Today
was a wild day the likes of which I’m not anxious to repeat – in this lifetime
or the next. I lost a camera and almost lost a dog and I’m really bummed about
the first and grateful that the second never came to pass.
But
the day started out really cool! Before we left our lovely KOA in Hot Springs,
we let them fix us breakfast. I honestly don’t remember what I ate, but surely
do remember the conversation!
A
little “backstory”: Though we had a near-perfect experience, staying in one of
the cabins, we did occasionally notice the faint and unmistakable smell of cat
urine in the campground. But we never saw any cats. I became convinced that maybe
during a trip to town, some feral kitty had “marked” my tires. Or maybe while
in town I’d accidentally stepped in grass that had been similarly christened,
and the smell had lingered on my boot. Except I never noticed the smell inside the
cabin, and my boots were in the cabin at night. And I didn’t really notice that
the smell got any stronger when I was near the car. So … ? Sue, meanwhile,
theorized that maybe the needles from the pine trees were giving off a funky
smell.
Back
to breakfast, where we couldn’t help but overhear the casual conversation between
the cook and a man who was probably the campground owner, or perhaps a manager.
And they began talking about the mountain lion who’d been seen poking around in
town.
Huh?
Come again? “There are mountain lions this close to town?”
“Ah,
sure,” came the reply. “We’ve recently spotted one around here too.”
Cat
urine smell mystery solved. Yikes.
On
toward Devils Tower, in the northeast corner of Wyoming. But first, a quick
spin through Sturgis, home of the Sturgis Motorcycle Rally. Sturgis is a very
prettyish little (pop. about 7000) town for most of the year, but for 10 days each
August, it becomes the site of a MASSIVE event that draws about three-quarters
of a million bikers to the area! Honestly, I cannot even imagine, but we did
see preparations already being made for the “invasion.” Between the throngs of
people, the blast of pipes, and rock music blaring out from each saloon, it
must be incredibly loud in Sturgis. But fun. But L.O.U.D. (Think I’ll pass.)
So,
Devils Tower. The very first place to be designated a National Monument, its
history as a sacred place to Northern Plains tribes and to the Kiowa Tribe goes
back thousands of years. To this day, sacred ceremonies such as sweat lodges
and sun dances are held here. Approaching, I got the sense of it being almost a
beacon, drawing people to it.
Closer
to it, it’s awe-inspiring, though in a different way. It’s favored by
rock-climbers, although Sue and I were grateful that during the entire month of
June a voluntary climbing closure is in place, to show respect to Native
Americans who regard Devils Tower, aka Bears Lodge, as sacred.
Since
before memory, the place has been known as Bears Tipi because of the abundance
of bears living in the area. Each tribe – including Cheyenne, Arapahoe, Crow, and
Lakota – has its own legend as to how the tower came to be1, but my
favorite legend comes from the Kiowa (who from long ago once lived in the Northern Great Plains before migrating south to Colorado and then to the Southern Plains, eventually being moved by treaty to Oklahoma):
“Before the Kiowa came south they were camped on a stream in the far north where there
were a great many bears, many of them. One day, seven little girls were playing
at a distance from the village and were chased by some bears. The girls ran
toward the village and the bears were just about to catch them when the girls
jumped on a low rock, about three feet high. One of the girls prayed to the
rock, "Rock take pity on us, rock save us!" The rock heard them and
began to grow upwards, pushing the girls higher and higher. When the bears
jumped to reach the girls, they scratched the rock, broke their claws, and fell
on the ground.
“The rock rose higher and higher, the bears still jumped at the girls
until they were pushed up into the sky, where they now are, seven little stars
in a group (The Pleiades). In the winter, in the middle of the night, the seven
stars are right over this high rock. When the people came to look, they found
the bears' claws, turned to stone, all around the base.
“No Kiowa living has ever seen this rock, but the old men have told
about it - it is very far north where the Kiowa used to live. It is a single
rock with scratched sides, the marks of the bears' claws are there yet, rising
straight up, very high. There is no other like it in the whole country, there
are no trees on it, only grass on top. The Kiowa call this rock ‘Tso-aa’, a
tree rock, possibly because it grew tall like a tree.”
as told by I-See-Many-Camp-Fire-Places, Kiowa soldier at Fort Sill,
Oklahoma, 1897.
Sue
set out to hike around the base of Devils Tower, while I found a shady spot to
hang with the Henry-Dog, who was forbidden to be on the hiking path.
And
while we hung out in our private little spot, I discovered that my stupid water
bottle with its easy flip-top had leaked and that my camera was sitting in a
small pool of water at the bottom of my daypack. Without thinking, I grabbed
the camera and turned it on and probably fried its circuitry, because now it
won’t work at all. I’m very disappointed in myself, for all sorts of reasons, but
I can’t let it get me down because there’s still a LOT of interesting territory
to cover on this trip. And I do have a very serviceable camera on my
smartphone.
Still
… grrrrr …
After
Sue returned, I made the choice not to hike the base for myself, even though
she really enjoyed herself. I just wasn’t in the mood, and didn’t think that
the walk would do anything to improve my mood. So we set out toward Cody.
We
passed through miles and miles of seeming emptiness, until we finally exited
the interstate near Buffalo. In short order, we entered the Bighorn National
Forest, and kept steadily climbing, until we reached Powder River Pass, at an
elevation of about 10,000 feet. It was here that I saw a large patch of snow on
a hillside, musing out loud that Henry would probably enjoy playing in the snow
just a little bit. And it was here that I almost lost my dog.
He
really is a very, very good dog, perfect on voice command, so I walked him on
lead over to the snow patch away from the highway and then let him off lead.
Predictably,
he bounded happily around; almost as predictably, he stopped to take a dump.
Knowing that I just couldn’t leave a brown, steaming pile in the middle of all that
pristine white, I followed him onto the snow, when all of a sudden he bolted
and almost instantly was out of sight. I yelled for him to stop, but the roar
of the wind prevented him from hearing me. I couldn’t run after him, because I’d
have probably fallen on the slightly icy snow and tumbled down the slope, so I yelled for Sue to give chase.
For
what seemed like an interminable length of time, although in reality it was
probably mere seconds, my dog was nowhere to be found and my mind raced: What
if he fell over a cliff? What if he ran away? Would I have to leave him in
Wyoming to fend for himself? I was very, very shaken.
However,
soon enough Sue appeared, Henry’s collar firm within her grasp. Having cleaned
up his mess I walked off the snow field to give Sue his leash. Curious, I
walked to the top of the hill to see if I could figure out what he was so
determinedly chasing. I saw a marmot nearby, so I’m thinking that was the thing.
It may be a couple of days before my heart beats normally again!
It may be a couple of days before my heart beats normally again!
Drama
over, tragedy averted, I snapped a couple of pictures of Flowers That Grow at
10,000’,
then
we all piled back into the car for the final miles into Cody. I do enjoy
non-interstate travel ever so much! Especially when your journey takes you
through forest and farm country and charming little towns like Ten Sleep.
Now
in Cody, which is fairly touristy, but still manages a homey sort of vibe. We
chose to have dinner at the Irma Hotel, built by none other than William F. “Buffalo
Bill” Cody, who called it “just the sweetest hotel that ever was.” There was
rainbow trout, chicken pot pie, and meatloaf on the menu, plus steaks and ribs,
of course. Although the interior is ornate in the style of the early 1900s in
which it was built, the atmosphere is a little more “down-home” and friendly.
So much so that our waitress gave us the extra glasses of Malbec that the
bartender had mistakenly poured.
I
imagine that the memories of the fried camera and the almost-lost pet will fade
in time, to be replaced with memories of magical spaces and historical places.
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