Sayonara, EPI

My last two courses went smoothly – no evacuations, no emergencies. The bus carrying us back from whitewater rafting did catch fire, and on a separate occasion, so did I, but there was no lasting damage to anybody involved. I was more concerned by two fast-approaching deadlines: August 24^th, the last day I would have a job, and August 25^th, the last day I would have a house.

On the 2^1st of August, the other team came back from the field and the six of us were reunited for the first time since training. It was great to see them, but with still no word on the employment/home front I was beginning to feel mildly concerned.

On the 22^nd of August, I was lying in the park listening to Trampled by Turtles and doing paperwork for EPI when my phone rang, a Wyoming number.

“Hello, Lily? My name is Mike Hobbs, I'm calling from Colter Bay Marina...”

Without warning, I found myself interviewing for a fall job operating tour boats in the Tetons. Using the 'Help Wanted Now' section of coolworks.com, I had sent in a resume a week or so ago, without expecting anything much to come of it.

The man on the other end was friendly and keen. I played up my past experiences in Glacier, the tours, the boats, the bears, etc.

After a brief conversation, Hobbs informed me that they would be forwarding a background check and checking my references. And then he hung up, and I was left lying in the grass, bemused. Move to the Tetons? Maybe this weekend? Why the hell not?

I made a mental note to go look up where Colter Bay even was.

The rest of the week was busy with EPI: inventory, gear cleaning, exit interviews. In between work I wandered around town with my friends, enjoying the few days remaining before we went our separate ways. 

 

From top left: Josh K., Andy V., Hannah S. Lily V, Erin C, Nicole H; bottom, Megan M, Joshua T.

On Friday when I showed up for work, my boss was on the phone with the Grand Teton Lodge Company, giving me a reference. It must have been good; they called back half an hour later offering me the job. I could start as soon as I liked, perhaps Monday or Tuesday.

I am the hole in the river

That was a good day. The cool was in the air and the breeze sang September. In the afternoon, to celebrate the end of the EPI season, we took a road trip to the Lee Metcalf National Wildlife Refuge and wandered for a while through the cottonwood wetlands and the Ponderosa pines.

With Joshua and Nicole, I jumped into the Bitterroot River fully dressed; the water was not too cold, the current surprisingly swift, and it felt fantastic. Later, drying off as we hiked back to the car, the    three of us lagged behind to look at birds and flowers, and it was like an encapsulation of the best parts of summer, walking with my friends beside the pines, under the blue sky by the river.

All too soon, the parting came, and we dispersed to the winds, with only Andy and Hannah remaining in Missoula. I drove away from the house on Harrison St headed for Jackson, WY. Mapquest suggested a dismal route through Idaho, but I opted on a whim to drive south through Yellowstone instead.

It felt strange to retrace alone the route that I had taken so many times in the green Suburban with a backseat full of kids. There was a fire burning in the park between Norris and Canyon. All the side roads were closed and plumes of smoke piled up into the atmosphere. Cars were beginning to jam where a huge bull bison lay in the grass near the Canyon service station. Typical Yellowstone.

the biggest damn binos in the world

In the evening I came to Fishing Bridge on the shores of the lake, and there I opted to stay. Fishing Bridge was interesting because it felt like an entirely different place from where we had taken the kids. The lake was sandy, blue and enormous. You could not see the far shores for the wildfire haze. After cooking dinner on my little stove I wandered down to investigate the eponymous bridge. The waters of the Yellowstone ran rippling down to the lake, flocks of Barrow's Goldeneye drifted on the water, and somewhere over the hills I could hear the low rumbling moan of bison. I looked and listened in vain for great gray owls, reputed to haunt the area. If I slept in my car in the parking lot of the visitor's center, perhaps I would hear them later. I had a mattress set up in the car and I was looking forward to curling up back there. My favorite metal tent.

After a ranger-led amphitheater program on bear management, none of which was news to me sadly, I went to sleep hoping to be awakened by owls.

At 1:30 AM I was indeed awakened – by flashing red lights and a ranger rapping on my window.

“Ma'am? Ma'am, wake up. You can't sleep here.”

I sat up and cracked the window. He was a young ranger with a round smooth face. His Smokey Bear-style hat looked so crisp and new, it probably hadn't even been rained on since he left the law enforcement academy.

“You can't stay at pulloffs in your car,” he said. “It's not fair to the people who pay to stay in campsites.”

I was also not wanting any of the amenities of developed campsites, and therefore did not see why exactly I should pay for them, but it's hard to argue with a man who's flashing police lights in your face at 1:30 in the morning.

He requested my driver's license and I fumbled through the infinite heaps of my belongings before finding it and handing it over. He took it away to his ranger-mobile and I put on a sweater. It was a struggle to come back to full awakeness, like rising slowly from a deep-sea dive.

The ranger came back. “OK, this is what you need to do. There's a campground about 4 miles from here. Drive there and find a space and you can register in the morning.”

He pulled out and drove slowly ahead of me until he was satisfied that I was going to adhere to the straight and narrow, and then sheered off into the night.

All in all, the whole incident seemed like something that Arlo Guthrie would get up in arms about, and as I drove, I kept myself awake by imaging a young (and not unattractive) Arlo giving me a ride in his VW van, perhaps composing a comically indignant song as we rolled along.

At the campground I pulled into the closest site and crawled back into my sleeping bag. It was as cozy as ever but for some reason sleep was much longer in coming...

In the morning I paid $23.13 for the privilege of a half night's parking next to the toilet, and went on my way. In spite of the night's events, and the bad coffee from the campground general store, I couldn't be too upset. It was a clear and sparkling morning, and the Tetons were waiting.