Thursday, July 15 – 1:30 pm
(Four hours until the Great Bear)
What you are about to read is one of the very special accounts for me. Every time we have had the opportunity to tell this story since this landmark day July 15, 2021, I cannot help but feel, as Robert Frost wrote, that I will long be telling of this ‘with a sigh.’
You will not feel, perhaps, the pauses that come at the retelling of these moments, but they are there, nonetheless. Some stories cannot be told without some deep breaths and careful pauses.
So, we begin now, to tell the story of my friend -- In his search of a Rose.
—Hikers on the trail
Among many powerful events of this climatic day, this Thursday is marked by the numerous people we would meet on the trail, each one coming with their own compelling story.
After Todd and I had separated in the early morning hours, he moved on at a rapid pace. He later calculated that he had advanced perhaps as many as three miles ahead of me. It is still amazing to think of the strength he continued to have, even now on his fifth hard day of toil.
Thursday was a long, hot day of hiking for us both. Even at his quick pace, he did not reach the campsite until early evening. I don’t know how many miles exactly Todd could cover hiking at his quick pace for nine hours, but I expect it was well over ten miles. Whatever the number was, I would hike the same number, minus one mile. You’ll learn about that one mile a little later.
—the first encounter
It was early afternoon when I ascended the mountainside and came to a landing at the top, a lookout over the beautiful wilderness below us. I am thankful that I was able to pause and record with the pen some of these key moments. (It's funny that I think I had the only pen in the entire quartet who set out on this trip. It came in handy more than once.)
It was there that I wrote the note we shared in the previous chapter. I do not know how long I rested at that picturesque spot, but I had been there a while when I had my first encounter of the day. A hiker from Alaska by the name of Moffit came up the trail to the place I was. I didn't hear him coming at first, because you could not see down the sloped trail, and he shocked me when he slipped up on me. It was the first person I had seen on the trail in forty-eight hours. My first thought was that it was a bear coming up the trail. Those thoughts never get far from your mind, as you see.
Mr. Moffitt proved to be quite a gentleman. (Out of respect, I’ll only use his last name here.) He paused from his own journey for half an hour or more to assist me and direct me on. I am sure that whenever one of these experienced hikers ran across me sitting against a rock or tree or even hiking slowly down the trail that they could tell things didn’t look quite right. It’s hard to hide that level of fatigue, I know.
During our lengthy visit, Mr. Moffitt drew a map to show me the path I would need to take to get to the Thoroughfare. After he drew it, I jotted down every landmark on the map and as many details as I could, because I might have to follow that map until its end. There was no guarantee that Todd and I would find each other again.
—The strait, narrow way
The map directed me to continue hiking east for two-and-one-half miles until I would cross over Snake River. Not far past the river, I would turn back north and go four miles to reach Surprise Creek Camp. I remembered that this is the camp to which the Hogans directed us on Tuesday evening. I still am not sure what happened to the trail that day.
I knew that Todd likely would not have stopped there, because we had hoped to get further than that on this Thursday. The camp was some distance east of the trail; and when I came to that point later in the day, I never saw any indication of the camp. Perhaps I missed a sign, but I saw no sign of any kind the entire day – for that matter, we had not seen a sign since Monday.
After passing Surprise Creek Camp, though, I would need to turn back to the West and go three miles until I reached Beaver Creek, these landmarks being part the Heart Lake Trail we were scheduled to travel from the beginning. Mr. Moffitt pointed out that once I came to Beaver Creek, it would be eight more miles to the entrance of the Yellowstone Thoroughfare.
As rough as the map looked – written on the backside of an unopened jumbo band-aid – it actually gave me the best directions I had seen the entire trip. Over the last two days I had tried to be more cognizant of our navigation so I could not only help Todd with directions as needed and – perhaps more importantly – I could use the sun to guide me north and west in the event I got lost. As the day proceeded, getting lost again was a very real possibility. We were not nearly out of the woods yet.
Mr. Moffitt and I talked along for quite a while. We told me he had retired some years ago from doing biological work (He had a Ph.D in biology and worked many years in Alaska). He wasn’t married but had two sisters who worried themselves to death over him.
“They think I’m crazy,” he said, and we both laughed. He presently was several weeks into a hike of the Great Continental Divide, so they had their reasons to be a bit concerned, I guess. I told him I had some folks back home who think I’m a little crazy, too, especially at the moment.
—‘In-Search’
I am most sure the Lord had a special role for my friend at that key juncture of our journey. For that, I am so thankful. One task he performed faithfully was to send a message for me to the amazin’ blonde. He had a device called an ‘In-Search’ that could pick up GPS signals even out in the remote wilderness, as long, he said, “as it could face to the south.” He was glad to send the message, so I asked if I could just type it in. I was able to retrieve the exact message some time later when we arrived home. It read,
Hey, hon, we are fine, but tired. Lost for a couple of days, back on trail…13 m from
here to road -should make by Sat—call Roy-no help needed-luvU
That note came in to Marilyn at 2:46 p.m., which would have been 1:46 p.m. ‘Yellowstone’ time. I was only allotted about a hundred characters, so I had to shorten it just to that. I would learn later that there had been some chaos at home ever since the Hogans called and relayed messages and their own concerns. Since that point, she and Staci Perrin were in regular contact and were leaning on each other to share their growing worries.
In addition to the message, Mr. Moffitt was able to send our exact location as well, which was helpful. It would have been critical had we lost our way again. So, in a second message, Mr. Moffitt himself wrote:
Going on Trail Creek Trail along the north shore of Heart Lake and the Heart Lake
Trail to the South Park Entrance Road (12.7 miles). Inreachlink.com/3NCRV4B
(44.2443,-110.4446) – ______ Moffitt
Continuing on to a third message, he added,
Then ~ 10 miles along road to South Park Entrance …
Following that message, again, was a long list of ‘Inreach’ numbers.
Mr. Moffitt’s work was invaluable in making sure we were on the right trail and alerting those back home as well as Roy and Randy on the outside where to start the search if we lost our way again.
As he neared the end of his directions and encouragement, I felt I needed to know something. So, at the best time I could find, I asked him,
“Mr. Moffitt,” I said, “Are you a religious man?” I asked it almost the way you would ask, “How’s the weather?”
“No sir,” he answered quickly, not looking up as he knelt on the ground working with his GPS. I had to know more, so I probed a bit further with one more question.
“What would call yourself?” I asked, politely.
He paused, briefly, before answering: “I guess you’d say I’m an agnostic,” he said, and I could tell in the way he answered that he was not offended at all with my prying into his beliefs, perhaps our going deeper into his mind than anyone had in a while.
With that, I felt satisfied. Perhaps I suspected his answer, I don’t know. But something about that moment, and my Alaskan friend, impacted me, as you can see.
—time in a bottle
I pause again, now, to consider that special moment. There was my newfound friend, out that day on the same long trail as I, a courteous gentleman enjoying the same glories of God’s creation I enjoyed, yet pausing willingly – even cheerfully – to assist a stranger on his own way and to offer a special blessing to worried families back home.
He delayed his own journey, showing no sign of hurrying or of thinking “I’ve got miles to go before I sleep …” No, he set his own schedule aside to do that which is right for another, stopping by the roadside to offer aid, even as the Samaritan had done in one of the world's most classic stories.
He stopped because he has something very good inside, an understanding, perhaps, that this was his purpose, even this unique moment in the middle of the wilderness. Perhaps as he walked on he felt satisfied that the Lord had used him for just such a time, even though he had not settled in his mind Who this God is nor how He works.
I will always remember Mr. Moffitt, and I will long tell his story, always with a sigh, and never without those necessary dramatic pauses. In his humility, he likely will be very surprised that I feel I owe a debt to him, one I am praying I can repay.
My prayer is that the Lord will allow me to offer one gift, a rare gift for his journey now. The gift is just a prayer, a prayer that, as he makes his way in search of meaning and purpose, that He will find the answer in the only place it can be found.
May our newfound friend pause on that long trail one day, looking out over life's beautiful meadows and see—from deep inside—the world’s loveliest Rose and most beautiful Lily—that Rose of Sharon, and the Lily of the valley.
And on a dark, spacious night – like one of those crisp wilderness nights that we can never forget – we pray that our friend will gaze at those distant stars and feel shining on him the brightest and the loveliest Star of all: Jesus, the Bright and the Morning Star.
That will make all the difference.
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