Bighorn Canyon with a Friend

Oct 9-10, 2021

SATURDAY Oct 9 — INVENTORY

When you’re traveling in a truck camper, you have to keep a close inventory. There are the usual trip items — how much gas is in the tank, how many more miles to go? But also: How much propane do we have? How much battery power? How much fresh water? How much capacity in our black water tank, our gray water tank? 

To make it a bit more difficult, the tank talk is disguised toilet talk. So if you’re squeamish about bodily functions, I suggest you don’t travel in a truck camper, or at least don’t do it with a partner.

We’re constantly inventorying groceries too, because there’s no room to store extra. The goal is to have enough, but no more.

Which is all to say — this morning we need to buy gas and propane. While Doug is doing that, I am searching for a cup of decaf. I also hope to find a place to donate a few items we no longer need. We are plucking away the excess bit by bit — I’ll record it all later.

Doug heads to an Ace Hardware to top off the propane. I spy a thrift store and head there on foot. The guy behind the desk is happy to take my items and asks if I want to browse, which strikes me as hilarious. At this point I cannot imagine adding a single thing to our rig.

Now the coffee. I notice a Hardee’s a few doors down and head there, but only the drive-through is open. That won’t do us any good — Big Blue is too tall to fit through a drive-through.

Then I notice a coffee shop across the street. It advertises espresso so I order a double shot of decaf espresso. While the barista is fixing it, we chat. She looks to be less than 20 years old and says she’s working this second job on the weekends “to help pay bills.” 

I say “too bad it’s not for something fun.” And I mean it. I hate the financial situation that young people end up in, what with the price of college, and such low wages, and who can afford housing? But I digress. Yes, I tipped her well but that hardly solves the systemic problem.

Back in the rig we make a wrong turn and take a detour through the town of Buffalo. I’m glad. It’s a very cute town with lots of public artwork, especially those bronze sculptures that the West loves so much. 

In the middle of downtown Buffalo, Doug has to hit the brakes to avoid hitting some adult turkeys as they cross the road. They are large and colorful and sure of themselves.

OVER THE MOUNTAINS — Powder Pass

There are two routes from Buffalo to Lovell which appear to be equidistant — they basically form a rectangle. We decide to take the lower route because it appears to have less elevation gain. The forecast is for rain all day. Right now it’s drizzling. 

A few miles out of town we catch our first glimpse of snowcapped mountains. The outside temperature is 41 degrees. That’s quite a difference from 91 degrees in the Badlands just two days ago. It’s rather a shock to the body. Apparently we have bypassed the season of Autumn and gone straight to Winter.

As we climb into the mountains, the temperature drops to 32 degrees and it begins to snow in earnest. We see trucks coming from the opposite direction covered with snow. Also a snow plow. There’s at least 2 inches of white stuff on the road.

We travel through Powder Pass at 9,665 feet. Beside us, Cloud Peak is 13,000 feet. We descend from the pass through a stupendous gorge that is one hairpin turn after the other. The snow turns to rain as we drop. 

After passing through the town of Ten Sleep, the terrain changes. Instead of snow-covered pine trees we pass between smooth domes of mesa. Actually, it’s astounding how varied the terrain is. Between Ten Sleep and a town called Basin there are irrigated fields. Under one irrigation line we see three pronghorn antelope grazing very near the road in a lush green field. When we stop the truck and pull out the binoculars, they’re more curious than skittish.

By the time we pull into the Lovell Camper Park, the rain has stopped. The town of Lovell lets people camp here for free for three days, which I think is mighty nice of them. It’s a lovely wooded spot sheltered by enormous cottonwood trees. Underfoot is a carpet of golden leaves. A train runs nearby, no doubt headed to the sugar factory at the other end of town.

Once we get set up, Doug and I walk into town and visit the Family Dollar store. We buy some reading glasses for me, hand sanitizer, a birthday card for one of my sisters, a can of sausage gravy, and a small container of Tide detergent.

We settle in for the evening feeling quite at home in this new place.

SUNDAY  Oct 10  — BIGHORN CANYON WITH KEVIN KOOISTRA

We wake to a lovely warm day with a blue sky, a pleasant surprise since the forecast called for more cold weather.

Today we’re meeting Kevin to explore the Bighorn Canyon together. I knew Kevin during my college days. He and I are both from the Christian Reformed (Dutch) enclaves in northern New Jersey, but we got to know each other in Michigan, when we overlapped at Calvin College briefly. 

I had spent the summer of 1978 in Yellowstone and was headed back again in 1980 —I waxed eloquent about the delights of the West. Kevin credits that conversation with inspiring him to come to Yellowstone for a summer. Forty years later he still lives in the area. He is now the Executive Director of the Western Heritage Center in Billings, MT. We re-connected through Facebook, and arranged to spend this day together. The Bighorn Canyon is one of his favorite places, so that’s where he’s taking us.

Kevin shows up early, at 10:00 and greets me with a broad New Jersey accent: How ya DOin’? which has me in stitches.

We drive in his car to the canyon, which is less than 10 miles from Lovell. We look for wild mustangs and see a group of four horses, and another of eight. They all look healthy and well-fed. These are descendants of horses belonging to the Spanish conquistadors of the 1500s. Some have a type of zebra-stripe marking on their front legs. We see one horse with those markings and I get a photo — gray with a black mane and tail.

We take a number of short hikes. The canyon itself is stunning. The yellow color of the fluttering cottonwood leaves makes the landscape golden and gorgeous and give everything a sense of movement. 

At the bottom of the canyon is the Yellowtail reservoir. Kevin tells the story of its construction. The tribes opposed it for years and the federal government forced the issue by threatening to condemn the land. After the government pushed it through, they named the reservoir after the tribal leader who opposed it for years. (What emoji fits here?)

At one spot on the edge of the canyon the cliff walls are so high and narrow that we can get an echo. Boats pass by a long distance below. We talk about how much fun it would be to take a boat through the canyon some day.

We brought a picnic lunch which we eat at an abandoned ranch. The log buildings and corral are nestled in the sloping side of the canyon. They were built by Caroline Lockhart, a colorful character who got her start in newspaper journalism. According to the stories, she was also domineering and a bit of a misanthrope. 

The three of us talk about the paths we took after college. Kevin is a cultural anthropologist and I’m a pastor, so our two worlds overlap — we both study humans and how humans make sense of the world. 

Kevin has had the opportunity to work with tribal leaders for various projects. The work sounds fascinating, but oftentimes he feels frustrated that his work is brushed aside, especially if the issue is a land impact project. 

He describes the difficulty of his work. The government doesn’t understand the different lens that a tribe — say the Crow — have when looking at “a site.” How do you even define the site?

To illustrate, Kevin points to a highway sign — is “the site” the sign itself, which can be described by size and shape? Or is “the site” the view that the sign looks out upon? A member of the Crow tribe would turn his back on the sign and gaze at the area that’s visible, and everything within that gaze would become “the site” to be protected. So the work is much less straightforward than it might seem to be.

“A cultural anthropologist makes the strange familiar and the familiar strange.”

Heading back the way we came, Kevin notices a rattlesnake on the side of the road. We stop and Kevin handles the snake with a trekking pole. It’s a good size but does not strike, although it keeps its rattle going. The snake probably sought out the pavement for warmth, as the weather is already getting cold.

Back in Lovell there aren’t any restaurants open. It’s a Mormon town on a Sunday night. So we go to our rig and Doug fixes supper for the three of us — biscuits and sausage gravy and eggs, plus a salad. It’s a delight to see Kevin occupy one side of the dinette and listen to him regale us with stories. It is so good to reconnect. So good to host a friend in Big Blue!

Note to self: Read and think more about keystone species and how this differs from our typically hierarchical understanding. A keystone species can appear to be insignificant, like prairie dogs. Yet they are crucial. Humans must be the ultimate keystone species since they impact everything. But they also disrupt everything, including every other keystone species. Remember what Kevin said about megafauna disappearing a few hundred years after humans appeared — in every culture and geographic area. Apply this to the usual interpretation of the scriptural story that humans are the crown of creation. We are crown but also destroyer. But doesn’t every crown ultimately destroy its empire?