Glamping, Four Presidents, and a Few Questions
They call it glamping. Depending on your relationship with camping, it’s either a luxurious outdoor adventure or one step away from a FEMA trailer. I have to say, though, for two nights, it was a lot of fun.
We arrived at Under Canvas Mount Rushmore to find a huge, beautiful main tent overlooking the valley. In the distance, if you looked closely, you could see the faces on Mount Rushmore. That was pretty damn cool. Most places offer a mountain view. This one came with four presidents.
Before we were released into the wilderness, we received a demonstration of the equipment in our tent. First, the wood-burning stove. There was a correct way to build a fire so we could warm the tent without smoking ourselves out of it. I immediately assigned this responsibility to Chad and his Boy Scout abilities. I would handle admiring the king-size bed and its substantial collection of blankets, which suggested the management had met people like us before and did not have much faith in our fire making ability.
Next came the battery-powered lights and the battery packs for charging our devices. I was pleased to learn that disconnecting from the world did not require my phone to actually die.
Then we covered the sink and shower. You had to hold down a handle to keep the water flowing, which certainly discourages standing in the shower contemplating your life. Our water heater produced one temperature: very hot. I could have asked someone to adjust it, but I would rather be hot than cold and wet. Cold and wet is where an adventure becomes a complaint.
Armed with a map, we headed down the paths to find our tent. We could return to the main tent for the bar and bistro, and our guide Michael was going to sing around the campfire that evening. I really wanted to hear him. Unfortunately, I believe I was asleep by 7:58 p.m. There are people who travel to expand their horizons, and there are people who travel to discover how early they can go to bed. That night, I was the second kind.
The bed was comfortable, the blankets were excellent, and Chad successfully made fire. I felt we had done enough to establish our outdoor credentials.
I was particularly taken with the main tent. It was beautiful, and the whole setup was ingenious. My only real issue was the sound. Canvas does many things, but soundproofing is not one of them. You could hear people moving around, and our tent, number 12, was near the gravel road. A passing car would announce itself with the crunch of tires, followed by headlights shining into the tent. It was a little more audience participation than I generally want while sleeping.
Still, Under Canvas understood one essential requirement: coffee. They had a good machine and were willing to make me a very strong latte. You can ask me to operate a shower handle and sleep beside a wood stove, but let’s not get unreasonable about breakfast.
We were among the last guests of the season. Service was a touch slow, but everyone was delightful and the food was really good. I would do it again for a couple of nights. An entire week might require a stronger commitment to canvas than I currently possess.
Our stay included my wonderful hike in Custer State Park, and then, on our final morning, we had a visit from Darrell Red Cloud, a descendant of the Oglala Lakota leader Chief Red Cloud. Red Cloud led the resistance that forced the U.S. government to abandon its forts along the Bozeman Trail and close the route under the 1868 Fort Laramie Treaty.
Darrell’s talk felt more like a sermon than a history lecture, in the best sense. He spoke about his people’s connection to the Earth, about all of us being part of it, and about the idea that land belongs to something larger than whoever happens to hold the paperwork. He spoke of peace and also sang for us, which was quite lovely.
It was a thoughtful way to begin the day. And then we loaded into the vans to go look at four enormous presidential faces carved into a mountain. That is quite a transition.
I wasn’t sure what to expect from Mount Rushmore. Some people had told me it wasn’t especially impressive, but I thought it was damn impressive. We had brilliant blue skies, and there they were: Washington, Jefferson, Roosevelt, and Lincoln, looking out over the landscape with the expressions of men who had been waiting a very long time for someone to finish taking a picture.
The skill involved is extraordinary. Sculptor Gutzon Borglum and the crews who worked on the mountain created something remarkable. I can barely hang a picture straight. They gave a mountain recognizable eyebrows.
But after listening to Darrell, I found myself looking at it differently. Around us, visitors moved along the paths beneath the flags, taking photographs and making their way through this very American experience. I was doing exactly the same thing. Still, I kept wondering: was this the right thing to do to a mountain?
I didn’t arrive at an answer. I could admire the artistry and still feel uneasy about the decision. Especially in the Black Hills, where the land was already sacred to the Lakota long before anyone decided it needed presidents.
I had thought Mount Rushmore was created to celebrate the country’s centennial, but it was actually intended to represent the first 150 years of American history. Here we were in 2026, marking 250 years, and there seemed to be quite a lot to think about between those numbers.
The original plans were even more ambitious, with more of the presidents’ bodies meant to be carved. As one of the park rangers put it, they ran out of money, time, and rock. I appreciated that explanation. Most of my unfinished projects involve the first two. Running out of mountain is a problem I have yet to encounter.
It was a fitting end to our time in South Dakota: beautiful scenery, remarkable things, and a few questions I was still carrying home. I had enjoyed sleeping in a tent, Chad had proven he could keep us warm, and I had spent the morning considering our relationship with the Earth.
Then I took pictures of the presidents like everybody else.
