Black Hills
Photo on Leica M11 with 50mm 1.4 Summilux.
This Summer, we headed west towards the Black Hills. It’s about five hours by car. The Lakota refer to the land as, Paha Sapa. It has a pleasant and sacred sound to it. Almost as magical as our trip.
En route from Sioux Falls, we happily manufactured natural excursions, first stopping in Chamberlain, to overlook the majestic and ever-flowing Missouri River and, simultaneously, taking in the unspoken awe of the Liberty statue. Have you seen it? Breathtaking.
The five year old snapped this unforgettable photo.
After trespassing against the horizon of I-90 for a few hours, we visited the now infamous (with an earned infamy), Wall Drug. We’d planned to stop and stretch our legs and experience the cafe and kitsch. Besides, it’s kinda a South Dakota must. Un-reluctantly, we avoided the overly welcoming, “five cent coffee”, while marveling at the ingenuity of offering free ice water for travelers heading west to see the newly formed national parks championed by President Roosevelt.
So much of Wall Drug is forever encapsulated in the time in which it was invented.
Nuclear families in station wagons with discretionary income enjoying road trips, needing an adventurous reprieve from the seemingly exhausting cross-country trek. An empire built around a pharmacy in the middle of nowhere, with advertisements thousands of miles away. 5,327 miles to Wall Drug. Genius and particularly American.
Back in the car, filled to the brim with sinewy buffalo sandwiches, and freshly made, chocolate-glazed donuts, looking out the windows as the rolling plains slowly started to accumulate and morph into more, we were entranced by the inexhaustible scenery.
The Badlands are otherworldly.
The landscape forges its own presence, even from a safe distance. Passing swathes of signs alerting us to, “this is where Dances With Wolves was filmed”, we imagined the frontier and what it must have been like to pioneer a life in these harsh and desolate conditions.
As we neared the end of our day trip, and entered the hills, we arrived in Deadwood, a place all its own. Winding roads, offset by mighty pines, guided our ascent into the old town. Deadwood exudes a sense of Old Hollywood - late nights and early mornings, serious faces and tired smiles, an era in which everything has yet to be fully invented or realized or destroyed.
While in the area, we made time to visit Mount Rushmore, happened upon Pactola Lake, dined in Spearfish, took a few hikes, rested, cooked, and enjoyed the wonders of the season.
We stayed at the Sheep Hill Chalet, which we’d highly recommend. It sits atop a mountain, with silence that traverse the valley below. Pure delight.
