We’ve had two very big days and we are all exhausted. But today was one of the best so far.
First, we drove down to the Tetons. We stopped in a visitor center and listened to a string quartet play as we looked out over the mountains. It was a spiritual experience for us all. I wept as a listened and viewed the unbelievable beauty.
We then loaded the car and drove down a mountain path. Don’t tell National Rental Car but we bottomed out a more than a couple times on the rutted, rocky road. At the end of the trail, we parked the Prius and started hiking one of the most beautiful paths I’ve ever seen.
We made our way to an ice-melt-fed lake and swam into the ice-cold water. Jonathan and Ben jumped into the ice bath off a 30 foot stone that had rolled down the mountain and parked at the water’s edge. It was thrilling coming down and going under.
The hike back seemed more brutal than the hike in but it was worth every step. The view was as breath-taking as the hike.
Back at the trail head, we stopped at a small, one room cabin nestled beside a gurgling brook. This cabin is the home of an octogenarian volunteer ranger named Black George. His name is deceptive.
On the wall of his cabin’s front porch hangs multiple clip boards listing important data used by the park department and some data that is only of interest to Black George. The data is in columns, listing daily amounts and the totals to-date. The boards tally the daily temperature, rainfall, total mice killed in the cabin and, perhaps most importantly, the number of root beer floats served in 2009.
The cabin shelves are lined with whiskey bottles (some full and many empty), pork and beans, and multiple two-liter bottles of A & W Root Beer.
Black George found seats for our family of five using chairs, stumps, and the edge of his bed. Digging for a half-gallon of vanilla ice cream from his freezer, he told stories of his time in the war, recent visitors to his cabin, and his work with the park service. He found five tumblers and began scooping the melting dairy goodness into the cups. As he told more stories, he poured just the right amount of root beer into the plastic glasses and served his guests.
We drank the cold, sugary mixture with delight. As the bottoms of our cups began to appear, three hikers made their way up the steps of the small cabin. They were looking for floats of their own. Before we could thank him for his hospitality, two more back-packers had arrived and were waiting patiently on the porch.
Before we departed, my wife offered Black George money for the dessert but he refused. But he made no attempt to prevent her from offering a hug. Together they turned to the camera and let out Black George’s famous cry, “YEEEEHAAAA!!!”
It was a great day.
