We left Twin Falls in the early morning and arrived in Yellowstone late Sunday afternoon. The traffic in the park was similar to Crater Lake—in other words, snarled. We pulled into our campground at Grant Village and waited in a long line to get our site assignment and then slowly motored our way to F loop. When we pulled up to our site, the only barren, treeless sprawl of grass in the entire campground, I had what can only be described as a Clark Griswold moment.
“Kids,” I said firmly, “get back in the car. I didn’t just drive 800 miles through the blistering heat to sit here in the sun. It’s not happening. I’d rather leave than camp here.” It was late afternoon and Yellowstone was an uncharacteristic 90 degrees, and I’d hit my limit. Samantha looked at me like I’d gone mad, and I think I probably had, but Parker was cheering me on. “Go, Dad! Let’s get another campsite!” he prodded from the back seat.
We stood in line for another 45 minutes, which was blessing because it afforded me time to compose myself and come up with a strategy that would appeal to the better nature of the rangers manning the registration desk. It was busier than I’d ever seen it and I guessed they weren’t going to be in the mood for an entitled Californian who had decided that the little patch of Yellowstone he’d rented wasn’t pretty enough.
When I finally got to the window, I started off slow... we’d been here many times, we’d driven over mountains and through deserts with no a/c, and we’d already seen much of the major attractions, so our plan had been to just sit in the shade and relax by our fire. When I saw the site, I just couldn’t bear the disappointment on the faces of my children... I gestured to Parker, whose knit mask was still smudged with chocolate and ash from Mt. Hood. Together with his sweaty hair, it presented an appropriately pitiful exhibit to my tale.
The ranger peered out the window at Parker and then looked at me and trotted off to find a supervisor. After about 10 minutes, during which I was mentally calculating how long it would take us to drive all the way home from this point on the map, she returned with a list of a half dozen other sites, circling one that she personally considered her favorite, with a view that backed up to Yellowstone Lake. I gladly accepted the reassignment and then thanked her profusely before we headed off toward our new digs. As I was saying earlier about the park service, they are truly model public servants...
She was right, it was excellent, and we spent Monday doing nothing other than stoking our fire, reading, and listening to spooky podcasts after dark.
The kids finally went to bed about 10pm Monday night, and I put our food back in the trunk, gathered up our copious trash and walked over to the car to lean against the fender and look at the stars. It was quiet—most of the other campfires and lights were out, and I was settling into my down time to enjoy the peace and quiet. Just then, a shadowy figure burst into our campsite, knocked over the nylon chairs, grabbed the trash bag, which probably weighed 25 pounds, and tore off into the darkness toward our tent.
I raced toward the specter and clicked on my headlamp to see two green eyes staring back at me and then disappear into the darkness. The trash was strewn about the trees going down the hill and I grabbed the bag, now with gaping holes, and began to stuff bits of plates and uneaten food back into the sack when the green eyes reappeared from the opposite direction. I whirled around only to see them vanish once again. They were beside me, and then behind me, then in front of me again. I stood frozen, then spun around again, grabbing the bag and bolting back towards our campfire to catch a glimpse of what I thought was either a coyote or a wolf, but it was too dark to tell. If it was a coyote, which was more likely, it wasn’t of the mangy type I sometimes see in LA. No, this was a the size of a large dog, with a light coat and full fur—a fast, healthy (and menacing) looking creature.
I dashed over to the trash bin by the bathroom to put the bait out of reach and intercepted Samantha walking back from brushing her teeth with her Beats headphones on, bobbing, and blissfully unaware of the animal circling our campsite.
I shouted to her three times before she heard me and I told her to get in the tent, stay there, and get me the big flashlight. For the next 10 minutes, the animal, having tasted our dinner, tested my defense from every angle. Now though, with a much more powerful light that could reach deeper into the gloom, I could see it more clearly, green eyes glowing from just beyond the reach of the beam. It was a coyote and it was hungry. It wanted what we had—badly—but not quite enough to face down the human with the powerful light. Eventually I went on offense and chased it deeper into the trees. After a few more minutes, it surrendered and slunk away in search of easier targets.
In the morning I flagged down a ranger and relayed the events of the night before. She wasn’t surprised by the encounter but was dismayed by the brazenness and the degree to which the animal was undeterred.
“There are two of them that have been in and out of Grant this week, a dark one and a light one... sounds like you saw the lighter one. We’ve been trying to shoot them with rubber bullets and tranquilizer guns, but every time we get a call they’re gone before we get there. We’re getting concerned they’re rabid,” she said.
That was sobering. It would explain the aggression, but I didn’t think so— it looked too healthy to be rabid and it still had some fear of humans, even if it was abnormally brave. But I guess that’s what happens when an animal tastes ramen noodles and fruit loops. Just like us, they want more.
We spent Tuesday driving north to Canyon and watching a herd of buffalo amble across the road. At lunch I tried to rally the troops to see Old Faithful one more time but they both seemed more enthralled by the cell service at Canyon Lodge. Exasperated, I asked them what they wanted to do.
“If you could do anything right now, what would it be?” I asked.
“Go to Jackson,” Samantha replied quickly, realizing instantly that I was disappointed by the answer. I was, but I understood. We’d been to Yellowstone four out of the last five years, and the initial magic had clearly faded. After a few tries with the overtaxed cell service, I reached Quimby, who managed to find us a hotel for Tuesday night. Satisfied that we had somewhere to crash in Jackson, we headed back to our campsite, packed our tent, jettisoned all our food and a cooler to lighten our load for the penultimate leg of our journey and headed out a day early. It was unplanned, but it gave us an extra day in our favorite town and positioned us for the last leg home on Thursday (a day early) in what appeared to be a short window of cooler weather. After what we had endured so far, it seemed like a good trade.
Parker throws a stone into Yellowstone Lake on our morning hike. iPhone XR
Crawling through Yellowstone with everyone else fleeing the coronavirus quarantines for a sense of “normalcy.” iPhone XR
Arriving back at our campsite, we found we had unexpected company. iPhone XR
Crossing the Continental Divide at nearly 8,000 feet. iPhone XR
Pausing for a selfie in front of the Tetons on the way out of Yellowstone. iPhone XR