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Once again my work took me to a place many would not think of as vacation destination: Sioux Falls, South Dakota. Important meetings on two consecutive weeks at the U.S. Geological Survey's EROS Data Center provided the opportunity to save travel money by spending a long weekend touring the area as opposed to flying back and forth from Virginia.
I arrived in Sioux Falls on Monday, (May 5, 1997) and attended meetings through Thursday afternoon. Spring was just beginning to turn the plains green, and there was only a hit of leaves sprouting on the trees. The weather was generally pretty good except for the persistent north wind keeping the temperature below normal. During week night outings with buddies Gary and Greg, to such interesting destinations as BlueMound State Park in Minnesota, and DevilsGulch in nearby Garretson, we noticed a few snowdrifts remaining as a reminder of the extreme winter that had just relaxed its grip on the northern plains. Sioux Falls is really a rather nice little city, and I highly recommend the Sioux Falls Brewing Company near the falls for some excellently crafted beers.
By 3:00 PM Thursday, I was headed west on Interstate 90, across a sea of grass and endless billboards for such "famous" sites as Wall Drug and the Corn Palace. I'd traveled this stretch of I- 90 several times, and never even considered pausing at these "tourist traps". However, I needed supplies for the weekend, so I did exit at Mitchell, and curiosity brought me past the corn festooned landmark while looking for a grocery store. Its actually kind of neat looking, but I didn't stoop to venturing inside. The store was only a block away, and soon I was heading west again at 80 mph.
Some 260 miles west of Sioux Falls, I finally left the freeway at Cactus Flat, the eastern end of the Badlands Loop Road. It was late evening, and although I'd gained an hour on the clock by crossing into the Mountain Time Zone, I was pretty tired after a day of meetings and the long and mostly featureless drive. I planned to camp at nearby Cedar Pass campground, inside Badlands National Park (Map).
I pulled into the Big Badlands Viewpoint, just past the entrance station, anxious to get some photos of the evening glow on the Badlands. The lighting got even better as the minutes passed. I missed a great shot of a red-winged black bird on a post with a backdrop of color because I fumbled with the camera settings too long. Then I missed another of two little bunnies for the same reason. I resolved at that point to click the shots first, then try for a better second exposure.
The Cedar Pass Visitor Center was closed as the clock edged past 8:00 PM MDT. The bulletin board there told me of Sage Creek Primitive Campground, another 35 miles west. Its setting on the edge of the 65,000 acre Sage Creek Wilderness sounded much more inviting that the motorhome haven at Cedar Pass.
I quickly sped off toward the setting sun. The road was empty and the views were expansive. A couple of deer ran across the road in front of me, reminding me to pay attention to the driving as well as the scenery. By the time I turned off the paved park road onto the gravel Sage Creek Rim Road, the sun had set. Those last 13 miles to the campground passed quickly, and daylight persisted enough to enjoy the views. Roberts Prairie Dog Town seemed abandoned as the little critters were all below ground hiding from the night's predators.
There were at least half a dozen groups camping at Sage Creek, but I found a nice site along the perimeter and finally parked the car for the last time that day. There were several bison grazing close by, and coyotes howled a short distance away. I decided to take a walk in the twilight off in the direction of the commotion. I walked about half a mile and sat down on a steep bank with my feet dangling over Sage Creek, facing the setting crescent moon. Comet Hale-Bopp hung low in the sky near the moon. I was surprise how much smaller and fainter it had recently become.
The coyotes cut loose again, this time very near by. I sat silently, hoping they would happen by. I very much wanted to scare the shit out of them, as some of their cousins once did to me during a very dark night at a wilderness beach on the Sea of Cortez during my 12th year of life. The wind was in my favor, but the scenario I hoped for never came to pass. The moon set, and a chill in the air made me think of a nice warm sleeping bag. It was now very dark, and the mini-mag flashlight I had was almost completely absorbed by the sea of grass. I was a bit nervous about bumping into a bison as I stumbled through their craterous footprints on my way back to camp.
There was no chance of rain, and the stars were magnificent, so I decided to forgo the tent. There was one concern though. What about all those bison? Would one step on me by accident? I decided to sleep on top of the picnic table! Who cares what the neighbors think?
Now I knew it could get cold this time of year in this part of the country, but I was surprised to see the thermometer already read 28 degrees at 10 PM! I did not bring a bulky coat, but had plenty of layers, all of which were on when I climbed into the sleeping bag. I pulled the rain fly from the tent over the bag to keep the frost from wetting the down.
I fell asleep with my glasses on, gazing at a multitude of stars, coyotes still providing occasional mood music. Sometime hours later, I awoke to another strange sound. Munch, munch, snort....munch, munch, munch, snort......A bison was mowing its way by, less than ten feet away. I listened in silent enjoyment, safe on my picnic table perch. The beast's breaths sounded like little explosions, almost like the sound of a whale blowing. It slowly moved on, keeping that rhythm as it never paused from mowing the prairie.
The morning dawned at 18 degrees. I managed to stay warm all night as long as no skin was exposed. I quickly threw my bed in the back of the car and headed toward nearby Wall in search of a hot breakfast. Sage Creek Road (C-590) turned north off of the rim road, providing a shorter route to food. This gravel road exits the park uneventfully. No entrance station guards it here, just a cattle ("bison") guard and a modest sign. Several bison lingered near the boundary, with no clue about how unfriendly the other side of the fence really was. One buffalo approached in curiosity, not used to tourists in this part of the park.
I suspected Wall Drug might at least offer a good breakfast at a reasonable price, and I needed gifts for spouse and kids, so this time I actually ventured into the bowls of a tourist trap. For some reason, the restaurant didn't entice me, and I bought very few gifts. I did get a couple of small, inexpensive Black Hills Gold necklaces for my girls at a shop across the street. After all the billboard hype, the place was kind of interesting to see, . I will stop again eventually with the family, should time allow. The kids would like it, and it is free.
I grabbed a couple donuts and headed west on I-90 again. I found much better gift hunting in downtown Rapid City. A major fire had destroyed several buildings in the city center the day before, and the still smouldering rubble was being doused with water by a tired fire crew. Less than a block from the fire was the Firehouse Brewing Company. It didn't open until 11 AM, so I loitered about downtown for awhile, anticipating their beer sampler. The beers were OK, but didn't seem to hold a candle to those of Sioux Falls. In all fairness, it may have been the time of day and lack of breakfast that swayed my opinion. I'd still recommend a visit.
The highway west of Rapid City quickly climbs into the pine covered Black Hills. I had planned to hike the short trail up to the base of Mount Rushmore, but most of the Memorial's grounds were closed for construction. I didn't mind the new $5.00 parking fee (Golden Eagle Pass doesn't cover it) until I couldn't find a ranger anywhere to question about trails in the area. I did find a nice viewpoint away from the crowds down by the art studio.
Scenic U.S. Route 16-A heads south from Rushmore to Custer State Park. As it winds higher into the Black Hills, several distant views of "the faces" are seen. I turned off of 16-A onto gravel 753 and entered the state park at an "on your honor" fee box. In no time, I was parking at the Cathedral Spires Trailhead on the Needles Highway. Several carloads of rock climbers were playing on routes near the trailhead. I threw my pack on and started heading for Harney Peak, only some three miles away.
The trail was fairly level at first, but soon began to climb up a notch between towering spires. The route became unclear in the jumble of rocks, but with walls on each side, there was no question of where to go. The climb didn't last too long, as a pass was reached near a junction with a trail to Little Devils Tower and Sylvan Lake. That trail was much more used, but began to occasionally disappear under patches of snow. A hoodoo with a keyhole called for a photo stop.
The trail stayed near the ridgetop, heading north through woods into the Black Elk Wilderness Area of Black Hills National Forest. A couple more junctions were passed, and I even met several groups descending on this warm Friday afternoon. The summit spur trail didn't seem to be as steep as I'd expected. Soon the trail left the forest through a keyhole in the rock, and climbed a short series of steps to the Harney Peak Lookout. The structure appeared to have been recently restored, and a plaque told about this National Historic Landmark at 7242 feet elevation. It claims there are no higher summits to the east until the Pyrenees, but I think its author has geography problems, unless they discount anything northeast or southeast - like Baffin Island or Greenland for instance.
There were a group of nine seniors from a small town near Sioux Falls scattered about the summit dome. They were celebrating a senior skip day without the other three members of their graduating class, who had been caught cheating on a test. A chaperon and his wife puffed up shortly after my arrival. I snapped group photos with several of their cameras, and soon they were gone, leaving me alone on top of South Dakota. The hike up had been surprisingly easy, but it was still nice to lose the heavy pack. There was a stiff breeze, but my thermometer read 55 degrees, and the sun felt nice and warm. I started to explore my surroundings, clicking photos like a tabloid photographer at a celebrity trial.
The view south looked back on my route past the Cathedral Spires and Little Devils Tower. I scrambled west across a granite desert that was riddled with veins of rose quartz. From a distance, the lookout really blended into its surroundings. A stone stairway descended west from the Lookout down to a pump house and small manmade pond surrounded by stone walls that once supplied the lookout with water. The east face drops as a cliff just beyond the lookout.
The Black Hills are holy lands to the Native Americans of the region, and Isaw several trees in the summit area made into small shrines with bits of material and woven grass adorning them. I did my duty to the site by cleaning up what little litter I could find.
The sun was sinking low, and although I had a tent, I decided the top of the lookout would be a great place to spend the night. After dinner, I snapped a self portrait on the lower viewing deck and then of Catheral Spires bathed in evening light. After sunset, the lights of Custer began to show behind Little Devils Tower.
Once twilight had faded, the spotlights on the far side of Mt. Rushmore created a silhouette of the mountain's outline. It took me some time to figure out that the fainter glow to the west was the lights illuminating Crazy Horse.
I spread out my sleeping bag on the catwalk that gives access to the view out of the tower. I used my rainfly as a wind break on the railing, as a couple of missing windows allowed the breeze to swirl inside. The other windows, obviously rather new plexiglass, had already been ruined by morons that scratched graffiti all over them. Why they just couldn't have used the wood frames as a canvas instead, no one can guess. Although I didn't bring a watch, I knew it was sometime past 10 PM when I crawled into the bag, as Mt. Rushmore had disappeared in darkness. The thermometer was resting at a balmy 48 degrees.
I awoke with the sun after a great night's sleep. It was still 48, but the wind had increased. Soon I was heading down the trail, sorry to leave, but ready for more adventures. Just below the summit, I startled a small herd of mule deer. At the summit spur trail junction, I turned away from the car, and headed north around the east side of Harney Peak. The trail quickly became snowcovered as it swung around the base of the cliffs. It soon was apparent that I didn't want to slog too far that way. I stopped where a break in the trees offered a view of the east face. As I stepped from the shadows, I suddenly broke through to my waist in snow. I floundered a bit, but managed to get back to the trail.
I decided to head for the car, and explore other areas of the Black Hills. I had gone so picture crazy, that I was now down to one exposure left. That one lasted all the way back to the car, but only a hundred yards from the parking lot, a Mountain Goat licking winter's salt from the road necessitated its use.
The Needles Highway, from the trailhead to Sylvan Lake, winds through amaze of granite pinnacles, which though impressive, are smaller than those of Cathedral Spires. I wasn't too upset about the lack of film, and soon found some at sleepy Sylvan Lake Resort.
For the first time since I left Sioux Falls, clouds began to dim the brilliant blue sky. Cumulus clouds were growing over the Black Hills beneath a higher deck of cirrus. The day was warm and still quite young. I headed north toward Hill City, then swung back to the south on U.S. 385 toward Custer. Quite a bit of progress has been made on the Crazy Horse Monument since I last saw it almost six years ago. Its now easy to see from the highway, but still has a long ways to go to completion.
I picked up more supplies in Custer, and wasted better than a hour in the two local rock shops. Then, with no real plan, I wandered some of the backroads southeast of town looking for accessible mine dumps. One mine tunnel near Flynn Creek Picnic Ground merited exploration. Only idiots go into abandoned mines, but I guess I am one. The rocks in the dump and underground were much less interesting than those I found elsewhere.
By mid-afternoon, I had re-entered Custer State Park (maps), now touring while also looking for a place to camp. On my way to the Visitor Center near State Game Lodge, I spotted a group of rams just above the road. I watched the bighorn sheep for quite some time before continuing. It wasn't too long before I ran across a group of ewes even closer to the road.
I grabbed a welcome shower at Game Lodge Campground, then headed out on the park's Wildlife Loop Road. Bison were everywhere. A few miles south was the east trailhead into the French Creek Natural Area. There were no cars in the parking lot, and it was only a mile into a primitive campsite with a $2.00 camping fee. Since my lodging costs on the trip so far were zero, I figured I could afford it. It was still fairly early in the afternoon, so with hours of daylight left, I decided to drive the entire Wildlife Loop, and return to the trailhead later.
Near the south end of the loop, I came across one of the park's herds of wild burros. They rushed atthe car expecting a handout. I saw a number of antelope, but they were all fairly distant sightings. One buck on the horizon did tempt the shutter.
The sky was now rather threatening, and on a high point I could see lightning to the north. I was now near the MountCoolidge Lookout, and the thought of taking in a thunderstorm from the fire tower was quite appealing. The spur road to the summit was quite short, but I was disappointed to find public access to the top of the tower was not granted. The lookout, made of stone, and very much like the one on Harney Peak, is still manned and used to spot fires. If I couldn't be inside the well grounded tower, I didn't want to be there at all. I headed back down, and the storm died with only a few drops hitting the windshield.
I completed the loop drive, and time allowed for a quick side trip to checkout the Badger Hole. Road construction caused me to miss the turn, but I doubled back and found the place. It was now almost 6:00 PM and even though it was Saturday, it was too late for a tour. I had the grounds all to myself. It was truly avery relaxing and secluded spot.
It wasn't long before I was back at the French Creek Trailhead with my pack on my back. A sign warned that numerous stream crossing were required and that "you will get wet". It was a very warm afternoon, so a little wading didn't sound too bad. I was surprised just how many times the trail crossed the creek. The water was still high with spring runoff, and most crossings were well above knee high. The crystal clear water was not too terribly cold or swift, and I never even felt the need to look for a big stick to pole my way across.
The rocks forming the walls of the canyon on this end of the natural area are reddish limestone, not the granites of the higher areas of the Hills. Numerous potholes marked the cliffs. One high above the stream had a huge bird nest filling its entrance. Where was the eagle? Most at river level were fairly short, but one I looked in did appear to continue quite a ways, but it was mostly straight up! It was definitely not something to mess with alone and without a rope.
The campsite consisted of three sites with fire grates and an outhouse. I pitched the tent even though the sky was now mostly clear just to play it safe. Being early in the season, many dead branches broken down by winter snow and ice littered the ground. I soon had a roaring fire going, and a huge pile of wood ready for the night. I had expected a fire that night, and picked up a steak at the store in Custer. What a great dinner I had of fire grilled steak and toasted English muffins with peanut butter.
I kicked back on a log in the twilight and watched as multitudes of bats flew above the treetops downstream toward the open prairie from their roosts in the canyon. There must be some fairly serious caves around there somewhere. It got dark much earlier that night between the walls of the canyon with clouds obscuring the moonlight. I turned in fairly early after a long, eventful day.
I was back at the car by 8:00 AM, and headed south on the Wildlife Loop Road. I drove the backroads that crisscross the center of the park, and had much better luck seeing wildlife than on the main loop. I saw hundreds of bison. One scene of a tiny bird shadowing the mouth of a huge buffalo was especially captivating. It must have found better feeding in the freshly munched turf. I also saw a mother bison affectionately nuzzling her baby.
Antelope were also more prevalent in the interior of the park. One was grazing right next to the road. There was a huge prairie dog town along the main road. I also saw a number of both mule and white tail deer.
Having traveled almost all of Custer State Park, it was time to move on. For some reason, I wanted to go south toward the plains, instead of north into the heart of the Black Hills. I decided to try an unimproved road that headed south into the backcountry of Wind Cave National Park from the southern tip of the loop road. It quickly deteriorated into dried mud ruts heading off through the grasslands. I check the odometer, figuring it could be no more than ten miles to an intersection with a better road. It was much less than that to the Wind Cave Boundary, where the road got better. The scenery of outer Wind Cave National Park had a much more wide open spaces feeling than that of Custer State Park. Buffalo were scattered in small bands across the countryside. A controlled burn raised a smoke plume to the south, part of the process of improving forage for the huge beasts.
I'd been in Wind Cave before, and since the real "caving tour" was not yet offered this season, I continued on south through the town of Hot Springs, and on towards a dot on the highway map that said Cascade Falls. I stopped to check out a Forest Service Picnic Area called Cascade Springs, where I found a real mess. It looked as though small critters (raccoons?) had gotten into neglected garbage cans and scattered trash everywhere. Since I had no real schedule, I did my public duty, and cleaned the place up. What looked so bad only took about fifteen or twenty minutes to remedy. The cans were far too full, and I hoped the mess wouldn't return in short order.
The spring itself created a beautiful clear stream full of water cress. I sampled some to get my veggies for the day. The falls were several miles further down the road, beyond the end of pavement and below the base of the southern abutment of the Black Hills. Another USFS park there is woefully neglected. It didn't look too old, and must have been quite an investment, but really needed a clean up and load or ten of gravel in the parking lot.
While I was there, a local car pulled in and out poured a family of three. A little toddler pointed out a beer can on the ground, to which the dad replied, "its probably one of mine" as he walked by. Maybe it wasn't raccoons that made the mess back up the road!
I was now only some 25 miles from the Nebraska state line. If I'd ever been to Nebraska, it was as a young child and beyond my memory. I decided to keep heading south, just to say I'd been there, regardless of the jokes about its lack of scenery. I've heard those jokes about many places I've found worth seeing.
I crossed the Cheyenne River on an ancient bridge, and followed the dusty road across miles of sage covered rolling prairie. At a featureless intersection, miles from any other building, was a tiny school house, outhouse outback, that appeared still in use. It was a heck of a lot smaller than the two room school I attended first grade at in Carver, Oregon. Some ten miles furtherwas another school house that had seen better days.
There was very little of anything in that lonesome corner of South Dakota, except a few cattle here and there. As I sped south, three cute little calves caught my eye. They were laying together far from the herd. Each was quite adifferent color from the others. I pulled a "U" turn to go back for a picture. Unfortunately, they were quite wild, and spooked when I stopped the car. I did get a picture of the "three amigos", but they weren't posed as I first saw them. My visions of a prize winning "celebrate diversity" shot were dashed.
Ardmore, South Dakota, where all signs had pointed, turned out to be almost a ghost town. A few of the houses looked occupied, but no businesses survived there. A mile further saw me enter Nebraska and leave my map. I had almost a full tank of gas and no worries...full speed ahead.
I was back on pavement, but a sign pointing right said "Toadstool Park - 10 miles". The ridge in the distance looked rugged and interesting. What's 10 miles? Nothing out here. The road was good except for occasional dust holes. It looked like you wouldn't want to drive it in wet weather, even in a 4x4. Another sign welcomed me to the Oglala National Grassland. At last a sign said "Toadstool Park - 1 mile". The road headed straight for an area of badlands.
The park consisted of a dozen or so louver-shaded tables and a nature trailheading into the Toadstools. I set out to do a little exploring, soon leaving the nature trail to follow a gully higher into the formations. The gully quickly got so narrow that it was hard to follow, but I managed to reach a pass at its head. I followed the shelf formed by a resistant layer across the slope from the pass to a knife edge ridge of soft clay. Climbing the ridge was a challenge, but the only alternative would have been to retrace my steps. At the top, I paused for a photo of myself by balancing my camera on the peak.
After following the ridge top looking for another route down, a steep gully offered the way. It led into a larger valley, where fossil bone fragments littered the surface. I found a wonderful large agate nodule. When broken inhalf, I found it contained a crystal filled cavity. I had to keep it. Fossils weren't legal to pick up, but it was. Without a pack, it was a bit of a pain to carry. Further down the wash was an area of harder rock, rounded into wonderful shapes.
Back at the park was a real sodhouse, just like the early settlers of the plains once lived in. I drove further south, figuring I would hit an east - west highway before too long. An hour later I was in Chadron, trying to decide where to camp that night. A pine covered ridge runs just south of town. Its part of the Nebraska National Forest (not all of Nebraska is corn fields!), complete with campgrounds. I decided to get closer to Sioux Falls, where I needed to be the next day, so I headed back toward Sage Creek in the Badlands, with plenty of daylight left to get there.
I wandered northeast on dirt roads with unsigned intersections. The countryside was pleasant, varying from piney low ridges to wide open valleys. Ranches spread out for miles. I hit pavement again just outside of Pine Ridge, a fairly large Sioux town just over the border in South Dakota. Wounded Knee, about 20 miles northwest, is now a small "Easter egg" town of identical houses painted different colors. A large roadside sign is all that marks the spot of the massacre that occurred there in the late 1890s.
Continuing north, the White River Visitor Center, in the Stronghold Unit of Badlands National Park, had not yet opened for the season. 16 miles further, the primitive road to Sheep Mountain Table turned off to the left. The sun was hanging low, but I couldn't resist the chance to visit more truly wild country.
This was another road that was obviously to be avoided in wet weather. Once it climbed to the top of the table, grass replaced the dried mud of the road path. The view from Gunnery Range Overlook was truly outstanding. There was actually a car parked there. Someone must have been off backpacking. My shadow stretched a long ways by the time I reached the end of the so called road. I almost mowed over a couple of wild turkeys on the return drive.
At Scenic, a wide spot with a bar, I called both my wife and mother for Mother's Day. I felt guilty for having such a great time while Linda was stuck with the kids for her day. She was in good spirits, which helped. Just north of town, the distant Black Hills reflected in a spring thaw lake in the evening twilight. There was only a hint of daylight left when I pulled into friendly Sage Creek Campground.
Horses were tied to a hitching post near my old campsite, and the group with them sounded a bit noisy, so I set up on the far side of the area. One problem - when I climbed into the sleeping bag back on top of a picnic table, I discovered that the frame squeaked with every movement. I tried to lay there very still, but when I noticed a faint squeak to the rhythm of my heartbeat, enough was enough! I moved onto the ground between the car and the table, figuring it was unlikely any bison would walk between them.
That can be one chilly place. It was already down to 32 degrees when I turned in, but high clouds moved in late, so the low was only four degrees cooler, and it had "warmed" to 37 when I got up at first light. I was awakened by the passing bison, mowing the lawn again for the park service.
I took in every viewpoint on the way through the park. The Fossil Exhibit Trail was nice, and so was the steep climb up to Saddle Pass. From the pass, I walked the Castle Trail for a ways, then decided to try to descend a large gully. What a mistake. The walls pinched in so tight that I often had to turnsideways to squeeze through. I had to crawl through a couple of natural tunnels across the streambed. The bed became soft under a crust of dried mud. A few times I broke through half way to my knees. If it had not been for the tight walls I used for leverage to extract myself, I would have been worried about getting permanently stuck and joining the fossil record. Eventually, the passage got wider, but suddenly my route was blocked by a 50 foot overhangingdrop formed by a resistant bed. The only safe route was back. I must have been close to the bottom.
My foot prints helped guide me back past many forks. I probably wouldn't have turned the wrong way, but the foot prints were nice insurance. I broke through many more times on ground already softened by my first passage. Mud caked my legs at least an inch thick. I was very glad to get back to the trail. Don't get me wrong though, it was a neat experience all the same.
I pitched my tennis shoes, which had paper thin soles anyway, at the first trash can I saw. My jeans dried and much of the cement like coating came off when I beat them on the road. I decided I'd had enough of the Badlands. At theVisitor Center, I took in the show, and washed my hair, arms and legs in the restroom sink.
Back to the I-90 drag. I hooked on a Cadillac running cruise at 87 mph, and the miles clicked off quickly. The need for gas meant the end of the Caddy, and I headed north to Pierre for lunch and see what was there. Two lane highways were much nicer than the freeway, even without the speed. I passed through Highmore, where a college friend had spent time with relatives as a kid. It wasn't too exciting. Once again, snow drifts lingered in the area. Water was everywhere. One side road looked like it would be closed for some time due to the the lake that formed over it.
I got into Sioux Falls by mid-afternoon, out of film again, but ready for work after one hell of a great weekend. Its hard to imagine a better trip. I never turned on the wipers and traveled some 1400 miles. The great variety of terrain and wildlife I'd seen would be difficult to ever top in such a short amount of time. The lack of people was a wonderful treat for an ex-Alaskan from the eastern seaboard. Words just can't describe this adventure effectively. Try it sometime yourself!
Last Modified: August 5, 2007
