Non Photo-Blue

Tourist day. First, upon waking, realized that I had been sleeping in front of a giant lake that I didn't see in the dark. So that was nice.

First Mount Rushmore. A nice thing to see, and though the idea of it never impressed me, seeing a sculpture carved out of a mountain is quite the experience. Even for me, unpatriotic as I can be. But, blah, blah, I stopped for a little while and drove on.

Next is the Crazy Horse mountain. Same idea as the Rushmore, but instead, the image of a native American hero, Crazy Horse. "My land is where my people are buried." Is his quote that is repeated. Very hero-like, for sure. The Crazy Horse Mountain is tremendous- all of the heads of Mt. Rushmore would fit into the side of Crazy Horse's cheek. The head is done, the gap under his arm is carver out- that is all. What more amazing was the story of the sculpture a Polish guy, whose name I don't have on hand. Spend his entire life working on the sculpture at the request of several of the last surviving members of the Battle of Little Big Horn.

That's part of the story of the west, the gold rush, and the renegging of the American government forcing the Native Americans out of the Black Hills, which were so sacred to them.

And they are, sacred. There is a dark, ominous mystery in the Pine wood forests. There are two incredible cave that breathe (air flows in and out to match the pressure inside with the pressure outside.) Many native American culture believe in an underworld, and over-world, and look for sacred entry ways into the earth, for use in there healing rituals that are done by medicine men, which use trance and visualization.

The guide at Wind Cave said that though we know the native Americans lived in this area, there is no evidence of there ever being in the cave. Perhaps it was too sacred. And now, I'm on a tour, with a dozen screaming kids and smart-ass teenagers from states like Minnesota and Iowa and Missouri.

I have been storing up some thoughts on this: tourists and parkies, bikers and displaced Indians.And me, an Italian from NYC wandering through it alone. It's a funny out west, and there's lots to think about. I'm not sure what I'm thinking about it, but I'll figure that out later.

Then I toured Jewel Cave. Then, I took the scenic animal drive in Custer State Park. Lots of bison (there are signs everywhere that say- "Don't fuck with the bison- they will fuck you up. " That's a paraphrase.) They cross form the open prairie right in front of the cars. Lots of deer, and antelope. Oh, and yapping prairie dogs. Some wild turkeys, too.

Then I raced down to Wind Cave National Park, as it was getting late. My plan was to hike off the centennial trail, go off-trail a 1/2 mile or so, and then camp out there. But I had to get there before it got too dark, and then maybe too hard to hang the hammock in the pitch black forest.

I packed in a hurry, shuffled down the trail. The trail runs along a stream, and coming out from crossing it, being a bush, there not ten feet from me was a deer. We stared at each other for a long time. Then, I said, "Hello." Not surprisingly, he didn't answer. Then for some dumb reason, I made a kissing noise, as one would a cat or a dog. I don't know why I thought that would make a deer want to approach me. Finally, he pranced away, in that graceful two-leg hop, first back legs, then front. So I went on.

I finally got set up, after climbing up into the hills with my pack. I learned this lesson: don't put up a hammock on a hill. It's a gigantic pain in the ass. I fucked with it, and it kept falling, and then it was getting dark. I thought to look for a new spot, but with nothing adequate in view, I would have to hike. So I left the stuff, and climbed higher, hoping for some solid ground. But it was getting too dark, and I was finding nothing. Making my first spot work was my only hope. So I went back down the hill, and rigged up the hammock, racing against the fading twilight. I did have a flashlight, but it was hard enough trying to fix the hammock with two hands, forget one holding a flashlight.

But I got it. Not great, but good enough to sleep, if gingerly. Feeling accomplished and satisfied with my burly backcountry abilities, I ate dinner (a few slices of Cajun turkey on whole wheat pita), and then decided to go for a midnight hike in the Black Hills.

So off I went, flashlight in hand. It was a beautiful night, very clear, and there is nothing around. I mean, as far as people. Lots of green hills, open prairie, and pine trees. I went on for a good while, looking at the stars, at the hills, at the stream, thinking about thinks absently, when suddenly about 20 feet off to my 2 o'clock, there's a growl.

Let me explain how this worked. In the dark, so I can't see what's growling, though my first impulse was to look. Then, my mind worked frantically to place the sound. I could feel how big it was by the sound. I imagined the vocal chords that were necessary to make the sound I heard, and they were the size of my head. Picture cards of animals I'd seen on Discovery Channel flashed through my mind, rapidly and in succession. A lion was the picture I got. It sounded like a lion. I stood there, holding my flashlight still, because that was obviously what had pissed him off when I had flashed it towards where the sound came from. Very still. Thinking about what could be 20 feet from me, and how dangerous it was.

But it couldn't be a lion. No lions in South Dakota, at least not in Wind Cave NP. No, a bison, I decided frozen in the dark. Then all two thousand of the sign I saw earlier that day flashed in front of me, much the same of the Discovery channel picture had. "Don't fuck with the Bison, we mean it." I didn't need convincing. A one ton horned beast that can run 35 miles per hours was to be respected. I turned slowly, and he growled again as the flashlight pointed aver at the 2 o'clock direction. Then I slowly, and calmly walked back to my hammock, and there I happily and peacefully fell asleep.