The Adventures Of Idiot Girl

The next morning I woke up and thought, "You know what? I want to stay here another day." The park was so beautiful and the people were so nice, I figured I could afford to "waste" a day’s travel. I’m realizing that when I camp, I must lose brain cells or something, because I’ll wake up very groggy and it takes me about half an hour to figure out what to do first, put on shoes or make coffee. I am literally dumber. It’s very bizarre.

Anyway, after wandering around my campsite looking confused for a good hour or so, then a shower and some Scooters (Poor Man’s Cheerios), I drove into town and ended up in Devil’s Gulch, a park on the edge of downtown Garretson. White steel gates lay open on either side of the gravel road leading into some woods, painted with murals on the front, men on horseback. I parked near a large wooden marker lined with pictures and newspaper clippings that explained the history of the gulch - it turns out that the gulch is famous, as is Garretson, because Jesse James once jumped the gulch on his horse to escape a posse trying to capture him. The posse didn’t have the same chutzpa to try the same. Walking past the marker and across the steel bridge that now links the two sides of the ravine, it’s easy to see what a feat it is to jump and actually make it.

The bridge sits on top of large rock formations, the same kind that are in Palisades Park. Knotty pine, maple, and wild sweetgrass sit in between the rocks. A murky creek flows between the two, wide but not too deep. I crossed the bridge and hiked down to the bank, to the immediate right of the rock formation. Looking up from the edge of the water was even more spectacular than looking down - sunlight trickled through the rocks and leaves, illuminating the dust that the hundreds of songbirds kicked up each time they took flight from one side of the creek to the other. Their nests were built inside crags in the rocks. As I wandered one length of the bank, they would dart out in front of my face, letting out loud cries that echoed off the walls. Fish jumped at waterbugs, making ripples long after the sound had faded. It was gorgeous.

After poking around on the bank, I climbed the hill and hiked up what I think is called Devil’s Stairway, a path that leads up another hill to the open prairie. It’s the same route that Jesse James took for his escape, and I tried to imagine him kicking his horse in the flanks and looking over his shoulder, smiling wildly, knowing he had outsmarted, or at least out-brass-balled, the Justice Boys. "I was born in the wrong era," I thought, running through the wild hay like a child on the first day of summer, my arms stretched out to brush the grass with my fingertips, pigtails flapping, sunlight and a smile on my face. Then I remembered that history can be selective - back then there was no running water, everyone smelled, and women weren’t allowed to wear less than seven layers in the summertime. "I mean, uh, wow, the new millennium rocks..."

Climbing out of the ravine I bumped into an older couple making their first visit back to the park in 50 years. The wife was unable to walk down the steep and rocky path, so she stood on the edge of the bridge and asked questions of her husband. "Is the path grown over? Have they put up a guard rail on that cliff ‘round the corner? Can you see the meadow?" She asked me a few questions too, and I told her I would help her if she’d like to come down. She politely declined, but we got to chatting about the landscape. I was still starry-eyed about South Dakota, with that over-eager smile and bounce in my step that I get in a new place. It was easy to see. "So where are you from?" the woman asked.
"East Coast. New York City, Baltimore, DC, that area."
"Oh, well, you’ll love the west side of the state. Just avoid the bikers if you can. Maybe go somewhere else and come back in a week or so."

They were so..... wholesome. That’s the perfect word. They told me about their times in the park. "We picnicked here in high school. We’re from a few towns over. When we had our kids we’d bring them here. Now they have kids of their own and we’re coming back here for a family reunion in Split Rock. We just stopped by to see the old grounds. That’s good that you’re writing a book on this place - too many people think we don’t have running water out here. You see all you can, okay? Enjoy South Dakota!"
"Oh, trust me, I will! I already am!"

I went back to Palisades, vowing to get a picture of a mailbox shaped like a tractor at some point before I left which of course I didn’t. Once there, I hiked the trails further down the creek, amazed at some of the rock formations. At first glance it’s tough to tell if they’re natural or man-made, that’s how close to quarried stone they look, almost like brick. "That would be fun if I was a rock climber," I thought. The park actually is a practice site for climbers, who must use rappel gear, provided they sign in and give the park rangers their families’ phone number, so when the climber dies climbing they can notify the right people.

The paths are great for hiking, wide and expansive in some areas and tightly curved in others. I didn’t bring any gear with me, just mace and a camera. Following the creek, I came across a sign marking the site of an old homestead village that had been right there where the park is now. Some of the foundations are still visible, it was very interesting. What made me laugh were the signs prohibiting cliff jumping from the tops of the rock formations. "Who would ever want to do that?"

Well, they made me laugh for a little while, until I passed the biggest one in the park, King Rock, and saw how the rocks on the bankside made a neat little staircase going most of the way up, while the other side dropped off completely overlooking the creek. "Oh, dude, I can totally climb that!" I said, getting a little big for my britches, as my grandfather would say. I shimmied up the rocks, barely making an effort until I got to the top of the staircase formation. Once there, I figured it would be a piece of cake to mount the top, and, putting my feet strategically on tiny juts in the side of the rock face, pulled myself up. The apex was about 300 feet from the creek surface, and I could see past the edge of the park to an angus pasture from there. The cows were moving east and the clouds were moving west. It was beautiful. "I’m King of the World!" I thought, my arms stretched side to side, letting the wonderful breeze brush past my ears.

Then I looked down.

"Oh, shit," was the only thought on my mind. That and, "I’m stuck." I couldn’t jump off into the creek, it was illegal and only about 8 feet deep in the middle. I couldn’t call for help, because I hadn’t gotten clearance to climb from the park rangers. I had no rappel gear and I’m scared of heights, which obviously I forgot to remind myself of before I climbed the damn rock. So it was up to me not to panic and to find all those little juts in the rock again - just like climbing a rock wall at the amusement park but without that nice little harness and padded floor. No, there it was just hold the hell on tight and don’t fall on the knotty pine tree growing sideways out of the rockface. Tourists on the other side of the creek took notice of the stupid idiot girl and started taking pictures. Their conversations floated on the breeze and I could hear them say, "Oh, goodness, I wonder if she’ll fall?"

Well, I didn’t fall, amazingly enough. Even more amazing is that I didn’t soil myself, I was so scared. Hopping down, I figured that was enough hiking for one day, so I went back to camp and cracked a beer and wrote a song and played guitar for awhile, thinking, "It’s Tuesday and everyone else is at the office right now..... damn, I’m the luckiest girl alive!"