Just how strong is the pull of family?
We tested that this year with a proposal for two family hikes in the Black Hills. The first, a 5k jaunt to participate in the Crazy Horse Monument volksmarch. The second, a 7.5 mile hike to the top of Black Elk Peak, which at 7,242 feet, is billed as the highest point between the Rocky Mountains and the Pyrenees.
There is a structure at the summit of Black Elk Peak with special meaning for our family. A fire tower, built by the Civilian Conservation Corps in 1939. One of the workers who built the tower was my father, Paul Burger. His job was to bring supplies, primarily cement, up to the summit for use in the construction.
Why that job? Paul was a nineteen year old farm boy, raised on a homestead claim on the harsh, treeless prairie of South Dakota. Perfect qualifications, the CCC decided, for someone to coax and prod a mule pulling a two wheel cart up and down the mountain several times each day. (Despite official accounts that horses were used, my father always referred to a mule. I’m positive he knew the difference.)
The 1930’s were a desperate time for the family and the nation. Paul joined the CCC soon after graduating high school to get money to help his mother survive the depression and drought that eventually cost them their homestead.
My grandfather, Joseph Burger, died when his son was just five years old. My father’s childhood was spent providing for the family by hunting and chopping wood gathered from distant locations to heat their home. He talked of traveling for miles on homemade skis in the winter with just one cartridge for his rifle to bring back a rabbit or other game so the family could eat.
My father’s stories of perseverance and resilience, along with his accounts of the sometimes dangerous experimental work he did for the Army Air Corps in World War Two have inspired me throughout my life. For our family, having such a prominent and popular monument as the Harney Fire Lookout as part of my father’s legacy is an important part of family history. Getting a picture of our kids and their families at the tower was the draw for all of us to train during the spring of 2024 to make the trek.
I should mention that the trails for both of the Crazy Horse and Black Elk peak hikes are steep, rocky for much of the distance and painfully short of oxygen for those of us who live around four hundred feet above sea level.
I should also mention that of the thirteen attempting the trek, one is under two years old, one suffered a broken ankle last fall, another is four months pregnant and a fourth is a year past her second hip replacement surgery.
I may as well add this spoiler alert, since you can count the people in the picture. We all made it to the summit. Slowly, to be sure, and with great effort. It took us eight hours up and back. No records were set on this trek.
Forecast bad weather forced us to move up the Harney Lookout hike a day, giving us only one day’s rest instead of the planned two days following the Crazy Horse volksmarch. Strike one for the idea that over a dozen people in various stages of rigor mortis after Crazy Horse would want to- or be able to- make the longer, much tougher, Black Elk Peak hike to get that perfect picture.
Despite the fact that several in the group were using their treasured vacation days to sweat with us on the trail instead of lounging by a pool somewhere, we all assembled at the stunningly beautiful Sylvan Lake trailhead at 7:30 a.m. Spirits were high.
We climbed the first incline too quickly and after less than a quarter mile had to stop to catch our breath- not a good start for a seven plus mile long hike. Proceeding more slowly in the coolness of the morning, our outlook improved as we hiked through groves of aspen and pine, alongside massive boulders to the sounds of bird songs and wildlife sightings. Topping the first ridge, we were treated to a magnificent view of the hills and plains to the east which continued for the rest of the trek. It was an idyllic experience.
Idyllic changed to torture for the last mile of the trek, as the day heated up and the trail became a granite nightmare. There was a price to be paid for family ties. Our daughter, the expectant mom, informed us that she needed to remain at the last rest stop before the summit. She urged the rest of the group to continue. She, her husband and toddler would try to follow.
Strike two for the chance of that perfect family picture. Still, we could embrace joy in the reason we would probably never get an image of the entire family at the summit of Black Elk Peak.
The rest of us scrambled up the loose rocks and boulders to gain the last couple hundred feet of altitude to reach the fire tower at the top. After climbing the steps to the top of the tower, we gathered on the lower viewing area and asked a man there with a group of Trail Life youth to take our picture.
The grandkids noticed first. Leaning over the rock wall of the viewing area, they pointed, exclaiming, “Mama and Papa are here! They made it!”
Sure enough, our daughter and son in law, carrying their youngest, were walking up the stone steps of the fire tower- steps held in place by concrete transported on the mule cart driven by a nineteen year old farm boy named Paul Burger.
Our daughter surprised us all. The extra rest had done the trick. She looked strong and was elated to be at the summit. We reassembled in the viewing area for another picture.
My wife and I are just on either side of entering our seventh decade. It is likely the 2024 hike to this significant spot in the family’s history will be our last. I feel blessed that I was able to see and touch the work of my father’s and many others’ hands one more time. Not to mention, we have pictures that will be passed down the generations (and hopefully inspire future treks) and are looking forward to the arrival of our sixth grandchild in December.
When our newest family member arrives later this year, does it still count to say that all of the family are in the picture?