1978 Horseback and fishing in Yellowstone National Park

This is the story of the summer when my Dad (De Jones) my brother (David Jones) and I (Clay Jones) went on a manly trip to Yellowstone National Park.  We rode horses, fished, and wild camped for a week on the Eastern Side of the park.

 I'm writing this story from nearly 40 year old memories, so please refrain from pointing out every mistake I make.  Just read the story and enjoy images it invokes.

 Only Dave and I went on the trip with dad. Rob didn't go because he was on his mission and they frown on multi-week sabbaticals. Mike didn't go because he was married to Sheryl, and he was no fun anymore. I don't remember if Aimee was born yet, but if she wasn't, she was probably on her way.

Dave had come home from his mission due to an illness (Rheumatic fever if I remember correctly). He had hoped to come home for a while to recover, and return to the mission, but some complications with his heart made it wiser to just release him from the mission.  Dad kept Dave busy around the animal hospital and going on large animal calls with him. I think for a while, Dad was Dave's "mission companion" and needed to be with him all of the time.

They often rode horses together during this time. I've got an image of Dave and Dad with some horses covered in sand. They were taking the horses down to the Salt River to toughen up the horses and themselves. I doubt if the image is from that time, but I remember it anyway. Somewhere in all of this activity together they hatched a plan to go horseback riding in Yellowstone.

Queue the flashback within the flashback.......

5 years earlier, the entire family had gone to Idaho with the Steglemeiers (don't blame me for the name or the bad spelling). Dr S. (a veterinarian classmate of Dad's) had wrangled together some horses, not enough for everyone, but enough to pack our gear and for a few of us to ride. Both families headed for the Beckler Meadows area of Yellowstone, down in the South West corner of the park. But that's a different story.

I'd bet that the memories of that previous trip plus the riding, combined to spark the idea for another trip to Yellowstone. I wasn't part of the planning, nor was I a part of the practice rides. Knowing me, I was surely invited but was more interested in photography, science, and the Saturday morning cartoons (I've always been a sucker for a good cartoon).

Dad had another veterinary school classmate that lived and practiced just outside of the East entrance to Yellowstone in Wyoming. Maybe it was Cody. Mom says his name was Dr. Lowe and that sounds right.

I don't remember any of the drive to Wyoming but I'm sure it involved lots of coke and bathroom breaks. Dad always said you don't buy Coke, you just rent it.

We arrived in Wyoming late on a Saturday evening and stayed with at Lowe's home. We attended church with them on Sunday. I remember going to church because I met another Clay Jones in Sunday School class.

Monday was all taken up with buying bisquick, bacon, toilet paper and other camping necessities. Then we organized the gear in the trucks, checked the horses, and ate way too much food. That was going to be a theme for this trip.

Very early on Tuesday morning we headed West for Yellowstone. Dad, Dave, Dr. Lowe, myself and at least 2 other people that I can't remember, maybe his sons or Brothers. I was the youngest on the trip though. I think I slept most of the way to the trail head because other than a general sense that we were South of the main highway, I don't remember exactly where we were.  I know we headed West toward Yellowstone from Cody, and somewhere we turned south along a dirt road.  I don't even remember how long the dirt road was, but eventually we pulled into a large dirt parking lot.

It was still pretty cold as we unloaded the trucks and got the horses ready. Dave saddled my horse for me and helped with all of the other pack animals. It took a good while to get everything ready. I remember Dad and Dave packing and repacking one horse trying to get the awkward load to sit just right.  I don’t remember sleeping cold on the trip, so I’m sure Dad had brought allot of sleeping gear for us all, and I REALLY don't remember ever being hungry, so we must have had plenty of food.  I think dad had a great big flower sack full of home made jerky because I was kind of sick of it by the end of the trip.

I've already mentioned that I hadn't done any riding at all before we left. I just jumped in the truck and off we went. So before we mounted up, Dad handed me a pair of panty hose and told me to scurry over behind a bush and put those on under my jeans. I wasn't sure I'd heard him right, but he repeated the instructions, so I did as I was told, and slipped of my jeans, put the nylons on, and the jeans back on. Dad explained that since I'd not been riding and was wearing some pretty new jeans, I'd be rubbed raw within an hour if I just jumped on the horse and went riding. Instead of the jeans rubbing back and forth against my skin, they would be rubbing on the nylons. I felt stupid in them, but other than some blisters from my boots, I didn’t get a single saddle sore the whole trip. A few other guys had to walk a large part of the first day because of sores, so I’m very thankful Dad knew that trick.

I think we had at least one false start when a pack flew off a hose just a hundred yards down the trail.  Something spooked him and when he jumped, the packs flew up and off the trees and into the woods.  We had to completely repack that horse and a couple others, this time with a rope going under the horse’s stomach to prevent the packs from turning into wings and flapping away. 

Straight out of camp we began to climb a steep pass.  I don’t remember much other than impression of allot of green around us and a steep climb.  I don’t remember perilous drops or being scared of falling, so it must have been well below tree line.  We climbed for over an hour before reaching the top of the pass and starting down.  I remember being a bit more scared on the decent, not from steepness, but because my legs weren’t long enough to stand up in the stirrups so I was slid fully forward against the saddle horn and if the horse lowered his head much, I’d have fallen straight over his neck and, I thought, get stepped on.

The steep part didn’t last too long and soon we were meandering up a small canyon beside a creek.  We stopped a few times to let the horses drink and for those not wearing nylons do ease the saddle sores.  Dad cautioned me not to play in the water because wet boots and denim make for miserable riding.  I think some of the others got wet and again, proved dad to be right when they later complained about their dam(p) clothes.

Again, I don’t remember anything specific about the ride, other than it lasted until mid afternoon.  We ate some sandwiches on the trail and took a few side trips to look for camping spots but never found anything they thought was really good.

Eventually we left the hills and forest to find ourselves in a long narrow valley, covered in tall grass.  I remember it being up to knees and covering the whole area between the mountains on either side.  We had followed a creek out the trees and that creek disappeared out into the grass, but the trail led more along one edge of the meadow.  Maybe 2/3 of the way down the meadow was a small stand of trees, maybe 50 yards around sitting in the middle of the meadow.  We worked our way over to the trees and decided that it was a perfect camping spot.  There was a small clearing just large enough for a few tents and a fire.

We unloaded the horses (“Take care of your horse first Clay” my constantly told me).  Once all the horses were unsaddled and rubbed down, we hobbled them and let them out into the grass to rest and feed.

We set up dad’s cooking panniers near a big flat topped stump that we used as a table.  There were a few other free standing stumps and logs that had obviously been used as stools by previous campers.  We moved those stumps into a circle around the rock fire pit.  Then we setup tents and a latrine.

Once camp was ready, we grabbed fishing poles and started walking across the meadow, looking for that creek we’d been following.  It was harder to find that you’d think.  Until someone stopped us all and said to be quiet and listen.  Almost instantly we could hear the babble of the creek and could even see the slight gap in the grass where it ran.

We all separated to try our luck at different spots along the creek.  My dad signaled for me to follow him and we set of a ways up stream.  Then dad told me to be extra quiet as we approached the creek.  He told me to say low and not to let my shadow fall onto the water or it would spook the fish.

The creek was only a couple of yards wide, but had a few deep spots in it.  We went to a deep spot just past a bend in the creek that left the sun in our faces so we didn’t have to worry so much about shadows.  But we still stayed low.

We’d gathered grass hoppers along the way as we’d crossed the meadow, so I baited a hook and pulled about 10 feet of line out of reel.  Then crouching behind the grass, dad had me just flick the grasshopper out into the middle of the pool.  Almost instantly a fish broke the surface of the water and took bait.  I didn’t even have to reel him.  I let him fight a couple seconds while I slowly drug him to the side and dad scooped him up with a net.  My memory tells me he was a huge fish, but it also tells me that dad removed the hook and let the fish go right back into the water.  He said we need fish that would fill his 12” pan.

We moved along the creek and tried the same trick again at the next pool and got a bit bigger fish this time.  Dad tucked it into his backpack, then showed me how to lower the line just above some shallows and let the current take the bait out into the pool where another fish bit it on my 3^rd attempt.  After a few more catch and releases, dad said I was ready to go it alone and he headed off for his own spot.

My memory is probably embellishing, but I remember the whole rest of the afternoon being spent just fishing along that creek.  I could see the others up and down the creek doing the same thing.  We were spread over a mile or so.

Finally dad yelled that it was time to go.  I hadn’t kept any fish other than the one dad had kept and that turned out to be a big part of my dinner.  I had to clean my own fish there at the stream, then we carefully walked back to camp.  You really had to be careful because there were gopher holes, tree stumps, fallen branches, and all manner of things to trip you in the tall grass.

Dad filled his dutch oven with oil, then after dredging the fish in corn meal, he fried everyone’s fish.  We also had biscuits, and I think beans and corn.  But I remember the fish and corn bread with butter and honey under the trees with the fire crackling.  It’s one of those perfect feelings that I’m always trying to re-produce.

The sun just starting to go down when we heard another group of horses coming up the trail.  There were about 20 people on horses and a good number of pack horses.  They paused on the trail nearest to our clump of trees and I think we heard a few swear words when they realized we’d taken the spot.  They talked for a bit then moved farther down the trail, and up into the trees on the hillside.

Someone went over to chat with them.  I think Dave went because there were several pretty young ladies in the group.  When they came back, they said it was a paid for horse packing trip who’d planned on camping where we were, but they were fine with us having beat them here and were setting up in another spot.  They were going to horse back through Yellowstone for a week and wind up somewhere like Old Faithful lodge where they’d be picked up.

I’m sure we sat up that night telling stories and comparing the size of fish that we’d almost caught until it was time to sleep.  I probably went to bed first because it’s all just a big blur to my memory.

My first memory of waking up was the smell of bacon.  If someone could make an alarm clock that cooked bacon, I’m sure it would be a huge hit because it’s such a great way to wake up.

Dad had been up for quite a while and so had Dave.  They’d let me sleep while they packed up most of camp, saddled the horses and were just fixing breakfast before we finished and headed for our next camp.  I’m sure I delayed getting out of bed because it was cold.

I put on my nylons, jeans, and rolled up my bag before they’d let me eat.  I had to saddle my own horse and help with cleaning up breakfast as well.  Then we started down the trail in a light rain.

We crossed another pass and a few more valleys and streams during the morning.  I think we reached our destination about lunch time.  I’m pretty sure it was the Yellowstone River and it was huge, at least to an Arizonan.  It seems like we forded the river and camped on the far side, but that could be a trick of memory.

The river ran through a massive valley filled with grass.  The wind blew across this valley driving the rain at us with nothing to hinder it.

We found another group of trees to camp under near the river.  It had rained constantly through the day and I remember being soaking wet by the time we got horses cared for, tents up, and a fire started.  We managed to string a big tarp between some trees to keep the rain off of us, but these trees weren’t as tall nor as thick as our last camp, so they didn’t do much to stop the wind or shield us from the rain.

No one felt much like fishing even though the river was so close.  I think someone did go try but came back after just a bit to say that nothing was biting and the river looked muddy and brown.  We'd eaten all our fish the night before, so dinner was just stuff we'd brought with us.  My dad was famous for his Potato hash with bacon and onions and that was probably part of that meal to warm us up.

The wind and the rain kept up throughout the evening and put a damper on the whole camp.  I think we were all in bed shortly after the sun set.

It was still raining when I got up the next morning.  There was no bacon smell to wake me because they couldn't get a fire to stay lit in the wind and rain.  So we ate cereal and drank postum warmed over a small camp stove.

When I looked around, I saw that the camp was nearly packed up again and was told that everyone had decided that we should have just stayed put in our nice little meadow in the hills, so we were going back, even though we'd planned to stay here for 3 days.  I helped pack up the last of the camp, then put on my "riding gear" and saddled my horse.

It might be my imagination, but just as soon as we got out of sight of the Yellowstone River, the sun broke out and the wind died down.  We practically galloped back into the hills and over the passes back to that beautiful little meadow and our stand of trees.  It was empty and we happily unpacked our gear and setup camp.  We'd come home it felt like.

We fished the creek and easily caught enough fish to eat any time we wanted to, but I only had fish a couple more times.  Without all the wind and rain, dad made us some great stews, steak, beans, and many other meals.  We hiked the hills around us and took a few long horseback trips up to some nearby hilltops for beautiful views.

I'm sure dad had a camera with him, but I don't recall ever posing for pictures, nor do I remember seeing any pictures of the trip later on.  I really wish I had some to post here.

Another bunch of city slicker horse riders came by on one of the nights and they invited us to join them for cobbler around their camp fire.  The ride leader told us some of the stories of the trips he'd lead into Yellowstone and some of his favorite riding places.  Dad and Dr Lowe told stories as well.  I wish I could remember any of them, but I remember laughing till I nearly peed my pants at some of them.

On the last morning of the trip I got up early to help with camp.  I was sent out to round up horses and found that one of the horses was missing.  We looked all around but couldn't find it.  So Dave saddled a horse and I rode behind him while we checked back up the valley.  Eventually we found him standing in the creek a mile or so away.  His hobble had come loose so he was able to walk pretty fast.

We'd only brought a short halter which would work well leading the horse, and I really didn't want to walk a mile through the tall grass, so Dave suggested that I ride him bare back.

Dave helped hoist me up on his back, then handed me the halter rope which we'd looped over his nose and down the left side of his neck, then around and back up the right side and tied off to the nose loop.   I had at least a little bit of control, and have my many hours of riding this last week, I felt sure I could handle him.

We started off at a gentle walk and although it felt weird, everything was going well.

But as we got near camp we got back on the trail and Dave kicked his horse into a fast trot.  I tried to hold my horse back but couldn't really do much other than pull on the line feebly.  My horse matched his bounce for bounce.  Then Dave kicked into a gallop and my horse took off with him.  I probably looked like rag doll bouncing all over his back, but not for long.

I bounded a few times, then slowly toppled to the right and came off right into a small bush.  That would have been ok except there was a log that had fallen in the bush and I landed with my kidneys right on top of that log.  For about 2 minutes I lay there gasping for breath with the wind knocked out of me.  Dave was nearly back to camp before he turned around and saw the empty horse following him and realized what had happened.

He came back at as fast as he could in a panic, but by the time he got there, I'd regained my breath and managed to stand up.  He offered to get the horse so I could ride back but I said I'd be fine walking, thank you very much.

I had a good size bruise on my right hip and knee that ached for a few days, but it made for a great memory and constant joke between my brother and I.  In later years I could always say "Just don't gallop" and he'd get a sheepish grin on his face.

Dad looked me over and pronounced me thoroughly tenderized but I'd survive.  We packed up camp and that's about the last thing I remember.  I don't remember the ride out, packing up, or the whole drive home.  All the good stuff were those days in that little meadow and creek with the fish in it.

Some Notes after studying a map

I think we must have turned south off of North Fork Highway (the east entrance road to Yellowstone) on highway 446.  That's about 5 miles East of Pahaska Tepee.  We probably crossed the creek in the trucks and followed the road a few miles South before unloading.

We followed the trail south and a bit west and crossed over into the Eagle Creek valley.  There's a beautiful little meadow that fit's my memories perfectly at 44.379914, -109.981714 and there's even a trail running along the south edge and the creek more to the North edge, kind of like I remember.

We might have taken the Eagle Creek Trail and crossed Eagle Pass at 44.323776, -110.003962 then taken the Mountain Creek Trail on down to the Yellowstone River.

We could have just taken the Eagle Creek trail the whole way to Eagle Pass, but I distinctly remember climbing and crossing a pass just a few hours into the ride on the first day.  Maybe we were just crossing a small ridge where the creek was impassable and my childhood panic has greatly amplified the height.  I know I wasn't as scared the 2nd day, even though it was a higher pass and it was treeless (I think).

BTW if you copy those GPS coordinates and drop them into the search bar on maps.google.com, you can see exactly where they are.