Day 1 -Hiking the vast Pelican Valley
My heart opens with every step away from civilization. We are taking off for 5 days to hike from Pelican Valley on the shore of Yellowstone Lake to the Lamar River Trailhead, some 34 miles away.
We almost didn’t get to go; we arrived at the Pelican trailhead to find our friend Eric—a bear ranger—posting signs about a trail closure due to a new carcass near the trail. Our hearts sank; will we not be able to go?? It’s not a small feat for all the logistics and stars to align (kid, dog, work) for us to have five days in the backcountry together – so having our trail closed would be a disappointment to say the least. Added to the fact that in 20 years we have never hiked from Pelican to Lamar, so it was kind of a bucket list endeavor for us.
Ultimately we are allowed to go, Eric showing us on the map how to avoid the carcass by rerouting our path. It adds a couple miles to an already long day, but we don’t care. We are going to Pelican Valley!
The hike starts in mixed meadow and lodgepole forest, and the smell of pine and warming green vegetation is intoxicating. It’s hot already. We are not allowed to enter the valley until 9 AM on account of bear activity, have until 7pm to exit on the other side. While the limited hours may make us safer from bears, it also increases our risk of lightning from the building clouds, and heat exposure. But this is the Yellowstone back-country after all, and we take these risks along with the rest.
Pelican Valley is kind of a mythical place. One of the wildest places in the lower 48, the valley is only accessible from July 4 through November 10 for limited hours because of the number of grizzlies that reside here. In a lot of ways, Pelican Valley represents the inner soul of what Yellowstone stands for outside the industrial tourism and development in the front country. There’s kind of a timeless quality to this refuge to wolves, bears, bison, elk, and more; a truly wild slice of Yellowstone.
And the valley did not disappoint! On a bluff along our new route we spy the carcass and 10 wolves; six black, four grey, along a bend in the river near the confluence with Astringent Creek. From this safe, far distance we watch a grizzly bear chase the wolves off the carcass. The wolves lay in the sage nonplussed, waiting. A thunder cloud claps right overhead, which spooks the bear into the woods, the wolves quickly descending to fill its absence at the carcass. After a while some NPS folks come along the main trail, and we watched the wolves sprint away from the carcass across the valley to within around 400 yards of us. Later, when we continue our trail in that direction, they had vanished. We marvel at how 10 wolves just disappear into thin air in an open valley.
Now we walk, and walk, and walk, on the loosely defined trail on the western edge of the valley, weaving around bull bison rolling and dusting. We keep moving to avoid the hordes of flies harassing us, and absorb the vast, open beauty of the valley.
When we get too hot, we set up our bug net and lay in the shade beneath lodgepole pines rubbed smooth by generations of bison rubbing. A herd of cows and calves trots by. Crickets chirp. The remains of an old bison carcass lays baking in the sun 200 yards out from our shady spot. Knowing we only have these daylight hours to be in the valley, we do not hurry.
Eventually we make it to the ranger cabin where we make dinner sheltered from the oncoming storm beneath the eaves. We are already 9 miles in and pretty tired, so the break does us good. Next up, the final stretch; 3 miles up and over Mist Creek Pass, 8,750 feet. I would lie if I said we don’t find it challenging. Just past the Ranger cabin we encounter two grizzlies grazing in a meadow. Either a sow with a 2 year old cub, or a courting pair, we can’t tell. We stop in our tracks, bear spray in hand…but they bound off in the opposite direction.
We enjoy views of the valley and a cool breeze on the pass, and make it to camp just before 9 PM. We’ve been schlepping our packs for 12 hours and are just a bit tired. There may have been some bad words uttered as the bear rope George was hanging got tangled in a branch. Eventually we settle into the tent, exhausted. The last thing George utters is “I think I’m going to sleep in tomorrow…” The sound of snipe winnowing in the meadow sings us to sleep.
Day 2 – Hanging out at Mist Creek
It starts raining around 5 AM, and continues steadily until about 10. We do not complain, lazing in our sleeping bags dozing and talking until the rain finally lets up. Since then we’ve been sitting in the bug net beneath the bear pole, writing and having tea and a late breakfast. The sun finally makes an appearance around noon.
We are base camping here for two nights because the plan was to head back to Pelican Valley and sit on a hill looking for bears and wolves. Even before we walked that whole way I thought the idea was a little bit suspect-who would want to hike back over Mist Creek Pass? And back again? And sure enough, our desire for that approach has waned. I’m sure many of our friends in better shape would have no trouble, but 12 miles with a pack is a stretch for us right now. We relish the chance to just be, so spent the day reading and relaxing and taking slow meanders around the meadow taking photos of flowers.
So much time is spent doing. To have the opportunity to hang in the shade at the edge of a beautiful meadow and be present with the birdsong and breeze and the smell of the pines warming in the sun and the lush bluebells, elephant’s head, bog orchids, lupine, and dandelion is priceless in our book. So here we are.
Day 3 – Traveling along the Lamar River
I am just about to make my way back to camp from a meander along the Lamar river when I spot something white moving to cross the river at the bend ahead of me. I thought it was a white wolf at first…and then realize it’s a mountain goat! A young billy. He wants to cross the river but spots me and then George and seems to think twice about it. Well that was a great end to the day! Along with the sunset, a stringy pink that looks smoke enhanced.
Today was a fine day. Nothing earth-shattering happened, just 8 miles dropping out of Mist Creek, across Cold Creek, to the Lamar River. Mist Creek meadows were beautiful. The trail became increasingly burned and hot, although the views of the surrounding peaks like Saddle, Little Saddle, Hague, Castor and Pollux were sublime. As was the confluence of Cold Creek and the Lamar River; the kind of place we call “sneaky,” which in our lingo means a place where many animals hang out or travel through. It begged for more exploration.
Just before the confluence, we dunked in Cold Creek, although because there wasn’t a “hole” we just had to lay down on the rocky bed and let the water flow over us to cool off.
Earlier in the day we ran into a park service ranger that we know from Gardiner, working with a couple of young staff members to chainsaw clear the trail. The only other group we ran into was a Wild Rockies Field Institute group led by another friend of ours. Another friendly greeting! It was surprisingly fun to see folks we knew in the backcountry, despite our recent aversion to people. Other than that we see no one all day. Just like we like it. Oh—except for a couple of handsome bull bison and of course our friend Billy the goat.
Day 4 – Pine martens, a storm, and a snake at Cache Creek
We make it to cache Creek by mid-afternoon after another 12-mile day. After frantically setting up the bug net and clearing it of flies we are basking and resting in the shade of a giant lodgepole pine, furrowed and well-loved (scarred) by bison. George is sleeping, and I am pleasantly relaxed. The breeze is silky as it slides over our skin. A hummingbird buzzes by every few minutes, and a cricket is giving a dry rasping song in the nearby sage. Occasionally I hear wings flutter in the branches above me where the sun filters gently through. Ants amiably wander over our feet and legs. From time to time I help the ants find their way out of the net so they can carry off the dead flies.
It is quiet, and one would say still, although the stillness is full of life even at the slow, high–sun time of day. This is a peaceful campsite, flat and open and shaded, a small island of mature trees in an open landscape of meadow and 1988 fire regrowth. There is not a single person in sight or sound. Heaven.
A young female finch is perched just on a branch over the net, uttering a soft “pur-yip!” and dives down to just above my head, floating off before touching the net. It does this three or four times, its small body and legs hovering above me for just a second, the breathy flutter of its wings so near I can almost feel it. Once it landed right on the edge of the net but flew quickly away, seemingly unsure of the strange new object in her environment. Is she hunting bugs hovering above the net? Or is she just curious? Her gentle soft but insistent call seem to have piqued the interest of at least a few of her peers—suddenly the trees are filled with more “pur-yips”. How incredibly special.
One of the most amazing things that happened on our route today was nearly being trampled by not one, but two(!) pine martins. We sat down to change into water shoes at Miller Creek, each on a different log on either side of the trail. All of a sudden a thunder of footsteps came bounding our way, and what came tramping down the log next to George but two martins! They seemed to be chasing each other. The one in front ran right by my pack and off into the woods. The trailing one paused, hopped from log to log, paused again, looking at us each time. Eventually it too pranced off into the bushes. We later saw one of them crossing the creek down stream, and then heard a marmot alarming for quite some time near a basalt rock slide. Oh my gosh it was so incredible! The rushing sound and thunk of their feet running on the gray downed logs sounded like mini-elephants. They were large, and such a rich reddish brown, with the keenest of eyes. They literally ran right next to George and only a few yards from me.
Later, we decide to take a dip in Cache Creek. The water is cold but not so cold that we can’t sit in the current for 15 minutes or so. Suddenly, a garter snake swims right toward me! It looks like a root waving in the current at first, until it swims within a couple of feet. A tiny little thing, really, though it still makes me jump and scream in surprise. Silly, I know.
After dinner a high wind thunderstorm roars through. I sprint from the protection of the lodgepole to the tent (which we had placed over 100 yards away due to recent bear activity in that site) to add some extra tie downs and stakes. The wind buffets the tent so hard it lays nearly flat as the poles bend and flex. A small rip in the fly develops during the storm, but otherwise, the tent holds strong.
After the storm we take a walk over to check out the other campsite and explore towards the confluence of Cache and the Lamar. We walked beneath a nice basalt cliff decorated with cottonwood trees, and discover some fresh grizzly tracks in one of the gravel braids of the creek. The light after the storm is dramatic. What a wild and wonderful place.
Day 5 – Black bear with a cub, and hiking out
So for our last morning, George wants to see Wahb Springs, so we start by 7 AM and walk a couple of miles to where we can see the deadly springs from a small overlook. We choose not to go down all the way, given the fact that we have to hike out to the truck today.
On the way there I spot a large black bear standing on a downed log in the trees about 40 yards from us on the trail. We move by slowly, and it saunters down the log and out of sight.
We thought it was a male bear on account of the relatively large size, only to find on the way back that it was a sow with a dark cinnamon cub of the year!!
As we returned on the trail I spotted them almost by accident, laying in the brush just inside the trees. Mama seems unconcerned, although she puts her head on the cubs back…maybe just to snuggle but more likely to say “stay put, little one.” The cub doesn’t listen though and climbs up the side of a nearby tree to get a better look at us before coming back down to mama. We detour a bit higher up the slope to give them their space. A sweet, magical encounter, made even more special by being able to pass through gently and respectfully, without causing them to flee. The images below are taken with a telephoto lens and cropped heavily.
The flowers are beautiful on our way out to the trailhead, almost making up for the mad swarm of flies that plagues us the entire way back to the car. We see a badger on the way out, and hundreds of busy ground squirrels scurrying about.
All in all a fabulous and wonderful trip. And very good for the both of us. Being in the backcountry feeds our hearts and souls and creative selves long after the miles on the trail and nights in the tent are over. It also helps us remember that the park is so much more than what we witness on the roadside. And that gives us hope.
Want to read more about Yellowstone’s backcountry? Check out Eleven Days Paddling Yellowstone Lake.
Images ©Jenny Golding
