Central Park is a bad replica of Nature. There are trees in the Park. Flowers. Rocks. Dirt. Squirrels. It is a beautiful, well-groomed park, but everywhere I go, I can't help but get the vibe that every square centimeter of what I see has fallen beneath the soles of hundreds, if not thousands, of shoes. The notion of finding any of separation from the Machina of Humanity is impossible- it muffles but does not silence the hum of the City. I am always aware that the City is towering above the treeline and awaiting my return. For the average New Yorker, this is a non-issue. Many revel in the Urban Experience and harbor a genuine fear of Nature. However, for someone in search of a natural respite, it's a let-down. This is how I have always imagined Yellowstone National Park.I had never visited Yellowstone before, but I knew the highlights. I had seen 16mm films and National Geographic specials on Old Faithful, Lake Yellowstone, the re-introduction of the elk and wolves, the sprawling lodges and the hot springs. I had watched sobering specials on the unsettling tameness of the bears and watched black-and-white footage as black and brown bears rummaged through mountains of garbage to the delight of tourons. I had even watched tongue-in-cheek 'mocumentary' cartoons where Old Faithful spits into a spittoon every hour and the wildlife strike comely poses for big-nosed, nature photographers. It is depressing enough to bear witness to the devastation wrought by suburban sprawl in the cities where I lived. I didn't need to see it perpetrated by or for the amusement of tourons. I envisioned wave-upon-wave of Mega-RVs choking 2-lane highways for miles in either direction. When Kat insisted that she wanted to visit Yellowstone on our honeymoon, I tentatively agreed on the condition that we could bail at a moment's notice should the crowds prove to be too much.
From Cody, WY, the direct route to Yellowstone lay due West. From our maps and travel guides, it also appeared to be one of the central thoroughfares through the park for the seekers of Old Faithful and Lake Yellowstone. It was a Saturday morning in June and we had no campsite reservation, so we knew that we would be competing against a gaggle of fellow-tourists for the scant pickings of any campsites still available. I was sure that we were fucked, but there wasn't any other choice. I proposed that our best bet would be to enter the park through a different entrance and try to find the most remote corner of the park without venturing into the back country. On our map, there was a small campground on the northeast corner called Slough Creek. It was a first-come-first-serve campground with only 29 campsites and without electric/water/sewer hookups, so it was likely to repel nature-phobic competition. Unfortunately, if the campground turned out to be full, we'd be stuck in a corner of the park with no other options nearby.
Early Saturday, we set out. Fortunately, the route to the Northeast gate took us along the Chief Joseph Scenic Byway- a beautiful stretch of highway. Chief Joseph was a leader of the Nez Perce Indians. The Wikipedia article is a better read but, in short, he was a chief who advocated peace with Americans, signed a number of treaties that the Americans reneged on, then fled all over the Pacific Northwest with the American Cavalry in pursuit. The general who pursued him admired the Nez Perce's military prowess, but hunted them down anyway, killed 200 (of 800) natives, promised them some more lies, then schlepped them off to Kansas, then to Oklahoma. A couple years later, Chief Joseph went to Washington DC, met with President Hays and eventually was allowed to move his people back to the Pacific Northwest, although nowhere near where they lived before. I tell you, there's no getting away from sobering, American history out here.
The Chief Joseph Scenic Byway eventually spills into the Beartooth Highway which took us through the Shoshone National Forest, up through a corner of Montana, then back into Wyoming and Yellowstone National Park. The drive was stunning and, had I not been so anxious to snag a campsite, would have been a good place to take our time and explore. Kat and I slipped through the Northeast entrance and made a bee-line for Slough Creek. Slough Creek lies along the edge of the Lamar Valley- home to bison, black/grizzly bears, coyotes, moose, elk and (rumor had it) wolves. We spotted a small, wooden sign for Slough Creek and turned onto a gravel road that carried us alongside the wide, treeless valley. At the end of the road, we saw a cluster of trees and the familiar sight of the wooden, covered, posting-board with warnings about bears and food storage. Finally, we reached the campground. Tents and small campers dotted the area, but it was, mercifully, not full. A roaring, mountain creek provided a soothing backdrop, and border, for the camping area. Near the far edge of the campground, Kat spotted an empty site that offered shade, light, no standing water for mosquitoes, and high ground, in case the creek should have swelled out of its banks. It couldn't have been more peaceful.
Thrilled to have found a quiet campsite (along with the added bonus of costing $170 cheaper than our previous night's rest in Cody) I could finally exhale a sigh of relief. We set up our tent, unloaded our gear and set up our tarp canopy. Kat filled out the campsite registration envelope, slipped in the $12, and we walked back to the posting board to slip the envelope in the drop box. After we returned to our site, I stood beside the fire pit and surveyed our idyllic surroundings. With another long sigh, I let my eyes fall down to my feet. A foot away, completely unnoticed until that very moment, and square in the center of our campsite stood a huge pile of shit. Kat followed my gaze to the poo."What kind of poop is that," she asked.
I had no idea.
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