Honeymoon Road Trip Part 6: Devil's Tower

Amidst the green, undulating grasslands of northeastern Wyoming rises an incongruous monolith of nature. Geologists are unsure of its formation, though one of the more-popular theories suggests that it is the hard, cooled core of an ancient volcano. Devil's Tower is America's first National Monument, as proclaimed by Teddy Roosevelt in 1906. Another way of looking at it is as America's first annexing of sacred, Native Indian lands for the purpose of camping and a Steven Spielberg movie. Indians referred to the mountain by many names such as Bear's House, Bear's Lodge, etc. but 'we' decided to call it Devil's Tower... so there. Check out Wikipedia's article for more info. In recent years, the federal government has been allowing Native Americans to perform their summer rituals along the base. When we visited, signs were posted begging the tourists to leave the Native Americans alone and refrain from rock climbing the sacred mountain during June, though the Parks department wouldn't go so far as to prohibiting anyone from doing so.

The park that envelops Devil's Tower National Monument is wonderfully-designed. It has easy-to-reach wildlife for kids in the form of prairie dogs, stunning views of the mountain that can be enjoyed at a distance for free, and, most importantly, the park provides a nice, short path for the waves of Evil tourists who unabashedly view Nature as a somewhat-boring theme park. A friend of mine provided the perfect name for them- "tourons".

Kat and I followed the snaking path up the hill to the monument's parking and visitor's center. Tour buses belched the contents of the homogeneous tourists who stretched and futzed with their digital cameras that cost more than my monthly, NYC rent. They shuffled along a short path that, despite it's short length, winded most of the herd. Still, the end of the path provided a suitably-stunning view where they could collect the Perfunctory Picture. The tourists retreated to the visitor center for T-shirts and postcards, followed by a pit stop at the john and a return to the Tupperware container on wheels.

Fortunately, there was a great path that wound all the way around the mountain and provided more than a few quiet moments where we could enjoy the sounds of the pine forest and watch the hawks as they leaped from cliff faces and lazily circled above. Along the path stood great columns of stone- great pieces of the mountain that had peeled off over the years. The mountain has a strange, mystical feeling about it as if it were built eons ago by giants or some Tolkien-like civilization. It had a commanding presence that demanded to be recognized. Devil's Tower is a terrible name for this mountain. Like the Badlands, this space instilled nothing short of reverence and awe within me. Word to the wise- don't let fur trappers or military officers name your national landmarks.