Traveling with the expectation that Yellowstone Park and the motels catering to its tourists would have few patrons at this time of year, we were surprised to find out we were very wrong. Most of the people we encountered were willing participants of social security checks, that is, older folks. We thought getting a room at Gardiner would be easy, but nothing doing. The best option remaining was to drive to Livingston, fifty-some miles to the north. The extra miles proved to not be a problem though: the drive was beautiful as it passed through the Gallatin Mountains and Forest, and we experienced it again the next morning, only this time the sun lit the valley from the opposite direction.
The last time we visited the park we observed the charred rubble left by the huge forest fire in 1989. Now you can observe a lush new growth of trees caused by the fire’s heat which opened the tough-hided pine cones so they could reseed themselves. Old Faithful gave a good show with a powerful eruption lasting several minutes. We needed an ice cream treat after that where I saw someone I thought I knew from Leonard. I said “You’re from Leonard, ND, aren’t you, but I can’t remember your name. No, my name is Paul Smith and I’m from Texas.” A bit embarrassed, I added, “Well, it was nice meeting you anyway.” The ice cream was good.
After our sightseeing we exited the park at the West Yellowstone entrance for our drive back to Livingston. This highway wound through the Madison Mountains and the Gallatins past the Big Sky recreation area. Many fly fishermen waded the creeks and rivers as we drove along. We talked with one fellow from Chicago who had been in Montana fishing for three weeks and planned to stay another three. I dug out my copy of A River Runs Through It when I got home to re-read that author’s take on the sport. I know this type of fishing counts many passionate followers.
When we left home we thought we would stay 5-7 days in Montana, but we decided to head for home on the third day. I thought it funny when leaving the motel that morning to hear and see a chattering magpie perched on the roof. I don’t know what he was saying, but I imagined him laughing at us and telling us to go home.
Montana in places looked very dry, especially so in the Miles City area. Only where irrigators painted the landscape green did we see any color. Just east of Medora near the Painted Canyon exit a truck hauling bales sat burning. Lots of flashing lights from park ranger, highway patrol, and fire department vehicles created a scene of excitement, and west bound traffic stood backed up quite a distance.
I thought as I neared home how the mountain scenery let me forget my every day cares and how I hadn’t watched or heard any news for three days. My imagination still worked when near Dickinson I saw the oil pumps and told Mary they look like big birds bobbing down to peck seeds from the ground.
It was a quick trip but a long one: 1488 miles in three days. The Fusion told us on her digital mpg meter we made 29 miles to the gallon, but when I filled gas and did the math with a calculator I came up with 28.25 mpg at a cost $142.40. Considering we encountered a stiff headwind for most of the first day plus a lot of mountain climbing we were happy with the economy.
