Days 11 & 12: Lakes, Rangers, and Bad Coffee

The professors told us days in advance that Sunday, the eleventh day of our journey, would be fully devoted to hiking. We got to the Phelps Lake trail around 9:30 or so, lunches packed and cameras loaded. I'd been waiting the whole trip for this hike, and it was so worth it. Again the good pictures are on the Nikon, but this is was the first leg of our day looked like: 

We walked right along the lake for about 4 miles, then sat down for lunch just before climbing into the canyon between two high risers. After 2 or 3 miles of that, we emerged out from a roof of pines and looked back over the land we'd just conquered. And the magnitude of the sight was like a slap in the face that seemed to remind me that the world is a beautiful place, despite all its depravity, and that I have so much more left to see and do in it. I'm always amazed at the thoughts and feelings that a simple overlook can inspire. What is it about this mixture of rock, snow, and water that is so appealing to us? Why are we attracted to it? I may never know. And as tired as I was after the climb, I wanted to keep going up. But we hit a wall of snow and couldn't safely cross it. So we took the break to have a nice snowball fight, then we sat again and marveled at the overlook. The two mountains that had been intimidating just 2 hours or so before were now beneath our feet, and it was like we could see the entire world. The lake was like a puddle, and its surrounding snow-capped mountains looked as far away and unreachable as a painting. 

I've been trying to decide during this trip if I prefer the view on top of the mountain looking down or the view from the bottom looking up... but it's impossible. The egotist in me wants to say the top is best because it's an empowering experience to look down on what feels like an entire new world. But looking up at the mountains from a canyon is a reminder of how small I am and how much potential the earth carries for discovery. It's like deciding if I prefer chocolate or peanut butter... They're both just too good to decide. And one without the other is useless.

Sadly, we had to make our way back down and onto the other side of the lake. By the time we could see the lake, everyone was already exhausted. It was probably about 3:30, and we still had 3.7 miles to go. But the trail beside the lake was obstructed by various debris slides, and it took us an hour of wandering and walking in circles around the marsh before we found the trail we were looking for. As we came upon the visitors center at which we began, I was tempted to fall to my knees and kiss the ground. But instead, I just collapsed on a bench beside the bathroom that was closed until May 31 and I waited with my fellow aching friends for the rest of the group. Finally, the day ended with an incredible stir fry. Compliments to chef Tyler and Kelly. 

The following day, we had a 10:00 date at another visitor center with Ann Matson, the Jenny Lake geologist. I walked into the log cabin at 9:45, expecting to see come across Mrs. Matson, but instead, the girls of our group got a nice little surprise while we waited. There was a ranger behind the desk who, let me tell you, might have been an angel sent from above. We oohed and we ahhed. But, alas, the fifteen minutes and bliss was short lived and harshly interrupted when Ann came out of her office and began teaching us about plate tectonics. But-- I'll give her this-- she had more energy than our whole group combined. And she was so excited about her job and had so much to teach us. 

She even had visual aids, thank The Lord. (As if all the surrounding mountains weren't enough aid for understanding how the earth works.) Before we left for our short hike with her, I found an incredibly nifty bandana at the gift shop. See, I had to at least pretend to shop in the store while I stared at the ranger. So I saw this map-turned-bandana and thought to myself, "maybe one day when I get lost in the Grand Tetons, I could pull out this nifty bandana and find someone to help me find my way. Since I can't really read a map. And if I'm lost, I probably won't know where I am on the map anyway. But, you know what, the map is cool. I want to wear it on my neck." 

Isn't it nice? That's the derpiest face I could think to make. (Derpy: adj. appearing to have no brain activity or intellect). 

The following hike was like a shorter, snowier version of the hike at Phelps lake. Upon its completion, we headed back to our campsite, ate grilled cheese and tomato soup, and started a fire. The professors decided to head back to Jackson around 9:00 to get some needed groceries, and Kathryn, Melissa, and I decided to join them in hopes of finding a coffee shop to read. Little did we know that nothing in Jackson stays open past about 7 unless it's a bar. We tried to find some locals to ask, but they all told us that no coffee-serving venue would be open aside from the Loaf-n-Jog gas station down the road. We walked there, grabbed a very subpar cup of coffee, and sat on a bench near a parking lot to read our books. It was very sketchy. But it was worth it, because I made some great progress in The Master and Margarita by Mikhael Bulgakov, a novel recommended to me by one of my favorite professors. Any day that I have some time alone to read is a good day. Day 12, then, was a success. 

Days 10: Climb After Climb

On the morning of the tenth day, God created asthma. Tim and I started our hike at 7, packed down with our coffee cups and cameras and clothed in our warmest layers. The first mile or so was completely flat sagebrush land, sprinkled with bison poop and animal carcasses. We eventually ditched our mugs and thick layers as we approached the incline. That's when I discovered the disastrous concoction of thin air, cold weather, and weeks of little to no exercise. My asthma threatened to take hold, but I punched it in the face. In other words, I stopped every 25 yards or so up the very steep hill in order to get my lungs working properly. Tim thought it was funny, so he documented my struggle with his camera. After the uphill battle, I finally made it to the top only to discover that we only had 45 minutes left before our van left for the day. So we basked in our success only for a few minutes before heading back to camp. Turns out everyone was watching us through the binoculars and noticed my struggle and frequent stops. Not a proud day in my life, but in less than two weeks, I'll be back in civilization and finally get to whip myself back into shape. Or quickly be whipped by my coaches. 

While, yes, Tim and I were pretty proud of ourselves for our morning victory, we probably wouldn't have attempted the climb if we'd known what the rest of the day had in store. Dr. Garihan led the group to a historic landslide from the 1920's to discuss the mechanics behind mass wasting. Naturally, Elly and I sang Fleetwood Mac's "Landslide" several times during his lecture and the following escapades. Once he finished talking, the group decided to attempt a "short" hike near the landslide  site. 

After over an hour, we all reached the top-- one by one, at various intervals, covered in sweat, and panting so loudly that words simply refused to be spoken. But even if I was in shape and had the breath the talk, I wouldn't have been able to. The view from the top was too much for words, and everyone's reaction was exactly the same: "holy crap." (Crap, again, is a euphemism. Just for you, mom and dad.) Feeling extra adventurous and risky, I spotted a dead tree standing on the edge of the mountain and climbed it:

But it was worth the risk. Again, I hate posting pictures because they never do the moment justice, but I realize that words get boring. The best part about my view from the tree was that nothing obstructed my vision but the few branches I held on to. And at any moment (though very unlikely) the branch could have collapsed and I would have been in quite a pickle. So knowing that specific view was something that people rarely experience was pretty thrilling. 

As I stood there, I had this overwhelming feeling that I was out of place. Like I didn't belong there. There was so much beauty and purity all around me, and for some reason I thought I was contaminating it. But then I figured I'm just as natural as the mountains and trees around me. Especially because I hadn't showered for about 3 days at that point. Still I couldn't help imagining all the buzzing bees saying, "leave us alone" or the ants thinking, "what's this huge thing doing here?" I guess I just felt unworthy of the place. But then I forced myself to stop thinking so much. I just stood there and stared intently at every different angle around me. That moment when my mind finally rested and I was overcome by the magnamity of creation is one that I hope to remember for the rest of my life. I've had similar experiences with music, but something about the visual sense is more special. I knew I may never see that scene again. I can listen to a song all night long, but that view would only last as long as I stayed in that place. And pictures are crap. 

I wanted that time to last forever, but it inevitably came to an end. We slid back down the mountain and headed to the Grand Teton visitor center, a new building that looked like a woodland palace. It was here that I found the first gift for my dad (my favorite travel companion). Upon leaving we came across a huge pile of snow outside of the lobby. I was raised in Florida, so seeing snow is like seeing a ghost. What is this fluff? Do I run away? Do I play in it? Is it safe?! So I built a snowman. And it was the most pathetic thing you may ever see. 

Don't judge me, it's the first time I've ever made one on my own. And I was in a hurry because the storm was coming. We all hopped in the van and made our way toward Jackson, Wyoming. Nobody was expecting much from the city, considering the places we'd already come across, but it was surprisingly adorable. The professors graciously gave us a little over an hour to explore and shop around, and I searched high and low for a gift worthy of my lovely mother, but my endeavors were futile. (Don't worry, Mom, I got you a little something later. I still love you.) Then I think that my fellow classmates would agree with me when I say that we were praising the Lord when the storm got worse and the professors decided to just stay and have dinner in town. We went to Snake River Brewery, an apparently well-known place in Wyoming, and we feasted like Kings. The food was so good that it made Tim dance. 

We've been eating pretty well, thanks to the brilliant chefs among us, but nothing quite compared to this award winning bison chili. Mom, we've gotta find this recipe somewhere. 

Once we made it back to the site, no one had any energy for a fire, and it was sleep time for all of us. With a full belly and a tired, hiked-out body, I slept on the ground like it was a king mattress in the Ritz Carlton. Of all the beautiful things I'd seen during that day, the most welcome sight of all was the back of my eyelids. 

Days 8 & 9: Travel Bore

Two solid days of travel make for a pretty boring blog post. I apologize in advance to my readers, few though you may be. I'm sure you're expecting a riveting read. 

We packed up our things from the not so glamorous Deer Park camping site (not to be confused with the delicious Deer Park water) and headed to Riverton, Wyoming, the home of our long-awaited hotel. Though the Comfort Inn wasn't entirely glamorous, we hardly noticed. After getting a little laundry done, we entered our feather-stuffed slumber havens as zombies and awoke with the energy of caffeinated children. But even though the bed was a welcome change from the thin sleeping pad, I was happy to leave the hotel. Riverton, Wyoming, isn't the classiest of places, and I had the unfortunate displeasure of encountering two depraved individuals on the third floor while I sat outside of my room on the phone with my best friend from home. I won't go into much detail for fear of worrying those who are prone to overreacting. But I survived the incident untouched, and that's all that matters. It was a needed reminder that women shouldn't go anywhere alone in a strange place after about 10:00. Mommy always says nothing good happens after dark. 

So we said goodbye to Riverton and began our slow journey to the Tetons. The day was spent mostly in the van, which made frequent stops at the most riveting of geologic specimens. At each stop, my thoughts were pretty consistent: "This rock looks eerily similar to the last stop... Are we driving in circles?" "Ooh shiny!" "Whoever made up this geologic lingo clearly didn't believe in any word under 3 syllables. What a butthead." (Butthead is a euphemism I've chosen to use in place of my real thought. For the sake of the children.) To my professors, I'd like to add here that I was also very attentive to the lectures. Your knowledge never ceases to amaze me, especially because the majority of it is far too complexed for the likes of my artsy fartsy brain. But look. I drew some of the words... If that counts for anything. It was slim pickings because I only know how to spell a couple. 

Our learning adventure ended at the magnificent Gros Ventre campsite. Check this out (picture quality is horrific because, like a fool, I only took pictures on my mom's Nikon. So I took a picture of a picture on the iPad of someone much smarter than myself.) 

Once we settled in, my group (Tim and Melissa) cooked a delicious pesto pasta, without much help from me. Surprisingly, I'm learning just as much about cooking on this trip as I am about rocks. But which genre of knowledge will be more useful in my life? It's hard to tell... On the one hand, I could improve my love life with a solid cooking skill set: "Hey there, hunk. I casually cooked a lamb roast and truffle potatoes. And I happen to have some extra. Wanna come over?" But on the other hand, I could always impress the fellas with my rock expertise: "Instead of a diamond ring, you could buy me a cubic zirconia. Looks the same and it's cheaper. You're welcome." I'm clearly very smooth. 

But I digress. After dinner, Tim and I made plans for a morning hike up the hill about a mile away from the camp. The professors warned us that it was farther than it looked. But our ambition and curiosity trumped reason and we decided to disregard their warnings and do it anyway. 

Day 7: The Case of the Missing Wallet

I awoke this morning to the sound of Dr. Garihan's loud and somewhat grumpy morning voice saying, "Wake up! It's time for everyone to wake up." Then he walked closer to my tent, tapped the outside, and asked, "You guys awake in there? Gotta get up! Time to pack. We have 30 minutes." (This is Dr. Garihan, for those of you that need a mental image):

Naturally, I lied and said I was already awake and packing. My sleeping bag was oh so warm and unusually inviting. It always feels the most comfortable at the very moment that you have to get out of it. But I had no idea how much I really wanted to keep sleeping. I wasn't expecting what came next-- Prepare yourself for a very dramatic telling of a not so dramatic story. I have to work with what I got, guys. 

Because of the abrupt wake up call, I was already crabbier than usual. Then I tripped as I left the tent. Always a good sign. For the past three days, I was carrying my day bag around everywhere we went. My wallet wasn't in that bag, so I assumed that it was in one of my other ones, and I hadn't spent any money since the sleeping bag purchase at the Walmart in Rapid City, South Dakota. After I packed my sleeping bag and clothes, I went to look for my wallet in my bookbag. Not there. Oh man... I emptied my already packed bag onto a table and searched through everything. Not there. Oh boy... I climbed through the van on my hands and knees, looking in every crack and cranny with my headlamp. Not there. Ooh my... I called my mom. "Uhh... Hey mom." She asked if she could call me back because she was on the phone. "No. It's pretty important." She, of course, like the great mom she is, hung up her other phone call and, in a very concerned and motherly tone, asked me what was wrong. "I'm pretty sure my wallet is gone. Could you check to see if any purchases have been made with your credit card?" Instead of getting mad, she immediately (without lecture) checked and informed me that the last purchase was made at Walmart in Rapid City. Well at least that means it probably isn't stolen. Unless someone just took the cash out and left my poor wallet to die alone in the wilderness. My mom wished me luck and said to call her if I needed anything else. Of course, my biggest concern was that I need my ID to get on a plane back to Greenville. It was around this time when all hope was lost that I became even more pissy than I was when I woke up. I'd like to apologize to anyone who witnessed it. Everyone was very helpful and concerned, and Melissa gave me the number for the Walmart in Rapid City. I called and asked the woman on the phone if they'd found any wallets recently. She said yes and connected me to a different department. I had high hopes once they put me on hold. Perhaps not all is lost! Maybe I won't have to be stranded in South Dakota for the rest of my life! Another woman picked up the phone and asked me my name. She then put me on hold as she looked for it. I waited. I paced. I got antsy. I paced more. I tried to whistle, but soon decided I wasn't chipper enough for that nonsense. I was standing in front of a jury at trial, awaiting my sentence-- if found guilty, I'd be sentenced to 20 years in the barren, underpopulated land of South Dakota. And, alas, she was utterly insensitive of my pain when she informed me that I was, in fact, guilty. My wallet was not there. I'd resigned myself to a life with no commodities. A life with no money. And a life with no love or family; South Dakota's eligible bachelor pool is the size of a teaspoon. I continued to help with the group packing, having no hope that my wallet would resurface. Then I decided that I had one last option. I walked to the edge of camp and stared at the dumpster for a moment. I figured I'd regret not looking everywhere. I lifted the two cover flaps of the 5 by 3 foot dumpster and leaped inside. Kelly stood by to cheer me on. I rummaged through the numerous walmart bags full of trash, and after a few minutes, I determined that the only thing in this dumpster was broken hearts and crushed dreams. But then! I saw a corner of my beloved treasure. It was hiding beneath something (I don't even know what because I was so excited), and it was like seeing rain after 1,000 years in the dessert. Now I know how the Egyptians felt when they found the promise land. I know how Nala feels when Simba finally came back after a life of living with Timone and Pumba for his whole adolescent lion life. All because I found the wallet that had been missing for 3 days. The end. 

We spent the rest of the day in the car, walking along the edge of Devil's Tower, and touring a cole mine with the one and only Dave Olsen. The scene from Devil's Tower looking outward toward the open hills reminded me, for some reason, of a scene from Tess of the D'Urbervilles by Thomas Hardy-- a very beautiful, depressing, and altogether unenjoyable book. So of course, I loved it. Any of you who have read it may know why I think this view looks like it belongs in the book:

Finally, the everlasting day ended in a fireless campground on the side of a muddled and fairly disgusting stream. Regretfully, I don't have a picture of the forgettable campsite. Mainly because I would like to forget it as soon as possible. Tomorrow night will be spent in the comfort of an air conditioned, pillowed, fragrant, luxurious hotel. We will be the kings and queens of Riverton, Wyoming. It will be the last night we spend inside for the next two weeks. 

Oh, and happy one week anniversary, everybody! 

Day 6: Musical Magic

So the professors have this rule that we can't listen to our headphones because they don't want us being antisocial. They're encouraging friendship. But today I broke the rule, and it was magical. No offense to my campmates, but sometimes music trumps discussion. I dare one of you to listen to Glósóli by Sigur Rós while staring at mountains and not feel like you're witnessing a miracle. It's impossible. The all-encompassing mental peace harvested by such a beautiful song is the perfect compliment to the tangible magnificence and peace of these South Dakota Black Hills. You wouldn't think there's such thing as tangible peace, but I hope someday you'll experience what I mean-- to me, the mountains are peace; nothing compares to the feeling of standing thousands of feet above sea level after a long hike and looking over an entire universe beneath your feet. The miracle of mountains is that they're so clearly intimidating and humbling in their magnificent appearance, yet they inspire such a gentle and peaceful feeling. I feel huge and insignificantly tiny all at the same time. 

If you know anything about me, you'd know that I have a deep appreciation and love for music, and my selection on this trip consists mainly of instrumental. Below is the playlist that I've had on repeat throughout the journey. Music somehow has a way of bringing people together even if they're miles apart, living in different worlds, surrounded by different people. That's probably the hippiest thing I've said so far, but I think anyone who loves music would agree with me. I think if you listen to any of these songs, you'll have a better insight to my trip than anything I can provide through writing. Just close your eyes and let yourself appreciate all the sounds. Then try to imagine climbing the twists of the snake-like mountain road in a van full of college kids that haven't showered for three or four days. It sounds miserable, but it's actually quite lovely. (To my dad: I expect you to listen to these! And I want to hear your feedback. Because you always make me listen to your music suggestions, so now it goes both ways! Try to keep an open mind... Sigur Rós is an Icelandic band, and it's quite different from your Allman Brothers and Grateful Dead.)

Hoppippolla - Sigur Rós

Starálfur - Sigur Rós

Glósóli - Sigur Rós

Saeglopur - Sigur Rós

Seasons I, II, and III - Mae

A Quiet (E)vening - Mae

Sleep Well - Mae

January White - Sleeping At Last

Snow - Sleeping At Last 

The Ash Is In Our Clothes - Sleeping At Last

Pacific - Sleeping At Last

Atlantic - Sleeping At Last

Learning Curve - Sleeping At Last

Window - The Album Leaf

Over the Pond - The Album Leaf 

Moonlight (Instrumental) - David Vandervelde

Buckets of Rain - Redbird

Redbird Waltz - Redbird

Under My Skin - Peter Bradley Adams

Song for Viola - Peter Bradley Adams 

Now that I've rambled forever about mountains and music, I guess I'll talk about what we actually did today. There's not much to it. We woke up, went to the Homestake gold mine in Lead, South Dakota, toured it, learned about the geology of mining, then took a scenic highway back to our campsite around 5 o'clock or so. I only got a few pictures of the highway, but here's a little idea: 

Once back at the campsite (for our last night here... So sad), we each took advantage of our last opportunity to shower. I finally got to talk to my parents for a little bit and realized that I miss them more than usual. I'm old enough now to go weeks without seeing them and still feel okay. But, I just know that they would love it out here, and I wish they were with me. My dad especially has a curious spirit like me, and we both love exploring new places. He'd be in heaven out here. I keep thinking about the week we spent in Montana together. We went on a 5 day pack trip with a bunch of horses and strangers in the wilderness, then we toured a few college campuses in the area. I'd love to do it again someday. 

After showering, we enjoyed our last night in the luxurious campsite together around the fire, laughing, singing, and telling our stories. I think the nights we spend staying up late by the fire will be my most cherished memories of the trip, and I hope the friendships we're developing here will last past just these three short (but seemingly infinite) weeks. As I sat around the fire, hearing everyone talk about their lives and watching them all goof off together, I relished in the moment. I know that a night like that is one of a kind, and I may only get to enjoy a few like it in my entire life-- we're just a bunch of kids with the whole world I'm front of us, taking time out of our hectic, evolving lives to sit by a campfire to share a few hours of our precious youth together. We could be anywhere, but we chose to be here, and I knew that in that moment, there was nowhere else I'd rather be. 

Day 5: Cavedreaming

Because I spent half the post yesterday raving about our tour guide, I'd like to say that I won't do the same today. But Rod, our passionate guide through Wind Cave, deserves at least a paragraph. 

There he is, in all his scientific glory-- a long-winded fellow, full of terminology that confounds me and a love for the caves that inspires me. But I must say, sometimes he stopped too often and spoke far too long. We were at Wind Cave National Park from 10:00-5:30. I'm thinking the whole time, "Ok, Rod, dude, caves are cool, but I'm about to lose it down here." He kept telling stories of Alvin McDonald, the 16 year old founder of the cave who mapped about 9 miles of it. I think in a past life, Ron must have been Alvin's publicist. He was all about some Alvin McDonald. For me, the long, detailed stories about Alvin were a welcome break from the scientific drone about surveying and pegmatites and Paleo entrances and box work. The parts I could understand were all very interesting, but I'd say 40% of it went right in one ear and out the other. Once I heard 3 or 4 words over 12 letters long, I drifted away into daydream land. And I soon discovered that caves are quite a nice birthplace for imagination. 

I became a microscopic person walking around in a porous rock with an infinite number of holes and passages, like in Honey I Shrunk the Kids. Then I thought of Dante's Inferno and wondered if maybe this cave was a passageway into the first circle of hell. Rod became Virgil, leading us through the nightmares and punishments of the cave. He kept talking about the different levels, and all I could think of was how they sounded a lot like the circles of hell. Luckily, tours only go down so far. Once I decided I didn't want to live through the Inferno, I thought of a happier literary plot-- Peter Pan. We became the Lost Boys, and Rod, with his baby face and innocent demeanor, became Peter Pan, on the run from Captain Hook. Because the professors were always far behind the rest of the group during our trek, I couldn't help but think of Dr. Garihan as Mr. Smee, Captain Hook's trusted right hand man, chasing us through the twists and turns of the cave maze. That was, without a doubt, my favorite daydream. My mind simply doesn't work scientifically, so I have no choice but to resort to a fantasy world after 3 hours of being underground. 

Once we finally left Wind Cave, the professors decided to squeeze in one last educational opportunity-- the Mammoth Site. By this time, my mind was fried. I zombied my way through the 2 hour tour (zombied: past tense of the fabricated infinitive "to zombie," meaning to be braindead for a finite amount of time. Synonyms: blackout, sleepwalk). So I don't have much to say about it, because I'm pretty sure my brain activity during that time was moving at the same speed as these Rocky Mountain boulders. All I know is that some people excavated some mammoth bones, and I guess it was pretty cool. 

We finally piled into the van to get back to the campsite before dark, but once we started winding our way through the twists and turns of the mountain highway, we fell upon one of the most magnificent things I've ever seen. Our whole day prior to this moment was either inside or underground, and I'd almost forgotten what the sun looked like. But it was gracious enough to give us a reminder of its beauty just before it fell asleep for the night. I only wish that my pictures could give it justice, because this was the most heartbreaking and breathtaking sunset I may ever see in my short life: 

I'm praying that someone got a better rendition than what I could capture with my mangy iPad, but hopefully you get the idea. 

I was too busy trying to enjoy the fleeting seconds of the sunset to take many pictures. I knew that nothing I could do would give it justice, and the best way to appreciate the little sneak peek of heaven was just to stare in silence, put aside all electronics, and be present. Now I can rest in knowing that the trip was worth it. If nothing else, just that one moment was enough to make me happy I came. 

Day 4: Alvis Dumbledore

Meet Dr. Alvis, today's tour guide:

He is a geology god. Our fearless leader through the winding canyon of the Black Hills. Though the majority of his wisdom went right over my head, his impressive physical prowess was not lost on me. I'm ashamed to say that he is most likely in better shape than the rest of us. Now I understand why we were all yanked out of our sleeping bags at the crack of dawn to go meet this Sultan of the Soil... Jester of Geology...  Head Honcho of the Hills... Oh alliteration! Some would even dare to compare him to the Albus Dumbledore of Harry Potter. As Albus is to witchcraft, Alvis is to rocks. Ok, you get it. I've had enough fun with my words. 

As I said, we woke up with the sun, ate a pretty wimpy breakfast, and headed to the South Dakota School of Mines and Technology (reminiscent of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry-- equally prestigious but far less popular.) We sat through a pretty lengthy and detailed PowerPoint presentation by Alvis then headed into the hills for a field study of a "monocline." In case you're wondering what that is, then take heart in the knowledge that I'm equally as clueless as you. I can regurgitate the technical terms, but I don't think I could define them all. Baby steps, people. I'm working on it. 

After the 4 mile hike through the canyon, we headed to Safeway, South Dakota's version of a Publix or Bi-Lo (if you're from the south.) I've always heard you shouldn't shop for groceries when you're hungry, and now it's all coming together. We were split up into three groups: breakfast, lunch, and dinner. The lunch group (me, Tim, and Melissa) went hard in the paint. We might have enough lunch food to survive the zombie apocalypse. But it won't matter for me because there is no doubt in my mind that I'd be the first to go if that ever happened. I'd probably die almost instantaneously-- first a hyperventilation, then an asthma attack, then a sudden burst of courage in which I'd think I could kill a zombie, then death. But that's so far from the point. 

After the Safeway stop, which also included a little gift from God called Starbucks, we quickly made our way to Mount Rushmore for a little photo shoot before the storm clouds released their wrath. 

By the time we made our way back to camp, we were ready for a little R&R. Now for the best part of the day 4... The shower. I'm learning now that I'm quite spoiled. No, my hair is not wet in the photo above. I had not yet showered. That's grease. Dang, I'm so hot. Maybe even a perfect 10. But after the shower, I was a new creation. A clean slate, if you will. It was a beautiful experience. Warm water. Clean hair. No grease. It's the little things in life, man. Kelly's exact words were, "I feel like a pretty princess now!" 

Look at us go:

I was so elated after bathing that I hardly remember the rest. I recall experimenting with a vegan burger (which was amazing, in case you're curious), sitting by the fire for about an hour, then passing out in my double sleeping bag cacoon. Another day survived. Score.