joshthehodge

Bruneau Dunes and the Kangaroo Rats

January 22, 2021January 22, 2021Posted in UncategorizedTagged bruneau dunes, bruneau dunes state park, idaho, kangaroo rats, mountain home, sand boarding, sandboardingLeave a comment

“Where ya goin’?” asked the young man at the Wendy’s who approached my table. I had my road atlas spread out, planning my route to Bruneau Dunes State Park in Idaho. I wanted to make sure I didn’t miss anything along the way. I had my hiking boots on, had my backpack with me from which I pulled out my tablet to check the route, and was so intently focused on the task at hand. I certainly must have appeared as a character on a mission.

“I’ve been on a National Park road trip,” I replied. “I came from Yellowstone and Craters of the Moon and I’m headed towards Bruneau Dunes State Park.” At the time I wasn’t sure how to pronounce Bruneau. I think I said something more like “Broo nay ah oo”

“Oh, ‘Bruno’ Dunes,” he corrected my pronunciation. “That’s a sick spot. You’ll like it.” His lanky arms accentuated his speech. “Where are you from? From here?”

“No, Kentucky,” I replied.

“Sick…”

He bid me safe travels and I was soon on my way. I was pleased to receive the stamp of approval from someone who had been there before. Traveling between National Parks, if there is a large distance, I try to find state parks to visit and stay at to split up the travel. This looked like it would be an interesting one on the way: giant sand dunes in Idaho, who would have thought?” The next National Park stop would be Lassen Volcanic, but I was certainly breaking up this 697 mile drive.

Before my arrival at Bruneau Dunes State Park, I made a stop at a Walmart to restock the supply, and, as planned, buy a skateboard, skrewdriver and candle? Why? I was going to go sand boarding! I would use the screwdriver to take off the wheels and the candle to wax the board. Then I’d be good to go. I thought it was a genius plan. I’d been sandboarding in Huacachina, Peru in the summer of 2015 when I visited Peru with my older brother Nathan, the chocolatier, and my sister-in-law, Catherine. It was so much fun! I was going to recreate the thrills. At Walmart I found a stylish Kryptonic skateboard, back before plastic degraded their value and style.

When I arrived at Bruneau Dunes, I seemed to be in a deserted place. The park office was closed, and the parking lots and campsites were empty. My arrival was through some pretty rural areas with sparse population and wide-open plains of dry, mostly brown, grass with the occasional patches of green. It was a very hot summer day in the nineties, pushing on a hundred. My guess was that I was visiting this park off season. I pulled from my glove box the printed sheet I had of my reservation. I was going to live it up tonight in a camper cabin! Quite luxurious, given I’d been camping in my tent all thus far. My assigned cabin was called Andromeda. It was a one room log cabin with a green tin roof, very similar in nature to a KOA camper cabin. It was situated at the end of the campground nestled with a few pine trees. It had a small porch with an overhang and swing facing flat plains and some sand dunes in the distance. Inside a key was on the table. I brought in my things from the car and got prepared for the dunes. I carefully disassembled the wheels and bearings from the skateboard, tied a wet bandana around my forehead to keep me from drying-up out in the sun, and headed out to the dunes. A short pullout from the park road yielded access to an enormous sand dune. I raced up. The sand was hot, soft, and malleable beneath my feet! I would not have expected to find this bonafide desert in Idaho. Astounding!

When I reached the top, my heart was beating heavily from the swift trudge and the intensity of the heat. Here I feasted my eyes upon the landscape. A small lake sprawled out on the other side where deciduous trees hugged close to the water’s edge. On the other side of the lake more dunes laid across the land, and large plains of grass and shrubs blanketed the landscape. It was a place where the prairie and the desert collided.

Here we go. I positioned my makeshift sandboard and took off, surfing down the sand dunes with great delight and thrill! Just kidding. My board didn’t go anywhere except dig into the sand. I tried again. Nope. This wasn’t going to work. That’s okay. I got a cool skateboard for $25. I did however pose for a picture with the board, which I must confess falsely portrays that my sandboarding attempt was a success.

With board in hand, I walked along the spine of the sand dune, and it was quite a fascinating and usually scenic place. After so many days in the cool brisk Yellowstone, and camping in misty near-freezing nights, it felt comforting to be in the embracing heat of the dunes beneath the sun. The sun’s heat is always reassuring to me and I always enjoy intense dry heat. I descended the sand down to the body of water below. I’d later learn that these sand dunes are believed to have formed about 15,000 years ago in a giant flood. I didn’t stay down by the water long, because pestering flies were all up in my face. I followed the footprints of others in the sand back over to the road where I parked by car.

Time for dinner! I decided to go into town, an eighteen mile drive into Mountain Home, Idaho. My GPS device told me there was a Taco John’s. I’d never been to one before. I’ve seen them here out West. I’d check it out. It was pretty much a straight shot into town on a flat road, but not an open road. It was extremely busy, but not with cars nor with average pedestrians, but rather with rodents. What were they exactly? I wasn’t sure. Mice? Chipmunks? Come to find out they were kangaroo rats. The word “rat” has a rather repulsive connotation, but these little guys were cute. Problem is they were dumb little kamikazes, running out in the road as I approached and then freezing and waiting to be flattened. I tried the best I could to evade their peril, steering in all directions, driving like a drunkard, but there were hundreds of them. I even laid on my horn and slowed down. They had surrounded me. There was no choice but to proceed one way or the other. Sadly a number of them reached their fate that hot evening in June. I wish it wasn’t so, but so it was.

I was fully aware that Napoleon Dynamite was from Idaho. The fictional character from the movie lived in rural idaho. I remember exclaiming “sweet” in my best Napoleon voice as I crossed the Wyoming/Idaho border the day before. When I was driving into Mountain Home, the layout and rural vibes of the area reminded me of the setting of that movie. There is a scene when Napoleon’s Grandma is out four-wheeling on the sand dunes! I had not made the connection until after I had left the area that Bruneau Sand Dunes was where his grandma was! Not far off was Preston, Idaho where the rest of the movie was filmed. If I would have known this, this leg of my trip to Idaho would have been very much Napoleon themed.

In Mountain Home the Taco John’s was downtown. Inside I ordered my food, and sat down to eat. I noticed another customer, a lady, with tight yoga pants on, in which part of her posterior spilled out above the waistline. Her upper body had a few tacky, stale, and distastefully placed tattoos. Her hair was stained drug-addict black. A few more colorful characters came in. I was just simply making observations. I did not draw any conclusions, but was only observing the wildlife as I always do on my adventures. What I do know, is that once my tacos were devoured, I was ready to get back to the state park.

It was dark by the time I got back. In my cozy little cabin, my oasis in the dunes, I had brought in my pillows and sleeping bag and had set them up on the bed. I studied my road atlas and reviewed the photos in my camera. Tomorrow I would dip down and travel West, covering a substantial portion of Nevada. I’d been to Nevada before, one of the most underrated states, full of hidden gems. I was ready to visit her again.

Read the previous entry “A Lion on the Moon” here: A Lion on the Moon – on the verge (joshthehodge.com)

Check out my book Canyonlands: my adventures in the national parks and the beautiful wild here: https://www.amazon.com/Canyonlands-adventures-National-Parks-beautiful/dp/1711397873

A Lion on the Moon

January 21, 2021Posted in adveture, national parksTagged backpacking, craters of the moon national monument, craters of the mooon, echo butte, mountain lions, national parks, preserveLeave a comment

Perhaps I was wrong about mountain lions. Maybe they would be more of a problem after all. That growl was unlike anything I had ever heard before. Suddenly I was flooded with goosebumps. The park ranger at the visitor center was not kidding.

I was now at Craters of the Moon National Monument and Preserve in southern Idaho. At the visitor center a blond female park ranger, with abundant curls that towered upon her head like she was straight out of the 80s, made a child declare the Oath of Service as a Junior Ranger. She spoke with her “r”s quite accentuated. “As a Junior Ranger I promise to teach others about what I learned today, explore other parks…”

Then it was my turn. I wanted to secure a wilderness permit to camp out in the volcanic black sand wilderness of the monument. The ranger was kind and helpful, and she highlighted a place on the map I should camp at: Echo Crater. She proceeded to indicate the route and gave me a permit to hang on my backpack. She said the trail wasn’t always visible, but pointed out some landmarks to guide me on my way. I asked her to repeat them. After all, I didn’t want to end up lost like at White Sands National Monument. I asked her if there was any wildlife I needed to be aware of. “Squirrels,” she said. “We have squirrels.” Okay, I thought, you don’t need to advise me about squirrels. Then, just when I was about to move on, she informed me: “Now, there has been a mountain lion spotted a few times recently out by Echo Crater.”

“Oh?” Perhaps this is more important information than that of the squirrels

“Just be cautious, and you should be fine.”

Do I ask her more about this? I thought. She already issued me a wilderness permit and asked me if I was prepared for safety in the backcountry. I didn’t want her to lose confidence in me or doubt her decision in issuing me a permit. So, “Thank you,” I replied. Plus I was running short on time. I wanted to set up camp before the sunset. It was already evening. The day flew past me as I had driven in from Yellowstone and even experienced my first buffalo jam.

So I quickly got myself together. I was able to pack quite lightly and use my new serious backpacking backpack I had gotten at a Bass Pro Shops at the beginning of the summer. I had my Kelty tent, long underwear, sleeping bag, Vitamin Water, bandana, compact pillow, a Clif Bars, a protein fortified crispy rice bar, electrolyte gummies, miniature toothbrush, flashlight, water, and a book. I was ready, or at least close enough, so I hit the trail. The terrain was quite unique in that it primarily consisted of black and dark brown sand and rocks, which was the lava field remains of a series of underwater volcanoes that defined the area and gave it all its buttes, cones, and craters. As I made my way along volcanic remains there was the occasional shrubbery or pines that adorned the landscape, but it was mostly barren and dry like the surface of the moon. There wasn’t much of a trail other than footprints in the black sand. At one point I passed by some lava flow caves. I’d read about these. These hallowed out tubular caves underground were where lava once flowed. The tops of these caves pressed upon the surface and gave the terrain a rounded, and, at some locations, a cracked surface. I’d read somewhere in the monument you can explore these caves.

Then suddenly I heard an abrupt growl or roar, not any ordinary sound, but a heinous malicious sound, like something had just been attacked violently! It seemed to come from the ground, from the lava tube caves just beside me. I was flooded with goosebumps, a chill went down my spine, and I ran down the trail, but with my oversized backpack, running was not sustainable. The sun was setting beneath the horizon and any remaining shrubbery had taken on a golden hue from the sun, bidding farewell to the day, and here I was alone and vulnerable. Well not exactly alone- with a mountain lion in my midst!

I became extrordinarily vigilant, every few seconds looking behind me, hoping I didn’t find a lion stalking me. My actions express my concern, but at the same time, how cool, I thought. I just heard a mountain lion attack something. It seemed almost unreal. I couldn’t wait to return back to the visitor center in the morning and tell the rangers about my experience.

Eventually the trail of footprints dissipated into nothing. I had been counting buttes, for the ranger told me that after a number of buttes I’d find Echo Crater. I wasn’t sure what the visual difference of butte and crater was. At the time I thought it was pronounced “butts.” I was just counting butts at sunset with a mountain lion. Wait, how am I supposed to know if I’ve been counting “butts” or craters? What about cones? I was uncertain of where I was supposed to be. At one point I backtracked a little bit to reassess the lay of the land. Then I had to assess my situation. I could keep going, or I could call it a night. After all, the daylight would soon be gone. I think it’s probably better to get set up and in my tent, regardless of whether I am in the right location or not, because there is probably a mountain lion on my tail. I concluded that I would consider this big mound of a volcanic feature Echo Butte, whether it really was or not.

I also had another burning question: Am I to camp in the crater or beside the crater? The ranger just said “at the crater.” “At” is a vague term in such a circumstance. I thought I’d try and camp in the crater, so I made my way up the side of the hill leading into the crater. Then it dawned on me: Do I really want to be trapped inside a crater with a mountain lion? I remembered when I was in Death Valley years prior. I ventured down in a crater, and then had a bit of trouble getting back out, and I recalled a coyote down in that crater. Perhaps the mountain lion lives in the crater and I’ll get trapped in there with him. No thank you. I felt better camping out on the lava flow. Aside the mound of the crater was a flat barren field of black rock and sand. While I was setting up my tent there, I tried not to bend or kneel down much, after all, that would put me in such a vulnerable position for the mountain lion to pounce and break my neck. Then I threw my backpack in my tent and hopped in. As I was unpacking my bag and getting situated, some rocks tumbled down from the crater mound and I heard steps. It’s found me! I shrieked in my soul and my heart jumped. What to do? Then I saw out the window of my tent, it was no mountain lion. It was a deer. It walked right past my tent. Phew! That was a close one! I thought.

As daylight left, I had my snacks, brushed my teeth, and pulled out the book I had purchased in the visitor center. It was a middle school mystery reader, one in a series, each one taking place in a National Park. This was the Yellowstone installment called “Wolf Stalker.” More appropriate for the occasion would have been “Lion Stalker.” As I began to read the book, I found no allusion to imminent peril, and it captivated my attention. I had calmed down. I felt fine, at ease, and quite at peace. I found the same great lonely freedom I found when I went backpacking in the wilderness area of the Petrified Forest. I slept quite well, despite brushing waking consciousness a few times from the cold.

In the morning, as I woke with the sun, I began to thaw out. I thought I’d explore more of the area this morning and have a look inside the crater. I tore down my tent and packed my bag. I felt quite alone, but I loved it. As Theodore Roosevelt once said, “The further one gets into the wilderness the greater is the attraction of it’s lonely freedom.” I was removed from the troubles of the world, and my featured accomplishment was surviving the night without being eaten by a mountain lion. The danger of a lion now seemed so distant.

But then…what was that sound? It was something more than the chirping of birds. Voices? People? Around the bend of the crater mound came a couple of beings. I’d learn they were a park biologist, the older man, and his apprentice, a college student doing an internship. I thought I would ask them more specifics on where I was and what I could see. Pleasantly, they introduced themselves and told me they were out here studying birds, particularly taking a bird inventory. They set a timer for five minutes and then counted bird calls they heard in specific areas. It told them what birds were in the area and how healthy the population was. They had finished their work for the morning and were doing just a bit of sightseeing, the older man showing his intern around.

“Come follow me,” the biologist invited. “I’ll show you how to get into the crater. He guided us around to the other side of the mound where vegetation was more abundant. We did quite a bit of bushwhacking. I engaged in conversation with both of them about my trip, about the park, about their lives and where they were from. I felt so fortunate to have my own private biologist to guide and interpret the park for me. Once we reached the edge of the crater we had climbed quite high. I was struck with an awesome view into the crater. It was like its own little biome, its own island. Trees and shrubs grew down in it. How cool it would have been to camp down in that sheltered world, but then again who knows how safe. I looked out upon the expanse of the preserve here and saw snow capped mountains in the distance. The biologist guided us down into the crater. I marveled at the rocks, and the trees, and the crater walls. I saw where other people had camped before, and my question of where I was intended to camp had thus been answered.

When we trekked our way out of the crater we parted ways, and then rejoined by happenstance again. At one point I veered to check out a cave. I poked my head in cautiously. Because of what I heard the evening before, that was quite enough. I thought about telling the biologist about what I heard and my experience the night before, but when I contemplated sharing it, I felt like I sounded crazy. I thought then about telling the ranger back in the visitor center, but when I got there, it was still very early and it was closed. I left my wilderness permit at the door. I didn’t share my experience with anyone at the park, but I treasured it as one of my greatest souvenir experiences of the summer. With that in my pocket, onward I’d proceed to Bruneau Sand Dunes State Park.

Read the previous entry “Why I Cried at Roosevelt Arch- What Theodore Roosevelt and the National Parks Mean to Me” here: Bears and Buffalos – on the verge (joshthehodge.com)

Check out my book Canyonlands: my adventures in the national parks and the beautiful wild here: https://www.amazon.com/Canyonlands-adventures-National-Parks-beautiful/dp/1711397873

Bears and Buffalos

January 18, 2021Posted in national parks, travel, UncategorizedTagged bear spray, buffalo jam, mount washburn, yellowstone, yellowstone national parkLeave a comment

Bears, they’re gonna get me! I have to keep making noise. “Hey bear!” I occasionally called out as a warning. I had learned you never want to surprise a bear. As I hiked up this mountain I intentionally made loud obnoxious steps, kicking the rocks beneath my feet when I had the opportunity. I was hiking solo up Mount Washburn in Yellowstone National Park, along a wide open gravel trail.

It’s all quite ridiculous in retrospect, but this was my first substantial hike alone in grizzly bear country. I had no way to gage the threat of a bear attack other than by all the worrisome warnings from the National Park Service through all the trailhead signs and in the park newspaper. Also, just days prior in Grand Teton National Park, bear spray was selling like it was the latest craze. I thought I would buy bear spray, but when I found out it was $50, I guess my thrifty self decided my life wasn’t worth that much. But there also was a bit of doubt that bears were a viable threat to my safety. I once thought rattlesnakes would be much more of a problem in the Southwest than what they are, and then there were the mountain lions. I never had any trouble with these animals. Maybe bears were just one more to add to the list. And bear spray? Really? It sounded like quite a gimmick to me. Fear is a great way to make a buck. I wouldn’t put it past the greedy and sly to overhype the threat of bears and scare people into buying bear spray. Then again I’m prone to entertain conspiracy theories as distrust seems to be my default in what’s new. If bears were a really serious and substantial threat I was thinking the park service would provide bear spray with the price of admission into the park or require people to purchase it.

Now, don’t take advice from me about your approach to such a situation. This was my very first solo hike in bear country, but in subsequent years, especially during my stays in Montana, I’d hike many times solo in bear country. Have I had bear encounters? Yes, quite a few. Have they ended ugly? No. Most bears just seem to loaf around without a care, but I’ve heard stories. I’ve met people who have been attacked. It’s real, but to what degree is this threat? I still have a hard time gaging it. I now do carry bear spray with me when I’m out hiking in Montana, but after dozens of hikes, I’ve never had to deploy it.

But here in Yellowstone I was a newby, and although I convinced myself not to buy bear spray by holding onto my conspiracy theory and my $50, I still was cautious, and I became a bit paranoid on my way up Mount Washburn, thinking that the bears could be just about anywhere and were ripe and ready for attack at any moment. In retrospect, I don’t think this particular mountainscape in Yellowstone was prime bear habitat, but at the time, what did I know? I’ve told myself quite a few times when I’m out hiking and taking certain precautions, “better safe than dead.” I use that phrase to justify taking the extra safety measures I sometimes take, but I certainly don’t live by it always. Way too many people are held back by fear, and in being so, they miss out on the richness of life. We must face fears to truly live, but we need to do so with intelligence. Preparedness, strength, and knowhow are great, but the greatest of survival skills is intelligence along with some sense.

Back to the hike at hand, Mount Washburn was named after Henry D. Washburn who led the Washburn Expedition in 1870 to explore Yellowstone and make detailed maps and observations which would eventually be used in designating it a National Park. The expedition is described in Nathaniel P. Langford’s book, “The Discovery of Yellowstone Park.” I chose this hike because I was craving a mountain top view, a manageable day hike, and the guide book I was following had it in the itinerary. At six miles round trip it was quite manageable. It was three miles up, reaching 10,243 feet and a quick three miles down. The hike was very much out in the open and trailed what looked like, at times, a road. It probably served so for the fire lookout at the top. The mountainside was mostly rock and grass, but there were also large stretches of dead trees, mostly light grey and barren like driftwood, others charred dark from forest fire. Across the landscape in the distance were many valleys, rolling hills, and wild planes with pockets of trees tucked in here and there. Further up the hike, large snow drifts spilled onto the trail. Then snow was everywhere. Alongside me a thick pine forest stretched out in the great expanse and climbed up other mountains ladened with snow. Fluffy rounded clouds contrasted the rich blue of the sky and cast shadows all over the wide landscape. Purple fringed gentian bloomed along the way, seeming to delight in the cold but sunny mountainside.

At the top a firetower stood and a sign marked the elevation. The view atop was nothing outstanding from the views all along the way up: rolling hill after rolling hill, pine forest, dark shadows cast by the clouds, and mountain peaks of snow in the distance. Most everything was painted a shade of blue from the sky’s reflection on the terrain. I satisfied my mountaintop craving, but realized Yellowstone is perhaps better explored by means of its geothermal features, rivers, and lakes below.

Once back at the car, and safe from all bear encounters, I’d drive over to the Grand Canyon Village once again for dinner, then I’d pass by Yellowstone Lake at sunset on the way back to my campground. On the side of the road opposite the lake, water flowed into a little pond. I pulled over as I observed the most stunning display of colors. Vibrant deep blue and orange, cast in the sky by the sunset, reflected into the pond with the dark silhouettes of trees. It was the most beautiful deep and rich display of colors. I really savored this view and the moment.

This was not the only time I made a spontaneous pull off to the side of the road because beauty caught my eye. I had done it quite a few times throughout my stay in the park. Usually if one sees another car pulled over at a seemingly random spot, it’s because someone spotted some wildlife, and soon cars began to pile up. In this fashion, on a later trip to Yellowstone, I’d see my first wolf. At one point this day I pulled over because I noticed some beautiful flowers, and I wanted to take their picture. Then a number of cars slowed down, some pulled over. “What do you see? What do you see? Is there a bear, a buffalo?”

“No, I’m just taking a picture of some flowers,” I responded. They seemed disappointed, dismissed me and drove on. Oftentimes, in a quest to find the biggest or most shocking feature on the land, some people miss out on the exquisite detail of the smaller, finer things, like the flowers along the way, or the colors of the sunset reflected in the waters.

When I reached my campground I had completed a full day. Hiking up Mount Washburn was one of the final things I did. I had also visited the Mammoth Hot Springs area earlier and took in the unique stacks of thermal springs. I took a self guided tour of Fort Yellowstone at Mammoth Hot Springs where the U.S. Army was stationed to patrol the park in early days. Now the buildings which constitute the fort are ranger residences. My mind was captivated with the thought, and I daydreamed, of what it would be like to call this place home. These buildings were homes. People lived here, had families here, had cookouts in the backyard as children played. Inside was their furniture, their things. This was their home, and it was in Yellowstone! How incredible! On a side note- something that rightfully needs to be documented, for it changed my life- here in the Mammoth Village I discovered huckleberry licorice, which would go on to become my favorite candy.

After visiting Mammoth Hot Springs, I visited Roosevelt Arch, and stepped foot into Montana for the first time. I then took Blacktail Drive, a scenic park drive on a gravel road. It was quite serene and I saw quite a number of buffalo there. I also took in the Calcite Springs Overlook. Midday I found myself sitting on a rocking chair on the porch at Roosevelt Lodge. This lodge and cabin complex was built in the 1920s at the site where Theodore Roosevelt once camped by llamar valley. It is rustic and has a lot of warm charm. I had already eaten and was not hungry, but I looked at the menu at the lodge. I saw a cozy dining room while a fireplace crackled. The buffalo burger on a corn bread roll really jumped out at me, and I kicked myself for not waiting to eat here. Someday on one of my journeys between Kentucky and Montana, I want to stop here and have the full Roosevelt Lodge experience.

After my third full day in Yellowstone, I felt like I got to know the park, but knew there was much more to see and discover. I would come back and visit again. Next on my summer adventure plan was a stop at Craters of the Moon National Monument in Idaho, but before I left Yellowstone in the morning, I would find myself in a “buffalo jam,” as they call it. At least fifty buffalo overtook the road I was on. I came to a complete stop in my vehicle as buffalo of all sizes crowded around. They walked slowly around my vehicle. It was incredible. I saw buffalo calves for the first time. They look like strange deformed ponies, I thought. At one point a large buffalo stopped right in front of my car. He stared at me through the windshield. He nodded his head toward the right and then the left, and then looked back at me. It was as if he didn’t know he had to walk around the car. Oh No! I then became a bit concerned that the buffalo might try pushing my car or walking up upon it. After a few minutes it figured out the solution was to walk around. I could have lowered down my window and pet it’s back, it was so close. I was thrilled. This buffalo jam was perhaps the most unique and marvelous wildlife encounter I had ever had thus far. More kept coming and coming. I felt so fortunate to be here at just the right moment. I couldn’t have imagined a better crowd to wish me farewell on my journey.

Read the previous entry “Why I Cried at Roosevelt Arch- What Theodore Roosevelt and the National Parks Mean to Me” here: Why I Cried at Roosevelt Arch – What Theodore Roosevelt and the National Parks Mean to Me – on the verge (joshthehodge.com)

Check out my book Canyonlands: my adventures in the national parks and the beautiful wild here: https://www.amazon.com/Canyonlands-adventures-National-Parks-beautiful/dp/1711397873

Why I Cried at Roosevelt Arch – What Theodore Roosevelt and the National Parks Mean to Me

January 17, 2021Posted in adveture, national parks, natureTagged National Park Service, national parks, Roosevelt Arch, Theodore Roosevelt, yellowstone, yellowstone national park2 Comments

When I saw Roosevelt Arch I cried. It churned up an emotional response in me. This gateway to Yellowstone National Park, situated near the Northwest corner of the park, tugged at my heartstrings. To understand why, I must reflect on it and consider myself in the moment, for the emotions brought up were so deeply entrenched. It’s not something to skim off the surface of my being.

I think to best understand the reason for my emotions I must consider Roosevelt Arch in three aspects. First, I must consider its symbolic meaning, what does Roosevelt Arch mean? Next, I must consider it’s visual appeal, why does this visual provoke this feeling? And thirdly, I must reflect upon the man whose name is inscribed upon it: Theodore Roosevelt.

It is certainly not without evidence the measure of significance the National Parks means to me. I have visited so many and have written extensively about them. The National Parks are places I go to restore my soul. When life is burdensome, and I’m weighed down by the heaviness it entails, when I lose perspective and get caught in the rush and concerns of the moment, the National Parks with their magnitude, beauty, and remoteness have become places I go to step out of my troubles and find perspective. The immensity of the mountains, the richness of the forest, the profoundness of the canyons humble me and diminish the concerns in my own life as I gain perspective of the bigger canvas of life.

As I am inspired by the grandiosity of things I also find such beauty in the smaller things- in the wildlife, in the design of plants, the way water flows and sits, and in the beautiful way the sun filters through the trees or paints across the plains. Everything big or small is so near perfectly balanced, beautiful and unique, reminding me of the awesome expansive creativity of God. And here, as I am surrounded by God’s artwork, I am reassured knowing the same wonderful Maker who crafted these lands and natural wonders is the Architect and Orchestrator of my own life. I see that the fingerprints in nature are the same fingerprints in my own design. It is such a humbling yet reassuring feeling to know the awesome Creator and Coordinator of nature has His hands on my life.

Here in the remoteness and solitude of so many parks I am ushered into a place where I can focus in on this masterful Creator, to pray, to reflect, to enjoy His company in the still, calm, and quiet. Man has constructed temples, churches, and cathedrals, all of which can serve so much good, but God has also gifted us, in his own incredible design, temples in nature that point us back to him in a unique way. Whether it’s the stunning Yosemite Valley, the wide openings of the Rio Grande, the mountain peak in Appalachia, the spread of glaciers in the Rockies, or beneath a giant sequoia, these places of quietude and beauty are here for us to draw us back to the Creator.

In addition to these spiritual aspects, there are other more broadly understood terms in which the parks have been meaningful to me. They have been places that have put me up to challenges, physically and mentally- taking on long strenuous hikes, pulling my weight up cliff sides, overcoming fear in turbulent water, and problem solving when things have gone awry. The experiences in the parks have strengthened me physically and mentally and in return have been good for my soul. In the same regard they have instilled in myself a greater confidence in my own abilities, and have given me a passion to which I identify. My experiences in the parks have molded me into the outdoorsman I am, have spurred in me the desire and necessity to learn new skills, and have kindled the appreciation and thirst for beauty and adventure.

So here I was at Roosevelt Arch, this manmade structure was the first and primary entrance to Yellowstone National Park for many years. Montana was the main means of entry into the park as support for the exploration of Yellowstone primarily came out of the Montana Territory through the Washburn Expedition. When the railroad was brought to Yellowstone it came through Gardiner, Montana, and thus a grand entryway to Yellowstone was constructed in 1903 with the inscription above it “For the benefit and enjoyment of the people.” This phrase comes out of the Organic Act which established Yellowstone as a National Park, but it is unofficially a slogan used throughout the National Park Service. Standing here in front of the arch I see how it greatly contrasts the wild remote landscape around it of mountain and field. And this structure is bold and tall, a mighty gateway to Yellowstone. It was evident to me that this was the entrance not simply to Yellowstone but to the first National Park. Thus this arch, this portal, is where it all began. This is the doorway to all the National Parks and a monument to one of America’s best ideas.

In this moment, before the arch, I was also swept away with patriotism. My country has chosen to preserve such treasures and honor such beauty. The heroes, the fathers of the National Parks- now long gone- made this possible, people such as John Muir, Theodore Roosevelt, Stephen Mather, Nathaniel Langford- all outstanding Americans. Just the fall before, a turbulent election took place. Some people became very vocal about their thoughts on the United States. Some citizens renounced patriotism and attacked the country with boisterous and repetitive rhetoric, and many in higher education proudly slandered our nation. When I was in New York City visiting my brother and sister-in-law, walking down Fifth Avenue, a group of young people chanted and pleaded for the abolishment of the United States. How infuriating that was, but how refreshing and restorative to be here at Roosevelt Arch to celebrate the natural wonders my country has chosen to preserve for the ‘benefit and enjoyment” of all people and recognize the patriots that made this possible. People need to get out of the cities every once and while and enjoy the wonders of nature and the diversity of the country.

It is without question that my knowledge of Theodore Roosevelt himself is part responsible for this emotional response to seeing this arch. Theodore Roosevelt, more so than any modern historical figure, has had the greatest influence upon my character. It is largely due to the difficulties he endured and the principles by which he stood. This man knew pain, physical and emotional, to great profundities. Some may see him as privileged, and although he was in some regards, he also was a man of great misfortune. Life was not nice to him in many ways. He lost his father as a young man and both his mom and wife died soon after on the same day- a day in which in his journal he’d remark solely: “the light has gone out of my life,” with an X. This was a man who felt like he lost everything. Before, he spent much of his younger youth physically Ill. Severe asthma and intestinal issues plagued him. I have not experienced nearly as much hardship as Roosevelt, but I, like so many people, have faced my own hardships in life. I’ve had my own extensive and grave health issues, have lost dreams, and have been in emotional distress. How inspiring it is to see Roosevelt not allow himself to be beaten down by life, not to wallow in self pity, but rather do the most unexpected thing and learn to embrace the difficulties of life, to accept life for what it is, to find value in challenge and hardships. He grabbed difficulty by the horns and called it for what it is: “the strenuous life,” something he preached about. Although his lot in life initially dealt him misfortune, he did not let that hinder him. Roosevelt loved life. He had a passion for it in all regards, and lived it to the fullest, courageously and vigorously.

This wimpy, sickly child, not expected to survive past childhood, would go on to occupy the bully pulpit. He’d clean up sin loving New York City as police commissioner and governor, charge up San Juan Hill as a commander, see that the Panama Canal was constructed under his presidency, attack corruption in Washington, author more than forty-five books, raise six children, and work to preserve more federal land than any other president, creating a culture of natural preservation. Although so accomplished as president, being one was not always in his plans. He once said he never wanted to become president, but he became one by destiny. When president Mckinley was assassinated in 1901, Roosevelt had to assume office. Although, expectedly so, he rose to the occasion and preserved the dignity of the office, he made light of the frivolity among the Washington political elite, for Roosevelt, despite his status, was a common man. He may have been born into the New York elite, but this man was relatable to the ordinary American. He’d camped with them, hunted with them, ate with them. He left the comforts of high-class New York City and became a rough and tumble cowboy and rancheman in the Dakota Territory. He did not simply identify with a class of people, he identified as American.

Along with his firm sense of nationalism, Roosevelt also defined in his own terms what it meant to be a man. Having read many books by and about Roosevelt, this is a motif I’ve found that spans his life and story. Always to some extent he was preoccupied with thoughts of manhood and how to live up to and fulfill his duty as a man. He’d observe characteristics in others, then write about them and speak about them. He would come to define manhood by four principles: courage, hardiness, integrity, and independence. I think presently, our nation, as a whole, lacks strong male role models. Modern attacks on masculinity, and fatherless homes, have left a generation confused and lost in society. Media has watered down or redefined manhood in physical and lustful terms. The youth more than ever need men like Roosevelt to lead them and teach by his legacy.

I suppose on a more uniquely personal level, I identify so strongly with Roosevelt because of his passions: America, history, reading, recreation, nature, and writing. Although hunting and fatherhood are two huge parts of the Roosevelt experience that I am not yet personally acquainted with, we have such similar interests and worldview, that an overwhelming majority of things Roosevelt said are relatable to me in some regard. Thus he has become quite intriguing to me.

So with all these characteristics in mind, here I was at Roosevelt Arch. Theodore Roosevelt had laid the cornerstone for this magnificent construction that would be dedicated to him. With all the symbolic meaning, as a gateway to America’s National Parks, bearing the name of Roosevelt and the slogan, “For the benefit and enjoyment of the people,” how could I not get emotional? This place appealed to me on so many levels. This was the door that unlocked all the National Parks which would mean so much to me and to so many.

“Everybody needs beauty as well as bread, places to play in and pray in, where Nature may heal and cheer and give strength to body and soul alike” – John Muir, The Yosemite.

Read the previous entry “Providence in Yellowstone” here: https://joshthehodge.com/2021/01/15/providence-in-yellowstone/

Check out my book Canyonlands: my adventures in the national parks and the beautiful wild here: https://www.amazon.com/Canyonlands-adventures-National-Parks-beautiful/dp/1711397873

Check out my book Theodore Roosevelt for the Holidays: Christmas and Thanksgiving with the Bull Moose here: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08M8Y5P29

Providence in Yellowstone

January 15, 2021January 15, 2021Posted in adveture, national parks, travel, UncategorizedTagged grand canyon of the yellowstone, museum of the national park ranger, national parks, yellowstone, yellowstone national park1 Comment

It was day two in Yellowstone National Park. I slept soundly in my tent, despite the campground being full, crowded, and not having much privacy at all.

On my morning stroll to the bathroom I saw a buffalo walking between two campsites right alongside the picnic table and a RV. I hadn’t expected it. I suppose he wanted to wish all us visitors a “good morning.” It reminded me of one morning in Rocky Mountain National Park when an elk was grazing right alongside a camper’s tent.

It was a cold and overcast morning. Wet clouds hung low overhead. I quickly disassembled my tent and threw it into the backseat of the car. I could only reserve this campsite for one night. Yellowstone in the summer is an extremely busy place. The next two nights I’d camp at the Grant Village Campground. Once in my car, I had some breakfast from my stash of dried foods and began my day’s itinerary as spelled out in my book. My first stop was at the Fishing Bridge. This long century-old log pole bridge stretched over the Yellowstone River just as it forms and flows northward from Yellowstone Lake. Pine trees stand snug at the water’s edge and some inlets give way to marsh. It was a quiet and peaceful place, especially at this time in the morning. I strolled quietly and contemplatively. Then a big bus came to a stop, hissed, opened its doors and a swarm of Chinese tourists poured onto the bridge, equipped for the misty weather with transparent ponchos and ready to take photograph selfies, nearly each one carrying a selfie-stick.

More so than any other park, Yellowstone seems to be a favorite among Asian tourists. Tour busses full of these well-equipped tourists are found all over the park. In addition, signs in the bathrooms and outhouses instruct foreign visitors on how to use toilets in the United States; the general store at the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone has an Asian food isle with a variety of noodles; and restaurants in the park seemingly cater to a certain tourist- namely with the noodle wok. Days prior in Grand Teton National Park, on my guided hike around Swan Lake, the Ranger brought this up, explaining how the influx of Chinese tourists is because of the current strong middle class in China. I also think it just must be in particular fashion in China to visit U.S. National Parks. Tour companies are designed for and are catering to this demographic, probably making quite a wealth for themselves.

When I left the Fishing Bridge I proceeded Northward and drove a short distance to the Mud Volcano. On my way I saw another buffalo trailing the road. At the Mud Volcano area there was a short boardwalk around gurgling and burping mud pots of highly acidic water that erodes the volcanic rock and turns it into a sludgy thick ooze. The landscape here was very soupy with water sitting, boiling, slowly flowing, and burping up from the ground all around. The most impressive feature here was the Dragon’s Mouth. A hole in an embankment by a thermal pool hissed and gurgled as it constantly let out steam, resembling just what it’s title suggests.

After making another couple brief stops I arrived at the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone at Artist’s Point. There were crowds of Mandrian speaking tourists, posing in front of the viewspots once again with their selfie sticks. Behind them was one of the most magnificent views in the National Park Service: Lower Falls at the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone. It is incredibly picturesque. A platform juts out at the edge of the canyon, where crumbling yellowstone is on display traveling down to the focal point of the perfectly flowing immensity of the Lower Falls which is so entirely uninhibited. This is one of those marvels of nature which is hard to take in and gain perspective of. The beauty before you is just astounding. You feel almost as if you are trapped in a painting trying to gain your bearings. Although I was surrounded by people, I tuned them out, and my mind and eyes became fixated at the wonder before me. Captivated would be the most appropriate word. All the sounds and clutter around me dispersed, and I was still, calm, and quiet to my perception. What a wonderful piece of artistry- truly striking- not happenstance but designed.

Then… “Take photo?” asked the tourist in broken English. “Sure,” I replied. When I was done taking the photo I turned behind me to look off the other side of the observation platform to the peculiar display of the canyon walls which slid diagonally down towards the river from a definite abrupt edge of pine treeline. Colors were on strange display here in nature’s own pink and yellow drooping down in rock formation like melted crayons.

While in the area I escaped onto a trail that followed the ridgeline. At one point it veered into a dark and moist forest, and at the time I thought this might have been a prime bear habitat. All alone with not much experience in bear country, I decided to head back towards the crowds. I drove over to the trailhead for Uncle Tom’s Trail, where I descended 328 stairs to the base of the Lower Falls. It was cold and wet, and my stay was brief.

My next stop was at the commercial area of the Canyon Village. Sharing a parking-lot was a general store, an outdoor gear shop, a souvenir shop, and the Canyon Lodge, which is not exactly a lodge but a cafeteria. The cafeteria was very nice and newly renovated in a 1960s style. Something also about the design made me think of a lodge. It seemed like I was at a high elevation ski lodge, not that I had ever been to one before, but it gave off that vibe to me. Here there were two lanes, two sections: One they called “American food” and the other “Asian food.” I was surprised no one had thrown a fit about their terminology in this “woke” era. For me it was just fine. I thought most fitting for my visit to Yellowstone was some classic American cuisine. I had a pot roast with smashed potatoes and gravy with mixed vegetables and garlic sauce. I was surprised by the quality of the food- top notch for a National Park- so much so that I’d come back here to eat the following day.

My first trip to a National Park in my adult life was in the fall of 2014 to the Great Smoky Mountains National Park in Tennessee. This was the fall after my summer trip to Disney World. Being a classic Disney fan, the trip was everything I hoped it could be, or “magical” I guess is what they say. I enjoyed hopping from one park to another, moving about from one attraction to another, and taking the buses around to visit the different resorts. The Great Smoky Mountains National Park, with all it’s different parts, whether the high reaches of Newfound Gap, the scenic valley of Cades Cove, or the hub of the Sugarland, it’s variety is similar to the different parks in Disney World; and all its different features like Alum Cave, Clingmans Dome, Laurel Falls, Charles Bunion, etc. are like all the rides and attractions in Disney World. I remember thinking the Great Smoky Mountains National Park is the Disney World for the nature lover. Not every park is like this. Not all parks have different sections and a plethora of varying attractions, but Yellowstone most certainly does more so than any other park. Yellowstone has an abundance of “attractions”, numerous villages, lodges, and restaurants. It is an enormous theme park. I’d say The Great Smoky Mountains is more like a Disneyland and Yellowstone is Disney World. It’s at a whole different level- or “a whole new world” as they say.

After having lunch in the Canyon Lodge I proceeded on my journey. I stopped at the Museum of the National Park Ranger between the Canyon Village and Madison by the Gibbon River and Gibbon Falls, which I also admired. I tell my students back in Kentucky jokingly that when I grow up I am going to be a park ranger. I so admire park rangers and think it would be a most intriguing profession. So, without a doubt, a stop at this museum was necessary. The Museum of the National Park Ranger was located in an old building that used to house soldiers back when Yellowstone was patrolled by the U.S. Army in its early days. This museum gave a brief history of the National Park Ranger; showed a re-creation of an early ranger residential quarters; displayed old newspaper articles and photographs; showcased badges which signify different rankings and classifications within the ranger system; and most fascinating to me at the time, displayed a map from 1916 of the United States with all the National Parks labeled. Something on this map jumped right out at me: a number of the National Parks on the map were no more. What happened to them? There was a retired park ranger volunteering to answer questions in the museum. So naturally…

“What happened to these parks on this map that don’t exist anymore.”

He seemed pleased to have a question to answer. His grey mustache bounced up and down as he spoke. His passion for the National Parks was evident. “Well, some were given back to state and local supervision, and others were defaced so much that they lost their cultural value.” I found this to be quite an interesting bit of information. Later, in my days working in Montana, I’d get an original publication of the book Oh Ranger by Horace Albright. In this book there is a map with a number of National Parks and Monuments that also are no more. At Seven Islands State Birding Park in East Tennessee an exhibit on Tennessee State Parks explains how a number of National Park units in Tennessee were redesignated as state parks.

When media outlets complain of a politician downsizing federal lands, I’ve come to find that really, in many instances, the public land is put back into the hands of state and local municipalities. This detail is left out in reporting as it doesn’t always fit the narrative. Mackinac National Park became Mackinac Island State Park. Lewis and Clark Cavern National Monument became Montana’s first state park, Father Millet Cross National Monument became Old Fort Niagara State Historic Site, and the proposed Pioneer National Monument became a series of state parks in Kentucky including Fort Boonesborough State Park, to name a few.

Once done at the museum and with my pleasant chat with the retired ranger, I continued on my journey and down the left side of my day’s loop. The main parkway is like a number “8.” I was on the left side of the lower loop. The upper loop of the “8” I had not seen at all yet and would be reserved for the following day. On my journey on the lower loop I stopped at the Artist’s Paintpots where a number of mudpots, fumaroles, and springs painted lavalike colors across the broken and soupy landscape of delicate earth. A boardwalk guided the tourists among the features. I had plans to stop at the Midway Geyser Basin to see the famous Grand Prismatic Spring. But the traffic was backed up to the road. I decided I’d come back early in the morning.

I proceeded to the bottom of the number “8” on the West Thumb of Lake Yellowstone where I had a campsite reserved at the Grant Village Campground. I checked in and set up my tent in the cold misty forest. It was very similar to the campground I stayed in at Grand Teton National Park. The Grant Village Campground provides visitors campsites within little nooks in the forest. It’s a quiet, recommended campground in the park. After setting up camp I went to the general store, which had a small cafe attached to it selling sandwiches and ice cream. I ordered a sandwich. When I held out my debit card to pay, the employee asked to see an ID.

“Kentucky! We are from Kentucky!” the cashier exclaimed. “My wife and I are from Louisville. We are teachers. We just work the summer here in Yellowstone.”

This is an important moment in my life. My mind flashed back to the waitress in Jackson Lake Lodge talking about how she got a summer job online, and I remembered she wrote me the web address to find summer jobs in National Parks on a napkin. I briefly thought about pursuing it, but I had doubts as a teacher if I would have enough time and the capability to escape from my normal life for such a adventurous summer job. But then this couple were teachers here from my state! They were able to work around the education system in Kentucky to get away for the summer. If they could do it, I could do it! I would do it! They had inspired me.

Trying to follow in their footsteps, a year later, in the winter, I applied and pursued vigorously the opportunity to work in Yellowstone. I was shot down. They wanted more of a time commitment than what I could offer as a teacher. This didn’t stop me. There had to be a way, for this couple did it. I tried other parks. I tried Big Bend National Park in Texas and Glacier National Park in Montana. I received job offers from both! A privately owned mercantile just outside of Glacier National Park won out. In the summer of 2019 I’d find myself working my first summer in what would become my most favorite place on earth. My heart would get lost in Montana, and my experiences in Montana would be some of the fondest and most meaningful in my life. The people I’d meet in Montana would become some of my most treasured. It was this moment in Yellowstone- this teacher couple from Kentucky- who would put all of this in motion. Coincidence? I think not. Coordinated? Definitely.

Read the previous entry “Lands Alive: My First Day in Yellowstone” here: Lands Alive: My First Day in Yellowstone – on the verge (joshthehodge.com)

Check out my book Canyonlands: my adventures in the national parks and the beautiful wild here: https://www.amazon.com/Canyonlands-adventures-National-Parks-beautiful/dp/1711397873

Lands Alive: My First Day in Yellowstone

January 2, 2021January 2, 2021Posted in adveture, national parks, nature, travelTagged national parks, old faithful, old faithful inn, upper geyser basin, west geyser basin, wyoming, yellowstone, yellowstone in a day, yellowstone national park1 Comment

Yellowstone, with gurgling mud pots, colorful pools, hot springs, and geysers shooting into the air, it’s nature’s wonderland. Herds of bison, elk, the curious badger, and ravenous wolves call it home. Cascades and waterfalls, sprawling valleys, rivers, and lakes are pocketed in all corners. It’s so huge and magnificent that it’s daunting to even write about. It is the first National Park, founded in 1872, and among the larger ones at 3,471 square miles, larger than Rhode Island and Delaware combined. Central Park is to New York City as Yellowstone is to the United States of America. It is America’s park.

I wanted to give myself plenty of time to make acquaintance, so I had given myself three days, but one could really spend a lifetime exploring its vast wonders. I had bought a book in the gift store at the visitor center of the neighboring Grand Teton National Park titled “Yellowstone in a Day,” published by the Yellowstone Association. It really spelled out an itinerary for Yellowstone in 3 days with optional additional days itineraries.. It was precisely what I needed, and so truly I visited Yellowstone by the book. It calmed my worry that I might miss something of importance. I knew assuredly, before all else, that I needed to see Old Faithful. That was a must, along with the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone. I knew I wanted to see Grand Prismatic Spring, but at this point, arriving at the park, I didn’t even know its name nor if the images I had seen of a grandiose and colorful pool were of various springs around Yellowstone or one specific. I’d learn that Grand Prismatic is definitely that one that sticks out from the rest, boasting its own character, photographed many times.

I entered Yellowstone from the south from Grand Teton National Park via the John D. Rockefeller Jr. Memorial Parkway which connects the two parks together. I beheld the entrance sign and took my photo by it and then proceeded to the West Thumb Geyser Basin. Here a half mile boardwalk meanders atop of a delicate landscape where a number of geothermal springs display extravagantly bright turquoise pools which steam into the cool air. Signs warn that the ground may be thin and advise visitors not to step on it but to stay on the boardwalk. Thus the ground appears to the eye like a thin pebbly and crispy crust just atop a earth that bubbles and steams, alive and breathing. The boardwalk descends down along the side of Yellowstone Lake, where one can see over three miles across to the snow capped mountains. Just aside the boardwalk are a few geothermal features within the lake water visible to the eye. There is one called the Fishing Hole. It is not more than a mound that pokes up in the lake with a couple-foot hole in the top where boiling water feeds into the lake. It got the name as the Fishing Hole because there is a tale of a man who would go fishing right here in Yellowstone Lake. Once he caught his fish he’d dip the line over in the hole and cook his fish right there and have himself a meal.

When I came near the completion of the West Thumb Geyser Basin Loop, a female elk popped out of the adjacent pine forest and stepped onto the boardwalk. She simply crossed over the boardwalk and meandered between the geothermal pools. People stopped and gathered to take pictures. I was surprised how unfazed the elk was with all the visitors- but most animals in Yellowstone are rather comfortable with visitors. It’s as if the animals are trying to say. “This is my home, I am quite comfortable here. You are on my turf.” As a visitor, I really do feel like I’ve come inside the animals’ home in Yellowstone. I truly am a visitor here- more so than in any other park. This is the animals’ park.

Leaving the West Thumb Geyser Basin in car, I traveled to the Upper Geyser Basin, the home of Old Faithful! This is perhaps the most prized feature of the National Park Service. The parking lot conveys so with its enormous size. Here a village sprawls horseshoe alongside this feature. Here in this park within a park, is the Old Faithful Inn, Old Faithful Lodge, main park visitor center, Snow Lodge Cafeteria, and a large gift shop and general store. I wanted to see it all, and so I did. When I left my car, I saw a number of noisy crows perched atop a few vehicles. Were they welcoming me, or was their pestering cry their attempt to tell me to go away? Probably they were just looking for handouts. I rushed into the village in excitement. I just had to see Old Faithful erupt! I learned she did so about every hour. Enormous crowds gathered around a boardwalk which outlined the site of the geyser. Some wood benches were built into the boardwalk, but they were already taken. Intently observing, before its eruption there were a few brief spurts, leaving me wondering is that it? Sometimes tourist attractions can be overhyped, but when Old Faithful did erupt, she DID erupt, unmistakably, shooting into the sky pillars of water. People oohed and aahed, and it was everything I hoped for. Water towered upon water, hissing and boiling. It was an overcast day so unfortunately Old Faithful didn’t contrast against a blue sky, but she was still visible with great billows of steam. When the tower of water sunk back into the ground, the tourist quickly disappeared. Many headed back to the parking lot or into the gift shop. I was hungry and ready for lunch. I ate in the Old Faithful Lodge cafeteria, which has an exposed log frame and overlooks the site of Old Faithful through its big windows. This was one of five choices for me to eat just in this village, but at the time I did not know.

When I was done with lunch I took the couple mile boardwalk loop from Old Faithful along the Firehole River to the Upper Geyser Basin boardwalk. Here there were numerous geysers, the highest concentration in the world. There was lots of hissing and bubbling all around, and the air was filled with the repugnant smell of warm sulfuric acid evaporating into the cool mountain air. Seemingly at random, a geyser would erupt for a few minutes, tourists rushed to it, but then moments later elsewhere along the boardwalk, another would erupt and the tourists were drawn to another direction, each tourist reveling in the presumption that perhaps they were the first one to have seen the geyser erupt in maybe hundreds of years, but most of these geysers like Old Faithful are pretty consistent.

When I neared the farthest end of the path, I was desperate to go to the bathroom. The hissing and bubbling eruptions, and the flowing water taking place all around, did not help my predicament. There was a line for an outhouse of about a half-dozen people. I couldn’t fathom having to wait so long with the urgency I was experiencing, but I did and in the meantime I helped a few tourists open a bear proof garbage can. They were struggling and did not know how to open it. I felt quite experienced.

When my walk through the Upper Geyser Basin was complete, I was back next to Old Faithful and walked into the Old Faithful Inn. I get goosebumps on the verge of writing about this place, because it is the most impressive structure and most magical hotel in all of the National Park Service. It is the first “grand” lodge in all of the National Park Service. Shabby accommodations did exist beforehand, but this inn took everything to another level. This became the largest log hotel in the world. This inn was also the birth of the National Park Service Rustic architecture style, which sought to create buildings which harmonized and fit in with the natural surroundings. Imperfections and asymmetry, rebellious to the styles of the industrialized world, were welcomed. Hand labor contributed greatly to this style, and Robert Reamer who designed this hotel went on to create a number of other lodges in National Parks. When Theodore Roosevelt and naturalist John Burroughs toured Yellowstone in 1903 they saw plans for the lodge, and it’s been noted that Theodore Roosevelt praised the plans extensively.

When one walks into the lobby he or she is greeted by an enormous stone stacked fireplace in the middle of the atrium. Its chimney is extremely bold, larger than the rooms would be in many houses, and it extends six levels up through the rustic log roof. The logs which make up the whole building are not shiny and refined, but rough and rustic, unpolished and wild. Each level has a balcony which looks down into the main lobby. Just standing in the lobby looking around the place impressed me greatly. It truly looked handmade, and most of it was. It’s a mighty fortress of a structure and the epitome of a childhood dream of a fort in the woods. The top two levels in the lobby were small crows nests for musicians. Back in its earlier days, dances were held on this lobby floor to the live music above.

I wanted to spend some time here and enjoy this building and its architecture, so I went to the small cafe adjacent to the lobby and bought an overpriced cinnamon scone and a cup of orange spice tea. I walked up the rugged uneven stairs, noticing families on vacation climbing the stairs causally, hauling their suitcases. I couldn’t even imagine the delight of spending a night in such a place. I’d be so elated you’d see it all over my face. On the third level I stopped and sat on a rocking chair which faced the railing before me and the lobby below. A violinist up in the crow’s nest began to play soothing and relaxing music. This moment was so perfect. I just reveled in and savored it. The sights, the sounds, and the comfort of my hot tea were all perfect.

Resting here I imagined what it was like back in the day when the only way to this remote lodge was through the great wilderness on coach. There weren’t any roads nor the infrastructure of today. What a magnificent place to come upon in the wild after days of travel by horse, foot, or coach. The warm fireplace would have been so welcoming, and although rustic in style, this would have been luxurious. I imagined the visitors all dressed up dancing across the wooden floor below to the sound of the fiddle in the rafters.

Then, stop, I reminded myself: Be still. Be calm Be quite, and be ever present in this moment, savoring it completely for what it is. I so thoroughly enjoyed my break of peace and quietude here and often think back to it at the mention of Yellowstone. After sitting here for probably a good half hour, I resumed meandering around and found myself outside on a rooftop terrace facing Old Faithful. She was erupting again and I enjoyed it all a second time. This was a great vantage point of Old Faithful without the herds of people. It was cold outside so I didn’t loiter for too long. I went back in and went into the gift shop in the inn. I bought two post cards- one vintage one for my parents and another artistic one for my friend Ricky in California. I took them with me to the second floor where a few small old wooden desks outlined the walls. The desks had built in lamps and cozy wings for privacy. I filled out the postcards and then decided I better head to camp. I took a short stop by the Kepler Cascades, as the book instructed, on my way to my campsite at Bridge Bay, which I had reserved months in advance.

I arrived at the campground just before dusk. The campsite was mostly an open field with no privacy and very few trees, but I didn’t mind. By the time I was done setting up camp, the sun had set and I could hear a ranger giving a talk over at the campground amphitheater. I thought about joining but felt my time was best spent getting reorganized in my car and off to bed. After cleaning out my car and getting organized, I made my trip to the campground bathroom to brush my teeth, and then I settled into my tent with my park map and my “Yellowstone in a Day” book to see what the plan would be for tomorrow.

Read the previous entry “The Mighty Tetons” here: The Mighty Tetons – on the verge (joshthehodge.com)

Check out my book Canyonlands: my adventures in the national parks and the beautiful wild here: https://www.amazon.com/Canyonlands-adventures-National-Parks-beautiful/dp/1711397873

The Mighty Tetons

October 4, 2020October 4, 2020Posted in UncategorizedTagged grand teton, grand teton national park, morman row, national parks, taggart lake, wyoming1 Comment

“I’m going to need a venti latte with an extra shot and almond milk,” the lady spoke.

Where do you think you are? I’m asking quietly in my own mind with no anticipation of response. I knew exactly where I was, in Grand Teton National Park in northwestern Wyoming, a place where dramatic peaks of the Rocky Mountains strike up among pine forest and once cattle ranches are among mountain lakes, pristine rivers, and sprawling wild flowers. Specifically I was in the Coulter Bay Village in the general store. Apparently the lady had mistaken the canisters of drip coffee as a bonafide Starbucks establishment. She must not get out of the city very often, my thoughts proceeded. As they say in the South, “bless her heart.” After she resolved her order I got myself a nice cup of hot tea, perfect to thaw me out this cold morning. Although the temperature most likely dropped below freezing, layering up on clothes and burrowing under three layers of sleeping bags kept me warm and comfortable for the past two nights. I can’t think of a finer night’s sleep in my life than these nights in Grand Teton National Park.

I was up rather early, eager to make my way to neighboring Yellowstone National Park. The previous morning I was also up early to make it to a ranger guided hike to Taggert Lake. I had given myself plenty of time to arrive, and I sat at the trailhead on a bench cold, wishing the sun would rise and warm up quickly. When the ranger arrived she led the small group of about twelve of us on a short 1.5 mile hike to the lake. Along the way she explained how one of the unique features of the Teton range is that there are no foothills, You can see the mountains begin at the valley floor and dramatically rise seven thousand feet. This is due to the sudden violent seismic activity that led to their creation. The Tetons are also unique in that they are believed to be the youngest mountains in the Rocky Mountain chain. Along with geology tidbits the ranger shared about plant life. She invited us to all rub our fingers on some sagebrush to smell its pleasant aroma. “This is what used to be called ‘cowboy cologne.’ Cowboys would spend long days, sweaty and dirty out on the range, sometimes without the resources to clean up, so if they were headed into town, maybe to a saloon, and wanted to smell nice for the ladies, they would rub sagebrush over their bodies, especially up around their necks.”

A large section of the trail went through sagebrush and wildflower meadow, then swayed into the forest. We crossed the small rushing Taggert Creek on a bridge and ended at the small Taggert Lake. It looked rather dismal this morning, with a mostly cloudy sky up above, but surrounding it were narrow pines and the dramatic mountains with snow all up and down their sides adding quiet beauty.

The ranger gave us the option of following her the same way back or continuing another 2.4 miles to complete the loop. I decided to complete the loop and took off solo. Although I really should have been enjoying the scenery around me and being present in the moment, I was troubled by the fact my camera was broken. It was a Sony Cybershot point-and-shoot camera. I had bought it brand new just before the trip. I did think it felt very light and cheap, and I came to find my questioning of its durability justified. This was my second Sony Cybershot. Prior I was using an older sturdier model. I thought for a small camera it really delivered and I became, if I do say, quite skilled at using the camera and all its features to their full potential, but dust, or some sort of particles, had gotten inside the camera and on the lens casting dark spots over my pictures, so that’s when I bought the newer, more expensive, but overall cheaper model.

Days prior after I arrived at Dinosaur National Monument, I took the advice of Gzeivieur, the frenchman I met at Curecanti, to check out Fantasy Canyon. The name alone was intriguing but the road to this site was not the most inviting. I drove at least an hour and on at least twenty miles of dirt road into very remote stretches of desolate and dry Utah desert. I passed by no signs of life except the occasional oil fields and related small industrial complexes. The sun was also setting. The farther I drove into nowhere, the darker it became, not very comforting. When I arrived I was surprised at how miniature the landscape was. Despite being small, I will admit it is very unique. The Bureau of Land Management on it’s website claims it holds “some of the most unique geological features in the world.” It also warns of the features being very fragile and calls it “nature’s china shop.” They describe it as “the east shore of what was once Lake Uinta, where the sediments eroded from the surrounding high lands. Sediments were deposited and the once loose sands, silts, and clays were forged into sandstone and shale. Because of different rates of weathering, the more durable sandstone remained while the more easily weathered siltstone and shale washed away, yielding this spectacular scenery.” Today it’s a collection of drooping, haphazard, fungal-looking rock hoodoos and shelves. I think I would perhaps best describe it as sharing the variety and visual make up of a coral reef, but it looks all petrified and painted in a pale clay beige.

Here I screwed my camera to my trekking pole. I tried to drive that trekking pole into the ground, but when I set the timer to scurry into the picture, the trekking pole fell, smacking the camera on the ground. Since that moment the lens would not open nor adjust. I would only be faced with an error message. I eventually resorted back to my older camera which I still had in hand, and I would purposely try to frame my pictures in such a way that the dark spots on the lens would not show up in plain sight in the pictures.

Now in Grand Teton National Park, after fretting over my camera situation for much of the morning, I came to terms with it and realized this could be a wake up call to really take in the scenery in the present moment and not live my life behind the camera, preoccupied with capturing the best shots. I also resolved to write more and draw. I could capture the beautiful scenery through my own pen and it would be uniquely mine. I could share the beautiful scenery but share it through my own perception. I was inspired in part by my Uncle Joe who while traveling routinely takes time to make his own postcard sized sketches of notable places of interest on his travels. Although he does take photographs too, his pictures I would say are more valuable because they capture the way he sees things.

After completing the loop at Taggert Lake I went back to the Coulter Bay Village and went on another short ranger led hike which ended at the marshy Swan Lake with wispy grass and lily pads sticking up out of the water and the mountains towering in the back between and above the opening of pines. This looked like prime moose habitat but none were spotted during this visit. I recognized immediately the ranger leading this hike. He was the friendly guy from Chicago in the visitor center from the day before, the first person I met here in the park, the one who instructed me to sit in front of a fireplace in Jackson Lake Lodge, look at the park materials, and plan my visit from there. He had served me well.

“I may not look like a park ranger,” he began his talk. “I am new here and am still waiting on my hat and uniform.” I give him points for effort. He had a green shirt and pants, trying to imitate the classic ranger look. He also remembered me. I am always impressed when people remember me. It happens quite frequently. After short, casual interactions, people are often able to recall me. I feel honored.

This ranger conducted himself in a manner which made him very approachable, so in between his moments of interpretation I walked alongside him and asked some questions. I wanted to know the difference between a National Park and National Monument. Both are entities in the National Park Service and although Monuments get less publicity than the Parks, some Monuments, like Dinosaur National Monument for example are quite spectacular. He explained how Monuments are declared by presidents. A National Park is established by an act of Congress. He explained that many Monuments eventually become National Parks. Even Grand Teton National Park originated as Jackson Hole National Monument.

“Do National Parks get more federal funding? I asked.

“No. It doesn’t have to do with funding. It mostly has to do with the name.”

“Well, why change the name to a National Park if there is already a National Monument.”

“Tourism,” he replied. “A National Park status brings in more tourists. Take Great Sand Dunes National Park in Colorado for example. In recent years it transitioned from a monument to a park, as a result it increased visitation and tourism. It’s great for the local economy.”

I’d later see the reason why Jefferson National Expansion Memorial and Indiana Dunes National Lakeshore acquired name change and status to National Parks.

This ranger also spoke a lot about John D. Rockefeller, Jr., the son of the Standard Oil founder and one of the richest men in America at his time. He fell in love with the area after being escorted around by Horace Albright, the first director of the National Park Service. Albright persuaded Rockefeller to purchase the land and donate it to the federal government as Roosevelt would put it, “for the benefit and enjoyment of the people.” To acquire this land at fair price, Rockefeller created the Snake River Co. and used this name to purchase 33,000 acres to donate to the federal government, When news broke out that Rockefeller was behind the purchasing of all this land, there was such an uproar that the government wouldn’t accept the donation for fear of scandal. When president Theodore Roosevelt eventually accepted the donation and created Jackson Hole National Monument he was compared to Hitler annexing Austria. Name calling and scandal aside, I am grateful that Rockefeller used his wealth built up from capitalism to give this incredible area to the people of the United States and the world. I am glad that Horace Albright and Theodore Roosevelt shared the same vision. Without Rockefeller’s wealth and without his charity, the Tetons may have been leveled and mined to dust, the forest completely lumbered, and the valley may have become an industrial cattle farm. This is not to demean the value of these industries, but the beauty of Grand Teton National Park is truly a treasure worth preserving and sharing.

In the evening I made my way over to the Snake River and then to Morman Row Historic District. This part of the park preserves a late Morman settlement and features perhaps the most iconic view in the park and in Wyoming, the view of the Reed Mouton Barn on the open grassland and the Tetons rising up in the distance.

I stood here initially with the desire to capture the perfect photo, but then I paused. No, let me just take it in. I gazed at the beauty of the mountains. What does this mean? I asked, for beauty is never wasted. My mind began to race. But then I stopped. Be still. Be Calm. Be quiet. As always, I was in the presence of the almighty God, and the beauty reminded me of that. I thought back to what God taught me out in the desert of Dinosaur National Monument. This was the first time apart from then, I really put this learning to practice. I felt relief knowing there was nothing I needed to do with this beauty, and there was nothing that needed to be said. All I was called to in this moment was to enjoy it and be present and mindful in the moment with God. He again was calling on me to be still, calm, and quiet, and it was quite refreshing for the soul. I became aware that ultimately it’s not my actions that bring about healing and restoration, it’s God in these moments of stillness and quietude.

After pausing, breathing, and mindfully resting in God’s presence I sat down. I did open my journal and created a sketch of the mountains before me. I also accompanied it with a poem. I did not overthink my writing. I did not overanalyze it for meaning or plan it precisely. I looked at the mountains and was taken away by the strength and might they reflected, and I let it flow free and meander from me, just like the waters of the Snake River.

Jagged diagonals form peaks stretching to touch the clouds

Boldly rising, unreserved, coated in blue and fostered with snow, mimicking the sky above

Sprawling across the canvas among wandering streams, pristine lakes, log pines, and wilderness

The voraciousness of the bear and the chase of the wolf below is only child’s play to your grandeur

You are old and display generations lined together for a family portrait, dominating the view with Grandfather in the center.

Quiet, not a sound from you, but your stance tells everything and in you I see the reflection of strength and Might.

Read the previous entry “My Cougar Encounter At Grand Teton National park” here: https://joshthehodge.com/2020/09/19/my-cougar-encounter-at-grand-teton-national-park/

Check out my book Canyonlands: my adventures in the national parks and the beautiful wild here: https://www.amazon.com/Canyonlands-adventures-National-Parks-beautiful/dp/1711397873

My Cougar Encounter at Grand Teton National Park

September 19, 2020September 19, 2020Posted in UncategorizedTagged cougar, grand teton national park, jackson lake, jackson lake lodge, jaguar, mountain lions, national parks, wyoming2 Comments

I wasn’t supposed to hear that. This much I knew. A middle-aged woman leaned over to another and whispered, “I feel like such a cougar.” I was sitting next to her here in the Pioneer Grill in Grand Teton National Park in Wyoming. This was a 1950s style diner on the lower level of the Jackson Lake Lodge. According to the Grand Teton Lodge Company’s website, “The Pioneer Grill at Jackson Lake Lodge is one of the oldest and rumored to be the longest continual counters at 200 ft. One counter snakes through the room, creating a friendly atmosphere where guests interact with travelers.” Yep, most certainly. I was seated at one of the corners of the counter. Adjacent to me sat my fellow conversationalists for the evening, two middle-aged women. One of them had blondish grey hair and the other had black. It was the lady with the black hair closest to me who had spoken these words to the waitress: “I’m going to pay for that young man’s dinner.” I also wasn’t supposed to hear that.

I hid behind my menu. This was mildly awkward. Was I supposed to react to what I overheard or pretend I didn’t hear it? I decided to play the latter. When the waitress took my order she also took my menu, and there I was. The cougars, if you will, were looking right at me.

“So where are you visiting from?” the black-haired lady asked with a pleasant smile and inquisitive eyes.

“I’m from Kentucky,” I claimed. “What about you?”

“We are visiting from Washington. I’m Judy and this is my sister Cheryl. We are visiting on a sisters get-away for the weekend. What brings you here all the way from Kentucky?” First off, I was surprised her sister’s name was Cheryl as her appearance reminded me of my aunt Cheryl.

“I’m on a National Park adventure. I flew into Phoenix, got a rental car, and have been camping and visiting National Parks all month,” I explained.

“Oh, you’re a teacher! What do you teach?”

“I teach Spanish in elementary school.”

“Well, good for you. Good for you,” she repeated.

“What do you do?” I inquired unaware of how much information this simple question would unpack.

“I am a retired police officer. Worked thirty years.” She then proceeded to tell me all about her retirement benefits, how much money she was getting in retirement, how much money she was making before retirement, how she decided to retire. I was surprised. She was making nearly a six figure salary in retirement or so she claimed.

Given the fact I heard her say she felt like a “cougar,” and now she was talking about money, one could be suspicious of her intentions. But at the moment I thought nothing of this. I really thought she was just being friendly. She may have provided way too much information in her conversation, for talking so in depth about her retirement finances to a stranger is just rather odd. But I also sensed she may have had a few drinks at the bar before coming to the diner.

When she mentioned being a police officer I could definitely picture her in uniform. She was the type and had the demeanor to be an officer: forward and assertive in conversation, bold, not the least bit hesitant. I think she was speaking very honestly about her life and retirement and although she may have been trying to impress me, I’m just not impressed with how much money a person makes unless it’s out of sheer ingenuity. I think she was just excited about her retirement as it was all new to her. Not impressed with her money, I was appreciative of her many years of service as an officer, and showed her attentiveness as a good listener.

The waitress came back and delivered my meal. The ladies had already finished theirs. I just got a chicken wrap, but now that I knew a rich lady in retirement was paying for my meal, I thought I’d order a cup of tea, some Tazo Zen. I usually would be very economical if someone was buying my meal, but first off, I wasn’t supposed to know she was buying my meal, and she was bragging about her income. I thought about ordering tea earlier but was being somewhat stingy with my finances.

It did cross my mind more than once the thought that this lady really was singling me out and had other intentions as a “cougar,” but then she started engaging in conversation with the waitress. “So where are you from?” the retired officer turned to the waitress.

“I’m from Michigan,” the young lady said. “I’m in college. This is just a summer job.” She then proceeded to give some details about how she lives for the summer in the park in an employee village in dormitory style housing. She was very easy going and down to earth. I could tell she was genuine in conversation and had a good head on her shoulders.

“How did you end up finding a job way out here?” Judy asked.

“You know, there’s a website.” She then proceeded to tell us all about this website of listings of summer jobs in and around National Parks.” I asked her a few questions about it myself. “I’ll write it down for you. She grabbed a napkin and wrote the website address. “You’ll get a job and you’ll remember it was all because a girl in Grand Teton wrote a website down on a napkin in a diner for you,” she joked. She was absolutely right. This is a very pivotal moment, for it was because of this waitress I ultimately ended up finding my subsequent summers’ job in Montana along the border of Glacier National Park. These summers in Montana would greatly enrich my life. I kept that napkin, for the remainder of the trip. She planted the idea in my mind and that website was the key to make this a reality.

I cusped the white ceramic mug in my hand. The hot tea on this cold wintry night in June was perfect.

“So are you camping tonight?” Judy asked me.

“Yes.” I gave a look of uncertainty. Uncertain of how the situation would play out. There was a winter storm warning for the night. I had already seen snow and the wintry mix. “I had three sleeping bags. I’m going to just really bundle up.” I purposely adjusted my tone in an attempt to draw out pity for my situation. In my mind I was hoping the ladies would feel bad for me and offer to buy me a room in the lodge. That was an extravagant wish, I know, and rather unrealistic, but one can dream. Plus she had all that retirement money! But as expected, neither offered.

When I was done eating, and our conversations had come to a close, I acted so surprised when Judy paid for my dinner. I thanked her. It was a very nice thing to do, and I sincerely appreciated it. I told them to follow my adventures in the National Parks on my blog, and wrote down the web address in a little booklet Cheryl had fished from her purse.

Leaving the lodge it was completely dark. The wintery sky had blocked out any sign of the moon. I left the heat of the tall fireplaces, the welcome of the warm glowing lamps in the lobby, and the assurance of the hot cup of tea in my hand into the cold small droplets of piercing rain in the foreboding darkness of the great outdoors.

Driving back to my campground, a number of cars got really close behind me with their high beams on. I was obeying the speed limit and was being extra cautious. It was dark and the roads were wet. I didn’t want to hit a deer or an elk, or bison, or slide right off the road. Then the cars would rev up their engines and in a display of perceived superiority and frustration, zoom around me reaching speeds of seventy in this forty-five miles per hour zone. I did not like this one bit. I put on my flashing emergency lights. This is what I have learned to do in Kentucky. When you’re stuck behind a piece of farm equipment, or driving slow in the rain or snow, it seems to be customary in Kentucky to put your emergency lights on. It sends a signal that you can’t or won’t be going any faster.

Then behind me red and blue lights started to flash. I was being pulled over.

“Do you realize your emergency lights were on?” the male law enforcement ranger asked.

“Yes. There have been so many cars getting right up behind me and speeding around me, I put them on to let others know I’m not going any faster and will be following the speed limit.”

“You know it’s unlawful to have your emergency lights on if there is no emergency?”

“In Kentucky we put them on to let others know we aren’t going any faster.”

“I didn’t know that. I learned something new. May I see your license.” I obliged. Inside I was flustered. Out of all the people pulled over it was me when it should have been the careless drivers speeding in the park. He came back shortly to reiterate what he already told me about emergency lights. “Have a good night.” he concluded. “Stay safe.”

Phew! I had been nervous I would be getting some sort of ticket. I didn’t receive one, just the overwhelming feeling of an outlaw which beset me.

Back at camp these events left my mind as I focused on the most important task at hand: surviving a night of camping in the freezing cold. I put on my full set of long underwear, followed by sweat pants, a long sleeve shirt, and two hoodies. I doubled up on socks and even put a pair over my hands. I shimmied my legs and the core of my body within two layers of sleeping bag. I unzipped the third sleeping bag and laid it over my head and upper body. I felt pretty good, decent, like I’d survive. When I woke up in the morning, I remember saying to myself, “ I think that’s the best I’ve ever slept.” I was ready to explore Grand Teton National Park.

Read the previous entry “A Wintery Mix” here: https://joshthehodge.com/2020/09/17/a-wintery-mix/

Check out my book Canyonlands: my adventures in the national parks and the beautiful wild here: https://www.amazon.com/Canyonlands-adventures-National-Parks-beautiful/dp/1711397873

A Wintery Mix

September 17, 2020September 17, 2020Posted in UncategorizedTagged grand teton, grand teton national park, jackson lake lodge, national parks, wyoming, yellowstone1 Comment

The delicate snow gingerly descended upon the landscape. A family of deer paused in a clearing of cold green grass. They made eye contact and then trampled back into the aspen grove. I was climbing up the mountainside in my car under the blanket of white and grey sky above me, having left the arid canyons and valleys of Dinosaur National Monument and now moving into the rich wet forests approaching Grand Teton National Park.

The wind picked up, and the aspen rattled as the pines swayed side to side. I was thrilled by the sudden change in environment. I had partially expected this. I knew I’d be making my way into colder temperatures, but snow hadn’t crossed my mind. I had stopped days before in Grand Junction, Colorado to buy a pair of jeans, since I had no long pants and also another sleeping bag. This would make three sleeping bags to layer up and keep me warm. I had read the temperatures in this region, even in June, could still swoop down into the forties and even the thirties. For this trip in its entirety I had initially packed more for the desert, and couldn’t have imagined packing for snow, especially back in my sweltering apartment in Kentucky.

The snow picked up and the wind swirled it around. Here I was in a blizzard in June. This was novel, and I loved every minute of it. After my northward journey, and ascending about two thousand feet from where I started at Dinosaur National Monument. I arrived in Jackson Hole, Wyoming, a ski-resort town but also a tourist and outdoor adventure hub, and in that sense the Moab of the North. I didn’t know this place was such a destination but quickly learned it was the only remaining town before entering Grand Teton and Yellowstone National Parks from the south. Unsure of when or where my next meal might come from, I quickly slid out into the cold to run into a Mcdonalds for a chicken sandwich. Afterward I changed my attire in my car, from my shorts and tank top into my new jeans and flannel.

Cars started to line up on the roads through Jackson Hole. People were out and about on vacation, although given the weather it may have looked like people were out for last minute Christmas shopping. The crowded roadway added to the hype of reaching the park. This was not some place tucked away off the beaten path but this place was known. This was the place to be. You could feel the excitement in the air, wedged in between the falling snow.

I rolled into Coulter Bay Campground where I checked in and was assigned a campsite. The landscape was grey and green between the grey sky, the pavement and crushed rocks, and the grey of the tree limbs which stuck out skeletally among the forest of tightly packed conifers. This landscape was new to me. I’d never been to the northwest woods. The excitement of a new terrain beset me and the rich wet aroma of pines dampened any dry configuration for the desert I was affixed to. When I turned the car key and pulled it out from ignition, I had one goal in mind: to set up my tent as fast as possible getting the least wet possible. The snow had turned into a mixture of sleet and rain, what one would call a “wintery mix,” but it seemed inappropriate to use the term in June.

When I had purchased my additional sleeping bag and jeans, I had also purchased a new tent to replace True Blue which had been decimated in the monsoon at Guadalupe Mountain National Park. The good aspect of this was that all the components of the tent would be all neatly put together. The downside was that I was anticipating fumbling around, trying to learn to set up a new tent in this undesirable weather. However, it was a success. I set the tent up quickly despite my fingers growing slightly numb from the cold. Being so new, it was perfectly clean and had that new tent smell. I wasn’t sure how sleeping was going to be in the freezing cold, but I felt perhaps adequately prepared and realized only time would tell.

I warmed back up in my car and made my way to the visitor center at Coulter Bay. Coulter Bay is the only named “village” of Grand Teton National Park. A National Park “village” is a location where services are congregated. Usually there is a campground, a general store, gas station, a restaurant, a visitor center, and lodging. Although Coulter Bay is the only one that formally bears “village” with its title, The Jenny Lake area of the park I would also classify as a village. Next door, Yellowstone National Park has many villages because of its immense size and popularity.

Although I already had some trails planned. I wanted to consult a ranger to make sure I didn’t miss anything and also to inquire about what to do in the present state of rain, so I made my way up to the counter in the visitor center. A friendly gentleman handed me a park map and guide. “Here’s what you need to do. Go to the Jackson Lake Lodge, find yourself a nice seat in front of one of the big fireplaces, look through the guide I gave you, and plan some things for tomorrow.” I liked his friendly assertiveness and recognized his Chicago accent. He lifted the responsibility of having to plan my evening, and I liked the sound of what he was saying. I was thinking maybe the weather would clear. Maybe I could squeeze in a hike today, but taking some time to relax by a fire in a lodge while the weather did it’s wintery thing outside sounded very much appealing. I loaded up my backpack with my Chromebook, postcards, journal, and pens, and stepped into the most comforting of lodges.

I’d seen Jackson Lake Lodge in pictures particularly its grand atrium perfectly framing the Tetons. At the cusp of Project 66, the largest construction program of the National Park Service in which many of the visitor centers and modern facilities were constructed, John D. Rockefeller had this lodge constructed in1955. It is modern, but tasteful. It’s most unpretentious on the outside and on the inside it’s sleek, warm, and dignified. In the corners on either side of the main room stood enormous fireplaces, big enough to walk into. They were blazing and crackling and it was the perfect comfort and contrast to the climate outside. I settled into a comfortable chair, a mound of chopped firewood stood against the wall to my left. At one point a lodge employee threw some more wood onto the fire and poked it with a stick. I began to write some postcards and tried to drown out the obnoxious clamor of the kids around me. Two ladies talked as their kids ran about the fireplace and furniture. One girl, probably around six years old or so approached me and asked what I was doing. I simply told her I was writing postcards. They had ice cream in paper cups from somewhere. They spilled it across the coffee table and giggled. I decided to move. I found a seat further in the lobby where I could focus on writing my postcards. It then became a most peaceful and enjoyable experience. Given the weather, I really had no place to be, and here I was warm, in a beautiful lodge, with the welcoming glow of lamps and the fire contrasting the gloom outside. I could relax. It was astounding to consider how far my trip had taken me so far, from the sweltering heat of the West Texas desert and straddling the U.S.-Mexico border to now in the wintery northern woods.

I then opened up my park guide. I saw the listing of some ranger led hikes scheduled for the following day and I decided to scrap my plans. A ranger led hike seemed much more appealing. Also I was concerned about grizzly bears after reading all the warnings. This would pacify the concern. I’d read quite a bit about grizzly bears in preparation for this trip. This was my first visit in grizzly bear country. I learned that attacks, though rare, are nearly always on solo hikers. Hiking with others is exponentially safer. Usually I don’t learn about ranger led hikes enough in advance to participate, but here in this guide they were planned out for all summer at specific times.

Sitting here I also quickly hopped on the internet to check the weather, retrieve some addresses for postcards, and share this post: “Here’s an update- Dinosaur National Monument in Utah was very colorful and beautiful. Today I traveled through a blizzard into Wyoming. I set up my new tent for the first time in Grand Teton National Park. It’s a new landscape and climate for me. The pine smell is amazing. It’s raining and there is a “winter” storm advisory- snow expected tonight, so right now I am at Jackson Lake Lodge sitting by a grand fireplace. I sort of feel like I am at a Disney Resort. Everything is perfect. I can’t see the Tetons because of the clouds and rain, but I spoke with a ranger, and tomorrow the weather will clear and I will do some hiking and see the Tetons in all their glory. I admit I do want to see a grizzly bear, but just at a safe distance.”

The rest of my evening would simply involve dinner in the lodge and returning to my camp for slumber, but first I would have my most memorable wildlife encounter in the park and would find myself in trouble once again with a park ranger.

Read the previous entry “Be Still. Be Calm. Be Quiet,” here: https://joshthehodge.com/2020/09/12/be-still-be-calm-be-quiet/

Check out my book Canyonlands: my adventures in the national parks and the beautiful wild here: https://www.amazon.com/Canyonlands-adventures-National-Parks-beautiful/dp/1711397873

Be Still. Be Calm. Be Quiet.

September 12, 2020September 12, 2020Posted in Uncategorized1 Comment

It was the thirteenth day of my summer adventure and God still hadn’t spoken to me in the way I wanted him to. Where was the big revelation? Where was the clarity on the direction of my life? Where was the reason for the unidentifiable aura of general discontentment which blanketed my life? Things were not horrible. I was still having a great trip and seeing so many things to be thankful for, especially in retrospect, but I longed for God to speak to me in the ways He’s spoken to me in the past- direct, clear, affirming.

Many days and many nights I’d gone for walks like this one, to pour out my soul to God, to wait for Him to speak, but nothing. Here I was again, this time literally wandering in the desert. I was at the Sound of Silence trail at Dinosaur National Monument. I wasn’t in the high stretches of the park anymore but was down in a dried up river bed. The trail didn’t start in a river bed, but somehow I found myself in one. I eventually came to notice no more trail markers. I had taken a wrong turn and lost the trail at some point. That’s okay, I’d turn around.

I made my way over broken shards of red and beige rock, passing by sagebrush and the occasional parched tree. Cloud coverage had moved in, rain threatened, but only let out a brief sprinkle. In my mind, I listed all the misfortunes of my trip so far: the stress of locking my keys in the car, getting reprimanded by a park ranger and being threatened with a ticket, being stuck in White Sands National Monument in a lightning storm, the rock at Indian Davis State Park falling onto my car and denting the hood, breaking my camera, my gum infection, accidently keying the car, my tent being destroyed in the monsoon at Guadalupe Mountains. In retrospect these were petty concerns, none of them had any lasting negative impact, but at the time, they troubled me. Why is misfortune making itself at home with me? I had planned this trip rather meticulously and it was supposed to be perfect. I wanted to be in control. These things were not a part of the plan, and furthermore where was the voice of God in all this? I had expected to hear from God, for Him to bring me to new meaningful realizations, but nothing. I was just left with a handful of misfortunes and the desert around me.

Eventually I found my way back to the trail. It ascended from the river bed to some badland formations, with their intricate sprawling rivets. I wasn’t sure at first If it was okay to climb up onto them, but there was no sign noting otherwise, and when I realized just how hard the rock actually was, I knew I wouldn’t be harming. At the top I sat down. Hills sprawled out before me, after the valley of red earth and spotted bushes. At one point the rounded hill broke open with sharp grey jagged rocks pointing upward, and further down the hilly chain opened to a wider valley. The clouds had mostly cleared except for a few wispy ones which now lingered on a perfectly rich blue sky. I was intentional about stopping here. I’d had enough of my thoughts churning in my mind with not feeling connected with God. I wanted to bring these concerns before Him.

Immediately when I sat down, God unloaded it on me: “Be still. Be calm. Be quiet.” How familiar. God spoke a very similar thing to me, back when I locked my keys in my car. I was quick to recognize the voice of God then, but after I thought it served its purpose I had dismissed it. Here it was again “Be still. Be calm. Be quiet.” It was the same message, except now “be quiet” replaced “don’t worry.” But this was it. This was the message. This is what God needed to speak to me this summer. It wasn’t what I had expected. I wanted conviction or call to action. This was rather the opposite. This was the call to stop, to pause, to heel.

These three statements I would unpack continuously throughout the summer. They have many layers and applications to my life, but in this moment they most poignantly spoke one message to me: “rest.” You see, I had spent so much time coming to God presenting my sense of deficit, unloading my incompetence upon God as if I could humble myself before him to the point of favor, and I waited, almost in a pestering anxiety, for the response of God. I fretted over this. Where was the voice of God? Also, probably in my subconscious at the time, I thought I could praise God for his beauty in creation in an attempt to draw God closer to me, as If I could manipulate Him. Although prayer and praise is extremely important, it was here as if God was pointing out to me, it’s okay to not say anything. Rest in me. Don’t fret about where my voice is. I am here, and I’ve always been here, and you’ve always been with me. And because of me, you are enough. You’re words won’t make me love you more. My love for you is already complete and full. I know your heart, so don’t worry. Be still. Be calm. Be quiet. And just like this an enormous burden was lifted from me. It was this burden that I had in my relationship with God. This burden that my prayers did not suffice, that I wasn’t spiritual enough, that I wasn’t seeking God hard enough, as if my relationship with God was dependent solely on my own efforts. God was teaching me among many things, that silence was alright, and that He was in control.

It was okay to look at his beautiful landscape in nature and not feel burdened, as if I could compensate God for it with fancy rhetoric. More profoundly I learned it was okay to be in the presence of God, fully speechless. God didn’t need my words. He just desired me. He wanted me to find rest in His presence. As a writer I am always searching for the best words to describe things, and I take that word-work mindset before God. What are the best words to place before God to thank Him or praise Him? God was telling me to just be quiet, that He knows my heart, that my words in this moment were meaningless.

So here I quieted my mind. I quieted my thoughts. God embraced me. Because Jesus had restored my relationship with God, and God is so deep in love, I could finally truly rest knowing I was enough in His presence.

Before this evening, every moment of physical solitude, or every stunning vista, brought about a self-imposed pressure to connect God- to lavish on praise, or seek His voice. If I didn’t hear His voice, I felt that something was wrong in my spiritual life. I learned in this moment that just because we don’t hear the voice of God in our lives does not mean God is stepping back from us or we have furthered ourselves from Him. God never leaves us. He is just as present in the silence as He is in the moments He speaks. And furthermore God’s voice is eternal, alive, and always present in his Scripture. In the Bible God speaks to us always. And here, reflecting on this instance in the desert, I’m reminded of how God had already spoken to me this same message in Matthew 11:28, “Come to me all who are weary and burdened and I will give you rest.” My prayers don’t bring about the favor of God. He knows my heart. I can rest in Him.

During the remainder of the summer, and my life there after, when faced with immense beauty in nature, I didn’t feel the pressure to think, ponder, and praise, but instead recognize that in this beauty I was in the presence of God. I could truly be still, calm, and quiet, and rest in His presence. Do I need to continue to work on my relationship with God? Yes, most certainly. Do I need to be in communication with God and seek him in prayer and petition? Of course! But, does God want us to rest in him? Absolutely. If you have troubles, if you seek forgiveness, of course take it before God. If your heart is full of joy and praise in sincerity bring it before God. But when all has been said, does your fancy rhetoric bring about favor or instigate the voice or will of God? I’d venture to say no. Find rest.

Sometimes it’s so hard to find rest because we want clarity in our situations. We want God to speak directly and instantaneously but we overlook that God wants us to trust Him. Our concerns aren’t always resolved in an instant. Clarity isn’t always before us, but here is what we know: God wants us to wait upon Him with patience and full trust. “Trust in the Lord always and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to Him and He will direct your paths.” – Proverbs 3:5-6. In that moment when you realize you aren’t in control, you place your concerns before God, and submit to trust, then you can have peace. You can find the will to be still, calm, and quiet. Your mind can put away it’s concerns and you have hope. The hope we have rooted in the Word of God, always proves true. “For those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint.” The strength that results from our hope in the Lord is a testament to the power and integrity of that very hope.

As I sat up here on the badland mound in Dinosaur National Monument, on the trail appropriately named The Sound of Silence, peace overcame me. My mind did not need to wander through every thought in an attempt to find God’s voice. He was here. I could be still. All of my misfortunes were not to be sifted through for meaning or mourning. It was all on God’s watch. I could be calm. And I didn’t have to continue to wrack my brain for the right words to bring before God. He heard me. I could be quiet. For the first time I learned to rest in God’s presence. Will you find rest in him?

Be still. Be calm. Be quiet.

Read the previous entry “Wildfire at Dinosaur National Monument,” here: https://joshthehodge.com/2020/09/11/wildfire-at-dinosaur-national-monument/

Check out my book Canyonlands: my adventures in the national parks and the beautiful wild here: https://www.amazon.com/Canyonlands-adventures-National-Parks-beautiful/dp/1711397873

Wildfire at Dinosaur National Monument

September 11, 2020September 11, 2020Posted in UncategorizedTagged harpers corner, life elevated, national parks, utah, wildfires1 Comment

“Hmm, wildfire,” I assumed as I looked before me as nature itself was being engulfed in flames. Billows of smoke stretched across the sky. “I should be fine,” I concluded and continued on my adventure. I was in Dinosaur National Monument, maybe the greatest underrated gem in the National Park Service. Straddling the border of northern Utah and Colorado among swirly canyon walls, Dinosaur National Monument boasts a landscape of twenty-three layers of red, grey, white, and beige rock, composing enormous formations looking like they bubbled up from the earth’s core. Along with that are gigantic plateaus overlooking the convergence of the Yuma and Green Rivers, along with forests, deserts, and savannah. Today it had the added feature of long stretches of traveling smoke from wildfire.

The monument initially consisted of eighty acres set aside by president Woodrow Wilson in 1915 but then was expanded to 210,000 acres by Franklin D. Roosevelt in 1938. It preserves the habitat of a once dinosaur metropolis. The National Park Service informs in their visitor center that it is believed the dinosaurs of the Jurassic period died here in drought and then a great rapidly ascending flood jumbled up together the bones of over five hundred dinosaurs representing ten species. The abundance of congregated fossils remains preserved in the sandstone. Paleontologist Earl Douglass discovered the first fossil remains here in 1909 and soon it was recognized worldwide as one of the sites of the most complete assemblage of dinosaur fossils.

Before I encountered the wildfire first hand, I found myself standing in the visitor center learning such facts and marveling at the enormous rock wall in front of me preserving over 1,500 individual dinosaur fossils. This was the exact site of Earl Douglass’ first excavation and now it is enshrined and preserved in the visitor center for all to enjoy.

I had arrived the previous night to a reserved campsite at the Green River Campground in the park, and this morning I got up early to begin my exploration of the park. My first stop was this Quarry Visitor Center. Outside of the sleek 1960s visitor center stands a sculpture of a stegosaurus, popularized by the 1964 World’s Fair (the same one where Walt Disney debuted “It’s a Small World”). After of course not passing up the opportunity to get my photo with a stegosaurus, I walked into the visitor center dressed suitably for the occasion. I had bought myself a tank top on Amazon, specifically for visiting this park, with dinosaurs all over the front of it in neon colors of a 1990s retro style. Throughout the day, nearly everyone I came across complimented me on my dinosaur attire. In the exhibit I had obtained a pamphlet guide which explained which dinosaurs many of the fossils were of. After touring the exhibits, I went back outside to explore this strange land.

I was on the Utah side but left the park to get on highway 40 and cross over into the Colorado side. I passed through the town appropriately named Dinosaur and then re-entered the park at it’s other entrance. I wanted to get the full overview of the park by driving Harper’s Corner Road, the main stretch that runs through the park and incorporates numerous lookout points as it ascends the mountainous plateau and ends at the peninsula which the road is named after. At the Colorado entrance there is another visitor center along with the park headquarters. As I looked around I heard a ranger on a walkie talkie talking about a wildfire. I thought very little of it, since wildfires are commonplace in the West, but I’d later see exactly what he was referring to. When I reached the first overlook I looked out upon a burning expanse. Many thoughts were in my mind. First I was reveling in the novelty of being able to witness such a marvel of nature, second I considered my safety, but then I concluded that I was probably in safe hands with the National Park Service. If there was a threat, the rangers would have closed this road or forced evacuation. Furthermore I’d be traveling away from the fire. So I got back in my car, eager to take in the next view point.

Next I arrived at Escalante Overlook where I looked out from the plateau to see it curving around in the distance. In the middle of it’s beige cliffside, a banner of red rock streaks across the landscape where shrubs and pines burst up. The slide of rocks eventually rolls down to the canyon floor, which is neither level nor consistent but clumsily squeezes itself into whatever crevice the immense landscape provides.

From here the road ascends higher above the plateaus to the mountains, where the landscape opens up to some wild grassland where one can look below and see a valley of grassland among spotted buttes and can so vividly imagine dinosaurs trampling and traversing the land. We as humans are so far removed from Dinosaurs that they almost seem like science fiction. This landscape is the world that has escaped the imagination. To be immersed in it is almost to escape reality for a moment.

After thirty-one miles I reached Harper’s Corner, the highest point in the park at 7,580 feet. I got out of my car for a short and windy hike to the overlook. The view was unparalleled to any other view in any National Park. Strikingly unique, one can gaze down upon a landscape that swirls every which way around the canyon of the Green River. It almost looks alive, like you can imagine just how it would go about moving. Right in front of me was what looked like a giant rock wave frozen in time with ripple after ripple, color after color, and twenty three layers of history. It is undoubtedly an epic view, among the best in the nation. I know that is a bold statement.

As usual, when I am faced with something strikingly unique, I asked, what does this mean? I believe beauty is not wasted. It is designed to speak to us truths about God and life. But nothing. I got nothing. I praised God for his beauty, but I felt him silent. There was a reason for this. The silence of God, the blankness of my thoughts would hold meaning. I would learn about this soon enough.

When I returned to my car the wind was really whipping and I could see a storm brewing in the distance. Rain is what we needed to quench the fires. When I opened my car door, the wind ripped it from my hand, and with my keys still in my hand, I uncontrollably keyed the side of my drivers door. This was not good. Not only did I have the dented hood from the rock falling down at Davis Mountain, but now I’d keyed my car. I was concerned what these damages were going to cost me when I turned the rental back in. It was one more thing to add to my list of misfortunes.

When I got back to my campsite, I noticed a kind neighbor had partially disassembled my tent to shield the top opening from the rain, for the rain had indeed come through the canyon. I was thankful the inside of my tent, sleeping bag, and air mattress were all still dry.

After checking back in at the rained on camp, the thoughts of forest fires had left my mind. I went for an evening hike, the most meaningful of my trip. God would speak to me, a paradigm would shift, a wildfire would be set in my soul that would spread throughout my life, and a great peace would find me because of it.

Read the previous entry “Valles Calderas and the Land of Enchatment,” here: https://joshthehodge.com/2020/09/10/valles-calderas-and-the-land-of-enchantment/

Check out my book Canyonlands: my adventures in the national parks and the beautiful wild here: https://www.amazon.com/Canyonlands-adventures-National-Parks-beautiful/dp/1711397873

Valles Calderas and the Land of Enchantment

September 10, 2020September 10, 2020Posted in national parksTagged bandelier, colorado, national monuments, national parks, new mexico, santa fe national forest, valles calderas2 Comments

Valles Calderas is some sort of a dreamland. You don’t find it on Earth. You find it in fantasy, but it so happens to also be within the state of New Mexico. This place really makes the New Mexican state motto “Land of Enchantment ” come to life, and it’s a stark contrast from the dry desert stretches of southern New Mexico. According to geologists, long ago a giant volcano erupted creating a thirteen mile wide depression in the ground which now is rolling meadows and streams surrounded by rounded coniferous mountains. It’s not enormously epic in presentation but surprisingly comforts and charms the visitor. Wide open expanses of bright green grass contrasted with the dark green of the conifers splashed out under the cloudless blue sky create the perfect artistry. The small streams meander around the landscape, waters reflecting the rich blue of the sky.

The visitor center was a small, seemingly temporary building. Little information was provided about this National Park unit. It was designated a National Natural Landmark by the National Park Service in 1975 but then gained the designation of a National Preserve in 2000. I had assumed it was an even more recently established National Park unit since it didn’t have its own uniform National Park brochure like all the other National Park sites.

When I arrived I was unsure of what to see or what to do. Uncharacteristic of the usual very friendly and informative National Park rangers and employees, it seemed like the employee here was just not eager to share information. After explaining that it was my first time here, and not getting much response, I decided I’d just ask about the park drive. I remember my friend and coworker, Jamie Hamblin, had been here the summer before with her parents and she shared enthusiastically how breathtaking the park drive was. I got instructions from the employee to drive up to the gate, get out of my car, open it, and close it when leaving. I came to think that perhaps being a preserve this place was not intended for recreation but more of just a place to protect wildlife. Therefore I did not get out of my car. I simply drove the road. I’d later find out that this is a recreation destination with hiking, biking, camping, horseback riding, and even hunting opportunities. I drove around for about an hour on the dirt road that meanders through the meadows. I did not see any remarkable wildlife, only deer, but I’ve been told at times one can see herds of elk here. I just enjoyed the peacefulness of the drive and the beautiful scenery.

When I left, I made the scenic half hour drive through the Santa Fe National Forest alongside Los Alamos among the sweet smelling pines to Bandelier National Monument. Here much green was replaced by arid red rock. Seventy percent of the nearly 34,000 acres is designated wilderness. I only had about an hour to spare. Although National Monuments can sometimes be even more impressive and worthwhile than some of our designated National Parks, my trips give time priority to National Parks, and along the way I try to stop and visit as many National Monuments and other National Park Service sites as I can. Given my time constraints I hiked along the 1.2 mile loop from the visitor center to see the cliff dwellings and rock houses of the early pueblo people. A series of ladders adjoined rock faces, where small rock homes were formed often into the natural cavities and indents of the jumbled red rock formations. These were unique from the dwellings seen at places like Mesa Verde or Canyonlands where they are often constructed under cliff overhangs.

As I walked across the parking lot to my car, I passed by another solo traveler just getting out of his vehicle. He had a jeep adorned with stickers of many parks, many that I’d been to. By his appearance it looked like he may have been camping for days as well. As I’ve mentioned before, people to me are like books. I am fascinated by people’s stories. Where do they come from? Where is their story headed? Solo travelers intrigue me the most. Those are the books I most want to read. Maybe it’s simply because I relate, or also because I know that traveling solo, especially on cross country road trips, takes a lot of character. It can be lonely and challenging at first and others may question, but then one resolves these predicaments and learns to carry on and enjoy the adventure, solitude and all. At least this is my experience. I want to know the stories of others.

Leaving Bandelier National Monument, I drove through some remote stretches of northern New Mexico and southern Colorado. Crossing into Colorado I passed by many open fields with the backdrops of mountains behind them. This was very much the ranching part of Colorado, a side I hadn’t seen much of before. This was the backbone of the continent. This was the place I’d read about, of ranchers with grit along the continental divide. The further I drove into Colorado the more green and welcoming the environment became especially after having been in the desert for many days. I stopped for dinner at a Subway and got out of my car into a cooler and slightly less arid climate. I remember thinking how this was not the tourist route, and here I was a young man from Kentucky out in the rural stretches of Colorado. I felt out of place, far from home, but that didn’t bother me one bit. I felt accomplished to be so out of my ordinary. I stopped at a gas station for some Muddy Buddy Chex mix and I then carried on with my four hour drive.

The sun making it’s late evening descent among the mountains and fields of cattle was beautiful and peaceful. The road took me into Rio Grande National Forest alongside the East Pass Creek. This calming scenery reminded me of why I take these trips and it filled me with a renewed sense of excitement for the travels ahead of me. But I was also travel weary from spending so much of the day in the car. I realized I still had at least an hour drive left, I was not looking forward to finding my campsite and setting up in the dark in Curecanti National Recreation Area, my intended destination. While considering the predicament I came to a National Forest Service sign labeled Buffalo Pass Campground off to the side of the road. Perhaps I’d abandon my plan and stay here.

I pulled off the main road onto a gravel one and found a simple but beautiful campground sitting alone in solidarity amongst pine trees with a field to one side outlined with a rustic split rail snake fence. No one else was here, but this campground really spoke to me. It’s one of my favorite campgrounds I’ve ever stayed in. It’s difficult to put my finger on exactly why. There was something very attractive about it, being so remote, being an unexpected find, very quiet and peaceful, not crowded with growth, but open and spacious but still in the forest. It was a place of good vibes, or as in Mexican Spanish, “buena onda.” I set up camp here at dusk, changed into some comfortable pajamas, and made a campfire as the sun slowly began to rest casting a sleepy blue all over the campground. When my fire died down I laid in my tent and fell asleep while reading a book about early pioneer life in West Texas. The following day I’d check out Curecanti National Recreation Area and arrive at the most intriguing and Jurassic Dinosaur National Monument.

Read the previous entry “The Sandia Mountains and the Old Town,” here: https://joshthehodge.com/2020/03/11/the-sandia-mountains-and-the-old-town/

Check out my book Canyonlands: my adventures in the national parks and the beautiful wild here: https://www.amazon.com/Canyonlands-adventures-National-Parks-beautiful/dp/1711397873