NORTH DAKOTA: STATE HIGH POINT

September 14, 2019

Besides capitol buildings, another thing we like to visit in each state is the state high point. Bob has checked off more than I have, but I'm proud to say that among the state high points I've conquered are California's (Mt. Whitney, 14,505 feet) and Colorado's (Mt. Elbert, 14,440 feet).

North Dakota's high point (White Butte, 3506 feet) isn't quite in the same league as those other two, but it certainly beat Florida's high point (Britton Hill, 345 feet), which I've also "climbed." Believe it or not, in the rankings of state high points, North Dakota's comes in at #30.

The turn-off from the main highway was well marked . . .

 . . . but once we hit the side roads, there were no more signs to get us to where we needed to go.  Still, we were in better shape than this poor porcupine who looks like he got run over. (I wonder if he left some quills in the tire?)

Bob actually stopped and asked for directions twice (a miracle), and eventually we did find this sign (next to what can loosely be described as a parking lot) that told us that if we followed the path next to the fence for a mile, we would arrive at the trailhead.

So that's what we did. We didn't get started until late afternoon, and I recall being much more concerned about being able to make it up and back before dark than Bob was. 

Sure enough, we came to the trailhead, marked by this cheerful sign warning us that the trail is not maintained, is slippery when wet, and has rattlesnakes. We should travel at our own risk and pack out our trash. Okie dokie.

From the trailhead to the summit is 1.7 miles of sometimes rough, sometimes easy terrain, and the way is not clearly marked. If we had not run into another couple near the beginning of our hike who had gotten lost and told us how not to suffer the same fate, I'm afraid we would have put in a lot more miles (as had they). 

The scenery was rugged and lonely and quite magnificent.

This "final ascent" doesn't look as steep as it actually was, but in spite of our huffing and puffing, we made it to the top about 45 minutes after we left the trailhead.

The view from the summit is not quite the view we had from Mt. Whitney or Mt. Elbert, but it has its own wild beauty.

The summit has the obligatory U.S. Department of the Interior Geological Survey marker that lets hikers know they are in the right place.

There is also the obligatory register that those who summit are supposed to sign.

I'm not sure Bob bothered to sign his name, but I signed mine!

There were some interesting things in the box, including a pack of cigarettes for anyone who had forgotten to bring some.

We took the obligatory "We made it to the summit!" selfie.

We noticed someone else had also made it to the summit, but not alive. It was a bit distressing to see this grave and wonder what happened.  Had the interred died of a heart attack on the summit? Had he been attacked by wild animals? Was he the victim of foul play?

We learned later than it was none of these. Lawrence P. Buzalsky isn't even buried beneath this mound of rocks--it's just a memorial. He was the son of the people who used to own the land surrounding this ridge.  I wonder if he liked to spend time on this summit?

We spent a few more minutes enjoying the view and taking photos before heading back.

Pretty asters alongside the trail:

Here we are, back at the trailhead, but with still a mile to go to the parking lot. I was glad it was still pre-dusk.

Not too far from where we had left the car is a lonely, abandoned shack and a windmill. The scene reminds me of The Wizard of Oz, except it is in Oz technicolor rather than Kansas black and white.

It looks like the next big breath of wind might lead to the house's final demise.

I nervously scanned the road for Miss Gulch riding her bike, but she was nowhere to be seen.