Hiking for Teton Beavers or Writing Twenty Pages?
Travels with Wally and Company: The Westward Excursion: 1988
Day 9: July 1, 1988 Yellowstone to Grand Teton National Park, Wyoming
On the last morning in Yellowstone, murmuring voices — voices unhuman — stirred me to wake. I unzipped the window. The sky was clear and sunny. Many had been active for hours: two chipmunks stood precariously on the picnic table, holding something precious — at least to the standards of chipmunks.
Some villainous bird, then, large, swooped down, encircled the table, like some Ringwraith from Tolkien, its shadow shielding the sun and sending a dark stain against the ground. The chipmunk hobbits scattered to safety — dropping the Precious — into the dense underbrush.
The bully bird took advantage and stole the feast of the chipmunk's well-earned meal. Then it flew away.
None of us showered. The Mom had planned an early departure. There were showers in the Tetons. As we headed south, I vowed to return to Yellowstone, one day, with my own family.
Yellowstone and the Grand Tetons share the same boundary. We arrived at the North Gate at 9:30. The mighty mountain range loomed ahead. No other mountains had compared to what was before me. These steep, rugged fortresses of rock rose abruptly without foothills, stretching towards the heavens. The peaks pricked low-lying clouds that carelessly floated by.
Stopping at an overlook, we viewed the mighty range across the tranquil Jackson Lake, situated along the base of the Tetons.
Colter Bay Village was only a few minutes from the North Gate. We checked into the campground. Our site had no hookups. But it did have clean bathrooms and a store. The campground was lovely — well-shaded lots, big picnic tables, and a dynamite view of the Tetons.
After setting up camp, Mom and Noelle took showers. I listened to music while Dave read. As the second side of Led Zeppelin’s Physical Graffiti was ending, the women arrived with wet hair, carrying the smell of fresh-cut flowers.
The male odor, however, emitted was reminiscent of fouler stuff. If there were no women on the trip we wouldn’t have showered. There was just no contrast to our filth and dirt.
After the shower, I browsed around the gift shop, attempting to “pick up” some Teton chicks. And waited for the wash — which took longer than anticipated. After securing a needed block of ice for the refrigerator, we did a short tour of the Grand Tetons along scenic Route 89.
Jackson Lake was beautiful and large and serene
It perfectly mirrored the lofty ridges of the mountains. We found another road to Inspiration Point — the road steep and twisty, but nothing like what we had encountered in the Black Hills or in the Big Horns. There was a panoramic view of Jackson Hole. The term refers to the fertile grasslands of the valley.
We headed to Jenny Lake — much smaller than Jackson, but perhaps more scenic and quaint. The others took a walk while I stayed behind with ‘Wally Chapstick’ thoughts. I dangled my feet in the frigid water, sitting on a large rock. Goosebumps covered my body. There seemed to be a clash between the powerboats and the fisherman in small dinghies. One wants speed and the other peace and a meal.
Who did I side with? Any guess, dear reader?
Tiny minnows swam in circles around my feet. A sharp chill forced me to put on my denim, stonewashed jacket. Across the lake, the dense forest acted as the base for the Tetons that rose five thousand feet. The Tetons looked like a ragged saw or a row of shark’s teeth.
The family was talking about a hike to the other side of the lake and exploring the Tetons via one of the trails like Hidden Valley Falls. Mom and Noelle wanted the shuttle boat. Such a move, I said, was not only unnecessary but also expensive and wimpish.
It would go against all Codes of Dudeism.
That commenced a lengthy argument between Noelle and me. David, of course, was the mediator. The Mom played the referee — and also the One with the Cash. The whole ordeal continued as we headed back to the campground.
Noelle and I were both on edge. I know. I should have just retreated to the corner and kept silent — knowing I needed time to myself. The hike would take place tomorrow. We could decide then.
On the road to Colter Bay, we noticed a few cars parked off the road. People scattered throughout the grasslands — all poised with cameras. The Mom pulled over, and Dave and I caught up with the other Nature nuts. We climbed a hill and noticed, standing by a stream, a male moose — Bullwinkle!
Where was his friend Rocky?
The moose cared less for our presence. He was too busy feasting upon the tall grass by the water. Just then, Bullwinkle raised his head and crossed a stream. In front of us, some train of twenty horses and riders crossed a well-traveled trail. Those on horseback stopped to catch a glimpse of the moose, but he had moved on to other grasses.
We continued to Colter Bay. Gray clouds had moved in, but rain was not forecasted. By then, it was getting late. Even though we were hungry, we stopped to collect information at the marina on Jackson Lake. The Mom wanted information on rafting trips.
We remained in the family truckster, trying not to bicker.
I enjoyed watching the group of senior citizens. There were about fifteen females and one male, all waiting for a bus. Aren’t some guys just lucky? I deeply admire people who don’t allow age to hold them back from traveling. ’ve seen this occur over and over again — whether, by Winnebago, bus tour, or staying in hotels, most of the tourists we run into are senior citizens.
Some complain that the elderly just sit around and grow old. In nursing homes, they die before they die. But this generation, from my limited observations, was not dying before death. I will be among these people when I retire — exploring, learning new things, meeting new people, and living life.
Life does not end until that last breath. And then — who knows? That “undiscovered country!”
The Madre finally returned
She seemed particularly happy as she started the red Ford Aerostar minivan.
“I was talking to this one man who said he just taking a raft trip down to Snake River,” she said, “and it went well. And it wasn’t like the regular ones. Further south, the Snake turns to rapids.”
It was the price that made The Madre really smile. Would we all like to go?
I said:
“You know, Mom, I think I can speak for all. That kind of stuff just doesn’t excite us too much! Sitting in some raft with an oar. Soaring quickly down a mountain river through a gorge plagued with sharp rocks and killing boulders! With cold water crashing over the bow, blanketing skin with goosebumps! The feeling of losing our stomachs as we leap and tumble over rapids in a make-it-through or die trying situation! Where whether you survive depends on split seconds of reflex and instincts! And all that fresh, clean air, mixed with fantastic views of wildlife and scenery never seen from a car!
Mom, you should know your own children by now. Don’t you know we’d rather stay at the camper and play cards? Why else did we come on this three-week trip?”
Mom looked at me and smiled. She drove down a dirt road back to the camper. “Can I count you in?”
“You got that right, Big Guy!”
Thoughts of the rafting trip stayed with me the rest of the day and night
Another challenge. Another experience. Another chapter in the Book of Wally Chapstick and Company!
After dinner and clean-up, we learned there was a ranger program about beavers. That’s David‘s favorite animal. He’s been searching for beavers for the entire trip.
I elected to stay back at the camper, relax, and write. I sat at the dinette table and listened to my rock mixtapes, Volumes 1–10. I cranked out twenty pages — all handwritten. With no electricity, it was difficult to keep up the pace.
The others had been gone for almost two hours. How much can a ranger say about the Grand Teton beavers? Wait a minute! Dave probably took over the lecture!
Half an hour later, the truckster pulled up.
Noelle pulled the blankets off me and said, “Guess what we saw, Walter?”
“The Creature from the Black Lagoon?”
“No, stupid! We saw beavers! Five of them!”
“Oh my God! Dave, did you have an orgasm?”
Dave just laughed. Did he care for my rude comments? The Mom said they hiked to a secluded pond where a family of beavers made their home. The Ranger told them the location of the pond.
“You should have gone with us!”
“I just had fun relaxing and writing.”
Would I trade twenty pages of solid writing for five beavers? No.
They called me a wimp and other lame names. Was this like Wally Chapstick? Staying at the camper?
Hey, even Wally Chapstick, like everyone, needs to relax, sit back, gather thoughts, contemplate the existence of God, study the Nature of Man, and wonder when the love of a good woman would finally grace me. I was still young. Nineteen. No girlfriend, yet.
But all in good time, I pray.
More adventures coming! Look for these stories on The Masterpiece:
- Day 1: Travels with Wally Chapstick and Company
- Day 2: The Traveling Blues Ends with Talentless Bums
- Day 3: The Magicless Normalcy of The Corn Palace, and Other Notables from Iowa
- Day 4: Thousands of Stars Interrupt ‘Rocky’ in The Black Hills of South Dakota
- Day 5: The Wonders of Childhood Rediscovered on a Mountain Hike
- Day 6: When Storm Clouds Turn Into The Big Horn Mountains
- Day 7: Savory Sulfur — the Armpit Incense of an Earth Intense
- Day 8: Le Grand Tour of Parc de Yellowstone
