Captivated Me

Rapid City, South Dakota is about an 8 hour drive from the Twin Cities. But if you have the time, it is well worth the trip! I drove in on a Friday, rested that night, then packed the following two days with sights and hiking before driving back to the Cities late Sunday night. The schedule was tight, but that only added to the adventure.

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It’s Saturday morning, and I wake up well before sunrise. Mount Rushmore is around 20 minutes away from my lodging in Rapid City, and I want to be there by the time the sun wakes up today. Skies are clear, the stars are out, and just outside the city skirts, I notice the big, barren hills start rolling for miles.

The drive takes me past Keystone, a quaint and small tourist town that is vacant this early in the morning and feels like driving through an old, abandoned western movie set. Soon, and with great anticipation, the weaving roads lead me toward the chiseled faces I’ve never seen before in person. One particular bend in the road takes me up a hill where a scenic overlook frames the sculpture. I pull over and get out of my car just as the sun peeks over the horizon and lights the hills and stone ablaze with orange light. A family of deer graze across the road in front of me. I lift a prayer of thanks, take in the views of the hills, and keep driving.

I park at Mount Rushmore, where very few cars have yet arrived. Armed with my bagged continental breakfast from the hotel and a cup of coffee, I go to share a meal with the Presidents. I walk up to the amphitheater where the view is perfect, visit briefly with some other guests, and sit and gaze and eat and think: If you could ask one of these icons anything, what would it be?

I hike the wooded, guided trail around the park, catching views anywhere I can of the massive faces carved in stone. I imagine what it would have been like to be tasked with the feat, and I learn about the carvers on the educational placards posted as I walk. A few deer meet me on the trail, then casually walk away. I am one of three people hiking the short path this morning, and I take my time.

Afterward, I walk around the visitor center, where plenty of learning is to be done. Most striking to me was the brief summary of American history conveyed in one exhibit. I notice my heart dropping – Our story as a country, though adventuresome and beautiful in some ways, is also filled with brokenness and exploitation. What would it take to truly heal and unite this country? The world? A lot of hard and intentional, but worthwhile work.

I leave the monument refreshed and set my sights for Custer State Park – a premier Black Hills experience, from what I’m told. On the way, I stop at the overlook where you can see Washington’s profile sculpted against the sky, then at a small lake where a family are throwing rocks on the thin ice resulting in the goofiest ‘boing’ sound I’ve ever heard. The drive is stunning. Hills and trees and sky, nothing more, nothing less. I love the feeling of being off-grid.

On the way to Custer, I stop and traverse the grounds of the Crazy Horse Memorial, an intricate and symbolic sculpture that is still in process. The museum on the grounds contains stories and memories of difficulty, adversity, and strength. I read the placards and anecdotes, reflect on the history – a history I cannot fathom – and my heart hurts. I am grateful to be here. To learn and become more aware. To examine my own life and heart, and to question how to live in light of the complexity, brokenness and beauty woven through the story of humanity.

I drive the remainder of the way to Sylvan Lake in Custer State Park, the hub from which many beautiful, wooded trails thread through the Black Hills. I circle the pristine, lightly frozen lake, surrounded by mounds of rock like warriors protecting it, and stand in awe. I meet a few other travelers (some with sweet puppies that I get to greet!), happy-heartedly enjoying the beautiful day and the stunning environs. I then hike along two different trails – Harney Peak Trail followed by Little Devil’s Tower Trail – not to trail’ s end, but just to the point that my knee (which is still recovering from a surgery four weeks ago) can tolerate. The paths are slick with ice, but worth the extra time it takes to find your footing. I find caves and sacred views along the way that take my breath away, encountering very few travelers as I go. This gives the woods a sense of solitude and peace. If I ever come back to this lake, these are two trails I will most certainly continue along.

As I trace my steps back along Little Devil’s Tower trail to my car, a deer meets me on the path. Grazing, unthreatened, and graceful. We stare at each other, then slowly work our way around each other, sure not to disturb one another’s space. I arrive at my car, excited for the next leg of the adventure today.

Wind Cave National Park, my final stop for the day, is a 30-minute drive from Sylvan Lake. Under normal circumstances, the park boasts scenic tours of beautiful, tunneled caves, which have been suspended during the pandemic. I find my way through the rolling plains of the park to the Visitor Center, where a kind park ranger meets me outside and asks if I have any questions. I ask for a trail recommendation with low mileage, acknowledging that my knee is on the achy side, that it is almost sunset, and that only a brief hike is possible at this point. He shares about Rankin’ Ridge Trail, a 1-mile loop with a fantastic lookout from a fire tower atop a hill, cautioning that a hurried step is prudent, since the roads through the park get very dark and are oft-traversed by wildlife after sunset. I start the short drive to the trailhead, encountering hearty bison along the road, and marveling at the color changes that are unfolding in the sky.

I pull up to the trailhead for Rankin’ Ridge Trail, and to my delight, I am the only car in the small lot. I start on the northbound path which ascends a steep hill through the woods, stopping every few steps to gaze at the views before me. Of all the sights today, this is fixing to be the most memorable. Pinks and yellows and oranges and blues and purples all evolve before my eyes, tickling the plains below and treetops above with soft color. My brain almost can’t compute what is in front of me – I have never seen such a palette in the sky before.

I continue my climb, and the path breaks east, then south. The woods are on my right, and to my left is a rolling, expansive, powerful, breathtaking (I could go on with the wonderful adjectives) landscape of hills and trees and grazing bison down below. I feel removed from it all, and also a part of it all, and altogether grateful for this moment. And the peace and beauty are so overwhelming, I just stand there awestruck. Then, I start singing. One of my favorite hymns from childhood:

Oh Lord my God, when I in awesome wonder consider all the works Thy hands have made. I see the stars, I hear the rolling thunder; Thy power throughout the universe displayed. Then sings my soul, my Savior God to Thee. How great Thou art. How great Thou art. Then sings my soul, my Savior God to Thee. How great Thou art. How great Thou art.

I ever-so-slowly keep walking, drinking in the sunset and the views. All is quiet and static, like a still-life painting, but somehow the shifting, vibrant sky breathes the landscape to life as its colors wash over the canvas. As the sun sets behind me, I start making my way further south down the hilly loop, then up the final stretch north back to my car. I make the drive back to my lodging in utter awe, meeting more bison on the road, weaving through the dark, black hills framed by a navy sky filled with stars, and unbelieving of the beauty and wonder that today held.

Tomorrow will bring a day of hiking in the Badlands. But before I get there, I reflect more and more on today. And I am grateful.