Below is the story of our trek as told by the fellwanderer alumni scribe Peter Hield with additional comments inserted in italics by yours truly.
The trip began, at least for Braky and myself, with a long drive from LA to Yellowstone, mainly through desert country. It was a drive of extreme contrasts, with the first night being spent in Las Vegas, Sin City itself, the second in Salt Lake City, the home of Mormon piety and the third in a tent in Grand Teton National Park, being rained on very hard. There was this spectacular mountain range above us, but all we could see was grey clouds. We finally made it into Yellowsone on the forth day, after fitting in a brief walk between rain showers, and visited Old Faithful before setting up camp at the agreed meeting point, Maddison camp ground. Almost all of the rest of the group arrive at 7am the following morning, having driven from Salt Lake City overnight. Mark had apparantly been abandoned to the tender mercies of the US customs service, and was lost somewhere in one of many airports. After many, many unproductive phonecalls to many, many unhelpful airlines, interspersed with visits to the scenic touristy areas of Yellowstone, Mark was eventually located in West Yellowstone airport, and myself and Jens went to collect him. The rest of the group sorted out the next problem: the large and very aggressive grizzly that was roaming around in the area of our first campsite (there was also the question of how we were going to make it past our first river crossing with night fast approaching).
Plan B involved us starting the trek on Monday. We followed the Lamar River for the whole day, walking through mainly open country, covered in many dead trees from the 1994 fires. The sun had finally appeared, producing excellent trekking weather. A detour round a Bison caused some early excitement, but the main event of the day came later, after an excellent evening meal of beef stroganof and pasta. A breaking twig somewhere in the darkness caused Braky to suspect that the grizzly had found our new campsite and was out to get our food (and possibly us). Following all the best advice to make noise, we sang "Yellow Submarine" badly enough to scare off anything within a mile radius, while Matt organised hanging our packs from a tree. We then retreated to the tents, but not before discovering that the cause of the breaking twig was actually a racoon. It had very large teeth though, honest. Linda, who had succumbed to jet lag earlier, slept through everything.
The next day proved to be the hardest of the whole trek. The sun was relentless, and the day was very hot. We initally continued along the Lamar River, before fording it and then following Mist Creek up a long valley. Our dodgy map contributed to the torture of the afternoon, leading us to believe that the campsite was a couple of miles lower down the valley than it actually was. By the time we actually found it, some had come to think that it didn't exist, or was somewhere else entirely. Much relief followed the sighting of the campsite sign, and the whole group collapsed for a while, before wandering around in a daze sorting out the site. Matt looked especially zombie-like as he hobbled around staring vacantly into space I was actually staring at the tent and hoping it would put itself together. We decided to cook over the campfire due to a suspected MSR fuel shortage, and a roaring blaze was soon created, with a billy hung from a pole supported on trekking poles and a convenient forked log. Chris, who proved to have everything anyone needed somewhere in his pack, no matter how obscure, produced a roll of sellotape, which help to stabilise the whole contraption.
The third day of trekking was the longest, but had fewer hills, and everyone was getting more used to the exercise. Crossing the pass at the head of Mist Creek, we entered Pelican Valley, which allegedly contains pelicans, despite the location. We didn't see any though. There were plenty of Bison instead, and we crossed the valley and forded a squelchy river to reach the Upper Pelican Creek Valley. Lunch was eaten next to the Mushpots, and had a distinct taste of sulpher, which Matt seemed to revel in what can I say I love thermal features. Later, after a minor navigational mishap was corrected, we were directed to Yellowstone's largest boiling mud pit. It is at least 20 miles from the nearest road, and seen only by a select few. It throws mud 10 feet into the air, and was definitely the most inpressive thermal feature of the whole trip.
The fourth and final day of trekking saw us reach Ribbon Lake campsite, near the Grand Canyon of Yellowstone. The fifth day was a rest day, with much relaxing and sunbathing and a short walk to the edge of the canyon. This was incredibly impressive, being about 700 feet deep and covered in thermal features. A large river flows along the bottom, and the walls are coloured yellow and red by minerals in the ground. Myself and Chris attempted unsuccessfully to hitch-hike back to Canyon Village to collect the cars and save time on Saturday. Just as we were about to give up, a friendly ranger saved the day. The rest of the group retured to the campsite and spent a lazy few hours, driving Matt to distraction, as he was desperate to demonstrate his excellent (allegedly - no-one actually tested this!) poker skills (it is an unholy act to have a week long trek without a game of cards).
Saturday saw the end of the trek, with a two mile walk to the cars, followed by ice-cream and lots of touristy activities (during which Pete spent having the ice cream wage war on his digestive system). The day ended as all good trekks should, with an enormous and very tasty steak in a good restaurant, before everyone once again went there separate ways. Final wildlife count: three bears, uncountable bison, one moose, a few elk, one badger and of course, that racoon.
Additional Notes
1) On the drive up, Braky and I decided that as we were in Las Vegas, we should give the gambling thing a go, so we played Roulette. Braky won $25, and I lost $20. And the odds are supposed to be just about even. I get the feeling that if there was a race between a racehorse and seven crippled donkeys, and my money was on the racehorse, it would lose. Not just not win, but actually come last.
This urge to fit in with the locals did not extend to becomming Mormons in Salt Lake City.
2) At the first river fording on day 1, Linda fell in. The rangers who arrived just in time to hear the screams thought that this was hilarious.
3) At the second river fording on day 1, Braky fell in. However there were no witnesses this time, and he only got one foot wet, which was a bit of a poor effort really.
4) On day three, we saw a bear. Or at least, we thought it was a bear, and started considering long detours, until it flicked its tail, thereby proving itself to be a bison.
5) The first thing Matt did after we walked out of the bush was ask if the world was still there (this being two days after the first anniversary of a certain infamous terrorist attack). Apparantly it was, so that's OK.