It was shortly after the 4th of July holiday that I had begun a summer road trip. My aim was to see as many of our western National Parks as could be squeezed into a two month leave of absence from work.
My travel vehicle of choice would be a new Ford Transit. Having purchased a little silver one, these odd boxy vans looked quite a bit like your typical neighborhood postal delivery truck, but I imagined it to be more like my NASA silver bullet capsule for a solo journey deep into the American west!
From Wisconsin, my first "landing" was the moon-like landscape of Badlands National Park located in southwest South Dakota. After an incredible day of hiking through miles of the unusual sandstone formations, and with the sun setting over the big skies of the surrounding prairie, I had discovered a free camping area in the adjoining National Grasslands. Located at the far end of The Badlands main drive, and navigating a dusty gravel road to the somewhat remote camp area, I found myself being held-up by a large male bison that seemed most comfortable standing right in the middle of the road. Nearly as big as my little van and with horns far more impressive than the honk of the Transit, I granted the bull his time and space.
Once at the rough camp area, and while I had slept in the van the night before at a South Dakota wayside, on this night, I'd decided to pitch my small tent and crawled into my sleeping bag. At least a dozen or more colorful tents had dotted the central grass area with some horse trailers and corralled horses spending the night off to the side of the main loop. With an old-west mix of sage and horse in the cool evening air, I was feeling a bit like a real cowboy and soon slipped off into Dakota dreamland.
Sometime, in the early morning hours, I was suddenly awoken by the heavy thumping on the ground accompanied by some bizarre grunt-like sounds. Unzipping the tent door flap to investigate, it was as if my mind couldn't believe what I was seeing! A large black eye was looking directly back at me from only a few feet away! Surrounding the big black eye were tufts of dark brown hair and then the whole head and horns of another huge bull bison. His head passed by my tent door as his lumbering steps were punctuated by labored grunts as if complaining about the exertion required to move such a mammoth body. The trimmer size of his backend passed by me with his tail swathing back and forth nearly slapped me in the chops! No sooner had he passed when to my disbelief, I saw an entire herd of bison big and small making their way through the fragile nylon tents. Some of the bison were so close that I could hear them sucking and then expelling air from their saliva dripping black mouths and nostrils. It was incredible! This was the real American West that I had never dreamt could still exist- and here I was right in the middle of it -cowpies and all!
After the last of the herd had passed through the camp area, I hurried behind to see them all disappear over the hillside and then down into a deeper ravine. Spotting a park ranger perched on a horse coral fence, I made my way over to ask him if any of the tents had gotten trampled. Obviously well-experienced and cool-headed, this older ranger just smiled and rather passively said, "none far as I can see." I then asked him how often such an event had happened. "'Bout every morning," he replied taking a sip of steaming coffee from his beat-up Thermos. In disbelief I asked if the bison had ever trampled any tents or campers and he replied, "Not so far... They just winna git to the creek for their morning' water." He tossed away some undrunk coffee from the Thermos cup and then stepped down from his observation point on the fence. As we walked toward his park service pick-up, he further explained that after spending the night up in the "grassy stuff," the herd would seasonally pass through the camp area on their way to the water. As he talked it was crossing my mind how this guy could easily give Hollywood's Sam Elliott a run for his money!
Later that day, after hiking a few more trails in The Badlands, I moved on to explore the Black Hills of Custer State Park. Wildlife was abundant as I drove leisurely through the park loops of dark rock, fragrant pines and picturesque green pastures. My drive culminated with a pass through several short and narrow rock tunnels in an area known as "The Needles". The name was given to this higher mountainous area because of its many tall rock spires.
Just below The Needles area, I hiked through a beautiful meadow filled with colorful wildflowers, butterflies and peacefully buzzing honeybees. Later as the temperatures rose into the eighties, I took a swim in cool Lake Sylvan which is surrounded by monumental looking smooth rock walls. On the advice of locals, I saved Mount Rushmore for the evening with its inspirational sunset memorial ceremony. After the hot July sun had dropped behind the pine covered Black Hills, and as the giant sculpture of the four presidents had just begun to fade into the darkness, a switch is thrown and, along with our national anthem, the president's white granite faces were bathed again in glowing white light. It's hard not to feel a stir of real patriotism while visiting Mount Rushmore.
On my next and final night in the Black Hills, I'd slowly made my way through Custer State Park's scenic wildlife loop to a small campground located near the Wind Cave Visitors Center. Wind Cave became our eighth national park in 1903 and though I'd never heard of it prior to my arrival in the Black Hills, I'd learned that the cave was one of the largest in the world with over 143 miles of underground passageways and chambers. In a Park Service publication, I'd noticed an illustration of the cave and was amazed by its complexity! It was not simply a long underground tunnel, but rather an elaborate multi-level gridwork of interconnecting passages and rooms.
At the peaceful prairie campground, I'd made something to eat on my small cook stove as campfires had been temporarily banned due to the hot and dry weather. Crawling into my sleeping bag after washing dinner dishes, the skies had dimmed, and the squirrels and birds had begun to quiet for the night. I remember a certain unease as I lay falling asleep contemplating all of those miles of hollow passageways running just beneath the same ground on which I now slept. Those thoughts, and the softness of the waning sunlight were abruptly interrupted by a noisy convoy of white trucks as they suddenly roared past my campsite and parked in a large open grass area.
As soon as the convoy had come to a halt, clunking doors flew open and a dozen or so boisterous, sweaty and charcoal stained athletic young fire fighters all piled-out. Apparently just back from fighting some forest fire, like clockwork they quickly popped-up tents, showered and ate -all while maintaining steady and cheerful banter. Then, just as suddenly as all had appeared and exactly at 10:00 p.m., all fell silent again as they seemed to have hit the sack with military-like precision. With calm restored, only the occasional rattle of coons that had found some empty cans could yet be heard as a moon rose yet higher over the Black Hills.
I'd awoken early the next morning to the noisy chatter of the fire fighters all up just after sunrise for breakfast. Their pace seemed to have an urgency and soon all were off to whatever forest fire required their skills. After my own breakfast, I made my way over to the Wind Cave Visitors Center to purchase my ticket for the morning's first tour.
The entrance for the cave tour was outdoors and to one side of the Visitors Center. There's a long ravine that leads to a small block building and that is where I found a couple dozen other ticket holders beginning to form a line. Since I was alone and most of the others appeared to be excited and chatty family groups, I'd decided to hang-back at the end of the line.
After a few moments as I was simply enjoying the morning sun and eaves dropping on the banter between children and their parents in the line ahead, suddenly and with no warning whatsoever, I was struck by a wall of intense sickness! Overwhelming nausea was accompanied by a panicked realization that despite my efforts to breathe, I was coming up very short of air. At the same time, while trying to focus on breathing so as not to pass-out, my thoughts were invaded by some knowing that we were all going die in the cave. None of it made any sense, but there was no time to do anything other than to focus on my breathing. I was not getting enough oxygen and taking deeper breaths wasn't helping! I knew I should tell someone about what was happening, but where would I get the air, and I was pretty sure I'd vomit if I broke any of my concentration on simply taking regular breaths. Also preventing me from asking for help was the thought of how disruptive and embarrassing the entire rescue squad thing would likely be.
As my ability to get air seemed to ease a bit, I then noticed that the park ranger had arrived and was unlocking the door on the small block building to the cave. Just then, a woman about halfway up in the line, was heard hollering to the ranger that her husband was not feeling well and may need assistance. My first thought was that a poisonous gas must be emanating from the cave! "We must all be getting gassed," I thought to myself. The park ranger quickly yelled back to the woman saying, "Have him come up here and stand by me -if he's not feeling better, we'll get him out of here." It made no sense, I thought. Why would anyone want to get closer to the cave if we were all getting gassed? Then I realized that I was at the back of the line and farthest from the cave entrance- if anything, the closest people would be getting sick first! It must not be a poisonous gas I'd concluded, but then thought, should I go up and stand by the ranger too? How could this possibly help?
After just a couple more minutes had passed, my symptoms seemed to be easing. The dark thoughts lifted and suddenly I broke-free and into a refreshing and welcome cold sweat. It was over, I thought. Thank God! The refreshing cool air of the morning and welcome rays of the morning sun swept in. Glancing up and wondering if anyone had noticed my peril, I saw the other afflicted man and his wife making their way back to their place in-line. He must have also been feeling better- how strange I thought! I quickly raced through my limited knowledge of medical conditions and their related symptoms trying to guess what might have just happened. I'd had no known health issues and had had a good night's rest. I'd been feeling calm and fine all morning until I 'd been struck by the sudden and severe sickness -and why the dark thought that we would all die in the cave? I'd been in other caves in the past and had felt no particular anxiety about going on this tour. Should I still go on the tour? What if the sickness were to be returned when I was deep down in some cave passage?...what a nightmare that could end-up being! I assured myself that the Visitors Center would likely have no issue exchanging my ticket for a later tour and that that would be the safest and most prudent choice to make. As all these thoughts were running through my head, the Park Ranger began addressing the crowd and welcoming us all to Wind Cave. We were asked to have our tickets ready for collection at the entry door. The line began moving forward and I found myself moving with it.
This wasn't the first time I was taking an unwarranted risk or found my body moving when my head reasoned otherwise. I remembered a time back in college when two buddies and I had decided to sign-up for a parachute jump. Despite spending the entire morning training, when the plane engine was cut thousands of feet above the ground and as I was climbing out through the plane's open side door -out and onto a simple pipe welded to the bottom of the plane- with nothing to hold onto besides the wing strut, I had also found my body moving while my head kept telling me to stop! Just like that time, I was now moving toward the big cave doors while my mind only saw the logic in simply waiting for a later tour! "Ticket please," came the request from the ranger's assistant standing at the entry.
Snaking our way down and into the cool dampness of a dimly lit passageway, I again smelled that unique odor common to caves and my grandmothers "root cellar" basement. As the passageway soon led to the first chamber, and at each chamber thereafter, the park ranger would stop and provide the group with some time to marvel at the illuminated and usual rock formations. Most of the grey and tan colored sandstone appeared to be dripping or melting from the ceiling and forming piles of solidified goop on the cave floor. Before moving-on from each chamber to another passageway, the ranger would provide us with another digestible chunk of cave geology, terminology and tales of the cave's discovery and history until becoming a National Park.
Early in the tour, the ranger told of how two boys back in 1881 had been out rabbit hunting when suddenly one of the boy's hats had been blown off by cool air rushing from a hole in the ground. Intrigued by this phenomenon, the two boys returned the next day with shovels, ropes and candles. Once lowered into a hole they had dug, the boys discovered the incredible natural wonder that had been hidden below ground for thousands and thousands of years.
The ranger went on to describe how Native American tribes in the area had known of the hole itself but considering it to be a spiritual place that had given rise to the buffalo. For this reason, tribes in the area had never entered the small opening. For several years after the discovery, only locals had frequented the new cave. Eventually, with the financial success that the railroads were having in bringing tourists to nearby Hot Springs, South Dakota, it was speculated that the new cave could bring-in additional ticket and lodging revenue. A house and small hotel were built, and two families began providing tourists with basic accommodations tours of Wind Cave.
For young Alvin McDonald, the park ranger said, as one of a few children the McDonald family, the job of being a cave tour guide was truly the adventure of a lifetime! His enthusiasm for guiding early tours was only exceeded by his interest in exploring and then carefully mapping the endless cave passages and rooms. Young Alvin journaled every excursion into Wind Cave and complimented his discoveries with a collection of cave geological specimens. His explorations took him ever deeper and deeper through miles of uncharted passageways, chambers and formations. All was accomplished with nothing but candles, ladders, rope and spools of cotton string used to find his way back to the entrance. With his ever-increasing knowledge of the cave, young Alvin soon proclaimed himself to be "Chief Tour Guide" and had truly was the lead expert on Wind Cave.
To this day, the ranger said, Alvin has meticulously mapped more of Wind Cave than any other explorer! We were told that Alvin's journal was on display in the Visitor's Centre and is now available online for any interested readers.
The ranger next told of how Alvin's work continued through his late teenage years and that, as a young adult, he had travelled by train to the Chicago World's Fair of 1893. At the fair, Alvin had erected a display to promote tourism to his beloved Wind Cave. With a growing knowledge of the cave, the ranger continued, Alvin had decided to pursue a college degree in the field of geology. Soaking-in all the tales of this brave and curious young explorer, it was with the next bit of information that I suddenly felt as though a bulb had been turned-on; a dramatic clue that suddenly illuminated the otherwise completely mysterious nature of my earlier sickness! The revealed that Alvin, now just twenty years of age, had contracted typhoid while in his first year of college and, after returning home, soon died as the result of typhoid fever.
It was with those words and the supposed end of Alvin's life-story that I then walked up to the ranger and, well out of earshot of other tourists asked, "Is there any chance that Wind Cave has a history of being haunted?"
The ranger looked back at me and with a slight chuckle replied, "Ohhhh, there sure is!"
"Let me guess", I countered, "It's the kid who did all the tours isn't it?"
The ranger grinned so as to confirm my guess and said, "Yeah, it's Alvin alright... Alvin McDonald".
The ranger went on to tell me that the haunting information is always saved for presentation at the end of the tour so as to avoid frightening tourists while they're deep underground. That turned out to be the case when, at the conclusion of the tour, the entire group learned of Alvin's long spiritual presence in the cave. The ranger mentioned that a logbook is kept in the Visitors Center recording a countless number of experiences that guests and staff alike have had over the years. There is an actual photo captured by spelunkers (cave explorers) showing a faint image of a boy they believe to be Alvin. The ranger said that it is standard tour procedure of counting each person going into and coming out of the cave assures all have safely left the chambers, but that rangers are also trained to stop and perform an extra count if anyone in old-style clothing suddenly appears on a tour.
It really wasn't until days and even years had passed after my first visit to Wind Cave that I had pieced together some of the details about that day. It was only after watching many of the "ghost hunting" shows that later become popular on cable television that I'd heard of the "overwhelming feelings of dread" that people supposedly experience in the presence of, or while being overtaken by a spirit being. It was this "overwhelming dread" that best describes the emotion I'd felt as I had thought "we are all going to die in the cave."
I suspect that the spirit of Alvin McDonald had attempted to draw life energy from me, or temporarily inhabited the being of myself and likely the other man while we waited in line for the tour. I suspect that the park ranger, as a part of his training and experience, had come to know that by having an afflicted person stand near him, the spirit and sickness would depart. If I had informed the ranger that I was experiencing the trauma, suspect that, like the other afflicted man waiting in line, that the ranger would have also instructed me to come stand near him. I guess the inference is that, for some reason, Alvin's spirit prefers to stay clear of park rangers.
Whenever I don't actually know something for certain, I try to make it a point to use words like "suspect" and "supposedly." In some cases, however, it is worth mentioning that a particular experience can be accompanied by a certain feeling of knowing. Also, I specifically have never cared for the word "believe." To me the word "believe" infers something like; "I don't really know, but I so want it to be true that I'm just going to go ahead and accept that it is." To me, nothing could be worse! I find that entire concept not only bothersome, but historically dangerous. Way too many wars have been fought and people hurt and killed over such unsubstantiated "beliefs." Not only is there not anything wrong with not knowing, but it is also precisely the amazing mysteries that contributes to lives worth living!
So, to be clear, I do not know that the spirit of Alvin McDonald jumped me or the other gentleman waiting in line that morning at Wind Cave, but it does seem to make logical sense given all the history and details. In some ways, as a bonus perhaps, I do get the distinct feeling that it is true.
Years later, researching a bit more about Wind Cave and Alvin McDonald online, I found two photos of him. One photo is of a younger Alvin standing with his family in front of their Wind Cave home. There is also a more common online photo of Alvin at about the time he was starting college. I was surprised to read that Alvin's remains had been buried in a marked grave near Wind Cave's entrance, but that I hadn't noticed any such grave or signage when I had visited. Reading on, I discovered his gravesite is actually located somewhat farther down a ravine and then up a small hill that is nearer the original cave entrance (as discovered by the two boys who had been out hunting back in 1881). Several years later, accompanied on another trip west with my mother, we camped again at the Wind Cave campground where I had stayed so many years before. On that trip, on another warm early summer evening, I made it a point to find and then sit for a while at Alvin's grave. Marked by a large boulder and commemorative plaque, I had hoped for some special spiritual experience, but none materialized. I did, and still do feel a certain affinity and affection for the brave young explorer and was glad to have had a chance to simply spend quiet time at his gravesite. I cannot help but to feel that Alvin does live-on.
Despite the distress and serious discomfort, I'd experienced that morning waiting in line at Wind Cave, I feel compelled to say that I do not sense that, if true, Alvin McDonald's spirit harbors any ill-will, or is in any way "evil' in his intentions. Of course I do not know, but perhaps Alvin simply seeks to protect the cave he so loved and, for some reason, wants, or needs the energy of physical beings to go about his work and interests. Perhaps Alvin selects people from a crowd based upon his affinity to them... Or perhaps that is all just my own wishful thinking.
On yet another long summer trip in what my fourth (and a bit larger) travel van is now, I had had the pleasure of meeting the acquaintance of yet another park ranger while camping at Utah's stunning Canyonlands National Park. The ranger had worked at Wind Cave for a considerable amount of time earlier in his career. He told me of a time when, while replacing deteriorated cave lighting wires, and chatting with co-workers, he was suddenly pushed from a step stool on which he'd been standing. According to the ranger, he had felt actual hands push him off the stool though no one was nearby. The ranger went on to describe how, when he was pushed, he had been making a few rather disparaging comments about a woman while carrying on banter with some other male co-workers. "I'm sure it was Alvin," he said.
The ranger went on to say that for workers at Wind Cave, Alvin's spirit is a widely accepted reality. He also shared the story of a fellow worker who, while hiking the ravine area just below Alvin's gravesite, had encountered a Native American wearing authentic clothing including a full ceremonial feather headdress. According to his account, the Native American man then vanished just as quickly as he had appeared!
While I don't relish the sickness I had endured, I still hope to return to Wind Cave someday to hover in some tour lines waiting for a chance to witness or observe the effects of Alvin's visit. It also occurs to me that Wind Cave would seem to be an ideal site for an in-depth scientific research into the mysteries of spirit life.
WIND CAVE WILL BE ALRIGHT
(This song lyric has not been recorded to-date)
A dark feelin' of dread swept over me
It got so bad I could hardly breathe
Waitin' with all the rest in-line
Somethin' had drained my energy
As the doors swept open it leapt from me
And then with the ranger's loud decree
Down into the mouth we all went
Way down deep in Wind Cave ta-see
The tour went on n-the ranger's tale was told
Of a boy back in the days of old
Lead folks all through the cave he loved
For a quarter plus the candle's sold
Alivin McDonald the cave will be alright
You should walk-on to the light
The Park Service will handle this
You go rest in the afterlife
Alvin -now you go rest in the afterlife
Musical refrain
Alvin's family ran Wind Cave's first tours
And taken by the cave's alure
Went to school for geology
A time when typhoid had no cure
Was he the reason for my misery?
The answer to this mystery?
Asked the ranger and he confirmed
Wind Cave's long-haunted history
Alvin McDonald the cave will be alright
You should walk-on to the light
The Park Service will handle this
You should go rest in the afterlife
Now you go rest in the afterlife
Alvin -now you go rest in the afterlife
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