On the riverbank with old friends

Meeting old friends in far-flung places – it happens, but it’s mostly grist for the dream mill. We might talk about it, but generally it won't happen. 

Up in Jackson Hole, it proved much more real. The whole week had been sort of dreamlike. Having a good time with a new person in a beautiful place … that’s a hard combination to beat. Plus, had you told me in early July that I’d be shipping up to Grand Teton, I might have laughed. 

Months ago, I joked with my friend Ric that I might pop in on their Yellowstone region trip. I had no intention of doing that. Never in a million years did I expect I would end up in Yellowstone Country at the same time as them, let alone have a chance to visit. 

But it happened. 

As I reached Wyoming Tuesday morning, Ric called me from the Old Faithful Inn, a brief message wishing safe travels and hoping we could meet. Internet connectivity and Wyoming don’t go together well, so I had little hope we could actually connect. 

The Greater Yellowstone region is larger than some states, so landing there at the same time as someone else guarantees nothing. I was winging it. Weak Internet in the whole region meant we exchanged just a few short texts. But I know where their RV rested for the last night of their trip. 

There I was Saturday morning, saying goodbye to Jess and leaving Colter Bay to a mule deer family grazing at the entrance, then an elk jam near the Jackson Lake Lodge. 

Everything felt like a replay of the previous days - one more pass through the park, past the Moran station, the bison gawkers, the cabins, the overlooks and the might Snake River pacing me the whole way south. 

I dipped back into Jackson where I made a quick turn and passed the town square, already crowded at 9:30 a.m. They planned to leave at 11 a.m. for their flight home. Maybe I could reach them before they left.

Whether I saw them or not, I still had almost 600 miles to drive. Jackson disappeared, then Wilson and I was in the construction zone along the Snake. Luckily I spotted the sign for their RV park. The park had a mix of cabin, trailer hookup sites and tent sites, the latter on elevated riverbank sites. 

I saw Ric and Chrissy at picnic table. They saw me staring from a car they’d seen many times, now sporting Colorado plates. We chatted and took a quick walk down to the Snake. The river’s turquoise waters moved swiftly here. The campground had a series of tent-only sites 20 feet from the river, not all of them occupied, which I noted in case I ended up back here. 

Then it was time to go again, the entirety of Wyoming ahead of me. Against most odds, I saw my good friends from Nashville. 

But it happened.