Once again, I’m coming back to this blog after too long of a break! But summer has been busier than I anticipated, and sitting in front of a computer screen isn’t super high on my priority list when the weather is gorgeous and there are trails to chase.
However, yesterday’s adventures very specifically deserve an article, in the same vein as a few other of the “near miss report” or “hiking misadventure” articles I’ve written.
The glorious plan was to hike Harney Peak, the highest point east of the Rockies (and consequently the highest point in the Hills) and watch ALL the fireworks. All of them. Rapid City, Custer, I think Hot Springs, and any other private/freelance/illegal displays we’d happen to see. It really was a good plan. But as the afternoon wore on, the sky grew heavier with clouds, and as we drove up to Sylvan Lake and picnicked there with the rest of our friends who were to hike this with us, the rock spires were hazy and faint behind low-lying clouds. We knew there wouldn’t be anything to see from the top of Harney Peak. Except clouds. And I can see clouds anytime I want from the top of Harney Peak. And it doesn’t have to involve hiking up there late in the day, and getting back down in the wee hours of the night. But we figured we’d at least see the flashes from the fireworks, which some of the group actually seemed to think would be as good as seeing the fireworks themselves.
Anyway, we all wanted to hike, so we did. We were armed with rain jackets, plenty of water, some extra layers, cookies, summer sausage, and even a JetBoil and chai tea mix. We were set. None of us was really paying attention to the weather (oops), but as we hiked higher and higher, it grew foggier and foggier. It was a gorgeous hike, absolutely stunning. Trail #4 was more overgrown and green and lush than I’d ever seen it, with wildflowers galore, including spearleaf stonecrop, a little beauty I only discovered this year.
We made excellent time, and as we approached the spur to Little Devil’s Tower, we passed a group of three from St. Louis who had just come from Harney and were on their way down. Fog, fog, and more fog, was the report. Well, clever locals that we were, we continued our hike.
It rained on and off, so our rain jackets went on, then came off, and went on again, and when we were about a mile and a half or two miles from the top, the thunder started. It was faint and unthreatening, and although the recommended caution is to not hike if you can even hear thunder, I’m afraid no one around here would ever hike if we seriously listened to that advice, since it always thunders. Not saying people shouldn’t listen to that advice, obviously, but I’m simply reporting on reality…Anyway, we continued on to the top, and by the time we were out in the open approaching the peak, the lightening was happening pretty fast, and the storm was obviously getting closer, just about on top of us. There was some concern among a few of us, but the firetower was just ahead, just another five or ten minutes away, so we kept on. If we turned around, there was less chance of shelter, lots of snags and widow makers, lots of open ground, no place to hide. The fog was even thicker now, and the sun had set awhile ago.
Sure enough, we arrived at the top in good order, and there was absolutely nothing to see. Nothing. One other small group was crazy enough to hike Harney to watch fireworks in the fog (also locals, predictably), arriving at the top just minutes after we did. The fog was thick, and the darkness grew thicker. The lightening was flashing all around, mostly sheet lightening, but the thunder was constant, so that the thunder couldn’t possibly be associated with any particular flash of lightening. A few in our group checked the weather radars, now that cell service was back, and we had a huge storm approaching, including tornado warnings for our area. Oh, joy. We texted family members and let them know we were safe, and would ride out the storm in the firetower. Rapid City had cancelled their fireworks and Custer apparently had shot all theirs off already, ahead of the storm. So much for seeing bursts of light through the clouds.
The storm hit with some impressive force. We had gone to the lower level of the firetower, which is grounded in case of lightening strike and is of solid cinder block construction, and were busy making chai, getting warm and dry, and eating cookies, when the wind kicked up and hail started pinging against the windows, which flickered and flashed ceaselessly with lightening. Lantern light cast comfortably creepy shadows.
We sheltered in place for more than an hour, waiting for the storm to pass. When the main brunt of the storm was beyond us, a handful of our group went upstairs and their exclamations brought everyone up. The heavy fog and clouds had lifted, and we had wonderfully clear views…of everything. We could see the lights of Keystone, Hill City, Custer, Rapid, and more, and the storm played out the most amazing lightening show we could have imagined. It was glorious and terrible and beautiful. The black of night was studded with the gems of the lights of the towns, with just the outlines of hills visible. The darkness was shattered again and again as sheet lightening and bolts lit up the night brighter than day, blinding, dazzling, and for mere moments making the fleeing, scurrying clouds visible as they scuttled across the sky, and lighting up layers and layers of hills. Occasional fireworks were shot off in the distance, and the clouds broke in the west, revealing the most delicate crescent of a golden moon. What a beautiful night, waiting out a storm at the top of Harney Peak with good friends.
At last, there was a true break in the storm, and with another one set to hit in an hour and a half, we packed our bags and began the descent in the dark, our flashlights and headlamps bobbing along comfortably yet eerily in the blackness. It felt like we were the Fellowship of the Ring. Conversations bounced around quietly, there was occasional laughter, sweet friendship, and also a sense of calm urgency to make good time down the trail in case another storm hit. Lightening flickered way off in the lower sky, whenever we had glimpses of the lower sky, and thunder rumbled comfortably. The distance passed quickly in the dark.
It was midnight when we arrived back at the trailhead just as the rain was beginning to come in downpour. We hugged and said our goodbyes, and headed home, tired yet excited, and thankful that we were safe. The Christian radio station was playing the song “10,000 Reasons,” by Matt Redman. We sang along with it quietly, and the words were poignant.
Oh my soul,
Worship His Holy name.
Sing like never before,
Oh my soul,
I’ll worship Your Holy name.
It’s a new day dawning;
It’s time to sing Your song again.
Whatever may pass,
And whatever lies before me,
Let me be singing
When the evening comes.
One of her greatest joys was flowers, and as she became less able to see them in person, unable to visit her cherished garden, she became the greatest supporter of my photography, and I could always count on sweet times with her, showing her my latest flower pictures, or recycling old ones just for fun as her memory grew more forgiving and the pictures were all always new. She would exclaim and admire over the color, the variety, and I was amazed by how eagerly she recognized these old friends even as other things became less clear.
I look back on where I was at the end of 2017, or two years ago, or four years ago as I was finishing college, or longer, before college, and I just have to chuckle. God has a sense of humor. Where I am today makes absolutely no sense. And yet I know and feel that I am exactly where I am supposed to be, and somehow where I am does make perfect sense to me. I never would have pictured myself where I am now. And yet now that I’m here, I can’t picture myself anywhere else.
Sarah took this picture of me a few days ago while we were doing our Needles Highway hike. This is how the Hills make me feel. I wish I could throw my arms around all the goodness and joy and delight the last four years have brought. What a place. What a wonderful, amazing four years it has been.
Well, this last Sunday, I finished a nine-day Wilderness First Responder class/certification in Spearfish, through NOLS, the National Outdoor Leadership School, a class that caught my eye more than a year ago and I was fortunate to be able to take this year. Thrilled, actually. It was a fantastic class, exhausting, fast-paced, demanding, and an amazing experience. We had class for nine days straight, 8am-5pm, plus two evening sessions which went until 10pm or 10:30. The class time was split between lectures, demonstrations, hands-on practice, and scenarios. Scenarios for me were the most helpful, where all that we’d learned was brought together in a cohesive manner, with some people acting as patients, briefed on their incident, symptoms, etc., and the remaining people were the rescuers providing patient care. It may sound a little dorky, but believe me, this method of learning works so well for incident- and people-based skills. The first couple of days, the scenarios were awkward, as all of us were still rather uncomfortable with the idea of role-playing patients or rescuers. But by midweek, we had all settled in and thoroughly enjoyed the scenarios, finding them both fun and immensely helpful. We may or may not have had a few Oscar-worthy performances, which lent both a gravity and seriousness to the situations, as well as (ironically) humor. 
We learned more in nine days than I would have thought possible, the premise of the class being patient care and survival in the back country. We were taught how to improvise care when you may be hours or days away from front country medicine, how to assess patients, care for potentially spinally injured patients and safely move and examine them, how to manage traumatic injuries, wounds, fractures, chest and lung injuries, head injuries, cold and heat illness, altitude illness, allergic reactions, CPR, and my list could go on. I was blown away by what we learned, some of which I knew in theory but had never had the hands on practice (and practice and more practice) that this class provided. This class was a great confidence builder, and I look forward to being able to use what I learned about patient care and to interact more confidently on calls with Battle Cree Fire Department. And given the amount of time I spend outdoors in wilderness settings, I know I’ll have greater peace of mind and confidence in that regard as well, to be able to take care of myself, people I’m with, or people I come across who need help.
The end of the nine days of classes came too fast, and yet was very welcome when it came. One of our instructors said that this class was one of the more close-knit of all the WFR classes he has taught, and I can definitely attest to the closeness and the friendships that were forged over those nine short days. We worked together, laughed together, cried together, and supported and encouraged one another through an intense nine days of training.
