It just sits there. In the middle of the rolling Wyoming prairie, this massive, 867-foot hunk of igneous rock sticks out like a sore thumb—or a giant petrified tree stump, depending on which corner of the internet you frequent. Devils Tower National Monument is one of those places that looks fake even when you’re standing right at the base of it. You’ve probably seen it in Close Encounters of the Third Kind, or maybe on a postcard, but nothing prepares you for the scale of the vertical columns. They look like they were carved by a giant chisel.
But they weren't. Honestly, the real story of how this thing got here is way more interesting than the aliens or the "giant tree" conspiracy theories you'll find on TikTok. It’s a geological puzzle that scientists are still technically arguing about.
We know it’s made of phonolite porphyry. We know it formed underground. But the "how" part? That's where things get a little messy.
The Massive Identity Crisis of Devils Tower National Monument
Most people think Devils Tower is a volcano. It’s a logical guess. It looks like a volcanic plug, right? You’d think some ancient eruption left a neck of magma that hardened while the softer earth around it washed away over millions of years. This was the leading theory for a long time. Geologists like Geologist N.H. Darton originally pushed this idea back in the early 1900s.
But it’s likely not a volcano.
Modern research by the National Park Service and various university geologists suggests it’s actually a laccolith or perhaps an igneous intrusion. Basically, a big mushroom-shaped blob of magma pushed up into sedimentary rock layers but never actually broke the surface. It cooled slowly, deep underground. As it cooled, it contracted. That contraction created those iconic hexagonal columns. It’s the same physics that makes mud crack when it dries, just on a much more massive, terrifying scale.
Then, the Belle Fourche River and standard erosion spent the next five to ten million years stripping away the surrounding sandstone and shale. The tower didn't "rise"—the world around it sank.
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Why the name is actually a mistake
If you talk to any member of the Lakota, Cheyenne, or Kiowa tribes, they probably won't call it "Devils Tower." To them, it’s Mato Tipila (Bear Lodge) or Bear's Tipi. The name we use today is actually the result of a bad translation during a 1875 expedition led by Colonel Richard Irving Dodge. His interpreter reportedly botched the native name, turning "Bear Lodge" into "Bad God's Tower," which eventually morphed into Devils Tower.
There’s been a massive push for years to change the name back to Bear Lodge. It’s controversial. Local business owners in Hulett and Sundance worry about losing the "brand" recognition, while indigenous groups argue the current name is a literal insult to a sacred site. It’s a tension you can feel when you visit. This isn't just a rock; it’s a church.
The Physics of the Vertical Columns
Look closely at the columns. They are massive. Some are ten feet across.
The technical term for this is columnar jointing. When the phonolite porphyry cooled, it shrunk toward "contraction centers." If the cooling is perfectly even, you get hexagons. If it’s slightly off, you get four, five, or seven-sided columns.
You’ll notice a huge pile of broken rocks at the base. This is the "talus" slope. It’s a graveyard of fallen columns. Gravity is slowly winning. Every now and then—rarely, but it happens—a giant pillar just lets go and crashes down. No human has ever been hit by a falling column here, mostly because they tend to fall during extreme temperature shifts in the winter when hikers aren't exactly loitering at the base.
Climbing the "Impossible" Rock
In 1893, two local ranchers, William Rogers and Willard Ripley, decided they were going to climb it. They didn't have North Face gear. They had wooden stakes and a lot of grit. They built a "ladder" by driving pegs into a vertical crack. You can still see the remnants of that ladder today if you have binoculars.
Today, it’s a world-class crack climbing destination.
But there’s a catch. Every June, there is a voluntary climbing closure. Because the tower is sacred to over 20 Plains tribes, the Park Service asks climbers to stay off the rock out of respect for the sun dances and other ceremonies held during that month. Most climbers comply. Some don't. It’s one of those rare places where federal land management, extreme sports, and ancient religion have to find a way to coexist.
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What Most Tourists Miss
Don't just drive to the parking lot, take a selfie, and leave. You’re wasting the trip if you do.
First, the prairie dog town near the entrance is a chaotic soap opera. These little guys are everywhere. They have a complex language—researchers like Dr. Con Slobodchikoff have found they have specific "words" for different predators. If you see them barking, they might be describing you to their buddies.
Second, the Red Beds Trail. Most people do the paved Tower Trail (1.3 miles) right around the base. It’s fine. But the Red Beds Trail is nearly 3 miles and takes you through the vibrant red Spearfish Formation. It gives you the "long view" of the tower. You see it framed by the ponderosa pines and the red dirt, and you truly realize how lonely that rock is in the landscape.
Real Talk: Is it worth the drive?
It’s in the corner of Wyoming. It’s not "on the way" to much unless you’re heading from Mount Rushmore to Yellowstone. That’s a long haul.
Honestly? Yes. It’s worth it.
There is a weird energy at Devils Tower National Monument. Even if you don't believe in the spiritual side of it, the sheer verticality of the columns is dizzying. When the wind blows through the pines and hits those cracks, it makes a sound you won't hear anywhere else.
Planning Your Visit (The Practical Stuff)
If you’re going, go early. Like, sunrise early. The parking lot at the visitor center is notoriously small and fills up by 10:00 AM in the summer. Once it’s full, the rangers start a "one car out, one car in" system that can leave you idling on the road for an hour.
- Entry Fees: Usually $25 per vehicle, or use your America the Beautiful pass.
- Stargazing: This is a certified International Dark Sky Park. If you stay after dark, the Milky Way looks like it’s draped right over the top of the tower. It’s haunting.
- Weather: Wyoming weather is bipolar. You can have a 90-degree afternoon followed by a thunderstorm that drops the temp to 50 in twenty minutes. Pack layers.
Addressing the Myths
No, it's not a giant tree. People love the "ancient silicon forest" theory because the columns look like wood fibers. But they aren't. If you look at the rock under a microscope, it's full of feldspar crystals, not organic cells. It's igneous. It's fire-born.
No, there isn't a secret government base underneath. The "Close Encounters" thing was just a movie. But when you see the way the light hits the summit at dusk, you kind of understand why Steven Spielberg picked this spot. It feels like a beacon.
How to Respect the Site
When you walk the trails, you’ll see colorful cloths tied to the trees. Do not touch them. These are prayer cloths left by indigenous people. They aren't trash, and they aren't decorations. They are deeply personal offerings.
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Also, stay on the trails. The soil here is fragile, and the talus slope is actually quite dangerous if you start scrambling on loose rocks.
Actionable Steps for Your Trip
- Check the Climbing Status: If you’re a climber, check the NPS website for the June closure and nesting falcon closures.
- Download Offline Maps: Cell service is spotty at best once you leave the main highway.
- Visit the Circle of Sacred Smoke: It’s a sculpture by Junkyu Muto located near the picnic area. It provides a great perspective on the cultural significance of the site.
- Stay in Hulett or Sundance: If you want to avoid the crowds, stay in these small towns nearby rather than driving all the way from Gillette or Rapid City.
- Look for Wildlife: Beyond the prairie dogs, watch for white-tailed deer and wild turkeys in the mornings.
Devils Tower is more than just a geological fluke. It’s a collision of science, culture, and sheer physical presence that doesn't really have a parallel in the lower 48 states. Whether you’re there for the geology or the history, just make sure you take a second to put the camera down and just look at it. The silence there is heavy. You’ll feel it.