23 MAR 2001
By Win Goodbody
Driving from Jackson, WY to Cody, WY in the summer takes a few hours. The
most direct route goes right through Yellowstone National Park. In the
winter, when Park roads are closed, the trip turns into a 6 hour affair.
You must drive over Togwotee Pass toward Dubois, WY and then continue all
the way around the east side of the massive Absaroka Range. Our last leg
finished in the Park at the entrance to Pelican Valley. To continue on leg
5, we decided to drive to Pahaska Teepee just outside the East Entrance of
Yellowstone and then ski in 20 miles to Yellowstone Lake where we left off
last time. After winding through Pelican Valley and then out the Lamar
River to Cooke City, MT, we hoped to somehow hitchhike back to our car and
return to Jackson. In total, we would end up driving some 700 miles in
order to ski about 40. But those 40 were some of the nicest miles we’ve
seen to date.
Getting from Jackson to the Park was successful. We drove through the east
side towns of Thermopolis, Meeteetse, and Cody. And then the 50 miles west
along the North Fork of the Shoshone River to the Park. A massive road
construction program to widen and improve this road has now been going on
for about three years. There were dump trucks with tires 20 feet high lined
up next to blasting equipment. It’s not easy trying to make the Absarokas
behave. We camped at the end of the plowed road near Pahaska, loaded up on
way too many pancakes at the restaurant the next morning (unlike Brooks Lake
Lodge, a glamorous resort that treated us unkindly on leg 4, the resort at
Pahaska Teepee is a friendly, fun place), and headed in.
For those who haven’t been, Cooke City feels like a little bit of Alaska (or
how I imagine Alaska to be as I’ve never seen it) harpooned and towed south
below the border.
At the Park boundary we initially had trouble explaining our mission to the
fledgling rangers on duty. For a moment it looked like they weren’t going
to let us in. I have had this experience several times now over the last
three years, and it’s always amusing. The routine seems to go like this.
You arrive in the Park and go over your planned trip itinerary with novice
rangers at the gate. They shudder in horror and stammer, “But that’s
impossible! You can’t do that! No way! Help!” Then, after about an hour
of talking and making calls around the Park, someone with experience and
authority arrives on the scene and waves you through with no problems,
almost apologetically as if to say, “Sorry these jokers wasted your time.”
The rangers who initially tried to keep you out then sulk as you ski past.
Bye bye.
Sure enough, as we approached the gate, two figures in uniform emerged from
the command center. One of them, still wearing his snowmobile helmet and
looking like something out of a science fiction movie, almost tried to block
the way, as if he thought we weren’t going to stop to check in. We merely
wanted to get clear of the road and find somewhere to drop our packs before
talking to them. He said something like, “So, where you headed?” “Cooke
City,” I responded. “What, through the Park?” “Yes.” I could sense
unhappiness in the air.
At this point his sidekick, a woman I had dealt with last year, said in an
annoying, robotic, and slightly sarcastic tone of voice, “And you’re going
to be finished with all that by tomorrow morning at 8 am?” Oh dear, here we
go, I thought to myself. The routine had been launched. It was the last
day of snowmobiling in the Park for the season. The next day as of 8 am the
Park was “closed”. Of course the back country is always open (we had a
permit from the back country office and they knew our dates), it’s just the
roads that close. Unfortunately, for some rangers, as for some visitors,
the Park seems to consist only of roads. The back country is a foreign land
rarely visited, a kind of Libya. Therefore these two simply assumed that
since the all important roads were closing, that must mean that the entire
Park was closing. Because what else was there to do in the Park other than
drive around on the roads?
I paused, wishing that we could somehow just fast forward the tape one hour
to the part where Joe and I ski into the Park, free to go on our way. I
knew we would get through, but we had to let this little dynamic run its
course. I also knew from personal experience that antagonizing the rangers
would not win us any points.
When I told the alien in the helmet I had been doing these trips for years
right after the roads closed and it had never been a problem before, he
threw his hands up and retreated back into the command center. It was the
“Hey! I don’t know! I just work here!” response. That pretty much
neutralized him. Meanwhile the woman was trying to raise someone on the
horn who would put the fear of god into me about the back country, or at
least give her some backup in this tussle with two threatening back country
skiers. She motioned me into the command center. “I’ve got a ranger for
you to talk to.”
I picked up the phone and was elated to hear the voice of an extremely
experienced ranger who has probably skied more of the Park’s back country
than anyone I know. We’ve been corresponding on and off over the years by
phone and email, and I met him once last year. This was a nice little
development. “Hey! How’s it going!” I shouted. As the ranger who handed
me the phone realized I knew this guy and was obviously on good terms with
him, her face went white. This was not what she expected. The cavalry was
coming for us. It was looking good. Meanwhile I noticed that Joe had the
digital camera out and was leaning up against the window documenting all of
this, which seemed to make the two rangers retreat further.
I talked for about 25 minutes, and by the time I hung up a real authority
figure was on the scene. He had heard the two rangers trying to raise
someone on the radio and stopped in to help us sort things out. Sure
enough, after 20 minutes of telling him our plans, showing him our permit,
and talking about conditions, we were free to go. We skied away from the
command center. I looked back and saw the ranger with his helmet on looking
silently after us. I waved.
Pelican Valley runs for about eight miles due east of Lake in Yellowstone
Park. It is a classic Yellowstone valley: open, surrounded by rolling hills
and burned trees, miles across, and full of wildlife. I had been there
twice before, and on both occasions had seen wolves. Two years ago I was
sitting around camp at dusk when the howl went up. We hadn’t been paying
attention, but out in the meadow in front of us the Crystal Creek Pack
suddenly materialized. We watched mesmerized for an hour as 16 beasts got
ready for the evening hunt. Last year we awoke one morning to see the pack
out in the meadow, howling in the morning light. This is also a bear
management area, and you can’t come in here at all several months of the
year. Overnight camping is never allowed in the summer. Day use only.
Winter, and specifically the last few weeks of March before the bear closure
starts on April 1, is a great time to come for a visit.
We skied most of the 20 miles in from the East Entrance to Pelican Valley,
accepting a ride part of the way from a group of friendly ‘bilers. This
road into the Park traditionally sees much less snow mobile use than the
roads in from West Yellowstone or the South Entrance. It’s a lot of fun to
ski along the packed road through beautiful country. I’m surprised more
skiers don’t use the roads in the Park. Aside from peak times, the roads
are often quiet and abandoned. I have never seen another skier in
Yellowstone. If the snow mobile ban in the Park actually goes through in a
few years, Yellowstone will become the cross country capital of the US. All
those miles of packed road through fascinating terrain and no machines!
We entered Pelican as a wind began to blow. By the time we were midway up
the valley, it was storming in earnest. We reached our camp site by
afternoon and dug in. Then it cleared up. By this point in the winter our
camping routines are so automatic I felt like someone else was cooking me
dinner and putting up the tent. We watched and waited into the night, but
no wolves or bears anywhere. We didn’t even see any tracks. We had talked
about spending a few days here if there were a lot of animals out. As
nothing much was about, we headed up over Mist Creek Pass the next day.
Descending Mist Creek was a beautiful run. It was late afternoon and we
could just glide along on the mostly supportable snow, descending into
endless burned trees and an open meadow where we made camp. After seeing a
sign in Pelican Valley we realized just how short this leg was going to be.
It was only about 25 miles to go from the top of Mist Creek Pass, and so we
were just idling along, taking it in and enjoying the warm weather. Warm
weather at last!
The Lamar River, like so much of Yellowstone, was incinerated in the fires
of 1988. Whatever damage the fires did, they made for great ski touring.
With thinned trees the views are magnificent. There is no feeling of being
deep in the forest. A friend and I have a joke that the fires of 1988 were
set by an irate ski tourer who spent the previous winter skiing around
Yellowstone and was so traumatized by the dense lodgepole pine woods that he
returned in summer and set fire to the place so that noone else would have
to undergo the same suffering. The trees are now growing back. Skiing in
the Park will never be as good as it is right now (until after the next
fire), but there are still years before the woods get thick again.
It takes us two more days to ski out the Lamar for a trip total of seven
(one of which was another precious rest day). On the last day we see bear
tracks. The big man (or woman) has woken up! We also spy some puzzling
tracks that we believe are by a member of the badger family. The paw prints
are clear, but it also looks like the creature’s belly drags on the ground.
The result is what looks like a plowed corridor. I picture a wolverine the
size of a shetland pony and start keeping an eye out the rest of the way
down.
We emerge to the road and catch a ride into Cooke City, MT, which is just
beyond the Park’s Northeast Entrance. It’s the second time I’ve arrived on
skis, or at least with skis, in Cooke City, and I assure Joe he won’t be
disappointed. It’s Saturday. St. Patrick’s Day. We secure a bunk in the
Yurt Hostel, a great place on the edge of town, and immediately head down to
the Miners Saloon, one of only two or three bars open in the winter.
For those who haven’t been, Cooke City feels like a little bit of Alaska (or
how I imagine Alaska to be as I’ve never seen it) harpooned and towed south
below the border. There’s a main street clogged with snow mobiles, dogs,
bikes, and old cars. In winter, it’s accessible by plowed road from the
west, but not from the east. There is a ten mile section of road east of
Cooke City that isn’t plowed in winter, so people from Cody drive to the end
of the road and then snow machine in the remainder. About 85 people live
there year round. More in the summers. Large numbers of snow mobilers
come. It’s also a back country ski destination. All in all, an attractive
feeling of lawlessness, freedom, and fun hangs in the air like blue smoke
from a two stroke engine.
Once inside the Miners Saloon, we feel like long lost friends being welcomed
back to the watering hole. Joe asks whether there is a St. Patrick’s Day
special, and the bartender just hands him a six-pack of Killian’s Red. No
charge. We don’t pay for many drinks. The friendly feeling in the air is
more intoxicating than the refreshments. I recognize several people from
two years ago when I was last through these parts, and we pass a great night
talking and enjoying the fun. The next morning we hear that after we left
there was a little brawl between some snow mobilers who didn’t want to leave
and a few locals. Just another night in Cooke City. Too bad we missed it.
To end this adventure, we still need to get back to our car at the Park’s
East Entrance. To do that, we need to first cover the ten miles east of
town that are snow covered, then catch a ride to Cody, and then catch a ride
to Pahaska. It’s the usual half-baked exit strategy. We just figured it
would work itself out somehow, though now that we’re ready to go I’m having
serious doubts. There’s not a whole lot of traffic on dead end roads in
Wyoming in winter.
To start the astonishing bout of travelers’ good luck that will follow us
all the way back, Bill Blackford, a local back country ski guide and owner
of the Cooke City Bike Shack, offers to give us a ride out of town to the
parking lot where people park on the east side. Bill loads up a custom sled
he has built that he tows behind his snow mobile, and we pile our gear in
and roar off. We’re treated to great views of the Absarokas and Beartooths,
and then a stunning glimpse of the Clarks Fork drainage of the Yellowstone
River as we descend to the parking lot near Pilot Creek. Thanks Bill.
We now prepare for the worst. Time to hitch hike. Dry road stretches off
into Sunlight Basin. It's 70 miles to Cody. At least we have good timing
going for us. It’s Sunday afternoon, and a beautiful day. Snow machiners
here for the weekend are starting to return from Cooke City and load up
their trailers. The first few trucks come towards us. They’re not
interested. Then, not 15 minutes after we started hitching, a hero pulls
up.
I had told Joe that we needed a hero, someone who would give us a ride not
just to Cody, but all the way to Pahaska. Of course, this was a joke,
something I never imagined would actually happen. Getting to Cody wouldn’t
be too hard, I figured, but hitching from there to Pahaska was going to be
downright impossible. The hero’s name is Bill. Good luck with guys named
Bill today. I didn’t get this one’s last name, so I’ll just call him
friendly Bill, for it would be hard to imagine a friendlier person.
Friendly Bill has an Oldsmobile Sedan and insists that we can fit all of our
stuff and skis somehow. We load up and lumber off. Friendly Bill recently
retired to Cody from Colorado and has a lot of stories to tell, especially
about travels in Mexico. He regales us with hilarious tales the whole way to
Cody. We’re having a great time. Cody appears and Friendly Bill asks where
our car is. We tell him Pahaska, and immediately he announces he is taking
us there. I can’t believe our luck. It just goes to show that if you depend
on something good happening to you, it usually will. Thanks Friendly Bill.
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