SLIPPING INTO YELLOWSTONE - SEPTEMBER 2017

  

       The two of us climbed into the Pilot and pointed it north up the highway. Doug reached over for my hand, inhaled deeply and let out a sigh. I asked if he wanted some music. He shook his head. “I just want to sit here in the silence with you.” The seat warmers were set to low and a quilt tucked over my lap. Every thought melted like a pool of butter, taking over the space where my brain once was, leaving my limbs slack and head resting back. This was our “celebrate the end of summer” getaway. Work on the ranch was far from completed, but the hay was finally all cut and bailed, a huge relief since rainy weather was forecast. We had been scheming to get to Island Park, Yellowstone, then on to the cowboy town of Cody, Wyoming. We knew the weather might be a little chilly, but we felt up to it. Come what may, we were splitting, and man did it feel good to leave the world behind. Today was chilly with some clouds and mellow sunshine as we motored toward Island Park, past Rexburg. At Ashton we turned east onto highway 47 for the sweetest loop up the canyon road to see Lower, then Upper Mesa Falls. Getting out to stretch our legs felt good and the falls were breathtaking as we stood at the lookouts, listening to the roar.

The sun came out long enough for us to picnic on roast beef sandwiches, bringing with it a hopeful, wistful feeling of temperate weather to come. Yes, we would be hiking along the nature trails at “Big Springs” er long, hopeful to see wildlife of moose, muskrat, osprey and the giant trout in the crystal clear spring waters. We looked forward to an evening of dinner and staying in a cozy cabin at Mack’s Inn. As soon as we were back in our car and headed to Island Park, the skies turned ominous and left nothing to our imaginations when very large snowflakes began falling and accumulating quickly on our car and side of the road. Hmm, best to get to our hotel room.
      Once at Island Park, the place was deserted. A key in an envelope in a little box by the office was the only hospitality available. Up at the “Stage Stop”  we met the owner, a friendly middle aged guy named “Chad” who said, Sure, we could look around at the cabins and pick one. The season was over and they weren’t booking cabins now, but what the heck, take this key and go find one you like. Furthermore, he said, this would be your last chance, because Mack's Inn is being sold and all cabins leveled this winter.

Buffalo River Island Park

  Doug and I took the challenge and started opening doors to cabins. It didn’t take us long to envision the beauty and wisdom of demolishing all of them.
      Back at the “Stage Stop”, we asked Chad if our room came with a bathtub. (I was now being overcome with thoughts of soaking in one later.) He said, no, but if we wanted to look in the building that overlooked the river, we were welcome to go find what we wanted, and he handed over the keys again. Doug and I got out of the car to check out some rooms. We exited the car. I locked it and Doug left the keys in it. Old habits die hard – for both of us…. I had the master key to the hotel and went looking for rooms, and Doug began trying to unlock our car with a hanger.  I watched him from an upper hotel room window, alternately giggling and praying, helpful soul that I am.

Mack's Inn, Island Park

      Failing the coat hanger, Doug went to find friend Chad again about getting some lock help, and soon the Island Park lockman showed up and finally got us back into our car to the tune of some of Doug’s prized mad cash. Now we could finally get into a room and Chad gave us the right key, said no extra charge; enjoy. We gratefully moved our bags and food into the place: two bedrooms, a bathroom with a tub, a kitchenette, a picture window that looked out onto the Buffalo River where snow was falling serenely…and a gas fireplace. Cool. Doug now tries to make it work. No pilot light on. Doug trudges back to visit with Chad who provides him with a propane canister and a lighter. We’ve been putting new life into Good Boy Chad who has trotted around for us most of the late afternoon, and we thank him sincerely.
     Now, seeing the snow had stopped falling, what about seeing to our Big Springs nature walk?? Let’s do this. 
    

Big Springs

     Big springs was in Winter.   Even the fish knew it. They didn’t bother to come to the bridge. We ventured a little way down the snowy trail. “Here, moosey moosey; come on out you big birdies; let’s hear some of the action, you little muskraties...” The only sound was silence and a picture or two for our thoughts of what this might have looked like a week ago. This, our only reward for soaked shoes and cold toes. Mine anyway. Doug had been sensible enough to bring good hiking boots.   
     Dinner time. Back at the “Stage Stop”, Doug chatted with pal, Chad, about where we might get a bite of dindin. Lots of places were closed, end of the season, you know. But down the road and to the east was a place called “The Pines”, which Chad recommended. We ventured forth and found the pretty little lodge and went in. Our hungry hopes were high as we ordered. Suffice it to say, a few pieces of wilted lettuce dressed up with shaved carrots does not a salad make, and paired with a bowl of soup, it didn’t add up to the $15 price tag. Doug got a cheese burger and fries for the same price. This Idaho boy knows how to detect a good fry, and this ‘twernt it. He described the bun as “wonderbread”, and so we sulked a little over our food. But outside, it had begun to snow again. The décor of the lodge restaurant was all candles and little twinkly lights and, (appropriately)….Christmasy. Every now and again the gas fire place turned on. Besides, there was a TV on in one corner. We asked if we could turn it to “America’s Got Talent”, and BINGO, we were set for our evening entertainment.
      Later, back at our “suite”, I got that lovely soak in the tub and paired up with the gas fireplace, our little nook turned out to be quite nice. As I watched the snow coming down outside our picture window, two little song themes ran through my head: “The Sun’ll Come Out Tomorrow”, and “We’ve Only Just Begun.” Now which one would prove true? 

The next morning was clear and brrrrr. We breakfasted on our lunch box and it sure tasted good compared to dinner last night. We dropped the key off to Chad and made our way to West Yellowstone. “Probably not many people will venture out today,” I mused to Doug. “We’ll have the place to ourselves.” Then why the hold up with all the cars waiting to get a pass at the park entrance? Sheesh. Paying the 30 cash for the entrance fee felt like paying with gold for one day in the park, where, the attendant informed us, most of the roads were currently closed. OOOkay. Here’s your 30 dollars, we’re going nowhere in Yellowstone today.      The temperature hovered around 35 degrees as we followed a long line of cars that had come upon a large herd if elk.  

Many people pulled off to the parking zones and got out to take pictures. I told Doug to slow down. I rolled down my window and snapped off a few. “That’s how we do it,” I muttered, eliciting a belly laugh from Doug….while we kept rolling.

     All our Yellowstone plans were essentially slashed. I had brought along our swimsuits so that we could go up past Mammoth and sit in some warm springs just off the road and down the trail a piece. We were going to spend time in LaMar Valley and pull off to watch for wolves and bears chasing, and fighting, and eating elk etc. We would have been happy to stop the car then. We even brought our own spotting scope for this purpose, and hoped to find some real professionals parked along the road to point out the scenarios.  But all those roads were closed. Let’s see….. looks like we could drive up to Norris Geyser Basin.
     Why not?  Only other place to go was Old Faithful.  To Norris Geyser we motored and parked.  Nope, not many people had been persuaded to stay home today.  Parking was scarce and buses loaded with oriental tourists were not.  Didn't they know this was not any fun?  They should all come back next week when the weather is human.  Turns out, today is the day for Yellowstone, because TODAY is the day we planned for Yellowstone.   No one was apparently stopping their plans, and that included us.
     Fine.  we got out of the car at Norris and donned our goose down and hats.  We went to the restroom, walked down to the little bookstore and nosed around, walked a little further to the stone information building and started off again down the slippery trail which was fast disappearing into  fog.  We got about three yards and  I turned to Doug, and asked, "Can we turn around now?"  He nodded and grinned down at me as I took his arm to make our way back up to the car.  Coming down the trail, skipping, chattering, giggling and taking pictures was a darling oriental woman in little shoes.  Knock yourself out, hun.  Have a great time for both of us today!

       Leaving Norris Basin, we motored toward Old Faithful, stopping at Midway Geyser Basin to see the Grand Prismatic Spring. Now this I really wanted to see. Something pretty today, something I could hold onto, something I needn’t hike a mile in the cold to get to. We drove in and couldn’t find a parking space. The buses! The cars! Where were all these people coming from? Finally we saw a truck pulling out and moved into his spot. Hallelujah! What a stroke of good fortune. Climbing out of the car we were hurled back by wind gusts and blowing snow, but up the steps to the board walk we plodded, meeting soggy people coming back down. Ahead of us lay the beautiful spring sites shrouded in fog from steamy pools mixing with cold air. The board walk was slippery! And slushy! We were placing our feet as carefully as possible to side step people walking toward us and to keep from sliding.  But where were the beautiful springs?

We encircled the springs, battled the ice, noted the fog and walked back down the stairs, meeting hoards of people coming up! Those who did not wear a hat, trudged on and disappeared in the fog with damp and dripping hair.

     Coming down to our parking spot, we were greeted by a most annoyed bus driver who advised us to leave immediately and didn’t we know we were parked in the bus zone and soon to be fined 200 dollars? He didn’t have to tell us twice; glad to be outta here, bub. Laughing, we were on our way. But to where? Let’s see. Oh right, let’s go to Old Faithful, the only place on the planet we can get to right now.  Finding a place to park at Old Faithful took twenty minutes. Anyone who was anybody was at Old Faithful, unless they were on their fannies back on the boardwalk of Grand Prismatic. Now, what to do? Doug wanted to see the grand lodge, which is indeed worth admiration. We braved the wind and walked over, grateful to be inside where an absolutely huge fireplace stood surrounded by people hovering close to it. Only problem was: someone forgot to light the fire. Despite the masses of neatly stacked wood secreted around the massive stone edifice and the biggest fire grate you’ll ever see,  today was not the day for Yellowstone... hospitality.

     It left me wondering, just what kind of a day would it take? Doug and I walked to the general store. And having just been in the gift shop at the lodge, we took note that the general store was just a bigger version of it: Huckleberry Jam, $25 T-shirts, Little black bears, Old Faithful mugs and wolf magnets. Time to go. The two of us braved the wind back to our car and gratefully sat to eat our cooler lunch. We called the Yellowstone weather hotline and were informed that the East entrance of Yellowstone was now open. Did we, perhaps have time to drive through Hayden Valley to look for wildlife and make good use of our pass for the day? We decided to stop at Fishing Bridge Visitor Center and inquire further about the weather. A wise woman at the information desk advised us, that if we wanted to leave Yellowstone by the east entrance, we should grab our chance and GIT, because Sylvan Pass had been cleared and opened, but with the unpredictable weather, it was not likely to remain so. Didn’t have to tell us twice. We hitched up and got a move on, heading east past Yellowstone Lake into high terrain.

Yellowstone Lake

Coming down from Sylvan Pass

Gone… gone were our dreams of seeing bear chasing wolves chasing elk; of sitting by a large fire in the lodge at Yellowstone, of warm autumn sunshine filtered through the aspens on our shoulders, Strolling, snapping pictures on the boardwalks of beautiful, smelly, sulphury springs that bubbled. Next time. Yes, next time when we are age-eligible to hobble into Yellowstone with a lifetime pass for a mere 20 dollars! 

      Our winter landscape gradually melted away as we descended, down down down, easy girl, back into sanity and hills of green mixed with fall color and 60 degrees and Cody, Wyoming.

Sleeping Giant Mountain?

Buffalo Bill Reservoir

Never mind the stiff wind. Cowboy country never looked so welcoming. 

 The End, 

Unless you prefer to read the rest of the story. 

      The rest of the story: Cody is a great little town to visit with more than a fair share of interesting history which we indulged in at the Buffalo Bill Center of the West, a very large and extensive museum where we could have feasibly spent an entire day.

     The night we arrived in Cody , we went to The Cody Cattle Company for dinner and fabulous entertainment of Western Music, highly energetic and fun, the food being Chuck Wagon style, and just so-so. Had we come in the summer time, they tack on a rodeo with the price tag. 

      We so enjoyed strolling down Main Street and shopping the next day, as there were no crowds to contend with and some bargains to be made. I ended up with two beautiful Montana silver belt buckles from a jewelry store going out of business. Priority one was to find some truly great food and we found it for lunch that day at "Proud Cut Saloon". Doug’s cheeseburger was a half pound patty stacked 4-5 inches high with a bourbon barbeque sauce, bacon, tomato, lettuce, and pickles. He ordered the cowboy chips: crunchy, thick baked potato chips. My chicken cob salad was so deep and satisfying,  I wanted to cry.

In the little room where our table was sequestered, there was a large plaque I wanted to take home with me that read:

 "COWBOYS WANTED"

 A time so far forgotten, Of men who wore shirts of cotton 

Where truth and honor measured a man, No Fear of life shall stop his plan.

 Though the time of Cowboys has gone, Never to be forgotten the legacy lives on 

Where have all the Cowboys gone?

 I looked over at Doug and said, "There's one sitting right here." The phrase that most applies to my cowboy and reaches to the core belief in my heart, is this one: “No fear of life shall stop his plan."

We had high compliments to the owners of that establishment, the "Noses," who Doug and I talked with after lunch. 

      We wanted to get home that same day, but by the time we drove southeast toward Riverton, it was getting dark. As we approached Dubois around 8 o’clock, we made a split decision to stop for the night rather than push on four more hours. Snow would arrive in the canyon tonight, but tired as we were, we checked into a motel.

      Next morning, we drove through the cloudy, shrouded Bridger-Teton National Forest and up Togwotee Pass, an elevation of 9544 ft.

The snow plows had preceded us and we made our way back down to Teton valley,

                             

 

        Which gave us only cloudy glimpses of the Tetons.  Passing through Jackson Hole, we had one wish and that was to find a saddle shop Doug had frequented before, but we couldn’t find it and our exit from Jackson Hole was swift. We found  Jackson in a confusion, overwhelmed as it was with people, traffic and prospects of high priced establishments. Please, no thanks. We were soon into Star Valley and felt the stirrings of home.  

West from Star Valley to Tin Cup Creek

Blackfoot Reservoir

Henry Store

Every time I pass through Star Valley the thought comes to my mind that our “Gentile Valley”, nestled as it is, hidden, and surrounded by mountains, is far more secluded and serene and beautiful. Closing in on Thatcher, it lay soggy, cold and green before us. We were so happy to make ourselves at home, light up the fires of hospitality for ourselves and look around to admire our surroundings. In fact, it is impossible for me to descend Clemens Hill Road into this realm, and not catch my breath; the heartbeat goes up a notch and I get the tingles.

      To our friends and family we say: There is a place you can come for a little peace, and the slice of heaven you’ve been dreaming about.... it’s our house. 

Coming Home: Porter Ranch,  Gentile Valley