It looms. Honestly, there is no other way to describe that first moment you round a bend in northeastern Wyoming and see it. It looks like a giant, petrified tree stump or maybe something a god dropped from the sky. Most people have a very specific picture of Devils Tower in their mind before they even arrive. It’s usually that iconic, low-angle shot from the trail, the one where the vertical columns of phonolite porphyry—a rare igneous rock—seem to scrape the clouds.
But here’s the thing.
Photos lie. Or, at least, they omit. They omit the way the wind whistles through the Ponderosa pines. They omit the intense silence that feels heavy, almost physical, when you stand at the base. And they definitely don't capture the sheer scale of the 867-foot climb from the summit to the base. If you’re planning a trip or just obsessed with the geology, you’ve got to look past the postcard stuff.
The Science Behind the Most Famous Rock in Wyoming
Geologists have been arguing about this place for over a century. It's kinda funny, actually. We have all this technology, yet we still aren't 100% sure how the tower formed. We know it happened about 50 million years ago. We know it's an "igneous intrusion." Basically, molten rock pushed up from underground but never quite made it to the surface as a volcano. It cooled slowly, which is why those hexagonal columns are so perfect.
Think about it like mud cracking in the sun. As the magma cooled, it contracted. That contraction created the vertical joints. If you look closely at a high-resolution picture of Devils Tower, you’ll notice those columns aren't all identical. Some are four-sided, some are seven-sided, but most are hexagons.
One theory, popularized by the National Park Service, suggests it’s a "laccolith." That’s just a fancy word for a mushroom-shaped mass of igneous rock. Another theory says it’s a volcanic plug—the hardened neck of an old volcano that eroded away. The surrounding soft sedimentary rock (sandstone and shale) just couldn't handle the millions of years of weather that the hard igneous rock ignored. Eventually, the Belle Fourche River washed the soft stuff away, leaving the monolith standing solo.
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Bear Lodge and the Weight of Names
To the Lakota, Cheyenne, and Kiowa people, this isn't just a "tower." It’s Mato Tipila, which means Bear Lodge. It’s a sacred site.
The name "Devils Tower" actually comes from a bit of a translation error back in 1875. Colonel Richard Irving Dodge’s expedition interpreter supposedly misunderstood the local name as "Bad God’s Tower," which morphed into the name we use on Google Maps today. Many Indigenous groups find the current name offensive. It’s a point of friction. When you take a picture of Devils Tower, you’re often standing in a place where people still come to pray and leave prayer cloths—colorful strips of fabric tied to the trees.
Don't touch those. Seriously.
The stories about how the tower formed are often more compelling than the geology. My favorite involves several girls being chased by a giant bear. They climbed a rock, prayed for help, and the rock grew toward the sky. The vertical grooves? Those are the marks from the bear’s claws as it tried to reach them. Looking at the tower with that story in mind changes your perspective. You stop seeing a geological anomaly and start seeing a monument to survival.
Getting the Shot: Why Your Phone Might Struggle
If you want a truly great picture of Devils Tower, don't just stand in the parking lot. Everybody does that. The light there is harsh, and you get a lot of "tourist clutter" in the frame.
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The best light happens at "Golden Hour." That’s right before sunset. The rock turns this deep, burnt orange color that looks almost fake. If you hike the 1.3-mile Tower Trail, which circles the base, you get these massive perspective shifts. Up close, the boulder field at the bottom is chaotic. These are chunks of the columns that have fallen off over the millennia.
- Joyner Ridge Trail: If you want that "lonely monolith" vibe, head here. It’s on the west side of the park. You get the tower framed by the valley.
- The Prairie Dog Town: Look, you're going to see them. They are everywhere near the entrance. They make for great foreground subjects if you want to show the scale of the tower in the distance.
- Astro-photography: Because there is very little light pollution in this part of Wyoming, the tower is a magnet for Milky Way photographers. Seeing the galaxy arched over the summit is a bucket-list experience.
Climbing the "Tree Stump"
Did you know people actually climb this thing? Over 5,000 people a year. It started in 1893 with William Rogers and Willard Ripley. They used a wooden ladder. Parts of that ladder are still visible if you have a good pair of binoculars.
Today, it’s a world-class crack climbing destination. The columns create these perfect vertical cracks that climbers use to wedge their hands and feet. If you’re taking a picture of Devils Tower from the base, look for tiny dots of neon color halfway up. Those are humans. It really drives home how massive the structure is.
There is a voluntary climbing closure every June. This is a sign of respect for the Indigenous ceremonies that take place during the summer solstice. Most climbers honor this. It’s a delicate balance between recreation and religion.
Common Misconceptions and Weird Facts
People think it’s a volcano. It isn't. Not really. It never erupted.
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People think Close Encounters of the Third Kind was filmed on a set. Nope. Steven Spielberg actually filmed on location. The movie put the tower on the map for a whole generation of people. Before 1977, it was a quiet, obscure national monument. After the movie? It became a pilgrimage site for sci-fi fans.
Another weird one: The summit isn't a point. It’s about 1.5 acres. It’s mostly flat, covered in grass, cactus, and sagebrush. There are even snakes and chipmunks up there. Imagine being a chipmunk born on top of an 800-foot rock tower. That’s a limited world.
How to Actually Experience It
If you're going to visit, don't just drive in, snap a picture of Devils Tower, and leave.
- Arrive at dawn. The parking lot fills up by 10:00 AM in the summer. If you get there early, you have the trails to yourself.
- Walk the Red Beds Trail. It’s longer (about 2.8 miles) and gives you a much better sense of the surrounding "Red Beds" of the Spearfish Formation. The contrast between the red soil and the grey rock is incredible.
- Stay for the Ranger Program. They usually do them at the amphitheater. They’ll tell you about the lichens. Yeah, lichens. They are the reason the tower looks yellow or green in certain lights.
Actionable Steps for Your Visit
To truly capture the essence of this place—whether through a lens or just in your memory—you need a plan.
- Check the weather. Wyoming wind is no joke. It can knock a camera tripod over in seconds.
- Bring binoculars. You’ll want to see the climbers and the remains of the 1893 ladder.
- Respect the "No-Fly" zones. Drones are strictly prohibited in the park. Don't be that person. It ruins the peace and can disturb the nesting falcons.
- Stay in Hulett. It’s a tiny town nearby with a lot of character. Or camp at the Belle Fourche River Campground inside the park if you can snag a spot. Waking up with the tower out your tent flap is something else.
Devils Tower is more than just a cool-looking rock. It’s a collision of culture, controversy, and some of the weirdest geology on the planet. When you finally get that picture of Devils Tower, remember that the best part is the stuff the camera can't see. It's the feeling of being very, very small in the face of 50 million years of history.