Burning Ground

by D. A. Galloway

  Jeff directed the group to work together in pairs. Each team was instructed to remove an eighteen-foot aluminum boat from the rack, place a forty-horsepower outboard motor in the boat, and carry these to the boat ramp.

  “The motors were tuned up over the winter and fueled up yesterday. They are ready to go,” the supervisor informed the group as they stood near the ramp. “Let me show you how to mount the motor.”

  He asked Graham for assistance lifting and securing an outboard motor onto the back of the boat, where it was clamped onto the stern. They pushed it into the water from the ramp. Then Jeff demonstrated how to prime and start the motor.

  Pairs of dockhands worked together the remainder of the afternoon transferring boats from the storage areas to the docks. Each boat and motor had to be thoroughly cleaned. Graham noticed some guys were more diligent and worked at a faster pace than others, but he didn’t say anything. In his view, this job was no more demanding than his work on Big Hill Farm.

  The following morning, the van made several trips from the hotel to the marina transporting employees who did not have a car. All six fishing guides including Kevin made the ten-minute drive on their own. Kevin offered Graham a ride, but he declined, since their working hours did not coincide.

  Jeff asked Graham and Roger, another dockhand, to assist getting the three scenicruisers cleaned up and ready. He led the two men to the end of the main dock and showed them the tour boats.

  “This is the Lake Queen. She is our largest scenicruiser,” he said, standing at the stern of the forty-two-foot wooden boat with large glass windows. “She can seat forty passengers if you include the bench seat in the open deck area at the rear of the boat.” Pointing to the boat slips to his right, Jeff said, “The Miss Yellowstone and her sister boat, the Absaroka, are moored at the end of the next two docks. They are smaller boats and have a capacity of twenty persons each. I need you to scrub the passenger cabins of all three boats. I’ll check on you later.”

  Graham and Roger walked down the dock toward the storage building to get cleaning supplies. “I don’t think we formally met. I’m Graham,” the Pennsylvanian said as he offered his hand.

  “Roger from Wisconsin, as you can see,” he replied, pointing to the name badge on his shirt. Roger was a few inches shorter than Graham. His coal-black hair was combed straight back, and he had a Vandyke beard.

  “Any idea why Jeff chose us to work on the scenicruise boats?” Graham wondered aloud.

  “No. It doesn’t make any difference to me. I’m here to work, learn, and enjoy my time off in the park.”

  “Agreed. I’m studying forestry at Penn State. How about you?”

  “I’m working on my graduate degree in wildlife ecology at the University of Wisconsin.”

  The two dockhands gathered their materials and made their way back down the main dock to the Lake Queen. Soon they were scrubbing, mopping, cleaning, and shining the interior. Although the boat looked much better when they were finished, Graham wondered how long the Lake Queen had been plying the waters of Yellowstone Lake. It had definite signs of aging. The glass windows fit loosely in the frames. The planks on the floor were scuffed and needed refinishing. Several wooden handles of the ship’s wheel were cracked. It was obvious the white hull and blue trim had been painted many times. When Roger and Graham lifted the hatchways at the stern to inspect the engine compartment, they saw two large Chrysler marine engines that were leaking oil around the valve covers.

  As they walked down the main dock and over to the end of the next dock, where the Miss Yellowstone was moored, Roger inquired, “I’m curious. Do you have any boating experience?”

  “None. And you?”

  “Nothing other than occasionally using a small boat to fish for walleye.”

  It took less time to clean the smaller single-engine boats, which appeared to be the same vintage as the Lake Queen. While cleaning the third scenicruiser, Graham suddenly made a mental connection. Redfield told him Absaroka was the name the Crow called themselves. It meant “people of the large-beaked bird.” His topo map labeled the mountains that formed the eastern boundary of the park the Absaroka Range. Graham reached under his shirt and felt the eagle–bear claw pendant. He was again reminded of his larger purpose for coming to Yellowstone.

  It was almost noon when the cleaning partners walked back to the marina office building. Jeff approached them in the parking lot while they waited for the van to take them to the employee cafeteria for lunch.

  “How did you guys make out?” he asked.

  “All done,” Roger responded.

  “Good. I’ll inspect your work later. You guys catch the next shuttle. I’d like to talk with you in my office. It’s over here,” Jeff said as he walked over to a small building perched near the gangway to the docks.

  The small office had just enough room for a desk, a couple of chairs, and a four-drawer filing cabinet. There were numerous photos of the marina on the wall as well as pictures of people with rope stringers full of trout.

  “Have a seat. Let me get right to it,” Jeff said. “We need eight scenicruise operators for the season. Only six of the guys from last season showed up. How would you guys like to drive the boats you just cleaned and give tours on the lake this summer?”

  “I’m in,” Roger responded enthusiastically.

  Graham was dumbfounded. Did he hear the operations director correctly? “It would be a privilege. But do you realize I have no experience with boating or sailing?”

  “I know. I’ve looked at both of your employment applications. That’s not a requirement for the job. It would be wonderful if you had boating experience, but we can teach you what you need to know. I’m more interested in mature employees who are hardworking and willing to learn. Based on my observations over the past few days, you guys fit the bill.”

  “I’m in, too,” Graham quickly replied.

  “Great! I’ll enroll you in a one-day boating safety course from the Coast Guard. The instructor is going to be at the marina early next week. In the interim, you will partner up with one of the experienced operators to learn the basics and see how we conduct our scenicruises of the lake. I will introduce you to this group when they arrive tomorrow. I’m sure both of you will do a fine job,” Jeff said, shaking their hands.

  * * *

  The Lake Queen idled at five miles per hour as it skirted a sand bar at the opening to Bridge Bay and headed toward the open water of Yellowstone Lake a little after nine o’clock on a beautiful early June day. Captain Richard was at the helm, and co-captain Graham occupied the front left bench seat. It was the first cruise of the day. Richard was speaking into a microphone and looking into a wide mirror suspended over his head at the thirty passengers on board. After the safety briefing earlier, he had explained Graham was training on the safe operation of the boat.

  As soon as the Lake Queen passed under the highway bridge that gave the marina its name, Richard pushed both throttles forward. The massive twin engines responded with a low roar and generated a foamy wake as the front of the heavy boat lifted slowly from the water.

  Graham was excited to begin his training and felt fortunate Richard was his mentor. The middle-aged schoolteacher from Arizona had come to the park every year for the past decade to work as a seasonal tour guide. Graham glanced at the fact sheet he was holding. It provided a suggested narrative for scenicruise operators when informing passengers about the lake and its surrounding geographical features during the one-hour tour.

  Richard picked up the microphone and began his monologue. “I will share a lot of information about the lake and its surroundings on our tour. But please feel free to ask me a question at any time, and I will be glad to answer.

  “Yellowstone Lake is the largest freshwater lake above seven thousand feet in the United States and the second-largest freshwater alpine lake in the world - by the way, the largest is Lake Titicaca in the Andes Mountains. It is about twenty miles long and fourteen miles wide, covers one hundred thirt
y-six square miles, and has one hundred ten miles of shoreline. The average depth of the lake is one hundred thirty-nine feet, and the deepest part of the lake is three hundred twenty feet.

  “The lake freezes over with ice nearly three feet thick. It freezes over completely in December and often remains frozen until late May. However, there are some places with hot springs near the shore that do not freeze. The lake remains cold year round with an average water temperature of forty-one degrees Fahrenheit.

  “The only two species of fish native to the lake are the cutthroat trout and the longnose dace. The cutthroat is part of the salmon family and has a characteristic red or pink marking beneath the jaw that gives the species its name. These fish were plentiful when the first park explorers arrived. Unfortunately, overharvesting has reduced the population. Today, anglers are limited to two fish per creel, and officials are considering implementing a catch-and-release policy to protect this species.”

  Richard hung up the microphone and turned to Graham. “You have to give them time to just enjoy the scenery and take pictures,” he advised. “There are plenty of things you can say. But no one likes a tour guide who talks incessantly.”

  Ten minutes later, Richard resumed his presentation. “If you look to the port side of the boat—your left—you will see a large, yellow, three-story structure. As most of you know, this is the Lake Yellowstone Hotel. I will give you a little history of this magnificent building.

  “The park’s oldest hotel was built in 1891 by the Northern Pacific Railway to accommodate park visitors. It was redesigned and expanded in 1903 and twice more in the 1920s under the guidance of Robert Reamer, who was also the architect of the Old Faithful Inn. The hotel is owned by the National Park Service and operated by the same company I work for: the Yellowstone Park Company.

  “Turning to the starboard side of the boat—your right—we are approaching Stevenson Island. This uninhabited island is about eight hundred feet wide and a mile long. It is named for James Stevenson, who was an executive officer of the United States Geological Survey. Stevenson and Henry Elliott rowed or sailed a crude wooden boat to the island in 1871. They were part of a large scientific expedition led by Ferdinand Hayden that explored much of today’s park.

  “This island is the resting place for another boat, which has an interesting history. A colorful entrepreneur named E. C. Waters began operating the steamship Zillah between Lake Yellowstone and West Thumb in 1891. The Zillah could transport one hundred twenty-five passengers. This was a much better alternative to the stagecoach ride around the lake, and Waters charged extra fees for the trip. It soon became a profitable venture.

  “Waters looked for additional ways to profit from tourism. So, he placed elk and bison on Dot Island and created a small zoo. Not only did he treat these animals inhumanely, but he also charged passengers who visited his animal display unexpected fees. Numerous complaints were filed against Waters over the years for not paying employees, cutting trees without permission, poaching, and mistreating the bison and elk on Dot Island.

  “He had a much larger five-hundred-passenger vessel built in 1905 and named it the E. C. Waters. He requested a permit to use this large boat. Because of his persistent belligerence, the park authorities refused to license the new ferry. Waters quickly developed financial problems. The new boat was anchored off Stevenson Island that winter, and eventually it was abandoned. The park decided to remove the rotting vessel, so it was soaked with kerosene and burned in 1930.”

  Richard reached for the throttles and pulled them back, slowing the Lake Queen. “Okay, folks. Get your cameras ready. Coming up on your right is what remains of the E. C. Waters.”

  The boat tilted slightly to starboard as the passengers crowded around the windows on that side and took photos of the ill-fated steamship. After a few minutes, Richard hung the microphone on its hook, pushed the throttles forward, and resumed the boat’s course to circumnavigate Stevenson Island.

  The second half of the tour was periodically punctuated with Richard’s commentary about the various features on and around the lake. He pointed out the snow-capped mountains of the Absaroka Range on the eastern side of the lake and mentioned the toponym of Avalanche Peak as a popular hiking destination. He also talked about Steamboat Point, a geothermal area near the East Entrance Road to the park. As the scenicruiser turned west and headed back toward the marina, the passengers could see Frank Island. Because it was a clear day, Richard noted the Teton Range could be seen fifty miles distant on the southern horizon.

  Richard did not use the microphone during the last fifteen minutes on the lake. Instead, he used this time to occasionally answer questions posed by passengers. A little more than one hour after the Lake Queen left Bridge Bay, she was docked. After Richard and Graham assisted the passengers to disembark using the steps at the stern, the boat captain turned to his trainee and asked, “Well, what do you think?”

  “You provide a very enjoyable and informative tour. I hope I can do the same. It’s a lot to learn.”

  “That’s why we partner up. You should listen to me a few times until you are ready to do the commentary. Then I will drive the boat, and you will do the talking. Eventually, you will go solo when you’re ready. You will operate the boat and provide commentary. We take three or four trips each day. You’ll be surprised how quickly you learn.”

  “Well, I need to study my notes tonight. But I’m sure I’ll do okay.”

  “Yes, you will. Oh, and one more piece of advice. Make the commentary yours. Do it in the way you are most comfortable. Feel free to tell a joke or share some other stories. It’s important to know the facts about the lake area and some of the history, but how it’s presented is up to you. I encourage you to ride along with a couple of the other captains and hear their commentary. Each of us has his own style.”

  “Thanks!”

  “Okay. Now let’s tidy up the boat. Our next cruise leaves in fifteen minutes.”

  * * *

  Graham and Kevin donned their day packs and went to the employee cafeteria one Tuesday morning in late June. After breakfast, they walked along the lakeshore for two miles to Fishing Bridge. They planned to hike on the Howard Eaton trail on the east side of the Yellowstone River toward Canyon. The roommates had previously arranged for the same day off from their duties as scenicruise operator and fishing guide so they could enjoy a long day hike together.

  “I’d like to stop at Hamilton’s General Store and get a few things,” Graham said as they walked over the bridge across the Yellowstone River near the lake’s outlet.

  “Sure. We can pick up a few things for our lunch while we’re there,” responded Kevin.

  Three dozen people had already gathered on the bridge. Some were gazing into the shallow depths of the water and watching the cutthroat trout. Others were dangling poles over the wooden rails hoping to catch their limit of two fish. The two men paused on the bridge and peered into the clear, swift water flowing below them.

  “I saw a twenty-year-old photograph with fishermen standing shoulder to shoulder on this bridge. It was crazy,” Graham commented.

  “Yeah,” the fishing guide agreed. “It’s no wonder the trout population is much less than when the park first opened. Just look at this area. It’s shallow and rocky. The water is swift. This is a perfect spawning area for cutthroats! I hope they ban fishing from this bridge soon and make all fishing catch and release. Frankly, the fishing isn’t that good in the lake. You have to know the right places, or you may not even get a nibble for hours. I encourage all my clients who charter my boat to release any fish they catch. Catch the fish, take a picture, and put it back!”

  Graham could hear the passion in Kevin’s voice and nodded in agreement.

  The original rustic general store constructed in the early 1930s was a short walk from the east end of the bridge. It featured log walls and a large display floor with a high, open-beam ceiling. The hiking partners split up when they entered the store after agreeing to meet at
the entrance in twenty minutes.

  Graham searched the displays until he found bear bells. These appeared identical to smaller sleigh bells mounted on a horse harness. The instructions on the attached card were simple - tie the bell on your pack so it jingles to alert a bear of your presence.

  The Pennsylvanian wanted some Western wear. Graham wasn’t keen on cowboy boots. His Vasque boots were just what he needed for hiking and backpacking. However, he viewed a cowboy hat as a practical purchase. He was amazed at the variety and prices as he sorted through the racks and shelves. He tried on numerous hats, looking in a mirror each time to see which one appealed to him and fit his budget. Graham settled on a chocolate-brown, diamond-crown hat made from faux leather.

  After grabbing a beef stick and a small wedge of cheese from the refrigerated case, he paid for these items and filled his small canteen from a water fountain on the way out the door. Kevin was leaning against a wooden post on the front porch studying a trail map.

  “I’m thinking we hike about six or seven miles downstream. That will put us at the edge of the Hayden Valley. Bears, bison, moose, and sometimes wolves are often spotted there. We can venture partway up the valley, have lunch, and turn around at that point. Sound good?” Kevin asked as he looked up.

  “Let’s do it,” Graham replied as he placed the new cowboy hat on his head and attached the bear bell to his day pack.

  After following a service road and passing an area where rows of cabins had been erected, the friends picked up the trail and started hiking with the Yellowstone River on their left. They hiked single file, Graham’s bear bell jingling with every step. After an hour, they climbed a hill and reached an overlook. As they sat on rocks enjoying the view of the fast-moving water, several white pelicans glided along the far shore. The sound of rushing water tumbling over rocks one hundred feet below contributed to the peaceful setting. Graham pulled the topo map from his pack, found their location, and said, “Looks like this is LeHardy Rapids.”