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.
In 1620, the Mayflower Compact was signed by 41 men, Separatists and Strangers, declaring their resolution to work together in the New World. The Strangers were adventurers and soldiers, but the Separatists were Protestant men and women and children who were seeking a greater degree of religious freedom, out from under the authority and tyranny of the state-run Anglican church. Their agreement read:
So what better way to spend Independence Day than with family and friends, enjoying the freedom to assemble with our brothers and sisters of the faith?
Stockade Lake was bustling activity yesterday afternoon, tourists and locals camping and boating and enjoying the beauty of the Black Hills. The beaches were overrun with festive crowds, but our friends had managed to snag a pavilion earlier in the day, so we had a corner of the lake to ourselves.
We enjoyed osprey and herons and ducks, and very few bothersome insects since it has been so dry. Trixie came with us, of course, and I think she met her match for energy in our friends’ youngest two. Calvin and Laurel couldn’t get enough of her, and I think she liked the attention. After all, they were just about her size!
The kids swam in the lake, and Sarah brought her kayaks, much to the delight of the boys, so after dinner they hauled the kayaks down to the lake and were pretty much gone for a couple of hours. We all visited and shared good food and fellowship, and were showered on by a little thunderburst that came our way briefly. The storm didn’t last long, and the cool evening wound down to dusk.
Those of us who didn’t mind getting home late headed over to our pastor’s house to watch the Custer fireworks from his family’s backyard. They have a great view of the show, and it seemed like about half our church converged on their home for the evening! Our church is pretty geographically separated, many of us traveling 45 minutes or more to get to church. So those opportunities we have midweek to see one another, to see our brothers and sisters, are cherished dearly. We were treated not only to the fireworks, but also to beautiful lightning from another storm that slowly closed in. We were close enough to still feel the resonating explosions, the far enough away to be able to keep up our conversations. It was fun to hear the burst of applause from the whole town of Custer after the last flares of the finale. Custer’s fireworks are simple in comparison with what other larger towns can afford, but they are no less enjoyed.
We watched the traffic streaming out of town, and then it slowed to a trickle. The noises of the crowd down in Custer quieted. The lightning was flickering and flashing, closer now. Then the rain started gently. It was a good day. We have so much to be thankful for.
Our flag is a symbol of those things that America stands for at her core. Although the colors didn’t have significance at the time of our first flag, the colors became significant when the Great Seal was designed in 1782. White stands for purity and innocence. Red stands for hardiness and valor. Blue stands for vigilance, perseverance, and justice.
Song Dog Journal 