A WALK IN THE WILDERNESS

I can’t remember my first backpack. I’m sure it was in Colorado - probably in Rocky Mountain National Park or the Indian Peaks Wilderness. I’m sure it was grand and beautiful and life-changing. And I’m pretty certain I would remember it EXACTLY if it were the grand scenery of my most recent walk in the wilderness – along the Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park.

Spectacular doesn’t begin to describe it. My 24-year-old son and hiking buddy describes it on his Facebook page as “that feeling when you see something breathtakingly beautiful, your heart skips a beat, and your jaw nearly drops to the floor? It was like that, for 5 days.”  The route we took along the Teton Crest Trail is uniquely blessed to make you happy – all 28 miles of it, even when you are trudging along in the rain.

We start our journey by taking the boat shuttle across Jenny Lake to the Cascade Canyon Trailhead.  Cascade Canyon is a lushly beautiful, water-filled canyon formed by glacial action with cascades (of course), small pools in the creek’s bends and steep, rushing waterfalls coming down the canyon walls. It’s the kind of wild place ideally suited to moose, which we see laying and grazing along the banks of Cascade Creek.

Our first night’s goal is way up on the South Fork of Cascade Canyon to an area of organized (for wilderness anyway) campsites with bear boxes for our food. Bear boxes, provided by the Park Service and usually a safe bit away from several good campsites, are very useful in bear country. The steel sides of the boxes are as tough as dumpster steel with heavy, industrial locks that discourage a bear’s rummaging. Only a very hungry bear will waste the energy to tear up a bear box.  If they are that hungry, you want them to opt for your food instead of you.

The climb up through Cascade Canyon is strenuous in some spots but mostly a gentle incline.  Yet, the further in elevation we climb, the more trouble I have getting enough air.  I am asthmatic and although I take regular medication for it, the particulates of the fires to the north have left a haze I know will make it even more difficult than usual. The others are patient and wait for me time and time again as I stop to attempt deep breaths. I am worried, but not anxious. I have medication and most of all a lot of determination. I will make it up not only to our first night’s camp but all the way along this 28-mile journey. I’m that kind of wild child.

Still, with my chest heaving and hurting, I am glad we find a suitable campsite about 4.5 miles up from the trailhead. We make camp at about 9,000 feet in a small area right below a very steep, very beautiful waterfall. A doe crosses close by our camp with her three fawn on their way to the water flow below our camp. We are tired and excited, knowing the biggest challenge of our 5-day backpack, Hurricane Pass at approximately 10,500 feet, lies ahead of us the next day. All through the night, the waterfall sings lullabies and we sleep deeply in the fresh, cool air.

In the morning I take additional medication, one that I normally would only use in the case of an emergency, knowing without it my usual asthma medication will not be sufficient to help me breathe. I vow to discuss a more rigorous regime with my doctor, knowing she will suggest that I think about quitting high altitude, heavy exertion activities. She will expect my usual reply, “not happening, so let’s figure this out.”  She knows even though I am averse to most medications, if I have to choose, I will choose a life well lived over a long one.

The medication helps and I can begin to climb again. We have another 1,500 feet to climb to Hurricane Pass before we descend into Alaska Basin. We are on the ‘less steep’ side, with more gentle switchbacks carrying us up to the pass.  We have filtered enough water to carry us over the Pass and into Alaska Basin where we know there will be plenty of clear, running water and glacial lakes.  Even though the water looks clean and tastes pure, we all know that all kinds of bacteria and parasites can exist in water in the wilderness. We have two filters between us and they are put into action any time we are close to water and have room to spare in our water bottles.

The five of us, friends for less than 24 hours, have already bonded over a card game called 99 and the brandy in our hot chocolate the night before. Backpacking is an activity that encourages discussion, friendship. Each one of us knows that we can without question trust the others to do whatever is necessary should our efforts lead us into danger. That kind of trust you can’t easily find in the city. It is literally one for all and all for one here. The wilderness demands this kind of commitment.

We continue to climb up past many, many wildflowers. Some I know – lupine, paintbrush, green gentian, wild parsnip. Others I’m sure I will come to know.  We wind through a lush valley and then the final ascent to Hurricane Pass begins across the talus. To our right is Schoolhouse Glacier, a remnant of a grander time when the glaciers were not receding as quickly because of global warming. The switchbacks get steeper as we climb across fields of loose rock called talus, the soles of our feet becoming tender from the small, hard rock trail surface.

Craig, out in front, gets to the Pass at about the same time as our sons. He is ready with his camera to record our faces as we look at the heavenly valley below.  Each one of us is struck with wonder at the color and diversity of the flowers in the Alaska Basin. Each of us has that aha moment with words something similar to “Holy Shit!” Below us rests Sunset Lake, a small blue-green glacial lake at which we hope to camp. Going down is always a pleasure after a steep climb but we tighten our boots knowing our toes may suffer bruises from the steep descent.

We are now in Idaho's Jebediah Smith Wilderness and out of Grand Teton National Park. We have the freedom to camp anywhere we wish and have many choices although Alaska Basin is a popular backpacking site from not only the Park but the trailheads to the west in Idaho. We head for Sunset Lake, ready for a swim to wash off some of the dust of the trail. Christina splashes into the lake and then dives like a fish into its icy waters. We take ‘splash baths’, quickly coming back to shore to let the sun warm our chilled bodies. The waters are very, very cold; the bottom is filled with what Craig, a geologist, calls glacial ‘flour’, soft powder created from the rock as glaciers pound their way over them. The flour sucks at our feet whenever we stand in the lake.

This night we sleep in a small copse a bit away from the water. Two couples from Utah camp on a hill near us. One is a ginger head like Dan.  His wife and I discuss the merits of living with gingers.  In camp, we prepare our dehydrated meals and then clean up, careful to place our bear vaults (those small space-age plastic containers that are supposedly bear-proof like medication bottles are child proof) a safe distance from our tents. We then play more card games, including a new game called Bullshit, bonding once again over hot chocolate and brandy.

The morning means we will be walking through beautiful Alaska Basin, a deservedly famous area bursting with wildflowers. Mother Nature has been incredibly generous to Alaska Basin. We walk waist deep through paintbrush and lupine, then lupine and wild parsnip, then wild parsnip and mountain asters. The flowers kiss our legs as we pass on the narrow trail, releasing their scents to the fragrant air. The topography is rolling and we are in no hurry. We literally have time to smell the flowers.

At some point we meet Bob, an adventurous man walking from the Continental Divide trail at the border with Mexico in New Mexico all the way up the Trail to Canada. Yes, there are trails like this and the Appalachian Trail all across America. And this one leads Bob through God’s country, the Grand Tetons. I feel humbled by his efforts.

Soon, the low hills begin to climb again and flowers give way to rock and talus. We manage several very long switchbacks, with the last one coming up through scree on a very narrow trail. I snap a picture of Kyle with the narrow trail across the talus and the cliff face in the near background. Later he uses it as a Facebook profile picture.

We finally reach Mount Meek Pass. Snow still lies on the ground here and Kyle and his dad Craig can’t resist playing a little snow ball with Craig’s hiking poles. We can see Death Canyon Shelf below us - a tall, long strip of cliff under which is a fairly narrow shelf on which we will camp. The Shelf rolls along for several miles to its junction with Fox Creek and the precipitous trail down into Death Canyon itself. At the Pass, we once again hike into the Park and its more ‘organized’ camps along the shelf.

Earlier, we meet a hiker who shares his knowledge of the Shelf campsites and warns us that a bear has visited his camp just the night before.  We all decide to head once again to the campsites nearest the Park-provided bear box.  We settle on a nice flat area close to the creek (nearby water is always a huge plus) and set up our tents. We once again filter enough water for our dinners and then move to the edge of the Shelf, high above the canyon below. Looking south, we see where the canyon walls come together, undoubtedly where our trail will take us in the morning.  East we see other rocky mountain forming the east side of Death Canyon. Looking down into the Canyon and its wandering waters, we spot two dark shapes, a mother moose and her calf, far below us. We sit quietly and enjoy the absolute solitude of the Shelf.

To the north, the imposing spire of the South Teton shines in the waning light. In a mountain environment, there is often an effect called ‘alpenglow’ when mountain summit rock reflects the glow of the departing sun.  If one is lucky, the alpenglow can color the mountains orange or red or gold.  Tonight we are rewarded by a golden alpenglow as we sit on our conveniently placed rocks on the Shelf’s edge.

Having hiked through Alaska Basin and then over Meek Pass we are weary but elated and as darkness descends we move toward camp. The night air is crisp and cool. Small clouds are in the sky but we are not worried about rain or lightning. Our camp is on high ground and there are plenty of surfaces much higher than our small tents to tempt lightning their direction.

We sleep. At some point in the middle of the night, I awake to flashes of light outside of the tent.  I lay quietly until I am sure the light is lightning rather than a flashlight. I hear thunder way off in the distance, counting the seconds between the lightning and the thunder. The worst of the storm is passing a few miles to the south; we feel only rain from the very edge of the storm on our tents that night.

We awake to grey skies. Knowing we may encounter rain, we pack our backpacks with our raingear laid ready. We skip breakfast, anxious to head down the trail before rain makes the precipitous path down to the floor of Death Canyon slick and dangerous. Hiking the rest of the Shelf to its junction with Fox Creek, our trail leads us down quickly, losing about 1000 feet in elevation over about a half mile. By the time we are down on the canyon floor, rain is falling steadily. The vegetation, in some places as tall as our hips, weeps on to our clothing. It is not cold and we are not uncomfortable, just wet.  There is a difference to a backpacker and it is not subtle.

 

We continue our hike through the verdant canyon, over wonderfully engineered log bridges above swiftly moving Death Creek.  We are headed for the Death Canyon Group, a Park campsite area about half-way to the trailhead at the Canyon’s mouth, where my trusty truck YiHa awaits us. We have met no one this morning except a couple hiking north on the Shelf.

 

Our last night is spent on a small hill with a flat top and several large rocky areas at which we will lay our wet gear to dry once the rain stops and the sun warms the rock. Nature’s dryer. We set up our tents and place wet socks onto the taut tent poles, hoping they will shed enough moisture in the morning for a comfortable hike out.

 

Joining us at our camp is a funny little Marmot we quickly name Allan or Steve, after a hugely popular animal video on Youtube.  The young people riff on the video; providing merry laughter in camp. Steve or Allan does not seem to fear us but we are careful not to invite him too closely to our camp or our food.  Marmots are notorious food thieves, with sharp teeth that will chew through a backpack like the backpack is cookie dough.

 

Tonight it is Feast. The last night of a backpack, anything that is left to eat should be eaten to lighten your load on the way out. As backpackers are prone to say “It’s either on you or in you.” There is no reason to carry any more weight than is absolutely necessary; you are on your way back to ‘civilization’ with its restaurants and tap water and dry clothes and warm vehicles. Having been backcountry for 5 days now, we all expect to experience a bit of dissonance with the noise and the traffic and the lack of natural sounds. It’s a common phenomenon and we all prepare ourselves mentally for the plunge back into the ‘city’.

 

Our last night is the coldest of the entire journey. We have good sleeping bags and arrange ourselves to make maximum use of the warmth our bags have for us.  The morning dawns clear and cool. Perfect for our last few miles of our adventure. We will be heading toward Phelps Lake, a beautiful mountain lake surrounded by hills, popular to day hikers to the Park. The closer we get to the lake, the more hikers we see. Often we are asked about where we have been, how many nights we have been out. Our general unkemptness and faint odor clues most of the hikers that we might have been out for more than a day hike. We are briefly backpacking superstars.

 

The last mile of a hike is usually the worst for me.  I dread going back to the noise but relish the thought of a nice, cold brew.  I wish I could stay another day or two or three but am tired of feeling and smelling filthy, especially as day hikers, smelling fresh and clean, pass by us with tiny packs filled with the day’s lunch and a bit of water. I know once I get to a regular restroom again, I will stand for a moment staring at the hot water rushing out of the tap and be glad that we have such a luxury at our fingertips in America.

 

I swear my pack gets heavier those last few miles, even though I am still consuming my trail mix and am no longer needing to refill by water bottles. The party with Mother Nature is about over; I will no longer be just another animal along the track. I will soon be a sentient being with responsibilities, friends and family to call to reassure of my health, plans to make, clothes and body to wash.

 

We all are looking forward to a beer and a bison burger at Dornan’s on our way back to Craig’s rented car. The burger will be the best burger we have ever tasted after five days of dehydrated food. The beer will be unbelievably good, a real medal-winning brew in the coldest, sweatiest bottle we have ever seen. Others will look at us wolfing down our food and think “I bet those people have been backcountry” or more probably “I wonder that they could let such dirty people eat here. Isn’t there some kind of law?” No mind. We are happy and elated at meeting our challenges.

 

The wilderness is not a luxury for me but a necessity. When I am no longer able to carry my own weight, I’ll ask Daniel to carry more, a trade we made a very long time ago when he was a small child and I had to carry everything we needed for both of us in my backpack. If Dan is not available, well, perhaps I can hire a Sherpa or a guide. I WILL continue to walk into the wilderness. It is where I center myself and undoubtedly it is where I feel closest to the One. Perhaps, someday, in the wilderness I can actually join with the One.  That really would be worth a walk in the wilderness.

THE MAMMOTH GAZETTE

Back when the West was brand new (for us non-Natives that is), newspapers were pretty sensational. The reporters were encouraged to ‘embellish’ and often lurid language, like Wolves Ripped My Flesh, could be found in headlines. In  Journalism school, I learned that objectivity was the most important cornerstone for modern journalism, and well-researched stories should be the industry standard. We came to trust news sources – well mostly. I usually take Fox news with more than a shakerfull of salt.

 

As a society, we still like the ‘news’.  So a disclaimer, these little news snippets are purely my interpretation of the news and are not fact-checked. But lots has happened in my little village and I thought you might like to know some of the themes that are impacting our days here.

 

At least two of the big news items relate to lightening. Lightening is a fact in mountain cultures, the mountains creating a big barrier that stops weather fronts and lets clouds gather. Our mountain clouds usually start building in the west. Last week, we had a couple storms with lightening.  One, on Thursday, started a small fire near Emigrant Peak just to the North (ok maybe 40 miles). Quite a few of my coworkers have been affected by this fire because of the proximity of their homes to the fire perimeters. The fire is definitely up IN the mountains but when you can see flames from your porch, you still worry for your home.  The fire quickly spread to 40 acres as of yesterday and hot shots were called in to protect any structures in the area.

 

Lightening caused a death here in the Park as well.  A young Gardiner man was hiking alone up the tallest peak in the Park, Electric Peak, when lightening hit the area hard.  The young man was not an employee of the Park but his coworkers in Gardiner called the Park to report the young man missing when he didn’t show up for work. They knew where he intended to hike and the Rangers found his car at the trail head.  After a search involved horses and Rangers, they found his body below a cliff. An autopsy confirmed he has been struck by lightening.

 

The same week, three hikers in Glacier National Park were stuck by lightening. All three were removed to a hospital and I don’t know if they have recovered sufficiently to have been released.

 

Like rain, lightening is a tool for Mother Nature to cleanse the forest. I’ve been reading a bit about the huge 1988 fires and promise a post on just that conflagration. Frankly it scare me just a bit to be hiking up in the Grand Tetons right after these events, but my need to get into the wilderness always means I will be subject to the Mother’s intentions for the deserts, forests or mountains. To Mother Nature, I am just one more creature along the track.

 

Other big news for me is the imminent departure of several of my friends. Young Ben in Recreation is leaving at the end of this month. Several friends are leaving early in August. We are all beginning to discuss what we ‘will do next’. Some already know they are working in another Park, with about a month off before that season begins. I, too, have begun thinking about what I want to do. The other night, watching the sun set over the mountains near the Madison River, I realized I will miss these mountains terribly. I will miss the sunsets, the sunrises, the sun lighting up the Terraces in the morning. I will miss seeing bear, elk, bison and other wildlife every day.  It will feel like a loss. I’m not sure what that means for me, though.

 

In my entire lifetime, there would not be enough time to do all the things I would like to do just in Yellowstone alone, much less in this beautiful West. So all I can do right now is to literally put one foot in front of the other up and up and up to the Teton Crest starting tomorrow. I will be backpacking for five days and will not be out until late Sunday night. This means I will not get to my usual weekend posting. But I hope to bring back visions of magical places to relate to you.

 

For now, good morning and I’ll catch up with you at the end of the trail.

MUDSLIDE!

Before I left my office I heard the news. Drenching rains had caused a mudslide on Highway 89, the only direct route to the towns of Livingston and Bozeman from Mammoth Hot Springs near the North Entrance of the Park and the only direct route to the North Entrance of the Park.  In essence, unless you were willing to spend four hours driving down to West Yellowstone for the purpose of coming into or out of Mammoth, we were stranded.

Many of my full-time coworkers live in Gardiner or further north along Highway 89 all the way up to Livingston, about 40 minutes to the north of the Park. The mudslide was between 8 and 9 miles north of Gardiner, literally blocking off the way home to those who live in the tiny communities of Emigrant, Pine Creek, and Pray and the larger town of Livingston, about 40 minutes to the north.  Like the residents, the many visitors leaving Yellowstone for points further north were also stranded. A dorm mate came back late from Gardiner telling of long, long lines in restaurants and bars as everyone waited out the dig-out.

On the other side of the obstruction, campers and visitors to Yellowstone were prevented from getting to their long-held reservations in Gardiner, Mammoth Hot Springs Hotel or points further south. Some of these visitors found housing in Livingston, but Livingston was having troubles of its own with residents reporting nearly three inches of water gushing from the skies in a little over an hour. Many visitors cancelled reservations in Gardiner which others, with the tide of folks leaving the Park for points further to the north and now stranded in a town with not enough hotels for the size of the horde, immediately claimed as they settled in for what could be a long night before access was restored and their vacations could continue.

The slide occurred when rain water, rushing through the watercourses of the Absaroka-Beartooth Mountains, gathered silt and boulders in a moving mass of mud, depositing tons of debris on the near side of the 2-lane road and then well over into the farside lane.  Upon hearing of the slide, we all assumed the slide must have occurred in Yankee Jim Canyon with steep cliff-like hillsides leading up to Dome and Sheep Mountains as well as Monitor Peak further to the east. But the slide occurred in a wider section of the valley, south of East River Road, a reliable, paved road that carries traffic from the junction near Point of Rocks Ranch back to Highway 89, just south of Livingston. Having occurred to the south of its junction with Highway 89, this minimum access country road was of no help to the stranded residents and visitors.

Locals who always know the ‘back way’ attempted to get past the giant obstruction by taking a 4-wheel road named Old Yellowstone Road up from the recreation area Carbella but the heavy rains in the valley made the 1-lane mountain-side dirt road slippery and incredibly dangerous. Authorities closed this road, too, as cars became stuck in the deepening mud. With all routes closed, access north was possible only when the mound of debris could be lifted off Highway 89 by a loader or bulldozer and moved off the road.

So the locals did what locals in most rural communities do. Visited friends, shopped a little, ate dinner in a local eatery, hung out at the Two Bit Saloon or one of a dozen other bars in Gardiner, flooding tiny Gardiner while waiting it out. Many of the visitors did the same, while others decided to make ‘camp’ at the lone rest area along the highway.

The Yellowstone pace is catching after awhile. Perhaps some of those visitors were irritated by the wait but after you’ve spent twenty minutes waiting for a bull elk to get out of the road and been completely fascinated by the fact this is happening to you, right in front you!, your heart opens to possibilities and your watch starts ticking a little slower.

This part of Montana is very much a rural environment. Everybody knows everybody. As the slide area was being discussed by the locals at the office, I heard one locate it by announcing that it was right across the road from Joe’s house. Because everyone knows everyone, many of the locals had choices not available to the visitors. Since several of the residents live in Livingston and others shop at the stores there, there were families that ‘traded houses’ for the night, the Gardiner family staying in the home of a stranded Livingston resident while the Livingston resident stayed in the home of the stranded Gardiner resident. That’s what can happen in small towns with little crime where you can leave your key under your doormat.

Today, the road was clear but greasy and life returned to normal. But the weather and the landscape here in Yellowstone and the Yellowstone area is always headline news here – if there were newspapers and television stations. People constantly keep their eyes on the horizons, watching and moving with the rain, the snow, mudslides, animal obstructions…and they take it not only in stride but I’m convinced they kind of like it. Way more interesting than waiting four stoplights at an intersection. I like it too. The pace is slower; people don’t get their knickers in a twist if something prohibits them from doing what they expected to do. And their friends, family and employers also expect plans to change at the last minute. That is what happens in an area that is largely wilderness dotted with towns that are so tucked into the landscape they look like they are only here because Mother Nature granted them the license.

In my blog, I keep coming back to the different pace here at Yellowstone. I think it’s a more natural pace. It’s not that my coworkers and I don’t work very hard, we do. But when Mother Nature gets ready to throw the next ball in, the residents here, myself included, drop what we are doing, put on our cashier’s mitts and get ready for the game.

WARRIORS AND QUIET WATERS

I find myself reluctant to write this post. My friend Suzie, after hearing about my amazing experience this past weekend, told me “it sounds like your next blog entry.” I wanted badly to deny it. But I can’t. That's why it is now way past bedtime and I am struggling to write these words.

Last weekend I had the unique and blessed opportunity to spend a few hours with some men (it just happened that this weekend it was all men) veterans of the Afghani and Iraqi Wars. If you came to my blog to be entertained, please stop here and come back next week. If you came to my blog to perhaps learn something, maybe feel something you haven’t felt for awhile, maybe be touched like you haven’t been touched for awhile, read on. I hesitate to even honor my writing by suggesting that the words I write on the behalf of others might actually spur others to action but I need to write nonetheless.

This past weekend I had the opportunity to visit with my dear nephew and his wife Chrissy. Mikey (he is Mikey because his Dad is Mike) would have been a lifer in the military. He loved representing his country. He was truly good at it. He is open-hearted and kind and good. He looked great in the uniform. He has also been medically discharged from the military as 100% unemployable and 95% disabled from an IED that blew up in Baghdad under his Humvee.

My nephew is a victim of a fight for oil. “Strategic interests” is what the politicos have called it.  I am a pacifist, perhaps a genetic throwback to my Quaker grandmother. But I support our troops and I particularly support my family. My nephew is the oldest son of my oldest sister. That makes him the oldest grandchild of my mother, Geneva Marie Haas, born Geneva Marie Mathia, born of Victoria Thulin Mathia. That is really important. Geneva and Victoria knew how to run families and keep them together. They passed that knowledge on to the women of the family, one being my sister, Jennylynne Gragg, a painter and more importantly, the mother of my nephew Mikey.

When Mikey came home to us from the War, he was pretty beat up, disabled and desperate. My sister, her husband Big Mike, Mikey’s wife Chrissy and even my elderly Mom Geneva, played a big part in making sure Mikey lived beyond that first very important year for a brain-injured (Traumatic Brain Injury), PTS (Post Traumatic Stress) soldier. A Wounded Warrior. Trying to find his way home.

It hasn’t been easy. Chrissy, fortunately, is a soul that thinks with her heart quicker than she thinks with her head. She had already been schooled in being an Army wife. It’s a difficult life. But soldier spouses are the glue to keeping our soldiers safe in combat (something to live for) and alive when they get back.

My sister, Jenny, grew up with a Dad who struggled daily with the effects of growing up in extreme poverty during the Depression and then life as a soldier in the Pacific Theater in WWII. I believe he suffered from what we now diagnose as PTSD or PTS. He sought relief in a number of ways I refuse to go into in this blog. Suffice to say my Dad was troubled his entire life. In the War, my sensitive, intelligent Dad saw things that would be unimaginably difficult to live with. So in many ways on many days he chose not to.

My nephew's recovery has taken a different path. He has a strong Mum, my sister. She plows through stuff with all the finesse of a charging bull. When he needed help and wasn’t getting it quickly enough, she called and called and called and called and called and cajoled and argued and pleaded until she found the person who could help. She’s that kind of Mom. She learned that from our Mom who sometimes needed a little liquid fortification to shore up her determination, but who nonetheless would stand up to principals and any other scary authority figure who hurt her cubs.

Last weekend, I arranged to meet up with my dear (as in irreplaceable) nephew and his kind-hearted, shoot-from-the-heart wife, Chrissy, in Bozeman. My nephew and his wife had been invited by a small non-profit called Warriors and Quiet Waters to participate in a week of fly-fishing right in my ‘home territory’, Yellowstone. The focus of the program is to teach wounded veterans to fly-fish but it’s really about healing the wounded souls of our troops.

I believe in the power of nature to heal. If you are a regular reader of my blog, you know I came to Yellowstone partly to heal from an extremely difficult year of loss. I have a long, long history of heading to the wilderness to think through problems or decisions. I went to the wilderness to decide whether or not to have a child. I know how being in and with nature can provide an incredible peace followed by clarity of mind.

At the last moment, I was invited to attend the last night’s dinner for the six families that came to learn to fly fish and found themselves renewing their commitments to themselves and to each other. An East Coast veteran testified to his absolute desperation, his decision that the memories of war and the visions he still had in his waking and sleeping hours were so horrific that he had decided his only option was to check out, until he was invited to fly-fish. This city boy was hurting so much, his first angry response to the phone call that led him to fly-fishing and Montana - "What the hell is fly-fishing and where the hell is Montana?" Until you hear Frank's and other’s stories, you really have no idea the impact that the wilderness and the healing powers of nature can have on such wounded warriors.

Then to hear their spouses attest to the difficulty of staying in a relationship with someone so wounded and then express their deep gratitude for the healing powers of water….  I am not a person who cries a lot for myself but my heart was full of tears of compassion and gratitude and great hope that these soldiers could be mended by the waters of the Gallatin or the Yellowstone or other lakes and rivers in this beautifully blessed country. I prayed that their loved ones could continue to love and have the strength to live with a wounded warrior much like my mother continued to live with hers.

If I had not been working and living in Yellowstone, I would never had heard these stories. We all have paths in our lives and each one of us makes decision about the guideposts along the way. I am so grateful for the opportunity to hear the stories of the men who are learning to fly-fish instead of lashing out at their spouses, the world around them and most importantly themselves. I am incredibly humbled by the work of the leaders of Warriors and Quiet Waters for our wounded patriots, one brave soldier at a time. If we all concentrated on helping just one person at a time, what a wonderful place this beautiful blue planet would be.

I have never actually endorsed or offered a link promoting a product or a project on my blog. But I have felt the power of this program. In this past year, the small program has been able to bring less than one hundred service men and women to Montana to seek healing from its magical mountains and rivers. I feel compelled to provide you a link to a program that literally saves the lives of our wounded warriors. I don’t know how you can help, but I am certain someone out there, one of my readers can help. Their website is www.warriorsandquietwaters.org. Their Facebook page is Warriors and Quiet Waters Foundation. If you know of someone who needs help or who can provide help, please give them a call or send them a message or email.

The mission is simple. Take a wounded warrior to the waters and let the waters heal the wounded warrior. Please take a look. Think about how YOU might be able to bring our warriors back. Thank you for reading all the way to the end of this post. I love my nephew and I support our troops. I may believe that war is an over-used answer to difficult problems but I applaud those who believe so much in our freedoms that they literally put their life, and the lives of their families, on the line to protect them.

Can I be a pacifist and still support my nephew? Heck yeah. I am against war; not against the men and women who believe in joining the Armed Services. My greatest hope is that the value we place on our people will become greater than the value we place on proving our strength through war. The small part I CAN play and keep my values intact is to offer this information to my readers in the hope that someone, somewhere values the lives of the soldiers enough to help this program bring them home…fully home.

SIDETRACKED!

A journey is a great metaphor for life. Sometimes you follow the map and sometimes you don’t. Sometimes life keeps to the plans you make and sometimes – well sometimes you get sidetracked. I’m finding that I get sidetracked in Yellowstone a lot.

My life is not exactly a well-designed and executed plan but rather a messy soap opera in which I star as the main character.  My week began just peachy. My friend Suzie and her two Adorables came for a visit. I’m sort of the Adorables’ Auntie being as Suzie doesn’t have a sister. Helga and Sid (not their real names – they are just littlies and their adoption is not yet finalized) but particularly Sid spent some time identifying scat which he got scarily good at for a 6-year-old. Probably because I sent him a book on scat called “Who Pooped in the Park”. There was an abundance of research material for him in the Park. Pretty much every step we took was applied to researching the sticky brown stuff clinging to our feet.

After they left, I made a plan to get my chores done so I could spend the weekend hiking at least one more high-elevation trail to get ready for my Grand Teton 5-day backpack.  I’m writing this in an inexpensive Idaho Falls Idaho motel that seems alright despite its very low price and relatively low ratings on Trip Advisor. You see, I got sidetracked.

On Wednesday I got a text from my bank. “If you purchased $1000 of computer equipment from a store in Johannesburg South Africa, press 1. If not, press 2.” Since I had not been drinking the night before and I clearly remembered being in the Park, I pressed 2. Immediately, another text announced “A representative of (my bank) will be calling you within the next twenty minutes. An attempt to use your card for a fraudulent purchase has occurred.” I’d say so since I’m pretty sure I have not yet mastered being in two places at once.

The next two days really did convince me that my bank has probably one of the best credit and consumer fraud departments in the world of banking. Someone had been able to gather enough information about me to pass through their first level of security and actually transfer money from my savings to my checking account apparently intending to set it up for a nice little spending spree. And then they went shopping.  The first transaction, however, did not meet the scrutiny applied by my bank. Freeze. They'd let money in but no money out.

After many discussions with various bank personnel, I decided to ‘restrict’ my accounts which meant nothing could happen in those accounts until I appear at the nearest bank branch with two pieces of ID. We also decided that while I was taking the trouble to do that I might as well close the suspected accounts and open brand new ones.

Ok, here’s the sidetracked part. Remember the weekend hiking plans? My nearest branch is over 100 miles away in Idaho Falls, Idaho. So hiking stepped aside for a ROAD TRIP! Road Trips are my second favorite pastime so whenever I am faced with situations that require me to drive many miles, I am absolutely driven (pun intended) to make it a Road Trip (Road Trips in our family are always capitalized).

Haas Road Trip Rule #1 - never go over the same road twice if you can find another way – no matter how treacherous. I’ve been to and through Idaho Falls many times over the last several years because it is on the way to Missoula where my son attended college. I have exercised Rule #1 on more than one occasion so the only new road I could find went west from Jackson over Teton Pass. Hmmmm….Pass. I like the sound of that.

Jackson is not exactly easy to get to from Mammoth. Mapquest says it is 3 hours 18 minutes but acknowledges it could take longer (“depending on traffic”). If you figure in RVs, bear and bison backups and those special photos you just have to stop and take even though you have at least a hundred from that exact same spot but not exactly with that same light it will take longer, I guarantee. So I left Mammoth before 4:30pm and didn’t get to Jackson until nearly 9.

The sun was setting over the Tetons. Superb sunset but driving through the Caribou-Targhee National Forest is a little spooky at dusk.  In the first place, I was keenly aware that at any time a smaller version of Bigfoot could come running across the road in front of my truck. In the second place, have you ever been in a heavily forested place with really steep sides resulting in 10% grades that makes you feel you are in a very verdant cow chute? Plus I could see and smell campfire smoke but couldn’t see any campers. (Cue in song from Deliverance.)

The road up to the Pass winds up and up and up past Mount Glory as roads to Passes usually do. Then it winds even further back down. Jackson is at a higher elevation than Victor, the ranching town on the other side of the Pass that tries to compete for tourists. After leaving Victor, which is cute in an always the bridesmaid kind of way, you have the opportunity to really get spooky going up and over another forested pass past Rocky Peak and Stouts Mountain, on a road that is not nearly as well developed (as in the signs for campgrounds look like signs Chuckie might have made to lure you in) as the way more traveled Teton Pass road. Ok, I agree that’s extreme. I like my delightful, day lit forests please when I am driving all by myself through unfamiliar territory. (You ask, “Why don’t you take the safe, more heavily traveled way around?” I say “Gosh that never occurred to me.”)

The road over the second range of mountains does not encourage one to think that very many people use the road. It is not well-maintained. No problem, really. YiHa likes untamed roads. But I keep thinking how the chance of cell service is zilch and I may have to make acquaintance with those people who undoubtedly are down there starting those campfires. Good thing I believe in the essential goodness of people – and good locks on my truck.

To be fair, every time you get out of the forest, the terrain opens out into those incredibly beautiful Idaho valleys with productive fields and ranchland stretching over hills that have all the promise of a pregnant woman’s belly. Stunning. I think. I’m pretty sure. It was pretty dark by then.

So sidetracked as I am, I intend to make a weekend of it. (Here, I’ll help you - the subject of this post is getting sidetracked.)  I will meet with my new banker (interesting to have a ‘home bank’ in Idaho, a state I have never lived in) in the morning. The bank is right across from an honest to goodness air-conditioned Mall with a Dillards AND a Macys. Helga (remember the Adorables?) told me that I have holes in the butt of hiking trousers I brought with me to Yellowstone thinking they could double as work trousers. Yeah, well, you try scooting down rocky bits on the trails without making holes in YOUR pants. I need some new pants I can wear to work without giving my coworkers heart attacks. How convenient the bank is right across from a real mall where I just might be able to also get some real coffee instead of Nescafe (I’m not kidding – that’s what they serve in the Employee Dining Room.)

Then on to more roads never taken. I’ve decided, time allowing, I’ll visit Ennis – just because I kind of like its name. Ennis is in Montana sort of on the way to Bozeman where I’m supposed to meet up with my nephew and niece mid-afternoon. It’s on a road I’ve never taken so it meets Road Trip Rule #1.  Thank god my nephew likes his microbrews. I’ll be ready for one by then and Boze has some really good microbreweries.

The long and the short of it? Getting sidetracked doesn’t have to mean getting stopped.  It just means your plans have to change so you might as well make the best of it. And really, don’t the writers of soaps always try to throw a curve ball into every episode?

 

 

 

 

 

GETTING LOST IN WONDERLAND

Sometimes I feel a little like Alice. Actually sometimes I feel a LOT like Alice. To get anywhere in Yellowstone means driving a long time even though the distance is not at all long. But all along the way magical beasts and mysterious scenery disrupt your journey. And the typical road hazards move from place to place.

A friend from home visited the last few days. She talked about how hard it was to remember exactly where the Artist’s Paintpots are (was that north or south of Norris Geyser Basin?) or whether the road to West Yellowstone was closer to Old Faithful or to Mammoth. I can relate. I’ve been here nearly three months and I still carry around my National Geographic map of the Park. Even when I’m on foot, I find my mind wandering from the task of finding the next trail junction.

Last weekend I hiked up Bunsen Peak and the week before that Mount Washburn. Both are ‘moderate’ hikes but not because of length or faintness of the trail. Mount Washburn Trail actually follows an old service road most of which has crumbled to reveal the dirt track underneath the old asphalt.  Bunsen Peak Trail is a wide, well-traveled trail that winds through inviting stands of forest before climbing above tree line. They both have alternate routes down that you might miss if all you are doing at the top is ‘lollygagging’ to use a Mom word.

Even seasoned hikers might find themselves huffing and puffing to the top of the peaks in Yellowstone. It’s not unlikely you will be hiking over 10,000 feet. The central difficulty of Bunsen and Mount Washburn is elevation gain – a little over 1300 feet in 2.1 miles for Bensen and about the same in 3.6 miles for Washburn - all while being exposed to one more incredibly gorgeous viewpoint after another. Already out of breath from the elevation gain, you find yourself gasping for breath at the scenery. Then you make the fatal step of stopping for breath at some breathtaking viewpoint, your eyes drawn to the purple mountains to the south instead of the landmarks along the trails. And it’s easy to miss the trail markers for the alternate way down when you are gazing way beyond them.

Back in Tucson, where I have lived for a long time, I find my way around town by the landmarks that become imbedded in my driving brain.  My favorite cool spot for dining outside is behind and a little to the east of the Art Museum Downtown. The entrance to my doctor’s parking lot is just one median break up from the big corner shopping center. I can get to my familiar places without even switching on my directional brain. Everywhere I go there are always memorable landmarks – the roses painted on the florist’s west wall, the Taco Bell across from the puke green sign announcing my body shop. Whether by foot or car, in the city, it’s easy to get somewhere without even thinking about your destination or remembering an address. Your landmarks lead you right there.

Now imagine yourself in a beautiful place where your eyes are constantly drawn to the next beautiful place. Or where you are distracted by the smoke from and the smell of geysers, missing the small road sign directing you to the spot you are seeking. Or your eye catches animal movement in the forest and you stop for awhile – long enough to forget whether you are north or south of that road sign. Or, if you have pulled off the road in one of the countless pull-offs, even which direction you were going. It’s really hard to remember landmarks when your first thought is NOT “one block past the church” but more like “a couple switchbacks up the mountain where you get that great view of Blacktail Deer Plateau” or “that valley the bears like to hang out in.” Your landmarks become marked by your adventures. And those adventures can change according to the whim of the wildlife and Mother Nature.

I’ve given up trying to use my usual excellent directional skills in Yellowstone. I’ve learned not to believe Mapquest’s time estimates because people just love to stop and watch the bison – or the bear – or the elk – or the eagles. It may only be 6 miles from Mammoth to Gardiner but it could take as long as 40 minutes or even more if the roads are washed out because of the runoff or if the mountain goats are entertaining the crowds from their perch above the road. I’ve given up trying to describe how to get somewhere and how long it will take except to say “well you start by going that direction”. After those simple instructions, anything can happen. At least it is happening in one of the most interesting and beautiful places on Earth.

When you come to Yellowstone – and you SHOULD come to Yellowstone – don’t skimp on your map. Get a good one like the National Geographic Trails Illustrated either for the whole Park or for the different Park areas. You can use Mapquest if you want to know how many miles it is from Madison Junction to Old Faithful but don’t divide the miles by the miles per hour. You’ll be constantly frustrated. Set your watch on rural time or better yet don’t set it at all.. Kick back and expect the unexpected. Hope for the astonishing; it can happen. And DO concentrate on the scenery instead of the landmarks. Here, the landmarks can change. What doesn’t change is the constant variety of magical moments you can experience if you just relax and enjoy the view.

MY NIGHTLY WILDLIFE MOVIE

Often early in the morning and late at night I hear the mama elk call for their calves. They have quite a few vocalizations but one particular sound, somewhere between a bark and a squeal, signals Mama is looking for Junior. I hear that sound and I am suddenly very aware that I am in Yellowstone National Park.

One of my favorite pastimes here in Yellowstone is watching the interactions among the elk, the Rangers and the public. I usually watch this activity right out of my second-story dorm window in the late evening when cars park perpendicular to the curb in long lines just like in a drive-in movie right in front of the lawn the elk like to browse at night.

The elk dine on the irrigated lush green lawn on the other side of the street and then head for the protection of the adjacent sage flat for more camouflage for the night. The public just loves to snap away at this tranquil scene – Mama Elk browsing, Baby Elk nursing with a stunning background of mountains.

Elk are very protected creatures here in Mammoth, as are all living creatures in the Park. When a cow is ready to give birth, she usually isolates herself.  At Mammoth, cows like the relative safety of areas adjacent to the Hotel, the dorms or the guest cabins because they instinctively know their calves are protected there against their main predators – bear, coyote and wolf. The elk benefit from the Rangers’ mandate to protect not only the elk but also the bear, coyote and wolf – and of course the public - by chasing them away from very public areas.

Once a calf is a few days old and can trot beside Mum, the elk will often move over to the sage flats where she can stash her defenseless baby as she forages. The calf’s spotted coat acts as camouflage and its natural instinct to remain completely still keeps it safe from predators. After the calves grow a bit, the female elk recombine into a small herd. The lawn across from my window, the elk’s favorite browse in the evening, provides a great drive-in nature movie for the tourists.

The other night, the evening light was perfect and the elk were being particularly film-worthy. Mamas were browsing up and down the lawn; the light brown calves were quietly lying together in a rough circle. One young calf (male I’m just sure) was springing around his mates trying to entice them to play. He would spring right in front of one of his mates, nudge his buddy with his nose but to no avail. The curled up calves were having none of it.

A junior male (I had not seen him before) with velvet on his still fairly unimpressive rack kept straying quite close to the stupid tourists who were out of their cars and on the lawn, having decided they needed to film closer to the herd. I think Junior knew he was responsible for doing something to protect the herd but he clearly just didn’t know what or how to do it. But he was very, very anxious.

No matter how unimpressive his rack, his presence was definitely a danger to the tourists. The female elk, although not as dangerous as just after giving birth, were also a concern. The Rangers’ mandate to protect the animals includes trying to keep us humans from disturbing their natural behaviors. A Ranger told me a good rule of thumb is you are too close if your presence changes the animal’s behavior.  An ear twitch, a lifted head – these small signs mean they have detected your presence. In other words, back off buddy.

That night, the Ranger was really earning his keep, patrolling up and down the line of cars, directing people back to their cars or at least further away from the herd. As the bull became more agitated, so did the Ranger. The junior bull prowled the line of cars looking for a fight. The Ranger took off his orange safety vest and flipped it at Junior in an attempt to move Junior away from the cars and tourists and back into the herd. Junior looked at him as if to say “Really? This is my JOB…I’m pretty sure.” The Ranger and Junior both held their battle positions for a good while.

Some of the tourists took the hint and moved back into their cars – or they used the open doors of their cars as shields against attack. It reminded me of a scene from Toro! Toro! Sometimes I wish I could be more compassionate toward the tourists, but really, can’t they READ? Signs all over the place alert them to the dangers of getting too close to the wildlife. W I L D  L I F E.

Regardless of their inherent danger to the public, all animals and even the fish in Yellowstone are protected by law. Not by the Endangered Species Act although one species in the Park, the Grey Wolf, is listed as endangered. In 1894, a full 22 years after the Park’s creation, Congress passed the Yellowstone Game Protection Act, declaring “That all hunting, or the killing, wounding, or capturing at any time of any bird or wild animal, except dangerous animals, when it is necessary to prevent them from destroying human life or inflicting an injury, is prohibited within the limits of said park….”

And so we have bears and wolves and elk and moose and 63 other species of mammals as well as 16 species of fish, 6 species of reptile and 4 species of amphibians (Yellowstone NP website) here in the Jewel of the Crown of our Park system. And no matter how incredibly diverse and beautiful the landscapes of Yellowstone are, the public comes for the animals. They want to see uncaged animals acting naturally – or as naturally as animals can under the scrutiny of John  and Jane Q Public.

The Publics come to see bears dipping their giant paws into the stream to catch fish. They come to see wolves hunt elk herds in the Lamar Valley. They thrill at watching Mama Elk give birth. They stop in droves along the road to watch bison….well being bison. The very act of the public being here, though, changes the same natural behaviors they hope to see. It is one of the National Parks’ biggest dilemmas.

I get to witness this play out almost every night from my dorm window. I realize how very special these few months in Yellowstone will be. I already recognize I see Yellowstone differently although I have been here several times before. Somehow, my feeling that this Park is MY Park is growing. I feel more protective of ALL of our National Parks, ALL the jewels in the crown.

Come. Come see the animals. But do it with the knowledge that your very presence changes the behaviors of the wild animals. Walk softly. Speak softly. And whatever you do, respect the animals’ wildness. We don’t WANT them to become tame. We, the public, really honestly want our wild animals exactly that – wild.

A MAMMOTH FOURTH

I hadn’t planned on posting today. It is the Fourth of July and even though I had to work, I knew most people would be celebrating. But today, something special happened and I wanted to share it with my readers.

Mammoth Hot Springs is really just a small village that swells during the summer months with our seasonal employees, guests and visitors. During the summer, about 500 Xanterra staff are in Mammoth alone, with another 2,500 throughout the Park. We are all away from home, family, friends and familiarity. My July Fourth plans are always to attend the Patagonia, Arizona Parade with my friend Annie. I’d been telling my coworkers about this wonderful small-town parade in Southern Arizona. Last year I thought I might like to participate this summer – anyone can. But then I took this job in Yellowstone. Well, this year I participated in the Mammoth Hot Springs Fourth of July Parade instead.

I honestly hadn’t thought to do so but at the last minute, I left my work at my desk and left to join a small band of my coworkers from the General Accounting and Computer Center Offices.  We had dressed in colorful notions left over from previous parades and each of us had a small Old Glory to wave.

A decorated Xanterra van took the lead, letting people along the route know that something special was happening.  The ‘Parade Route’ wound through the visitor cabins behind the Hotel and then on to the green lawn across from the Hotel’s imposing Portico. Anybody and everybody was welcome to join in.

I had seen the ‘drill team’ practicing behind the Hotel over the last few days. Today, red, white and blue towels attached to wooden broom handles were brandished high in the air by the Housekeeping Staff as Lee Greenwood’s lyrics “And I’ll gladly stand UP next to you and defend her to this day…”  blared from the radio of the lead car.

More Housekeeping and Guest Services Staff followed, rolling their more diminutive coworkers in decorated service trolleys along the ‘parade route’, waving flags and throwing candy to the guests. Visitors and employees streamed out of their cabins, offices and the Hotel to watch.  “Happy Fourth” rang out from the line of marchers, me included, as we wove our way through the guest cabin area and up to the great portico of Mammoth Hot Springs Hotel. The Wranglers, up from the Mammoth Stables, were a big hit with the crowd as they took up the rear on their beautiful and well-behaved horses. Even many of our international employees participated to help us celebrate our freedom.

As the Parade came to the front of the hotel, we had to wait a minute until a huge tour bus vacated the Portico.  Apparently, the driver didn’t get the memo that this was the Parade Route. The guests then took their places in the shade of the Grand Portico while the marchers gathered on the lawn. The Flag Team performed rather brilliantly to Greenwood’s “God Bless the USA”. One of the flag team had only a tiny US flag but nonetheless he went through the routine with all the aplomb of the flaggers who hoisted what must have been pretty heavy flags.

As Greenwood words “I won’t forget the men who died who gave that right to me” I thought of my nephew Mikey, permanently disabled from the Iraq war. I thought of my Dad, a WWII vet, who suffered from ‘shell shock’ his entire life. I shed a tear or two or more for them - tears of love, of gratitude and of pride.

Then, the closest thing to the Parade Marshall came forward to lead us, all of us, in patriotic songs.  Song sheets were handed out and I don’t think anybody there, including the international guests, thought it was just too plain hokey to sing about our love of country and freedom. Well done, everyone.

Mammoth is a unique place to be on July Fourth.  Yellowstone was the very first National Park in the world. That’s something to celebrate on July Fourth. We ALL own our National Parks, every single one of us. Our National Park system is perhaps our greatest achievement in my mind. We are an immigrant nation, a nation of explorers and adventurers. The Parks, whether they are the great swaths of wilderness in the West, or the historic monuments in the East, are brilliant reminders of what this Nation has gone through to get where we are today.

Our freedom, our wilderness, our history are all very worthy of protecting. We may have differences of opinion on how to go about that but every time Greenwood’s words ring out, hearts stir. OK, I think the song is a little hokey but I tear up just like the rest when I hear the words “There ain’t no doubt I love this land. God Bless the USA.”

Happy Fourth. You wouldn’t be where you are today if someone hadn’t lead the way there. Celebrate your past, our past, and as the fireworks light the sky, say a prayer for our future.

 

 

BREAKING THE ROLES

Ha! Bet you thought I meant Rules, didn’t you? Yeah, I’ve been known to be a bit of a rule-breaker. Or at last to have a mild disdain for most rules unless they have proven pragmatic value. But this post is NOT about breaking rules. This post is really about the reason I am here in Yellowstone.

 

In the past two years, my life has changed a lot. My only son graduated from college and decided to live near the other border – the one with Canada – instead of where he grew up in Arizona.  My dear mother was laid to rest after a living with dementia a very long time. I was traveling so much to be with my mother I had to drop of lot of activities and positions I enjoyed. My sweet dog died and it is unlikely I will take on that responsibility in the near future.  And a series of cycling accidents and falls were a very direct reminder that life is fragile and bodies don’t function at their maximum youthful capacity forever.

 

To be sure, as I experienced these changes in my life, I grieved for my mother, my youth, my dog, for my son’s constant presence in my life.  As I grieved for the person or animal – the relationship - I began to more clearly understand that almost all losses come with roles that we also can lose.  I was no longer a mother that my son needed, being a confident young man.  I was no longer a daughter, a leader, or a dog companion. I had to take a break from the role of active adult I like in order to heal.

 

Each one of these roles comes with an entire culture of expectations and agreements about what to do, how to act and who to be.  Every role we play in lives – husband or wife, mother or father, daughter or son, best friend, lover, business partner, boss, employee – they all provide structure to our lives, structure that helps us move rather automatically from one environment and task to another. We are sometimes in these roles for so very long – I was Mother’s daughter for 59 years – our patterns attributable to these roles become ingrained in us. Sometimes it feels like losing even one of those roles could mean a rent in the tapestry of our lives so permanent that has the potential to unravel the whole.

 

So what happens when our roles are obsolete? What happens when wife no longer has a husband or husband no longer has a wife? What happens when daughter or son no longer has a mother? What happens when you are laid off and are no longer waking up each work day to earn your living? The losses themselves are nearly unfathomable but what about the loss of the role? Do we even recognize the impact that losing the expectations and behaviors that are inherent to those roles?

 

One day I was reading aloud to Mother and the next day those long flights were no longer necessary. My mornings seem longer and somehow less beautiful without the need to take that cranky old canine for her morning walk in her favorite wash. When child or partner leaves, you no longer have to cook for two – or even cook something that you just marginally like for someone else. When you no longer have employment, you get up at 6am to get ready for work and remember that you no longer have to. Once your lose your lover, Valentine’s Day comes around just to remind you that you no longer have a ‘valentine’.

 

The loss of the role may have the potential to be even more life-altering than the loss of relationship. The losses I incurred over the past two years have lead to so many changes in the roles I have had to play and certainly enjoyed these many years. So how does one cope with the loss of the roles? The benefits, the structure, the expectations they provide us? How do we know who we are without the relationships helping to define us?

 

Obviously, one option to keep the role and replace the relationship. A husband can take another partner and often does. A lover often finds a ‘rebound romance’ in order to hang on to the role. A daughter might bond with an older, wiser woman friend or focus her loss on her own children, smothering them with the mother love she misses and expecting them to reenact her role as daughter. A dog-lover might visit the local animal shelter and come away with a dog.

 

That might work for some. But it doesn’t work for me. Naturally cautious about relationships, I am not one that easily replaces relationships, even with animals. The longer I wait for the ‘right fit’, the more I realize that my role was unique to the person or animal with whom I played it. I am shedding the cultures of both those relationships and those specific roles. Discovering what I am like without my old roles helping define my days and responses to my days is an entirely different task.

 

Change usually produces chaos and chaos is where I grow the best. It is an act of courage and of chaos to leave your home and belongings with just enough to fit into your truck and drive north to a place that will promises no comforts of home, no familiarity of surroundings. What Yellowstone represents is a certain rawness of existence that is almost monastic. Or at least for me.

 

I am on Retreat. Not retreat from life, but a break during which I am examining whether the structures and cultures of my old roles have meaning anymore to my life. I am a seasonal worker and the only expectation is that I will get along with my coworkers, do my job well and complete my contract. I don’t feel a lot of pressure to begin constructing a new Role. I am open and available to discover exactly what I need in the present.

 

Who am I when stripped away from all that I know? All that I have been for many, many years? Yellowstone seems like the perfect setting for my quest. I’m only a quarter of the way through my odyssey, my journey, and I have only begun to understand the reasons I typed “jobs in Yellowstone” into my search engine so many months ago. I have only begun to be grateful for the rip in the fabric of my oh-so-comfortable life. Sometimes you have to start over from the beginning. Sometimes you have choose a new beginning.

 

Five months is just barely time enough to begin examining the murky depths of my mental landscape. I have been a daughter, a mother, a leader and a dog person for a long time. What is it like to be none of these things? To do none of these things? To have none of these roles defining my existence? Yellowstone is not the answer; it is only the beginning of the quest to discover the answer. The question? If I were to choose to be exactly who I wanted to be and to live exactly where I wanted to live and to do exactly what I wanted to do, what in the world would that be?