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Ramming Through the Mickelson Trail

Story by Paul Higbee

Photos by Chad Coppess

The Mickelson Trail, a recreational trail built atop an old railroad bed. stretches 109 miles from the northern to the southern Black Hills, passing through forests, meadows, four rock tunnels and several old railroad trestles.

Six hundred avid bicyclists and several dozen trailblazers met at a community hall in Custer last September to celebrate 25 years of happiness, no small feat in today’s anxious world. The gathering included participants in an anniversary ride along with current and former park officials, volunteers, donors, lawmakers and other movers and shakers who helped transform an abandoned rail line into what’s now known as the Mickelson Trail.

The state trail should not be taken for granted. A strange silence had settled over the Black Hills after Burlington Northern’s last train exited the mountains in 1983. The sound of engines echoing down draws was never pervasive, but the understated rumble was always a reminder that railroading helped build high country towns and industries — from Edgemont in the south to Lead and Deadwood in the north — and sustained them for nearly a century. The 109-mile rail corridor was a connection to the outside world that especially helped Homestake become America’s biggest and most technically advanced gold mine.

Three years after the trains departed, a man was walking through the forest when he heard a chain saw. He discovered that someone was cutting down an old wooden railroad trestle. Compared to locomotives, the buzzing of a saw cutting into a trestle in 1986 was more insect-like, but it disturbed the hiker so he contacted Guy Edwards, a young businessman and state lawmaker.

Black Hills activists were already talking about transforming the vacated rail bed into a recreational route under the recently authorized federal Rails to Trails program. Destruction of the rustic trestles seemed like a major step in the wrong direction. Edwards soon learned that the damage was not being done by vandals, but by a salvage contractor hired by Burlington Northern. A few dozen bridges had already been removed. The lawmaker arranged for demolition to cease until matters could be sorted out. Then he convinced state officials to make the trail a priority. So began a complicated, controversial and long-drawn out battle to create a rails-to-trail project.

“Probably 95 percent of property owners along the trail were against us at first,” Edwards told South Dakota Magazine many years later.”I could understand their position. After years of having trains go by their property, it appeared the corridor might meld into the landscape.”

The Mickelson Trail may not exist today if not for the zealous support of its namesake, Gov. George S. Mickelson, who presided over an early dedication ceremony before he died in a 1993 plane crash.

The Interstate Commerce Commission had granted Burlington Northern permission to abandon its business of running trains through the Black Hills, but not the railway. The corridor had been established under federal authority because in the 19th century there had been an economic need, and under Rails to Trails it would remain in place in case another need arose. Meanwhile the public could use it for recreation.

In 1986, Brookings attorney George S. Mickelson ran for governor. He made a $50 donation during the fall campaign to a nonprofit organization set up to advance the trail. At the 25-year anniversary event last fall in Custer, the late governor’s son, Mark, reminisced about his dad’s approach to making things happen.”As governor, my grandfather (George T. Mickelson) was the only state official to show up for the first blast at Crazy Horse Memorial,” Mickelson said.”My father saw a parallel in how his own early support could help make the trail a reality. He loved the Black Hills and being out here.”

After taking office as governor in 1987, George Mickelson said he wanted trail work to commence at”ramming speed.” He used the train term metaphorically, but it did illustrate the work that lay ahead: trestle restoration, culvert development and surfacing the route.

The earliest obstacle was the hundreds of property owners who valued their privacy and were wary of sharing the back country with hikers, bikers and horses. Susan Edwards Johnson, who is Guy Edwards’ sister and was then Mickelson’s tourism secretary, spoke of the governor’s tenacity at the Custer anniversary gathering. She especially recalled a meeting at Mystic, where some cabin owners were personal friends and political supporters of the governor.

After listening patiently to their concerns, Mickelson rose to his feet and told the naysayers to get aboard because,”We are coming through!” Few politicians in South Dakota history ever had the political gravitas to lead so bluntly.

Later, Mickelson spoke of the opponents to Rapid City Journal reporter Jim Holland.”Treasures like the Black Hills are jealously guarded,” he said.”They have different ideas of what the Hills should be used for than we do. We will help to protect the qualities of the lands we both hold so dear. It may be impossible to get them to share our dream, but we promise to be good neighbors.”

“He saw it as a legacy project for South Dakota,” says Kitty Kinsman, who became involved with fundraising for the project in the 1990s. Opponents eventually softened — partly because of their respect for Mickelson, who offered to build private-access gates and fences for property owners to alleviate some of their concerns.

The Mickelson Trail isn’t particularly steep. Grades are generally less than 4 percent.

Kinsman helped organize the anniversary event in Custer. She wonders whether the trail would exist without Mickelson, who was a strong conservationist. Just months before his death, he also persuaded lawmakers to pass his Centennial Environmental Act, a comprehensive program that continues to protect the state’s water and land resources. It’s hard to imagine such a proposal passing the South Dakota legislature today.

Along with the political hurdles came less contentious questions. And there were few models across the country to imitate.”It was an idea ahead of its time,” says Doug Hofer, former director of the state Division of Parks and Recreation, who also celebrated at the Custer event. No one doubted that trail sections close to Edgemont, Pringle, Custer, Hill City, Rochford, Lead and Deadwood would see use. But what about those long stretches far from towns? Would Black Hills weather, famous for rapid changes, scare potential users from venturing on the remote stretches? What about the growing mountain lion population?

Then, seven years into the project, Mickelson died in a 1993 plane crash with seven other men. His family directed memorial donations to the trail effort, but no amount of money could replace the leadership of the popular governor, who did everything in life at ramming speed. Eventually the route was named in his honor.

Hofer says the project seemed to benefit from”divine intervention” after Mickelson’s death. Capable people would appear to tackle aspects of development at just the right times. Among them was Dave Snyder, an ag businessman from Pierre and a member of a national Rails to Trails organization. Snyder contributed significantly to the project when he learned that $1 million was needed to match state and federal money, and he devised a plan based on the route’s trestles for raising the full amount.

More than a hundred trestles had to be rebuilt, decked and improved in other ways, and a value was assigned to each based on length. Private and corporate sponsors could”adopt” bridges for donations that ranged from $1,000 to $25,000. Snyder traveled the state, successfully pitching the bridge builder project.

“We had lots of bridges ranging from $3,500 to $5,000, although donors understood they weren’t buying that bridge, but rather matching dollars for the whole trail system,” Snyder says.

He also believed opposition would fade because that was the history of other trails.”There just aren’t incidents involving trail users,” he noted.”You don’t see trash. I tell people that nobody gets on the trail and then feels worse when they get off.”

With money available for construction supplies, Paul Bosworth of the U.S. Forest Service, among other duties, led National Guard men and women assigned to the work. Many were novices when it came to construction, but enthusiastic about the trail.”They were super fun,” Bosworth says.”Of course, this was part of their military training and sometimes they had to take a break when they were ëattacked,’ grabbing guns and shooting blanks at guys playing the enemy.”

The trail follows several meandering Black Hills creeks.

Kinsman, who had never pedaled a mountain bike before she began working with Snyder and Edwards Johnson on the bridge builder campaign, now rides the Mickelson regularly.”I’m struck by both the scenery and solitude even when you’re not far from roads,” she says.

Today, 15 trailheads make it easy to jump on and off for short rides or hikes. Rest and shade areas and interpretive signs have been created. A 5-mile paved spur was developed by the state Department of Transportation to take users close to (although not into) Custer State Park.

It took governors, state and federal officials, private sector donors, volunteers and the Burlington Northern to complete the project. The full 109-mile trail opened to hikers, cyclists, runners and equestrians in 1998 — 15 years after that last train — and soon gained a reputation as one of the best Rails to Trails routes in the country. It passes through varied landscapes of forest and prairies, four rock tunnels, and, of course, over those trestles.

More than 20,000 people purchase $15 annual passes, and many more buy $4 day passes. Park officials believe more than 70,000 people traverse it throughout the year. The annual Mickelson Trail Trek, which celebrated its 25th year at Custer, is limited to 600 registrants; most years, the registrations are gone within 24 hours. A three-day Summer Trail Trek is now held in June to accommodate more people.

One of the trail’s many charms is the way it pops out of the pines and passes through small towns. Julia Monczunski’s favorite trail memory is running the 2006 Mickelson Trail Marathon.”Actually, I competed in the half-marathon, my first long-distance race, and it was neat to be running in the mountains and then ending in Deadwood,” she says.”I was tired but felt a burst of energy from the crowd cheering us on as we came into town.”

Monczunski, who has also raced on pavement, appreciates the Mickelson’s forgiving crushed limestone surface. Cyclists also like the control they feel with limestone on long downslopes. Trail developers say limestone is aesthetically appropriate to the Black Hills and less vulnerable to water damage during heavy rains.

Trail use continues to evolve. E-bikes are the newest twist.”They’ve made the trail more accessible, especially for people who aren’t adjusted to altitude,” Kinsman says. “They’re here to stay.”

Nineteenth century railroad workers built the train corridor in about one year. Converting the path to a trail required 15 years.

But they pose problems. Collisions with other cyclists happen when inexperienced e-bike riders stick to the center of the trail to maintain a sense of control.”It’s a nonmotorized trail and class one e-bikes have been seen as okay,” Snyder says.”But sometimes there are class two or even class three e-bikes out there, almost small motorcycles, and that has to be watched. And a 50- or 60-pound e-bike is probably okay, but maybe not one that’s a hundred pounds.”

Motorized bikes, mountain lions and even the weather don’t seem to discourage users. Online reviews are dominated by 5-star ratings. The most common complaint is the long ascent that runs south of Deadwood/Lead to Dumont.

The passage of a quarter century and the trail’s place in today’s Black Hills culture doesn’t mean the work is done. The corridor requires constant upkeep. Aging trestle decking will have to be replaced and at least one support beam has been infested by ants. The tunnels are monitored constantly for safety. There’s a spot where Rapid Creek — diverted from its original channel by railroad builders — acts up.

The Custer gathering honored six cyclists who have ridden the autumn Mickelson Trail Trek every year since 1998. Kinsman says it was also an opportunity to relaunch the Friends of the Mickelson Trail group because private donations are needed for the rehabilitation efforts.

Though the trail is part of the state park system, numerous agencies and individuals have always stepped forward to help.”I spent so much time working on the trail, and now when I go there and see people using it, having fun, it makes me happy,” Bosworth says.

Bosworth has been retired from the Forest Service for a few years but returns to the trail to help as a private contractor.”The trail did so much for me in launching my career,” he recalled,”that I’ll do anything for it.”

He’s happy that so many people now enjoy the Black Hills wilderness along the trail, and notes that the major concern of property owners today isn’t the hikers and bikers with whom they share the backwoods, but whether the private gates that give them easy access are in good working order so they can join them.

Editor’s Note: This story is revised from the March/April 2024 issue of South Dakota Magazine. To order or to subscribe, call (800) 456-5117.

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Ten Outdoor Adventures in South Dakota

Where do your outdoor skills and experiences rank in the wild woods, waters and prairies of South Dakota? Do you know the lay of the land? Can you find wild mushrooms? Have you ever seen a gray kneebobber, or the holey rocks of Roberts County? Here are 10 popular activities to help you break the cabin fever of a long winter and enjoy the South Dakota outdoors.

1. BEFRIEND THE MONARCH

Monarch butterflies rank among South Dakota’s most interesting creatures. A butterfly typically hatches here in August, and then as autumn arrives it flies 2,500 miles southward to the Oyamel fir forests where it will hibernate through the winter, often in the same trees as its ancestors. When it reawakens and flies north in the spring it lays eggs, which dramatically shortens its lifespan. Soon it dies. The process repeats itself as the butterflies travel northward. Monarchs that arrive in South Dakota around Mother’s Day are the fourth-generation descendants of those that departed the previous fall.

2. PONDER THE HOLEY ROCKS

One of South Dakota’s great and unresolved mysteries is the”holey rocks” of Roberts County. All of northeast South Dakota is rocky, thanks to glaciers that brought the rocks here 10,000-plus years ago. Some of the biggest boulders have holes about as wide as a quarter. A geologic detective documented 57 such stones in the early years of the 21st century, though there are probably many more. They are not limited to Roberts County. Some have also been discovered in Minnesota and other northern states. One theory is that the stone holes were chiseled as guideposts by Viking explorers who traveled here from Hudson Bay in medieval times, although it requires a rewrite of immigration history.

3. HIKE BUFFALO TRAILS

First, let’s be very clear. We are not suggesting that any of our paying readers should ever intentionally walk near a wild buffalo — unless they can run faster than a horse (because a buffalo can). The big brown galoots have been clocked at 40 mph. Still, it’s a fact that some very cool outdoor trails exist on popular buffalo reserves. Samuel G. Ordway Nature Preserve in northern South Dakota has hiking trails and a buffalo herd, but there’s a fence in between. Wind Cave in the southern Black Hills has 30 miles of hiking trails, and you share the terrain with a herd of 400 bison. Badlands National Park has an”open hike” policy, and that goes for humans and the park’s buffalo so it’s up to the former to be smart. They say if the buffalo notices you then you’re too close … and it may be too late.

4. MUSHROOM HUNTING

South Dakota has many edible mushrooms, but the morel is king. Though the season changes throughout the state, morels are usually found from early April to early May. The best habitat is a moist forest floor, especially near rivers, lakes and swamps. Morels, which only grow in the wild, are difficult to find because they blend into spring’s grassy-brown environment. Look for yellow or tan mushrooms with spongy caps but beware of the false”brain” mushroom. It is toxic. True morels have a honeycomb cap and hollow stems, while false morels are solid. Don’t pull a morel from the ground because it is connected by a hypha to other mushrooms that may soon emerge. Just snip or pinch.

5. STARGAZING

South Dakota has less light pollution than most states, so we should all be amateur stargazers. Badlands National Park is the most enchanting place to watch the stars; park officials offer a Night Sky Program on weekend evenings through the summer. However, rural areas across the state — even in more populated East River — are conducive to seeing the Milky Way and other mysteries of the heavens.

6. GROW A TREE

Statistically-speaking, South Dakota is 4 percent forested. The trouble with statistics is that 99 percent of our approximately 601 million trees are in the Black Hills. Much of our prairie country looks like the aftermath of an immensely successful deforestation program. It’s not that South Dakotans aren’t trying. We once visited a West River ranch and saw a spindly elm tree trying to grow from a crack along the concrete foundation of small barn.”Shouldn’t we pull that out before it widens the crack?” asked our writer. The rancher was horrified.”I’d move the barn before I’d kill that tree!” he exclaimed. Want to do something good for South Dakota’s outdoors? Go plant a tree (or at least leave them alone).

7. PASQUE WATCH

South Dakota’s state flower is the prairie pasque, Pulsatilla patens, a tough and dainty flower that blooms briefly at the first sign of spring. Though it grows throughout the state, many South Dakotans have not seen one in the wild because it blooms so briefly and because it survives best in rugged, natural terrain. The best habitat is north-facing slopes, and the ideal time is just as the snow melts in early April. Finding a patch is a visual treat. For a real challenge, try transplanting a pasque to your garden. Its long roots, developed to survive drought, make it nigh impossible. You’ll have better luck harvesting its seeds, though even that is difficult. It is truly a wild flower, a fitting symbol of springtime in South Dakota.

8. SPOT THE DIPPER

Thirty years ago, a Minnesota birdwatcher alerted South Dakota Magazine that while fishing on Little Spearfish Creek he witnessed a slate-colored bird that could walk under water. He said he reported it at the nearest pool hall, where everyone laughed at his story. They called it a gray kneebobber.”Probably huntin’ for mountain oysters,” laughed one of the locals. Our Minnesota reader later discovered that it was the endangered American dipper, and fortunately the aquatic songbird can still be found in Spearfish and Whitewood creeks in the Northern Hills. Have you seen a dipper and been reluctant to tell anyone for fear of ridicule?

9. TRY SPELUNKING

Even though the Black Hills is home to more than 100 known caves, including several of the world’s longest, spelunking hasn’t caught on like downhill skiing, pheasant hunting or even watching paint dry. Something about the fear of crawling on your belly in the dark through tight canyons shared by bats doesn’t resonate with the outdoors crowd. But add the experience to your bucket list. Wind Cave and Jewel Cave are run by the National Park Service and offer fascinating guided tours, as do several private caves. The names of the passages in Jewel Cave suggest what you’re missing: the Promised Land, the Mind Blower, Boondocks, Wildflower Walk and Spooky Hollow.

10. FIND A FAIRBURN AGATE

South Dakota is heaven for rockhounds, and the Fairburn agate is prized. The state’s official gemstone was first hunted in the moon-like Kern agate beds east of Fairburn in Custer County, but it can also be found in Teepee Canyon west of Custer and elsewhere West River. People have even discovered them mixed with landscape rock and fill material taken from pits near the Cheyenne River. Serious rock hunters have spent days and even weeks searching for Fairburns with no luck, so consider yourself fortunate if you spot even one.

Editor’s Note: This story is revised from the”South Dakota Outdoor Challenge,” which appeared in the March/April 2023 issue of South Dakota Magazine. To order a copy or to subscribe, call (800) 456-5117.

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Eight Over Seven … In One

By John Andrews

Photography by Paul Horsted

Rapid City’s Erick Sykora biked, hiked and ran up the Black Hills’ eight tallest peaks in a single day.

Black Hills adventurers sensed a challenge in the summer of 2017, when Seth Tupper published a series of articles called”Eight over Seven,” which featured the eight mountains in the Black Hills that stand 7,000 feet or taller. Hikers, bikers and runners set out to conquer each one. Many of them blogged about their adventures through the summer and fall.

Erick Sykora considered it a bit more ambitiously.”I looked at where these were placed and started thinking maybe you could do it in a day,” he says.

Only one other group of hikers is known to have accomplished the feat, traveling from peak to peak by car. Sykora wanted to use nothing but his own manpower. The prospect might intimidate many a day hiker, but Sykora is an avid cyclist and runner with several triathlons, half marathons and mountain bike races under his belt. Still, many factors — including weather, health, access to food and water — would have to fall into place. And, as it turned out, he’d need a little luck.

Sykora began studying U.S. Forest Service maps as well as Google maps and smartphone apps to set his best course of action. He decided on a path that followed roughly a crescent shape through the central Hills beginning at Terry Peak southwest of Lead and proceeding to Crooks Tower, Crows Nest Peak, Green Mountain, Odakota Mountain, Bear Mountain and Sylvan Peak before ending at Black Elk Peak, the tallest point in South Dakota.”I knew I was going to go north to south just because the elevation gain made more sense to do it that way,” he says.”Only a few, like Bear Mountain and Odakota Mountain, did I have to really think about because there aren’t a lot of roads through there. But you can kind of connect the dots if you look at it on a map, so I figured that would be the best way to do it.”

With a route in place, he focused on each peak. He created a spreadsheet that planned every mile and every minute. He identified the best spots to begin his ascent and how far he’d be able to ride his bike before ditching it in the woods for his running shoes and picking it up again on the way down. There were also notes for his parents, Barry and Sonia, who followed in their pickup with food, water and any other support Sykora might need.

So after almost eight months of planning, Sykora, who works as a lumber broker for Forest Products Distributors in Rapid City, arrived at the base of Terry Peak at 5 a.m. on the morning of July 7, 2018. Roughly 15 hours later, he finished the remarkable journey with a sandwich and a cold beer at the base of Black Elk Peak. He’d bicycled about 100 miles (both in ascending or descending several of the mountains and over the road traveling from peak to peak) and hiked or run about 15 miles.”There was just this huge sense of accomplishment,” Sykora says.”We sort of sat around and reflected on the day. I was happy for my mom and dad too, because they’d gotten to go into really remote places and see things that not many people get to see. There was no point during the day where something happened and I thought, ‘This is not good.’ It all ran smoothly. We felt really good.”

Here are the Black Hills'”Eight Over Seven,” in the order in which Sykora climbed each one, and some observations from his journey.

Terry Peak

7,064 feet

Lawrence County

6 miles southwest of Lead

Most South Dakotans know Terry Peak as one of the prime skiing locations in the state. Members of the Bald Mountain Ski Club set out to make it so in 1938, when they installed a rope tow up Stewart Slope on land donated by Bertha Stewart. Today Terry Peak boasts more than 25 trails and 600 skiable acres. Before that, the mountain had been named for Alfred Howe Terry, a Union general during the Civil War and military commander of Dakota Territory from 1866 to 1869 and again from 1872 to 1886.

Terry Peak was one of two mountains (along with Black Elk Peak) that Sykora had previously climbed, so he had an idea what to expect. He knew the only bikeable portion would be the descent, so he threw his two-wheeler over his shoulder and followed the chair lift up Stewart Slope to the summit, which affords a vast view of the Hills to the south and, to the west, Spearfish Canyon, where low, early morning clouds had seeped into the valley.”It almost looked like someone had poured milk into Spearfish Canyon,” he says.”It was really cool.”

Crooks Tower

7,137 feet

Lawrence County

17 miles northwest of Rochford

Sykora pedaled the 28 miles to Crooks Tower along the Mickelson Trail and a network of local roads. The path to the top was too rugged for biking, so he ran up and down.

The name Crooks Tower is a misnomer since no tower actually exists at the top. It’s the highest spot in Lawrence County, and for a brief period was thought to be the highest point in the Black Hills. In the spring and summer of 1875, Lt. Col. Richard Irving Dodge escorted Walter P. Jenney as the geologist investigated rumors that Gen. George Armstrong Custer had discovered gold in the Black Hills in 1874. Dodge and his men ascended the great limestone plateau and named it Crook’s Mountain in honor of Gen. George Crook, a former Civil War soldier then serving as head of the Department of the Platte with headquarters at Fort Omaha. Crook is perhaps most well-known in South Dakota history as the commander of U.S. forces at the Battle of Slim Buttes in September of 1876.

Dodge estimated Crook’s Mountain at 7,600 feet, 160 feet taller than Harney (now Black Elk) Peak. Four years later, another published report indicated that Harney was actually the tallest and Crook’s Mountain was second. Today, it comes in fifth.

Because there is no distinguishing promontory, the summit can be tough to find. There is a cairn (a pile of rocks that hikers often build to indicate the summit) situated on a ledge, but the true peak lies just beyond that.”That was probably one of the cooler places,” Sykora says.”It was still early in the morning and we saw elk.”

Crows Nest Peak

7,048 feet

Pennington County

8 miles northwest of Deerfield

Finding the summit at Crows Nest Peak proved to be the most challenging. After approaching the secluded mountain by bicycle on a gravel road Sykora discovered no trail, so his ascent was a mix of hiking and running through grass and trees toward a hill that he believed to be the top. But as he got closer, he realized he was wrong.”I ended up going off the backside of it and found something that looked a little higher than the last mound. I was kind of giving up, but then I remembered Seth Tupper’s stories from the Rapid City Journal that talked about following a fence line, and I came across the geographical survey marker at the top. So I had a little bit of luck on my side in finding that. Standing on top, I couldn’t see at all. I was in the middle of a forest.”

Legend says the mountain’s name can be traced to a band of Crow Indians who were camped on the summit when a warring tribe established attack lines on three sides. The fourth side proved too rugged for the Crows to escape or the opposing tribe to attack. In the darkness of night, the Crows killed their horses and fashioned ropes from the horse hide, which they used to scale down the fourth side.

Green Mountain

7,164 feet

Pennington County

16 miles northwest of Custer

Green Mountain is a favorite destination for snowmobilers, who follow a trail to the summit to a spot called the Clinton Overlook. This path allowed Sykora to bike all the way to the top, which is nothing more than a knob in a limestone ridge.”This one sat out on top of a cliff line and had really cool views. You could see pretty much everything looking to the east.”

Green Mountain was nameless until 1982, when the Black Hills National Forest petitioned the U.S. Board of Geographic Names to call it Green Mountain. Wayne and Lewis Compton, both U.S. Forest Service employees who had lived in the area for nearly 50 years, reported that the peak had always been known locally as Green Mountain simply because it’s largely covered in grass.

Odakota Mountain

7,206 feet

Pennington County

9 miles west of Hill City

Sykora got a good look at Odakota Mountain, the second highest spot in the Black Hills, because it rises just on the other side of Six Mile Road across from Green Mountain. He bicycled along Long Draw Road, but scrambled the last half mile or so to the top. The summit is marked with a 3 1/4-inch aluminum disk affixed to a 30-inch long iron pipe and set in a 10-inch concrete pad. Jerry Penry, a licensed surveyor in Nebraska and South Dakota, and Black Hills historian and photographer Paul Horsted placed the marker in the summer of 2019 after conducting what they believe to be the first precise survey ever done of Odakota. According to their calculations, Odakota actually stands 7,198 feet tall.

In May of 1968, Harold and Loretta Bradfelt bought a ranch in the Black Hills west of Hill City that included one of the tallest peaks in the Hills. It had no name, so Loretta wrote to Sen. Karl Mundt seeking to have the place named Odakota Mountain, using the indigenous word meaning”establishment of peace.” Mundt followed the appropriate bureaucratic chain and the U.S. Board of Geographic Names approved the designation in 1969.

Bear Mountain

7,166 feet

Pennington County

10 miles northwest of Custer

ìBear Mountain is going to suck,” Sykora wrote in his spreadsheet notes, and it was every bit the challenge he expected.”I knew it would be difficult because I dropped in elevation quite a bit from Odakota and the access was from the east along a four-wheeler trail, which was a steep elevation gain, almost straight up.”

A combination of bike riding and hiking brought him to the top, where a steel fire tower provides rangers with an extensive view of the central Black Hills.”The closer you get to the central Hills, these mountains get a little more prominent, and there’s more elevation gain,” Sykora says.”You could see all the way north to Terry Peak, you could see Black Elk Peak, all the way into Wyoming.”

Sylvan Peak

7,000 feet

Custer County

5 miles northeast of Custer

For the first time, Sykora strayed from his planned route. Instead of Medicine Mountain Road and Reno Gulch Road, he took Spring Creek Road, which wound through a peaceful canyon before meeting Highway 385 between Hill City and Custer.”I’d never been back there before. It was a deep canyon, perfect gravel road, little bit of a tailwind. It was a perfect time of the day and I felt really good there. I was flying and felt really strong.”

Traffic along the highways and at Sylvan Lake was busy with tourists, but few people make the hike up Sylvan Peak. Though it’s only about a mile and half to the summit, there is no dedicated trail and downed timber is strewn all over the hillside.”It was constant hopping from dead tree to dead tree to rocks. It was really hard because there was no smooth trail or even a meadow to walk in. It was just pure downed timber.”

Another false summit tricked him momentarily, but he found his way to the true peak, which offered a view of the backside of Crazy Horse Monument, Black Elk Peak (just 4 miles to the east) and Terry Peak.

Black Elk Peak

7,242 feet

Pennington County

5 miles southeast of Hill City

It may seem counterintuitive to leave the highest mountain in the Black Hills until last, but Black Elk Peak may be the easiest climb of the eight. A well-worn and fairly simple path leads hundreds of hikers every year from the trailhead at Sylvan Lake to the stone fire lookout tower built by Civilian Conservation Corps workers in 1939. For decades, South Dakota’s highest spot was called Harney Peak for Gen. William Harney, a military commander stationed in the Black Hills in the 1870s. The U.S. Board on Geographic Names approved the change to Black Elk Peak in 2016, to honor Lakota holy man Black Elk, whose vision quest to the mountain’s summit was recounted in John Neihardt’s Black Elk Speaks.

Sykora says he had planned to run the trail but hiked instead. An IT band issue had been causing him some pain in his leg. But after climbing seven of the Black Hills’ eight highest peaks already, he was due a more leisurely stroll.

Editor’s Note: This story is revised from the September/October 2020 issue of South Dakota Magazine. To order a copy or to subscribe, call (800) 456-5117.

©Paul Horsted/paulhorsted.com
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Peninsula Paradise

By Michael Zimny

Growing up in Chicago, my youthful idea of a pastoral Shangri-la was straight out of the old children’s book Heidi, and maybe Lassie flicks on WGN.

Heidi was a German Swiss girl who spent her days skipping though the emerald valleys of the Swiss Alps in a dirndl, herding goats, reading Bible stories and warming the heart of her disgruntled adoptive grandfather, Alm-Uncle. Eventually she teaches a disabled girl to walk again through a kind of miraculous ecotherapy (Heidi was ahead of her time for a country girl).

Heidi the healer closes the chasms between human and God/Nature that debilitate us mentally (Alm-Uncle) or physically (Clara). When you feel like”the mountains are calling” you, Heidi is that iPhone.

Now as a South Dakotan, I field those calls. I go hiking through the Black Hills, Badlands and northwestern butte country, or paddling down the Missouri or Cheyenne.

Each of those places is curative. The South Dakota country that rekindles my city boy concept of the Dorfli foothills where Heidi skips be-dirndled through a sea of green is on the peninsula that lurches out like a velvet mullein stalk into the Little Bend of the Missouri River.

True, it’s a pricklier, snakier green sea. Skipping barefoot might be a bad idea. Instead of snowy peaks, the meadows are enveloped in azure water and sky. The river bluffs bubble through beneath your feet. Each billowy detour off the main appendage is a fuzzy green caterpillar bulging in segments as it munches the Missouri. To stand on a hill and trace each bulbous ramble into the blue, or the flower parades through the folds that empty into shallow pools at water’s edge, may be as medicinal a psychic skip in the shadow of the Swiss mountain Stanserhorn.

You can access this peninsular Xanadu at the Little Bend Recreation Area. At a point where the road curves southwest down to a boat/fishing pier, there’s a small parking area with a sign that indicates walk-in only. From here you’ll leave the state recreation area, though the entire peninsula is a public land, state and federal (Army Corps of Engineers). My guess is that very few non-hunters ever hike here.

I set out to explore the fingerlings and make it to the V-shaped inlet at the center of the terminus. With an evening start, I hiked along the trail that cuts a straight-ish line along the northeast edge until it faded away about a mile and a half in. From there I spotted a picturesque sub-isthmus — snaking out to a cliff surrounded by a narrow strip of beach — enclosing a cottonwood leaf bay.

In about 4 1/2 miles, I reached the river side and pitched tent on a narrow strip of beach. Bullfrogs and great-horned owls sang a dirge for the day. A garter snake slithered along the edge of the water, mirroring the rippling moonlight.

At dawn, I packed up and kept my eyes on the big water to reach the V. Throngs of grasshoppers hurdled ahead of me, many caught in the webs of ferocious-looking yellow garden spiders. Wildflowers hewed close to the coulees. A velvety-antlered buck Heidi-ed his way through the verdure. As the land tapered in the final descent there were swan-feather fields of foxtail and other hairy grasses.

Then it was there — the pool that softens the point of the V. Jade swells surround, here and there sheered down to Pierre shale, cobalt above and below. Gulls perched on a narrow sand bar. I lingered a bit and began the way back, up the spine of the main stalk where you can see every caterpillary appendage burrow into the blue.

Michael Zimny is a content producer for South Dakota Public Broadcasting and is based in Rapid City. He blogs for SDPB and contributes columns to the South Dakota Magazine website.

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Glacial Lakes in Winter

By John Andrews and Bernie Hunhoff

South Dakota’s Glacial Lakes country is perfect for day trips this winter. More than a hundred lakes — plus sloughs, wetlands, ponds and rivers — combine to create a scenic and unspoiled countryside rich with wildlife and waterfowl, friendly farm towns and numerous opportunities to enjoy nature.

Melting glaciers shaped this prairie pothole country 20,000 years ago. The lakes are so numerous that some remain unnamed. Most have grown in size and depth over the last 25 years. Bitter Lake, once little more than a shallow slough, is now the state’s largest natural lake; it is encroaching on Waubay Lake and other bodies of water to create an ocean-less, inland sea.

In this winter of the pandemic, we are all looking for new outdoor sights and experiences. Winter serenity and solitude has always been a trademark of the unspoiled Glacial Lakes region.

Here are 10 suggestions, organized by county, on how you might explore the Glacial Lakes. Some are auto drives, others offer winter hikes that could be compromised by the amount of snow on the ground. However, this list only scratches the surface so don’t hesitate to roam the lake country. You’ll discover many surprises, and they’ll all be good.

BROOKINGS COUNTY — The 135-acre Dakota Nature Park (at the corner of 22nd Avenue and 32nd Street South) lies in the southeastern corner of Brookings. Gravel mining led to formation of ponds and wetlands, and a restored prairie now grows atop the old landfill mound. A portion of the Allyn Frerichs Trail System — named for the city’s longtime parks and rec director who passed away in 2014 — skirts the north edge of the park, while a network of paths weave around the wetlands, prairies and trees.

BROWN COUNTY — Take a trip to Sand Lake National Wildlife Refuge. Though the classic 15-mile auto tour is closed in winter due to hunting and snow conditions, other roads remain open on the perimeter of the refuge. Explore the gravel roads that lead north and south from Highway 10. The snow geese are gone, but you’ll see other waterfowl, eagles and the Arctic’s snowy owls. Deer, pheasant and coyotes are also common. Sand Lake rose from the dust of the Great Depression to become one of the world’s most important wildlife sanctuaries. It is 30 miles northeast of Aberdeen.

CODINGTON COUNTY — Just southwest of Watertown is Pelican Lake. An observation tower near an inlet on the lake’s south side provides a sweeping view of the water, its namesake birds, the prairie and Watertown’s skyline. The Observation Tower Trail is a three-quarters of a mile hike through the woods and winter grasses. A longer jaunt, the Pelican Prairie Trail, gently meanders 5.2 miles.

DAY COUNTY– Explore the trails of Waubay National Wildlife Refuge, situated in the very heart of the Prairie Pothole landscape. Scientists say the region produces 50 percent of the continent’s waterfowl. Trails range from a few hundred feet to a mile, and jaunt around an island that houses the refuge headquarters. However, the public facilities are closed in winter.

DEUEL COUNTY — Visit 12-acre Ulven Park, which occupies a point on the eastern shore of Clear Lake. The frogs and toads, noisy in summer, are now hibernating so they’ll not interrupt the serenity of the park’s half-mile hiking trail.

EDMUNDS COUNTY — Shake Maza Trail at Mina Lake (between Ipswich and Aberdeen) is a short walk that explores the flora, fauna and other features at one of the first man-made lakes in northeast South Dakota. Shake Maza is a Native term meaning”shaped like a horseshoe,” which describes the 850-acre lake, ringed by picturesque cabins and homes.

GRANT COUNTY — This fascinating region is one of the USA’s five continental divides. Lake Traverse flows west to the Hudson Bay and Big Stone Lake flows south to the Mississippi and the Gulf of Mexico. Some of the best winter trails are at Hartford Beach State Park — a tree-filled, rocky shoreline north of Milbank that is quite unlike anything else in the Glacial Lakes. Signage in the park will direct you to several easy trails.

HAND COUNTY — Hike the Pheasant Run Trail at Lake Louise, 14 miles northwest of Miller. Beginning at the trailhead in the main campground, the dirt and grass trail meanders 3.2 miles around the south side of Lake Louise, which was created by damming the south fork of Wolf Creek in 1932. More than three dozen informational plaques identify trees and plants found along the way, though leaf identification will be challenging in December and January.

LAKE COUNTY — Wander the trails of Lake Herman State Park, which occupies a peninsula on the east side of Lake Herman, just west of Madison. A cabin built by pioneer Herman Luce in about 1870 stands along the 1.25-mile Luce Adventure Trail, which encircles Herman Pond. Connecting trails include the Abbott Trail (1.1 miles) and the Pioneer Nature Trail (.4 miles). All are easy walking.

MOODY COUNTY — Much of the prairie pothole region drains into the Big Sioux River, and the waterway starts to change its personality as it reaches Flandreau and Dell Rapids. Hike Red Rock Trail in Dell Rapids, where you can enjoy a closeup view of the famous rose quartzite that underlies the region.

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Eight Over Seven

Our Black Hills are gentle mountains. You don’t need ropes, axes and harnesses to tackle even our highest peaks. And most are climbable even in winter — especially in a mild winter like we’ve enjoyed thus far in 2020.

South Dakota has eight peaks that stand 7,000 feet or taller in elevation. Rapid City journalist Seth Tupper wrote about them in 2017, and his reports seem to have inspired a new challenge for hikers, bikers and runners to do all eight.

Erick Sykora of Rapid City took it a step or two further. After months of careful planning and preparation, he hustled to the top of all eight peaks in a single day — a 15-hour day. Here’s the complete account, first published in our Sept/Oct 2020 issue, of how he did it.

Most of us are more apt to tackle the peaks one at a time. If you climb in winter, remember that the days are short this time of year, and some deep canyons can be very dark at high noon. The weather can change quickly at higher elevations. And the frost-freeze cycle that occurs from temperature swings may cause slippery conditions, especially on granite slopes.

But those are precautions, not prohibitions. With common sense and weather-watching, mountain climbing can be a safe and fun four-season activity in the Black Hills.

©Paul Horsted/paulhorsted.com
©Paul Horsted/paulhorsted.com
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Off-Trail in the Badlands

By Michael Zimny

Explorers who venture past the White River Overlook are treated to varied landscapes and wildlife.

The White River Overlook is one of those panoramic pull-offs on the Badlands Loop Road. You stop and say, “that’s cool,” and it’s off to Wall Drug to buy a stuffed jackalope (make sure to check out the dining room’s awesome Western art collection).

But what if you could be down there, in that otherworldly-looking place? You can! There’s no permit required for backcountry hiking or camping in the Badlands. You don’t even have to hang glide off the Badlands Wall, though that would be pretty epic in a slightly 80’s kind of way (and might require a permit). There are passes in the Wall where you can just walk right in.

One obstacle you will not contend with is the White River itself, about 6 miles south of the White River Overlook. (The only place that the White River actually runs through Badlands National Park is in a small corner of the South Unit, near the seasonally opened White River Visitor Center).

A potential point of entry is from a gravel road that runs between Interior and the Loop Road. From here you can walk along the south side of the Wall, among freestanding sedimentary temples, as the country flattens riverward. We parked at a pull off at the southern park boundary and walked northeast across the prairie toward The Castles formation dominating the northern horizon. Early spring is auspicious for crossing this country, when the snow is melted, and tender chutes of cool-season grass are just beginning to burst through the still-matted brown meadow. Each footstep is freer, and snakes have less camo.

Drawing closer to The Castles — one of those appropriately Gothic formations with spindly spires — you can hew close to the edge of the Wall. Or you can choose a passage into the Wall. Some drainages trace a climbable path to the summit, while others narrow until impassable or dead end at a steep cliff face. Gully walking through claustrophobic canyons can get muddy, though; most hikers may prefer to thread the periphery of the Wall and its outer islands.

There are little worlds in the labyrinth. A chorus frog croons from inside its tiny pond among straw and cracked alkali. How did it find this isolated place and how can it ever get out? Imagine hopping around on hot rocks in skin like a sausage casing, dodging owls and rattlers, searching for a brackish, lonely puddle.

Another approach to the White River Underlook is from Big Foot Pass. Park by that overlook and walk the road to the bottom, and you can skip the prairie prologue and slip between rainbow mounds right onto the fractal crust. At twilight, the white alkali flats glow like the sidewalk tiles beneath Michael Jackson’s feet in the video for “Billie Jean.”

We threaded a path through the grottoes at Big Foot Pass and spotted a porcupine browsing beneath a purple sky, a short-eared owl wrapping up the evening hunt, and a deer sentry gracefully keeping watch from a hogback butte. This is the recommended route. From here, you can hike southeast along the edge of the Wall and into the open. The Wall stretches southward in a pincerlike movement from the White River Overlook, a horseshoe-bay you can trace as you circle back, contemplating the unique Badlands geometry etched by sun and wind.

Michael Zimny is a content producer for South Dakota Public Broadcasting and is based in Rapid City. He blogs for SDPB and contributes columns to the South Dakota Magazine website.

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Social Distancing in the Wild

By John Andrews

The Stratobowl Trail overlooks the green meadow where scientists launched record-breaking balloon flights in 1934 and 1935.

The coronavirus has upended lives around the world. Our routines as we knew them just a few short weeks ago no longer exist. Many of us, including the South Dakota Magazine staff, are working from home. Businesses are shuttered, gatherings of more than 10 people are forbidden and — in the event that folks do need to leave their houses — a 6-foot buffer between humans at the very least must be maintained, all in an effort to slow the spread of the deadly virus.

One refrain that keeps popping up, though, is that the outdoors are never closed. We try to take a walk around Yankton every day that the weather allows (and we all know that the transition from winter to spring in South Dakota can be wildly unpredictable). The movement and fresh air do wonders for both our physical and mental health. With that in mind, here are three favorite hiking trails that I’ve discovered while on the road. Later, in our July/August issue, we’ll have even more ways you can safely enjoy the outdoors in South Dakota during what is shaping up to be an unprecedented summer.

Stay safe and healthy by exploring these or other trails near you.

Stratobowl Trail

It’s a short and easy hike from busy Highway 16 to the spot where scientists made history in 1935. The Stratobowl Rim Trail begins on a gravel maintenance route about 2 miles west of Bear Country USA (look for a closed gate and maybe a parked car or two). The path is wide and well maintained, but there are plenty of large rocks along the way, so be sure to have sturdy footwear.

Nearly every step of the 0.8-mile trail follows the well-worn road, through the tall pine trees of the Black Hills National Forest. The trail branches off to the left near the end, and a narrower path leads to four granite slabs that tell the story of the Stratobowl balloon launches of 1934 and 1935 that sought to collect information about the upper reaches of the Earth’s atmosphere. During the second launch, scientists floated more than 72,000 feet into the stratosphere, higher than any human had previously traveled.

An overlook tucked among the limestone cliffs provides a panoramic view of the Black Hills and the bowl below. Plan about an hour for the out and back hike.

Alkali Trail

This short and family-friendly trail takes hikers through a variety of Black Hills landscapes: a creek valley, ponderosa pine forests and prairie meadows, all in the shadow of Bear Butte.

From Interstate 90, take exit 34. Follow a gravel road toward Sturgis known locally as the Old Stone Road or the Fort Meade Backcountry Byway. Around a bend the road crosses Alkali Creek. After another few hundred feet, you’ll find the gravesite of Black Hills outlaw Curley Grimes. Across the road is a small campground and access to the Alkali Trail.

Grab a brochure at the trailhead and follow along to each of 10 marked posts along the path. Starting at the creek and progressing through the woods, into a clearing and back, each stop provides a natural history lesson — Native Americans used the green ash trees to fashion poles, bows and arrows; rocks covered with lichens are slowly decomposing into soil; patches of snowberry provide excellent winter cover for deer.

The Alkali Trail is slightly more than half a mile long. Allow about 45 minutes for a leisurely hike.

Gavins Point Nature Trail

The Gavins Point Nature Trail is a family-friendly path within the Lewis and Clark Recreation Area, about 9 miles west of Yankton. A kiosk at the trailhead offers brochures that explain the types of trees and insects found in the forest. Kids can use them as a scavenger hunt guide as they traverse the 1.2-mile dirt path. They’ll have fun identifying the Eastern red cedars, bur oaks and old cottonwoods that grow thick along the Missouri River bluffs, and the millipedes and spiders that crawl around the undergrowth.

Adults will appreciate the exercise. Two wooden bridges, a set of stairs and several inclines account for the trail’s moderate rating. About halfway through, hikers are rewarded with a magnificent view of the shimmering water and chalkstone bluffs of Lewis and Clark Lake.

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Exploring Deer Haven

By Michael Zimny

Deer Haven is a solitary plateau near Conata Basin in the Badlands.

In South Dakota you can social distance outside. There’s no Times Square out there. And the distances are greater.

Inside may be safer but it can become a prison, a dungeon with a tiny window installed by Apple or Samsung. That window is where you find us, and we are rowdy house guests.

And South Dakota is home to the badlands. The Badlands. There is no place as unconfined.

The Conata Basin is a grassy bay between the main Badlands wall and an intersecting ridgeline that branches south and east. By night, black-footed ferrets, back from near-extinction, hunt prairie dogs. So do rattlesnakes, owls, fox and coyote. At the Conata Picnic Area, you can park and hike around in the basin or up into the high country.

From here, there are drainages that track northeasterly into a narrow canyon where you can climb to the very edge of the wall and peep at the Badlands loop road snaking through the Yellow Mounds below. Climb down to explore an off-road world, seldom-seen, car-free.

At the end of the little cul-de-sac in the Conata Picnic Area, there’s a sign with a blurb about a place called Deer Haven, a juniper forest plateau along the ridgeline above Conata Basin.

There is no marked trail. The easiest way to get there is to walk southeast, then east along the edge of the ridgeline. You’ll find a well-worn game/human path that peters out at a cut in a dome formation. As soon as you round this dome and face north, Deer Haven is spread out before you.

There are many deer trails through a patch of thick brush, and at least one doable pass up onto the plateau. As a public service announcement, I should mention that as with much off-trail — and some on-trail — Badlands exploration, making this ascent involves some hands-and-feet scrambling. Please proceed with caution and know that you can also access beautiful views from the low country.

As you walk towards Deer Haven, you’ll notice a distinctive hole that could be a portal to another dimension high along the ridgeline to the west.

Archaeologist Linea Sundstrom has written about what she calls a “cross-cultural transference of the sacred geography” in regards to the Black Hills, meaning that beliefs in the sacral nature of particular places were transferred among different groups of people over time. I’m not an archaeologist but I do believe that’s a fine way of thinking — not that you have to appropriate other peoples’ cultures, but that I can accept that a place you say is sacred is sacred, and then perceive it as such, in a consecrated manner. We can extend this even to deer, who clearly sacralized this place before somebody at the National Park Service thought of putting up a sign in the cul-de-sac. If you go, you’ll understand.

Michael Zimny is a content producer for South Dakota Public Broadcasting and is based in Rapid City. He blogs for SDPB and contributes columns to the South Dakota Magazine website.

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The Ghost Forests of LaFramboise Island

By Michael Zimny

Wildlife abounds on LaFramboise Island near Pierre, but its cottonwood forests are in jeopardy.

LaFramboise Island in Pierre is a ghost forest. South Dakota is full of ghost towns — little towns that were on the cusp of middlin’ until the railroad changed course or the county seat went elsewhere. Now they’re in transition, possibly into the absence of any sign of ever having been a town at all.

The Lewis and Clark expedition passed this island in September of 1804, calling it “Good Humored Island.” Clark wrote in his journal of seeing many elk and buffalo here. Later, the isle was named for fur trader Joseph LaFramboise, who established a trading post at the mouth of the Bad River. The sliver of forest on the Mo can be seen in artist Karl Bodmer’s 1833 depiction of Fort Pierre.

From at least the late 19th century, LaFramboise was partially cultivated. In 1962, the Army Corps of Engineers purchased all of the land in preparation for construction of the Oahe and Big Bend dams.

LaFramboise Island hosts a surprising diversity of habitat in its 580 acres, with (potentially doomed) cottonwood forests, grasslands, dense tangles of juniper forest and cattail marshes.

There are over 7 miles of trail. You can hike along the Missouri River with views of the snowy Western bluffs, great-horned owls hooting from cottonwoods overhead, then cut through dark juniper forests where, in winter, deep cracks furrow the thick sheets of ice you’re walking on. The forests open on to a central meadow where deer browse on brome while hawks and coyotes hunt for rabbit or vole. Then back through the forest to a tiny isthmus with views of the Capitol dome across the river.

According to a 2004 study by the South Dakota Game, Fish and Parks Department, the cottonwood forest is in decline, as part of a “successional sequence” on the Missouri River floodplain, that generally “begins with colonization by cattails or sandbar willow, develops through transitional phases to a plains cottonwood dominated forest, and finally, in the absence of stand replacing floods, develops into a mixed deciduous forest.” The study predicted that “junipers are clearly the future forest of LaFramboise Island.”

Walking the island, copses of downed cottonwoods do have a funerary feel, as they recede before the encroaching cedar tunnel. The ghost forest is still in mediation with the forest future on this river island that has survived a flood some did not, where change is everywhere underway.

Michael Zimny is a content producer for South Dakota Public Broadcasting and is based in Rapid City. He blogs for SDPB and contributes columns to the South Dakota Magazine website.