BLACK ELK PEAK
THE BEGINNING
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Beeep. Beeep. Beeep....
My alarm went off at 2:45 a.m.
I needed to be on the road by 3:15 a.m. to get to the Black Elk Peak trailhead at Sylvan Lake.
But I couldn't get myself out of bed.
I was nervous. Anxious. Worried.
All these thoughts were running through my head.
Should I really do this?
What if I chicken out?
I had spent so much time preparing for this hike. I had researched the trail, planned what I would need, packed everything, and made sure I had emergency information in place.
And now, at 2:45 in the morning, I was seriously considering turning off the lamp and going back to bed.
But I knew if I didn't do it, I would regret it.
I'd kick myself for being a wimp.
Then I looked down at my wrist.
The bracelet.
The one I had purchased at the Crazy Horse visitor center the day before.
It read:
“Bravery. Wisdom. Generosity. Respect.”
Bravery.
That's what I needed.
And somehow, seeing that word on my wrist was enough to get me moving.
I finally got myself out of bed and started going through the checklist in my head.
Emergency kit.
Water.
Food.
Headlamp.
Cameras.
Extra batteries.
Satellite communicator.
Phone.
Hiking poles.
Everything I needed was packed and ready to go.
I was running a little late, so I needed to step it up.
But I also needed to drive slowly.
Wildlife likes to roam around out there, and the last thing I needed was to have my Black Elk Peak adventure end before I even reached the trailhead.
Sure enough, there was a deer standing in the middle of the road, staring me down.
Apparently, the wildlife had already been notified that I was coming.
I just hoped I wouldn't encounter any of them once I was actually out on the trail.
INTO THE DARK
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I arrived at the parking lot around 3:50 a.m.
There were a few other cars there, but nobody was inside them.
I took my time getting everything together, secretly hoping someone else would show up so I could ask if I could tag along.
Then I turned toward the trailhead.
Pitch black.
No light whatsoever.
All I could think was: “I'm afraid to close my eyes, I'm afraid to open them.”
Yep. Total Blair Witch moment.
The only light I could see was coming from the bathroom in the opposite direction.
I looked up at the sky.
The Moon and stars were shining above me, and for some reason, it felt like they were watching over me, telling me everything was going to be okay.
Okay.
I could do this.
I turned on my headlamp and checked to make sure water was actually coming through the bite valve on my hydration bladder.
Because apparently, that was something I needed to verify before walking into the darkness.
I was starting out on Trail #9.
I turned on my Garmin inReach Mini 3 Plus and started tracking so my husband could follow my route and make sure I was staying on the planned path. I also had the AllTrails app running on my phone so I had another way to keep track of where I was.
Garmin. AllTrails on Phone, power bank.
Redundancy was a necessity.
I checked in with my husband and sent a text letting him know I was about to start.
I was so nervous I felt like I was going to vomit.
And by now, you should know...
I was doing this completely alone.
In the dark.
This was a sunrise hike I had been planning for months.
I had to keep reminding myself that everything was going to be okay.
And if it became too overwhelming or I got too scared, I could always turn around.
Just one foot in front of the other.
So...
I was off.
It was 4:35 a.m.
The hike shouldn't take more than about two hours to reach the peak, but with roughly 1,100 feet of elevation gain—and coming from sea level—I had no idea how long it was actually going to take me.
All I knew was that I had started.
Now I just had to keep moving.
KEEPING MYSELF SANE
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Every once in a while, I would turn on the GoPro to record the trail or talk about what was going through my head.
Some of the words coming out of my mouth were pure nonsense.
But honestly, it kept me sane.
Want to hear it for yourself? I kept the footage. All of it. It's in the video at the end of this post.
Talking out loud about how I was feeling and going through the list of supplies I had with me made me feel just a little bit safer. It was almost like reminding myself, “Okay, you've got this. You're prepared.”
I had forgotten my earbuds.
I had actually read that listening to podcasts can help take your mind off the fear of being alone out in the woods.
But then I thought about it.
I didn't want to be so distracted that I couldn't hear what might be sneaking up behind me.
Nope.
I wanted to hear everything.
So instead, I turned on the music on my phone and started singing out loud.
Yep.
There I was.
Alone.
In the pitch-black woods.
Singing.
Apparently, my strategy for dealing with whatever might be lurking out there was to scare the hell out of it with my singing.
Whatever worked.
INTO THE WILDERNESS
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Evidently, about a mile into the hike, there was supposed to be a registration point where hikers could fill out information for the rangers and take another form with them on the trail.
I didn't see it.
Maybe I was so focused on what was happening around me that I completely missed it.
This was also the point where I crossed from Custer State Park into the Black Elk Wilderness.
And I can't tell you how many times I thought about turning around.
I was legitimately scared to death.
Every little sound made me wonder what was out there. I was alone, it was still completely dark, and I had no idea what I might encounter along the trail.
But I wanted to do this.
I wanted to know that I could push through the fear.
That I could take care of myself if I needed to.
And honestly, the adrenaline running through my body made me feel alive.
Terrified?
Absolutely.
But alive.
So I kept going.
One foot in front of the other.
KEEP MOVING
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As I continued along Trail #9, I found myself talking to the GoPro more and more.
I talked about the elevation.
I talked about what I had packed.
I talked about what I was doing.
Looking back, I think I was doing it to keep myself focused. If I kept talking, thinking about what I was doing, and reminding myself that I was prepared, I didn't have as much room in my head to freak myself out.
At one point, I even talked about the Crazy Horse Memorial and the Lakota woman who had performed the hoop dance the day before.
Somehow, those experiences were still with me.
I had been thinking a lot about fear and courage.
I felt like I needed to do this.
I needed to conquer the fear.
Because if I didn't feel the fear, I didn't feel alive.
And somewhere along the trail, I started realizing that maybe this hike wasn't really about reaching the top.
Maybe it was about finding out what I could do when I was scared.
THE LIGHT BEGINS
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As I got closer to the Castle, the trail became rockier.
Tree roots were sticking out of the ground, almost as if they were waiting to see if I would trip and fall.
I needed to pick up the pace a little. It was now blue hour, and the sky was beginning to lighten.
Then I started hearing the birds.
They were beginning to sing as the early morning light crept through the trees.
Ahhh.
Comfort.
For the first time since I started, I felt a little more at ease.
I had hoped to reach the Castle early enough to get my camera set up before sunrise, but my hesitation getting started had put me behind schedule.
Still, I kept moving.
And then I saw them.
The stone steps.
And above them, the Castle.
It really did look like a little stone castle sitting on top of the mountain, with its stone walls, narrow windows, and tower rising above the trees.
I was almost there.
I MADE IT
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There was already a man and his wife, along with two other men, up at the Castle.
I made it to the top, stopped, bent over, and suddenly became teary-eyed.
One of the men looked at me with a rather puzzled expression.
I looked at him and said,
“You won't understand. This was an accomplishment.”
And I left it at that.
I sat there for a moment, excited about what I had just accomplished.
For some, it may seem like nothing.
But for a woman in her 50s who had just hiked alone, in the dark, up to 7,242 feet...
Well.
It was a pretty damn big deal to me.
I had climbed roughly 1,100 feet, and it had taken me about an hour and 15 minutes.
ALONE.
IN THE DARK.
I had done it.
THE REWARD
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I didn't have to wait long before the sun finally rose above the horizon of clouds.
My much-deserved reward.
I just sat there and took it all in.
Luckily, it turned out to be a beautiful morning.
It wasn't cold, but I was sweating a bit from the hike, and the breeze was making me slightly chilly. I was glad I had my puffy jacket on.
I had my camera set up and was ready for the sunrise.
Sunrise over the Black Hills from the summit of Black Elk Peak. Worth every scary step!
Colorful prayer ties left at the summit. Black Elk Peak is a sacred place to the Lakota people.
And here I was, just taking photos… That flat-topped mountain is Mount Rushmore from behind!
And then, because apparently reaching the Castle wasn't enough, I decided to make one more climb.
Why not, right?
There were only about 20 more steps to the top of the tower itself.
My legs were already fatigued, but I went ahead.
Up the stairs.
Up the ladder.
And finally, to the top.
I stayed there for a few minutes, taking it all in before deciding it was time to start heading back down.
I still had a long way to go.
I would be taking Trail #4 back toward the parking lot, and I figured it would probably take me another two hours to get down.
And this time, it would be in daylight.
THE WAY BACK
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I slowly made my way down the stone steps. It was a slightly steep grade, so I took my time.
I looked at AllTrails to double-check that I was on Trail #4. Everything looked right, so I stopped at an open area to capture a few photos before continuing.
Trail #4 was definitely narrower than Trail #9.
And steeper.
As I made my way down, I came across a chipmunk happily nibbling on some breakfast. I stopped for a moment to watch him, then kept going, taking in the morning light peeking through the trees.
This trail was definitely less tree-covered than the other trail, which made for a completely different experience.
Then my right knee started getting sore.
That stupid knee.
It had happened once before when I hiked a trail on Mount Rainier, and I think it was the impact from going downhill that triggered it. Luckily, I had my hiking poles with me, and they helped take some of the pressure off.
I kept walking.
And walking.
And walking.
It seemed like forever.
I had to be getting somewhat close to the end.
Eventually, a man coming from the opposite direction stopped and asked, “Are you coming down from watching the sunrise?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Did you do that alone?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Wow. I have to give you a lot of credit to do that yourself.”
I told him I had been pretty scared, but it was well worth it in the end.
“You must have gotten some good shots.”
“I hope so, but I won't know until I see them on my computer.”
We wished each other a good day, and I continued down the trail.
I finally reached the trailhead for Cathedral Spires.
I wanted to check it out so badly.
But then I looked at the trail.
I'd have to head down, which wouldn't have been too bad.
The problem was that eventually I'd have to climb back up.
And I didn't think my legs could take much more abuse.
So I stayed on the main trail.
And honestly, I was glad I hadn't done that trail the day before. I would have used up my legs before the big hike.
Then I saw something up ahead.
Are those cars?!
OMG.
I made it!
I started walking with a little more pep in my step.
A man mentioned there was a cave off to the right, not more than about 100 feet from the main trail. I wanted to check it out, but at the same time, my internal red-flag alarm was screaming, “Nah.”
Too creepy.
Even in daylight, I wasn't about to wander off by myself into a cave.
So I kept walking.
And then...
Sh*t.
Those cars weren't the main parking lot.
They were at the Little Devil's Tower trailhead parking lot.
Ugh.
I still had to keep walking.
I was running into more and more people now, which was actually kind of nice after spending the last several hours mostly alone.
Then I saw more parked cars.
Oh...
Can this be the end?
More cars.
Holy moly.
I made it.
I'm back.
I stopped for a moment and took a few deep breaths.
There were cars everywhere, with people waiting for parking spots. It was nearly 9:30 a.m.
I finally made it back to my car, grabbed my flip-flops, and freed my poor feet from five hours of containment.
I took my time taking off my pack and just sat there for a few minutes, taking in what I had accomplished.
I had actually done it.
About 10–15 minutes later, I decided to head back to the Sylvan Lake store.
The same store where, the day before, I had asked the woman at the register if she had ever hiked Black Elk Peak.
I wondered if she would remember me.
I found a parking spot along the side of the road and walked inside to grab a Gatorade. I knew I needed to replenish some fluids and electrolytes, and I definitely didn't want to end up with muscle cramps after everything I'd just put my legs through.
And then I saw her.
Oh good.
She was there.
I walked up and asked, “Do you remember me?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Well, I did the sunrise hike.”
She was so excited to hear that I had actually done it. It even made her consider doing the hike herself someday—but definitely not for sunrise.
She had told me the day before that she had seen so many people buy one of those Black Elk Peak T-shirts without ever actually climbing the mountain.
Then she told me I deserved to wear the one I had purchased the day before.
Because I actually did it.
We chatted for a few more minutes before saying our goodbyes.
And off I went.
With a big, bright smile on my face...
Just as bright as the sun shining down on me that morning.
WATCH THE HIKE
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The story only tells you half of it.
Come along for the hike, from the darkness of the trail to the sunrise at Black Elk Peak. You'll hear exactly what was going through my head: the nerves, the pep talks, the packing-list recitals… and the moment a bird nearly gave me a heart attack.
No editing out the scared parts. Just me, the dark, and a lot of talking to myself.
Grab a cup of coffee and press play. ☕
