Part Forty Three

     August 23rd - 25th ​          Yellowstone National Park                   (Go to Pt 1)
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The next morning dawned warm and sunny and we set about packing our gear and tidying up the cabin early.  But before leaving, we wrote a brief note to the 

Ranger explaining why we had broken-in (Murry’s plight and the ‘severe’ weather), apologizing for the broken windowpane, and finishing the note with an address where they could send the bill - my parents’.  That done, we set off down Fox Park. 

Shortly after leaving the patrol cabin, we came across a sign for the Snake River trail leading out of Fox Park which we followed up into another, rambling forest of lodgepole pine.  The sky was a brilliant blue and the sun was out in full shine but following the cold front, the air was much cooler now. ​

We kept a steady but unhurried pace as the trail gained elevation then began to weave its way back down along Gravel Creek.   Around mid-day we stopped for a leisurely, picnic lunch along the lakeshore of Gravel Lake, even dozing a bit under the warm sun, before saddling the packs and continuing on to camp. ​

Later in the afternoon we came out onto the wide, flat, washed-out banks of Pacific Creek and found ourselves a five-star campsite along the river.  We got the tents pitched and our stuff unpacked then we wandered down to the river to bask in the warm, afternoon sun.  There was plenty of driftwood about, so we gathered-up a pile for an evening campfire. We were all in good spirits and this being our last night out (at least that was the thinking at the time) we pooled our food  resources together for a smorgasbord of bland, stale backpacking food that was either consumed or left for the bears.  Murry was in such a good mood he even tossed me a caramel after dinner, clearly amused by my greedy excitement!

The next morning rolled-in bright and fresh and, unforeseeable catastrophes aside, we would be out of Yellowstone by day’s end.  Once the boys heard Craig and I crunching around camp, they got to bustling about inside their tent, getting sleeping bags and gear stowed back into their stuff-sacks, then booting-up for the day.  

After breakfast was cleaned-up and as I was finishing my packing, I took a glance over to see how Murry and Dave were coming along and it was like ‘well, shit’dang!’  I could hardly believe my eyes – they were done, ready to go, and looking at me like ‘Hey, what’s the hold-up over there?’ 

I thought those two had looked uncharacteristically energetic throughout the morning and now I could see why, they had been hell-bent on being the first ones ready to leave camp, and I think they may have also been hell-bent on getting this fucking trip over with. 

The day out in front of us looked to be little more than a long meander down Pacific Creek with probably four or five river crossings to be made. The river was shallow and dry rocks were exposed all the across, so when we came to the first crossing, I hardly broke my stride rock-hopping over to the far side.  

Once I reached the bank, I looked back to see Craig making a slow-hop across, stopping to show Dave and Murry the correct stones to follow. Oh yeah, I’d forgotten about those guys.  So, when we got to the next crossing where the river was a tad narrower and the rock-hop a bit trickier, I stopped to wait for the boys.

As everyone was gathering along the bank, I momentarily thought about giving Dave and Murry the option of taking their boots off and wading across the river, but then quickly envisioned a three minute river crossing turning into a twenty minute, packs-off, de-boot/de-sock, splash across the river, dry-off, and re-sock/re-boot process, so I decided leaving the boots on was not optional.

I went across first, demonstrating flawless technique, no doubt, then Dave gave it a shot.  Well, Dave got out to the second rock when his right foot slipped, causing him to scramble like crazy to get atop the next rock where he lost his balance again, precipitating a lurch forward to the next rock which, after such a great effort, he completely missed, leaving him up to his shins in whitewater with both boots in. 

Bummer. His waterlogged boots were going to weigh about 10 pounds apiece for the rest of the afternoon. Ah well, it’s not like I hadn’t dunked my boots a few times along the way; I could sympathize.

Murry went next and, sure as shit, proceeded to slip on the same rock Dave had.  Excepting him to scramble back on top of the stone, I was surprised when Murry just stood there with this silly smile on his face, one boot in the river and the other still on dry rock. 

As we continued down Pacific Creek, Murry saw no reason to alter his boots-on, through the river approach for the remaining river crossings, proceeding like he’d just discovered something no one had ever thought of before, while Dave, who was finally getting his boots to dry a bit, made every effort to stay out of the water like a just dunked cat.

The day was neither long nor hard but all I could think about was taking a shower and having a decent meal and that right there was like dropping an anvil in my pack. And, as it turned out, the river crossings did slow us down, since finding linked rocks across the river all within a single stride of each other was time consuming but, then, I was kind of ‘inflexible’ about keeping the boots on at all costs.  
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By the time we were nearing Moran Junction it was latter in the day than we’d planned, so I had to call a disappointing, team meeting and reluctantly tell Dave and Murry that it was too late in the day to break back-out into civilization and start hitch-hiking to Jackson.  

 Abandoning any further attempt at rock-hopping, Murry just calmly stepped his dry boot into the water and proceeded to casually walk through the river and upon reaching us at the bank, quickly pointed out how cool and refreshed his feet felt.  Murry was unpredictably funny, and I liked his moxy.  Craig went last, looking like a guy who’d crossed a thousand rivers this way.

Here along the river we could still make a camp but once we got out to Moran Junction there would be no place to camp at all, and especially if we got caught hitch-hiking along the roadway after dark.  So, with hot showers on hold and, after the previous night, practically nothing left to fix for supper, we made one last camp and did nothing more than sit around, waiting for tomorrow.

Nobody was slow getting out of camp the next morning and we wasted little time making a stiff-clip hike out to Moran Junction, arriving to the full onslaught of tourists and tourist traffic at the south entrance to the Park sometime mid-morning.  

​Now we’d have to hitch-hike to Jackson Hole from here; all four of us dirty, smelly, hippie types, complete with four over-sized backpacks.  Craig and I already knew how hard it could be for just two dirty, smelly, hippies with over-sized packs to catch a ride, so getting all four of us to Jackson Hole was going to be interesting.

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Go to Part 44

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The CDTC was founded in 2012 by volunteers and recreationists hoping to provide a unified voice for the CDT. Working hand-in-hand with the U.S. Forest Service and other federal land management agencies, the CDTC is a non-profit partner supporting stewardship of the CDT. The mission of the CDTC is to complete, promote and protect the Continental Divide National Scenic Trail, a world-class national resource. For more information, please visit continentaldividetrail.org.

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