Guest Wanderer: Harney Peak Hike by Kevin Teigen

Foreword:

I have to say I envy Kevin for getting to hike the Black Hills when he did. As it turns out I had been in the area for my Mount Rushmore and Crazy Horse Monument stops on our road trip. Unfortunately, we only had enough time to see the sites and hit the road again so we could get to Utah before the end of the day. 

I particularly love his encounter with the older man he talks about. I recognize that feeling at age 32 compared to age 10 when I did some of the major camping trips in my life. With age comes a greater appreciation for any chance to marvel in the beauty of nature. Stories like this are what lead me to create this blog! It doesn't matter if you're a triathlete or a self-described "indoorsy" manager at an accounting firm, nature is there for us all to enjoy. - Randy

Harney Peak Hike by Kevin Teigen

Ask anybody who knows me—I’m not an adventurer. Growing up, I was the scrawny kid with glasses and acne walking the halls of my small high school. Now, years later, the acne is gone but I’m still not exactly the bad boy of the accounting firm at which I work. Because of this, I’m sure my wife’s uncle and cousin were surprised when, during a family reunion in the Black Hills of South Dakota, I asked if I could join them on a hike up Harney Peak.

So why would a fairly “indoorsy” guy like me make an opportunity like that? There were several reasons, like that after a few days on the road, I was ready to stretch my legs. But mostly, it came down to this: it’s the highest elevation in the state, it was there, and so was I.

The hike was a spur-of-the-moment trip. Plans were in flux when we all awoke, and by the time we started down the trail, it was 10 a.m. This brings me to my first lesson: when hiking in the summer, start early. Even though I finished at 1 pm, the temperature was already well on its way to the 92 degree high for the day. On the bright side, my lack of preparation (in true Rogue Wanderer style) prevented me from over-packing. A lot of folks on the trail carried backpacks filled to the brim with who-knows-what; a granola bar and 24 ounces of water sustained me quite comfortably on the trip.

This being my first hike, I wasn’t really sure what to expect. My companions, however, had climbed Camelback in Phoenix so I trusted that they would tell me anything I needed to know. Unfortunately, my wife’s adventuresome 13-year-old cousin was under the weather that morning, a factor that wasn’t helped by either the heat or a touch of motion sickness that came courtesy of the winding, hilly, Sylvan Lake Road. As a result, she and her dad had to call it quits about halfway down the trail.

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Because they were gracious enough to let me go on without them, I resolved to finish the trek quickly so they wouldn’t have to wait too long. (I mentioned earlier that I finished in three hours. The trail signs said to plan for five to six.) I charged up the switchbacks as quickly as I reasonably could. It wasn’t easy. One slope featured a sandy path interspersed with flecks of something that reminded me of the metal shavings that accumulated by the grinder on my dad’s workbench. They glistened in the sun; that side of the mountain was void of any meaningful shade. As the glimmering minerals reflected light upward, the sun beat downward, and my leg muscles started to burn from trotting my dad bod up the hill, I wondered if I was foolish for having such exuberance. Although there was little shade, the Black Hills are full plants, ranging from scrubby bushes to Ponderosa Pine trees, growing from the side of sheer granite cliffs. I reassured myself that if they can thrive in those conditions, I could make it up the trail.

As I approached the top, room for switchbacks became increasingly scarce. The trail became a narrow slate stairway and steel walkways made overpasses where the trail had to spiral above itself. There is a stone structure at the summit, a former weather observatory constructed by the Civilian Conservation Corps. The portico of that structure gave me ample opportunity to take some pictures with my phone (and lament that my wife had our good camera with her!). It also gave me an excellent opportunity to do some people watching.

Some were posing for pictures, flexing muscles and reveling in their recent accomplishment. Others were sitting or lying down, massaging sore legs, but also reveling in their recent accomplishment. There was a group lost in prayer; I gathered that they were a Christian youth group who did nature adventures of this sort as a way of connecting with God. Most, though, were doing some additional exploring. There were some accessible areas which allowed them to climb out on rocks and get the feeling that they were really seeing something new. I did a little exploring of my own, but started my descent after only about 20 minutes. As I departed from the peak, I met a man I had passed on my way up.

“Leaving already?” he asked.

“Yeah, I have family waiting at the lake. The breeze is pretty good up here, though. I cooled off pretty quickly.”

“How old are you?”

“Thirty-two.”

“Give it another 32 years and you’ll understand why I’m not in a hurry.” With that, we each went our own way.

I’m sure I will understand how he felt by the time I hit 60. Heck, even at 32, I’m starting to realize some of the changes with age, although my peak of physical ability was never particularly impressive. A doctor examined my knees and back and advised me at age 16 to study hard and get a desk job. I took up running in 2012. I participated in a couple 5k races and capped off the summer with my third knee surgery. After that, I was advised (by a different orthopedic surgeon) that my running days were over and that biking and swimming were much better options for my poor joints.

A few moments later in my descent from Harney Peak, I came across a young family. The parents looked like they were in their upper 20s or lower 30s. Their young daughter was with them. I didn’t notice any Baby Bjorns or other kid carriers. It appeared that little girl had done the hike herself.

These encounters were significant to me because it showed that anybody can do an adventure like this: a self-described old man, a young girl, a thirty-something with bad knees and a “dad bod”. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still proud that I made it to the top. Harney Peak is the highest point between the Rocky Mountains of the western US to the Pyrenees Mountains of Spain, France, and Andorra.

The real lesson, though, was that there is no pre-requisite to doing an adventure like this. Sure, some folks don’t make it to the top. And even though I chose to go for speed in this circumstance, there’s no shame in going slowly if that’s what it takes to get to the top (or if you just want to have more time to draw in the scenery). In the end, I know I wasn’t perfectly prepared for the hike but I’m still glad I did it. 

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