My Greater Yellowstone travels

Wednesday, July 23, 2008

By Brooke Williams

Zack Turner was on my mind Friday as I drove down the Moose-Wilson Road to the Moose post office. Although we’d had a copy of his latest book, Travels in the Greater Yellowstone, since it was published earlier this year, I hadn’t opened it until Thursday night. I couldn’t put it down. Although I’d been to many of the places Jack takes his readers, I think it is the present-tense immediacy of his writing that kept me reading late into the night - the way he put me in his pack or creel and let me participate as his world unfolded in front of him.

Whether we were hiking the length of the Tetons surrounded by grizzlies (but never actually seeing one), fishing for trout -‘cutts’ - on the first day of the season, watching wolves in the Lamar Valley and wondering about wildness, his favorite subject, or with his wife, Dana, and dog, Rio, or drinking tea on Beartooth Pass or Blacktail Butte, I was transported. No photo or poem or painting or recording of a wolf howling at the wind is as close to actually being there as is Jack’s new book.

Instead of turning south on the Moose-Wilson Road back to work like I’d planned, my truck continued into the park. Last year, Jack had taken me to one of his favorite places - which doesn’t mean much since he has so many. I figured that I owed myself some time and rationalized that a short walk would do me good. I parked and began walking. In his book, Jack writes a lot about gear - fishing rods and flies, climbing and camping equipment. And in one section, provides a list of gear he goes nowhere without, including raingear, bear spray, food and water, none of which I had that day. In fact, I was wearing a new, pure white long sleeve, shirt, shorts and flip-flops.

Jack’s route follows game trails along a ledge above the river, dropping down a faint path through loose stones and across a willow-strewn marsh before reaching the river. I was busy in my head, turning ideas in different directions. Since I was wearing flip-flops, I had to concentrate going down the embankment, but I knew they would come in handy crossing the marsh.

The marsh seemed the same as it was the year before, and I was glad I wasn’t wearing boots. I was 20 yards across, making long strides on wet but fairly firm footing when, without warning, I was up to my right hip in dark mud. In my mind, I heard Jack’s voice -“Attention!” he said, quoting from one of his favorite Zen koans.  “ATTENTION!” I heard it louder the second time. I didn’t want to lose my flip-flop, because how would I walk back to the truck without it? I yanked and pulled and thank goodness the webbing stayed attached to the soul. The harder I pulled, the deeper my left foot sunk into the muck.

Eventually after a 10-minute tug-o-war, I’d freed both of my feet and found both of my sandals. Covered in mud, I made my way to the river and washed off. Sitting on the bank, I remembered that Jack usually screams “ATTENTION!” three times, while telling that story. I only heard him twice. Perhaps I was too focused on freeing myself and I missed it. Perhaps that’s Jack’s point.

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My Greater Yellowstone travels | Planet JH News Article: Left Wing Local

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