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TOPIC: Episode II
http://groups.google.com/group/entstrees/browse_thread/thread/d724032769b4be3b?hl=en 
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== 1 of 2 ==
Date: Mon, Mar 24 2008 4:12 pm
From: dbhguru@comcast.net

Episode II: Joe Dollar Gulch

I don't exactly recall how I first came to learn about Joe Dollar Gulch, a little known spot located in the central Black Hills of South Dakota. I think it was merely a name on a local area map that caught my eye and intrigued me. Names can have that effect on me. I find myself drawn to colorful place names that titillate the imagination. Joe Dollar Gulch sounded like either an interesting character or a spot with a rich local history that I might want to know more about. I suppose there is a more fateful explanation for my attraction to a spot referenced on the map, but a discussion of the role that fate plays in my choices is a subject for later reflection.
The Black Hills are rich in local place names that suggest endless toil, conflict, conquest, native spirituality, abundant wildlife, and the physical prominence of land features that compel us to bestow names. In the context of awarding names to geographical features and locations, the Black Hills differ from New England. I think of my corner of the Northeast as a land saturated with people's names, a parade of undistinguished souls who owned land, questionable politicians, soldiers, and the rich. I acknowledge that the Hills also have their share of human place names. To my thinking, the Hills are over-represented by the names of past U.S. Army generals. The list includes Sheridan, the infamous Custer, Terry, Harney, and others. All are reminders of our nation's use of the military in shameful conquest of indigenous peoples in outright land theft; but in terms of western lore, the accompanying history is usually very interesting. Regardless of its human origin and remi
nder of land exploitation and theft, the name Joe Dollar called to me in a voice that echoed in my head. The message was not to be ignored. I needed to visit and explore the area.
The region of Joe Dollar Gulch is located about six miles east of Hill City, South Dakota. The Gulch and immediately surrounding area is contained mostly within the 1.2 million acre Black Hills National Forest, which was originally established as the Black Hills Forest Reserve in 1897, partly motivated by the outbreak of forest fires that threatened to denude the Hills.
Nearby Hill City lies close to the junction of U.S. routes 16 and 85, which until recently might have been its most distinguishing feature to tourists passing through. Hill City is located geographically at latitude 43.9337 degrees, longitude -114.5714, and altitude 4979 feet. Moisture amounts to about 20 inches per year, about equally divided in rain and snow. Its position within the interior of the Black Hills protects it from the howling winds that prairie dwellers come to accept as an inescapable consequence of residence in either of the Dakotas.
In terms of its establishment, Hill City is a former mining town that enjoyed a brief economic zenith before crashing. At one point Hill City almost ceased to exist. When I lived in South Dakota, Hill City was something of an eye sore. It was economically depressed and unable to capitalize on its scenic location and historic past. Maybe it was being held hostage to its past mining sins. There was a pall of depression that perpetually hung over the little town; at least that is the effect it had on me. In recent years Hill City's fortunes have changed. It has been transformed by an influx of artistic souls who I judge to be far more in tune and appreciative of the land than the army of mining exploiters and laborers who settled the region in the 1870s and 80s. That sordid period of our history saw miners flock into a region, quickly construct shantytowns, and commence to rip and tear up the Earth, forcing it to disgorge its wealth of gold and silver. It was only 14 miles
from Hill City that the first gold strike in the Hills was made - a fateful event for the Lakota Nation. But Hill City's good economic fortunes were short lived. A richer strike in the northern Black Hills led to the rapid economic decline of Hill City, but the area remains mineral rich and rock shops abound and the huge gouges that mining operations left serve as reminders of its heyday.
A Hill City museum was also the location of a famous Tyrannosaurus Rex fossil named Sue, discovered in 1990, that sparked a long court case testing who had rightful ownership of the fossil. Sue is the most complete T-Rex fossil ever found and bears witness to the regions rich dinosaur history. There are other dinosaur displays in the Black Hills, some tasteful and some touristy. But, it is time to go back to Joe Dollar Gulch.
It is easy to access the Gulch region via either of two small roads off U.S. 16 and U.S. Alt 85-U.S 385. My choice was via U.S. 16. A parking area now provides access to an adjacent natural area, the exact designation of which I forget. A narrow Forest Service road continues on and takes one back into an unnamed gulch, across a saddle, and down into the named area of the gulch. The road probably dates to mining ventures undertaken in the late 1800s.
Although I acknowledge the prominent role of the area in mining history and its brief economic importance, I am only marginally interested in mining towns, lore, and history. The main attractions for me of the region in the vicinity of the Gulch include stands of old growth ponderosa pines, numerous glades where one call stroll to catch spectacular views of distant Harney Peak and nearby Samelias Mountain, a rocky prominence rising to 5,856 feet above sea level and about a thousand feet above its immediate base. Today, Samelias is readily accessible from the natural area's parking lot, but beyond the nature trail that skirts Samelias's base, the peak sees very few people. In the four years I spent in South Dakota, and on numerous visits to Joe Dollar Gulch, I never encountered another person on the mountain nor on its unnamed sister peaks, one of which is higher and the other lower than Samelias. But solitude was how I wanted it. When on Samelias's narrow summit, one's
closest companions were the rocks, the pines, the surrounding peaks, an expansive sky, and the ever-present South Dakota wind. The solitude was interrupted only by the passage of an occasional airplane high in the sky or the distant whistle of the late 1800s engine on a scenic railway running between Keystone and Hill City. The engine whistle added a touch of local color; the airplane sound added nothing.
For serious mountain lovers and wilderness seekers, Samelias is not likely to be a compelling mountain to visit. Traveling along U.S. 16 against the backdrop of more prominent peaks to the south, Samelias is undistinguished. It unexpectedly comes into view and then just as quickly disappears without visible prominence. Travelers would have no reason to single out Samelias from the surrounding mountains, but for me the compact area was swathed in charms. Its three distinct peaks presented me with the visual spectacle of pleasing rock formations adorned with a cloak of ancient pines. The covering of old growth ponderosa pines separated Samelias's forests from the bland re-growth growth that characterizes so much of the surrounding Black Hill National Forest. Near its base, Samelias sported thickets of gnarly bur oaks. I didn't know their ages, but am sure they are have endured the winters of at least a couple of centuries.
In the saddles between the three peaks, one could walk through entrancing little glades, grassy meadows with a sparse scattering of pine. One could peer outward to take in distant vistas of Elkhorn Mountain and Harney Peak. Crystalline minerals were available for rock hunters including small staurolite crystals in metamorphosed outcroppings that brought back memories of my rock hunting days in the northern Georgia Appalachians. Permeating the area was the solitude of the Hills and a sense of timelessness. This was the right combination to induce in me a spiritual awakening. I became tethered to those venerable Hills. In my thoughts, I knew I would never stray far from the Black Hills no matter how far my physical body might wander. The Hills would call to me, beckoning me to return to their embracing bosom.
If my descriptions of Samelias suggest a spot of peace and tranquility, a place to meditate and commune, that wasn't always the case. One summer's day, I had climbed to the summit of Samelias. When I started, the weather seemed fine, but by the time I reached the top, clouds were boiling and the atmosphere had a strange appearance, mainly lighting which exhibited an odd color. It was time to move down, but no sooner than the thought crossed my mind, I began to be pelted by hail and the winds gusted. I sought refuge, such as it was, under a low ponderosa pine, and covered my head with a light jacket and my arms. The hail came down fast and furious and the wind gusted, but the system then seemed to be moving to the east. I made it down, not much worse for the wear, sloshing through 4 to 6 inches of hail in places. It was a new experience for me.
Later after I returned to the base, I learned that the largest tornado to ever hit the Black Hills had spawned in the region near Sheridan Lake and moved eastward, sheering off and snapping the areas largest ponderosas as though they were matchsticks. The swath of destruction was mind-boggling and I could only wonder. I had been caught in the formation stages of that most destructive of Black Hills tornados. It was a sobering thought. The Hills were weather breeders. Summer temperatures can be surprisingly high and winters frigid. Nearby Hill City has recorded summertime temperatures to 99 degrees Fahrenheit and -40 degrees in the winter. The highest temperatures recorded in the summer tend to be in the low 90s and coldest winter temperatures around -30. The all time highs and lows tend to be a little over 100 and a little below -40.
Most of my time in the Joe Dollar Gulch area was spent in solitude or with a single companion, but on rare occasion, I shared the spot with a group. I recall a weekend hike to the top of Samelias and one of its sister peaks that I led for some of my fellow airmen. At the time, I served as a kind of unofficial Black Hills guide for the base and I concentrated in the traditionally scenic area now preserved as the Black Elk Wilderness Area. It was atop Harney Peak that Black Elk had his now famous vision. I should explain that most base personnel were familiar with the ski area on Terry Peak, Mount Rushmore, the Needles Highway, Custer State Park, a few highly advertised caverns, but little else. The vast majority of the Black Hills region was as unknown to base personnel as was the dark side of the moon. I was acknowledged by the Ellsworth recreational office as someone who knew a lot of backcountry sites appropriate for a long day's hike.
On this particular occasion, a captain recently stationed at Ellsworth accompanied us. He was a veteran of the Korean conflict who had been an enlisted man at the time in the Army. Samelias reminded him of some of the mountainous terrain in Korea. While we sat on the rocky summit, the captain related a combat experience his unit had with the North Koreans on a mountain peak similar in size to Samelias. As I listened intently to his experiences, thoughts rushed through my head. I particularly thought about the many faces of war, past and present, and how wars have shaped so much of human history. Sitting in front of me was a man whose war experiences had shaped his worldview. After Korea, Ralph chose to remain a professional soldier, but got a college degree, switched services, and became an officer. As I listened to him, I felt humbled by the breadth of his experiences and his perseverance. He was African-American, only the second black officer on the base at the time.
Yet he clearly valued my skills. His mountain experiences in Korea made him cognizant of my terrain recognizing skills. I knew the elevations of every surrounding peak. Point to a peak and I could relate its elevation, distance from us, and the best way to reach its summit. I knew the kinds of trees and shrubs that grew around us, the wildlife, what to expect in terms of weather phenomena, and some of the cultural history. As a fellow officer, my status was elevated over what it would be had I been thought of simply as a nature enthusiast.
I met up briefly with the once captain who had been promoted to major several years later in Southeast Asia. We instantly recognized each other and after a short chat about our current status, we got to the important topic. I think we both knew what that topic was from the first moment we recognized each other. We contentedly began reminiscing about our trek years prior to when we climbed to the top of Samelias Mountain. The Samelias outing, on which my friend had shared his Korean experience, had created a bond between us and I feel the connection to this day. I find myself wondering how my friend is, or even if he is still living. It seems strange, certainly difficult to explain, but military bonds even, if brief, can be enduring. On our brief reunion, it occurred to me that Vietnam was my friend's second war. I thought to myself that he had earned the gratitude of all Americans, but Vietnam was divisive, a testament to how often history is shaped by the egos of fooli
sh men. Although, I didn't think of Vietnam as a mistake at the time, I eventually came to understand the foolishness of the conflict, the needless destruction it caused, and most significantly, the tragic loss of life that it wrought.
After years of absence from the Black Hills in the early 1980s (1982 I think), I returned to the Black Hills and Joe Dollar Gulch with Jani and our two children. While Jani waited patiently at the base, her arthritic joints no longer allowing her to climb, I took the children on a scramble onto the side of Samelias. I wanted to acquaint them with one of their father's spiritual haunts. I think they sensed Samelias's power, at least that was my impression at the time. A third of way to the summit, I remember muttering something half-coherent to them as the mist wafted in obscuring our path and casting an eerie spell around us. It seemed otherworldly. I told them that they were in Samelias's world. I was motivated by a line from the original motion picture "Journey to the Center of the Earth". The passage seemed appropriate at the time although the children didn't have the faintest idea of what I meant, just that they were under the influence of the power of the mountain.

In retrospect, my most memorable times in Joe Dollar Gulch were initially my solo trips there when I would throw a tarp on the ground and sleep in contentment in a world far removed from the pressures of my job at Ellsworth AFB. B-52's, Minuteman missiles, military protocol, and the constant awareness of mission faded into another world, an alternate reality. My solo trips were later replaced with joint outings with my wife Jani who sensed the spiritual power of the place as deeply as I did. However, Jani was less enamored of rock scrambling, and accompanied me to the summit of Samelias only once. She was a lover of wildflowers and took great pains to catalog all the species that grew in the area. Joe Dollar was not the place that we went to see exquisite displays of wildflowers, but Jani was appreciative of what she found and always maintained her sharp Indian eye for the first bloom of a favored species. Whether the petals were large or small, whether the coloring wa
s gaudy or subtle, she prized them equally.
The next trip back to the Black Hills and Samelias's world had to wait almost 20 years. Jani and I returned to Joe Dollar in the summer of 2000 along with our dear friend John Knuerr who filmed me speaking about the significance of the Hills to Native Americans. With Harney Peak looming in the distance, the scent of ponderosa all around, and the ever present mystique of an ancient landscape that held memories of not decades or centuries, but untold millennia. The brief stay of humans had scared the surface, but not diminished the spirit of this ancient land.
My last trip to Joe Dollar was two years ago with my second wife Monica. Naturally, I wanted to share Joe Dollar and Samelias with her, recount my experiences in the Black Hills, and relive my years in the Air Force, but on this trip we had another mission to accomplish - a solemn one. I had taken with me some of Jani's ashes that had been specially prepared by her adopted Cherokee daughter. In a ceremony performed on the side of Samelias's lower and more accessible sister peak, a place that had seen Jani's footsteps, we held a ceremony honoring my dear first wife. The ceremony began with the traditional smudge with sage and traditional offerings of tobacco. We then called on the spirits of the mountain, of the once powerful Lakota and spirits of other Native American Nations who hold the Hills sacred to join with us in honoring Jani, the sacredness of the Black Hills, and Mother Earth. With the ever-present profile of Harney Peak in the distance and Samelias standing v
igilant watch over us, the experience was powerful and moving. I knew that Jani wanted her connection to her beloved Black Hills renewed in the place where she and I had spent so many wonderful days together.
Soon after we concluded the ceremony, a powerful, cleansing storm rolled in. While we were in ceremony, the storm held off. The spirits were in control and we felt they approved of what was taking place. They had held back the life-giving waters until the ceremony had been completed, and Monica and I were well on our way back to our car. Then, as if to punctuate their patient restraint, but emphasize their power, they brought wind and rain. We were hit by a deluge that was spectacular. We would have been more appreciative had we been better prepared. Our rain gear was minimal.
Once back at the car, I cast a final, reflective glance at Samelias and my little parcel of paradise. We then drove north, heading to the northern Black Hills and toward the Bear Lodge Mountains beyond -an extension of the Black Hills. We had a rendezvous with Bear Lodge and dared not keep the great bear waiting.
As Monica and I left the long line of black hills, their dark profiles receded into the distance and the prevailing amber hue of prairie grasses dominated the earth tones. Scanning the surrounding countryside as I drove, my eye beheld an expansive sky and sea of grass. The venerable Black Hills regressed into the domain of memory and imagination. With their enigmatic mix of sharp spires and gentle slopes, I wondered if I would see the Black Hills again. Would my memories of special spots like Joe Dollar Gulch fade and become part of an obscure river of past human thoughts, a kind of crucible that feeds the minds of the physically present. Then I thought of Bear Lodge and the brief sadness melted away. My connection to the Hills was secure, eternal. Then the distant form of the giant bear appeared over a hill. It was drawing us to it as it had drawn me on occasions before.

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