Flying Pigs

After much planning and anticipation, the day of our horseback riding/white water rafter adventure was upon us. We got up and out crazy early because of road construction in Yellowstone National Park. The most direct route from our campground in West Yellowstone, Montana to Gardiner, Wyoming was through the park. The morning before it took us almost two hours to go 30 miles because of the aforementioned road construction, and we weren’t going to take any chances the morning of our adventure. Of course, there was no construction that morning and we were way early, which is fine with me. I would much rather find ways to kill time than stress out about being late.

We checked in with Flying Pig Adventure Company, got directions to the ranch and took the 30 minute drive, six miles straight up a mountain on a dirt road. We got to the ranch, met our trail leaders and were assigned our horses. I was shocked when they brought out a giant horse and called Sean over. They put him on the behemoth and he didn’t seem fazed at all. I on the other hand was slightly freaked out. I started riding horses when I was younger than him, but the horse I rode was tiny compared to Sean’s mount.

Glenn got his horse next, then Robert, Reid and finally me. I was assigned a horse named Curly. As soon as I got up on him, he started trying to nose his way to the front of the pack. As we started riding we ended up in the middle of the group and Curly continually crowded the horse in front of me and seemed very agitated. I’m sure he started to settle down, but honestly, once my knee started aching I didn’t care. All I could think about was the time and the fact that we had signed up for a two hour ride. I was fairly certain I wasn’t going to last two hours. It has been thirty years since I’ve ridden a horse and my joints were not prepared.

Sean was able to distract me from my aching knee by his screams. I looked ahead and saw him riding into the brush and through the pine trees. His horse decided it was done and wanted to take a more scenic route. Unfortunately, Sean has no riding experience and didn’t know what to do other than yell for help. After what seemed like ten minutes one of the trail guides galloped up from the back of the pack and got him out of the wilderness. Sean took it all in stride and seemed unfazed. He continued to ride, often looking back to talk to Robert.

Finally, when I thought I could take no more, the ride ended. I could barely stand, and walking was a painful endeavor. Once done with the ride we were served lunch. Can’t say I loved the lunch, cold, overdone hamburgers on dry, just this side of stale buns, baked beans, tortilla chips and hard, overdone peanut butter brownies. I was expecting more… I was definitely expecting hot and tasty, not cold and dry.

We finished lunch and headed back down the dirt road to the river to start our whitewater rafting adventure. We parked on the street across from Flying Pig and Glenn noticed the car behind us looked familiar. He thought it looked like my mom’s car. I was doubtful. I had invited my mom and her husband Herb to join us but they had declined. Surprise. It was my mom and Herb. They had a change of heart and decided to brave the rapids with us.

After our safety briefing we were assigned rafts. My mom and Herb were with us as well as five young men from Saudi Arabia. English was not their first language, nor was it their second or third. They had apparently lived pampered lives because not one of them knew how to row a raft. When our guide said “forward”, they rowed backwards. When our guide said “backwards” they rowed forward. Rowed is actually too strong a word to describe what they were doing. They were, in essence, dipping the tip of the oar in the water and half-heartedly moving it. It was pathetic, to say the least. I was stuck on one side with three of these men and was trying singlehandedly to keep our raft from turning in circles all the way down the Yellowstone River. At one point these men decided to get out of the raft and go for a swim. I suggested we row away, since the dead weight was gone, but alas our guide, Ford, was a responsible young man and didn’t want to lose his job.

The kids, in the meantime, were having a blast. They got to sit at the front of the raft and allow the spray to wash over them. I’m not sure what the water temperature was, but it was cold. Every time it lapped over the raft and onto me it felt like someone poured a glass of ice water down my shirt. When our Saudi friends started swimming, in wet suits I might add, Reid and Sean begged me to let them get in. I warned them that it was cold and reminded them that they didn’t have wet suits, but they wanted in. I finally relented and let them get into the frigid waters. Reid was the first to cry uncle, but Sean refused to ask to come back in. I had to drag him back into the raft, his lips were blue and he was shivering. The next opportunity to get out, he declined.

In spite of our raft mates, we had a great time braving the rapids of the Yellowstone River. It was eight miles of twists, turns, rapids, still waters, bone chilling spray, a kidnap attempt by another raft and lots of laughs. Flying Pig Adventure Company delivered on their promise to give us fun-filled afternoon. If the opportunity came again I would probably skip the horseback portion of the day and opt for a longer raft trip. The horseback riding dragged on, but the rafting was over too soon.

We topped our day of adventure with a soak in “Boiling River” in Yellowstone. It is an area on the Yellowstone River where the scalding hot waters from one of the thousand hot springs/geysers runs off. It was incredible. Take a small step to one side and you are in scalding waters, step the other way and the water is ice cold. I found a spot that had a good mixture, with just the occasional hot spot/cool spot and soaked my tired achy muscles.

Finally, we dragged our tired selves back to the motor home. There was no push back when I ordered everyone to shower and go to bed. We were all exhausted. In very short order, snores were heard coming from the Anderson’s RV.