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Published: August 12th 2009
Sunday August 9, 2009: In Which the Author Spends His Last Night in Yellowstone Well, the 3rd day of sitting around the campsite all day, watching people come and go, chatting with the fellow Chicagoans, the Arnolds, going 50 yards straight back from the campsite with Sophie (and being totally surrounded in new-growth forest…this situation is readily available at almost any part of Yellowstone—except the village gift shops—and it’s nice to “gently break,” well…alright, break the rules by throwing sticks for Sophie. We also went on a walk through the camp (there’s probably about 80 sites here, mostly occupied by tents). It was the first night of three that I actually spent dinner time/sunset at the camp, preferring to steal electricity to do the blog (I’m learning a lot, and am somewhat frustrated in the slow/unavailable uploading process for photographs…but, as they say, I’ll “fix it in the mix.”).
Tomorrow, Sophie and I are heading out of Yellowstone—it’s been a great place to spend time, and truly deserves to be “King of All Parks”. In addition to one other “catch-all” section of various writings and a possible “remainder bin” of photographs, I wanted to devote this section
to the 3-day backpacking hike, some general philosophies about camping in general, overnight hike specifics, designed for the beginner, and also some general levels of camping and a few lines of what each requires. (Note: I do end up describing the hike, but will have to post the “beginning camping tips” in a future posting to the blog; also, I will list all backpack hike contents on a separate entry as well).
Let’s start with the hike (as to not lose our audience specifically looking for Yellowstone-related material. As previously mentioned, I had quite the time in the Backcountry office figuring out which of the 100s of possibilities for hikes. I knew nothing of the terrain, having only driven through in 1988, the year of the big fire. Research here, even a perusing of the local library’s stacks and/or reading about specific hikes in Barnes and Noble or Borders, as long as they’re still offering comfy seats, would have helped, but since the whole trip rested solely on being in Salt Lake City to meet my girlfriend (life partner, if you must), Jennifer, on August 14, 2009. I had 3 weeks, and Yellowstone, especially after some great touring
in the park with Vik and Suzie, was surely as nice of a place as any to further explore. I am winging it, so I had this attitude in the Backcountry office (I had experience similar anxieties, which caused some minor mistakes in Denali National Park in Alaska, my first and longest experience hiking, at 5 days.).
So, what I’m getting at is: Allow yourself enough time to gather research beforehand, both with the internet and books, and don’t plan on starting the hike the same day that you book it, unless your “entry point” is a short distance (maybe 3-5 miles) of the starting point. In Yellowstone, depending on where you book it (all 5-7 villages have Backcountry offices), you may have to spend 1-2 hours just driving to the trailhead (starting point).
Entering the situation knowing all of these factors, my main “mistake” was getting a late start, as I had to meet Vik and Suzie for the first time in the park at 10 a.m. I had written in bullet form a number of things to consider and, in general, what I desired in the hike. I wrote down: Parking? Trailhead? River crossings? Elevation?
How are the trails marked? Cell phone service? Water availability? Is it a “loop,” or an “in/out”? Perhaps most importantly, the main mistake that I had neglected to even
think to ask is: TELL ME EXACTLY WHAT I’M LOOKING AT TO KNOW WHEN TO TURN. In Denali, I was “lost” (although, not as serious as one may think—I was at the bottom of a huge expanse with few trees). For about 3 days…I had missed the “turn” and continued up into a valley. This forced my retreat, leaving me unable to complete my intended loop.
My only requirements were that I’d like something “exclusive to Yellowstone,” wide, open spaces with exposed rock, and/or any interesting areas of either the Rangers’ or the other hikers’ recommendations (I’m not above seeking outside information). With the video, general confusion of staring at the 3-D topo map, coordinating the book/open campsites (the ones closest to the trailhead are usually booked), leaving the aforementioned important questions to ask in the car with Sophie, and unable to retrieve them, lest I lose my place in “line,” being late and feeling anxious, etc., I chose a route close to Canyon Village. It was to be, in my quick estimation a 10-mile hike, leaving from the Grebe Lake Trailhead, just about 2 miles west of Canyon Village. I hadn’t spoken specifically with Suzie on the details of her baby-sitting Sophie, but I booked 5 days, hoping for the best (I presented her with 3, after realizing what a huge job it is to premiere their own two large Golden Retrievers into the park as well). I had first thought in the back of my mind that I was “settling,” but then remember that I was in Yellowstone (this ain’t Illinois or Wisconsin), and that probably any hike off the main paved roads would be spectacular. After all, 93% of Yellowstone’s almost 2 million annual visitors “never leave the pavement.” Yellowstone’s 900 miles of trails (a necessity, I would come to find) lead “somewhere for a specific reason.” (The same is true for most roads, cities, location of wildlife, etc.).
This was Saturday, and I knew that I was going to meet Vik and Suzie, hop into their Hippie-Mobile, and become a chamfered tourist for the day. I made a point to get back into a Backcountry office, this time with my notebook of questions,
to gather more details/answers about the hike. I had come into the notion of the backpacking hike with great seriousness, but the large, grey-haired, smiling and friendly Ranger working the counter state, “Grebe Lake is a nice day hike; we get families and youth groups that go back there to camp, and sometimes it gets a little loud.” Now, I was thinking that my choice of route was going to be too easy. I knew that I would be passing 4 mountain lakes, and picture them all almost within eyesight of each other, with me charging through the valley. I did feel a bit better, especially since this time I had thought to bring in my notebook to ask all the correct and relevant questions.
The hike was nothing of the sort, offering 10-15 totally different vistas, terrain, and types of natural scenery. From Sunday afternoon (a week previous to this writing) until Wed. at noon, I walked 30 miles total, 15 in and 15 out, and spent the night at 3 different campsites, two at Grebe Lake and one very close to the “Norris Road/Norris Campground,” in which I’m currently staying and writing this entry. I passed
through fire-scorched areas, tall forests, meadows, mountain tops/plateaus, crossed 4 rivers (2 requiring my water shoes), and spent 2 nights at a great mountain lake, probably 10 areas at least in size.
I had booked my starting and ending points as almost a “staging area,” as I still had to drop off Sophie Sunday in Canyon Village, organize and pack my backpack, and drive to the trailhead (another advantage of the hike—it was close to Sophie’s drop-off point, only 3 miles away—I even thought that I would get phone service, but didn’t past the trailhead parking lot).
The packing process is another critical area, as “if you don’t decide to bring it at that particular moment, you won’t have it.” This is why Vik has a “B-plan” for almost every element of his operation (cords, batteries, cameras, generators, etc.). I packed a lot of stuff (a list of almost 80 items will appear at the end of, or as a separate, entry). I used most everything, except my winter hat (toboggan), my Mp3 player (why do I consistently think I’ll need/enjoy it out there?!), the 2 “bug juices,” one environmentally-friendly version and on for “B-movie level”
occurrences, the REI first aid kit, Vik’s GPS system and a few other items.
With my (seemingly?) 50-65 pound pack, pack, I headed to the Grebe Lake trailhead. I was hiking alone, and although not consider unethical in the hiking world, is considered more dangerous, considering potential animal attacks, and more commonly, falls, trouble in the water, sprains/breaks, etc. If given the choice, I would rather hike/camp with someone, as at least half the weight of common elements (stove, food, etc.) is shared, along with half the potential anxiety when decisions can (and will) have to be made. In reality, I know that Yellowstone has a number of well-used trails (I saw and/or met at least 15 other people), Rangers also regularly patrol the back areas on horseback, and in this case, I was only really, at most, 6 miles north of one of the main roads (between Canyon and Norris). A good bit of advice, offered by the Ranger, was, “Make sure, no matter what, that you keep your sleeping bag dry.”
The sun was beaming down as I set out for Grebe Lake, a short 3 miles away. I had the advantage of setting
up the tent before a two hour rain. Inside, I kept my sleeping bag stowed (and always don’t pull it out until the last minute—I’ve been burned before with a leaking tent, a hard rain, and an absorbent bag neatly laid out prematurely). In the tent, I read a book that I specifically purchased in the park’s bookstore—Death in Yellowstone. It was a fascinating read, and I devoured the entire book on the hike. Surprisingly, only 300 people have died in the park throughout its history (the author had not included deaths from road fatalities, which number, on average, 0-5 a year—still a miniscule amount considering the number of autos and attractive vistas to divert one’s attention). There have been a few deaths from Hemlock poisoning, mushroom poisoning, toxic gasses on worksites and in natural occurrences, plus a couple of (mostly old-time) murders, caused from drunk locals in Gardiner, the town located just northwest of the park. Also surprising—there’s only been 5 deaths by bear (all were Grizzlies and most were provoked). However, injuries number an average of 75-115, probably mostly occurring from overzealous tourists. Most deaths occur by drowning, and most of the drowning deaths occur at Yellowstone Lake,
in which the author calls Yellowstone’s “inlet sea,” because of its extreme size. Both amateur boaters (some in 20 foot boats) and experience Rangers have succumbed to the massive lake’s 50 degree (even in the summer) temperatures. Once in the water, you have 20 minutes before death. The most disturbing tales were those of the fallers and the unfortunate bastards who wandered, or jumped, into one of Yellowstone natural geothermic episodes (Yellowstone possesses half of the world’s geysers and hotspots). The falling tales often end in a love or friend witnessing a final look of surprise and terrible realization as their speed picks up and a canyon or tall river cliff swallowing them. The geyser tales are even more chilling, as often times the victims, burned often to 100% of their body, live for up to 9 days after their incidents. Never once during that time are they unaware of their (now) skinless incidents. It certainly made me readjust my “dogs in the backcountry and on trails” attitude (not that I had broken the rules anyway).
After the rain, I wandered up into the hill (somewhat steep) hills behind the lake (they connect to Observation Point, but I
got nowhere near that far). It took 45 minutes to an hour to “bushwhack,” i.e. “no trail” around, under, and often over the downed and dead, limbless trees, covering a paltry ¼ of a mile. Trails are a necessity here, and I’m sure that one could find some extreme/overgrown trails, but it would be almost impossible to get around with any speed without them.
For dinner, I ate some instant brown rice with some in-the-foil-bag Indian food, as it was the heaviest food in the back (that’s one good thing about hiking—one’s pack actually decreases in weight as the journey goes on). One reason there are few bear/food encounters (besides the fact that if, in general, an area’s ecosystem is sustainable, the bears will not seek out food) is the park’s strict, but necessary “hang your food” policy. This policy extends to all campgrounds as well (bear lockers—metal boxes—are provided. Food may also be kept in locked cars). No food, water, stoves, trash, etc. may be left out at any campsite, and there’s retired folks working the campgrounds and riding around in golf carts to cite offenders. At most of the backcountry campsites, a log has been raised, often
at 20 feet, for campers to hang their food (thus, the 30-foot rope, as stated in the required-viewing video in the Backcountry office).
I spent the evening watching the frogs jump up out of the lake, snagging insects. I crawled into my awesome (yes, I said “awesome!”) ultra-light backpackers tent that Jennifer had gotten me (exactly) one year ago. It’s really light, and provided the perfect amount of room for me and the backpack. Mostly composed of a sheer screen, the mosquitoes constantly buzzed loudly, just inches from my ears, reminding me of Zombie movies where the zombies have been chained up and cannot reach the food of the (invariably, soon-to-be-dead) teasers. But even mosquitoes’ buzzing has a hypnotic effect, and I slept really soundly, hearing the occasional coyote howling at the nearly-full moon.
The next morning, Monday, was my big hiking day (I thought it was only about 7 miles, but it turned out to be 13—I had miscalculate the distances on the backcountry map, omitting the short “.5 miles” here and the “1.0 miles” there (usually the distances around the lake, as opposed to “to the lake). I ate breakfast (backpacking breakfast of grain cereal,
powered milk, and blueberries) and had a great cup of coffee, courtesy of a gift from my friend J.T.—a camp/home coffee maker. Although heavy, it’s convenient to use, and basically brews itself soon after the water boils). One thing that I did not bring was a watch, a mistake, if for nothing else my own sense of timing, as this would have allowed me to know what time it is, how long things take, etc.
The hike was long, but allowed great and varied views. The creek crossing at Wolf Lake is a great place to sit for 30 minutes (it was mosquito-free, the total opposite of Grebe Lake). I snapped pictures while waiting for my feet to dry, allowing me to put on my socks and boots. I had worn my river shoes, which not only serve excellently to protect ones feet if crossing rushing, rock-filled water, but also are wonderful once one is settled into a pine-needled, comfy campsite at night.
I hiked through to the next lake, Ice Lake, being a little lost, as I was surprised that 2.2 miles would take so long to cover. There was a little elevation, which provided
spectacular views and allowed me to recognize the Grebe Lake hill that I had climbed around on the previous night. It seemed really far away. I was just about to pull out the GPS system when I came upon a sign that directed me further (I was on the right trail) to Ice Lake. Before hitting Ice Lake, I happened upon two Rangers with three horses; their job was to clear the trail of fallen trees, which are a common occurrence, as many of the dead trees have already been standing an incredible 20 years or more. “Your tax dollars at work,” said Jacob, the “young buck” of the two Rangers. He also asked to see my Backcountry permit, to which I replied while pulling it out of my pocket, “Do you think I would’ve chatted with you so long if I was back here illegally?!”
I stopped to make dinner at Ice Lake, since my second visit to the Backcountry office allowed me to learn that there would be no water, therefore no dinner, at my second campsite, 4FI (although, there did turn out to be a small creek, of which water I used to make breakfast
the following morning. I heated water for some “dehydrated (i.e. fancy) backpacker’s food,” which I was delighted tasted excellent and was a cinch to cook (in addition to being very light in the pack). My feet were starting to hurt, and it turned out as I finally made it to camp that I had two blisters, one that resembled Yellowstone’s Lewis Lake and another that looked like New Jersey, on the bottom of my left foot.
The second night’s camp was just off the woods and overlooked a nice meadow. There were a few minor downsides—one was the telephone/electric poles located deep in the valley, and the other was the presence of car noise from the road that connects Canyon and Norris (I was probably 4-6 miles north of the road, but the noise really carries. In truth, it was only when a Harley or loud truck passed in the distance. The site was warm, so warm in fact that I slept without the rainfly on the tent. I was almost glad to have already eaten, as the process in camp takes some time (in fact, in all my camping experience, it seems to take a minimum of
one hour to set up and one hour to break camp). I sat in the tent and marveled at the moon. It felt so good to take of the boots.
After breakfast, which consisted of (again) Indian food, I was much more relaxed, knowing that I was getting an early start and had already been over the route. Although cold in the morning, it gave me a chance to wear my fleece, as it was a goal to make use of each and every item, since I had schlepped it 15 miles already. I sturdily hiked back, my foot constantly reminding me that it was not agreeing with this process, especially now that I had tacked on another year—I had celebrated my 43 birthday last night (well, not celebrated).
I hit Wolf Lake for a short snack of cashews and was aghast to learn that I had misplaced a carabineer. I had chided forgetful campers, leaving the largest item in the campsite last night—an REI rainfly (which I will now employ as my 3-person tent’s footprint, thus keeping water from seeping up from the ground during the night). I had also, throughout the entire park experience,
joined Suzie on litter patrol, collecting (mostly) “pocket causalities,” meaning that the hikers had intended on hiking out the trash, but it probably fell out when reaching for camera, etc. It killed me to have misplaced the carabineer, as I knew that it was at this location, as it had been supporting my water bottle on my backpack’s belt. I searched in vain for 30 minutes, but was unable to find it. It damaged my environmental Karma, and I totally and freely accept the cursing coming my way when a future hiker finds it…
I returned to camp three (the final night) just as rain started to fall. I had been very lucky with the rain—I always had the tent set up in time for quick showers. It’s so easy to hike and not think about the weather; I always try to stop every 20-30 minutes to check the sky—it changes that fast. There was a huge storm (in fact, several throughout the hike) that I was able to witness from the trail. It was strange being without Sophie, and I had several dreams of her (probably involving her falling into some hot thermal waters).
Camp 3
was a different spot from the initial night and was also located on Lake Grebe. I celebrated a small revelation after 3 unsuccessful attempts at tossing the hemp twine, tied to a rock, over the (very high) bear bar. I realized that I could put the rock in a bag, and then tie a simple knot around the bag! Ahh…the simple pleasures…
I watched the frogs do their thing again, and slept like a downed log in Yellowstone…
P.S.: I know I promised more about camping, but I’ll do that at a later time…but, please enjoy the pictures, taken exclusively on the 3-day backpacking trip in Yellowstone Park to Grebe Lake….
Thanks for reading the blog, and tell your friends!
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Mari
non-member comment
In the interest of accuracy
I believe you'll find upon further examination that your rangers were leading not a third horse but a mule. They're amazing little powerhouses of energy, and a bit sturdier than horses for shifting down logs. I'm really enjoying reading your blog, and only wish my little camp had been as pretty as some of the other places you got to stay.