, if I can ever find my way out of Wall Drug.

The forecast for the Black Hills was closing in on triple digits, so I got an early jump on the day and left camp at 6:30 for Wind Cave National Park. No cave tours for me today, though—I want to limit my trips underground. A fungus known as White-Nose Syndrome has been eradicating bats across the country, and it’s tracked from cave to cave primarily by visitors’ boots. Out of caution, I’m limiting myself to one cave system per pair of shoes, which means Mammoth Cave and Carlsbad Caverns.

The surface is gorgeous, showing off a serene prairie with occasional red canyon walls. I walked out a while and was coming back when I turned a corner and hello, buffalo! He was on the trail not 25 feet from me, staring me down. Way too close for comfort. I slowly backed away, avoiding eye contact, and tucked myself off the trail while the bison moseyed by. I did not get a picture, as I was more concerned with not dying. Readers, I will only go so far for you.

I took the scenic route out of Wind Cave, stopping momentarily as a buffalo calf crossed the road. Since it was so close, I decided to go to Mount Rushmore. I will admit that, going in, I was not an admirer of the monument. It struck me as a testament to American hubris: giant reliefs of slave-owners, staring over native land. Perhaps it’s unfair for me to view historical figures through a modern moral lens. I do think I can fault the sculptor, Gutzon Borglum, for not cleaning up after himself. The slope of the mountain is awash with chunks of chiseled stone. Like Devils Tower, I preferred the distant views to the park proper, which was more like Sad Disney World with no food and no rides. Children screamed, bad tattoos were on display, and La Croixes were imbibed. Not my favorite stop.

The heat was getting unbearable, so I hid out in the Rapid City library for a few hours (no Cary Grant sightings). From there, I pushed east and made camp on a high ridge in the badlands. It’s a popular spot, but there’s plenty of room for everyone. A bighorn sheep has joined us as the sun sets. It’s a pleasant night.

With each push further to the west, the stars get more brilliant. I spent a good chunk of the night lying in bed and staring, not at anything in particular, but rather taking in the whole. I’ll have to do some Stargazing 101 when I’m in the mountains.

I took a jog into Wyoming to check out Devils Tower, because why not? It was an hour away, which quickly turned into almost two hours. Wyoming—The Construction State. The landscape here: plains bounded by vibrant mesas and filled with more trees, hills, and color. The tower is visible from at least fifteen minutes away, and I think it’s most impressive at a distance, the ruler of a crookedly majestic skyline.

Devils Tower (no apostrophe, possibly because of T. Roosevelt’s horrid opinions on spelling) is not a National Park, but a National Monument. Both are under the jurisdiction of the National Park Service, but a National Park needs to have multifaceted value as a nature preserve, landscape, recreation area, cultural site, etc. A National Monument only needs one layer of significance. This means that the average visit consists of driving up, looking at the Tower, and leaving. I’m glad I swung by, and won’t visit again. I liked E.T. better, anyway.

After working on some website tech support, I drove into Custer, South Dakota, which is everything Medora wished it could be. Yes, it has the pandering Western storefronts and a Pizza Hut, but there is a greater sense of exploration and wildness here. Hard to explain, but it feels like a Dakota tourist town should. I could even shoulder the “country” music pumped onto the main drag (that song that goes “no hugGEENG no kisSEENG” is truly dreadful).

My meal, a carnitas wrap, was quite good, and dessert, blackberry pie, was even better. Custer can cook. I have retreated a few miles west into the ponderosa pines. Next stop: hiking Wind Cave and a peek at some more big rocks.