Before sunrise I was up with camera and tripod in hand. Again the internal battle welled up inside me. Am I of this place? Or am I of the camera and its lens? I hate this battle. It has been twisting my presence during this entire journey. Who am I? What do I want to take away from this place of senses? Can I have both? Will one suffer over the other? Questions that I didn’t want to deal with as I looked upon this unusual place of beauty.
Maybe I could take a clue from the First People at their Pow Wows. “There are to be no photographing or audio equipment during the Grand Entry. This is a sacred time.”
So I found a location of a pleasing sight and setup my camera and then stood with eyes fixed on the morning ceremony called sunrise.
The spinning earth caused the first rays of light to fall on the top of this monolith 1267 feet above my old friend the Belle Fourche River. As the light moved down the face my reverence changed to that of photographer.
I left the flatland around the base and drove up to the rock field and the trail system. I wanted to experience this place before people arrived, but as I pulled into the parking lot three climbers left their cars with ropes and climbing hardware surrounding their hips like an iron miniskirt. I slowly read the information boards and was impressed with the presentation of the connection of the First People to this mass of igneous rock column. Many tribes have the beacon of rock as a sacred place and the root of many oral stories of its creation. Climbers are asked not to climb the tower in their ceremonial month of June. There are signs asking people not to disturb the prayer cloths or bundles affixed to the trees. And there were many.
I wandered the path along the base constantly looking up the face. I understood why people of all cultures were drawn to this isolated place in the high plains.
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