Growing up, I was a girl who liked to play out doors, but I was by no means outdoorsy. To play outside the climate had to be temperate, the fields needed to be lined, there had to be rules and boundaries, my clothes needed to be just right, I generally needed a buddy or two to play with, and by all means there had to be a snack or meal waiting for me when I came in.
Over the years, as I spent more time on the slopes as a ski instructor, I learned how to travel on a dime through Europe, and I took my leisure running to the next level, my external comfort levels increased. But when I married a boy who thrives in the great outdoors - charting oceans and diving to the depths of them, scaling mountains, pitching tents, hunting animals, and exploring the unknown - I realized that I would quickly need to up my game.
Montana was a great test for me and in particular our choice activity on Monday. After we segued from the first part of the trip to the second with some spa time, a Beef Wellington dinner at the award winning dining room at Chico Hot Springs, and several soaks in their historic pool, it was time to do some serious hiking.
We set out for Yellowstone on Monday morning and first stopped at the visitors center for a recommendation on a scenic eight or ten mile route through the park. The guide gave us a couple of ideas, but when Peter probed deeper he found out that there would be other tourists on the walk which went against his principles. So we made a second stop at the back country office to ask Park Ranger Jim's advice on hiking. He gave us a strenuous recommendation - an 11-mile trail that started at Mammoth Hot Springs, went up to the summit of Mount Sepulcher, and then back around the mountain to Mammoth again - there would be few if any people on the trail - we would see wildlife - and 'here's a bear safety guide for the road.'
About a half mile into the hike we ran into a family confused as to which direction to turn at a fork in the road. To avoid them, Peter hastily charted his own course across a stream, up a hill, and onto a new trail. Which ended up taking us two or three miles off course.
We walked and walked and climbed and climbed for 6 hours / 13 miles through bear country, up to the top of a 10,000 foot mountain, and dodged a vicious thunderstorm as we sprinted along the ridge. En route we only saw three others hikers, but spotted moose, elk, marmots, snakes, and lots of bear poop (thankfully no bears.) When we finally returned to our car at 5:00 PM, the picnic we had packed for lunch quickly became dinner.
While I was nervous at points - like when we saw a sign that said 'Mammoth - 8 Miles' after two and a half hours of hiking; or when the actual summit came into focus after we thought we had reached the top; or when we found ourselves in the burned part of the mountain right when the lightening was getting a little too close; or when I had suspicion after suspicion that there were bears watching us. I was actually never scared. Perhaps it was having someone so trail savvy walking by my side, or knowing that if I could run a marathon, I could certainly do this, or just that Peter would never let anything bad happen to me. Regardless, when we reached the end of the road, I felt like a champion.
When we got back to Chico, we paid quite a lot more than 6 bits for dessert at the dining room, and quickly passed out in the log cabin bunks that we had rented for the night.
Now that we are back in Chicago, it's back to surviving the arctic air conditioner temperatures at the office, dodging all the people on the running trails in the morning, and visiting the zoo if I want to happen on a bear. While there's certainly room for both inside and outside in my life, I'm amazed at how much I love the great outdoors now.
Lo.
