Miles: 31.1 miles (1920.6-1951.7)
Deanna and her husband, the campground hosts, gave me coffee, cookies, and bag of nuts. We talked about the park's wildlife and I told them about my wolf encounter. They were blown away and then told me a few of their own experiences with Wolves, including one where they watched an alpha pair try unsuccessfully to take down a cow elk for eight hours.
They were good people and I enjoyed sitting and having coffee with them, pretending I was a normal person for a second. Moments like this were always too short, so I cherished the interaction all the more.
Entire herd of hundreds of Bison were blocking the trail, so I skirted around. I entered a volcanic area which reminded me of rock in San Juan's in southern Colorado. Then into some mellow pine woods and a big raven took off from below a tree. Immediately, I came to attention as a raven on the ground usually means carcass and carcass means Grizzly. Then I saw the bear. Just laying under the tree some fifteen feet off the trail. I heard some scrambling in the tree above me and saw two Cubs crawling frantically up the tree. So, it was a momma bear. But, as I glanced down again my worst fear subsided - they were Black Bears, not Grizzlies.
I still had to be careful as mother bears of any kind are unpredictable and can be aggressive to protect their young. But, this momma just looked up at me and put her head back down.
She was a pretty small and skinny looking bear, perhaps from providing nourishment to her cubs. I took a few pictures and left, not wanting to push my luck. I walked away with the cubs looking at me, paws hanging over the tree like I was some sort of spectacle to amuse themselves with. They were extraordinarily cute, but I forced myself to keep moving and make sure not to disturb the lazy mother, who obviously had seen her share of people.
Walking towards Hell Roaring Creek Cedar Waxwings with their yellow tails flitted about. After crossing over the suspension bridge and heading down near the Yellowstone River I saw a helicopter drop two huge cargo loads from a long line in a meadow below. They scared two Bald Eagles who flew upriver right past my perch perfectly positioned looking across at them and down valley.
A father and his eight year-old son I passed earlier caught up while I was watching the helicopter and eagles and I hiked with them for awhile and we chatted. They were from Seattle and the dad was a traveling hydrologist. He asked if I really had a tent and sleeping bag in my pack and I told him, "I sure did", though my pack was feeling lighter than usual. I shrugged it off and kept walking with them until the son needed a break and we said our goodbyes.
I kept walking witheautiful views of the Black Canyon. After noon I pass a waterfall and the river began widening out. I sat down for a break and then I realized why my pack had felt so light earlier: I had lost my tent. I rummaged through my pack frantically turning it upside down before I was resigned to the fact.
Sitting there in the sun-drenched pine forest I felt like such a dumbass. The dumbest thing of all was that I was contemplating leaving a $500 tent because I didn't want to walk an extra ten miles. I just hate backtracking and I was so close to the hot springs.
But I did. How ironic I actually didn't have my tent when the guy asked earlier in the day. I couldn't remember where I left it, but I thought probably at the place where I saw the helicopter and Eagles.
I walked back quickly, though I was thoroughly demoralized, just hoping it was still there. I walked around one bend and it wasn't there. But I wasn't sure I was in the right spot. Then I kept heading uphill and rounded another. It was the moment of truth. I searched longingly. And it was there, sitting exactly where I left it. At that moment, a group of three passed and I started talking with them and we all hiked back to the junction together. They'd all worked in the park together ten years ago and this was their reunion.
We talked about the park and their lives and I said goodbye at the junction so I could get to Mammoth and a hot meal. I wolfed down some good food Chili cheese fries and double bacon cheeseburger at an Ice Cream shop after hitching a ride with an Asian couple who had come back for me after realizing I needed a ride.
I then met some nice gay Australian guys who said they'd take me to the hiker/biker spot. We couldn't find it in dark and lightning was lighting up the sky. They said I could just camp with them. I was halfway through setting up my tent when the overweight campground host in his mid-sixties pulled up in golf cart. He said, "You can't camp here." I told him the Aussies said I could and his own rules said six people per sight. He said I wasn't with them and I had to move or he'd call the ranger. Meanwhile, there's a lightning storm and it's about to dump rain. I called him ridiculous and he said again, "You want me to call the ranger?"
"And tell him what? That I said you were ridiculous?"
He responded, "You're being an unruly camper!"
"Oh god, I walked thirty miles today, are you serious?"
He said, "Move or I'm calling the ranger ... and I need five dollars right now!"
I moved and we repeated process. He said this time I was on the wrong pad. I needed to move my fully setup tent fifteen feet. That would setting it all up again during the electrical storm. "Are you kidding me?" Same response, except this time his wife was with him and she kept saying, "You want me to call him honey? I'll call that Ranger!"
The Australian dudes saved me from getting thrown in park jail by literally moving my tent for me. Without them I probably would have stabbed the campground host with my trekking pole just so I could sleep. The biker next to me had same experience. I commiserated with him and went to be, the obese campground host driving his golf cart around the camp until nearly 11pm.
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