Just Because I've Never done It Before...
Doesn't mean I don't know how to do it.
“What do you mean you haven’t done this before?” My mother’s face expressed amusement, incredulity, and just a touch of wonder. Wonder as in, “I wonder if I dropped him on his head too many times when he was little?”
“Well,” I explained, “I’ve paddled canoes down rivers in white water and rowed boats on lakes. I just haven’t rowed a raft down the Yellowstone before. How different can it be? So, should we go right or left around the island?”
“You said this river will kill you if you screw up! FISH!” Mom exclaimed as she violently set the hook. We like to call it her patented Blue Marlin Yank. No matter what size a fish may be, Mom sets her hook with Hemingwayesque enthusiasm. You can’t argue with her technique though because she catches lots of fish. I dropped the anchor in calm water and netted her rainbow. It was a decent fish, and its colors glowed in the sunlight before we let it slip back into the river.
“It can be dangerous because the river up here is deep, fast and cold,” I continued as I put on my windproof jacket against the chilly breeze, “The rocks are slippery, and you can be over your head in an instant, but its fall and the river is much tamer than in the spring or summer. We are in a big, stable raft and don’t have to worry about our footing. This thing has such a tiny draft I can even drag you and the raft over any sand bars we encounter. So, do you want to go left or right around the island?”
“Left I think,” Mom said as she fiddled with her tackle and baited her hook with a worm. We have a family joke that Mom would have been burned as a witch back in the day because she has an uncanny ability to find fish. She also can find places she doesn’t know how to get to and thinks about someone and they either call or show up at the house. It’s definitely a gift. I pulled on the oars and made a hard left to get us lined up properly so she could fish the edge of the shallow water and the deeper channel. I could almost guarantee she would catch more.
My parents had flown out to visit in the fall and one of the things I wanted to do was take Mom fishing. Dad had a stroke many years ago and was paralyzed on his left side. We just wouldn’t be able to get him to fishing spots because of rough terrain, so Kerry and the boys would take Dad to local places to visit. I planned a trip to Yellowstone Park and thought a picnic trip up the Boulder Valley would be fun for both of them. This Yellowstone float was a last second idea. I knew the local guide and fly shop owner rented drift boats and rafts so I stopped in on my way home from work to see what it would cost. I was worried I couldn’t afford it, but he was gracious and just said, “You are taking your mom fishing? Just take the raft and have fun. No charge.” Sometimes living in a small town is just the best.
The rest of our day was a blast. We drifted along catching trout and whitefish while eagles and osprey watched us from perches high in cottonwoods. I pulled over to the boat launch that sat halfway to our takeout and heated up some soup with my trusty camp stove and had some sandwiches we made the night before. I did have to do some extra rowing when I realized I had bit off more than I could chew as far as the distance I wanted to float. If I didn’t row, we wouldn’t get to our takeout until after dark, so I put some flex into those oars! I didn’t think it would be prudent to mention to Mom that I had never taken a boat out of the river before, and I wasn’t sure which way around a big island just above the takeout was the right one to take. Doing both things in the dark would not be good. We made it just as the sun set and I’m pretty sure I fooled her with my loading expertise because loading the raft on its trailer with a winch was simple.
The next day we all went to the Museum of The Rockies in Bozeman where they have wonderful dinosaur exhibits. It is always a favorite thing to do for the kids and we also went into the planetarium for a show which is our favorite thing to do for us adults. On our way home we planned our expedition to Yellowstone Park. Kerry and the boys would stay home and go to school and work. (Somebody must pay the bills you know.) Mom, Dad, and I packed a cooler, brought my stove for soup and coffee and right after breakfast headed south towards The Park.
The weather was perfect for us. By that I mean, it was a little rainy with a touch of snow. If you want to see animals in The Park during the summer, you need to go early in the morning or late in the evening because, just like us, they don’t like standing out in the sun, heat, and flies. In the fall however, going on a misty, gray day with no wind is perfect. All the herbivores come out into the meadows to eat all day long. We have had some spectacular animal spotting days over the years when the weather conditions were a touch miserable.
I drove our favorite route that takes us to the Firehole River then down to Old Faithful. There was almost no traffic, and most stores or concession stands were closed up for the winter, but we were prepared for anything. After all, I got my training in being prepared from my parents! We could have performed minor surgery with my huge first aid bag, and we packed enough food and clothing to last for a week.
The gigantic parking lot at Old Faithful was deserted except for a coyote who trotted on by while scavenging for any dropped French fries or snacks the Ravens and Clark’s Nutcrackers had missed. The geyser did herself proud that day. Since it was cold, she sprayed lots of steam against the dark background of the hills and lodgepole pines. No matter how many times I see it erupt, it always looks different and spectacular.
Our mandatory tourist visit over, we headed back north and found a picnic area I had never been to before. The breeze was blocked by some trees, and they screened us from the noise of the traffic. Mom used my truck’s scraper to clean off the picnic table and I pulled out a few old towels I kept in the cab to wipe down and dry the benches. We got Dad situated at the table and I pulled out the cooler. Mom said something about how quiet it was here with the snow muffling sounds except for the croak of a raven passing by. I turned to get the camp stove when I heard a familiar sound. Have you ever shoveled snow and when you tossed it the snow landed with a WUMP? That was the sound I heard. It was followed by peals of laughter from Mom. I spun around and there was my poor father with snow piled on his shoulders, baseball hat, the table, and bench. I must have had a quizzical look on my face because he answered by pointed up.
“Oh”, I said looking up at the branches, “Sorry about that.”
You see, I know better than building a fire under snow laden branches, but I wasn’t building a fire. Just lighting a camp stove. Yes, that’s my story. O.K. fine, you don’t believe it. My father didn’t buy it either. In fact, he seemed to believe this made him Robert Redford. (You must see the movie Jerimiah Johnson to get the reference.) After shoveling off my father, we had a nice little picnic. On our way out we ran into buffalo, a bull elk, and even saw a hawk up close sitting on a bush close to the ground. The snowfall, however, kept getting heavier so we made our way out and headed home. It was a great day despite Dad being caught in an avalanche. (That’s what he morphed the story into. It’s not my fault)
Before the week ended, I wanted to take them both to a favorite campground way up the Boulder for another picnic. On the way Mom could catch some wild fish. Of course, in what has become a family fishing tradition, it was on again off again rain and snow. Undeterred, she caught a small but stunning brook trout in full fall spawning colors. They aren’t native to Montana but they sure are beautiful. We stopped at a nice spot where I walked upstream to look around while Mom fished a pretty run. I turned to look back and I saw her waving me back. When I got there, she pointed at her feet. There was a perfect bear track in the wet sand.
“Cool.” I said.
“Is it a Black Bear?” Mom wanted to know.
“Yup, I bet a sow. My Leatherman is four inches long and their track is about 4.5 inches across. A boar can get 6 inches across.”
“How do you know that?”
“Kerry and the boys got me a Bear Aware book for Christmas once. I usually have it with me when I go out into the mountains so I can look things up if I need to.”
“Do you have it now?”
“No, don’t need it. One of the most important pieces of advice was to be sure you are the fastest runner of your group which in this case, I am.”
Yes, I am a wise guy! Mom calls it being fresh.
It was lunch time, and the sky had cleared so we drove up to the last campground in the valley and backed into a site that had one of the nice concrete picnic tables the Forest Service installs. I was making coffee and soup while Mom laid out plates and potato chips. There was some mention of my Bear Aware contingency plan, and I was waiting for Dad to join in the hilarity. But he was strangely quiet. Dad kept looking all around him and up into the trees. At first, I thought he was looking for the Pine Squirrel, that was chattering at us to get off his lawn, but it became apparent that wasn’t what Dad was doing. Now I started looking all around too. It pays to be a touch paranoid in the mountains. Sitting down next to him I asked in a hushed voice,
“What are you looking at or do you hear something?”
“Oh, it’s nothing,” He replied leaning in and matching my hushed tone. “I was just wondering if I was going to be buried in snow again.” He lifted his eyes and stared intently at all the tree branches within reach above us. Satisfied, he gave me a humorous smirk. “Ya know, it’s almost like you have never done a picnic before.”
That was so much fun. Lots of laughs and great fishing. Glad I didn't know it was your first float down the Yellowstone!