Montana: Yellowstone + "a canoe trip"

Day one: Montana. Yellowstone National Park.

This happen rather haphazardly. D. wasn’t keen on the whole park idea; We woke up late; The kids discovered Prairies Dogs (ok, they aren’t actually Prairie Dogs) and were busy stalking them with the cameras. But Yellowstone was only a half hour away and you have to see Old Faithful, right?

So it was decided. We’d dash in, see Old Faithful blow and come back. Maybe we’d even get to see Yogi Bear and BooBoo.

We left the “compound” with the four kids (waving goodbye to about 35 “Prairie Dogs”), four cameras, one supply bag, one technology bag and two cell phones. We almost lost Chase when she didn’t listen to instructions to keep the windows UP as we drove down the dirt back roads. Her Lucky hat flipped out the window. Check out the picture, we did eventually let her back in.

I was a bit surprised to discover Old Faithful was about 30 miles into the park. I guess I was thinking this was more like the Zoo. You know, park the car, go through a main entrance, do a quick walking tour, buy souvenirs and get back to the cow pastures and the rodents.

But something happened on the way to see Old Faithful. We came upon a small traffic jam. I tried to nose Sherman around but no luck, both the lanes were blocked.

What are these assholes doing? D. asked, peering ahead.

We quickly discovered what. They were taking pictures of a buffalo. And…. Wow! It was the most amazing buffalo. He was sooo close and soo… mammoth like and sooo majestic, just grazing on the grass. That buffalo changed everything.

From that moment on, it was all four cameras on deck and the kids on high alert.

D. reverted to his most authoritative Navy Lt. voice which became a bit hysterical as the chase went on.

Get ready kids. Are you ready? Get the cameras on. Are they on?! Are they on? Hurry. Hurry your goin’ to miss ittt!!! Give it to me! Give it to me; get Sherman closer, no, CLOSER! Damn. I missed it. Can you turn around?

We leaned out windows, ditched Sherman mid lane, climbed fences, chased wildlife, and plodded through dung heaps and leaped over stone hedges. We saw the geysers, the hot springs, the Paint Pots, the mud volcano and yes, Old Faithful. We gazed at the waterfalls, the mountains, the plains and meadows. We clicked away at coyotes, Buffalo (Oh, sorry, Bison not Buffalo! Just ask Mr. Sheffield!), antelope, Elk and Eagles. It was absolutely breathe takingly spectacular.

We used 12 AA batteries (the digitals ate them at a rapid rate), took well over 200 pictures, spent six hours and made the entire loop around the park.

“Next time, we stay IN the park” vowed D.

We returned to our Prairie Dogs and cow pastures clutching our souvenir bag. Our Take: Four Yellowstone Park shirts, four Yellowstone hats, one pocket knife with Chase’s name, one utility knife, 1 defective “squeeze me” stuffed bear (20% discounted), one bag of “precious gemstones”, one “pooping” bear keychain, one solar powered MOM keychain, one copper bracelet, one pair of copper earrings.

“This did not suck” declared D.

No it did not, I concur.

Day Two: The Dead Moose

Now, I hadn’t canoed in thirty years. D. hadn’t either but he had navigated a Nuclear Cruiser so that had to count for something.

So we rented two canoes, 6 life jackets and two boat pads. We oochied Sherman down the tiniest forestry road, praying no one was coming the other way, to the dock. After excavating a dead scorpion from one of the boats, we divvied up the kids. D. had Nick and B. in an aluminum boat. I had Chase and Ronnie in a green plastic one.

D. led our little expedition out of the inlet into the open glassy lake. It was serenely beautiful. The water was turquoise. The mountains, black and purple with growth, jutted straight up from the rocky shores. The Montana skies beamed down on us. It was idyllic and all ours, not a soul in sight except a lone fisherman far off.

We paddled about a bit, eventually canoed to an island in the middle of the lake and pull the canoes up on to shore. The idea was to swim. However, our canoes disturbed the rocks, and the crayfish living underneath them. At least, I think they were crayfish. You know those lobster-like creatures with little pincers? Well, this was a setback and while D. was able to convince Nick, Chase and B that the crayfish were more scared of us then we were of them, try as we might Ronnie would have none of it.

No way. Absolutely not. One already bit her. Just now, in the water. Right there. On her foot.

The others strip down to their swimsuits and tiptoed into the water. I give up and set Ronnie on a rock. This arrangement lasts a minute when the bees start bothering her.

The BEES! MOM! Here! Right here! One just stung her. On the shoulder or maybe on the life jacket or maybe UNDER the life jacket.
Fine, I say, sit in the canoe. Bees don’t like canoes and they won’t sting you there. Ronnie complied, lower lip puckered out, arms crossed. The other three kids join D. in the deeper water, howling at how cold it is.

Then the flies start bothering Ronnie.

I started to get really annoyed but we are both distracted when B. declares she simply must pee and where the bathroom? To which D. and I point to a large rock and she giggles and crosses her legs and protests too much. And the twins howl for the cameras and declare this is going in THEIR blogs And Ronnie declared she also needs to pee badly, very badly and finally both go behind the rocks and the crayfish are forgotten.

Then, somewhere along the line we notice our voices echoed.

Well, this is too just way to much entertainment for the Family.

Each family member takes a turn yelling. B whoops. Ronnie offers up a pterodactyl scream. Chase yells “You Suck” Nick seconds it. D. shushes everybody, takes a huge breathe and bellows. And I swear, the pine trees bend over by the shear velocity of his projection. The sound comes crashing back on to us to all our utter delight. We collapse onto each other in giggling, self satisfied heap.

And then we hear a disembodied sound

“Who”, says a she- voice, “ is making that racket?”

We are momentarily speechless. A minute later a red canoe rounds the bend of our island and comes into sight.

“Where are you from?” the she voice demanded.

“From Seattle” Offered up a chagrined D.

“Well go back” she states, “you’re scaring the wildlife”.

Then she paddled furiously away.

This did knock the wind out of our city slicker sails. So we gather up all the shoes, and socks, and t-shirts, life vests, kids and oars all the while commenting on Ms. Crab Apple Red and her sucky attitude.

“She sucked,” said Nick.

“Yes she did” said D.

And we paddled to another part of the lake still enthusiastic albeit quieter and were greeted again by the crayfish and their neighbors, the water snakes.

I ask D. if water moccasins are only in Georgia and Nick informs me that Mr. Sheffield says they are in Lake Michigan and so he, Nick, assumed they could be here in Montana too. This declaration doesn’t deter Nick from wanting to catch them. I wondered if the snake could in fact BE poisonous and insisted Nick leave it alone. We decide to move further down the cove.

There, we stretched out on the ground and let the warm sun beat down on us. D. pulled the Yellowstone cap over his face. Nick copied him. Chase laid out in the canoe and I wondered why I didn’t have the foresight to have packed a lunch.

D. says “This sure doesn’t suck”

And I agreed. It doesn’t suck. Yellowstone was sooo yesterday.

Eventually, we decided maybe it is time to head back and D. shoved off with Ronnie and N. in the aluminum canoe. And as I pushed off to the middle of the lake a single cloud passed over my head and blocked out the sun. I looked up and it looked, well, a tad dark and ominous and was that thunder? Wow. I thought. I sure hope it doesn’t rain. A few strokes later I definitely heard thunder and there wasn’t just ONE cloud in the sky. There were many. D. called from the other canoe that he sure hoped it wasn’t thunder because where there is thunder, there is lightening and being in an aluminum boat during a thunderstorm would be bad. Very bad.

Now, it’s important that I write down exactly how the next events unfold because Merinos really enjoy storytelling and this event doesn’t actually need embellishments but will in due course get some.

We knew we weren’t going to make it to the dock before the rain starts but we did make it to the next spit. I pulled up just as D. tried to exits his canoe. The boat tipped over. N. and Ronnie spilled into the water. This is followed by offended shrieks and D- issued commands. N. and Ronnie emerged wet but unharmed. D. followed, his face arranged in his lets-try-and-make-the -best-of-this. He’s not very good at the face. We hauled both the canoes up further up on the ground and crouched under the overgrowth. The thunder clapped. A jagged piece of lightening streaked. The wind whipped about a bit and the rain started in earnest.

Ronnie shivered. B said she was scared. I said, think about Survivorman. He does this all the time. This is fun. THIS is an adventure.

Survivorman led to a discussion about who we’d eat first. B, because she is a vegetarian and thus be saved from having her morals conflicted or D. because he could supply lots of food until we are rescued. But eventually it started raining harder and it was really wet and cold. The boats were drenched, the shoes were drenched, the clothes are drenched; We were reduced to silence. The kids sat glumly on a log. Hunched over, with Nick’s shirt as a hat, Ronnie reached out and plucked a thistle. She handed it to me and told me Survivorman said you can boil this and make nice hot tea and could I boil this thistle? She shivered for effect. I felt badly for her.

“This sucks”, said N.

Chase seconded that.

We all concurred.

About 20 minutes later, there was a lull in the rain. The clouds were still roiling above us but D. said we just needed to make this turn and we could be at the dock in just minutes so let’s MOVE it. Obediently, Chase, Ronnie and I hopped in the canoe and push off. We moved out about 500 feet when I heard shrieks from the shore. They had capsized again, this time dumping everyone and everything into the water. I heard B sobbing and D. cursing a blue streak. I turned the canoe to go back.

“Go! Go! D. yelled "I’ll meet you around the bend".

“Oh God” said Chase “B must be terrified.”

“Keep paddling, honey” I said, gritting my teeth “Daddy has it all under control.” Hmmmm.

A few minutes later Chase said she didn’t recognize anything.

“The dock is just around the bend” I said “Keep paddling” I look back. D. hadn’t left the shore yet.

I don’t remember it being this shallow, Chase complained minutes later. I looked down. It IS shallower then I remembered. And murky. And there was this icky green growth sucking on my oar. The clouds were darker and the wind picked up again. I looked back, D. was far in the distant but coming

“Keep going” I said irritably.

But eventually I had to admit this wasn’t the right way. We stopped and waited for D. to catch up so we could tell him we’d gone the wrong way. Our canoe bumped against the murky bottom. We silently shook the green gunk from our oars. The seepy bogginess settled in.

Then, Chase spots IT, mere inches away.

IT was an enormous skeleton, partially submerged in the water; an elongated toothless skull sticking up from the green gunkiness, it’s rib cage arched out of the water, its spine curved in a perfect semi circle. Four spiny legs, minus hooves, disappeared underneath our canoe.

Ewwwwhh. Icky. Freakish, in fact.

“What is it?” asks Chase, stricken.

“A cow.” I said, trying to keep my voice causal despite the creepy crawlies running up my spine.

“Do we have to stay by IT? Can’t we leave?” pleaded Chase.

“No, No. We can leave, we can leave. Let’s go meet Dad.” I said, sharing her panic.

Back at the dock, Nick said, “Well, canoeing definitely sucked.”

“The canoe capsizing that really sucked” contributed B.

Chase added “Dad, we would have never beat the rain ‘cause you would have taken us the wrong way and we’d be stuck by that dead thing on the water until it was all over. And that would have sucked, big time.”

I concurred.

“The next inlet? The skeleton? Oh, that’s probably the moose the bear got last spring” Said the ranch manager.

Eaten by a bear. Now that WOULD suck.

Tally so far:

11 slug bugs

5 spilled drinks (Chase four, Ronnie 1)

Road kill: Two dead birds, one dead deer, one furry thing, not small enough to be a house cat, one moose

“Mom, you can’t put that moose down as just a carcass! That’s something that will scar me for life!”

Missed opportunities: none