Hi again and here’s another place we’d definitely go back to!                 

                        Our Amazing Close Encounter with Devil’s Tower

            Ruthie and I had been eager to visit Devil’s Tower ever since seeing it in Steven Spielberg’s “Close Encounters of the Third Kind”. We passed through Hulett, Wyoming and suddenly there it was-a colossal rock formation looming over the horizon.   

            I yelled, “Wow! It’s just like in the movie!”      

            Already snapping photos, Ruthie said, “This is way better, dear!”

                                            If ever a travel sight rated a “Wow!” it’s this one!

            The park’s main lot was nearly filled with cars with more pulling in behind us. Trying to beat the crowd, we grabbed our day packs and hurried to the paved walkway that ran for over a mile around the tower. Like everyone else when starting off, we kept gaping up at this natural skyscraper. Our park leaflet said it was created from molten magma ages ago, the material cooling into enormous five-sided columns rock sweeping up 867 feet to the top. Plains Indians had revered the Tower since ancient times and, equally awed, President Teddy Roosevelt declared it our first national park in 1906. As we walked the piney essence of ponderosas all around filled the air.

            Ruthie inhaled deeply. “What a wonderful fragrance!”

            I said, “They say these ponderosas smell like vanilla. I’m going to take a whiff.” Going over to one, I pressed my nose to the bark. “It’s vanilla, all right! Try it!”

             A young couple with climbing gear stopped to ask Ruthie what I was doing. Rolling her eyes with that I can’t take him anywhere look, she laughed, “Don’t pay him any attention. He likes smelling trees.”

             Laughing back, the young woman said, “We’re picnicking on top of the tower. We’ll wave if we see you from up there. Bye!”

             We saw tiny figures climbing their ropes up the sheer rock faces and a few climbers were coming back down. We held our breaths as one, belayed with ropes anchored from above by two others, kicked off to rappel out and down in long freefall leaps. The park pamphlet rightfully claimed this place was a Mecca for mountaineers.

            Following a steady upgrade, we were a mile above sea level and the sweep of blue sky over the open land below was endless. We reached an overlook where park ranger, Doleen, was leading a tour group.

            A woman watching people scaling the tower remarked, “There sure are lots of climbers here.”

            Doleen nodded, “They’re from all over the world and of all ages. The oldest to reach the top was 83. The youngest, if you’re ready for this, was 6!”

            Much-much younger (68) than that older person, I muttered to Ruthie. “I bet we could do it.”

                                    You can barely see three climbers in the center. Hmm-on second thought…..

           

            She ignored me as, meantime, Doleen pointed toward one of the columns. “For those with binoculars, try spotting the old ladder up there!”

             Ruthie found it first. “I see it! Are those people actually using it?”

            Doleen shook her head. “I hope not. It’s a wooden stake ladder built by two local ranchers back in 1893. Their wives used it to be the first women to reach the summit.”

            My wife gets nervous on our eight foot extension. Still peering through the binoculars, she shook her head. “I shudder to think of them pulling themselves hundreds of feet straight up on that thing!”         

             We were halfway around the trail when a white tail doe came out of the trees right in front of us…and stopped. We Wisconsinites see lots of deer, but they shy off if they see us. This one just looked at us and began nibbling the grass. Used to seeing so many people here, she was so tame we almost had to shove her out of our way.

            The trail began angling down toward our starting point. Now near noon it had heated up to where we were sweaty. We couldn’t resist taking still another break to take it in, the Tower's soaring majesty. The Photo Queen wanted to show it off (plus, herself) to family and friends, so I finally got to use the camera. 

                                     The Queen-modeling a postcard at the best place imaginable!

            

            It felt good to walk downhill for a change. By the time we’d circled back to the visitor center there’d been so much to see that we’d been two hours on a trail we’d have normally covered in half the time. While munching our remaining trail snacks at the pavilion, an elderly woman seated nearby was being tended to by younger people.

            One asked, “Will you be okay, Grandma? We’ll be on the trail for awhile.”

            Perky and alert, she smiled engagingly at us and shooed them off. “I’m fine! I’ll just have fun talking to these folks.”

            Introducing herself as Lee Ann, she told us she’d lived in these parts all her life. “My family knows I’ve always loved coming to Devil’s Tower. They brought me here today to celebrate my 80^th birthday.” Since it had played such an enjoyable part in her life, we asked her to relate her favorite stories about it.

            “I was still a little girl and right here when one of the most exciting ones happened! You see, this daredevil parachuted from the wing of a plane and landed on top of the Tower. But then he couldn’t climb down! The rescue teams took forever to lower the poor guy down. It made national news.”

            This and her other true life tales provided a delightful wrap-up to a most enjoyable hiking adventure. As we drove away, I said, “Sweetie, we could come back sometime and climb this thing! With practice and a good guide, how hard could it be?”

            Studying our road map, she didn’t bother to look up. “Only in your dreams, dear-quit looking back at it and keep your eyes on the road, OK?”    

            Switching to “This and That”, here’s a piece the Wisconsin Rapids Tribune published a year ago-about where I’m at with our winter frolics around here.                             

                                                            Febrrr-uary

             Peering out our window, Ruthie grinned, “It snowed again-how great!”

            No winter lover, I muttered, “Yeah, for polar bears and penguins!”

            She ran to call her pals Sharon and Gail to go cross-country skiing. I wasn’t invited, she knowing full well what I was seeing, or imagining anyway-that the frozen landscape was a sunny beach with the surf rolling in. She’d heard me whine often enough-“If I were Governor, I’d veto February!”-(…but I’d keep Valentine’s Day). Whereas, the Snow Queen even decorated our road post with a penguin.

          

                                                      The Queen and her posted pal

            I’d hoped this winter would be short, but no our road was still a skating rink. Last week I’d slid into a drift when pulling in from Hwy 13 and by the time our snow plow lady, two of her helpers, and Ruthie helped pull me out, my downhill slide with Wisconsin winters went even faster.

            This week she charged upstairs yelling, “Dear, there’s water dripping from the den ceiling!”

            “No way, sweetie-it’s a jillion-below outside!”

            Turned out there was an ice dam along the gutter. Interior heat under the shingles had melted the snow, causing droplets to leak through our ceiling. I hammered the ice but it was like concrete. An hour later I was back from the hardware store with a hundred feet of heating cables. After slipping and sliding around on our snowy roof, we had them spread out and lapped over the gutter. The leaking stopped, although the melting formed huge icicles reaching to the ground. My Snow Queen gushed, “They look so lovely!”

            I was the one who found water merrily spreading out on the floor from under our basement sink. The condensation overflow tube from our furnace feeds into it and drains out through the foundation wall. It was sub zero and the outlet pipe had frozen solid. Trying to thaw it out there with a heat gun didn’t work and also turned me into a Popsicle. Soon back from the hardware place, I removed my gloves and fumbled with freezing fingers to wrap the heating coil around the pipe…and it worked. Except, by then I was one of those ice statues those weird people in Minnesota admire so much. (Ruthie does, too).        

            Next, the spring for our garage door-opener broke. Royce, our gem of a repair guy, told us, “When it’s very, very cold the garage door can freeze to the floor, the steel spring gets brittle, and when you punch your opener, …Bang!..., the spring breaks.”
            The last straw was yesterday when I was handed yet another cold weather bulletin by my Snow Queen and this time even she sounded fed-up. “Our downstairs shower drain is frozen!” We’d forgotten to pour plumbing anti-freeze into the drain after showering. We fed in boiling water, drew it out when cooled, and poured in more, over and over until the drain freed. I went to the hardware store and bought extra gallons of anti-freeze.

            This last episode finally convinced both of us that even though we’d be missed around here (especially by our hardware store) it’s time to visit our friends in Tucson. So, as we abandon this winter wonderland to you hardier folks, we want to leave some words of encouragement, and especially to my fellow February-haters. Cheer up! Valentine’s Day is just around the corner!