I recently wrote about one of my success stories… A proud moment (click here in case you missed it).

But every once in a while, when a blue moon passes over the horizon, something goes awry.   In the interest of balance (lest you think that everything I do is beyond perfection!), this post will describe – in detail – one of my most excruciating career experiences.

Let me set the scene…

As in my fabulous Florence success story, the client involved was the Western Region of the National Electrical Contractors Association (NECA). The year was 1995 and NECA had selected the Sun Valley (Idaho) Resort for their summer meeting. Because it was an all-inclusive property, the organizer had little need for my services for the main meeting, but asked that I put together an extension trip, a customary option for anyone choosing to stay on after the 4-day conference wrapped up.

I began to consider the possibilities of an enticing post-conference adventure.  Sun Valley is smack-dab in the center of the state surrounded by gorgeous mountain scenery. Where to go from here? The Snake River – legendary for great rafting and fishing – was one option. A few hardy souls might choose a river raft trip, but I needed another less ambitious option.

And then I had my “A-ha!” moment.  Driving 4 1/2 hours northeast of Sun Valley would get us to Yellowstone National Park. From there, we could travel south into the Grand Tetons and fly out of Jackson Hole. Bingo – I had my itinerary figured out!  I was practically picking out my waders already!

After researching distances, logistics and lodging options, I contacted the National Park Service to book rooms for two nights at the Yellowstone Lake Lodge.  (Yes, I know that the National Park Service isn’t generally regarded as luxury travel experts, but remember that this was long before the days of easy internet searches).

The Challenge:  The first night was confirmed at the Lodge, but a second night was not available.  With no other available accommodation, there would be no other option but to backtrack out of the Park to stay at a motel in West Yellowstone for our second night. Ugh! But sometimes, when there are no other choices … you gotta rough it.

Continuing my research, I called a wilderness outfitter to inquire about rafting on the Snake River. I mentioned my Yellowstone lodging dilemma.

“Why not do a luxury camping experience on Yellowstone Lake?” he suggested.

Glamping? Tell me more!” I responded, hopefully.

“It’s about an hour across the lake to a nice camping area. There’s a marina very close to the Yellowstone Lodge where we can charter small boats. People can buy fishing licenses there. We’ll arrange for tents, zip-together sleeping bags, gourmet meals and fishing poles. My guys will play guitar and tell cowboy stories around the campfire after dinner. You can make s’mores and . . .”

He need not have said anything more. He had me at s’mores!

My mind wandered, fondly remembering many a night sitting on canvas campstools, making s’mores with my brothers at campsites during summer family vacations.

“. . . and people can take a walk in the meadow to pick wildflowers, fish in the lake and just enjoy the nature,” he continued.

Bingo! I love it when a plan comes together!

Seven couples (plus me) left Sun Valley on a glorious morning – the first day of summer. We headed towards Idaho Falls, crossing the southeast corner of Montana, through the border town of West Yellowstone, past the One Horse Motel and the Lazy G Lodge, across the Wyoming border and entered Yellowstone National Park. Almost immediately we spotted our first buffalo – a slovenly beast, trailing clumps of his winter fur.

We passed stands of trees burned by the Great Yellowstone Fires of 1988, when many small fires combined into a huge conflagration. The fires raged unchecked for several months, burning more than a third of the Park. But the cycle of nature was in evidence now, and the meadows were green with knee-high seedlings that would grow into towering Lodgepole pines.

It had been a long travel day, and everyone looked forward to a hot shower and a clean, comfortable bed. None of us was prepared for the elegance of the Yellowstone Lake Lodge, with its traditional architecture painted – appropriately – yellow, fronted with massive white columns. They even had a string quartet entertaining in the dining room!

We were off to a great start!

The next morning dawned sunny and bright. I took a short hike. A strong wind was blowing. When we arrived at the Marina a few hours later, the clouds were ominous. Three boats waited to transport us across the lake to our wilderness campsite. A few of my guys went into the store to buy fishing licenses and snacks. Then it began to snow. SNOW! Giant flakes of snow! In JUNE!!!  One of the women asked me, “Marilyn, what do we do now?”  Because a trip director must always stay calm (at least on the outside), I simply replied, “We get in the boat.”

So, off we set across the lake, and as if everything were part of a master plan, within 15 minutes the skies had cleared and the sun was shining. “Whew!” I thought.

Twenty minutes later, the blizzard hit us. With a vengeance. A total white-out. Zero visibility. Our Captain killed the engine and we drifted for about 10 minutes until, once again, the weather abruptly changed. It would be like that for the rest of the day; Mother Nature could not make up her mind. When we finally made it to the other side of the lake, one of the guides took me aside and warned me about the disgruntled lady with a beehive hairdo who, upon disembarking his boat, asked him, “So, where is the lodge?”

When told that there was no lodge she said,

“There MUST be a lodge! Marilyn wouldn’t bring us all the way here without a nice place to stay . . .”

We unloaded gear and beached the boats just before the ice storm hit. The wind gusted sideways and freezing rain coated the pile of duffel bags that had not yet been delivered to the tents. Four guys rushed to hold down the tent poles of the kitchen pavilion, where the stakes were pulling out of the ground. Everyone else took cover in the little tents.

 

And once again, in ten minutes it was over and the skies had cleared. The cook busied himself with lunch and the other guides chipped the ice from the duffel bags before delivering them to the tents. I directed people to the outhouse – a short walk into the woods. One of the women complained, “You said we would have sleeping bags that zipped together. Ours are individual mummy bags.”

I turned toward one of the guides who said, “Sorry, ma’am. Nobody told us to bring zip-together sleeping bags.”

I would soon learn that nobody had told them to bring fishing rods, either. Nor did they have a guitar or campfire stories. And after lunch I knew that the food was anything but gourmet. I dared not ask about marshmallows and Hershey chocolate bars.

The three boatmen had left me with promises that they’d be back at 9 a.m. tomorrow morning. I looked at my watch. Only 22 more hours.

Fortunately, the ice storm had not doused the fire, so after lunch we gathered around the firepit for the “bear lecture.” We were told that bears had been spotted in the vicinity and that the meadows were off-limits for hiking. Before nightfall, we were to surrender everything that had any fragrance – lotions, toothpaste, mints, lipstick, chewing gum, soap, shampoo, snacks – EVERYTHING would be put into a knapsack and hoisted up into a tree. Even the cook would shed his clothes before going to sleep.

“And if you see a bear, do not run. I repeat, do NOT run away. Bears run faster than humans, and they think chasing prey is fun,” the lead guide instructed. “Instead, stand and face the bear. Slowly raise your arms up to make yourself as big as possible. Speak to the bear in a low, calm voice. And slowly begin to back away. The bear should leave you alone.”

Should leave you alone???

(Please refer to “how to survive a bear attack” instructional video below, which is not so much helpful as hysterical.)

 

I looked at my watch. Only 20 more hours.

Throughout the afternoon I avoided eye contact with the beehive hair lady. I later learned that her husband had not shared any details about the itinerary. At least her comment now made sense to me.

I was somewhat relieved to see people engaged in pleasant fireside chats. A couple was playing cards at the lunch table. John had brought his own fishing rod, which he was happy to share with others. Otherwise, there was nothing to do.

It would occasionally rain, and we’d scatter to our tents until it passed. More than once I hoped it would never stop raining so I could just stay in my tent and hide. I had created great expectations and now I was letting people down. Nothing I could do and no place to hide.

My anxiety and negativity wasn’t helping. I had to “do” something to shift my energy. I decided to fetch some wood for the fire. I headed out toward the outhouse, grabbing an axe as I left the campsite. I didn’t realize that three of my guys saw me and decided to come to help! This is NOT what I had in mind. All I’d need to have happen is a slip of the axe or a heart attack . . .

When is this day going to be over???!! And why does this have to be the longest day of the year??

I looked at my watch. 16 hours to go.

A bright shaft of sunlight . . . it was morning! Somehow I had managed to sleep through the night. No bear attacks. I heard people stirring and stretching. I heard chattering and laughter. I smelled coffee. And bacon.

It was a gorgeous morning. I felt redeemed. I heaved a big sigh and looked at my watch. Only 2 hours to go . . .