LONG STORY SHORT By Kristine McGowan Our first visit to Yellowstone happened in September 2017. We were 25, living in a shabby apartment in Long Beach, and hadn't seen much of the world beyond our home state of California. We were also dating at the time, although by the end of our visit, we would be engaged. We loved Yellowstone. The geysers, the hot springs, the canyon, the bison—our time here felt all too short. When we finally had to leave, we didn't know when we'd get to visit again. If we ever would. Little did we know how drastically our plans would change just a few months later.
This summer, coming back to Yellowstone felt a bit surreal. Like we weren't just visiting the park; we were also visiting the people we used to be, before our idea for The Big Trip sparked and altered the course of our lives. It's difficult to ignore just how much has changed since then. Sure, there's the superficial stuff—we're 31 now, married, and we've given up that shabby apartment and our jobs to see the U.S. and southern Canada. But during this visit, we hit the same trails we did back in 2017, and every mile seemed to highlight another way in which we've changed. Except for the steep portion of the Mystic Falls loop. That still kicked our asses, and it still sucked. But anyway. One big change: We're much more comfortable in the outdoors now. We've upgraded all of our gear, from our rain jackets to our socks and underwear (something our skin deeply appreciates), but our sense of ease in the mountains goes deeper than the fabric on our backs. Hiking Yellowstone in 2017, I was terrified of stumbling across a bear. I still don't like the idea much, but I also feel more prepared for it. Not only do we carry bear spray, but we've also hiked many miles in bear country—including Alaska—since our first Yellowstone visit. We've picked up what seems to be a highly effective tactic for deterring bears: We belt out the likes of Blink-182 and Paramore while we hike. I don't know if any noise will scare a bear off, or if our wounded-dog howling—I mean, singing—is particularly effective. But either way, it's worked so far. On that note—I can't picture myself singing anything on trail in 2017. My self-consciousness wouldn't have allowed it. Looking back on our photos from that trip, the first thing I notice is my face, lips clamped together to hide the yellow spots on my teeth. And my skin, lathered in makeup. While hiking. Sweating through my foundation. I don't bother hiding my teeth anymore. And as of this writing, I cannot recall the last time I put on makeup. If that doesn't speak to my growing confidence, I don't know what does. We've also grown as a couple. We've endured a pandemic together. We've learned to lean on each other when needed. We may get snippy with each other more often—we've been married for five years, give me a break—but we've also gotten pretty good at solving problems together. After all, we uprooted our lives and pulled off the crazy idea that is The Big Trip, together. We took our dream and turned it into reality. We are not the same people we were last time we came to Yellowstone. I didn't expect we would be, but back in 2017, I couldn't have predicted exactly how much we would change. That makes me wonder—the next time we come to Yellowstone, who will we be? Because we will come back. I know we will, now that we're the kind of couple that makes things happen.
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