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Published: November 12th 2007
Winding our way up the Peter Norbeck Scenic Highway, Andras is the first to spot the monument in the distance. With our windows rolled down, we let the comforting scent of pine drift on in our way. The Black Hills appeared suddenly out of the grasslands as increasing precipitation supported the growth of more biomass, now in the form of douglas fir and ponderosa pine. Andras says it smells like home in eastern Washington; I can’t confirm his perception, but it sure smells fresh. As we careen through pig-tail bridges and switchbacks we slowly make our way closer. The sculpture is higher up than we expected.
Even though we have an Interagency Pass we still have to pay the parking fee. Unlike the other national parks which charge admittance fees, Mt. Rushmore is operated through a concessionaire and the parking structure was not built using federal funds. Even though it’s a Monday, this place is crowded with vehicles and tourists from all over the globe—for a sculpture of four former American presidents it sure has an international draw. A group of school children wearing matching uniforms dart in front of us and lines of outstretched arms holding digital cameras trying
to get ‘the shot’ impede most, if not all, of the walkways. We try getting away from the crowds by taking the one-mile Presidential Trail. We read in one of our guide-books that crowds tend to thin out after the first 300 yards on any trail and so far, we’ve found that to be true. Still, this is definitely not the reflective experience we were expecting. Well…actually neither of us are really sure what we expected, but we’re both pretty sure this wasn’t it. Andras is definitely disappointed as he’d mentioned more than once that this was one of the places he was most looking forward to see this summer. It’s more like a “Red, White and Blue themepark” more than some memorializing past leaders and visionaries. Still, at the end of the trail we caught the midway point of a presentation given by one of the rangers down in the sculptures lodge which was one of the highlights of my visit to be sure. He discussed the history of the monument itself as well as the technical aspects of creating such a large piece of art. Most interesting were the stories about the workers who suspended themselves hundreds of
feet up blasting away granite. Remarkably, the only serious injury to occur throughout the entire construction was a broken bone when some of the dynamite exploded while a worker was still on the rock-face.
Overall, it almost felt like Mt. Rushmore is one of those destinations you visit to check-off the list of "seen it; done it." Even the gateway town of Rapid City felt like a big wild-west movie set overrun with tourists. We found that prices, and courtesy, were much better a block or two off the main strip. We ventured off to try to find camera batteries, but ended up with ground cinnamon and post-cards from a mom-and-pop store. I doubt many visitors really see the 'true' Rapid City, SD; the proprietors of the shop seemed surprised we were there, more surprised to discover we weren't lost. Unfortunately they didn't carry digital camera batteries (why would they, really, it wasn't a touristy store) so we had to fill the pockets of the gas-station attendant anyway. The Black Hills cover quite a large area, so we start scouting out our next campsite as soon as we can to get there before dark. Most of the easy to
reach campsites cater to the RV crowd and we have no intention of paying those ridiculous prices for amenities we can't, and wouldn't, use so I start looking through reference guides and maps to try and find a free one. There are at least two in the area, but the roads and directions aren't well defined (okay, they weren't listed at all) but I infer which way to go by cross-checking a road-map with a campsite location picture map and the reference that the campsite is 4 miles west of something or other and plan a route. This was not one of my more brilliant ideas, but it worked so well in the grasslands I figured why not go two for two? Thankfully, the car makes it in (more importantly 'out') of the dead-end dirt and mud, potholed, high clearance, rough terrain trail that ends at something completely opposite a free-campsite (you definitely had to pay, and it was definitely pad-locked and gated). With nightfall approaching, we drive as quick as we can to the Black Hills National Forest Visitor Center and get there shortly before they close. As it turns out, fees have increased and none of the campsites
are free anymore, but we do get directions to one of the cheapest and the rangers personal favorite, Castle Rock Campground. "When you get to the house with all the junk in the yard, turn left and just keep going. You'll get there eventually. Don't give up." Ah...there are some words of encouragement. "Don't give up." We both got a kick out of the directions, thinking surely it was just his humorous way of brighting our day but no! We came to a residence which could not be mistaken for anything other than the 'house with all the junk in the yard' turned left, and drove
forever before finally coming to the campsite. I don't know how many times we saw places on the side of the road which looked like someone had previously camped there and thought "Is this it? Did we miss it?" only to remind ourselves that the ranger told us not to give up, just keep going, we'd get there...and sure enough, we did.
The campground was beautiful--large wooded sites adjacent to a quietly running stream, situated below a tall stately Castle Rock. The iron leached from the surrounding hills gave the stream a deep
Raindrops on Black Hill Spruce
We initially thought this was a Douglas Fir, but on review by another travelblogger, it is more likely a Black Hill Spruce.rust color. Paradise, however, also happened to have
the WORST pit toilets we have ever experienced in our lives. Andras vehemently refused to use them again after his first experience and opted to pop a few anti-diarrheal meds to prologue the inevitable. I was forced to test the limits of my lungs capacity while watching flies drop dead and die on concrete floor around me. If it weren't for my stellar ability to deprive myself of oxygen, I too would be writhing on the floor, dying from the asphyxiation inducing stench. Curse our well-balanced, adequate fiber meals out here on the road; what we really need is more Wisconsin cheese! What seemed silly was that the flattened areas we'd passed on the roadside up here were most likely free dispersed campsites, and here we were paying to use the worlds worst toilet only 50 yards away. Ah well.
That night we attempted another cobbler using up the last of the cherries we'd brought with us from the farm in Kentucky. Andras' campfire was too efficient and we ended up with a gooey, partially blackened mess that was torture to clean up. Our buffalo-meat spaghetti sauce, on the other hand,
was excellent and definitely holds the honor as our most impressive campfire culinary accomplishment thus far. An annoying family settled in the spot next to us, four-wheelers in tow, so we were glad to see that the rain that moved in overnight drove them to drier shelters returning the campground to its peaceful, serene existence. It also made us wary, though, considering the difficulty we'd had getting here in the first place; muddy road conditions and compact Neons don't make the best of playmates. I did my best not to be a side-seat driver as Andras deftly maneuvered the car out of the forest, and onto our next destination. On the advice of another camper, we traveled north through Spearfish Canyon Scenic Byway enroute to Devils Tower. The sheer rock faces flanking each side of the highway made for an impressive drive; at times I had to crane my neck back to look at the moonroof in order to see the tops of the wall. Photos don't do it justice, so I've opted not to post any.
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Stephen Paul
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Douglas Fir or Black hills Spruce?
Hey! Just discovered your blogs.. I noticed one of your highly rated pics from South Dakota "Raindrops on Douglas Fir". The tree pictured is actually more special than the Douglas Fir, which doesnt grow east of the Rockies: http://www.na.fs.fed.us/pubs/silvics_manual/Volume_1/pseudotsuga/menziesii.htm What you have is a native to the Black hills region, found nowhere else called a Black hills Spruce: http://images.google.com/images?svnum=10&um=1&hl=en&rls=com.microsoft%3A*%3A%7Breferrer%3Asource%3F%7D&rlz=1I7GGLJ&q=black+hills+spruce Nice pics!!