“My guidebook indicates this is the first significant elevation drop on the river after it leaves the lake. Some people think the lake technically doesn’t end until this point,” Kevin informed his hiking partner.
Ten minutes later, the roommates were back on the trail following the Yellowstone River downstream. They walked for another hour, stopping occasionally to admire the swiftly flowing and ever-changing river. Just after noon the river widened, and the hikers could see the expansive Hayden Valley on the opposite shore.
“Let’s go down the ravine to the river’s edge. We’re more likely to spot wildlife down there,” Kevin suggested.
Graham consulted his map. “I agree. It looks like Elk Antler Creek empties into the Yellowstone here. It seems like an ideal place for animals to gather.”
The friends carefully made their way down the hillside until they reached the river’s marshy bank. Across the river beyond the Grand Loop road, a herd of bison grazed on the abundant sedges and grasses while a bevy of trumpeter swans flew in formation over Elk Antler Creek.
Kevin nudged his hiking partner and said excitedly, “Look over there!”
Graham looked in the direction where the fishing guide was pointing. The carcass of a bull bison was lying partially submerged on a sand bar near the river. The two friends walked over to inspect the fallen bison and noticed the huge animal’s head was twisted in an awkward position. It appeared his neck had been broken. A large section of the hindquarters had been eaten.
“What’s this?” Graham asked as he pulled a cluster of dark brown hairs with blond tips from one of the bison’s horns.
Kevin examined the hairs and stooped to look at the soft ground by the carcass. “Those hairs are from a grizzly bear. Looks like this bison gouged the grizzly. But you can see the grizzly won the fight.”
“How can you be sure it was a grizzly?”
“Look at this large front foot track,” Kevin said, pointing to a muddy area. “See how the toes are close together and form a straight line? And notice how the claw marks are separated from the toes. The bear who killed this bison has claws at least three inches long. Grizzly.”
“Imagine what it would take for a bear to break the neck of a bison,” Graham marveled, in awe of the bear’s strength and fighting prowess. Suddenly he recalled something from the park ranger’s presentation about bear safety.
“Uh, Kevin . . . we need to leave right now,” Graham said urgently.
“Why?”
“Remember what the ranger told us a few weeks ago? Avoid carcasses. Bears will guard carcasses and may be bedded nearby just out of sight.”
Kevin’s eyes widened. “You’re right,” he affirmed. “Let’s go.”
The hikers retraced their steps, keeping a vigilant eye for any movement amid the tall grasses. Their pace quickened as they approached a small ridge. They were soon back on the trail and headed upstream.
“Wait a minute,” Graham said fifteen minutes later as he held up his hand for Kevin to stop. “Do you smell that?”
“Yeah. It smells like rotten eggs.”
“I want to check something.” Graham unfolded his map and looked across the river. “That’s the parking area for the Mud Volcano and the Dragon’s Mouth Spring.”
“Yep. Sure looks like it,” Kevin agreed. “Look at the steam rising from the hillside.”
A steady breeze was blowing across the river from the parking area carrying odorous hydrogen sulfide gases from the geothermal features along the road.
“I’d really like to see that thermal area,” Graham suggested, concealing his excitement about their proximity to his vision-quest destination.
“I heard there isn’t too much to see. It’s a small area of thermal activity, and it doesn’t get nearly as many visitors as other places in the park.”
“Well, it’s on my list of places,” Graham replied resolutely.
A small shadow passed over the surface of the river. Looking skyward, he spotted a bald eagle and watched as it circled, then perched atop a lodgepole pine on the opposite riverbank. Graham had observed bear activity and an eagle in the same small area of this vast sacred land. He instinctively clutched the double-pendant necklace under his shirt and wondered if these animal signs were harbingers of his destiny at the Dragon’s Mouth.
Chapter 9
July, 1971
Dark-gray cumulonimbus clouds shaped like giant cauliflowers were rapidly forming over the South Arm of Yellowstone Lake. As Graham navigated the Lake Queen around the southern tip of Stevenson Island, he noticed that The Promontory, a ridged peninsula separating the South Arm from the Southeast Arm, was nearly obscured by ragged scud clouds hanging vertically beneath the maturing thunderstorm.
He noted they were about twenty-five minutes from Bridge Bay and gently nudged the throttles with the heel of his hand to provide maximum power from the twin engines. The boat plunged through two-foot choppy waves. It was a rough ride for the thirty-eight passengers on board, some of whom appeared anxious about the ominous clouds on the horizon.
As Frank Island came into view, Graham picked up the microphone and noted it was home to three dozen pairs of nesting ospreys. He sensed the passengers were worried about the approaching storm, so he decided to share his bear joke. Another scenicruise operator told this humorous story a month earlier, and Graham had adopted it as part of his commentary.
“Has anyone seen a bear while they have been in the park?” he asked, looking into the mirror. In his experience, few people could report a bear sighting. None of the passengers on this afternoon’s tour had seen a bear.
“A friend who drives a tour bus shared a story about a harrowing experience involving a bear and one of his passengers. This is what he told me.
“I was driving a bus through the Hayden Valley late one afternoon when I saw a large black bear about one hundred yards from the Grand Loop Road. I pulled onto the side of the road because I knew everyone would want to take a photo. Everyone moved to the same side of the bus, and I could hear the clicks and whirs of cameras.
“A lady sitting directly behind me asked if I would open the doors and let her step off the bus. She complained she couldn’t get a clear photo of the bear through the windows. Leaving the bus to take photos of animals is against our company policy. But she pleaded with me until I finally relented and opened the bus door. I instructed her to stay close to the bus with her camera.
“Well, wouldn’t you know it? As soon as she stepped off the bus, she proceeded to walk toward the bear until she was only twenty yards from the large animal. She took several close-up photos. Then she turned and started walking back to the bus. And the bear started following her!
“Everyone shouted from the bus windows telling the woman to look behind. After seeing the bear, she panicked and started running. The bear started running after her. Seeing all this, I made an exceedingly difficult decision. I closed the bus doors.
“Immediately the woman’s husband yelled and ordered me to open the doors. But I refused. The woman kept getting closer to the bus with the bear on her heels. Her husband begged me to let his wife on the bus. But again, I refused.
“When he frantically asked why I wouldn’t open the doors, I looked directly at him and said, ‘Look, there is no way I’m going to let a woman on my bus with a bear behind!’ ”
Graham heard some chuckles and a chorus of loud moans when the boat passengers heard the punch line. It was a very corny joke. But it lifted everyone’s mood.
As the wind picked up and pushed three-foot waves over the bow and against the hull, water penetrated the windows of the boat and leaked onto the seats. Graham urged everyone to scoot toward the middle aisle so the passengers with window seats could remain dry. Fifteen bumpy minutes later, the Lake Queen eased under the bridge to the marina as the initial heavy bands of rain started pelting the scenicruiser. When they docked, Graham offered to allow them to remain on the boat until the storm passed. Some passengers ran down the dock in the
downpour toward the ticket office, while others stayed on board for twenty more minutes until the rain had nearly stopped.
As he secured the boat for the evening, Graham reflected on how quickly the weather and the lake conditions had changed. When he had pushed from the dock an hour earlier, the sky was bright blue, and the winds were calm. He had a new appreciation for the volatility of the weather on this alpine lake.
* * *
The guide boat skimmed across the calm lake at thirty-five mph on an early-July morning. A light mist hung over the water as the sun slowly rose over the Absaroka Range. Kevin was taking two men who chartered the boat to the Southeast Arm for a full day of fishing. His roommate was also onboard as an unpaid guest. Kevin had agreed to drop off Graham at Terrace Point, which is the farthest south a motorized boat can travel. His plan was to pick up the Thorofare Trail and hike north along the lakeshore to the East Entrance Road, then hitchhike back to the Lake Hotel.
When Graham had first shared his potential itinerary with Kevin a few days ago, the fishing guide reminded Graham he shouldn’t hike alone. “Don’t you remember what the park ranger said?”
“Yeah, I remember,” Graham said with a sigh. “But none of my friends can seem to arrange for the same day off. That includes you. I’m not going to wait around. Besides, it will take me only four or five hours to hike fourteen miles. If I’m not back by six o’clock tonight, drive toward Steamboat Springs and look for me along the road. The most likely reason for being late is I’m not able to hitch a ride to the Lake Hotel.”
Kevin shook his head but relented. “Okay. But I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
This trip would be Graham’s last venture before he traveled to the Dragon’s Mouth. He had consulted the astronomical charts for Yellowstone in the Lake Hotel library and learned the next full moon would be July 8, which was next week. He had traded his day off with Roger so he could be at the sacred site during a full moon. As much as he looked forward to his journey, he also relished today’s opportunity to hike in a beautiful area along the lake.
Graham opened the day pack at his feet and double-checked his supplies. He had packed a canteen of water, a sandwich, an apple, a bag of mixed nuts, his topo map, a rain poncho, and a pocketknife. The other handmade item in his pack was his ticket for getting around the park. It was a cardboard sign folded in half. The bright yellow-and-gold Olympia beer logo with the tagline “It’s the Water” was printed on one side. Graham had used a black marker to write Park Employee in block letters on the opposite side of the box lid. A veteran seasonal employee advised him to make the sign and explained how valuable it could be for securing transportation.
“Just hold up this sign when hitchhiking. It won’t be long before a tourist or another park employee will stop and offer a ride. Most visitors are reluctant to pick up a stranger. But if they know you’re an employee, they are more likely to give you a lift. You pay for the ride by offering commentary about the park. It’s a fair trade. You get a ride, and they get a private tour guide.”
Graham was initially skeptical about this tactic. But he had tried it several weeks earlier to see the Upper Falls and Lower Falls. He stood by the road and gripped the sign with one hand while jutting his free thumb in his desired travel direction. Within ten minutes a young couple stopped and offered to take him to Canyon. He used the same strategy the following week to hitch a ride to the Old Faithful area via West Thumb, exploring parts of the Upper and Lower geyser basins. He was gratified to have a method for seeing other parts of the park even though he didn’t have a vehicle.
Kevin slowed the boat to five mph as they entered the Southeast Arm. “It’s going to take us about an hour to get to Terrace Point, but as I mentioned earlier, this is a no-wake zone. This is our maximum speed. I suggest you enjoy the silence and the view. Not many people get to see this remote part of the park.”
Almost an hour later, Kevin steered the boat toward the eastern edge of the lake at Terrace Point and chose a place where he could nudge the bow against the shoreline. Graham picked up his pack and donned his cowboy hat. The bear bell on his pack jingled as he jumped from the boat onto the shore. He waved goodbye to Kevin and his clients as the boat backed away from the shore and slowly headed toward fertile fishing grounds.
Graham turned and made his way over fallen lodgepole pines as he climbed a terraced hill, where he located the trail on a plateau. He verified his position on the topo map and checked his watch. It was nine thirty. The sun had burned the light fog from the lake. There was a chill in the air, but the sky was brightening.
The trail was clearly marked and surprisingly well traveled. This was a relief to the lone hiker, as it meant he would be able to walk to the East Entrance Road at a brisk pace and not spend time looking for the trail or stepping over fallen trees. Steep, forested ridges lined the right side of the trail, while the lake was only a few hundred feet away on his left. The Promontory dominated the skyline across the lake. Graham stopped every ten minutes or so and took a photo with his Instamatic, placing the camera back in his pack each time to keep his hands free. Every few minutes the lake and its shoreline changed and afforded another opportunity for a Kodak moment. He reminded himself to be discerning with his choices of what to photograph because he had limited film exposures.
Thirty minutes into his hike, Graham rounded a bend on the trail and immediately stopped. A male grizzly bear was staring at him from about fifty yards away, shifting the weight on his front legs and moving his muscular shoulders from side to side.
Graham froze. He felt his heart race and his muscles tense. His visceral reaction was to turn and run. But he could not move. He had heard the phrase before, but at this moment Graham was literally scared stiff! He searched his mind for the advice on bear safety from Alton and the park ranger.
The bear did not immediately move toward him. Instead, it raised its large head and repeatedly sniffed the air with a wet nose, noisily exhaling hot breaths visible in the chilly morning.
Okay, Graham thought rapidly. Is this a grizzly or a black bear? The bear had a prominent shoulder hump, a dished face, and long claws. Grizzly. What should I do? He searched his fear-clouded brain for the answer and recalled the park ranger’s words.
Graham attempted to talk calmly. His words were nonsensical, and his tightened vocal cords caused squeaky sounds to emerge. At the same time, he slowly waved his arms above his head.
To his horror, the grizzly responded by standing on its back legs and making guttural noises that sent a chill down Graham’s spine. The bear came down on all four legs, raised its head, and pointed its ears forward. It sprinted toward the intruder, bounding on its front paws.
Graham stood still. His brain told him to run, but his legs betrayed him. Instead, he continued to weakly wave his arms and hoped he would have the courage to play dead. He prepared to curl into a fetal position and protect his head, anticipating the pain that would be inflicted by the grizzly’s claws and teeth.
The male grizzly stopped abruptly about twenty yards away. It snorted loudly, then reversed direction and loped up the trail. It was a bluff charge!
Graham exhaled. He sat down on the trail and placed shaking hands under his armpits to stop the tremors and comfort himself. His heart was pounding, and he was sweating profusely. It took a while to collect his thoughts. He realized he was extremely lucky. Alton’s words echoed in his ears. Never hike alone in the backcountry. It was the cowboy’s first bear-safety rule, and Graham had ignored it.
On the other hand, he had followed another bear-safety rule: make noise while hiking. He was wearing a bear bell on his pack. Surely the bear could hear him as he jingled down the trail. Perhaps the bell had not been heard or his human odor had not been detected because he was downwind from the bear. Was it possible the bear was hard of hearing? A deaf bear attacking a half-deaf man. That would be ironic!
His thoughts shifted to another possible reason for escaping unharmed from this harrowing encounter wit
h a grizzly bear. Reaching under his jacket and between the buttons of his shirt, Graham clasped the eagle–bear claw pendant suspended on the elk-hide cord. Was he lucky? Or was he protected by the sacred necklace? Redfield had counseled him to always wear the necklace since it endows Baaxpée, or sacred power, upon the person who wears it. This power had been bestowed upon Redfield by the bear spirit as part of his vision quest.
Graham removed his pack and took a drink of water from the canteen. After consulting the topo map and surveying the landscape, he determined he was near the outlet of Columbine Creek. He estimated the East Entrance Road was over ten miles away. But there was something more disconcerting than the hiking distance. When the grizzly suddenly departed from the scene, it was traveling in the same direction Graham was hiking. Did the bear leave the trail by turning east, following the creek bed? Or did it continue north along the lakeshore, waiting to ambush him?
He took another swig of water from the canteen before replacing the cap and putting it into his pack along with the map. Well, he told himself, I don’t have a choice. My only way back is north. I’ll just have to be extra vigilant and make noises in addition to my tinkling little bear bell, so I don’t surprise this curious (or deaf) grizzly. He climbed to his feet and repositioned the cowboy hat, noticing the sweat band was soaked even though it was still a cool day. Taking a deep breath, the lone hiker started north.
Graham’s senses were on high alert. Several times he paused because he heard or saw something in the thick forest of lodgepole pines crowding the trail. Each time the sound or movement was a small animal—either a ground squirrel rustling in the undergrowth or a flock of small birds alighting in a tree.
As he approached a hillside that inclined steeply from the shore near Signal Point, Graham spotted something on the trail that caused his pulse to quicken. From an information sheet he had picked up at the ranger station, he recognized the brown, globular pile as bear scat. The steaming scat was populated with huckleberry seeds. This could mean only one thing. The bear that defecated here was still in the area. Was it the same grizzly bear he faced earlier? It was impossible to know. But the mere presence of this fresh bear sign escalated Graham’s anxiety.
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