Yellowstone Park – Gneiss Creek, August 1999

Last weeks’ trip to Yellowstone with my two donkeys and my recently converted RV-Donkey trailer proved to be both educational and disappointing. The biggest disappointment was to learn that my book has not sold poorly in West Yellowstone. The bookstore owner told me frankly that my cover was too boring and that he bought it against his better judgement. Although it is true that you can’t judge a book by its cover, it is also true that you have to catch people’s attention to get them to open it up. One of the fly shop salesmen told me that books rarely sell. They just stock them because they feel they have to have some on display. Oh, great.

The Yellowstone Backcountry Office holds open 1/3 of the backcountry campsites for first-serve availability. It was clear that they discourage stock use. They only permit lakeside camping 12 to 15 miles into the backcountry, which is no problem if you are riding. If you are leading donkeys and only want to hike 5 to 8 miles, good luck. They offer only sites far from lakes and streams. I also heard a man complain that the previous year his party could not find their backcountry campsite and had to return. The park official made no comment. Guess what. Pauline and I and our two donkeys hiked the Gneiss Trail. We were told the campsite had no shade and was not on the creek. We never found it, nor was there any trailhead signs or information.

Banjo, my smaller donkey, demonstrated what happens when you don’t properly train a donkey before you take him into the wilderness. Although he is four years old, up until four months ago, he had never been around humans. This little, wild ass has come a long way. In fact after five days on the road and trail, he has become quite affectionate and bonded to both Pauline and myself. But this came about only after much discipline and the two of us stumbling off the trail and falling down the side of a steep mountain.

The previous day we took the donkeys up the Nez Perce Creek Trail, which drains into the Firehole River. I wanted to fish further up than I had before. We didn’t get very far, perhaps 1.5 miles as both donkeys were acting up. We gave them a hard lesson in crossing a creek. Banjo was terrified, and we had to use the whip to get him to re-cross. Buddy displayed his worst case of stubbornness, refusing to cross back, even when we used the whip. I told Pauline we would just pack up and leave him like a little kid. As we packed up Banjo, Buddy nibbled the grass and snubbed us. Leading Banjo through the trees broke Buddy’s nonchalance. As if he had been struck by lightning, he frantically plunged into the water and charged through the deadfall to meet. A few minutes later Banjo acted up and tried to run over me when Pauline lead Buddy ahead of us. That should have been sufficient warning for the next day’s pack trip up the Gneiss Trail (pronounced nice). Although the Nez Perce fishing was disappointing in both size and numbers, the training for the donkeys was invaluable.

The next day we picked up the Gneiss Trail about 8.5 miles north of West Yellowstone on Highway 191. The trailhead is right next to the cemetery as you come up a rise. The Gneiss Creek meets Campanula Creek to form Duck Creek, which crosses the highway a mile or so from the trailhead. Campanula Creek is crossed 1.5 miles from the trailhead in a beautiful canyon just before it enters the marshy Madison Valley. I fished a number of spots and never caught a fish over 7 inches; the same is true for Gneiss Creek, although I did raise a 16 incher. Later, I talked to a resident of Duck Creek. He laughed and said that some of the books have generously attributed better fishing than what exists.  For every large trout caught, plan on landing a dozen dinks.  Of the three Yellowstone fishing guidebooks, I am finding that the most accurate information can be found in Richard Parks' book, Fishing Yellowstone National Park. Duck Creek is certainly worth fishing early June when the spawners are returning to Lake Hebgen. One of the largest browns ever taken in this region during the 30’s was caught in Duck Creek. Shortly thereafter a landowner decided he wanted a pond so he dammed up the creek. Six years ago the park forced the landowners to build a fish ladder at a cost of $22,000. The landowner I spoke to wished they had done it years previously as the creek hosted a great number of 16 inchers during the spawning period that first year. Richard Creek also drains into Duck Creek in this meandering maze of meadow courses. It is said to offer better fishing than Duck Creek proper or Gneiss Creek. It also has some beaver ponds a few miles away that offer good cutthroat fishing. Keep in mind, however, that this is moose and grizzly country and very marshy fishing.

Crossing Campanula Creek with the donkeys was an improvement from the previous day on the Nez Perce. The crossing is short, perhaps as little as ten feet, but the crossing is at the tail of a pool up against a jagged fallen log. When we got to the other side, we had a choice in trail directions. I selected the fool’s route, which led up the hill on an old path probably used previous to the 1988 firestorm. Pauline said she would lead Buddy up the trail as I re-adjusted Banjo’s pack. Banjo immediately became alarmed that he was being separated. About 60 feet up this steep trail, Banjo tried to run me over to join Buddy. As I fought to maintain control, I looked up the hillside to see Buddy acting up and breaking away from Pauline. I flashed a brief bit of irritation at Pauline for loosing control of Buddy, until I realized I too was in a struggle to hold on to Banjo. Banjo panicked when he saw Buddy lunging up the hill by himself. Banjo’s bond with Buddy negated any fear of reprisal from me.

I literally fought with Banjo to keep him from running over me. Suddenly, both of us were off the trail falling to our knees, desperately struggling to keep from tumbling down a very vertical hillside to the creek below. Banjo is short so he was very top heavy with his pack. I held on to the lead rope trying to keep his head pointing up hill. If he were to roll, it could have lead to a life-threatening injury. At some point in the struggle, I found myself directly below Banjo as he spun around trying to catch his momentum. I was sliding on all fours staring into the ass end of a floundering ass. Finally, he was pointed directly up hill in front of me. His back legs dug into the loose rock and soil pelting me with debris. His sawbuck and pannier bags askew, and slipping on every forward lunge, Banjo recovered and headed up the slope. I could no longer hold on and watched him struggle up the slope with his pack slipping off to one side. By the time he met up with Buddy and Pauline, his pack and pannier bags were dragging beneath him. I was so out of breath and exhausted I couldn’t even talk to Pauline. Pauline was sucking air as well. Finally she said, “What have I let you talk me into? And we are in grizzly country no less! Banjo had his head buried in Pauline’s bosom and was shaking violently. My rush to the backcountry with an untrained donkey was booth impetuous and short-sighted.  

Even though the fishing was relatively poor, and we were pounded by two days of hard rain, we gained some hard knock donkey experience! That night tucked away in our hard-side RV donkey trailer listening to the pinging of rain on a metal roof, Pauline lifted up here head from the pillow and asserted, “You’re not going to make an outdoors woman of me. I am glad to be right here in this trailer rather than some flimsy tent in a Grizzly Bear Management Area!