There were so many questions as we packed up our suitcases. Was it safe? Would there be a lot of people? Perhaps most importantly – would we have to wear masks the whole time? Yes, it was right smack in the middle of 2020. A pandemic was raging around the whole world, claiming countless lives and scaring the wits out of those of us who were fortunate enough to still be healthy.
Looking back, it probably wasn’t the wisest decision to go on a trip that summer, but my husband and I were desperate. We had been cooped up in our apartment for months. We were feeling claustrophobic. Shut-up and isolated. It was cracking our mental resolve. We decided that we simply had to get out, and we decided, for better or worse, on Yellowstone National Park. After all, it was summer time. The pandemic had retreated into the shadows somewhat, and the experts were all saying that if we were going to go anywhere, the time was now.
We would do it smart, we told ourselves. We would drive instead of fly, even though it was a pretty lengthy road trip from our home in California. We would pack masks, and we would be sure to keep our distance. We would tent camp out in the open instead of staying at a hotel. We would take all the precautions we needed to in order to keep ourselves and others safe. And so, we loaded our suitcases into the car and we made our way across California, across Idaho, and finally deep into Montana. After two-and-a-half days in the car, we arrived at our campsite.
It was a beautiful place, really. A small camp site on the side of a large mountain, bordering a clear lake. I would bet money that during a normal summer, it would be packed to the brim with adventure seekers and Yellowstone visitors. However, in the middle of this eerie spot on the timeline of human history, the place was sparsely populated. Chillingly so. In fact, my husband and I were one of only three parties on the entire property, with no uptick in visitors expected. “I hope you brought bear spray,” the camp owner said to us as we pulled in. A thought which gave me considerable pause. With so few people around, who would be there to help us if we really ran into a bear? I mean, we had of course brought bear spray – but would it really help when faced with the likes of a roaring, drooling, snarling old Grizzly?
I kept my fears to myself as my husband and I drove into the campgrounds and found our assigned site. A small spit of land with a picnic table, a tiny space for a tent, and big green containers to seal all of our food into. Because you know… the bears. I mean, how on earth could I forget about the bears? Especially given all the sings posted everywhere around that campground. Caution: Bears! Bear Spray Required. Do Not Feed the Bears. Well gee, I would try my darndest to not feed the bears!
My husband and I spent our first night solely at the camp site, our bear spray close at hand and our fire crackling to keep away the hoards of mosquitos. Since we couldn’t even see the two other parties that had dared to venture into the park, we went ahead and went maskless that night. The first time we had really done so for the entirety of the pandemic. It was freeing, really. Breathing the fresh air, watching the last of the sun’s rays disappear behind the big mountains, admiring the twinkle in the first stars that came out. But for the haunting thoughts of bears, and a slight chill in the air, it would have been a pretty perfect evening.
The next day came our visit to the park. The PARK. Yellowstone – a place I had been longing to see since I first read about it and saw pictures as a little girl.
You guys all know me. So you know that this is normally the time when I would go into the history of this amazing place. The Indigenous populations that called it home for thousands of years. The first white explorers to enter the territory. The date of its formation as a National Park. The prospectors. The Rangers. Some puns. Maybe I’d include a mention or two of the people who did not, unfortunately, escape their encounters with the bears.
But I have something I have to confess. Lately, my historical writing well has felt a bit dry. Pumped out to a slow trickle instead of rushing with creative juices. I think it’s due in part because the times around me have felt so challenging, both at home and abroad. Which sometimes makes it hard to pick up a pen and tap into my ever-dwindling energy supply. However, I think this current dry spell goes deeper than that. Looking back on all my many posts, I realized what has fueled them, for the most part. I saw the common thread in all those articles, which happens to be the thing that has been missing from my life as of late. And that, my friends, is travel.
It wasn’t long after that amazing trip to Yellowstone that my husband and I decided to pull up our California stakes and move to Indiana. In a time of great upheaval in the world (hello Covid), we were so grateful to have a place to settle down. A house to call our own instead of one that we rented from someone else. We couldn’t wait to be closer to our families, to establish a more permanent community around ourselves, and finally start putting down some roots. In a world of Covid chaos, any sense of normalcy and stability sounded absolutely divine.
Our move to Indiana, on the whole, has certainly delivered in all those respects. We are immensely happy here. Winter notwithstanding, I think it’s safe to say we are happier here than we ever were in California.
There’s just one thing missing. TRAVEL. My husband and I are both restless souls. We can’t sit still for too long. However, it seems that we’ve been so busy putting down roots that we’ve been forgetting to spread our wings. Aside from a few brief weekend trips here and there, and some small trips for business more than pleasure, Yellowstone was the last time my husband and I loaded the car and took off on a wild adventure. A really big one. One that had some considerable risk at that time (Covid sure, but also BEARS).
Yellowstone, as it turns out, was a good place to get away from it all. It lived up to the hype and then some. With the bubbling volcanic activity, the geysers, the wildlife, and the waterfalls, I have to say it almost felt like I was visiting another planet. I’d say the only thing that pulled me back to earth was the crowds – which were much more exceptional than they were at our campsite. Apparently, we weren’t the only one seeking an escape in that fateful summer of 2020.
Even so, we managed to keep masked, and keep a pretty safe distance from everyone while we explored some the park’s most famous places. Of course, we had to make time for Old Faithful, which has its name for a reason. We watched (on the outskirts of the crowd – because it’s so big and mighty that you don’t really need front row seats) as the seconds ticked down. As the cauldron started bubbling. Then finally, as the big burst of steaming water blasted out of the ground and up several feet into the air.
We saw all the hot springs. The very, very hot springs. Such hot springs that some had ambulances on stand-by in case anyone were to fall in. We saw bubbling mud pits. Steaming cracks opening deep into the earth. We saw shining lakes, and trickling streams frequented by buffalo. Honest-to-God buffalo. Out in the wild, in herds or alone, just munching on grass and living their best lives. (Word to the Wise – don’t disturb the buffalo. I don’t care how cool the selfie would look).
Buffalo weren’t the only wildlife to be had either. We saw a plethora of beautiful creatures while we made our way through the park. My favorite were the foxes – sly and sleek, creeping through the tall grass, hunched over and stealthy. We also saw elk. We saw eagles. Hawks. And while we never actually saw a bear, we saw plenty of traces of them. At one point, we were hiking down a pretty isolated hiking trail, and I swear to you there were fresh scratch marks on almost every tree. It suggested that the bears were lurking too close for comfort, and I made my husband carry the bear spray in his hand until we were back amongst some heavier foot traffic.
Perhaps my favorite spot in the entire park was Lower Falls – one of three pretty magnificent waterfalls located within the park. Although, calling it Lower Falls felt funny to me, since it is, in fact, quite high up. Whatever one wants to call it though, it is absolutely stunning. A few minutes on some slightly steep hiking trails will get you a splendid view, making the burn in the knees well worth it. I couldn’t stop taking pictures, and when I finally put my camera down, I lowered my mask and I breathed it in. I stood in the majesty of it, and it was in fact so beautiful that I found it hard to leave.
But leave we did. The very next day, in fact, we packed up our car and our campsite, and we began the long drive back to California. Little did we know at the time, it would be our last big adventure for quite a while. I also didn’t know at the time the kind of impact that park was going to have on me.
Yellowstone, in a way that no other trip has done, did something to me. Left a permanent kind of mark. It is a place that made me look deep within myself and think of the things that really feed me. The shiny waters reminded me of my own glittering imagination, which is so often fed and fueled by adventure. The graceful wildlife made me want to sharpen my own foxy wit. It also reminded me that, dare I say, I have a Grizzly Bear of a temper if someone crosses me the wrong way. I guess you could say I saw lots of pieces of myself at Yellowstone – pieces of me that I sometimes fear are fading away as I get older.
However, I think it actually boils down to this – I miss traveling. I miss traveling so badly that, as much as I’m grateful for them, my photographs are no longer enough. I need to go back out into the wild. I need to spread my wings again. I need to face down the Grizzly Bears that I’m so afraid of and go have an adventure. We have some planned for this year, and here’s hoping life doesn’t interfere in some way. Because I need the fuel. I’m running on empty. After all, as one of my favorite authors once wisely said – “not all those who wander are lost.”
Quite the contrary. It’s when I’m sitting still that I feel lost, and it’s long past time to get moving again. So, let’s raise a glass to travel and adventures. For you, for me, and I suppose for the bears too.
All photos by M.B. Henry. To view more of my travel adventure photography, click here.