Posted on October 3, 2009 - by Cate

The Great Northern Swing

Thirty years ago, when I was a teenager in the ’70’s, my dad was schlepping his family to at least one different national park each summer during his company’s shutdown in August. These were two weeks trapped in a hot car with vinyl seats (and I was often stuck to them on the long sweaty journeys), along with an irritating younger brother with a knack for trouble, a drill sergeant of a father and, as we affectionately nicknamed her, “Mary Tyler Moore”, my mom. I confess that my recollections begin to blur a bit, but I do remember the feeling of enduring rather than appreciating this gift Dad had given us. Now with time, perspective and a jolt from Ken Burns’ documentary I’m engaging in some revisionist history.

The first trip I wanted to write about has become known in our family as the Great Northern Swing. Dad had a flair for elevating these trips to a kind of epic stature which began with meticulous planning. Mind you this is pre-computing and required research from various sources including the public library, the triple “A” as well as writing to the various parks themselves for information and literature.

My memories of this trip starts with a stop in Pierre, South Dakota (I think we were having car problems and needed to hop off the main highway) where I remember the curiosity of seeing a “cowboy” for the first time (ie. real men walking around in real cowboy boots and hats, “hot”), tons of pickup trucks with rifles mounted across the back windshield, and American Indians (also “hot”) with long braids walking around like all the other cowboys, going about their day. Up to this point, my travel had been limited to Philadelphia where all my relatives lived, little was unfamiliar or “hot.” It was as if having stepped out of my car from the midwest, I stepped into a different world, Pierre, South Dakota and got just a taste of the unexplored country to come.

Then it was onto Rushmore where everything seemed uphill and the Badlands which looked more like the surface of the moon. The contrast in scenery as we motored westward was like nothing I had seen before except for pictures in a National Geographic. Our energy and enthusiasm were pretty high. It was the first leg of our big trip and the whole family was really into the vast views and majesty of the land unfolding before us, reading from our tour books and the literature Dad had sent for.

We motored on to Yellowstone to reconnoiter with my Aunt Sally & Uncle Leo and cousins Lee and Jonathan, who were big campers. They lived in California and little did we know then, these reunions would become the template for our annual trips as we often met them each summer for a different park experience. At Yellowstone we combined our tents with their camper to create a base camp and set off exploring the park. I remember the geysers and hot springs and discovering that park rangers were “hot.”

We took a day trip up to the Tetons. I remember pulling over to eat the lunch we had packed and the boys couldn’t wait to skip stones on the lake. The next thing I knew they were in the water goading me to get in. I, of course, did not want to get wet but I was anxious to cool off, so the shoes came off and I waded in.

that's me dancing, in jenny lake

It was spectacular, cool, with smooth rocks underfoot. I remember one of the rangers in the Ken Burn’s documentary talking about being one with nature and I immediately remembered that moment in Jenny Lake. From a distance it was so beautiful, reflecting the surrounding mountains and fluffy clouds and up close, so clear with a tint of green blue. I immediately gave into the welcome of water and ventured further from the edge until I was completely submerged. The sun was warm and I danced and splashed in the water with abandon. I didn’t care that my clothes were soaking wet. I sat on the rocks and dried in the warm sun.

During this trip we went fishing and I caught my first fish. It was a short-lived triumph as my father insisted I hold the fish for a picture. Of course, it was still alive, slimy and therefore difficult to hold. I remember the indignation mixed with nausea of trying to hold this fish while my dad was laughing too hard to hold the camera steady.

We had all caught trout that morning and my aunt prepared them for breakfast in an iron skillet and I remember the taste of that fish for breakfast. It was no less astonishing that I was eating fish for breakfast but wonderful at the same time, because that trout was buttery and crispy and delicious.

Later that day my brother had inexplicably locked our car keys in the trunk of our car. In the middle of the Grand Tetons, finding a locksmith was no easy task. Mind you, no cell phones at this point, so Dad and Uncle Leo had to find a ranger and then travel to a park office to make a phone call to have a locksmith from Jackson Hole come out. It took the better part of our day. He was unsuccessful at picking the trunk lock, but he managed to get us into the car and from there, they ripped out the back bench in order to get to the trunk.

Of course, this was not according to the grand plan and Dad’s vein that traveled down his right temple was famously throbbing. My brother always seemed to provide some drama on trips and this was no exception. Once put back together, the adults decided it was a good night for a dinner out and we headed into Jackson Hole and found ourselves at a famous watering hole with lots of cowboys and dead animal heads mounted to the wall — something else I had never seen before either. I wasn’t too sure how I felt about it.

It was finally time to part company and say good bye to the relatives and head back home. As we made our way eastward we encountered massive storms and flooding around eastern South Dakota and Minnesota which culminated in water flooding into our motel room as well as an extensive detour that caused our arrival home to be delayed by a day and caused my father great consternation and exasperation. The tail end of this trip was more than my control freak of a father was able to bear. Would the tradition continue? Stay tuned.