The river it was not so lazy. Fell out of the boat today. Not once but twice. You know those stories of people who murder their spouses in the wilderness and then claim their partner slipped while hiking? Today was like that minus the intent to murder. I think.

Went up and over Teton Pass to have a day on the Snake River. Perfect weather, stunning views. We had a big main raft, piloted by our able guide Justin, and then a smaller pack raft for two people. I was in the small raft with Robyn. We weren’t 25 yards off the boat launch — in admittedly the roughest part of the whole stretch — when she and I slammed into a highway bridge support. Our family was in the other raft on the opposite side of the piling. They saw two people head under the bridge in our raft — and only one emerge. I had been dumped overboard, you see, without any witnesses. Upside: she could have finished me off with the oar, but this did not happen.

It was actually quite refreshing and legitimately enjoyable dangling there under the raft until I could be hoisted back up. (I did lose my beloved 23-year-old Tilley hat.) But that was only the first spill. The second one, less fun.

After a shore lunch we rearranged the crew manifests and put my niece and I in the little raft. We got separated from the main raft on one of the countless oxbowing braids that eventually fed back into the main channel. Not a problem. The stretch we were on was narrower and thus faster and we had to maneuver around a lot of tree debris, but other than that we were having a fine time. Until we weren’t. We still don’t know what happened (though maybe we were distracted looking for shoreline moose?), but in an instant we were both flung from the raft and it flipped over. And now we were flotsam on a liquid conveyor belt moving far too fast for us to stop ourselves on the bottom. The good news is that millions of years of constant tumbling meant that the river rocks were perfectly smooth. Some battering but no slicing. (Except for the dead trees under the surface: those sliced.) But again, it was all moving too fast. 

I was able to grab an overhanging branch at one point but could only hold on for a few seconds. The raft held by my other arm was a sail channeling all the force of the river. So I let go and down we went again. It was a little frightening at points, honestly, as I could not see my niece at all times on the other side of the capsized raft. So I asked her to keep talking. Only way to know if she were above water. We tried to swim for shore, but hydrodynamics said nope. Eventually two kind kayakers came from upriver and helped us onto a shoal where we were able to right ourselves. My watch immediately asked me if I would like to record an outdoor swim. Which, sure! It logged a workout time of 21 minutes, but I don’t think we were in the drink for that entire time. Maybe? Out of the water I was shivering uncontrollably. I’d guess the water was in the low 50s so I wasn’t in hypothermia territory, but still: freezing. And just then the main raft came around the bend. My niece and I were done with the little raft and Justin rowed us, huddled in dry towels, to the take-out.  Through all that it was still extraordinarily fun. I feel like I know the Snake River now.

The pace of the trip has slowed as we’ve synched to the rhythm of people who actually live here. A denouement back into the real world — with a big party (final orchestra crash!) to end it all.

Up next: America’s birthday in a small town in a red state.

In the fall of 1990 I met the woman who would become my wife. This happened because a friend of mine, Justin, had assembled a Geology 101 study group in the middle of the hallway outside my room. (He had been locked out by his roommate who was using it for a romantic interlude.) In this study group was one Ms. Robyn Burke, who I almost stumbled over as I tried to negotiate past everyone sitting on the gross dorm floor. And that, kids, is how I met your mother.

33 years later we’re staying with Justin and his incredible wife and two kids in Victor, Idaho enjoying our own Geology 101 lab session. It’s a lovely almost-end to this odyssey, visiting an actual (and beautiful) home with close pals who know the area in great detail. Today we headed over to Grand Targhee to hike a bit and see the Teton range from the “other” side. It did not disappoint. Justin knew every little nook and cranny as he regaled us with tales of ice-climbing the peaks, the intrepid souls who ski backcountry through the protected wilderness, and just how wonderful it is to have a mountain on this side of the pass that is a completely different scene than Jackson Hole. 

I’m spending these last nights in the trailer, actually, a slow goodbye to what is now a container of pure chaos. Over two weeks of travel and all our careful packing and stowage is now just a jumble of I-thought-I-saw-that-a-week-ago. But the dog and I are nested in it and all is good with the world. Got a taste of fireworks explosions last night and doggo was not at all pleased shaking his way to sleep basically on top of my face. May have to break out the CBD dog chews for July 4.

Next up: an actual lazy river float.

Spent a good part of today as middle-schoolers joking about horny French trappers and the etymology of “The Tetons”. And I mean all of us. It’s that part of the trip.

Our giggling safari crew had but a single destination today: Jenny Lake, the stunning thank you card the glaciers left at the foot of the range give-or-take 10,000 years ago. Ludicrously photogenic. We hiked a bit but mostly just frolicked at the lakeside. At one point I practiced steep slope bailout procedures with a makeshift Runaway Dad Ramp. I also learned about the concept of Frost Heaves. It was a fulfilling morning to say the least.

Our departure from the park was an extended search for the location of this photo, taken in 1978 on one of our motorhome trips of yore. (Those few of you who have followed this travelogue from the start know this search has been an ongoing sidequest.) Problem is that of the two defining features in this photo only one is basically immutable. The park service began removing and/or replacing the buck rail fencing about a decade ago. We think we found the place — or at least very near it. Whether this is the actual fence is up for debate. My sis and I are calling this mission accomplished. Thanks for the little game all these decades later, dad!

We spent the afternoon in a bustling Jackson, WY, a delightful mountain town that exists somewhere on the spectrum of tastefulness between Deadwood and Aspen. Not too cheesy, not too pretentious. Just go easy on the Huckleberry products and don’t Zillow any home. Mostly I was reminded that I’d like to return for dedicated fly fishing and ski trips here.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, the trusty camper trailer sits forlorn and unused on its RV hookup pad at the cabin resort. Seems like years ago that we crammed ourselves into it. I should probably empty the septic tanks. She’s got one last run in her, of course, but that’s a few days from now.

Attempted some amateur astronomy with the ‘scope I hauled all the way out here. Good skies except for the waxing gibbous moon that shines like a flashlight, blotting out the good stuff. Hoping for better viewing conditions in a few days.

Next up: a college reunion.

Let’s get the important update out first: I have been reunited with my my zip-off hiking pants, forgotten on departure, but delivered with the arrival of my wife and son. These pants are the ultimate old man accessory, first introduced to my family — to the horror of my siblings and I — on a trip to Rome in the 1990s. It was hot as blazes and Catholic churches there banned entry in shorts, but my father solved this with zip-off pants. No one looks like a tourist so much as a middle-aged man zipping on/off leggings next to a public fountain outside of a church, I say. Anyhoo, fast forward almost thirty years and I love these things. So convenient for the temperature swings of high elevation summers. And I’m here to say, like my father before me, my pantaloon transformation atop Signal Hill at Grand Teton today was just as mortifying for my children (and wife, and sister, and niece) as anything my father pulled off. +1 me.

It was a day of touring Grand Teton National Park. Starting with an actual sit-down brunch, grabbing delicious packed sandwiches for lunch, it is almost like there are actual adults on this trip now. We merry six (and dog) tooled around the park hitting an itinerary of sights assembled by my son and resisting the urge to take photos at every turnout. It’s almost comical how scenic this place is. None of the earth-on-fire drama of Yellowstone, but Grand Teton is majesty at nearly every turn. Perfect weather too.

My sister and I embarked on our search for the site of the buck rail fence photo we thought my father took at Big Timber (see Day Five and Day Eight). We got close, but it wasn’t exactly right. Pretty sure we know where it was taken now and will continue the search as we head back into the park. (We did find a cool “outtake” from my father’s slide roll way back when with a kind of self-portrait.)

Checked off two more animals today. We saw a coyote scampering across the road and into a meadow. You have to hand it to coyotes. Maligned by everyone from ranchers to city dwellers, these beasts are the only creatures of the plains whose numbers have increased in the last century. They are resourceful and adaptable, basically un-killable. I wish the same could be said about the pronghorn “antelope”. But we did spot a few way off in the distance thanks to my son. And then there was the bull elk without a care in the world munching foliage just inside the tree line off the side of the road causing a multi-car pileup of enchanted humans.  

Next up: more Teton and a visit to the town of Jackson.

Got up early this morning for wildlife viewing. So early in fact that, in the darkness and general squalor of the trailer at this point, I prepared my dog’s two pills for him then promptly tossed them back myself. That’s right: I am now taking veterinary meds, a final step in becoming completely feral on this trip. (No adverse affects. Yet.)

I recently read the excellent American Serengeti about the destruction of our country’s native big animals, so I was more than a little excited to devote a day exclusively to the wildlife of Yellowstone. We were into the park at sun-up and it didn’t disappoint. In short order we saw moose, elk, bison, two different families of grizzly bear, and even some lunker cutthroat trout just below the surface of Yellowstone River. With all the news of humans being idiots with wildlife in national parks of late, we were prepared to be disappointed in our species, but it was remarkably uncrowded and respectful. Mostly us and some documentary crews. No wolves though. Next time?

Driving through the park as the morning mist mixed with the steam from the thermal features was especially surreal with the light coming in at such a low angle. One real highlight was basically having the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone to ourselves. Scale-wise its name is a bit of a reach, but the spring runoff had it roaring and we were properly awed. 

Packed out of our last real campsite en route to our next destination: Victor, Idaho, just on the other side of the Teton Range from Jackson, Wyoming. We settled in to a combination cabin “resort” and RV park and then scooped the ladies’ mothers (and my son) from Jackson Hole airport. We are now a party of six (with dog), real beds, working plumbing, and an internet connection faster than a dial-up modem: it’s a new day and almost a different trip entirely. The mothers seem shocked that we campers now swear like truck drivers, care nothing of personal hygiene, and eat mostly shrubs and carrion. It’s a process of reintegration, you see.

Next up: Grand Teton National Park.

Our first (and only) unapologetically tourist day.  Staying outside of West Yellowstone makes this easy as the town, while not a full-on tourist trap, is the cheeseball flag-waving souvenir capital of the park. So we embraced it for the day and headed out with a centerpiece destination of Old Faithful, surrounded by other geological sites both famous and WTF. 

But first, of course, we watched the destruction of Yellowstone scene from 2012 to set the mood. Let me note here that this trip (and many before) has been made so much more fun with the use of the newly-renamed GuideAlong. It’s a non-linear, location-based, vehicle-centric audio guide for national parks and other scenic drives. Completely offline too, which is key in the connectivity deserts we’ve been in of late. And for the spaces in between the major destinations we use Autio to provide some insight into just what we’re passing through. Add in Roadside America and Atlas Obscura and there is no lack of information on bizarre Americana. (I’ll do a full post on all the gear, tech, and vehicle shenanigans when the trip is complete.)

We saw every aspect of the geothermal oddity that is the Yellowstone Supervolcano: boiling mud pools, hot and colorful mineral springs, and geysers to be sure. Old Faithful has changed a lot since I was there as a kid. The geyser still spews pretty consistently, but the infrastructure around it — yikes. It’s a city unto itself now. We were lucky to catch the pressure differential give way without waiting too long and, yep, it’s pretty cool. From there decamped for an off-the-beaten path site outside the park in the US Forest Service-managed area known as Earthquake Lake (Quake Lake to those in the know). It’s the site of massive destruction in 1959 when a 7.5 magnitude temblor rocked the whole area and basically sent a mountain crashing down on sleeping campers. The wreckage killed dozens, stranded many more, and created a new lake. There’s a decidedly un-touristy and lovely information center (and memorial to the dead) run by the Forest Service. There’s even the most unique ghost town I’ve ever seen, the partially submerged cabins (and lots of decades-old half-swamped dead trees) that sit where they were before the waters backed up from the landslide.

The trailer is getting a little college dorm room-y, so my niece made a lovely anything-in-the-fridge stir fry. We made s’mores, fired up the outdoor projector and settled in a for a movie under the stars. A very nice night before our early wake-up to switch our Yellowstone attention from geothermal to zoological tomorrow. Importantly, the most anticipated wildlife sighting of the trip also happens tomorrow: The Arrival of The Mothers.

The ladies got a full eight hours of sleep in a real bed while I literally tended the home fires (in a potbelly stove) to keep the luxe tent villa toasty. We’ve stayed at four different types of campsites so far, each with its own miniature cultures and denizens. This may need to be a separate post, but I will note here that if I were an anthropologist of ethnographer I’d just set up camp and never leave. From glamptown we moved the show into more familiar territory, a trusty KOA Holiday less than 1.5 miles away — shortest transit yet.

And that pretty much defined the day. I hadn’t scheduled today off from sightseeing, but it happened anyway. The spreadsheet is not our master, apparently. But the truth is that this stretch is all centered on Yellowstone and Teton national parks with little definitively scheduled. We’ll be staying at four different places, but the long hauls between sites are finished. And that feels good.

We’ve got a cozy little trailer space between trees and, if the weather holds, we’ll fire up a projected outdoor movie at some point. But for now, a very unusual bedtime before 10pm. It’ll still be light out, but I’m just that tired.

Next up: hardcore park day, the ladies say.

Today was mostly our run to Yellowstone, which, with the CB, almost naturally turned into a karaoke medley of 1970s and 80s truckin’ tunes. I present it to you here with apologies.

But the day began waking on the bison ranch and strolling to see the fluffy cows. I remembered the owner telling me that if a bison’s tail was straight up it was about to pee or kick my ass, so I tread cautiously. There was a five-day-old calf trotting around and numerous pregnant mamas, but no overnight births. Zeus the massive bull eyed me suspiciously. One of the many upsides of camping at a ranch is that the free range chickens had plucked almost all the bug splat off my car.

With no real camper hookups — though I did charge the car by running a very long line into the owner’s house to the laundry machine 240v outlet — we skeedaddled to the only local destination, Symes Hot Springs Hotel and Mineral Bath, for a dunk, shower, and breakfast. This place was legit in a cowboys-once-bathed-here and yep-sure-smells-like-sulfur way. Not sure the ladies loved that. But it was authentic and plenty hot (108°).

We shot south and east on Highway 93 that our road-based audio tour told us has been called the most dangerous road in America. Traveling a maximum of 50 MPH in my jalopy rig I didn’t experience danger, though there certainly was unforeseen anxiety as the range calculation just seemed off to me. And indeed it was. We weren’t going to make it to West Yellowstone with a net elevation ascent of 2000’. So … we outright stole electrons from the only RV park we passed. Just pulled up, hooked in, slurped some juice, left a note for the site owner, and got back on the road. I’m getting good at this.

So yeah, we did some roadtrip karaoke, an homage to the bizarre sub-genre of CB and trucking-based country of decades past. Please enjoy our renditions of Convoy, Eastbound and Down, I’ve Been Everywhere, and Roll On.

The day’s payoff was our destination: Under Canvas West Yellowstone, an actual glamping site. I reserved a single night as a reward for the girls putting up with the past ten days of my ridiculousness. It was actually camping in the sense of no power, no Internet, no food allowed (to keep bears from snooping) and heat from a fire, but it was also luxury with real beds, a shower, a flushing toilet, and lots of upscale amenities. A lovely transition to the third and last phase of this trip in Yellowstone and Grand Teton.

More photos here.

Mike Tyson supposedly once said “Everyone has a plan until they get punched in the mouth.” This describes today except that I’ve known this left hook was coming from the early days of planning this trip. In fact, it’s in the itinerary grid as DANGER. More on that after the fun stuff.

Having explored Glacier on foot, horseback and by vehicle, we took a boat cruise on St. Mary Lake this morning. Water placid, sun shining, campers happy. The lake itself is glacially-carved and fed by five current, though radically-diminished glaciers. It’s dark, deep, ultra-cold scary water like many alpine lakes. The boat captain told a story of park service divers exploring the depths a decade ago where they found a vast cave system and 6’ long lake trout of indeterminate age but likely from when the park service thought it a good idea to stock the lake with non-native species back in the 30s.

On one side the scarred hillside from the Reynolds Peak Fire 8 years ago with life of course returning as life does. The other side verdant but dealing with a nasty invasive beetle and worm infestation — the only real cure for which (outside of pesticides which aren’t used because of secondary ecological effects) is, ironically, wildfire. While no one wishes for it, fire can mean life here.

A close (but slow) approach to Wild Goose Island at eye level was a last little high five to Stanley Kubrick and his masterpiece. (Though in truth the love here goes to the The Shining second unit, as this was the part of Kubrick’s life where he never left England.)

Saw a mama moose frolicking in the shallows as her cub watched from shore; chased a waterfall where neither of my charges fell in, though I had video rolling in case; and finally got to see obvious geological evidence of Glacier’s weird overthrust fault tectonics. This was our goodbye to the park, one that I will absolutely return to now that I (sorta) know what I’m doing there.

On one of the motorhome trips from my youth, I distinctly recall breaking down. (Not personally, though I am sure that happened as well, but the rig itself.) I was reminded of this because my mom solved the mystery of why Big Timber was circled on the old “three week trip” map. That’s where our RV died. Why did it die? It ran out of gas! Apparently there were two tanks on that beast and the switch to transfer to the second tank malfunctioned. We had to be towed into Big Timber and (I am told) my mother ran the shop cash register while the sole mechanic tried to fix our RV.

I find it funny that we ran out of gas because my current trip is all about wondering if we have enough juice to make it to the next juice station. This is one aspect of my father’s travels I’d rather not repeat. 

Today was by far the riskiest run of the trip: Glacier National Park to Hot Springs, Montana (halfway to Yellowstone). The challenge is purely due to lack of charging infrastructure. And before you but-gas-power-exists! me recall that gas stations inside national parks are incredibly rare (and non-existent at Glacier — though, interestingly, there are level 2 chargers available at certain lodges inside the park for paying guests). We have been mostly overnight charging from the campground RV power hookups — which is technically not allowed — and we did that again last night, but even with a full battery this particular run is just outside the range I have come to expect. Add in a crossing of the continental divide and a 2000’ downhill net elevation change (plus of course the several thousands pounds of towage) and I have an interesting math problem on my hands. Can it be done? Tune in tomorrow.

Nah, kidding. We made it no problem. Found an online-reservable (!) level 2 charger at a roadside tchotchke shop at the west entrance to Glacier. Pretty sure that will be the only time we will need to slow-charge while on the go. I certainly hope so.

Our campsite tonight courtesy of Harvest Hosts, basically Airbnb for RV’s. “Hosts” are ranches, farms, wineries and the like and usually only allow one RV per night. We’re at a working bison ranch in Hot Springs, Montana called Ring of Horns. No amenities, rudimentary hookups, but after the chaos of national park campgrounds the solitude and sheer novelty of staying on a ranch is delightful. We fed these majestic beasts right when we arrived after they stampeded (behind an electric fence) over to us. Best welcome of the trip.

More photos here.

Arrived on the outskirts of Glacier National Park through a most bizarre thunderstorm as the sun set. The horizon is so broad here that one half of the sky was a crazy-slow setting sun backlighting the mountains of the park while the other half of the sky was a sparking supercell strobe light. As we weaved north we’d alternate between sheeting rain and total dryness. I appreciate this drama seemingly each time we arrive at a national park. The dissonance of the orchestra before the show begins.

My father was a lifelong owner and competitive rider of horses. He just loved everything about the beasts. (I vaguely recall a family vacation to a dude ranch.) When he passed each of us took some of his riding gear, though none of us kids are horse people per se. But today we were! Each of us wearing one of my dad’s hats, the girls and I took a two-hour walk/trot through the Many Glaciers section of the park. It was a perfect first activity, ambling easily through a less-visited area of lakes and wildlife — including a baby moose. (Watch out for mama.)

From there, the centerpiece: Going-To-The-Sun Road, the 50 mile east-west scenic drive that goes up and over the continental divide. As a long time Kubrick devotee and lover of The Shining I had to make this drive. You’ll instantly recognize the opening scene flying low over the lake as Jack heads up to the Overlook for his job interview. This marks my last visit to non-soundstage shooting locations/inspirations for this film: Stanley, Ahwahnee, Timberline, now Going-To-The-Sun. (Oh and for the none of you interested in RV-based horror, I got you covered.)

Movie nerding aside, the views from this road were some of the most stunning I’ve ever driven (for the day unhitched, which brings its own sense of wild freedom). The only comparison I can make is Trail Ridge Road in Rocky Mountain National Park, though even that falls short of this experience. I’ve been to quite a few national parks and I’d easily put this ride and its turnouts in the top five things to do.

Staying multiple nights here provided us the crazy luxury of not hastily packing up and rolling out, so we had a great late lunch at a local diner/pie parlor, did the trip’s first loads of laundry, and generally tidied our rolling home. It was delightfully off-itinerary. We ended the day with some campfire pizza, a visit to the only national park astronomy observatory solely for visitor education (the park and its Canadian sister comprise one of a handful of International Dark Sky sites), and, naturally, a viewing of The Shining.

I wish we could stay here forever … and ever …