Thursday, July 15 – 2 pm
(Four hours until the great blonde bear)
Mr. Moffit’s work was not finished. I am glad that he played such a huge role in this drama. It seems more than fitting.
He had another task before him. He had to make sure his friend took the right road when the road divided soon thereafter.
After our visit at the top of that steep incline high above the Snake River that still crawled slowly below us, Mr. Moffit went on his way, having fulfilled his golden deed for that moment. With my rest complete, I gathered my backpack, such as it was now, and followed behind. I had not gone too long, less than half an hour, until I saw up ahead the river again, as it had curled its way back across my path.
I smile as I think that I would cross her again, but it would be the first crossing since I met Mr. Moffit.
You understand.
Nearing the water as I made my way along with my slow pace, I heard a voice off to the left, twenty feet off the trail. It startled me, naturally, just as Mr. Moffit had done when he first came up the hill an hour earlier; but I turned quickly and was relieved to see that it was my friend again. He was sitting on the bank of the river taking off his boots to cross over. He had spoken to try not to startle me, but you cannot help but jump whether one speaks to you or lets you come up on them unexpectedly.
The river at that point was the widest, deepest, and swiftest, I believe, of any point I had seen. Mr. Moffit said it might be easier to cross over where he was, but I felt that the spot where the trail ended would be okay, and it was easier to get down to the water from where I was. It was the most precarious crossing I would come to. The water was deep enough and swift enough that if you tripped on the rocks, or lost your balance because of the current, you could lose control and get swept down the river; so, you had to be careful.
We both made it across safely, Mr. Moffitt several minutes before me. By the time I made it across he had put his boots back on and was preparing to continue. As I eased my way out of the water back onto the land, I noted that there was a small trail off to my right that was clearly visible. There was no other trail in sight at all. But Mr. Moffit was climbing up a steep bank off to my left, not following the visible trail, and he stopped at the landing just a few feet up, and gave me one last bit of direction,
“Steven," he said, "be sure to follow the trail up here. This is the one you need.”
With that, he was off, up the steep bank and on to the trail that began as a steep climb up the mountain. As he turned around a bend and faded from sight, I began to make my way over to where the bank was so I could climb up it and get to the trail.
—What could have been
I have thought about that scene a great deal since then, and I realize now that had Mr. Moffit not stayed behind – whether intentionally or unintentionally – I certainly would have taken the visible trail at that point. You see how easy it is to get off on the wrong trail, and the wilderness supplies many such opportunities, making the travel in those parts the more dangerous. I do not know where that false trail would have led. But I do know that it would have taken me off course, and that I would not have found Todd or the campsite there. It would have led me deeper into the wilderness, lost again, and the results could not have been good.
As I've churned those thoughts in my mind, I've thought again of Robert’s Frost’s great poem. In it, it was by the traveler’s choosing that ‘road not taken’ – that is, the road not taken by the crowd, only by the few – that made the difference. In this case, though, my road not taken – the road I did not take but so easily could have – was a trail that would have led me deeper into the remote forest and into greater danger. Separated from the trail and Todd, I likely would have spent that cold night alone, with no tent, no sleeping bag, no campsite. Being lost in the remote regions of Yellowstone with Todd and a tent was one thing. Being lost out there alone and facing the cold dangers sleeping on a wet ground would have been something else. I would have been fighting the elements more than ever, and I would have been open prey for whatever animals or snakes stirred in the darkness of that wilderness.
You see now why I often now look up into the night sky that I looked up for six cold, memorable evenings, and thank the Lord again, and again, for that road – for the road not taken.
And I thank Him for my friend, the agnostic, too.
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