What A Long … Strange Yellowstone Trip It Was

2002 03 ~ FLAGSTAFF, AZ

I was living and working at a hostel called the Du Beau Route 66 International Hostel. From 2000 through 2012, it operated as a hub for international travelers. While I visited the Grand Canyon a few times during my stay, and I highly recommend it to anyone who hasn't been to the Grand Canyon, what I enjoyed most was being at the hostel. Hanging out with all the different international travelers staying there was a blast. There was constant turnover and they were coming from all over the globe. We'd stay up late talking about where we had been and where we were going, sharing cheap food, micro brews, and laughing about the strange paths that had brought us together. During my time there, I applied for a seasonal job at Yellowstone National Park for that summer. I was hired as a Linen Supply Driver, which was delivering linens, towels, and cleaning supplies to the various lodges throughout the park. They gave me a specific arrival date in late May, and I was stoked about spending the summer at Yellowstone.

2002 04 ~ TUCSON, AZ

Before heading north, I went down to Tucson to visit a friend Sandra. She had generously offered to drive me all the way to Yellowstone. However, before making the trek up north, there was a Bob Marley Festival in Fort Worth, Texas, that we both wanted to attend.

Along the way, we stopped in Tombstone. As we were walking around town, we suddenly found ourselves caught in the middle of a live gunfight reenactment. We also stopped in Silver City, New Mexico, to see the cliff dwellings, which I highly recommend. Near a shallow creek along the hike back, I discovered a natural hot spring bubbling up from the ground. Using medium-sized rocks, I built a small pool for us to sit in, creating a hidden, quiet moment that felt like it belonged only to us.

2002 04 ~ BROWNFIELD, TX

On our way to Fort Worth, we passed through Brownfield, TX, and were pulled over by the police. I don't remember the reason they gave for the stop, but I do recall them asking to search the car. We didn't object because we didn't have any drugs or anything illegal. They opened up the trunk and inside my pack, they found a weed pipe. No weed, just a pipe. They immediately put me in handcuffs. I was standing on the passenger side of the car and hollered over to Sandra who was standing on the other side of the car, and said, “take a picture.” The cop heard me and said, "so, you think this is a joke?" "No, not at all," I replied. "I asked her because this is the first time I've ever been in handcuffs, and I wanted a photo to document it."

I didn't think they were going to take me to jail. They put me in the front seat of the cop car and the second cop got in the back and low and behold they were actually taking me to jail for a pipe. I never got a chance to talk to Sandra about what to do. 

When we got downtown, they pulled into what looked like an old shopping strip that I would've never guessed was the jail. They put me in a holding cell and it wasn't until the next day when I saw a magistrate. He fined me $500 for paraphernalia and since I didn't have the money, he told me that each day I spend in jail would knock $100 off the fine. They threw me back in the cell. They did not give me anything to read. There was no TV, no radio, no cigarettes, no showers, and no exercise. I had nothing but my own thoughts.

On the second day, they finally brought me out of my cell to inventory my rucksack. I had the guard write down every little thing I had just so I could spend as much time as possible out of my cell. Afterwards, I was allowed my one phone call. I called my mom and explained the situation. I told her I had three days left, but if she wired $200, I could get out in the morning. I gave her the info and she said she would send it.

Back in my cell, there was still no TV, no radio, no cigarettes, no showers, and nothing to read. My only entertainment was looking through the food slot in the door, which faced the main guard desk. Every hour or so, I would ask if they had received the money, and they kept saying no.

The next morning, a female guard was on duty. When I asked her about the wire, she checked and confirmed they had received it and were processing my release. Before I left, she quietly pulled me aside and told me the wire had actually arrived the previous day, but the male guards simply were not kind to people like me.

The very first thing I did after stepping off jail property was find some shade, sit down, and light a cigarette. It had been four long days without one. I found a payphone and called Sandra to see what she had been up to. She had gone back to Tucson. The last thing I expected was for her to come back for me, but to my absolute delight, she insisted on making the drive.

2002 05 11 ~ FORT WORTH, TX

We made it to the Reggae festival that was held on the 21st anniversary of Bob Marley's death. We arrived right on time just in time and had a blast. The one band that stuck out to me, and killed it was Pablo and the Hemphill 7. After spending a full day and night of live reggae music and enough bong rips to keep us high for the next 2 weeks, we finally started our trek north.

Once we made it out of town, we stopped at the first truck stop we saw and crashed out for the night. The next day while driving through Oklahoma, we got pulled over again. The state trooper said we were "swerving across the white line." We knew that was bullshit. The real reason was Arizona tags and 2 longhairs. For swerving you'd think they would've given us field sobriety tests but nope, they wanted to search the vehicle because to people like them, long hair meant drugs, crime, and a threat to their community. We knew there was nothing to find, and they came up empty hamded and let us go.

Somewhere along the way we stopped at Hell's Half Acre, this jagged, eroded canyon that looks like it belongs on another planet. They'd actually filmed parts of Starship Troopers there. There was a little gift shop, and I wanted a patch for my backpack, but they didn't have any. We wandered around for a bit and got back on the road.

2002 05 ~ THERMOPOLIS, WY

An hour later we hit Thermopolis. We rolled in early, groggy and starving, and found a diner called Pumpernick's downtown for breakfast.

Before our food arrived, I was staring out the front window when something made me look up at the roofline of a two-story building across the street. Swastikas. Laid right into the brickwork, running along the whole front of the building, plain as day.

I told Sandra. She looked, and went quiet. I remember thinking, what kind of town did we just drive into. Then I glanced around the diner. Everyone in there was white. So were we, so I figured we'd be fine, but the thought itself bothered me.

When the waitress brought our food, I asked her about the building. She reached behind the counter and handed me a laminated sheet explaining the building's history and the swastika symbol. It was called a "whirling log," a symbol of good luck long before Germany got hold of it. A nice little history lesson with our eggs.

The breakfast hit the spot and afterward we drove across the river to check out the world's largest hot spring. Turns out there was a charge to use the bathhouse. Neither of us felt like paying to sit in a hot spring, so we got back in the car and pointed it toward Yellowstone, three hours away.

2002 05 ~ YELLOWSTONE NP, WY

We arrived at Yellowstone on the exact day required. I was 25 years old, completely broke, and ready for whatever weirdness seasonal life had in store for me. Upon checking in, they provided Sandra and me with a temporary room for the night. The coordinators explained they were short staffed at the Grant Village Restaurant and asked if I could work there temporarily, assuring me I would transition to the driving job once more staff arrived. The next morning, I gave Sandra the last of my money, and she began the drive back to Tucson.

They moved me out of the temporary quarters and into my very own employee cabin close to the restaurant. It felt like a little palace with wood panelled walls, a small front porch, neighbors nearby, and a half mile dirt trail that led straight to work.

I ended up meeting and working with people from all over the country. Every employee was guaranteed two consecutive days off each week, and park recreation was completely free. A few of us took fly fishing lessons, while others would pack up camp for a couple of nights to sleep under the stars overlooking the Grand Tetons. It was the kind of view that makes you feel tiny in the best possible way. Days were spent hiking, breathing thin mountain air, and pretending we were rugged wilderness people. Nights were for massive bonfires, cheap beer, and stories that grew better every time they were retold.

After a couple of weeks, management told me my linen driving job was finally available, but it required relocating to a different area of the park. Having grown attached to my routine, I asked if I could just stay in my cabin and keep working at the restaurant. They agreed, so I stayed.

Every week or so, a Native American guy would roll through the employee cabins riding a bicycle with an attached trailer. At first, I assumed he was selling local crafts or snacks, but I quickly discovered his actual hustle because he was making the rounds selling weed like a door to door salesman. He was cool as hell, calm, friendly, and always smiling like he knew a secret the rest of us had not figured out yet. I hope he is still out there somewhere, pedaling through the pines and keeping the tradition alive.

After about two months on the job, I finished a long shift and stopped by the general store to grab a six pack before heading home. It was still light out as I walked down the trail, completely exhausted. About halfway to my cabin, my world suddenly ground to a dead halt.

An elk stood directly in the middle of the path, blocking the trail like a bouncer who had already decided I was not getting into the club. She was a massive female, standing about four and a half feet tall at the shoulder and weighing an easy 450 pounds. She stared at me with an intensity that made it obvious she had been tracking my movement long before I noticed her.

I froze. I could immediately feel my heart thumping. I slowly set the 6-pack down and then raised my arms up high and wide to make myself look bigger, even though I knew damn well I was not bigger than anything out here in the woods.

I then in a calm voice said to the elk, "I'm not here to hurt you. Everything is cool. I listen to Bob Marley." I don't know if it was me or if she wasn't a Bob Marley fan but she didn't care.

Almost immediately, she launched at me in a full sprint.

I spun around and hauled ass with my arms pumping, heart exploding, and my legs moving faster than they ever had in my life. I didn't bother to look back at any point. I did not even breathe. I just ran.

When I finally hit the pavement at the trailhead, I turned around, fully expecting her to be right on my heels. But she was gone. She had vanished back into the trees as if she had never been there at all. I bent over with my hands on my knees, desperately trying to convince my heart to stay inside my chest.

Eventually, a passing car stopped, and a couple of park rangers pulled up. Still breathless, I explained what had happened. They headed down the trail to investigate, returning later to tell me they had tranquilized the elk and relocated her further from the employee housing. As it turned out, she had recently given birth to a calf nearby. That was why she charged. I never actually saw the calf, but I didn't need to because that mother had been ready to fight an army.

"We found a 6 pack of beer on the trail, is it yours?" one of the rangers asked.

"Yeah, it is and I could use one right about now," I said jokingly. He smiled and handed me the 6-pack.

Looking back, that entire summer feels like a dream. It was a strange, beautiful, slightly dangerous chapter from a time when the world felt massive, wild, and entirely unpredictable. Yellowstone has a unique way of reminding you that you are just a visitor, and that the land, and its elk, make the rules.