An hour later, the bus crossed the Montana state line, where a sign indicated the speed limit in the state was “reasonable and prudent.” Graham wondered how motorists interpreted this guidance. Another highway sign indicated it was forty miles to Crow Agency, and the Pennsylvania native realized he was close to Redfield’s birthplace. He was reminded of the larger purpose of his journey. This summer was not only about working in the nation’s first national park. It was the beginning of his personal vision quest.
He pulled the leather-bottomed, cobalt-blue L.L. Bean day pack from the seat beside him onto his lap, opened the top zipper, and fished out the black cloth that held the eagle–bear claw necklace. Graham put the sacred pendant around his neck and inspected the grizzly-bear claw, which seemed to exude even greater potency after Alton’s lunchtime discourse. The Pennsylvanian decided he would wear the necklace daily now that he was approaching the site for his vision.
Graham glanced across the aisle, thinking the cowboy might be interested in seeing the necklace with the bear claw, but noticed Alton was slouched in his seat and had fallen asleep. His arms were crossed on his chest, and his wide-brimmed cowboy hat was pulled over his eyes.
Turning his attention to the day pack, he sorted through his personal items. He extracted the leather pouch of kinnikinnick and a short briar pipe purchased on the advice of Redfield. Graham had also packed a Silva orienteering compass and a topographic map of the Yellowstone region. He didn’t expect to use either of these much, since he would mainly be exploring developed areas of the park, but he thought they might come in handy if he went backpacking. He also brought an Eveready Commander chrome flashlight and a two-blade Barlow pocketknife. Even though Graham didn’t smoke, he packed a Zippo lighter. The small, reusable metal lighter was much more reliable for starting a fire compared with strike-on-box matches, which had to be manually waterproofed with wax.
A large plastic bag contained all his photo supplies. His mother had bought an eighteen-dollar Kodak Instamatic 124 camera as a gift. In return, she asked he take photos and mail a few prints so she and Leroy could see some of the wondrous natural features of the park.
Graham had taken photos around his home and Big Hill Farm to try out the new “point and shoot” camera. He was pleased with the quality of the three-inch-square prints he received a week after mailing the negatives to be developed. He selected three photos to take along: one of his mother and father standing in front of their house, another one of his Studebaker, and a picture of Redfield squatting under a sycamore tree holding a cigarette. He added these photos to his backpack.
Film was a significant expense. It cost forty-nine cents for a twelve-exposure canister of Kodak Verichrome Pan black-and-white film and eighty-seven cents for twelve exposures of Kodacolor X film. Not knowing whether the 124 film was available for purchase in the park, he bought three canisters of both types.
Most of his personal belongings were in a maroon, metal-framed backpack stowed in the luggage compartment beneath the bus. These items included a tent, rain fly, sleeping bag, mess kit, toiletries, and seasonal clothing.
Graham placed the smaller items back into the day pack and removed his bus ticket. He was fortunate Greyhound had announced a promotional sale earlier in the year advertising a fare of fifty dollars to travel one way between any two cities in America. With this option, he no longer had to worry about how to pay for the Studebaker’s repairs.
The bus was clearly the cheapest way to get to Yellowstone, and he had bought two one-way tickets from Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, to Livingston, Montana. The drawback of this inexpensive transportation mode was time. The itinerary supplied by Greyhound indicated multiple bus transfers with a total travel time of nearly three days.
The route had scheduled stops with significant waiting times or bus transfers in Pittsburgh, Indianapolis, St. Louis, Kansas City, Sioux City, Rapid City, and Billings. It also included brief scheduled stops in smaller towns along the interstate system. Graham thumbed through a brown koskin-covered journal he had bought to keep a diary of his trip and read his previous entries.
·Sunday, May 30. Depart Harrisburg bus station 10 pm. Said goodbye to Mom and Dad.
·Monday, May 31. Arrive Pittsburgh 2:45am. Walked around the empty bus depot to stay awake. Depart 3:45 am.
·Monday, May 31. Arrive Indianapolis 11:30 am. Walked across the street and got a burger and fries at White Castle. Depart 12:40 pm.
·Monday, May 31. Arrive St. Louis 4:15 pm. Depart 6:15 pm. Had dinner at a Burger Chef across the street.
·Monday, May 31. Crossed the Missouri River 9:40 pm.
·Monday, May 31. Stopped at Concordia, MO 10:10 pm. Picked up an old woman who was carrying a small dog.
·Monday, May 31. Arrive Kansas City 11:00 pm. Scheduled 3-hour layover and bus transfer. Hard to get any sleep sitting on the hard benches of the bus terminal.
·Tuesday, June 1. Arrive Sioux City, IA 8:30 am. 15 minutes to stretch our legs. Got a Twinkie and a box of milk from a vending machine for breakfast.
·Tuesday, June 1. Arrive Sioux Falls, SD 10:15 am. Scheduled 3-hour layover and bus transfer. Had lunch at Country Kitchen a few blocks from the bus station. Left at 2 pm.
·Tuesday, June 1. Stopped at Mitchell, SD 2:45 pm. A couple of passengers got off at the Corn Palace. Large two-story elaborate building made of corn!
·Tuesday, June 1. Crossed Missouri River a second time at 4:30 pm.
·Tuesday, June 1. Bus broke down near Kadoka 6:00 pm. We were told they would bring a new bus from Rapid City. New Scenicruiser bus arrived around 1 am.
·Wednesday, June 2. Arrive Rapid City, SD after 3 am. Four-hour wait to see if they can repair the old bus! No go. Looks like we keep the Scenicruiser.
He added another line to his journal.
·Wednesday, June 2. Arrive Buffalo, WY 11:30 am. Had lunch at a diner with a cowboy named Alton. Learned a lot about bears.
As Graham finished reading his journal entries, the Greyhound bus slowed and exited the interstate toward open prairie. A few minutes later, the driver expertly steered the bus in a wide arc and executed a three-point turn on the narrow road. The bulky vehicle lumbered a short distance and came to rest in a cloud of dust in front of a small combination grocery-gas station. An imposing grain silo loomed over the one-story block building displaying a poster with the sleek Greyhound logo in the front plate-glass window. A faded green sign suspended from the porch roof by two small chains indicated the name of the village:
Lodge Grass, Montana
Population 292
A Crow Indian woman boarded the bus with a young boy, who appeared to be about six years old. They approached the rear of the bus and sat in the seats directly in front of Graham. The bus slowly pulled away from the grocery and back toward the interstate.
After the bus was on the highway, the young boy peeked around the back of his seat to look at Graham, who could not help seeing Redfield’s likeness in the child’s face. He knew the reason he imagined a resemblance was he had not seen any Crow people other than his friend in Pennsylvania. To his eyes, every Indian appeared to have nearly identical features. Nevertheless, Graham was pleased he had the opportunity to briefly “visit” a small part of Redfield’s homeland, even if it were just a bus stop.
The bus made a brief stop at Crow Agency and arrived in Billings around three o’clock. After a one-hour layover, Graham transferred to another bus for the final segment of his one-way ticket.
Alton was still on the bus when the driver announced they were arriving in Livingston. Graham leaned over and wished the cowboy a safe journey.
“Likewise. It was nice to meet ya’,” Alton said as he reached across the aisle and shook the younger man’s hand. “Can I offer one more piece of advice?”
“Sure.”
“Most park visitors don’t appreciate what they’re lookin’ at. They think geysers, springs, and mud pots are simply wonders of nature. They are. But to the people who lived there before it be
came a national park, it’s a sacred land. Treat it that way.”
Graham could hear the candor in Alton’s voice and see the earnestness in his eyes. “Yes, sir. I certainly will,” he promised as he turned and made his way down the aisle of the bus. He retrieved his framed backpack from the bottom of the bus and watched as the Greyhound pulled away from the stop, which also served as a Sinclair filling station.
It was six o’clock. Graham checked his papers from the Yellowstone Park Company and saw the last bus to Gardiner left at seven. He grabbed a candy bar from a vending machine for dinner and waited on a wooden bench until a gray, ten-passenger van with a YP Company placard on the front dash pulled into the Sinclair station. After confirming Graham was a seasonal employee, the driver told him to have a seat for the ninety-minute trip to the company’s headquarters in Gardiner.
It was eight thirty when the van pulled in beside a two-story, brown-and-yellow building south of town near the Yellowstone River. Graham fetched his backpack from the back of the van, then walked up the short flight of wooden stairs at the front of the building. A middle-aged woman standing behind the counter greeted him with a tired smile.
“Hi there,” she said. “I see you caught the last shuttle of the day. My name is Marcy.”
“Graham Davidson. Glad to meet you.”
“Okay, Graham,” she responded while running a finger down a page in a three-ring binder in front of her. “Hmmm. I don’t see your name here. What was the arrival date on your contract?”
Graham fished through his day pack until he spotted the folder with the YP Company information. He found the employment contract and handed it to Marcy.
“Your arrival date is June 3. Oh yes, I see you on the arrivals list for tomorrow,” she said, flipping to the next page in the binder.
“Well, I’m a day early. That’s a good thing, right? I don’t like to be late.”
“Unfortunately, we don’t have any lodging for you. It clearly states you will be provided with lodging during the dates of your employment, which begins tomorrow,” Marcy asserted, handing the contract back to Graham with a finger pointing at the lodging-agreement language. “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to find a room on your own. I can recommend a couple of places in town.”
Graham was incredulous. “You can’t be serious! I’ve been traveling for three days on a bus. I’m exhausted. And now I have to find a hotel room?” His voice grew louder as he spoke.
“Look, I’m sorry. But there’s nothing I can do. Here’s a list of motels and hotels with their prices along with a map of the town. I’m sure one of these places will have a room,” she said helpfully. “Just be here tomorrow at two o’clock to catch the shuttle. You have been assigned a room at Yellowstone Lake.”
“Thanks,” Graham responded half-heartedly, as he turned, walked out the front door, and sat on the front steps. He pulled a wallet out of his jeans pocket and counted sixty-three dollars. Surveying the lodging sheet Marcy had given him, the least expensive option cost twenty-two dollars per night plus tax. He considered finding an area just outside of town to set up his tent and save the cost of a motel room. But he quickly discounted the idea. It would be difficult to pitch a tent in the dark on unknown terrain.
Sighing, he found the cheapest motel on the map and walked the short distance back to town, stopping in front of the Marmot Motor Inn. It was a two-story, brown clapboard building with the rooms accessed directly from the adjoining parking lot. A pink neon sign suspended in the window flashed “vacancy.”
When Graham opened the glass door to the motel office, a skinny, balding man in a T-shirt looked up from The Livingston Enterprise newspaper he was reading.
“Good evening.”
“Hello. I just arrived in town and wondered if you have any rooms for the night,” Graham said hopefully.
“Sure do. Got one in the middle on the first floor. It’s right beside the vending and ice machines. The rate is twenty-two fifty plus tax. Pay in advance.”
“Okay. I’ll take it.”
“If you need more towels, they’re two dollars each. Smoke outside, not in the room. Checkout time is eleven. Sign in here,” the clerk said as he pointed to a guest book on the counter and handed Graham a key with an oblong tab indicating he was in room 116.
Graham left the office and walked halfway down the length of the building until he reached his room. He opened the door and flipped on the light switch. A dim ceiling light revealed spartan furnishings. In addition to a double bed, there was a small desk, chair, and two-drawer dresser. A mirror was mounted on the wall above a small porcelain sink surrounded by a vanity with several cigarette burns etched into the surface. The toilet bowl had yellowish-brown stains, and several loops on the moldy plastic shower curtain were torn, allowing one end to sag into the bathtub.
He set his pack down and pulled out his toiletries bag, then brushed his teeth and washed his face. As he dried his face with a thin gray-white towel, the mirror reflected a young man with a short beard and wavy dark-brown hair halfway over his ears. Graham undressed and placed the eagle–bear claw necklace in his day pack. He laid his clothes on top of the free-standing backpack rather than in one of the drawers. As he climbed between the sheets, the mattress squeaked and sagged under his two-hundred-ten-pound frame. But he was lying flat for the first time in three days. He closed his eyes and fell asleep to the steady hum of the ice machine on the other side of the wall.
* * *
A slamming door from an adjacent room awakened Graham from a deep sleep. He rolled over and squinted at his Timex Marlin wristwatch. It was almost nine o’clock. He quickly showered, dressed, and assembled his belongings in the backpack. Closing the door behind him, Graham walked toward Main Street seeking a cheap breakfast option. A sign in front of Nick’s on Third Street advertised breakfast for $3.95, and the hungry traveler decided this café was the best choice. The food was simple, and the portion sizes were generous. Graham was back on the streets of Gardiner forty-five minutes later with a belly full of eggs, sausage, biscuits, and coffee.
Consulting a map of the area he picked up at the motel, Graham noted Mammoth Hot Springs was five miles south of town. He really wanted to see the terraced natural wonder, but he determined it would take him at least ninety minutes to walk there, and he needed to be back by two o’clock. He decided to find out if there was another way to get to Yellowstone Lake and walked the short distance to the YP Company headquarters to seek assistance.
A man in his sixties was standing at the reception desk when he entered the building. Graham explained his situation and asked for his advice. He offered to have the shuttle pick Graham up at the ranger station in Mammoth at two fifteen. He said several other company employees would also be waiting for the shuttle bus at that location. He mentioned the shuttle would be leaving for Mammoth in about ten minutes if he wanted to catch a ride. Graham was elated and thanked the man for his help.
It was ten thirty when the shuttle dropped off Graham at the ranger station,where he picked up a map of the park.
Yellowstone Natonal Park - National Park Service
On his way to the terraces, he paused to read an information board. It explained how hot acidic water dissolves limestone rock as it bubbles to the surface, re-forming into travertine terraces and pooling as hot springs.
He spent the next several hours exploring the boardwalks constructed for visitors to get close to these colorful thermal features. A strong sulfur smell hung in the air and was especially pungent when standing downwind from the terraces. Looking north and west, Graham could see mountains in the Gallatin Range. The Washburn Range jutted up from the valley floor immediately to the southeast, and the snow-capped mountains of the Absaroka Range painted the horizon in the east. So, this is the reason Montana is known as Big Sky Country, he thought to himself. It seemed like craggy mountain peaks were punching into an expansive sky in every direction.
As he stood at the main terrace overlook, Graham spotted an ominous b
lack cloud with heavy fingers of rain hanging over the Yellowstone River. The thunderstorm produced sporadic lightning bolts as it swept toward the multicolored travertine terraces. He watched the swirling angry cloud until he recalled it wasn’t a good idea to be caught standing on an elevated platform in the middle of a lightning storm.
Graham removed his backpack and found a rain poncho. He slipped it over his head and started making his way back down the boardwalk toward the ranger station. Gusty winds foreshadowed a heavy downpour that followed a few minutes later. While Graham walked at a casual pace, most of the tourists on the boardwalk held jackets or sweaters over their heads as they ran toward the Mammoth Hot Springs Hotel.
The small two-story stone building that served as the ranger station was packed with visitors when Graham pushed the door open and entered the building. He removed his wet poncho and walked over to a window to watch the storm as it roared outside. Twenty minutes later, the sun filtered through the trailing clouds of the storm. The atmospheric conditions were perfect for a rainbow, which appeared behind the terrace in a bid to make the ancient acidic mound even more vibrant. Graham quickly located the Kodak Instamatic camera in his day pack and snapped a picture—his first one in the national park.
Shortly after two o’clock, a gray van with the YP Company placard on the dash stopped outside the ranger station and picked up Graham and two others. The young man and woman said they would be working in the Yellowstone Lake Hotel as a waiter and a front-desk clerk. The van traveled east, then followed the Yellowstone River south using the Grand Loop road. As they passed the Upper and Lower Falls, Graham was envious. He could catch only glimpses of the canyon from the van’s window but reminded himself he had an entire summer to explore the park.
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