The Confluence

This past weekend, the 16^th and 17^th of July, James and I decided to brave the outdoors once more and take a hike through the beautiful Roosevelt area to Hellroaring Creek.  While I was in the backcountry office to obtain a permit for the confluence of the Yellowstone River and Hellroaring Creek the ranger repeatedly advised me to take the bridge to cross the river instead of fording it because of “high waters” or something like that.  Traveling to the bridge would tack on an extra 3 (plus or minus .2) miles, but such is the price for safety.

We left the dorms at around 10:45 in the AM, and had immediate good fortune when a family from California picked us up after only about 5 minutes of waiting.  They dropped us off near our destination, at which point we caught a ride from a Roosevelt employee to our trailhead.  Our next adventure then began.

It began very well with some immediate downhill traveling.  It was hotter than we were used to here in Yellowstone, likely much cooler than Texas, but that was compensated by the beauty all around us.  We began by making good time even though we had to stop for more water breaks than in the past.  The time started moving more slowly as our destination became farther and farther away (remember that out-of-the-way bridge?)  We made it to our “secluded” campsite out in the middle of the backcountry, only to find out that right across the river were two fishermen who really liked staring at us as we ate our meals.  Thankfully, our tent was pitched up an incline out of sight of our neighbors.

We slept soundly and then ate a breakfast of tasty pancakes (which got tastier as James became a better chef.)  We packed up camp and began our long trek back to the trailhead.  After only a little bit of walking, we decided to find a nice shallow spot in the creek and ford.  James picked a nice looking spot, we prepared ourselves by taking off shoes and whatnot, grabbed our walking sticks (a third leg), and began crossing.

The water was so freaking cold.  It started out shallow and got much deeper in the middle.  It was swift moving to the point that I fell in and barely managed to catch myself on a rock.  My underwear got wet (a testament to how deep the water was), and I was altogether miserable.  I got mad at James for “making me cross that river,” and felt horrible for a few minutes.  I got over it.  Our detour cut hours off of the return journey, which kind of made up for my moment of terror.  That downhill part at the beginning of the hike turned into an uphill part at the end, but at the final end of everything I felt like I accomplished a whole lot during that weekend.

I was rewarded when we got back to Canyon with a tasty chicken sandwich, took a nice long shower, ate more dinner, and had a caldera (chocolate tasty goodness cake) from the dining room.  In retrospect I had a really great time.