July 26, 2019. Having learned where to go, I took the map I’d purchased at the trading post and set out early to find the petroglyphs. I relied more on intuition than the map and still managed to find a bunch. It was an extremely hot day, and I was worn out from the steep hike, but excited at finding so many.

On the way out, I found a preserve of sorts where bighorn sheep overwinter. I went back to talk to the man at the Trading Post and shared what I had seen. He was too busy to focus, which was disappointing. Before leaving I decided to purchase another bead. I headed out to a nearby lake and watched the sunset, then drove toward South Pass. I saw a group of horses walking over a hill on their own. They were curious and came toward me. I filmed them—they seemed completely free and unbothered.

I had thought about camping there but heard reports of grizzly bears nearby, so I kept driving. I made it over the hill to the Tetons and found a place to camp near Moose Junction and the Laurence Rockefeller Preserve. Cars passed by for much of the night. I camped in my tent. That evening, Teresa texted me that Bob was doing poorly. A week earlier, hospice had called asking my permission to admit him. Mom had been with me when I got that call.

July 27. In the morning, I went to the Rockefeller Preserve to walk and explore. I found out that Bob had passed away. The night before, around 10:30 p.m., after receiving my cousin Teresa’s text, I had spoken to him in spirit. I thanked him for helping my mom when I was gone and for his love of the mountains. It seemed more than a coincidence that it happened while I was in the Grand Tetons, which reminded me of the Tatry Mountains in southern Poland where my father’s family was from.

I had a long phone call with my cousin’s wife Denise, who had reached out. It was good to talk with her. Afterward, I walked and took photos of the myriad shades of columbine flowers blooming near the lake—purple, blue, pink, and white.

From there I drove to Jackson. The town was packed with cars. I finally found a spot to park outside town and hoofed it back to a popular coffee spot. I spied a poster nearby, which proclaimed that developers threatened to level the entire block. This was the last historic part of the town. What a shame. I didn’t like the way the town had changed, and decided to return to Moose Crossing to check out the chapel.

In front of the chapel I met Stanley, a recent widow who told me about his plan to stay in a rustic cabin in Yellowstone. He suggested I get in touch if I needed a place to stay.

Later in the afternoon, I went for a walk up into a canyon near Jenny Lake. Someone had seen a bear and a moose the day before, but I didn’t spot either. It was quiet and beautiful. There was a wedding on the bridge, and at dusk, I saw a fox run across the trail. I crossed the dam and eventually found what appeared to be a camping area in someone’s yard and stayed there for the night.

July 28. I spent another day in the Tetons, then drove back to Jackson for a walk. That night, it rained, so I slept in the car in the same yard. In the morning, I woke up surrounded by dump trucks loading sand. It was difficult to find my way out of the area.

July 29. I headed to the lodge at Jackson Lake and caught a live bird demonstration. Later, I talked with Marina, which was important—I’d been feeling guilty about not doing enough for Bob and about receiving money from him. She helped me reflect on the support I had given him, and I felt a bit better afterward.

From there, I drove to Yellowstone and stopped at the colorful hot springs—one of the geothermal areas with boardwalks. I had been hoping to find Stanley, and coincidentally, I ran into him at the front desk while he was asking about batteries. He had written down the wrong cabin number, which didn’t exist, and the front desk couldn’t tell me where he was staying for privacy reasons. Camping spots in the park were completely full, so I took him up on his offer to stay in the cabin.

I slept on my mattress on the floor—I didn’t feel comfortable taking the bed, and certainly not sharing it. He had seemed polite and respectful when we first met, which is why I had trusted the arrangement. But over the next couple of days, I began to feel uncomfortable with some of his comments.

At one point, there was live music playing in the grand, historic Lake Lodge. I sat and listened for a while before heading back to the cabin.

July 30. I planned to drive out to Lamar Valley in hopes of seeing wolves and bears. Got a later start than I wanted. Stanley came along as a passenger. He was very nervous in the car—he’s not used to being a passenger—and when I was driving 35 mph, he panicked and yelled, telling me to let him out. His language felt verbally abusive and made me uncomfortable, but I wasn’t sure how he’d get back on his own, so I continued with him in the car.

Despite that, the valley was stunning. We saw large herds of bison—possibly a thousand—and a grizzly bear foraging across the stream. On the return drive, we stopped with others who were watching wildlife. A man with a spotting scope had seen a grizzly run off and then spotted a lone wolf. I was able to see the wolf as well, about a mile away. It moved around a group of bison, who didn’t seem alarmed. A single wolf isn’t enough to hunt bison—they rely on the pack.

We had dinner that night at the Lake Lodge. I had made a reservation for 9 p.m. I ended up with a scratch that needed a bandage, but the staff were kind, and I enjoyed the meal, which was nicely prepared.

July 31. Stanley and I had breakfast together and talked briefly. He was heading to a family reunion in a few days. After saying goodbye, I returned to the Lake Lodge to talk with the wildlife photographer who was showing work there for a limited three-day engagement. He shared many stories about the animals he’s seen over the years.

From there, I headed to Old Faithful. I had to wait an hour or so, so I walked around the area and visited several other geysers. I waited for Grand Geyser to erupt, which happens within an hour window on either side of its predicted time. I also saw Triple Geyser.

By the time I left, it was after 9 p.m. and dark. I hadn’t finished seeing the park, so I stopped at a day-use area and set up my tent, hoping I wouldn’t be caught. The site had bear boxes. Later that night, a car pulled in and made me uneasy. I eventually set up the tent, but around 11 p.m., a ranger came. I explained my situation. He told me about an emergency site at Madison Campground and said this counted as an emergency. I drove carefully—bison and moose don’t have reflective eyes, so they’re hard to see in the dark. It rained that night, and I was grateful to be somewhere safe.

August 1. I headed back toward Old Faithful to visit areas I had missed. First, I took the Firehole Canyon Road, which offered beautiful views of the river and canyon. Then I stopped at Fountain Paint Pot and saw bubbling mud pots and geysers. At Biscuit Basin, I spoke with a geologist who was recording geyser activity—he contributes data to a national database. He only does this a few times a year and was understandably wary of tourists. He reminded me a bit of Edward Abbey.

Later, I hiked the Fairy Falls Trail for a view of Grand Prismatic Spring, which was vivid in the sunlight just before clouds rolled in. Around dusk, I drove the Firehole Lake Drive and stopped at Pink Cone Geyser and Artesia Geyser, both fed by an artesian spring. Nothing erupted while I was there, but it was a pleasant walk.

I ended the day at Norris Geyser Basin, arriving after a heavy rain. The place was surreal—filled with steam, color, and geothermal activity. Steamboat Geyser, the largest in the park, only erupts weekly, so I didn’t wait. I had a nice conversation with a family there. Later, I drove up to Mammoth Hot Springs in the moonlight, then decided to camp just outside the park in Gardiner so I could revisit in the morning. I found a gravel pile behind an industrial building, set up my tent, and was later approached by a ranger. Turns out I was 100 yards inside the park boundary. He let me stay but asked me to be gone by 6 a.m. I didn’t sleep well.

August 2. I returned to Mammoth Hot Springs in the morning and walked the terraces. The water veils were beautiful. At the Albright Visitor Center and Museum, I saw an owl catch a rodent on the lawn in daylight. I also looked at the historic military homes from when the Army protected the park from poachers and vandals. Initially, one ranger patrolled the entire park, until locals appealed to the federal government for more protection. Afterward, I went into Gardiner, had a good coffee, and talked with a wildlife photographer for a couple of hours. He’d grown up in western Montana and moved back about 15 years ago. He had deep knowledge of the animals and their habits—more like a biologist.

Later, I drove toward Bozeman. It was raining, so I didn’t walk around much, but it’s a beautiful town with great architecture, likely due to the university. I tried Sweet Peaks Ice Cream for the first time and loved it. Then I drove on to Helena and stayed with Nina Heinzinger, whom I hadn’t seen since her wedding. I also saw Dave. Nina and I sat in the backyard and talked. She told me about her son Peter, who has autism or schizophrenia and had been struggling. THC has helped, and he’s now working in a marijuana dispensary. It was really good to see her—she was kind, and I felt glad to reconnect.

August 3. Nina was headed for Tahoe the next morning, and left early. I packed up my things and left the house around 11, heading to the state capital downtown. I walked along the old streets, looked at the historic buildings, read the plaques, and finally left for Glacier in the late afternoon. I drove through the scenic Flathead National Forest, walked around Kalispell, had Sweet Peaks ice cream, stopped at a national forest sign near the park, and drove miles down a very bumpy dirt road to find a dusty campsite. Lots of other people were parked along the road, so it was hard to find a turnout.

August 4. I had a nice breakfast near Nyack and bought some huckleberry jam, then headed to West Glacier. I was impressed by the beautiful old railroad resort and train depot, and after studying the exhibits in the visitor center, embarked on the strangely named Going-to-the-Sun Highway. I stopped at every viewpoint, especially enjoying the view at Logan Pass. I walked the trail around Hidden Lake and saw mountain goats at close range.

A gaggle of tourists had gathered, blocking a group of goats trying to cross. No one was moving, and the poor animals looked stranded. I hesitated, then politely asked the crowd to make room. It felt a little awkward, but I was right—the goats crossed as soon as there was space between all the pressing bodies and cameras. I’d planned to head to the other side of the park where Nina had recommended, but I missed the entrance and ended up driving into Waterton National Park in Canada instead. It was a holiday weekend and very busy. When I asked about sleeping in my car, people suggested staying outside the park boundaries. I eventually found a road that led to a long-abandoned campground and stayed there for the night.

August 5. I returned to Waterton in the morning, strolled along the lake path, and took in the summery scene—kids splashing in the water, people swimming and relaxing, the atmosphere lively but hazy, probably from agricultural burn or distant fires. I had a nice conversation with a friendly cameraman before heading to the Many Glacier entrance of Glacier Park. The park was at capacity, but because I had a handicapped placard, they let me in since accessible parking was still open. I explored the Many Glacier Hotel, a grand old lodge, then hiked the trail around Swiftcurrent Lake. I didn’t end up getting bear spray since I wasn’t venturing far into the backcountry, though a ranger I spoke with had just seen a grizzly nearby.

After the hike, I followed the Going-to-the-Sun Road back through the park and made my way to Whitefish, where my step brother had bought land to build a retirement home. It’s a charming resort town nestled on a lake, popular for skiing in winter. I wandered the town, scouted for camping spots, drove up toward the ski resort and along the lakeshore, grabbed dinner at the Last Chair (a local recommendation), then walked the city beach. I eventually found a state campground and pulled into a spot—only to discover it was already reserved. As I was packing up to leave, the group kindly offered to share. I pitched my tent well off to the side to give them space. They turned out to be very generous.

August 6. In the morning, I enjoyed a walk along the lake, browsed a few shops, got coffee, and returned to Sweet Peaks for another treat. Then I set off toward Idaho, stopping in a small historic town where I met a group of silver miners who’d been on strike for over a year. We ended up talking for more than an hour—it was fascinating and a bit sobering. I continued on to Coeur d’Alene Lake, winding along the shoreline for nearly an hour but couldn’t find gas, so I turned around and headed back to the city. Coeur d’Alene itself was lovely. I wandered downtown, walked out on the narrow island spit, and watched the light dim. A group of drunk teenagers passed by, and things started to feel uneasy, so I turned back. Still, I liked the old buildings and atmosphere before driving out of town.

August 7. I made my way to Bend, Oregon. It was a scorching day, so I jumped into the river to cool off. As I was drying off, I heard the hypnotic pull of live music—Nomads of Bend were playing Middle Eastern melodies, and I followed the sound. I’d seen them before at Oregon Country Fair. I spoke with the clarinetist, who turned out to be a physics professor at the local university. She’d just bought a house and seemed to love it there. We talked about sexism in physics and the glass ceiling in academia, and I told her I’d studied physics, too. Later, I drove down Hwy 97 for an hour and found a place to camp near a railroad track. Unfortunately, the trains blared their horns all night, and I barely slept.

August 8. I woke up somewhere near Klamath Falls and spent the morning walking around the town, admiring the old buildings. The roar of military jets overhead was jarring, but I found a sleek, modern coffee shop that I really liked. Then I drove home just in time for Tribe Evolve. Shawn was working most of the time I was back, so we didn’t have much time together.