This was a somewhat different trip from other trips that I’ve taken (and written about) in recent years—and accordingly, I may end up writing about it in a somewhat different way (though we’ll see as we go!). At first, I wasn’t even sure that I would write a lot about it at all, but that changed once I started looking at all the pictures I’d taken. 🙂
Obviously, the biggest difference between this and my other big trips of recent years was that I wasn’t alone on this one. I hadn’t even planned to go to Yellowstone at all this year (the Grand Canyon, earlier this summer, was the big trip that I did plan), but when my parents, and my brother Carl and his family, planned a trip out there and invited me to come too, I couldn’t refuse! But at the same time, even though half my family was out there with me, in another way I still WAS alone, since I stayed at a different campground from everyone else (by necessity; they stayed at the RV park, where die-hard tenters like me aren’t allowed, even if we wanted to camp there). This mix was mostly good; I got to spend time with family (not least, with two awesome nephews), but I also got to retreat to my own space and have “me time” (and camp like I do when I go alone) in the evenings. But it also, inevitably, gave rise to challenges and frustrations. Coordinating plans with a bunch of people is always difficult, and it’s even more so when you’re staying in different campgrounds and can’t communicate due to lack of cell service in the wilderness! So, things weren’t always 100% smooth—and on top of that, the trip was somewhat plagued with minor mishaps and equipment-related problems. And yet, as I’ve already acknowledged in my short post the other day, having other people (and their vehicles) out there with me also enabled me to achieve the 20-mile Mary Mountain Trail hike that I’d been wishing I could do for several years, and across multiple previous trips! If nothing else had been valuable about this trip, this alone would have made it worthwhile. 🙂
There is also, though, the fact that (and I say this without at all meaning to imply that I didn’t love this trip) probably nothing will ever quite replicate the one-of-a-kind magic of my 2016 Yellowstone trip. It was my first-ever “solo” vacation, about which I felt a certain level of anxiety going in, but which ended up feeling extremely affirming and empowering, at a moment in my life when I very much needed those things. It also happened virtually on the eve of a huge transition/undertaking in my life back home, and one to which all the things that I just said about the trip also ended up applying: quitting my job and doing my student teaching. For the week of that trip, though, I was beholden to no one, hadn’t a care in the world, and had all of Yellowstone as my personal playground, as well as plenty of time for relaxation and reading and writing and reflecting in between all the hiking and sightseeing and whitewater rafting. It was a charmed week; even the weather was virtually perfect for that entire trip. This trip, in contrast, had its ups and downs—as one would normally expect. The highs were pretty darn high (!), and I came away still loving Yellowstone as much as ever (and even feeling more connected to some of my family members than previously!)—but like I said, it was a decidedly different experience.
With all of that said, I’ll devote the rest of this post to a brief(ish) account of the “getting there” portion of the trip (i.e., the first two days). I set off around 9:30 Saturday morning—the somewhat late start time partly a result of having decided to go for a run that morning before departing (and spending the day sitting in a car). Via texts sent during lunch stops, it became clear that my brother and his family had gotten going earlier and were well ahead of me on the road, but as they were pulling a camper and thus driving slower (and also had two kids with them, which makes for more/longer stops), it seemed possible that I might catch them up at some point during the day. For my part, I didn’t stop for lunch until latish, having planned to picnic at a rest stop along the freeway in ND but having sort of forgotten how long it would take to get there. After lunch, I stopped for gas somewhere just east of Bismarck, then got a text shortly afterwards letting me know that my brother & co. were only then passing through Bismarck. “Huh,” I thought. “I AM catching up. If I keep an eye out, maybe I’ll spot them on the road.” But as I drove onward, this idea quickly got pushed out of my brain as I got distracted listening to my music and thinking my thoughts. Even so, there came a moment when, after changing lanes to pass a slower-moving vehicle ahead of me, the camper that the said vehicle was towing caught my eye as familiar-looking, and I realized—there they were! I honked my horn as I passed, startling the crap out of my poor brother, but he managed to regain his composure, spot me, and return my wave as I sailed past him.
In due course, I arrived in Medora, ND, and proceeded (as usual) into Theodore Roosevelt National Park, where I had a camping reservation for the night. When I saw my campsite, I was delighted; I’m pretty sure it was more or less the best one in the campground.
Less delightful was the extreme heat in eastern ND that evening (though happily, it did cool off a bit after dark). Die-hard tenter though I am, I must admit that I didn’t mind driving (in my air-conditioned car) back into town after getting set up, and tracking down my brother and his family (in their air-conditioned camper) in the city campground, and hanging out to chat with them for a bit. (Actually, when I first got there, I found the camper empty but for my 13-year-old nephew with his nose in a book. Rumors that this kid is essentially a younger me have NOT been exaggerated. I barely got 5 words out of him about the rest of the family being “out hiking” before he went back to his book. 🙂 )
And either on the way into town, or perhaps on the way back out to my campsite (I forget which), I saw—and I wasn’t even at Yellowstone yet!—my first buffalo of the trip. Good omen!
On top of that, I actually spotted TWO MORE buffaloes (no pictures, though) the following morning, on my way out of the park, as I made my way back to the highway to head onward to Yellowstone!
I got up unreasonably early that morning (4:45 am) in order to be on the road by 5:30 am, because I wanted to get to Yellowstone around lunchtime so that I could get a hike in before even proceeding to my campground and getting set up/settled in. Crazy, yes, I know—and that’s not even the half of it. But I’m getting ahead of myself; first, of course, there was Beartooth Pass to drive through, and en route, I had to stop at the scenic overlook spot and get someone to take the by-now-traditional photo for me:
Upon reaching Yellowstone, I stopped at the Warm Creek picnic area that I remembered well from two years ago (just two miles or so past the northeast entrance) to have my lunch, much as I had done last time. (I also indulged in the obligatory wade into the creek after eating, to verify that it still failed to live up to its name.) Then I headed to the trailhead for my intended hike, which was about 8 miles farther down the road. The trail was one that I had identified last time as potentially fun (mostly, I guess, because it involved fording a creek, with which I am weirdly obsessed), but because it’s located way up near the northeast corner of the park, it would be very inconvenient and time-consuming to get to from the campground—hence my idea of getting to the park early enough in the day to do this hike on my way in, BEFORE getting to the campground, since it was right on my route this way. Ominously, as I pulled into the parking area at the trailhead, the sky began rumbling, and a few raindrops started falling. “I should have known better than to tempt fate by choosing a trail called ‘The Thunderer’!” I thought (even if that DOES mean that it shares its name with a John Phillip Sousa march). But I got out my rain gear and put it on, and this seemed to scare the potential rainstorm away, so—that was good. I got myself ready, packed my hiking pack, and set off—and it turned out that that creek (namely Soda Butte Creek, which name, yes, became the basis for various juvenile jokes later on) was so close to the trailhead that I ought to have just started out wearing my water shoes. Oh, well; even if having to stop so soon to change footwear was unexpected, the creek-fording was still fun!
Alas, however, the creek-fording turned out to be about the ONLY enjoyable thing about this hike. My hiking book had described the trail as “difficult” and a “Category 1 climb.” I didn’t know what “Category 1” meant (later I found where my book explains that it’s the most strenuous category except for “Category H,” where the “H” stands for “Horrible,” and about which the author says “these are the hills that make you wonder if the person who laid out the trail was on drugs”), but I figured—if I could hike 4.5 miles down into, and then back up out of, the Grand Canyon earlier this summer, then surely I could handle this! Well, yes, I technically could—but it felt like it was going to kill me. And maybe a climb this strenuous wasn’t the best idea for practically the moment of my arrival at the park, before I’d had any chance to adjust to the elevation… At any rate, truth be told, this hike was no fun. It was a punishing, brutal, relentless climb through densely forested terrain (so no grand vistas to appreciate). I had envisioned something very different from the description in the book, and it was a bit of a letdown. Well, it was pure torture, really—but the worse it got, the more determined I became to see it through, get to the top, and take in what I hoped would at least be a halfway decent view from there:
The hike was supposed to be 7.4 miles “out and back,” so I guess about 3.7 miles each way. I made it to the top of that evil hill, but that wasn’t technically the end of the trail; it continued a ways down the other side, into an area of burned forest. I went just far enough to get a few photos, then said the hell with it and turned around. I wasn’t about to create another climb for myself by going any farther down the back side! Still, I have to think that I was close to the end of the trail; let’s call it 3.5 miles or so, for a 7-mile round trip. I spent the next couple hours staggering back down, finally made it back to the creek, forded it again (which felt amazing on my now very sore feet), and hobbled back to my car. Hey—at least now I can cross “The Thunderer” off my list of things that I wanted to do in Yellowstone!
The rest of the drive in to Canyon campground was uneventful (apart from the expected buffalo sightings in the Lamar Valley), if also a bit stressful; the plan had been for everyone to meet up at my campsite at 7:00 this evening to discuss plans for the next day, and it was about 6:50 by the time I arrived at the campground (and a little after 7:00 by the time I reached my actual campsite). Fortunately, though, the rest of the family was on “Jacobi time,” so I was able to get set up, build a fire, and start cooking my dinner before anyone showed up. Mom and Dad, who had driven out several days ahead of the rest of us, rolled up around 8:00, if I recall correctly. My brother and his family were supposed to be coming behind, but after a bit, a text that miraculously got through let us know that they were in the campground check-in office parking lot with a flat tire! Yep—the first of the mishaps and equipment issues to which I alluded near the top of this post.
I had a fire going and so stayed at my site, but Mom and Dad went off to provide assistance. Later, after the tire was changed, Carl and family did make it to my site, but only to relay the message that they’d be driving to Cody, WY the following day to buy new tires, while Mom and Dad and the boys and I explored the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone. Then they headed back to the RV park, leaving me alone to enjoy my campfire and eventually retire to my tent.