1. Hitchhiking is harder than it looks --- From now on, I vow that if I'm not running late and if I have room in my car, I will pick up any hitchhiker not toting an axe or a chainsaw. Because now I have an idea of what hitchhikers go through. Being a loner without a car makes inter-Yellowstone travel a real problem for me. There are plenty of other people with cars though, right? And since I'm the center of the universe, it shouldn't be any problem to snag a ride from someone! Clearly not. Actually, aside from the inconvenience of waiting on Good Samaritans, it usually turns out that the people who stop are exactly that. I realized that while it takes an interesting person to hitchhike, it takes an even more interesting person to pick one up. The morning's trip was given by a bearded old man in a Geo Metro who seemed to know everything about the park, and we talked about our various experiences in Yellowstone. Obviously he had a lot more to say than I did, but I was happy to take advice from a veteran. I'm glad, though, that I didn't heed his warning against hiking the Mary Mountain Trail, the undertaking of which, he seemed to think, classified me as a raving lunatic. He left me with a final caution against bears and an are-you-sure-you-know-what-you're-getting-yourself-into farewell that seemed to indicate that he expected to see me in the news today as a missing or mangled hiker... The trip back to Old Faithful was a bit harder to navigate, taking into consideration that the trail I had hiked was 20.2 miles in the opposite direction, leaving me a total of 54 miles away from home - a hike I wasn't about to willingly make. The first car to pick me up wasn't a car at all, but a camper. A camper being rented by a French family (mom, dad, and two teenage daughters), I might add. They offered to take me as far as they were going because they had seen a bear the day before, and were concerned for my safety. I chuckled, but was glad to accept their offer. They even let me take my walking stick on board. I sat in the back of the camper and listened to their rapid French as I looked out the window. I secretly wondered if they were talking about the dirty American on their couch - the daughter sitting across from me adopted a particular disgusted curiosity - but I rather think not. We got stuck in a buffalo jam, and I witnessed the family's first encounter with a beezooon as two of the bison came within an arm's reach of the passenger door. Otherwise, the trip was uneventful and untranslated. We parted ways at the intersection near their campground, and I was on my own again - still 39 miles from Old Faithful. This time I had to walk about a mile and a half before getting snagged by the quintessential hitch. When the sputtering blue Volkswagen camper van passed me, I was a little peeved that not even these dudes would stop for me, but then a little further down the road, it stopped and a man with flowing dark hair beckoned for me. I hopped in and was transported back to 1967. Inside was everything I could've hoped for from a Volkswagen camper van: various feathers, rocks, peace and love stickers, a beat-up guitar, some hand-woven blanket-looking things, a dreamcatcher... The only things that seemed out of place were the driver and her passenger. She was an older woman and he was a young latino, and neither was wearing tie-dye. She explained that she was originally from Oregon, but that she followed her lifelong dream of living in Guatemala, where her friend was from. They were back in the States for a presentation he gave in Minneapolis, and were just road-trippin' it from Oregon, stopping to see the sights on the way. I said that I had always wanted to do something like that, and we ended up having a marvelous conversation about, well, lots of things. I didn't even mind being hunched over without a seat in the back of the van. In parting, I gave them some advice about Old Faithful, and they wished me the best of luck with trying to get my aching feet to work again... Certainly there are better ways of meeting people, but I would say that hitchhiking is one of the best.
2. I am terrified of quicksand --- I can't say that I learned this as much as I reaffirmed it. Yellowstone is unseasonably wet right now, due to an excessive amount of snowmelt. This means that the lakes are up, the rivers are rushing, and the valley creeks are creating swamps. And, as it happens, the Mary Mountain trail crosses several valley creeks. Most of this was okay; I can deal with my fair share of bugs and sloppy ground. But I ran into trouble with one particular spot. Having crossed an obnoxiously wet plain, I was anxious to get back into the woods onto higher ground, and this patch seemed harmless.
But no, that mud is at least two feet deep (it very well could be deeper - I didn't stick around to find out). And I walked right into it. All I know is that before I could say "moose turds" I was mid-calf in mud and sinking. This was exactly what I did not want to be happening while I was alone and 7 miles from the nearest road. With the help of my walking stick, I struggled my way out and quickly went on my way... I'm not saying I would've died. That mud may have only been so deep. But the experience pretty effectively freaked me out and intensified my distaste for water-related mishaps.
3. My boots are not entirely waterproof --- (See above)
4. Navigation skills are an excellent asset --- Especially when trail markers - and a trail - are not readily available. On the plains, the trail oftentimes gets lost or covered, and the only way to decipher what the trail actually is is the use of these trail markers...
...which frequently get destroyed by buffalo. There were a few times that I actually had to pull out the compass and map to find the right path. This also added a bit of excitement to my day.
5. Bison are awesome --- Though I didn't run with the multitude as I was hoping I would, I did see a few of the loner bulls. I almost literally ran into one coming over a hill. He got spooked and trotted a few yard away and watched me curiously as I went on my way, also slightly spooked. The thing about bison is that they treat us much like we treat fruit flies: they really don't acknowledge our presence until we start messing with their stuff or buzzing around them a bunch. Then they bring down the hammer. You can walk within yards of a full-grown 2000lb buffalo and he won't as much as look at you. (Dinner, after all, is paramount.) I was thinking it would be nice to wield enough raw power to be able to be indifferent to everything. However, in that sense, I'm glad that God is not like a buffalo.
6. My feet smell --- Eh, I knew that already.
7. Solitude makes me a bit strange --- I suppose this is directly proportional to the amount of solitude that I've chosen to get myself into. Yesterday I experienced just about as much solitude as anyone has, at times being ten miles away from the nearest road. After a while of this, I found myself in the thick of a conversation about the problems with fast food (and possible remedies) with three chaps I met along the way: me, myself, and I. Towards the end of the hike, I was verbally commanding myself to keep walking, and chanting "Your feet don't hurt. No they don't. Not even a little." I suppose I don't mind this fact. Why else would I choose to go into the wilderness in the first place if not to completely lose my mind? That's kind of the point, isn't it?
These are the things that I remember learning. Certainly I learned more about myself and my surroundings, but much like most of what goes through my head, its life in my conscious was fleeting. I guess what I'm trying to say is that nature is pretty neat.
Also, I realize that this post is coming two days after I actually made this hike. Look, I'm sorry. Between being exhausted and battling the intensely pathetic internet connection, I haven't had time to put this up until now. The good news is that all of my pictures are now uploaded HERE. Or for the abridged version: HERE.
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