Day ten was rough for me. I think part of it was a chilly night's sleep on the cold hillside in my hammock. It was totally worth it, but I think it caught up to me. Another issue has been my unusually low intake of food. I'm trying to be sensitive to the fact that Korch is worried about the budget, and I also knew my food intake would be reduced. Unfortunately, my mood (and Knak) are innocent bystanders.
After leaving Deadwood, which had a surprisingly pleasant vibe (the show "Deadwood" is probably my favorite ever and I feared it would be a tacky casino-tourist spot), we headed for the Wyoming area of the Black Hills and a little spot called Cook Lake. It was a draining day of driving. As beautiful as the hills are, it does require extra focus. Then we had to hit some dirt and gravel roads to get to Cook Lake which is also a bit nerve-wracking given the SS Tiny Adventures' capacity for off-roading. Admittedly, the little beast has done really well, but that doesn't mean I want to push it. After a bit of backtracking and at least 45 minutes of gravel road driving we discovered the lake area was closed. I had built up the idea of lakeside camping and a 'bath' so much that I was incredibly disappointed not to have it come together. Korch quickly made the executive decision that we should camp at the fork of some gravel roads nearby and call it a night.
I turned in early and was woken by Greg strapping in the rainfly after he apparently heard of heavy winds on the weatherband radio he wisely picked up. Aside, I can't think of how many times I've said "wow Knak, always thinking!" - in short, he is meticulous to detail and picked up some cool items for the trip that have proved invaluable. Regardless, the forecast proved accurate because both of us had a tough time sleeping amidst the heavy winds that occasionally caved in the tent over top of us. It was bizarre hearing the wind traveling towards us in the distance, whistling through the trees, before savagely attacking our tent. It's hardly shocking that many cultures believe in nature-spirits and ghosts because I definitely had a sense of foreboding. I almost felt we were being warned that we weren't welcome.
Soon enough the light came on day 11 and we headed out early for Devils Tower, known by Natives as Bear Lodge or Bear Tipi, which is kind of cool. They believed a giant spirit bear called the tower home. The info at the Visitor Center suggested that Natives don't like people climbing the tower, nor do they approve of the name "Devils Tower"...yet we still allow climbing and still call it Devils Tower. Seems a good metaphor for our relationship with Natives. Go figure.
I turned in early and was woken by Greg strapping in the rainfly after he apparently heard of heavy winds on the weatherband radio he wisely picked up. Aside, I can't think of how many times I've said "wow Knak, always thinking!" - in short, he is meticulous to detail and picked up some cool items for the trip that have proved invaluable. Regardless, the forecast proved accurate because both of us had a tough time sleeping amidst the heavy winds that occasionally caved in the tent over top of us. It was bizarre hearing the wind traveling towards us in the distance, whistling through the trees, before savagely attacking our tent. It's hardly shocking that many cultures believe in nature-spirits and ghosts because I definitely had a sense of foreboding. I almost felt we were being warned that we weren't welcome.
Soon enough the light came on day 11 and we headed out early for Devils Tower, known by Natives as Bear Lodge or Bear Tipi, which is kind of cool. They believed a giant spirit bear called the tower home. The info at the Visitor Center suggested that Natives don't like people climbing the tower, nor do they approve of the name "Devils Tower"...yet we still allow climbing and still call it Devils Tower. Seems a good metaphor for our relationship with Natives. Go figure.
We've really traveled through a huge amount of landscapes/environments so far. Even in the last day we have traveled from the dark pine covered hills of the Black Hills to the open range of central Wyoming. Onward to the mountains of Bighorn National Forest and the red rock formations to the west of that spur of the Rockies.
Bighorn National Forest was our objective following Devils Tower/Bear Tipi. It seemed a natural midpoint between the Black Hills and our plan to hit Yellowstone and the Tetons. It was another evening of disappointment though. The ascent was fun and beautiful, but when we finally reached the Visitor Center for info, it was closed. We searched around for info and even went into a cool bar/restaurant/lodge called the Arrowhead that I'm almost positive I stayed at when I was 11, but we couldn't really find concrete information on where to camp. A grizzled lodge attendant with a half-smoked cigarette dangling from his mouth said something to the effect of "hell, I think you can camp anywhere" and proceeded to tell us about a spot off a gravel road where camping isn't allowed, but just to head up there and close the gate. We tried it, but soon the SS Tiny Adventure was over-matched by the potholes and treacherous dirt path. After a quick u-turn in the spirit of the first Austin Powers movie, we ended up in a traditional campground called Prune Creek with a beautiful stream rushing past. It surged with the plentiful waters of melting snow. I felt like I was in a really tacky beer ad from the 1980s.
Bighorn National Forest was our objective following Devils Tower/Bear Tipi. It seemed a natural midpoint between the Black Hills and our plan to hit Yellowstone and the Tetons. It was another evening of disappointment though. The ascent was fun and beautiful, but when we finally reached the Visitor Center for info, it was closed. We searched around for info and even went into a cool bar/restaurant/lodge called the Arrowhead that I'm almost positive I stayed at when I was 11, but we couldn't really find concrete information on where to camp. A grizzled lodge attendant with a half-smoked cigarette dangling from his mouth said something to the effect of "hell, I think you can camp anywhere" and proceeded to tell us about a spot off a gravel road where camping isn't allowed, but just to head up there and close the gate. We tried it, but soon the SS Tiny Adventure was over-matched by the potholes and treacherous dirt path. After a quick u-turn in the spirit of the first Austin Powers movie, we ended up in a traditional campground called Prune Creek with a beautiful stream rushing past. It surged with the plentiful waters of melting snow. I felt like I was in a really tacky beer ad from the 1980s.