Hiking In the Hills

Posted on August 4, 2021 by TheJessicaness

We choose this Wednesday to sleep in till 6am, like a bunch of loafers, but what I don’t know yet is Dad’s definition of a hike and that we would need the energy for the day of exploration ahead. I’ll try texting Caleb while also looking up trails in the area, though Dad had already decided on one before we got here.

I’ll choose to eat the lobby buffet breakfast, out of wrappers, while sitting on the bed and letting Dad write. We’re out of the hotel at 830am and it will take us two hours before we’re signing into the West Fork Rock Creek Trailhead. That time is spent driving slow on 13 miles, part dirt road to avoid throwing dust, unlike the trucks passing us, and so we can see yellow-bellied marmots and take their pictures as they pose on the roadside.

We wonder who the “No grazing in wilderness” sign is for so Dad eats his granola before the hike as a precaution (as we were unaware this trail is shared with horses) and that there would be an abundance of raspberries to pick along the way. We’ll make up an anti-bear song, “we’re not as tasty as we look…” in place of the other repellents that Dad forgot… or did he? Another hiker lets us know that we’ll be safe because there’s too many humans out today for the bears. Then you ask yourself if salmon think the same way.

The first hiker we passed said we were about halfway to a waterfall, shares a photo with Dad, and then tells us to take the unnoticed trail to get the best views. I think his advice only helped to slow us down more as we looked for multiple ways to access the river; though even if we had gotten in we wouldn’t be able to show or explain the way it felt to be out in the wilderness together, the essence of this place, but that didn’t stop us from trying.

We pass the Kent family from Idaho, all 14 in total, with kids who have great trail etiquette – they’re not loud and moved to the side as they announced us to the rest of their group. We’ll stop to talk with Amelia and David, parents who dropped their daughter off at a nearby one-week rock climbing camp after driving over from Ohio. David lived in Buffalo for seven years after college and asks if Dad has family there because of his last name; he was born there.

Next group on the trail is four guys and a dog coming from Montana, California, and Texas; then three guys with a kid who camped for five days and are ready to go back; a guy with his three daughters who were out for two days; and finally two guys with a bear cub of a dog. The trail seems quite busy as so many return from other hikes that branch from this one or campsites that go further than we plan to.

I’m carrying my camera in one hand, we’re taking turns carrying Dad’s extra lens, and have two (should’ve been four) liters of water on my back with no snacks. We get to the seven-mile marker at 230pm and turn around. Going downhill increases our speed but doesn’t keep us from seeing three snakes within 30 minutes in the land of burned trees and tiny raspberries. Two guys will follow us out from a distance for the last mile which we are surprised to see the cars again so quickly.

Along the way, we saw willowherb epilobeum, Mormon fritillary butterfly, Arctic aster, elderberry, white everlasting flowers, giant red Indian paintbrush, penny bun mushroom, trumpet cup lichen, Clodius parnassian butterfly, Sierra garter snake, Western terrestrial garter snake, and Trentepohlia algae.

It took us three hours to hike the seven miles back. We’re a bit dehydrated and sunburned but find a liter of water in the cooler that we finish on the way to dinner; a second night at Piccola Cucina Ox Pasture. One of our waiters, as the staff seems to rotate so we can meet them all, went to ASU and shares the love Dad does for Andreoli’s Italian Grocer where the bread, pasta, cheese, and chocolates are made on-site.

The bread smells sweet and is the perfect mix of soft and crispy. Dinner is delicious, again, but tonight we’re saving room for dessert – tiramisu made table side and an espresso so we can make it back to the hotel. What a fantastic meal. A walk after dinner has us stumble upon a Shakespeare in the Parks show that’s over in minutes but seems to have attracted a crowd of 300 for the two hour event.

Caleb and I had a good day, interesting in their own ways. I’ll air my feet out as we finish our call before joining Dad in the room where he’s editing pictures. We lay down after 11pm, caffeine coursing through our veins, and I think about how all things take time as we search for our own waterfall or meadow. I’m glad to be in a good mental space where I can learn more from Dad and appreciate the knowledge he’s gaining from growing older. As soon as we acknowledge that we can’t sleep, we’re out.

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Beartooth Summit

Posted on August 3, 2021 by TheJessicaness

I wake Dad this morning by talking in my sleep and let Caleb know an hour later that I was busy learning about philosophy, ambiguity, and feelings; not sleeping in like he thought. I step outside, laden with our gear, remove my mandatory mask (to be worn in federal buildings), and am enveloped in the beauty of this place.

I’ll sit in the mezzanine and appreciate the spirit of the Inn that hikers can stay up late at the bar, couples can watch Old Faithful under the stars, friends can play cards in the shared space, families can eat food they brought at the large table, kids can run around to the toilet and patio on their own. It’s easy to stay up late and wake up early as there’s always someone else up earlier.

There’s a spirit of exploration and everyone wanting to enjoy the most of the park, in their own way, in their time here. There’s a family that’s made a tradition of it, for 40 years, because grandpa used to come as a child and wanted to pass on the appreciation for the simplicity to be found in nature against the complexities we weave into our lives. I distract Dad while he’s in a conversational mood and realize I’m delaying his writing too.

We’ll leave just before 9am and it’s a good thing we’re not in a hurry (no one should be while driving through this park) because we’ll sit in a mile-long line of cars for over half an hour waiting on the one bison (who knows he’s the boss here) taking the road at his pace. We’re happy to meet him but apparently other park visitors are late for important meetings and can’t be bothered by some simple ungulate.

We make it to Mammoth at 11am where we turn on the Grand Loop Road that connects us to the 212 E that turns into the Beartooth Highway at its 10.5 mile dip into Montana before going 34.7 miles back through Wyoming and finishing south of Red Lodge, 23.6 miles into the middle of southern Montana. Back to the turn, we get to watch bison cross the road and a family stop to find out if they saw an elk or another uprooted lodgepole pine.

The high school age son is wearing a shirt that says, “Without agriculture, you’d be hungry, naked, and sober.” My shirt would say, “Without art, you’d be starved, bare, and dry.” Dad’s shirt, that “Without education, you’d be malnourished, unprotected, and dispassionate.” Caroline’s, “Without fiber, you’d be craving, exposed, and plain.” Caleb’s, “Without engines, you’d be ravenous, powerless, and temperate.”

While I’m creating my own shirt slogans, we’ll see a discreetly posted sign on the left: Montana. Stops are few on this winding and mountainous paved path through smokey terrain due to fires in the western states and parts of Canada. Animals are plenty but picture proof is hard to attain. We stop near the 10,947 ft summit to talk with a biker on his third annual trip from Kansas to Sturgis, this time with his wife, on her bike, who fears heights.

He says if it wasn’t for her he’d be throwing sparks around corners while still enjoying the view of the leftover snow in the distance. We’ll briefly mention favorite biker routes in the U.S. (this one being closed in the winter) and fatalities in Yellowstone (dissolving via hot springs vs. destruction via grizzly) before we all take off down the mountain to stay ahead of the looming rain.

We’ll enter Montana again 2.5 hours later while wondering how concrete gets laid or a new bridge built on a mountain side. There are videos on YouTube showing how, sometimes with a helicopter, some people like to live life on the edge. We move onto topics of how I dress and what I’ve read this year: mostly biographies of a nuclear worker, elite athlete, fossil collector, therapist, FBI most wanted, and F.L. Wright.

Enter Red Lodge, drop bags in room, sip chai at Coffee Factory Roasters until they close at 6pm while I try to read Simply Local Magazine, Billings and Dad tries to write while ignoring the Pikachu, philistine, and poverty-ridden conversations within earshot. Not wanting to eat pizza in a bar, dinner will be had at Piccola Cucina Ox Pasture at one of the two outside tables to avoid the two-hour wait required to sit inside.

This restaurant transfers its employees from NYC (pop. 8.4 million) to this tiny town of 2,300 residents (the 30th largest town in the state) to serve food for the ten weeks of summer in the authentic Italian style, to include the Cacio e Pepe, which surprised Dad when the server brought the dish out to be served from a pecorino cheese wheel. My pasta was as equally homemade and delicious but the pot held enough to feed three.

Having eaten a day’s worth of food in one sitting, being in an exploring state of mind, and both having spouses to talk to in different time zones leaves us ready to walk the length of Broadway from 5th to 14th with detours along the residential streets before I wander into a candy store to look at old signs. We stop at the closed gas station near the room (yay for small town working hours) and drive across town for some supplies.

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Grand Springs and Views

Posted on August 2, 2021 by TheJessicaness

The power goes out at 5am and Dad wakes up to keep breathing while I wonder what kind of “why did the chicken cross the road” dream I was running in. Dad gives going back to sleep a good half-hour effort before it’s time to start the day.

I’ll talk with Caleb on his morning commute while Dad writes about the type of people who will be out exploring this beautiful park with us. Dad uses the time in the car together to talk about authenticity, how awesome my mom was, and the fact that people hide behind their exterior personas instead of pursuing mental improvement.

Dad knows that I underutilize my potential but also wonders why I don’t spill my feelings and show my truth like the guy pushing his 300lb mom up a hill in a wheelchair to see a geyser. Perhaps one day Dad will give me the opportunity to accompany him as he slows down and cover him in words of care.

We spend an hour admiring the steamy and colorful Grand Prismatic Spring, being held captive by its beauty while others huff a sigh of disappointment that reality isn’t matching their internet expectations. Meanwhile, I’m enjoying Dad’s quiet contemplation while thinking of all the overlook hikes I can do when I come back.

There are too many people at Roaring Mountain (to hear the namesake) when we pass at 930am so we’ll continue to Blacktail Pond to enjoy the 30 seconds reprieve from cars before taking a half-mile detour to see a lone petrified Redwood over 800 miles away from family to escape the mass logging that started in the 1850s.

Near Slough Creek will be our first bison sighting of the trip, this one away from the other males in rut as not all mating stories require the son to fight the father in myth or the military. Dad has brought binoculars so that in watching one falcon eat, hop, and spread its wings I can realize what all the bird-watching fuss is about.

What an experience to watch 2,000 lb bulls charge each other after giving their best breathy and guttural threat that sounds more like a phone-sex operator whispering over a field into the ears of the many listening prospective mothers. Meanwhile, the 2.5-month-old calves are nursing while watching reproduction lessons that will be used in 3-6 years.

People aren’t the only ones interested in watching the mating habits of another species as we are joined by a group of ground squirrels. Being the largest land mammal in North America (over the moose and polar bear) comes with the perks of public fornication with an audience, something humans gave up so that the non-alpha males would have a chance.

We turn around at Tower-Roosevelt because the road to Canyon Village is closed so we’ll have to backtrack on the westside of the park to get there so we can see West Thumb on our way back to the Inn for our last night in the park. We enjoy a short walk along the Gibbon River before a stop for disappointing burgers – no bacon on his and added ketchup on mine.

We get rain between Hayden Valley and Lake Village but arrive at a dried-up version of West Thumb Geyser Basin that’s still lovely. We get more rain on the 18 miles back to the Inn and with the temperature down to 57° F Dad is in a driving mood and we return to Grand Prismatic Spring for an evening look; still steamy, multi-hued, and beautiful.

Dinner at the Inn has a two-hour wait so after calling Caleb I’ll make a run to the car in the downpour and put on Dad’s raincoat to ensure his sandwich is dry upon delivery. I’ll sit with him for 45 minutes and acknowledge how lucky I am, and how I’d be just as happy in a tent, to be here. We look forward to falling asleep to the sound of pattering rain.

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Hiking in Geyser Country

Posted on August 1, 2021 by TheJessicaness

Dad stays inside to write, thinking it’s overcast, so I’ll venture outside to the Old Faithful Geyser Loop Trail for over half an hour taking in the soft growing sun, the trickling water, and the rising steam. I’ll return to find Dad still typing away but eager to go as he sees the sun coming in the window.

We’ll average a mile an hour on the Upper Geyser Basin Loop Trail and after overhearing families complain about being here (hurry up, I already saw that, I want to go back to the hotel) I tell Dad I understand why he was afraid to have kids. His response was, “I’m afraid to have adults.”

We saunter along the boardwalk, bending down to capture a variant of angles, colors and formations, paths of light, bubbles of hydrogen sulfide (a toxic gas if concentrated), and to follow the flow of water as temperature, seasons, and decades continue to make subtle changes to this taiga biome.

We take a break to rehydrate and energize before driving into the mess of parked cars or those waiting in line and the horde of people willing to get their selfie-of-proof versus the majority that can barely be bothered to stick their arm out the window or their head from the sunroof for a passing photo.

The car says it’s 76* but it feels like 96*. We’ll spend two more hours outside before making our way back to the Inn where Dad will write while I walk to Biscuit Basin. Humans are so far removed from nature and would rather photograph someone eating ice cream than look at the pigment patterns of the paint pots.

The smell of rotten eggs turns some away but for the two loud families with screaming kids following me I can’t get far enough from them to appreciate the sound of nature without running or turning to shush them. It’s much quieter for a moment with this couple as we watch parent Mountain bluebirds feed their five young.

Past Morning Glory Pool and I can really start to hear the park – a dragonfly, a squirrel, a caterpillar, a flock of geese with their wings moving in unison, and nine baby ducks run-swimming for their life as we startle each other. What could’ve been a two-hour hike turned into 3.5 hours, but that was to be expected given our pace of the day.

I told Caleb I’d be back by 9pm (MDT) and Dad heard by dark. Either way, apologies are in order as I’m 25 minutes late because summer in this region is short, vibrant, and powerful. Even if I had turned around sooner I would’ve had to close my eyes and I find that difficult to do even in bed as I dream about tomorrow.

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Through Antelope Country

Posted on July 31, 2021 by TheJessicaness

I’ve almost forgotten what it’s like to wake up with the sun as living in San Diego feels like being in the bed of a giant who sleeps in till 10 or 11am each day and leaves its large gray blanket over the sky with just enough horizon showing to know it’s daytime.

There are a dozen deer taking advantage of the beautiful skies and empty roads as we make our way out of Craig and drive the 40 miles north to the Wyoming border. We’ll stop a few times for pictures of antelope, a rocky ridge, an unfinished road, and a construction zone.

I enjoy watching cows trot down a small decline on their morning walk. We see more antelope lying around, jumping, jogging, and definitely getting their picture taken. We stop on the 789 N before I-80 to watch a train, appearing two miles long, pass underneath us.

We were going to take Exit 211 to continue on the 287 N but are redirected by an officer around Rawlins to the bypass. We stop in Jeffrey City, where the population is down from 4,000+ in 1980 with the uranium boom to some 20 people left who appreciate the quiet.

The 135 N will take us to Brown Sugar Coffee Roastery in Riverton for my first sparkling espresso. After that writing break for Dad, we’ll stop at an abandoned hotel in Shoshone with a calendar on the desk from 2005, the year I met my future husband.

Living in the desert helps Dad appreciate water when he sees it so we’ll be stopping at the Boysen Reservoir on the Wind River for a short and steep walk down to see HCB (harmful Cyanobacteria blooms), wildflowers, and the earth-fill dam.

The 120 N delivers us to Meeteetse for a picture at the sign “Where Chiefs Meet” for my chief back home, but we won’t be stopping next to the politicized “Don’t California our Cody” sign on our way to Yellowstone National Park for an extra night.

We check into Old Faithful Inn just after sunset and I’ll go over to the most famous North American geyser for its 1040pm eruption. While I wait, I talk with a couple that drove through Salt Lake City from Los Angeles for their first visit.

If there’s not too many kids making a ruckus you can hear the water flow increase as earth works its melty and explosive science magic that shoots 3500 – 8000 gallons of water almost 200 feet in the air nearly every 90 minutes for up to five minutes.

I’m not the only one feeling the impressive energy surrounding this park but I will learn that I’m of the limited few to show a quiet appreciation for the masterpiece nature has created versus the heavy metal concert families or toddler animosity tantrums.

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