The story in the New York Times about hiking Harney Peak got me to thinking about the mountain. It’s probably my favorite place to hike, and I haven’t been up there in awhile. I need to shake off my winter doldrums, put on my boots and get outside.

I don’t know how many times I’ve hiked Harney. We’ve hiked it in July and one Thanksgiving Day. I did the trip once in February, slogging through the melting snow.

I once had a bit of a crisis on the scary stairs at the top. My dog went up the stairs OK, despite the expanse below the wire-mesh steps. But when it was time to go home, she refused to go down the stairs.  I had to grab her around the chest — an 75-pound German shepherd — and carry her down the stairs.

And one warm October weekend, I spent the night on Harney — I know, I know, you’re not supposed to do that. I rolled out my sleeping bag below the summit, and about midnight I grabbed a flashlight and hiked to the top.Under the full moon, the Black Hills were strangely beautiful — visible, but drained of color and texture. I could see the lights of Rapid City and Custer glowing in the distance. Hot Springs was a halo on the horizon. My only companion that night, an indifferent mountain goat, seemed to glow in the dark.

By the way, the inside of the fire tower, illuminated only by flashlight, was “Blair Witch Project” creepy.

I returned to the top at dawn to watch the sunrise from the glassless windows of the tower. The light slowly filled in the textures and gave everything a warm, orange glow. When the sunlight hit the top of Elkhorn Mountain, the mountain goat paused from grazing to watch.

Maybe he wasn’t completely indifferent. Just to me.