My memories of Yellowstone date from four years ago and are a blur of driving through the enormous park while towing a sizable U-Haul and being consumed as I processed all the ramifications of coming back on active duty. We dashed across the country to buy a house (sight unseen for Flight), catching a few major landmarks at a speed only surpassed by the Griswolds, and I jumped right into teaching Engineering well before we were remotely settled. I vaguely remember seeing colorful Paint Pots and enormous bison, but took little note of anything else. I am eager to savor our upcoming stretch in America’s first National Park.

But first, to WEST Yellowstone to, as Flight put it best, “Come Down” from our Grand Targhee experience and try to process that. We pulled into the Grizzly RV Campground and were very pleasantly surprised by the accommodations, perhaps the nicest we’ve yet seen. Each spot had incredibly lush green grass and this was so unusual that Flight made it a point to take off his shoes while telling me he was doing so because he wanted to feel that (pointing) grass under his feet while he cooked dinner. We both joked that it clearly far surpassed our backyard crab grass lawn in Maryland (unless, of course, you want to buy our house, then it’s exactly like that). We relaxed and regrouped, enjoyed dinner and visited with our friends from Seattle.

The next morning I was lounging in bed (I was writing) when Flight came in to give me the morning report. First he informed me that he learned why the lawn is so lush. Thinking I knew where he was going, I sat up and immediately asked, “Oh no, are they spraying chemicals right NOW?” Pause, “No, not chemicals. Sprinklers.” That took a moment to register and I realized we’d left all our fabric camp chairs out. “Shoot. Are the chairs all soaked?” “Well, sorta. There’s ice on all the seats.” !!! It had been a little chilly sleeping with the windows open…

Next he tells me that we are now officially in Bear Country (we’d both failed to pick up on that even given the name of the RV Park) and he’d been reviewing the precautions we should be taking.  I say “reviewing” because we’ve both been camping in bear country and should be well versed in the safety measures. For those of you new to the experience, the most important of these safeguards is to never leave any food (or anything that came into contact with food) out at your campsite, especially overnight. Oops. We left a bag with the remains of our swordfish dinner dangling from a hook on the back of Davista. All night. Knowing full well the answer my brain half formed the clueless question, “Bears don’t like fish, do they?” and I had this image pop into my head:

Flight then mentioned we also (technically) should have put the grill away. He summarized our oversight perfectly.  He growled and pantomimed his impression of a bear swatting at something before he said, “Connected to the propane tank. Pop (big hand movement). Pshshshshssh (propane leaking out of the RV tank and hose as he continues growling and swatting). What could go wrong?” Hoo boy.  Lesson learned.

City slickers.  Probably inside their rig posting on Facebook.

I don’t like to admit this, but social media did allow us to connect with some friends from our Park City days who were staying at their family cabin just outside of West Yellowstone. Facebook is good like that. When Flight uses it, because I don’t.

While our Seattle friends were exploring Yellowstone proper (they had but one day to do so), we had an “ADMIN” day, meaning we meal planned, schooled, did laundry, grocery shopped, and relaxed before reconnecting with them in the evening to see a musical production at the Playmill Theater. There are two grocery stores in West Yellowstone and, while neither is in the same ballpark as Whole Foods or Trader Joe’s, I was please to see that they had some standards:

Our Park City friends recommended one over the other and I was pretty stoked to run into them there as they, too, were replenishing their stores.  Impatient with my visiting over produce and eager to get back to camp, Keeper kept assuring me that we had everything we needed and could go now. After promising to visit more with them at the Playmill, (they too had tickets to see The Little Mermaid), I pulled myself away from our friends and returned to shopping. I asked Keeper for his patience because I had to meal plan (again) on the fly since some of the basic ingredients I had assumed we would find not be located (Who doesn’t carry chicken breasts that haven’t previously been frozen?) . Satisfied with our revised plan and all the goodies to support it, we headed back to join the fam before our night on the town.

There are so many ways The Little Mermaid can be done terribly and the potential for having to just sit through such a production was being explored by my inner doubter. I cannot say how utterly delightful the musical was. The whole presentation was fantastic – the sets (our girls excitedly identified (in louder than stage whispers) all the other Disney references in Ariel’s Grotto), the singing (dead on, I thought as I mouthed all the lyrics from the movie version), and the acting (even while on skate shoes to simulate swimming) were all brilliant. Always drawn to the characters far more interesting than the princesses, I was captivated by the portrayal of both Sebastian the Crab and Ursula the Sea Witch. Happily buoyed by the entertainment, we chatted with our Park City friends and vowed to meet them at their cabin the next day and then enjoyed dinner with our Seattle friends.

At the Slippery Otter, we learned there would be a 30-minute or so wait. The other mom turned to me and said, “I think I would like a beer.” I hadn’t realized how great that sounded and gushed my agreement in two words, “Me too.” She then turned to our husbands and said, “We’re going to have a beer.” When they moved to follow us, she clarified, “No. WE are going to have a beer. You guys can stay here with this,” gesturing to the five kids. While I’m sad to have missed Firebolt’s dance moves (maybe?), our grown up girl time was very welcomed and a rare treat on this adventure.  After dinner of bison and elk burgers, we bid our Seattle friends farewell (they were moving on to Glacier in the morning) and looked forward to seeing our Park City friends at their cabin on the lake.

Last week I received an email from Amazon to advise me that they had not heard back from the company who sourced my order of eclipse glasses and, therefore, they could not attest to the protection they may or may not provide were they to be used while staring at the sun. Roger, lawyer-speak for “if you go blind using these, it’s your own darn fault.” Well, shoot. Amazon kindly refunded my money, but we arrived at Grand Targhee without any critical protective eyewear to view the eclipse. Not good.

While I have a feeling I will lose my sight at some point in my life, I’m hoping it’s much, much later than, um, now. Believe it or not, acupuncture is a blind person’s occupation in Japan (I am not making this up), so I should be able to manage if it comes to that, but Flight really does need to be able to see to do his job. I was quite relieved to see that, because the resort was predicting 400,000 people would arrive for the event, they had plenty of proper glasses for purchase. I bought commemorative ones for our family, which we promptly donned and stared at the sun to check their efficacy. In hindsight that may not have been the best idea because maybe Grand Targhee also ordered through Amazon, but the glasses turned out to be just fine (as far as we know…). We did bring with us a couple of the Amazon pairs to potentially serve as camera filters should we try to photograph the eclipse prior to totality.

After exploring all other not-quite-the-BEST options, we circled back to hiking to the top of Peaked Mountain and I briefly wondered whether the mountain peak namers had run out of more creative options. Before we started our journey, we watched an educational video about eclipses, which was neither Panda Pop nor route planning (I’m just setting the story straight, see Flight’s picture below). My college roommate had sent me the link and we gathered around my phone to learn how the movements of the celestial bodies occasionally make totality so.

Theoretical astronomy lesson complete, lab to begin shortly…

We took the cat track most of the way up the mountain and then walked the ridgeline near the top. Keeper seemed to have no difficulty with the climb (must be all that soccer…) and easily hiked to the peak.

The girls did reasonably well, but relied on Flight to tote them for a spell once we passed a motivational 9400’ of elevation. They each asked me to carry them at various times as well, but I repeatedly assured them that the offer was extended only by their father as I had brought a whole can of nope sauce for such requests. I did, however, offer encouragement to self-propel, singing “Just keep walking, just keep walking” to Dory’s tune, which was less than enthusiastically received.

As we climbed, the view to the west grew more expansive and breathtaking, both literally and figuratively, as did my anticipation for what we might see at the top to the east. I had no idea what to expect ahead, but WoodSprite did, as she reminded me several times during our trek: “Mom, I sawll (native Maryland pronunciation – we’re trying to expunge that from both of our daughters’ lexicons) these mountains yesterday. You’ll like them.” We were at last rewarded for our hard work with this stunning view:

Behind and below us the mountain valley sprawled out showcasing the town of Driggs and beyond, striations of glacial movements past defined our view to the south, and the Tetons loomed to the east.

Spectacular landscape in every direction, it was ridiculous. I have been referring to that vista as looking at the backside of the Grand Tetons since most people view them from the east side of the range (where the National Park is – and where we’ll be next week – !!!), but, really, who’s to say which is the proper side…

Having carved their own more direct mountain path, Keeper and our friends welcomed us when we summited. I promptly sat down to regroup and tried to take it all in. As I glanced around, the doubter in me offered, “Well, at least the hike was amazing should totality not live up to the hype.” Flight and I have since agreed that, even without the eclipse, that hike landed solidly in our top five favorites ever.

We claimed our vantage point and, after getting situated, we eagerly donned our glasses to check on the moon’s progress. Before the eclipse I was a little fuzzy on the whole event’s time line. I knew that totality was going to be little more than two minutes long where we were, and that I could grasp, but I really didn’t comprehend that the entire eclipsing process would take hours to unfold. More specifically, I got it intellectually, but I didn’t know how that would translate into reality. Initially paranoid about missing any bit of the experience and eager to engage the kids, I immediately threw out “Ooooh, look kids, the sun’s got a little bite out of it.” “Oh, wow. It does.” “Do you see how the moon is moving in front of the sun?” Pause, “Not really.” Hmmmm… Our first few minutes of intent eclipse observation assured us we could relax a little as the main event was going to take a while to manifest.

I entertained a passing thought, “I should have brought my knitting – or at least a deck of cards.” Idle time is tricky for me. Being still and listening is especially so – a character trait I hope (maybe?) to soften on this journey. We struck up conversation with a lovely couple from Driggs who briefly gave us a list of local area must-sees. Keeper actually said he was kinda bored. I tried to keep my inner 11 year old (who sits next to the doubter) from echoing his thoughts. “Mom, why is it going so slowly?” Initially exasperated and then, after a deep breath, I replied, “Because it’s the moon. Please try to be patient.” I shifted around to get a few more panoramic shots. “Hey, Babe, you’re standing in front of my (precariously perched iPhone on) time lapse.” Oops. No wonder it focused on not the sun – my apologies, Flight! Eclipse check again. “Hey, Mom, it’s like an orange crescent moon. A little one!” Excellent – now we’re getting somewhere.

As the light started shifting, the temperature dropped. Both the changes in light and the chill were barely perceptible at first, and we kept donning our glasses to make sure the moon was still making progress. The doubter kept downplaying the magnitude of what we might actually see, Operation Expectation Management well underway. At some point, when there was only a sliver of sun visible through our glasses, the light took on an eerie, otherworldly hue and everyone donned the extra clothing we had each discarded on the hike to the summit.

The temperature dropped nearly 40^o when we were swallowed by the darkness. Beyond the wispy echo of my breath I could see Venus and a handful of stars. Witnessing twilight barrel across the valley and then engulf us in totality touched in me something very deep and very primal.

I instantly bonded with every person on Peaked Mountain, sharing in something I couldn’t quite name. Simultaneously tearing up and grinning like a loon, I so desperately wished I could open every pore of my being to soak up the experience in its entirety. I’m again riddled with goose bumps as I type this.

And then it was gone.  As muted daylight returned and steadily grew in its intensity, I couldn’t help but feel the profound loss of something wondrous even though I knew was never mine to begin with.

In preparation for viewing this once-in-a-lifetime event, I’d read about “Eclipse Chasers” and in my mind I had dismissed those people as being something akin to the groupies we met on our Def Leppard cruise (that’s a story for another time…). After seeing totality first person, I get it now. Totally. I may even have already looked up where we might catch the next one (July 2^nd 2019 and December 14^th, 2020 – Chile anyone?). Although these pictures can’t possibly capture the enormity of the experience, this is the best I could do with a filter-free iPhone.

With the return to some semblance of normal lighting and after a brief moment to gain concurrence among the group, it seemed only minutes later that we headed back down the mountain in a heady stupor. Keeper, Firebolt, and our friends took off at swift clip and Flight tried to ride the middle distance between them and me and WoodSprite before he, too, disappeared on the trail ahead of us.

As WoodSprite and I ambled down the mountain, often holding hands so she wouldn’t let me fall, I tried desperately to catalog details of the eclipse in my memory bank. I was thankful her shorter legs made for a slower descent and our progress took longer still because we kept stopping to keep an eye on the (d?) eclipse.

A couple hundred feet above the resort base, we could no longer see the moon through our eclipse glasses, but presumed she was steadily continuing on her path as we progressed down the remainder of our own.

As Flight described, not unlike being subjected to the Weather Channel’s apocalyptic hype about whatever storm might be brewing, we were convinced that there would be masses of people on top of people joining us to observe the total solar eclipse at Grand Targhee. The lack of traffic during our inbound leg had our eyebrows raised rendering us unsure of what to expect upon our arrival.

The spot we were allocated in the wide-open gravel parking lot was snuggled in between a handful of other RVs, however we were encouraged to park as close as possible to a fairly steep drop off and our newest best friends. There were only two ways to park Davista in our cramped space, the bow facing the drop-off or the stern. Either way, leveling our house was not going happen. “Why is this important?” you might ask. Aside from having Flight rolling downhill and crowd me while we sleep, dishwashing evolutions require considerably more care (usually more than I can manage) lest the tops of the kitchenette cushions get a little damp with runaway water.

We opted for facing the drop off, which meant the front wheels were off the ground entirely and we were resting solely on the forward jacks. That’s just fine when you’ve got plenty of flat ground around you, but it made me less comfortable only 10’ from the drop-off (I know I sound like Nemo’s Dad). When I expressed concern about this observation, Flight reminded me that the parking brake is set on the rear wheels which were solidly on the ground so, even if we came off the jacks unexpectedly (stranger things have happened), we wouldn’t venture too far. I wasn’t convinced by that logic and suggested we park about a foot away from and centered on one of the poles sunk deeply into the parking lot perimeter used to identify the drop-off even when under many feet of winter snow. “That should keep us from rolling off,” I thought to myself. Chances are we won’t budge, but that doesn’t keep me from exploring all unlikely possibilities.

I should back up and describe what’s (I think) at the root of this perhaps seemingly unreasonable fear. Some of the sequelae lingering from the near-fatal car crash Flight and I were in 18 years ago challenge me with vertigo and spacial disorientation.   The human body is an incredible piece of gear that can adapt to almost anything and mine is no exception.  I am very thankful to be as functional as I am, however some of my system’s post-trauma quirks have required further adaptation.

To make sense of where we are in relation to the world, our brains are given three major inputs: visual cuing (meaning anything we see), information from the semicircular canals in the ears (to provide sort of a dead reckoning based on perceived motion), and proprioceptors in the joints (to tell us where our limbs are in space). The way these three inputs are interrelated can be tested when you have consumed too much alcohol. Should you find yourself a little in your cups (and I am not advocating such behavior), crawl into bed (after getting a ride home), and close your eyes. Alcohol reduces your body’s ability to make sense of the semicircular canals’ input, so when you are then at rest and have no visual cuing, you will have no idea where your system is and you’ll begin to spin. If you do get the bed spins, you can continue with the experiment by putting your foot on the floor. The new input from the proprioceptors in your joints should be enough to override the other two inputs and you should stop spinning. Should being the operative word.

I learned so many things studying bioengineering in graduate school.

In the past few years I learned that the neural connectivity between my inner ears and my brain was severed in the Jeep accident and never regrew, so I have been relying on what my eyes tell me to know where I am. Since my semicircular canals no longer provide information to my brain, if I am still and close my eyes, I will fall over. Makes closing my eyes during yoga quite the spectator sport. !!! Usually my visual cuing is enough to keep me steady on my feet, however when that input is absent (especially in the dark or underwater) I will readily lose my bearings, which is uncomfortable at best and can be panic inducing at its worst – all without the benefit of first savoring a good single-malt.

The only way I can think to describe it is this… Perhaps you have found yourself sitting in a parking spot with the engine running? You put the car in reverse and you have your foot solidly on the brake while maybe contemplating whether to go to CostCo or Trader Joe’s next when the car next to you starts to back out. Concerned that it is your car that is in motion, most people have the tendency to apply even more pressure to the brakes but quickly recognize the correct source of perceived movement and easily laugh off the fleeting discombobulation. I get that jacked up feeling all the blessed time. Because I find that disorientation incredibly disconcerting, I don’t like to introduce potential unexpected motion into anything. Knowing that we weren’t going more than a foot should the jacks give way and the parking brake not hold was very comforting – thus my gratitude for the enormous steel pole to keep us from sliding to oblivion.

After we made camp, level or no, we were happy to reconnect with some dear friends and marveled at how well our seven kids played together, even while some of them weren’t feeling so hot.

The next morning, while Flight and Keeper went for a mountain bike ride with some of the other men folk, I went on a short hike with our girls.   The girls responsibly asked for water along the way and the irresponsible adult in the group had neglected to bring any, which was kinda the opposite of Flight’s and Keeper’s provisioning experience for their ride. Also popular was the request for Chapstick, which I also didn’t bring. This omission, however, was planned as instead I brought our own wildly popular (in our family) lip balm concoction. You can learn to make your very own here – highly recommended and way better than Burt’s Bees!

We all met up again as a gaggle at the base of the mountain where Keeper tried out bungie-cord assisted trampoline operations. Witnessing her brother execute double flips, Firebolt flat out said, “no way” was she doing that (!) and WoodSprite suggested she might ONLY consider taking a turn after further observing Keeper’s turn. As there was a bit of a wait, I purchased two bags of mining slurry, which the girls adroitly panned at an interactive flume and uncovered hunks of various gemstones, some quite sizable. $20 well spent.

We headed back to Davista to change into long pants and closed-toed shoes for our two-hour trail ride. A short amble to stables revealed some interesting posturing among the kids. When asked if they’d ever ridden before, both Keeper and Firebolt enthusiastically said yes, I’m sure mentally referring to their recent five-minute (each) stint in the saddle while at the Ingalls Homestead only days before, after which they likely fancied themselves quite the experts. Roger, perspective.

We decided to forego riding helmets as cowboys don’t wear them and in a text exchange Flight noted our Dutch friends would be mortified (Ik bied u mijn oprechte verontschuldigingen aan). The ride was hot and dry (and hot) and I was thankful for the Camelbak I toted.

Keeper and Firebolt easily managed their respective steeds and thoroughly enjoyed their first trail ride, although I’m not sure why they insisted on making crazy faces for the post-dismount picture. If anyone should have worn an unnatural expression it was she who was a wee bit sore having stood a little far from the saddle – and an English one at that – for more than 15 years.

We enjoyed some gourmet burgers en famille and made our way to the other two families to bask in the anticipation bubbling throughout the campsite. A neighboring camper popped over to show us his recent artwork and share in some wine. Even Santa made an appearance to distribute candy – didn’t know he owned a pair of glove shoes. !!!

The kids were comfortable enough to want to ride bikes at all hours and were disappointed when we reined in their enthusiasm after dusk. Actually, we just encouraged them to do a night hike (on their own) instead and they seemed okay with that alternative.

As Flight mentioned, there was ample discussion about picking the BEST spot from which to view the eclipse. Flight’s Dad is notorious for conscientiously evaluating each and every available site at any campground to make sure the best one is found, so as to maximize the potential fun. Good enough simply isn’t. The apple has not fallen far from the tree and Flight has really been struggling with the BEST option. My vista checklist is pretty simple really: 1) hike to somewhere higher than the base (8000’), preferably with a killer view, and 2) be together as a family to observe the eclipse.

I’m good wherever that takes us…

I have a rare moment to try to catch up on some writing and will try to make the most of it.

Flight well and thoroughly covered our stretch from Spearfish, SD, to Bozeman, MT, including our brief overnight stint in Sheridan, WY, but (as per norm) I will add my two cents on the unfolding adventure. Spearfish, SD, was beautiful and I am very thankful we saw it in the wake of and not during the Sturgis Rally.

The highlight of our trek to Bozeman was seeing Devil’s Tower. Native American stories about the rock’s formation involve variations on a theme of children being chased by a giant bear who then pray for help. Deliverance comes when either a tree stump or the ground grows into the enormous tower, moving them out of harm’s way. Foiled, the angry (and still hungry) bear jumps and claws at the tower trying to retrieve his elusive prey, and the resulting deeply gouged scratch marks are what uniquely define Devil’s Tower.

Or maybe it’s an alien mothership embarkation/debarkation point. You choose. Apparently I need to see Close Encounters again, because Flight’s absolutely correct – I remember little about the movie other than the musical exchange. I can still play those notes on the keyboard, if ever needed.

 

 

 

Although this picture is one of my favorites from the stop, I prefer the selfie I took of me and Flight (see his post below) because it almost looks like he’s wearing Devil’s Tower as an offset cowboy hat. If I had noticed that sooner, I’d have more appropriately posed that shot. Ah well, maybe next time…

My experience of Sheridan, WY, was exactly as Flight described – it was a fine place to do laundry and park Davista overnight, but it didn’t make the Must Revisit List (ever). The managers of the KOA were kind and offered our kids free mini-golf (it was play-by-donation) and I was pleased that our kids insisted on making a donation (from their own coffers) before they played. After our unremarkable stay in Sheridan, we eagerly made our way to Bozeman.

I, too, was really impressed with Bozeman for all the reasons Flight cited. One of the general impressions I have of our country, given the limited exposure to date, is that pretenses tend to fall away the farther you venture from our nation’s capitol. I know that some of the bigger cities, regardless of longitude, may be teeming with pretentiousness, but for the most part folks seem to get easier going as you move west – and that was typified by Bozeman. All whom we observed seemed eager to thrive doing whatever best fed their respective souls and appeared entirely uninterested in anyone else’s thoughts on the matter.  I was tempted to join them.

Our exploration of the main downtown area was after dinner and, unfortunately (or not?), many of the shops were closed. Frankly, I was okay with only window-shopping, as our present storage options are pretty limited, and, after a couple blissful hours of wallowing in the Bozeman Hot Springs, heading directly to the Montana Ale Works and Sweet Peaks Ice Cream Shop was exactly what we needed. Delicious eats and libations (Reverend Nat’s Cider – are you kidding me?!) at the former sated both the inner foodie and beer (and cider) geek and the latter’s dessert offerings were simply sublime.   They have another Sweet Peaks in Missoula, should your travels take you there first.

Our last stop before heading back to the Davista was at the local Co-Op, which was brilliantly appointed. Flight and I had previously flowed out our meals for our impending stay at Grand Targhee where we would be entirely off the grid. We purchased all that we needed for grilling and Instant Pot sorcery (we’ll have to run the generator for that luxury – and be sure to not use the microwave simultaneously lest we blow a fuze) as well as some energy bars in anticipation of our mountain hikes. I’m eager to set eyes on the Grand Tetons, as I’ve not yet made the opportunity to do so.

Unfortunately Bozeman Hot Springs is closed for bathing on Saturday until the evening (apparently that’s maintenance day), so we’ll simply pack up and leisurely head south in the morning.  Seems rather unceremonious given it’s the final stretch of our travels before we arrive to observe THE BIG EVENT.

When deploying with the Navy back in the day, just weeks before heading home there were command-wide discussions about how to reenter life. Although I didn’t have a spouse to return to yet, I very specifically remember the advice given by the chaplain briefing us: Don’t go back into your household and assume your old role in your family.   Just as you have been changed by your deployment, so have your loved ones. Your family has been managing just fine without you and you will need to work together to reestablish your family dynamics.

Brilliant advice.

Although we are on a deployment of a very different sort and we’re just at the start, Flight’s days away from us number 9 of our first 15 underway, and the initial few we were all together were thick with the haze of our departure. Having just shown that I can handle this deployment thing all by myself (even repositioning this massive land craft) has placed us both in a changed mindset in a very short amount of time, and we have had an unusually tricky time trying to catch up with the change. I use “unusually tricky” because Flight and I have both become fairly adept at recognizing any uneasy space between us and pointing out to the other, “Hey, I feel like we’re not on the same page here. Can we talk about _____________?” In the wake of our six-day separation and Davista’s successful relocation, we might as well have still been in different time zones and neither of us said a word.

Compounding that lack of communication was a touch of senior officeritis. Maybe? I’m not sure just what that means, but it seems like a good description. Let me back up a little bit…

Entering into marriage a little later in life, Flight and I had each developed our own (mostly) competent way of doing things. Both of our “ways” to tackle most things will usually work well enough, but we each have technique items we prefer. In Naval Aviation, there are checklist items that are mandatory to accomplish according to standard operating procedures (SOP), yet “technique items” are just that, preferences on how to best accomplish non-mandatory tasks.   To cut down on confusion when training junior aviators there is always a distinction made between the two. Some senior aviators forget the distinction and technique items are adopted as SOP (I actually blame my genetic stock for such an inclination and not my aviation roots). Regardless of the task at hand, Flight is usually gracious enough to remind me when I confuse the two by simply asking “Is that a technique item?”

Only one more aviation reference in this post, I promise, as it is entirely germane to the current communication soup sandwich Flight and I have been savoring. In multi-piloted aircraft, whenever control of the aircraft shifts from one pilot to the other, there is a three-way change of control. The pilot assuming control of the aircraft says, “I have the controls.” The pilot relinquishing control says, “You have the controls.” And the pilot who now has the controls says again, “I have the controls.” Although it may sound as though we’re part of the Department of Redundancy Department, clarifying who’s flying the plane at such changeovers removes any ambiguity of piloting responsibility and has saved many lives. As I observed when we departed Brimley SP, establishing and following checklists (so as to not drive away from a campsite still plugged in) is critical. At least as important is revisiting who’s in charge of what prior to executing said checklist to keep us running smartly on the road (so neither of us assumes the other completed a checklist item like disconnecting us from the campsite’s electrical supply without actually having done so).

You might think that with all this common sense training during our collective time in aviation and 15+ years of marriage, we’d have this working-together-as-a-crew thing wired by now. For the most part, yes, but, apparently, not always so. Instead of discussing this new development, namely that I was also a newly minted Davista Mission Commander and we were each wrestling with what that meant, we oddly defaulted to the responsibilities we held prior to Flight’s six-day absence and both resented the implications. In fact, we never even discussed any alternatives to this established (?) SOP. Shame on us, we absolutely should know better.

So, as gracious as Flight’s post is about our trek across the Dakotas, he neglected to mention his frustration with doing the whole drive himself. Our lack of communication came to a head after this brutally long day of driving. Flight had offered another dawn patrol departure to book through Minnesota and South Dakota to get us to Spearfish, SD, where I have a friend from recruiting days. Operating under the assumption (Navy life lesson #2: Never Assume) that Flight has always preferred to drive whatever vehicle we’ve been in regardless of the distance (he is a pilot, one who has often touted, “what do I do for a living?” when previously questioned on planning such long (car only) drives), I figured he was happy to assume the controls out of Minneapolis and I gladly took up the right seat thinking, “Great – I can get some writing done.”

As the miles ticked by, Flight was getting more and more frustrated. Because I had already proven I was adept at driving Davista (had I?), he was waiting for me to offer to spell him for a period. Which I didn’t. In the 20+ years I have known Flight, if he has needed help with driving, he has always asked. He hadn’t, so I was happy to keep writing, trying to capture what we’d been up to in his absence, yet his growing resentment was compounding my own. For six days, he was off having grown up alone time and had ample time to write post after post, while I was pioneering this deployment thing in the wilds of the UP.   So, on the one hand, I felt as though I earned some quiet time to write. On the other, I did manage a homeport change without him, how come he hasn’t asked me to drive? Does he not trust me (I, ahem, haven’t always been the best at driving top heavy vehicles…)?

Not a word exchanged.

Adding to the frustration was our individual understanding of the plan of the day (POD). To break up the day, we had planned a couple of educational stops. The first was in DeSmet, SD, at the Laura Ingalls Wilder Homestead. The girls practiced doing laundry the pioneer way (maybe they’ll assist with ours now?) and decided they would prefer a cabin to a sod house (and not just because that’s where the kittens were sleeping). Keeper enjoyed the riding adventure as much as the girls did and we all marveled at the pioneer “Packing List” (200 pounds of bacon?!). They also had a medicinal garden I coveted. I could have spent the rest of the day there. And Flight was itching to get back on the road.

Our next stop we missed by 15 minutes (maybe because I was stuck in the Ingalls Homestead gardens?). We hoped to see the Minuteman Missile National Historic Site, but arrived just after they closed.   Probably just as well. Although we didn’t get to see the Delta 1 Launch Control Center, just driving to the site spurred a “Deterrence vs. Disarmament” discussion with Keeper, which led to listening to Dan Carlin’s Hardcore History Podcast, “Destroyer of Worlds.” Highly recommended, if you have 6 hours of activity to accompany a podcast.

It was not until after we got to Spearfish, dined and visited with my dear friend before saying farewell, and then put the monkeys to bed, that we were able to discuss the day’s unfolding. Both then and in writing this post, I have come up with the following lessons learned (I’m sure Flight will add his own): 1) come up with and discuss a POD to appropriately manage expectations for everybody involved, including the kids; 2) clearly delineate who’s in charge of what for said POD and revisit turnover procedures, if necessary; 3) communicate often while executing POD to smooth the way forward; and 4) pop a bottle of wine and debrief regularly.  Shouldn’t be too tricky, right?

While teaching at the Naval Academy, I really enjoyed discussing peer leadership with midshipmen, as that’s perhaps the most challenging aspect of being a junior officer. As easy as it might be to just avoid doing so while at USNA, I would recommend that they dig in and do the hard work to develop that skill set now as it will serve them well for the rest of their lives. I would always cite being married to another Commander as a great example of using peer leadership in every day life. Flight and I have each become pretty decent at recognizing situations where the other’s expertise exceeds our own and we (mostly sometimes) defer to the other’s savvy.  We are still figuring out this Davista deployment thing and, while some of our respective “ways” are seamless transitions from non-mobile living, much of it is well outside our individual and collective bailiwicks. As you may imagine, it can occasionally be tricky having two senior officers in a marriage and this deployment is helping us to refine our operations – I look forward to seeing where it takes us.

 

 

Wed (09 Aug) –

After we dropped Flight off at the airport, we headed into Marquette proper to explore. First, we had brekkie at Donckers, Marquette’s premier candy store (they have a delightful deli above the incredible sweets shop), and I enjoyed the best breakfast sandwich I have ever eaten. Seriously. Instead of being filled with peppermint patties and Doncker’s trademark caramels, which would have been equally scrumptious but maybe after dinner, my sandwich was brimming with hummus, goat cheese, tomato, avocado, ham, and topped with an organic egg – all on house-made focaccia goodness. Words cannot do it justice. The kids went for French toast and hot cakes, but my savory choice was perfect.

I’m not sure how I managed it, but over breakfast I convinced the kids we should check out the Marquette Regional History Museum next.   Unsure how well or for how long the exhibits might capture their attention, I was very pleasantly surprised by how much we all enjoyed the experience. The smaller rotating exhibit was on fly-fishing (something we hope to try on our journey), and I was impressed with the amount of information that was easily communicated in a relatively small space. The girls completed a scavenger hunt as they learned about the local area. The bonus was that the museum was hosting a series of day camp groups, which meant there were a group of play actors discussing the exhibits and we were able to listen in. I spoke with one fellow who was portraying the local blacksmith, whose role was loosely based on his grandfather’s life. My favorite (of course) was the discussion of herbal remedies used in the early 20^th century led by a retired pharmacist.

Hungered by our hours of exploration, we sought out another eating establishment to fill our bellies. As tempted as I was to return to Donckers, we instead chose The Delft Bistro, not due to the Dutch connection but because it boasted a great menu in an intriguing venue. Transformed from a 1914 movie theater, The Delft Bistro continues to show movies while providing delicious fare. The kids were thrilled to be able to watch a movie while enjoying their lunch (not something we usually encourage), and their preoccupation offered me the opportunity to plan out the rest of our afternoon and contemplate the rest of our time in da UP sans Flight.

Happily sated, we walked down W Washington St and found a couple of treasures along the way. As we meandered we found Taiga Games and were suckered in by the largest jigsaw puzzle I have ever seen:

 

Apparently it measures 17’x 6’ when complete. !!! We chose one a little smaller, 1/32 the size to be exact, and a roll-up puzzle mat in which to store it. We also spent considerable time browsing in Book World. Each with a Donckers’ treat, a new book, and a goodie from the museum store, we headed to the Suburu and returned to base, still unidentified mission complete.

Thursday (10 Aug)

In gathering research for the homeschooling aspect of our adventure, a good friend shared that it’s important to build in some down time for every few days of experiential learning to allow the kids to process their experiences. Wise advice, one I followed today. We spent the day reading, relaxing, riding bikes, and enjoying some beachtime.

Friday (11 Aug)

Friday was rainy and made for a perfect laundry day – woo hoo! Although there are some larger RVs that have a small washer and dryer aboard, ours does not. Fortunately. I had read in most places that it’s far better use of limited resources (water and electricity) just to go to a laundromat. Where else can you get five loads of laundry done in the time it takes to do one? Works for me. It offered us the time to knock out our homeschool efforts for the day and gave us another excuse to further explore Marquette.

After lunch at Donckers (couldn’t stay away), we retrieved a lost item from the game store before going to the Upper Peninsula Children’s Museum. Although Keeper was less enthusiastic about this part of our excursion (“Mom, this is for LITTLE KIDS.”), the girls were immediately enthralled. Not unlike its cousin a few blocks away, this museum was incredibly well appointed.   I lost track of how many alcoves there were (and occasionally the girls), each with a different subject to explore and presented in an ingenious way. Curious about digestion? You can pretend to be lunch, scale a climbing wall in the stomach and take a slide down through the intestines.   Interested in where stuff disappears to when you flush the toilet? Take a slide down a toilet into a sewer system where you can learn about the water table. Again, brilliant. While Keeper watched YouTube science videos and the girls ardently explored, I chatted with a lovely Yooper who gave us some good gouge on how to spend our remaining time in da UP.

Bribing the girls to leave with a promise to get frozen yogurt, we headed back to W. Washington St. After a quick stop at Taiga Games (Firebolt had left a toy in the game store, which was just where she’d left it two days before), I made good on my bribe.

Our last stop in town was my favorite. The local Co-Op thrilled my foodie self. Having worked our way through much of our last Trader Joe’s run in Detroit, I purchased both staples and sundries to refill our larder and we headed home after a satisfyingly productive day in Marquette.

Saturday (12 Aug) –

Our excursion of the day involved a two-hour drive out to Kitch-Iti-Kipi or The Big Spring, which is near Manistique.   The girls had a trickier time of it having lost the privilege of using anything with a screen. To entertain us during the drive, I asked Firebolt to read Little House in the Big Woods aloud, in preparation for a possible visit to the Laura Ingalls Wilder Homestead in DeSmet, SD, should we opt to go that route when we zip out to Grand Targhee to view the eclipse.

Although finding the “Mirror of Heaven” (title bestowed by early Native Americans) was not unlike completing a treasure hunt without a map (have I mentioned the sketchy cell-phone coverage in da UP?) and unlabeled landmarks, the long trek was certainly worth it. The underwater springs feed this gorgeous pool over 10,000 gallons of chilly fresh water every minute. !!!

After waiting in line for a stretch (apparently we’re not the only ones who chose to visit the springs on a summer Saturday), during which we were enlightened by a very knowledgeable volunteer guide, we boarded the observation craft. It’s a basic pontoon with a large hole cut out of the center to watch both the vast fish population and the springs as they gush, and it is child powered (= brilliant!) to traverse the pool and return.

We opted not to make our way to the nearby mining ghost town for three reasons: 1) Woodsprite could not be convinced that the vacant town was not occupied by ghosts; 2) “nearby” ended up being 45 minutes in the opposite direction from Van Riper SP; and 3) the day was wearing on and we needed to get back to make dinner before the park hosted Showers and S’mores. The staff at Van Riper had a scavenger hunt (two in one week!) to learn about our solar system and the girls made Sky Wheels to orient themselves to the constellations while they enjoyed their s’mores.

The Perseid Shower put on quite a show and, being tucked away in the wilds of Michigan, there wasn’t a lot of ambient light to compete. Chilled to the bone, we trundled off to bed at 11ish at last.

Sun (13 Aug) –

We had a bit of a lie in this morning owing to our late night. This morning I spoke with Flight about his rejoining the family. He is scheduled to land from his last flight into Boston at 6 a.m. tomorrow after a brutal red eye, yet wouldn’t be able to get to us in Marquette until 11ish tomorrow night – and that’s if he made the flight. Hmmmm…

The better options, namely his flying into Duluth or Minneapolis, would have him arriving mid-afternoon. That sounded much better to me, the only problem is either of those more palatable options would necessitate my growing a set of ovaries and driving our 50’+ circus train there to meet him. I think I need to sit with that, maybe review the checklist a few times and do a feasibility study. And drink some scotch. Sorry, Copper Harbor and Isle Royale National Park, we’ll catch you another time, I have to brood…

So, in the last post I originally melded two days together and wanted to get my story straight.  Our first night in da UP, we stayed in Grimley State Park on the shores of Lake Superior.  Before we departed, the kind camp hosts recommended we stay in Baraga State Park, which is also on Lake Superior, when we let them know of our upcoming plans.  They both gushed about the park’s beauty and access to Copper Harbor, which they assured me was not to be missed.  We had been up late the last few nights doing research and found that there were only two campsites in the UP that had room for us for all six days of Flight’s impending absence: Baraga SP and Van Riper SP.  We had only a few critical qualifications: 1) we had to be close enough to Marquette to get Flight to the airport to commute to Boston early in the morning to start his next trip; 2) be centrally located enough so that the kids and I could reasonably explore the area in his absence; and 3) be more than 1.1 miles from a maximum security prison.  Baraga State Park fell out of the running for failing to meet all three of these requirements and we happily made our reservations at Van Riper State Park.

From Brimley SP, we got underway and, because we hadn’t clearly discussed who was running what part of the checklist, we made a few rookie moves when we omitted a couple of important steps (NB: It’s good to have a “Getting Underway” checklist, yet it is far less effective if you fail to reference it while actually getting underway).  The most embarrassing of these was when I pulled Davista out of our spot (Flight was driving the Toad until we found enough straight roadway to hook them up) to much fanfare from our former neighbors.  I waved and wasn’t sure why they were making such a commotion until I caught “…STILL PLUGGED IN!!” through the window.  Not anymore.  Yep, did that.  Strong work, Navy, strong work.

The second oops wasn’t too bad (or maybe my pride was still stinging from the first one)…  We pulled up to dump the tanks and a kind fellow (also dumping unmentionables but in the next lane over) let me know that one of our vents was open.  We have three vents that crank open for increased airflow, and, when open, the portal covering of each extends about a foot above the top of Davista.  These wind catchers should most certainly be closed while moving or they might be ripped off in the wind and leave gaping holes in the roof (that’s bad).  Roger, use the checklist.  That’s why we have one.  Appropriate tanks dumped, fresh water replenished, and vents closed, we sheepishly pulled out to begin our journey to Van Riper SP.

Our first stop was at Oswald’s Bear Ranch, a location that rescues black bears separated from their mothers too young to make it in the wild or those from families who have taken them in as pets only to be overwhelmed when they outgrow their expectations. Like that of most zoo-like experiences, my reaction to this place alternated between awe (where else are you going to be able to feed and pet a bear cub?) and a touch of sadness as I projected my (human) perception of their plight.   Moving on…

We stopped again near Pictured Rocks to give the kids (and me) another look at Lake Superior’s shoreline. We were all surprised and enchanted by the red and very fine sand beaches – I had no idea that lined some of the beaches of Lake Superior. My only visual data point of the Lake Superior’s shores was taken from a puzzle our family had done a couple years ago showing a gorgeous rocky shoreline – I guess the coast line varies widely around the Lake.  Who knew?

We also did a short hike through the wetlands along a boardwalk and learned about the entire circle of life in that region.  For some reason, after reading The Martian with Flight and then seeing the movie, Keeper has glommed onto striking his interpretation of “The Fonz” pose at every opportunity.

During the remainder of our trek to our next port visit, Flight and I started second guessing our decision to go to VRSP.  We tried to come up with some specific criteria for staying, but realized we really didn’t have a better option and would just have to make the most of it.  Flight asked if I’d be okay if there was no cell phone coverage in this remote part of the UP, meaning we’d have zero communication during his 6-day absence.  With more bravado certainly than I felt, “Sure – we won’t be at the park all day every day.  We’ll be out exploring. I’m sure we can make it work. And, besides, I can move us to another campground if need be.”  As if.

At last we made our way to Van Riper, noting the turn off to the airport as we’d be seeing that at zero dark thirty the next morning, and breathed a collective sigh of relief.  Our new spot (number (94-2) if you are taking notes) was probably the best one in the campsite.  We were steps away from the new bathhouse, a short bike ride/hike to four different playgrounds (two of which were on the beach), and 4 bars of LTE – WOO HOO!   Flight, you’re cleared for departure…