YELLOWSTONE
IN  WINTER (2001)

Plan  B
     What a friggin' chore.  I spent more time planning this trip than being on it.  The Yellowstone web sites don't offer what you're looking for or don't deliver what is promised when you click on the links.  However, with ceaseless, repeated and tireless marathon-like effort, I was able to arrange for a six night stay in the in this spectacular park with a day on either side in cowboy land.

 It all seemed so simple in theory.  Plan A was to fly into Billings, Montana (one of 4 states I still haven't visited), drive to the Little Big Horn battlefield and Devil's Tower (the tall, scoured rock plateau from the movie "Close encounters of the third kind") and then drive back west across Wyoming to the east entrance of Yellowstone.  From there I would drive through Yellowstone, exiting the south gate and flying out of Jackson Hole after a little downhill skiing.

 However, the travel gremlins would intervene, destroying these plans and requiring many changes.  It all started when I was told that there was a $600 drop off fee for leaving the rental car at a place other than the originating airport.  Heck, I could have had the car taken to a "chop shop", broken down into it's component parts, and shipped back by FedEx for less.  Also, the only way to enter the park from the east is by dropping off your car in Cody, renting a snowmobile, and driving that noisy, smelly, oil spewing mechanical beast for 5 or 6 hours to the Old Faithful Snow Lodge in the park.  Having never been on a snowmobile and fearing that a sudden mountain blizzard would blind me and result in an Evil Knieval type style launch off the top of a snow drift into the midst of a hungry-eyed pack of wolves, I decided to fly into and out of Jackson Hole, the only town located in a national park (Grand Teton Park donated by J.D. Rockefeller with the stipulation that the town and small airport would be the only development).

Stranger rides into town
     Jackson is a town straight out of a John Wayne movie.  All the buildings look like those seen in old episodes of "Gunsmoke" (without Miss Kitty's bar and brothel).  They even have boardwalks all around town instead of cement sidewalks.  However, this perfect replica of an old west cattle town is lighted in neon.  It's really quite odd.  You expect at any moment to spot two gunslingers sauntering toward one another, eyes locked, arms brushing back their dusters to expose pearl handled revolvers, wiggling fingers ready to draw the moment their opponent's gun hand flinches.  However, in Jackson, the combatants would probably be Elvis and that wacky Australian guy who wrestles alligators.  You can almost imagine the well-attired shoppers in Jackson as timid townsfolk scurrying into storefronts to peek back through the curtains to witness the dusty demise of one of the duelers (after they first check out the rack of expensive leisure wear clothing).

Back in the saddle
     Wearing ear muffs instead of a tall white Stetson, I threw open the swinging half-doors of the Million Dollar Cowboy Bar (across from the town square with the large archways made out of shed elk antlers).  Walking bowlegged in a manner designed to convey the image of a crusty cowpoke who'd spent a too-long day on his trusty mount, I sashayed over to one of the bar stools made from saddles.  I jumped over the back of the saddle like my boyhood hero; Hop-a-long Cassidy.  Waiting for the groinal pain to subside, I glanced around watery-eyed, pretending to look for a stud poker game with an empty chair.  The inside of the place is quite impressive with its rails, bar, etc. made from highly polished Lodge Pole Pine trucks covered with grotesque looking growths.

 It was time to put on the feedbag.  Seeing that the menu didn't list sarsaparilla or a cattleman's special, I instead quaffed down a locally brewed ale ("Moose Drool") and devoured an elk steak.
 

If George Patton fought in the battle of Yellowstone...
     The next morning, a van picked me up at the Antler motel for the two hour drive to the south entrance of Yellowstone.  We saw elk herds and moose all along the way.  At the entrance, we transferred to a park vehicle for the 4 hour ride to Snow Lodge (next to the Old Faithful geyser).  This was no ordinary bus.  Imagine an enormous Volkswagen Beetle suspended high over tank treads.  In place of the front wheels were LARGE metal and wood skis.  These "Bombardier" tanks with windows (no gun) were built in the 1960's and just keep on going (like Volkswagen Beetles).  The park also has some modern vehicles that are modified troop carriers built in a joint effort of the Italian and Swiss armies (if you beep the horn, would it let out a yodel?).  Same general principles as the French Canadian Bombardiers.

 Bundling up and inserting the provided ear plugs (to muffle the clanking of our tank-like vehicle), our group of six set off for Old Faithful and the immense valley filled with steaming ground vents, spouting water holes, and other assorted geothermal marvels.  Along the way, we stopped to view spectacular waterfalls and cascades, a few frozen waterfalls, lakes that don't freeze over due to geothermal leaks underneath, wildlife (bald eagles in flight, frolicking otters, diving ducks, and graceful trumpeter swan the size of pterodactyls), bubbling mudpots, and crystal clear boiling pools with walls naturally painted with vibrant colors.  Four hours later we arrived at Old Faithful and checked into our log cabins for the stay.
 

Lost somewhere out in the hinterlands
     Having seen snowmobilers on the way through the park, and realizing that I had viewed the very same things as them while riding in our tankbus, I traded in my prearranged snowmobile package for the cross country ski package.  It would be certainly be much quieter, and ecologically better for this spectacular place.  Yellowstone has decided that snowmobiles (allowed in no other federal park) will only be tolerated there for a couple more winters.  These foul smelling, unmuffled motor sleds frighten the heck out of the animals who really can't afford to move quickly or increase their heart rates (or they'll die from using up the few calories they can ingest during the winter months).  Also, studies reveal that one snowmobile spews out more pollution than 400 cars.  One winter's day worth of snowmobiles in the park is equal to one summer's worth of cars.

 I arranged for a tank shuttle to take me to a trail head for a 6 mile ski tour past waterfalls, geysers, and all kinds of wildlife (At anywhere from 15 to 100 yards...just be sure that you can run/ski behind a nearby tree if the elk or bison charge you.  They say when bison raise their tails, it means they're either going to charge...or discharge.  Either way, you don't want to be too close!).

 

 After sliding by small herds of bison and elk, and magical, mystical scenery, I came upon "Fairy Falls".  It is magical.  From 200 feet up, a narrow band of water fell about 75 feet until it disappeared behind a shimmering translucent wall of aqua blue iridescent ice, appearing again for the final dramatic 75 foot drop into a placid pool.  Awe inspiring!  I then ventured further down the trail for a picnic lunch of GORP (Good Ol' Raisons and Peanuts laced with m&m's) and red wine next to a steaming and periodically erupting geyser.

 On the way back, the trail markers got a bit confusing, and it wasn't until quite awhile later that I realized that I was headed away from, not back to, the lodge.  Turning around in the late afternoon, I kicked it in as hard as I could to avoid becoming a snack for the wolves who were, no doubt, lurking behind the trees, salivating at the thought of another meal of chilled skier. As it was approaching dusk, I spotted steam clouds above the trees, indicating that I was nearing the geothermal valley that contained Old Faithful.  That valley is dotted with perhaps 50 geysers, steam vents, and boiling pools.  In the sub-zero temps (for 3 of the 6 days I was there), the steam rose up in great expanding pillars until it condensed and fell back to earth as snow.

     After skiing a couple of days at Old Faithful, I took the tank up north a few hours to Mammoth Springs Lodge, a refurbished military base (the U.S. Cavalry once guarded Yellowstone from poachers and developers, although they killed off all the gray wolves so that there would be more of the "cute" animals around for summer tourists to pet and feed...now a definite no-no with stiff penalties for violation).  I stayed in the old barracks which still looked more like military quarters  than a hotel: steam heat, no phones or TV, Spartan amenities, and one bathroom down the hall.

 The next day found me skiing across a vast plain and through Lodge Pole Pine forests in search of the reintroduced, and now flourishing gray wolves.  The ranger who gave the talks at night said that traveling this trail would increase my chances of seeing wolves from one in a thousand to two in a thousand.  I'd buy a lottery ticket with these odds, so I figured it was worth the effort.

 I think it was in 1994 that Yellowstone released wolves back into the ecosystem (a range the size of the state of Connecticut when you figure in Yellowstone Park territory with the surrounding national parks and preserves---the largest unfenced plot of land in the United States' lower 48...Denali Park in Alaska is somewhat larger).  Never did see any wolves, but did witness a herd of Elk gallop down from the highlands about 50 yards in front of me and move over a frozen lake.  I thought that they might have been spooked by wolves and so I readied my camera, but the beast that rounded the corner was wearing skis.  He was the only other skier that I would see on any of my 6-8 hour travels each day.  We shared a few comments, a gulp or two of water from our canteens (filled earlier at the lodge with hot water for making tea so that the H2O wouldn't freeze in the sub-zero temps), and some slices of apple and cheese before setting off on our separate ways again.

     Hear that?     What?     NOTHING.      ABSOLUTELY NOTHING!

Perfect silence in a snowy heaven.  This is undoubtedly the.........Oh no.  Off in the distance came the whirring buzz of roving gangs of snowmobilers.  You know them.  Dressed in black with signs on the back of their snow suits that say "If you can read this, Ellen fell off the back."  Yuck, yuck.  These are the same ones who despite park rules, travel at high speeds, leave the road which destroys fragile vegetation and the homes/tunnels of little critters that live under the snow, and buzz larger beasts to see them run.   2003, the date they ban these infernal contraptions can't come too soon (Assuming that President Bush's appointees don't decide to pave the park and turn it into a parking lot.  Sheesh...Christy Whitman as EPA boss...You can get a tumor just driving through some parts of New Jersey.  And that Secretary of the Interior, the protégé of James Watt...that Norton gal probably sees oil covered otters as a new fuel source.)

 Picked up by another tank shuttle at a warming hut (just fire up the wood-burning pot belly stove inside and wait for the arranged pick up), I was dropped off again on a hill overlooking (Why do "overlook" and "oversee" have opposite meanings?) the lodge to ski around the large mineral formations and geothermals up there.  They were great, but didn't have as much impact as the torn, mangled remains of an elk that had recently been taken down by wolves who eat the innards (the most nutritional parts), leaving the flesh for feasts by coyote, raven, etc.  Then it was a wild downhill run to the lodge.  On my walk to the dining hall that night I would hear the howls of coyotes (yipping and high pitched) and one wolf (low, moaning baritone voice) as I looked up at the closest, sparkliest (is that a word?) stars I have ever seen.

 That's about it for the park.  We did see a carrion (dead body) of a Trumpeter Swam on the river bank on the trip out.  It had been killed by a bald eagle (eagle like to feast on waterfowl during the winter when it's more difficult to catch fish).  Given the size of these swans (the largest birds in North America), it clearly demonstrates the dominance of the eagle in this domain.
 

Get out of Dodge
     The night before I left to head back east, I did get a chance to partake of the Cadillac Bar's "game plate", a gastronomical and gustatory delight comprised of Bison tenderloin, Elk medallions, and Quail accompanied by "root vegetables".  My former days as a vegetarian were forgotten as this blue plate special was enjoyed after an afternoon of downhill skiing on the local mountain (a 6 block walk from my hotel).  While walking to the mountain, I noticed a lot of steep slopes.  Yep, mostly black diamond (skilled skiers) and double diamond trails (Olympic team members only).  The hill did have a couple of green circle (easiest) and blue square (intermediate) trails, so for the first time in two years I slapped boards onto my feet, grabbed some poles, and rode the lift up the mountain.

 They've changed the sport since my last encounter a few years back.  Skis now have a "parabolic" shape (similar to a long hour glass).  I struggled with them on the greens and blues, cursing at another aspect of modern technology that I was unable to master.  Interestingly though, like computers, a little practice results in quick improvement.  Feeling confident, I decided to take the long lift chair ride up to the top of the mountain to look down on the countryside below.  I planned to take the blue (intermediate) winding trail down.

 With my sense of direction and map reading skills, I should have known that I was destined for trouble.  I somehow missed a switch back, and took a slender cliff-edged pathway past marked slopes that I couldn't even catch a glimse of over the edge of my trail.   My pathway ended at the edge of a nasty incline (I think it was so steep that it actually went beyond 90 degrees.  I swear it actually tucked under itself ...well almost).   Welp, no way out, so steel yourself and let's go.  I cautiously ventured over the edge, muscles seizing up and eyes the size of saucers.  Surprisingly, I had a great decent, finding that the parabolics were supplying me with stability and cornering that provided the best skiing of my life!  I rode the lift back up, over and over, until they kicked me off the mountain at dark.

 The next day, I was scheduled to travel home.  There are now claw marks on the Jackson Airport runway.  Not from the animals....FROM ME!  I hated to leave the magical scenes of Yellowstone and had to be dragged by the legs out to the waiting planes (In the old days when they placed weight restrictions on the flight attendants, I could have escaped from them.  Now they're too darn large to fight off).
 

Ending note
     That's it.  My 9 month sabbatical is over.  On January 27th, I had to start working for a living again.  During my sabbatical leave I traveled a lot, learned to white water kayak on raging rivers, and completed my promised professional project.  Despite initial regrets at having to return to the ivory tower, it's exciting to be back in the classroom (However, no length of sabbatical could ever get me excited about going back to meetings).  I'll tell you, a sabbatical is a great way to go through life: work your own hours, goof off when you want, and when you are ready to work...engage in a project you really love.  Maybe I can get a two year extension on it.