Letters from Yellowstone

by Diane Smith

  “Miss Bartram,” the distant voice called again.

  Only then did I look up from my digging to discover that the basin below me had been transformed from a rocky, barren expanse into a soft sea of white through which a solitary figure trudged.

  “Miss Bartram,” the voice insisted. It sounded closer now. And familiar. “I have been looking for you everywhere.”

  Professor Merriam looked terrible, soaked through, with snow clumping on his hat and along the shoulders of his thin woolen coat. Even that ratty old scarf of his appeared to be of little help in keeping out the cold, but still he held it tight against his throat with one red hand, while the other hand was thrust deep into a pocket for whatever damp warmth it could provide. Without the mobility of his arms, he stumbled up the incline unable to even catch himself if he fell, which he did right before he reached me.

  I offered to help him to his feet, but he ignored me, righting himself before roughly brushing the snow from his jacket and hat and hands. It was then that he really looked at me, maybe for the first time. I know it was the first time I really looked at him, for I realized then that he was not nearly as old nor as tall as I had once believed, but smaller, younger, not unlike Meriwether Lewis himself with his distant, almost sad eyes, and pallid complexion which was made even more vulnerable looking by the wet and cold. I am sure I did not look much better, my hair and face and clothes dripping with snow. I smiled at him which, I fear, only made a bad situation much worse.

  “Miss Bartram, can’t you see what’s happening here?” The color momentarily returned to the Professor’s face and eyes. “You’re putting yourself, and me, in fact our entire enterprise at risk. You must return to camp immediately.” And then, noticing my hands, he cried, “And look at you. You’re bleeding.”

  Now I admit to you, as I would never admit to him, that the weather was indeed bleak. But the day was still young, and there seemed to be plenty of time to complete my task, and still return to camp before dark. As for the scrapes on my hand, they were a minor inconvenience, although they looked much worse, dramatically marking the snow with drips of blood. Still, he had no right to talk to me in that fashion. And I told him so. I would finish gathering my samples, and then I would be happy to catch up with him once I was ready to go.

  This suggestion did not go over well. He insisted that I leave at that moment, in his company, and to expedite our departure he ripped the blossoms from their snowy bed and discarded them in his pocket.

  “Now let’s go,” he said, handing me his handkerchief for my hand, “before the weather gets any worse.”

  I suppose I could have let him go on without me, but at that point there was no reason to do so. Besides, the weather was deepening and there did not seem to be much point in arguing about it. So, like a naughty child, I trailed behind him as he descended the ridge and headed out toward the forested area from where he had just emerged. It was there that I did resist, knowing that we needed to proceed parallel across the basin, and then down, if we were to find the trail which would lead us back toward our camp in the Mammoth area.

  “No, it’s this way,” he insisted. “We’re going down the way we came.”

  Now as I am sure you can imagine, I was hardly in the position to inform him that I had seen the way he had travelled, and it was from the opposite direction, so I did my best arguing for the way I had entered the basin, which was along the side of the ridge, not directly down it. But he was not interested in my route. We were going his way, and there was to be no discussion about it. So meekly I followed, feeling guilty and foolish, but simmering, too, at the way I was being treated. Yes, I did get myself into this weather, but I was quite capable of getting myself out from it. Which was more than could be said for the Professor.

  We headed down a rough, rocky incline which was even more difficult to navigate because of the now deep, slushy snow. My boots were completely wet through, as was my hair which I tied back into a knot to keep it out of my face. But as ridiculous as I looked, I was not nearly as bad off as Professor Merriam, who huddled inside his thin woolen coat, his scarf held tightly to his throat. He was wet and cold and, in spite of what I had assumed was a reasonable constitution, seemed to be genuinely suffering.

  We proceeded straight down the ridge, through a tight ravine, and onto another ledge where there was less snow to contend with, but the wind was ferocious, whipping what little snow was left in the air right through our clothes. Now I, too, huddled into my coat, pulling the collar and shoulders up as far as possible to shield my neck and ears. As the wind grew progressively more severe, I retreated into my coat, pulling my chin and nose under my collar, casting my eyes directly in front of me. Which is how I missed his fall.

  I am still not certain how it happened, but before I could do anything to prevent it, Professor Merriam had slipped from the ledge and into some trees maybe fifty or sixty feet below me. He cried out once, a long, anguished moan, and then there was no sound except for the wind which whipped and wailed through the trees, cold, wet, and vengeful.

  I had no choice but to go down after him. There was not enough time in the day to return to camp, and return again with help, since the only way to do so would be to climb back up and across the mountain, which at that point seemed an impossibility. So I clambered down the cliff after him, discovering that if I placed my field bag in my lap, I could hold my coat and skirts around me and use them like a sled on the snowy decline. It made my descent quick and easy.

  Professor Merriam had not been so lucky, having tumbled until he rolled under a snow-encrusted tree, where he was still lodged. He was not unconscious, but the fall had taken his breath away, and he had landed on a branch which had punctured his arm.

  I helped him sit up against the trunk of the tree, pulled off his coat, slit open his bloody sleeve with my knife, and then used my water jar to rinse the wound which was deeper than I was expecting. I then used the handkerchief he had given to me earlier to bandage the puncture which continued to bleed heavily. Having nothing else to work with, I then cut a strip from the bottom of my dress and used it as a make-shift tourniquet. Far from ideal, but it would have to do until he could get more professional help.

  The hollow under the tree was like a tent of sorts and I figured that if we had to, and it was looking more and more likely that we would, we could spend the night there, but only if there was a way to block the wind from whipping in the snow.

  I left the water jar with Professor Merriam, who was still dazed from the fall but not, I hoped, from loss of blood, and, using my knife, started hacking branches from other trees in the area to create a wind break outside our little shelter. It worked pretty well, the snow drifting against the branches as I stacked them. I dug a path on the opposite side to re-enter the relatively dry area under the tree, a thick-branched Picea, and slid a few more branches in to provide a bed of sorts above the damp ground. Given the circumstances, the only thing missing was a fire, and we would be quite comfortable.

  Professor Merriam watched me crawl into the tight space, and scurry around on all fours like a busy rodent, a wet rodent at that, but he said nothing. I could sense that he hated being stuck with me in such close quarters, so I avoided his gaze altogether, keeping to the task at hand. When I finally did stop to look up at him, he returned my gaze with those soft, sad, remarkably young eyes, which reminded me of the terminals we used to visit in the hospital. He could not possibly be that bad off, and I told him so.

  “We will be missed,” I assured him, “and you know Dr. Rutherford will send the cavalry out looking for us. He really is quite competent, you know, in spite of his claims to the contrary. We may have to spend the night, but other than a fire, we really have all we need.” I pulled the bread from my field bag, and offered it to him. “See. I even brought dinner.”

  Professor Merriam fumbled in his jacket and pulled out an identical chunk and placed it, crumbs and all, in his lap, and tried to return my smile. He then drew matches from the sam
e pocket, handed them to me, shivered, and closed his eyes.

  Starting a fire under a tree may not be the smartest or most practical action but it seemed the only option available at the time. And it worked. I pulled needles and twigs and some loose rock into a tight circle and, after a couple frustrating tries, successfully started a small but warming fire between the two of us which I fed periodically throughout the night. Later in the evening, since I was quite comfortable and Professor Merriam still shivered noticeably even as he slept, I used my knife to cut off the skirt of my coat and wrapped it tightly around his shoulders. It seemed to comfort him if not provide real warmth.

  In the morning, before departing, I re-kindled the fire and, leaving the remaining bread and water with the Professor, I crawled out from under the tree. The sky was grey, but no snow was falling, and the air felt noticeably warmer and fresh. In case the grey sky meant more snow, or I missed our rescue party if one was headed in our direction, I scrambled back up the slope and used rocks and branches to make an elaborate X, one arm of which served as an arrow pointing down to Professor Merriam’s location. I then retraced our steps back along the ridge until I located the now snow-covered ledge where I had been sketching the day before. Knowing then for certain that I had my bearings, I headed for camp.

  On the final ridge, where I had seen the pelican display only 24 hours before (it seemed like ages), I could see a man on horseback where I had previously seen Professor Merriam. This time, tired and ready to return to camp, I stayed put, and watched as the rancher rode steadily toward me in what was by then a light but persistent rain. When he saw me standing above him, his horse broke into a gallop.

  The look on his face when he dismounted assured me that I looked quite the sight, soaked through, my long coat now torn barely into a jacket, my dress cut raggedly at the ends. I was even missing a button on my sleeve. He pulled his coat off and wrapped it around me before I could protest and started to move me toward his horse. I refused both, slipping out from under the coat and handing it back to him, giving him what I hoped were exact enough instructions on how to find the Professor. It was essential that he get there as soon as possible, and not bother with me. I would be fine I assured him.

  I watched as he urged his horse along my tracks in the slushy snow, before I in turn headed home, for home it felt I was headed. Even Kim Li’s tepid tea and cremated beef would be a welcome and warming sight, I was certain.

  Captain Craighead was the next to come into view, galloping straight up the mountain on his U.S. Government steed. This time I did accept a coat, an extra one which he carried on the back of his horse, but urged him to follow the rancher to ensure that Professor Merriam was safe and made it to the cavalry hospital in Mammoth alive.

  After that I must admit I remember little but the sight of Dr. Rutherford huddled morosely by the fire, Kim Li’s tea which was, like the bitterroot, quite reviving, the heavy woolen blankets being wrapped around me as I immodestly stripped the soaking clothes from my back, and my safe, warm, comforting cocoon of a tent where I slept and slept and slept.

  Was I to blame for what happened? I cannot truthfully answer that question. I feel genuine remorse about what happened to Professor Merriam, who is fine, by the way, although his arm will take a while to heal. But I know I set out for the Nation’s Park to accomplish exactly what I did on that outing: collect Rocky Mountain specimens. Lewisia rediviva at that! I also know that Professor Merriam was quite explicit in his instructions not to bother him if I planned to stay with the expedition. Given the circumstances, perhaps I should have kept him informed, in spite of his directions to the contrary. I have since told him as much, which has led to a truce of sorts between the two of us. He even returned my L. rediviva. Like Lewis’, they were no worse for the wear, in spite of their unconventional storage and mode of travel.

  I know now as well that I can never go back to medicine. This is my life’s work, and I will stay with it no matter what the personal or professional cost. Jessie, I know it is easy to say in retrospect, because what could have been a tragedy had a happy ending, but the Pelecanus, and Lewisia, even the heavy, wet snow—it was rapture. Pure rapture. I only wish you could be here to experience this for yourself, for experience it you must to fully understand it.

  Your humbled but most dedicated friend,

  Alex

  p.s. We’ll be setting up camp near the Yellowstone Lake in the morning. After that, you can reach me c/o the Lake Hotel. Please assure Lester that I will forward a package of specimens and my journal entries before we depart.

  3. CALYPSO BULBOSA

  A. E. Bartram

  c/o Lake Hotel

  Yellowstone National Park

  June 20, 1898

  My dearest family,

  I apologize for not staying in touch but I have been so involved with my day-to-day routine that there seems little time to reflect upon and report my work’s progress. And yet, as I commit those words to paper, I realize there is much to reflect upon, as well as to report, now that the weather has warmed and the earth is beginning to respond in kind.

  We are camped in a grassy meadow above Yellowstone Lake, up the road from the Yellowstone Lake Hotel. Professor Merriam had originally selected a site directly on the lake, but when the wind was not blowing full speed, the mosquitoes were, as Lewis once wrote, “quite troublesome” even this early in the season. So the Professor wisely transferred the camp to this alternate location.

  It is an ideal situation. In essence, we have all the benefits of the hotel, including medical and other assistance should we ever be in need of them, without all the expense and bother of being in residence there. We are strategically located, as well, on the Grand Loop, the wagon road which circles the Park’s main attractions, so most of our desired destinations are within a short walk or wagon ride. Of course, such a centralized location leaves us open to regular visits by travellers exploring the Park on their own, separate from the coupon tours. I must admit, I find the constant interruptions trying, but Dr. Rutherford and Rocky and Stony, the two students, all seem to relish the extra company in the evenings, particularly when that company includes Miss Zwinger and her lady friends from the hotel.

  That is not to say that Dr. Rutherford and the boys welcome all visitors equally. Just this last week, a group of travelling Baptists set up camp immediately adjacent to our site, parking their wagons directly next to the road where their hand-painted signs proclaim, JESUS SAVES, warning all who pass by that it is time to REPENT!, and warning, too, BEWARE OF THE DEMON RUM.

  Dr. Rutherford, who was raised in a strict Baptist family and is given to strong beliefs of his own no matter what the subject matter, has been in a real lather over their presence, claiming it was the Baptists who stole his childhood and, more importantly, his formative adolescence, with their anti-smoking, anti-drinking, anti-dancing, anti-card-playing, and anti-everything-fun approach to life.

  He is right, of course. Children do suffer mightily at the hands of their parents, who too often refuse their offspring an opportunity to find their own meaning in life and, instead, indoctrinate them at an early age. I bless you both for not imposing any organized religion on my life, leaving me to find my own way. I am finding that path here, as the world and all its glories open before me. The natural world is my religion. I worship the random and wondrous beauty of it all.

  With such a belief system I should be grateful that Dr. Rutherford has strictly forbidden the Baptists to venture, much less proselytize, anywhere near our camp, a mandate to which they have no choice but to reluctantly agree. But even if the Baptists are limited to preaching the ugliness of hell, damnation, and demon rum outside of our encampment, even Dr. Rutherford cannot stop the sweet sounds of their hymns from reaching us through the trees at night. They are not unlike lullabies, and I have learned to relish the melodies as I drift off to sleep. We all need to find joy and meaning in the world. Even the Baptists.

  Our location above the hotel also allows fo
r an ideal separation of labor, with Professor Merriam, one of the students, and I systematically collecting off the road along nearby creekbeds and meadows, while Dr. Rutherford, the other student (whomever is lucky enough to “win the toss” for the day), and the expedition driver and his dog, travel the main wagon roads in their search for specimens.

  Dr. Rutherford, as I may have told you, has come late to science, being a farmer by birth and inclination, and yet he has developed an admirable collecting technique, one which I would like to incorporate into my own field work at the earliest opportunity. When Professor Merriam first proposed this expedition, he invited a cartographer to help document our collecting. Said cartographer ran off and got married instead, but he did provide the Professor with a detailed elevation map first charted by Hayden and the government surveyors. This map of Yellowstone National Park has served as a guide of sorts for Professor Merriam as he has planned his work, but it is Dr. Rutherford who has made the best—or at the least most scientific—use of it.

  As I may have mentioned when I first arrived, Dr. Rutherford spent his first month here nursing the camp’s fire. But he also, it turns out, spent at least some of his time, he claims out of boredom, copying to scale large sections of the Hayden map. To this grid he added known thermal features, mountain passes, major roadways, &c. At the time, this seemed a harmless diversion but he has now taken to riding with the mountain man driver on these major thoroughfares, collecting specimens, and adding them specimen by specimen to his grid, along with dates and time of day coupled with detailed weather information.

  He and his assistants make quite the sight. After a late breakfast, the threesome pack their day’s supplies, including a large jug of brandy or some other foul-smelling alcohol, and head off down the road. They travel in their wagon at a leisurely pace, the buckskinned driver dozing off as the horse moseys along the roadway, the student, following behind on foot, gathering samples from the areas alongside the road and the adjacent hillsides at Dr. Rutherford’s command.