Saturday, June 21, 2014

Black Hills National Forest, South Dakota

This is part 3 of my trip into the Badlands and the Black Hills. Missed part 1 or part 2?

Shortly after entering the Black Hills National Forest, a billboard reminded me of the Crazy Horse Memorial which is—like my initial goal, Mount Rushmore—also located right in these hills. So I modified my plans and drove a bit further to see the monument that might become the world’s largest sculpture when it’ll be finished some day. I had no idea that the sculpture itself is only one part of a huge complex (still very much in its infancy) that already features a museum and gallery and will eventually be home to the Indian University of North America, a Medical Training Center, a cultural center, recreational facilities, and more (see this image). Crazy Horse is much bigger than Mount Rushmore, but the only way to get really close (aside from special events, I think) is to either be a sculptor and work on it or take a shuttle that takes you a couple feet closer than you are allowed by yourself. Since I wanted to see a bit more today, I didn’t have too much time and decided to go see Mount Rushmore next.
Unusually well informed, I knew that instead of an admission, you have to pay $11 for parking at Mount Rushmore, so I took a roadside parking lot nearby and, after taking some photos of Mr. Washington’s supersized head (which was already visible from here), the beautiful pointed spires and the cliffs and the gulches and the conifers all around me, I walked about a quarter mile to get to the entrance. Considerably more people here than at Crazy Horse—senior citizens, couples, families, school classes, veterans. Passing the flag gallery (a flag for each state), I approached the monument that stood out mostly because of its gray color that distinguishes it from the raw and untreated red-brown rock of the mountain it was carved into. And it is pretty impressive, definitely worth a visit if you’re in the area. Otherwise, not. Don’t come here just to see four giant heads in a wall. I enjoyed the boardwalk (that brings you right underneath the faces so you can see up their noses) more because it was winding through immense fallen rocks and tall scrawny trees. Too much people here, though. So I thought, what to do next? Back to the Badlands, hike there, or spend the night in the Hills? 


I talked to a Park Ranger, inquiring about camping opportunities, and she told me that solitary back country camping is allowed here, but that these hills are home to mountain lions and stuff. Which is not really a problem, but you know, just so I know. Tempted by the prospect of more than 4 hours of sleep this night (i.e., without unwittingly invading animal territory), I decided to call some camp sites and ask about their prices. So she gave me a number to call. After listening to some Vivaldi for at least five minutes, someone answered the phone, and we were talking about camp sites for tonight until, after another five minutes or so, this gentleman told me that they are not handling camp sites in the Black Hills. Well, that’s what I told him where I was in the beginning, but I guess he just needed someone to talk to. Thanks anyway. Okay, so I accepted that, for better or worse, I’d have to drive around and just inquire at some camp sites (the Park Ranger’d given me a map) about their rates until I’d find a pretty and cheap one. 
So back to the car. This was the worst part of the day; I somehow got onto a road with the top layer missing, so my car sounded like a tank, and I couldn’t really drive at a convenient speed. The Black Hills is a much bigger area than I had expected. Which is cool in itself, but not if you just want to find a camp site for the night. I found one that seemed pretty expensive and one or two others that were completely booked, so I had to go to another one—Custer Trail Campground—that I’d marked on my map, and this one was almost empty, right by the pretty Deerfield Lake in the middle of woods and hills, and ‘only’ $14. Deal! Looking for an office or a booth to pay my money, I only found a box, some envelopes, and a manual that instructed me to fill out the form on the envelope’s back and put my money in, then throw it into the box. This is probably the only place in America where you cannot pay with a credit card. And I usually even prefer paying cash, but right here, my problem was that I only had $20 bills. And no one who could change it. Okay, so $6 down the drain...

Having pitched my tent and watched three baby squirrels chase each other along the top rail of the primitive wooden fence around the camp ground, I set out to explore the area around the lake a bit. After less than a ten minute walk, from the top of a hill, I had a beautiful view on the green pastures and dark groves around me, the lake to the south, and the wooded hills that enclosed this place to all sides. I went a bit farther and sat on the side of a little creek right where it runs into the lake, had some dinner and read The House of the Seven Gables, all the time accompanied by four wild geese thirty or forty feet to my right. Then all of a sudden a small herd of five or six deer emerged out of a bigger grove to my left, one after the other, a few of them regarding me for a moment with alert big black eyes, and then walking on.


Around 9 p.m., I once more gave in to my fascination with water during twilight and sat on the floating wooden landing stage just a few inches above the surface. In completely still air, the lake was a huge dark mirror that reflected the even darker woods along its shores. The water lay perfectly smooth and plain except for one patch a couple of feet away from the jetty where the surface was constantly rippled for whatever reason (You might have witnessed something like this before on a lake, I have no idea how to explain this). A very general and all-encompassing silence—a tranquility?—was frequently broken by the bored croaking of toads, the bustling chirping of grasshoppers, and the excited splatter of jumping fish. From the woods, the occasional hoot of a nighthawk or an owl. In the distance, two or three pallid blue ridges of wooded hills gradually disappear as it gets truly dark. Neither stars nor moon tonight, only a solitary beacon on a summit very far away. Winds come up, gently stirring the lake. I decide it won’t get any darker tonight; I switch on my flashlight and go to sleep.

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