[Day 85] Bear Closure

In all honesty, shamelessly, I am spooked. However, I find myself surprised, not deterred. You hear and discuss about incidents. But, being within hour and miles of the killing is a little more potent.

My exit from Yellowstone was unspectacular. The wet, buggy, boggy areas around Summit Lake quickly evolved into dry, arid forests — much of it was burn area. I exited my beloved Cowboy State of Wyoming and entered Idaho just a few miles before leaving Yellowstone National Park. At this border area, Yellowstone captures parts of Wyoming, Idaho, and Montana. This particular area of Yellowstone in Idaho, some 50 square miles, is know as the Zone of Death, not for scary reasons (and not for the reason I am spooked). Supposedly, there is a legal loophole in the Constitution where any major crimes, up to and including murder, theoretically can not be convicted within this portion of the park in Idaho. A crime would need to be tried in the state and district where the crime is committed for a just, constitutional trial, but no such jury from Idaho could be assembled because this 50 square mile part of Yellowstone is uninhabited. I believe it also involves some weird legal kinks regarding the state of Wyoming’s park jurisdiction and federal park jurisdiction, as state law does not apply in national park lands. Anyway, I ramble and digress…

Dry parts of Yellowstone have been reminiscent of southern Oregon — powdered, dusty earth, burn zones with widow makers and waterless stretches. Almost immediately out of Yellowstone, trail turned into an old logging road and rolled on. I noticed I had phone service, and I was checking some items online regarding grizzly numbers in Yellowstone; I saw lots of signs but no bears. The search results produced an interesting result: something on the lines of area closure near West Yellowstone. I didn’t have enough signal to get to the page. I checked FarOut, a phone app GPS guide for the CDT that crowd sources data from hikers. People can leave comments about water sources, trail junctions, towns, and other trail features. I checked an upcoming trail alternate junction. A trail angel of the CDT left a comment and a phone number a mere hours ago: “There’s been an emergency closure of the trail from here to Targhee Pass because of a bear encounter. Please be safe, follow the alternate.”

My data reception might not have been working, but I could get a call out. I called Nate, the person who left the comment. He told me horrid news. A woman — supposedly 48 years in age, not carrying bear spray — was killed by a grizzly on a trail adjacent to the CDT some 10 miles ahead. Wow. Had I not turned my phone on, I would have obliviously walked through the kill zone. I called my mom to let her know of the situation, and I dipped off trail onto the Mack’s Inn Alternate route. This route cuts off some 40 miles of the mileage, but what does it matter — I am not about to walk anywhere near a territory where a grizzly killed a human merely hours ago.

The day was uneventful dirt road walking, and the thought of grizzly consumed my mind. They were not particularly fearful thoughts. More than anything I transplanted myself into this poor soul’s shoes. I fathomed ideas of such an ordeal with a 500-pound creature, but none of them were it. Details lacked. Was it a lone male grizzly? Was it a mother and cub situation? Regardless, none of the situations played in my favor. I was feeling quite comfortable in grizzly country, but I suppose the tides have turned. It’s not discomfort, but certainly uneasiness.

I rolled into Island Park, also known for/as Mack’s Inn, after a little more than 28 miles of flat walking. I grabbed ice cream from the gas station, a waffle and milkshake from a waffle and milkshake stand (what more could you want), and a burrito from the sit down Mexican food place. Usually, I’d be upset over an alternate and excessive town visitations (I’ve been to four civilized stops in a span of six days), but the little trail Nazi taskmaster in my head was unbothered.

A downpour ensued outside after dinner, and I needed a home for the night. I walked up the street to the Yellowstone RV Park. I caught Beth — the camp host — at the closed up office. Initially, she said nothing was available and pointed me to the Flatrock Campground across the street. But, something persuaded her otherwise, and she told me to wait a couple minutes. Soon enough, Bill, her husband, came by and they welcomed me into their beautiful campground after hearing the stories of my journey. You meet the kindest people out here. They offered me a little “shed” which proved to be a semi-complete cabin. For $25 a night, it was a steal — warm, four walls, and a roof.

You know where my head was all day. And, I’ll bet, if you are reading this, your mind wandered to a similar place.

Signing off,

Zeppelin / fReaK (ON a leash)