Jun 2009

Thanks to some awesome new friends and a little bit of good luck, I had the opportunity to get out of the park for a bit this weekend.

Thursday, my friend Mary's best friend was flying into Jackson Hole from Missouri to visit Yellowstone for a couple of days, and she invited me and Cara to accompany her on the nearly 3 hour drive there and back. The ride to Jackson Hole takes you through the Grand Tetons, a majestic mountain range right outside of Yellowstone. The weather has improved greatly over the last few days; it is starting to look like the sun might be here to stay. We had the most perfect sunny day for our roadtrip, and we had a blast chatting, basking in the sun, and listening to music all the way. When we got to Jackson Hole, we had some free time before Mary's friend Caitlin's flight was in, so we of course seized the opportunity to pick up some essentials at K Mart. I will never again take for granted the convenience of going to the store to get whatever I need, whenever I need it. Also, on a side note: unless you have ever been living in a remote place for a month, then go unprepared to K Mart for only 15 minutes, you will never fully understand what I was thinking as I walked into the store, trying to account for all that I would need, possibly for another month or two. I considered just buying everything in the store, but then I calmed down and settled on my items, including but not limited to: shampoo and conditioner, fabric softener, bugspray, headbands, and wheat thins. Like I said, essentials. Ironically, as soon as we walked into K Mart, we saw several girls who work with us at Canyon! And do you want to know the first thing they said to us? "Hey, guys! Guess what? Michael Jackson died!"

After that, it was time to pick up Caitlin at the airport. The drive back was faster due to less traffic and more company. We stopped at Old Faithful to watch the sun set. Amazingly, it was still 65 degrees, even at 9:00pm. We all enjoyed seeing the geyser errupt on such a beautiful evening. After grabbing a cup of coffee and further exploring Old Faithful a bit, we headed home under a blanket of night stars.

The next morning, I was given the privilege of going to Cody, Wyoming, to see the Cody Rodeo with my friends Lauren and Keri, and their families who had come to visit. Total, there were 9 of us crowded into a minivan the whole day: Lauren, her mom, dad, and brother, and her boyfriend who works with us at Canyon, Lance, Keri, Keri's mom and dad, and me. We started the day at Yellowstone Lake, which is about 16 miles south of Canyon. The historic Lake Hotel is a beautiful area of the park: it is the second largest wooden structure in North America and is situated right on Yellowstone Lake, the largest high-elevation lake in North America. The Lake Hotel is definitely the most sophisticated area of the park, with large, expensive rooms, and a 5-star restaurant. We spend some time exploring there. Lauren and Keri's dads were planning on fishing there at the lake, but unfortunately the weather didn't hold up like it had the day before: it was very cold and a little rainy. We proceeded to Cody slowly but steadily, making frequent photography stops. We arrived in at around 3:30. Cody, home of the Buffalo Bill Historic Center and "the greatest rodeo on earth", is a very interesting town that is dominated by cowboy culture. There are lots of shops that sell everything from cowboy hats and boots to camping gear to Yellowstone souvenirs. By this time the sun had decided to show its face, and we spend the late afternoon shopping. After eating dinner, it was off to the rodeo! In Cody, during the summer months of June, July, and August, the rodeo happens every night. We enjoyed watching the cowboys and cowgirls on their horses, riding all around the arena. By the way, I can attest that Wyoming sunsets are just as incredible as you have heard. Around 10:30, the nine of us began our 2-hour trek home; under the stars, I drifted slowly off to sleep.

Each moment of this amazing weekend, I found myself reflecting on how lucky I was to be in my position. I have met some incredible people and gone on so many adventures thus far. It amazes me to think that the decision to spend the summer in Yellowstone has enriched my life in so many ways. First of all, I was introduced to a whole world of culture that is found in my own country, yet I was unaware even existed. Camping, fishing, and even hiking are not activities that I frequently participated in before this summer. Many people I have met here live very differently than I am used to living, but that does not mean that one of us is wrong and one of us is write. That is the thing about culture: to truly experience it requires humility, patience, and often a complete re-evaluation of ideas upon which you may have previously based your life. Unless I am willing to close my mouth, open my ears, and take the opportunity to learn about their lifestyle, I will go on believing misconceptions. Not only that, but I will have likewise forfeited an opportunity to clear up possible misconceptions about my lifestyle. There is so much to be gained from saying no to your own insecurities and comfort zone, and diving head first into new experiences, knowing that it might bruise your ego. Sometimes I feel overwhelmed, weak, and inexperienced; sometimes I feel like the luckiest girl alive. But throughout the emotional mountain peaks and valleys of the summer, I'll maintain an attitude of gratitude for the people and experiences I have had here. And the best part?

The summer has only just begun.

To say that my first camping experience was a little rough is a gross understatement. It can be best described as mildly traumatic. Allow me to start from the beginning.

When Keri, Emily, and I left in the pouring rain to hike the 4 miles to Wranger Lake, we hardly thought twice about the weather since it rains daily here. We were going to meet Adam, Lance, and Tommy, who had ventured to our campsite and set up camp the day before. Having never been camping, Emily and I were anxious and ready to get to the campsite. So, with at least 10 pounds of gear and provisions on each of our backs, our rain gear donned, and a ride to our trailhead, we were on our way.

Immediately we encountered our first challenge which, in hindsight, I think we should have considered more seriously as an omen: a hail storm. Hiking through the marsh due to a recent abundance of precipitation is hard enough without fighting 30 mph winds and hail hitting you in the face. Yet, we traveled on. (For me, this was more because we got a ride to the trailhead. Therefore, it would have been a longer hike back home to Canyon than to the campground.) We kept ourselves distracted by calling "Hey, bear!" every 5 seconds, and hoping aloud that the guys had a fire going at the campsite despite the weather. Along the way, we passed our first bison of the journey (very common everywhere in the park), but we failed to give it nearly as much room as we should have. So sue us, we were a little preoccupied fighting a hail storm.

Before leaving for the camping trip that day, I received an echo of a warning from the backcountry office that I had heard from the boys the day before: that warning was that there was a river, Sour Creek, which we would have to treck across to get to our campsite. Well, after about a mile (by this time the hail at fortunately ceased, but it was still raining), we came across what I would describe as a decently-sized stream, one that we could easily leap over. I, the least experienced camper of us all, was optimistic that this was the river about which we were warned. But as a group we came to the concensus that when we got to the infamous river, there would be no doubt in our mind that it was the one. So, after another mile or so when we came to a river that was too wide for us to leap, we were positive this had to be it. We came prepared with sandals to wade through it, but opted instead to go straight in with our hiking boots, since they were already soaking wet anyway. On the other side, we congratulated one another on our successful crossing of the river and kept moving.

Another very chilly mile later, we realized just how sorely mistaken we had been: here we came face-to-face with a river that made the previous one seem like a trickle of a stream. We had no doubt whatsoever that this was the river about which we were cautioned. Having no other option and greatly anticipating the warm campfire that we hoped was waiting for us, we trecked across the 5-foot wide, 2-feet deep river, squealing like girls all the way.

We finally arrived to our campsite a half hour later, soaking wet, but happy to see our friends, and even happier to see that they had managed to get a fire started despite the weather. When we got there, the guys confessed the bets they had going that we would turn around and go home when we saw the river, and us girls couldn't have been prouder. The rain had stopped at this point, but it had gotten colder, about 40 degrees. Regardless, we had a great time around the warm campfire, eating smores and laughing into the night.

Upon awakening the next morning from perhaps the worst night of sleep in my life, we found that it had been raining for hours. Even though I had managed to stay relatively dry, most of our clothes and shoes were soaked. My sleeping bag for one did an inadequate job of keeping me warm all night, as did the 5 layers I wore all night. It was a frigid morning, not much warmer than the overnight low had been. After breakfast we took awhile to get the wet gear packed up, and in low spirits our crew started its long, soggy treck home.

As high as the water had been along the trail there, it was certainly much higher on the way back due to the rain. This meant that (you guessed it!) the river we had crossed had risen significantly. When the guys valiently volunteered to cross first, we saw just how deep it was: closer to 3 feet than 2. The brave girls I was with crossed fearlessly even though the water reached their hips. I'm not sure if it was the pitiful look I was wearing on my face, or just the air of dread that was inevitably encompassing me, but whatever it was, my friend Tommy who had already crossed came back and carried me and my heavy pack across the river on his back.

I will refrain from going into much more detail about the trip back. Aside from a few bison detours, another stream mishap, and the return of the rain, it is probably pretty predictable. To be fair, I should mention that the rain had cast a mystical blanket of fog upon the mountains, and I managed to enjoy the beautiful view in spite of my discomfort. Also, we received a ride from a friend from the trailhead so that we didn't have to hike another 4 miles home. We went straight to the EDR to eat, of course, and our friends who saw us inquired as to why we looked like we had been through hell and back, to which we replied simply, "Don't ask."

For your statistical pleasure, I have compiled a feature entitled:

My Camping Trip By the Numbers

Number of campers- 9
Hours total- 19
Miles traveled- 8 round trip
Detours due to bison- 3
Inches of rain- approximately 3
Rivers forged- 6 (3 there, 3 back)
Smores I consumed- At least 4. I lost count.
Layers of shirts I wore- 5 (plus scarf, hat, and gloves)
Hours of sleep- 3 very cold hours. maybe.

Needless to say, it will be awhile before I'll be able to make a return overnight trip to the backcountry. I have been reassured that I have been through the worst, and that most camping experiences are much more enjoyable. I am proud that I made it through (seriously, I didn't know I had it in me), but I will likely think twice about camping again: as of right now I have no intention to do so whatsoever. Stay tuned to see if my friends are able to convince me to camp again for the rest of the summer. I much prefer the warmth and comfort of my own bed, and really, can you possibly blame me?

Something happens when I lace up my hiking boots. There is an intrinsic power associated with them; when I put them on, a jolt of simultaneous authority and oneness with nature is sent through my whole body. My boots are heavy and sturdy, designed to help those who don them to maintain stability and balance when exploring various types of terrain. They teach me to stand firmly and solidly. They keep me rooted on the ground, reminding me of my place and keeping me humble: I am small. I cannot fly. I am limited in my strength and ability. But I am intrepid, and I am determined. This summer I am stripped of everything that once fooled me into believing that I was capable of anything (my car, my cell phone, my comfort zone, the convenient accessibility of friends and family, my close proximity to anything I could ever want or need). However, my hiking boots show me that I never needed those luxuries at all; that, with confidence and determination, I can combine my own life energy with that of the earth, using the aid of nothing more than my boots and my own two feet. I am capable of dominion over mountain peaks and carnivorous wildlife; over snow, rain, hail, and wind; over isolation from modern civilization. My hiking boots teach me to come to terms with my own limited physical, spiritual, emotional, and mental strength. They also teach me that my limited strength is enough, but only when combined with the strength I attain from God, from others, and from the earth.

My running shoes have a completely different effect, but they are equally powerful. Rather than planting my feet firmly and rationally on the ground, my running shoes seem always to be scheming and daydreaming. They are happiest in mid-air. When I put on my running shoes, it's like my feet grow wings and fly me wherever I tell them to go. My running shoes feel more like an extension of my legs than the unattached, inanimate objects that they are. Light as air but ruthless as the elements, they seem to taunt me, pushing me to go farther than the day before. My running shoes are hopeless dreamers, and the more I tell them to shut up and let me rest in the reality of my own inadequacies, the more they prove to me that I am not inadequate at all. Don't be fooled: my running shoes are anything but soft. They work me to breathlessness, sweat, and exhaustion. They wake me up early in the morning and don't listen to any of my excuses. They are trainer, friend, enemy, travel companion. In fact, it is they to whom I credit my love of the great outdoors. Although I met them while traveling, our (admittedly somewhat dysfunctional) relationship showed me that beauty is all around me no matter where I find myself. All I have to do is go outside and open my eyes.

Although my hiking boots teach me that my strength is indeed limited, my running shoes show me that it is far more than I think. While my hiking boots tell me to accept my role on the earth, my running shoes challenge me to take the initiative to define that role myself. When my hiking boots (in their humble way) remind me of the youth of their influence in my life, my running shoes assure me that there is a first time for everything. My hiking boots take me to mountain peaks, while my running shoes elevate my mind and spirit to new heights of euphoria. Both gently help me breathe more deeply. Both take me to places I would have otherwise never seen. Both make me a stronger woman. But most of all, both challenge me to be a better person: my hiking boots, by keeping me down-to-earth, and my running shoes, by teaching me how to fly.

Because it has snowed significantly here a majority of the past 7 days, I have not been able to do much hiking, but have instead taken the opportunity to relax and enjoy the scenery from the indoors. I have indulged in frequent naps, movie nights, afternoon reads, and lots of hot coffee. When you step outside of the dorm, all you see is white snow on the evergreen trees and all over the mountains that surround you. At the Canyon dining room where I work, the huge windows display a wonderland of snow falling thickly and coating everything in sight. Canyon Lodge has looked like a Christmas Card. I have enjoyed it so much, but am looking forward to the sunshine again so that we may spend more time hiking. I have joined a hiking club available to employees. The goal of each individual in the club is to hike 100 miles by the end of the summer. At the rate we are going, it should be no time at all! I'll let you know when I hit my 100th mile.

Another opportunity available exclusively and free of charge to employees are educational seminars on various topics. An interesting one I attended recently was on bear safety. I figured this would prove to be useful in case I ever do confront a bear, and since most of my friends and family made a comment before I left that resembles something like the following: "That's great that you're going to Yellowstone. Don't get eaten by a bear!" (um, thanks guys?) I was looking forward to learning at this seminar how exactly to go about doing that; that is of course, not getting eaten by a bear.

The first and most crucial thing I learned was that bears hate confrontation and will avoid it at all costs. Contrary to popular belief, bears are not evil and murderous creatures that roam about seeking humans to devour. Bears are omnivores, so they eat plant foods as well as other animals, depending on what is available to them. Human is not a bear's ideal dinner, and as long as you are not perceived by the bear as a threat, they don't want to deal with you at all. The best way to be perceived as non-threatening is to make yourself known when you are in the back country: clap and make lots of noise, so that if a bear is nearby he will have the option to avoid confrontation with you, and 99.9% of the time, the bear will. It is common to hear people yell, "Hey, bear!" loudly and frequently while on a hike through the woods to announce to a potential bear his or her presence. Whatever you do, do not surprise a bear. Trust me, they do not like surprises.

Let's say that you are out hiking, and despite your best efforts, you end up face to face with a bear, let's say 10 or 20 yards away, certainly a dangerous distance. What you DON'T want to do at this point is run. Talk about counter-intuitive! If you run, the bear will chase you. I think of it kind of like getting pulled over by the police for a mundane traffic violation: if you just cooperate, you'll probably be just fine. But if you "run" and refuse to pull over, the police justly assume that you have a reason to be running, and you probably do. Then you're really in trouble. It's like that with the bear: cooperate and you'll be fine. So don't run. Got it? Also, don't scream or speak loudly or quickly. Instead, speak to the bear softly, calmly, and slowly as you slowly back away from the bear.

If this doesn't work, then you move on to plan B, which is to stand up to the bear. Yeah, that's right. Stand your ground! This is getting almost humorous now, isn't it? Don't run, stay calm, and then stand your ground? I know it's crazy, but if you don't want to be some bear's dinner entree, you'll do it. Look him in the eye and alter your speech from calm to firm and assertive. Spread your arms and legs out, using the aid of a jacket if possible, and try to look as big as you can. Show this bear that you are not an easy target. From what I gathered, bears don't exactly love a challenge.

Let's say that you are camping and a bear tries to approach your campsite (probably because he smelled food, not because he smelled human). This is no time for soft baby talk: this bear came for food and will destroy whatever is standing in its way, i.e.- YOU. This is a circumstance where you would instead immediately stand your ground and try to get the bear to back down. If executed correctly (which is far easier said than done, I would imagine), the bear will almost always avoid that confrontation and leave. But if at this point, the bear still doesn't leave and starts to pursue you, you move on to your last resort: lay on the ground on your stomach, covering your neck with your hands and ideally wearing a backpack. Do not get up until you are absolutely sure the bear is gone.

Fortunately, there is a more promising option for those of us who would rather not take the chance of the bear winning that stand-off. The alternative? Bear spray. At $45 a can, the stuff isn't cheap, but can one really put a price on safety and peace of mind? I think not. Bear spray is basically super-strength, industrial-sized pepper spray. If you are planning to do any amount of backcountry hiking in Yellowstone, the rangers recommend you get some. I haven't bought mine yet, but it is a worthy investment considering the length of my stay in the park, and the amount of hiking I'll be doing. It has an insane spraying range (30 yards, if I'm correct) and can buy you more than enough time to get out of a bear's way. Just don't spray into the wind. I have a feeling you'd regret it.

I attended another seminar about wolf safety, which is exactly the same, with one very important distinction: if a wolf wants to eat you for dinner, do NOT lay on the ground and play dead. If you do, you soon won't be playing anymore. You'll actually be dead. and whatever you do, don't get the two mixed up!

There. For those of you who kindly advised me prior to my departure not to entice a bear to eat me, I hope you can see that I'm doing my very best. I hope you learned a lot about bear safety, too! All you have to do is go against every instinct that you have, and you'll be fine.

Easy as pie.

My "weekend" this week began on Sunday night and ended sometime Wednesday, since my days off are Monday and Tuesday. This weekend was one I will never forget.

As some of my new friends and I were at an early breakfast in the EDR (employee dining room, to refresh your memory) discussing what we were going to do with our day, we lamented the fact that we lived so near to Old Faithful Geyser and none of us had actually seen it yet. We decided then and there that we had to go explore Old Faithful that day. There was only one problem: it is 40 miles away from Canyon, where we live, and none of us had a car. Fortunately, in Yellowstone, that is not a problem at all. Within the park, hitchhiking is a pretty efficient means of getting around, especially for us employees who live here all summer without a car. So, at 10:00am and not really knowing what to expect, with our thumbs up on the roadside, we were on our way.

The first man who picked us up was a Mexican truck driver from Idaho Falls who was hauling a huge semi-truck of firewood to West Yellowstone. We rode in the truck cab with him and heard all about his family and his kids. He said he didn't mind picking us up because it gave him some company on his trip to West Yellowstone, a trip he has taken 5 times a week, beginning at 5:00am, for the past 3 years. He dropped us off at Madison Junction, about 16 miles from our destination, Old Faithful. It was a beautiful day, so we took the opportunity to go on a short hike at National Mountain, and visit with the rangers at a small but scenic ranger station in the area. While there, we were followed quite closely by a herd of bison, after which we learned all about being a ranger in a national park from the park rangers there. We were on our way again on foot, but it was no time at all before a wonderful family of four in an RV invited us on board. Bob and Terry are from Colorado Springs and have two twin 11-year-olds, Shannon and Connor. Bob is a traveling speaker on the topic of Biblical archeology. He travels most all the time, speaking all over the country. He has an speaking engagement near the park next week, so he and his wife bought an RV just 3 weeks ago to spend some time in Yellowstone before his speaking function. They were beyond hospitable: they offered us drinks and snacks; we ate sitting around their RV dining room table. Before arrival at Old Faithful, we stopped a couple of times and caught some amazing pictures of bison herds and thermal features galore (geysers, hot springs, mud pots, etc.). It turns out that Shannon, the daughter, is a singer, and I was able to talk to her a bit about studying voice. She will be featured on an AIDS benefit album that is set to be released in July that features the likes of such Christian artists as Bebe and Cece Winans. Before getting pictures with the family and saying farewell, Bob was kind enough to give us one of his DVDs, on which he speaks about the search for the archealogical remnants of Noah's Ark.

We spent the day exploring the Old Faithful Area which, compared to Canyon Village, is a Metropolis. Rather than our normal hikes, we spent this day exploring the historic Old Faithful Inn, Snow Lodge, and of course, seeing Old Faithful errupt in its normal reliable fashion. I think I must have been expecting something that more closely resembled a fireworks show rather than a geyser: I thought it would be loud and interruptive, but in fact it was rather graceful and lasted about 3 minutes. I think it really says a lot that the geyser is not famous because of its large size, although it is large. There are larger geyser eruptions within the park. I'm told there is one nearly twice the height of Old Faithful somewhere in Yellowstone, but it is incredibly unstable and unpredictable. There are probably cooler-looking eruptions, too. However, Old Faithful's defining and famous feature is its mere, well, faithfulness. I think this says a lot about the rarity of faithfulness in this world in all realms. That's all I'm sayin.

Of course we had to sample the Old Faithful Employee facilities. We ate in their EDR (it was better than Canyon's) and visited their employee residence halls.I think our's are better- regardless of whose is better, I personally prefer Canyon in general. Old Faithful Employees don't know that no matter what, we got the better deal, because we have the beautiful Canyon!

At around 4 in the afternoon, we began heading back. Unfortunately, a cold front had begun to move in (one which, unbeknownst to us would produce a significant amount of snow the next morning) and, if you recall, we had no real ride for the 40 miles back to Canyon. We were picked up after a little mile walk or so by a wonderful caravan of Louisiana natives. There was no room for us in the cab of their pick-up truck, but they let us chill with their ice chest in the bed of the pick-up. They too offered us as much soda as we wanted, but warned us not to touch the beer. We were of course happy to oblige and grateful for a ride. While riding the15 or 20 miles in the open air, me and my two partners in crime, Jonathan and Alexandra, marveled at the freedom of the open air, the unpredictable nature of our adventure, and how lucky we were to be experiencing it.

Our ride dropped us off only 16 miles from home, but the last stretch was a bit less carefree. We walked probably two miles with no luck. By this time it was cold and starting to rain. My travel mates weren't worried, but I would be lying if I said that I wasn't a little concerned. Suddenly a man in a pick up truck who was going to opposite way yelled to us, "I got ya'll!" woo hoo! We didn't know who this was, much less why he would turn around just to pick us up and shout so confidently, but who cares?! When we got to the pull-out after the truck made a U-turn, we found out that this was no stranger: it was our friends Jason and Kara! They offered us a ride back to Canyon, with one catch: they were driving to Old Faithful, where we had just been, to have dinner at Old Faithful Inn, and then watch the sunset. We were more than welcome to come with them. We wouldn't be getting home for several hours, but we would have a guaranteed ride, with someone we knew. Not to mention, we wouldn't be in our current discomfort of walking in the cold rain. Pause if you would; what would you do in this situation? I was tempted to go with them back to Old Faithful, but my group wouldn't budge. They said I could do whatever I wanted. But after a brief internal debate, I thought, what the hell? We've made it this far.

Only seconds after Jason and Kara pulled away, another car pulled in and waved for us to get in. When we opened the door, Jonathan realized it was another familiar face: a girl with whom he went to school, and a parks employee headed south of Canyon, right through our home! So, our fourth and final "ride" of the day was less dramatic than the rest, but it was the perfect ending to an incredible adventure. And to boot, we arrived back at Canyon only 20 minutes before the EDR stopped serving dinner for the night. I was happy to be home.

Tons of other amazing events occurred over my weekend, but this entry is too long, and anyway, they can't compare to my first hitchhiking experience 80 miles or so round-trip to Old Faithful and back. I'll save the other stories for another blog, or perhaps just write them on my heart instead as a reminder to never, ever stop experiencing all the adventures life has waiting for me, often just a couple of miles down the road.