Top Photo: Zoe and I in the campsite behind our pop-up tent camper.
Our 1957 Chevy is bottom center of this faded 1959 photo.
By JOE CARTWRIGHT
Special to North Palm Beach Life
Published August, 2023
When my dad and Mother planned our summer trip for 1959, I had no way of knowing that visiting one place would change my life. We planned a loop out to the California coast, then back through the Sierras and Rocky Mountains, through Yellowstone and Grand Teton National Parks, down through Colorado, and back home to Fort Worth. A very ambitious itinerary. I was almost eleven and my cousin Zoe, on the trip with us, had already turned 13.
Our camping trip protocol was a bit different in the late 1950’s: we would camp for two or three nights, then stay in a motel. Dad still hadn’t weaned my mother off motel travel completely. We were traveling in an almost-new 1957 Chevrolet – our first car with air conditioning. Four years earlier, we had taken a summer trip across the Mojave Desert to California in a 1954 Dodge, without air conditioning. We made sure our next vacation car was air conditioned.
After visiting destinations and relatives in California, we headed east and visited Utah and Salt Lake City. Then we headed north to Yellowstone. We came through Grand Teton National Park and entered Yellowstone through its south entrance. It was late in the evening, and we stopped to camp at the first park campground we found: The campground at West Thumb, on the western extremity of Yellowstone Lake.
Yellowstone Lake is shaped – somewhat – like a hand; well, a severely deformed hand. The southern arms of the lake make up the fingers, the main body of the lake is the palm, and a swollen thumb extends out to the west. Apparently, the early explorers tended to name geographic features after the body parts they were thought most to resemble. The Grand Tetons are named after, well, the prominent features of a well-endowed woman laying down. I also suspect that most of the naming was done after lots of alcohol was consumed.
West Thumb no longer has a campground – or much else, for that matter, but in July of 1959, West Thumb was a busy place. Besides the campground, it had a Hamilton’s General Store, a cafeteria, cabins to rent, a small marina, a Haynes Picture Shop, a gas station and a ranger station. All this was hugging the perimeter of a very nice geyser and hot spring basin. All that remains today is a small gift shop inside the old ranger station building and, of course, the geyser basin.
At the campground entrance, a ranger assigned us a campsite and directed us to it. Back then, our camping equipment was a large Army surplus house tent, sleeping bags, a Coleman stove, an ice chest, and various pieces of cookware. We couldn’t have much because it all had to fit within the trunk of our 1957 Chevrolet 4-door sedan, or on its roof rack.
Special to North Palm Beach Life
Published August, 2023
When my dad and Mother planned our summer trip for 1959, I had no way of knowing that visiting one place would change my life. We planned a loop out to the California coast, then back through the Sierras and Rocky Mountains, through Yellowstone and Grand Teton National Parks, down through Colorado, and back home to Fort Worth. A very ambitious itinerary. I was almost eleven and my cousin Zoe, on the trip with us, had already turned 13.
Our camping trip protocol was a bit different in the late 1950’s: we would camp for two or three nights, then stay in a motel. Dad still hadn’t weaned my mother off motel travel completely. We were traveling in an almost-new 1957 Chevrolet – our first car with air conditioning. Four years earlier, we had taken a summer trip across the Mojave Desert to California in a 1954 Dodge, without air conditioning. We made sure our next vacation car was air conditioned.
After visiting destinations and relatives in California, we headed east and visited Utah and Salt Lake City. Then we headed north to Yellowstone. We came through Grand Teton National Park and entered Yellowstone through its south entrance. It was late in the evening, and we stopped to camp at the first park campground we found: The campground at West Thumb, on the western extremity of Yellowstone Lake.
Yellowstone Lake is shaped – somewhat – like a hand; well, a severely deformed hand. The southern arms of the lake make up the fingers, the main body of the lake is the palm, and a swollen thumb extends out to the west. Apparently, the early explorers tended to name geographic features after the body parts they were thought most to resemble. The Grand Tetons are named after, well, the prominent features of a well-endowed woman laying down. I also suspect that most of the naming was done after lots of alcohol was consumed.
West Thumb no longer has a campground – or much else, for that matter, but in July of 1959, West Thumb was a busy place. Besides the campground, it had a Hamilton’s General Store, a cafeteria, cabins to rent, a small marina, a Haynes Picture Shop, a gas station and a ranger station. All this was hugging the perimeter of a very nice geyser and hot spring basin. All that remains today is a small gift shop inside the old ranger station building and, of course, the geyser basin.
At the campground entrance, a ranger assigned us a campsite and directed us to it. Back then, our camping equipment was a large Army surplus house tent, sleeping bags, a Coleman stove, an ice chest, and various pieces of cookware. We couldn’t have much because it all had to fit within the trunk of our 1957 Chevrolet 4-door sedan, or on its roof rack.
Our tent, set up at a Texas state park.
The tent was an old, well-used canvas cabin that was almost as large when it was folded into its duffle bag as it was set up. It weighed probably 50 pounds and used wooden posts to support the roof and sides. It was about six feet wide by about eight feet deep. Probably (maybe) five feet tall at the peak. Mother was 5’8” and Dad was 6’4”, so – for them – it was just a tent for sleeping in and not much else.
Dad had already mastered the nuances of Coleman stove operations on other campouts, as well as setting up the tent and other aspects of a proper 1959 campsite. We set up, cooked dinner, and had a nice campfire before bed. Dad stowed away all the food inside the Chevy’s trunk and we laid down in our sleeping bags in the tent. My parents didn’t tell me about what happened that night until many years later.
Zoe and I were asleep very quickly – Dad soon after. My mother, however, was convinced that we would be devoured by ravenous bears if she dared to fall asleep. So, she was still wide awake about 2 am. She woke Dad and hissed, in her loudest whisper, “CJ, wake up! There’s a bear outside the tent!” Dad, of course, said, “There’s nothing out there – just go on back to sleep.” Has that EVER actually worked?
After more goading, he grumbled his way up to his feet, fumbled his way to the door, and started untying the door flap. Our tent had no fancy zippers, or anything to make life easier. The zipper probably hadn’t been invented when this tent was made. So, it had little strips of fabric you tied together to secure the doors and windows.
Dad stuck his head outside, pulled it in, and tied the flap back shut. He flopped back into his sleeping bag and said, “Nothing out there!” After a pause, Mother said, “It’s pitch black in here and I can’t see your face, but I know you’re lying to me!” In the morning, he confessed: he had opened the flap and been face-to-face with a curious black bear.
That year, we saw the usual Yellowstone tourist sights: Geysers, bears, mountains, lakes, and canyons – but one other thing caught my attention: Hundreds of college-age kids working all sorts of Yellowstone jobs. I told my parents that I wanted to do that when I was old enough.
When we got back home in late July, another family from our church wanted to borrow our camping gear for their own Yellowstone trip. However, they never got to camp in Yellowstone. They arrived at the West Thumb campground on August 17, too late to set up camp, so they rented a cabin.
The West Thumb cabins were just open rooms, about 10 feet by 10 feet, with two double beds inside. To facilitate cleaning, the beds were on casters. Shortly before midnight, a massive earthquake hit the Yellowstone area. The parents were in one bed, the kids in the other. They said that they had to cling to the beds as they careened around the room like bumper cars. The initial shock lasted only 30 or 40 seconds. That can seem a lot longer when you’re clinging to a bed ricocheting around a room. As soon as it was light enough, they packed up and left.
We didn’t travel with the tent more than a couple of years: 1958 and 1959. In 1960, Dad sold the tent and bought a pop-up tent trailer. Mother wanted something that would have her sleeping off the ground, away from crawling and scurrying creatures. Today’s pop-up tent campers have all sorts of things to make camping easier: Kitchens with stoves, ovens, sinks, refrigerators, even bathrooms. Our camper had none of that. It was a bare aluminum shell, with a canvas roof.
Dad had already mastered the nuances of Coleman stove operations on other campouts, as well as setting up the tent and other aspects of a proper 1959 campsite. We set up, cooked dinner, and had a nice campfire before bed. Dad stowed away all the food inside the Chevy’s trunk and we laid down in our sleeping bags in the tent. My parents didn’t tell me about what happened that night until many years later.
Zoe and I were asleep very quickly – Dad soon after. My mother, however, was convinced that we would be devoured by ravenous bears if she dared to fall asleep. So, she was still wide awake about 2 am. She woke Dad and hissed, in her loudest whisper, “CJ, wake up! There’s a bear outside the tent!” Dad, of course, said, “There’s nothing out there – just go on back to sleep.” Has that EVER actually worked?
After more goading, he grumbled his way up to his feet, fumbled his way to the door, and started untying the door flap. Our tent had no fancy zippers, or anything to make life easier. The zipper probably hadn’t been invented when this tent was made. So, it had little strips of fabric you tied together to secure the doors and windows.
Dad stuck his head outside, pulled it in, and tied the flap back shut. He flopped back into his sleeping bag and said, “Nothing out there!” After a pause, Mother said, “It’s pitch black in here and I can’t see your face, but I know you’re lying to me!” In the morning, he confessed: he had opened the flap and been face-to-face with a curious black bear.
That year, we saw the usual Yellowstone tourist sights: Geysers, bears, mountains, lakes, and canyons – but one other thing caught my attention: Hundreds of college-age kids working all sorts of Yellowstone jobs. I told my parents that I wanted to do that when I was old enough.
When we got back home in late July, another family from our church wanted to borrow our camping gear for their own Yellowstone trip. However, they never got to camp in Yellowstone. They arrived at the West Thumb campground on August 17, too late to set up camp, so they rented a cabin.
The West Thumb cabins were just open rooms, about 10 feet by 10 feet, with two double beds inside. To facilitate cleaning, the beds were on casters. Shortly before midnight, a massive earthquake hit the Yellowstone area. The parents were in one bed, the kids in the other. They said that they had to cling to the beds as they careened around the room like bumper cars. The initial shock lasted only 30 or 40 seconds. That can seem a lot longer when you’re clinging to a bed ricocheting around a room. As soon as it was light enough, they packed up and left.
We didn’t travel with the tent more than a couple of years: 1958 and 1959. In 1960, Dad sold the tent and bought a pop-up tent trailer. Mother wanted something that would have her sleeping off the ground, away from crawling and scurrying creatures. Today’s pop-up tent campers have all sorts of things to make camping easier: Kitchens with stoves, ovens, sinks, refrigerators, even bathrooms. Our camper had none of that. It was a bare aluminum shell, with a canvas roof.
The pop-up tent camper.
Our next trip to Yellowstone came in 1961. We had our new (to us, at least) pop-up tent camper. No more packing everything into a trunk or top carrier. Dad had modified a pair of cots into bunk beds for Zoe and I, and he had built a plywood camp kitchen to house the Coleman stove, and all the cooking and eating utensils. We also had a new 1960 Rambler Six station wagon to pull the trailer with. We were living high on the camping scale.
We pulled into the West Thumb campground and set up camp. While we were sightseeing the next day, we ran into the Fisher family, some friends from Fort Worth. The Fishers had a son and daughter, so we were already a matched set. They asked, “Where are you staying?” Dad told them that we were camped at West Thumb. Mr. Fisher said that we should move up to the new, just-opened Canyon Village campground. One look at the Canyon Village campground and we were sold. Everything was new and it was all much more inviting than the West Thumb campground had been.
We pulled into the West Thumb campground and set up camp. While we were sightseeing the next day, we ran into the Fisher family, some friends from Fort Worth. The Fishers had a son and daughter, so we were already a matched set. They asked, “Where are you staying?” Dad told them that we were camped at West Thumb. Mr. Fisher said that we should move up to the new, just-opened Canyon Village campground. One look at the Canyon Village campground and we were sold. Everything was new and it was all much more inviting than the West Thumb campground had been.
The 1960 Rambler wagon
Along with modern restrooms, the campground had new “bear-proof” trash cans that were inset in concrete at ground level. The cans had large, heavy steel covers that could be flipped up to empty the trash can inside. A smaller lid set in the large one had a foot pedal that would flip up the small lid to drop garbage into the can. Like most “bear-proof” devices, the bears figured out how to break into one in about 15 minutes.
The Fishers were camped in a tent at Canyon – much like we had camped in 1959. We got a campsite across the road from the Fishers. We went sightseeing together and cooked meals together. After one day of sightseeing, we came back to find a pop-up camper set up in the driveway of the Fishers’ campsite. The people refused to move, so we called a ranger. The ranger negotiated this compromise: the family would spend that night where they were but would leave the next morning.
That night, the parents fixed tuna patties for our dinner. After dinner, as soon as it was dark enough, us kids creeped over to the trash can where they had put the tuna cans. We retrieved the tuna cans and quietly crawled over to the trespassing pop-up camper. We lined up the tuna cans on the axle of the trailer, toward the center of the trailer. My parents said that they were wondering why Zoe and I didn’t want to go to sleep that night.
The Fishers were camped in a tent at Canyon – much like we had camped in 1959. We got a campsite across the road from the Fishers. We went sightseeing together and cooked meals together. After one day of sightseeing, we came back to find a pop-up camper set up in the driveway of the Fishers’ campsite. The people refused to move, so we called a ranger. The ranger negotiated this compromise: the family would spend that night where they were but would leave the next morning.
That night, the parents fixed tuna patties for our dinner. After dinner, as soon as it was dark enough, us kids creeped over to the trash can where they had put the tuna cans. We retrieved the tuna cans and quietly crawled over to the trespassing pop-up camper. We lined up the tuna cans on the axle of the trailer, toward the center of the trailer. My parents said that they were wondering why Zoe and I didn’t want to go to sleep that night.
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Somewhere between eleven and midnight, the bears came out to peruse the goodies thrown into the “bear-proof” trash cans and they started smelling those tuna cans. We had placed the cans far enough in towards the center of the axle that the bears couldn’t actually reach them – but they were sure trying to.
At one point, there were three or four bears around that camper, lunging and swatting to try to get the cans. The people inside were screaming and jumping up and down to try to scare the bears away. The bears were just ignoring all this and violently shaking the camper, trying to swat the cans off the axle. When we woke up the next morning, the trespassing camper was already gone. We did give them a night to remember, though. Those early (for us) Yellowstone years, we also got acquainted with several rangers. We always had lots of questions for them, and Dad would always invite the Canyon rangers to stop by our campfire in the evenings. One ranger in particular, got very close with my parents: Jack Baskin and his wife were teachers and Jack spent his summers rangering in Yellowstone. Jack’s wife and kids would spend each summer with him at Yellowstone. Jack always had great stories to bring to the campfire. Jack was patrolling the Canyon campground one afternoon, when he stumbled on a curious sight. He first saw a black bear, running down the road. Close behind the bear was a little white toy poodle, yapping away at the bear’s heels. Running right behind the poodle was a little girl, about 7 or 8, screaming and crying for her poodle to come back. Behind the little girl was a small mob of about a dozen campers, screaming at the little girl to get away from the bear. Before Jack could get out of the patrol car, the bear lunged into the woods, the little girl caught her poodle, and the mob of campers surrounded the little girl. Jack Baskin’s boss at Canyon Village was a full-time, year-round ranger named Jerry Mernin. Ranger Mernin was head ranger for the Canyon area and was also the designated bear management ranger. One of his jobs was to trap nuisance bears from the campground and arrange their transportation to back country regions miles away. |
A bear dining from a bear-proof trash can
Another bear dining IN a bear-proof trash can.
A bear trap, also used for transporting bears.
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One afternoon, my parents had gone fishing and I opted to stay at Canyon Village. Standing outside our camper, I watched as Ranger Mernin shot a tranquilizer dart into a black bear who had been scrounging around the campground, looking for free food. The bear immediately headed for the woods at a dead run.
About 50 yards into the woods, the bear collapsed into a furry black heap. Several of us campers followed the ranger into the woods to find the bear. We felt a little bold, since the ranger was also carrying a massive Smith & Wesson .44 Magnum revolver on his hip.
It wasn’t a huge bear but was too much for one guy to carry. The ranger asked if anyone would help to carry the bear back to the trap he had on a trailer behind his truck. About half of us jumped forward – how many times do you get to pick up a grown bear without danger of mauling? The bear trap was made of a large-diameter galvanized steel culvert pipe, with bars on one end and a sliding trap door on the other.
The ranger rolled the motionless bear onto a large tarp, and we all picked up the sides of the tarp. We started walking toward the bear trap trailer behind the ranger’s truck. The bear probably weighed 150 pounds or so. I had a front corner and as soon as we started moving, I became aware of one startling thing: this bear wasn’t unconscious – he was wide awake, with murder and maiming in his eyes.
The tranquilizing drug they were using in the mid-1960’s didn’t put the bears to sleep – it just relaxed their skeletal muscles, so that they couldn’t move anything, but they were still breathing. This one was breathing with hostile chuf-chuf-chuf sounds. We staggered through the woods, carrying the bear back to the ranger’s bear trap. I don’t know how long the tranquilizing drug lasted, but it lasted long enough for us to load the bear into the trap and the ranger shut the gate.
About 50 yards into the woods, the bear collapsed into a furry black heap. Several of us campers followed the ranger into the woods to find the bear. We felt a little bold, since the ranger was also carrying a massive Smith & Wesson .44 Magnum revolver on his hip.
It wasn’t a huge bear but was too much for one guy to carry. The ranger asked if anyone would help to carry the bear back to the trap he had on a trailer behind his truck. About half of us jumped forward – how many times do you get to pick up a grown bear without danger of mauling? The bear trap was made of a large-diameter galvanized steel culvert pipe, with bars on one end and a sliding trap door on the other.
The ranger rolled the motionless bear onto a large tarp, and we all picked up the sides of the tarp. We started walking toward the bear trap trailer behind the ranger’s truck. The bear probably weighed 150 pounds or so. I had a front corner and as soon as we started moving, I became aware of one startling thing: this bear wasn’t unconscious – he was wide awake, with murder and maiming in his eyes.
The tranquilizing drug they were using in the mid-1960’s didn’t put the bears to sleep – it just relaxed their skeletal muscles, so that they couldn’t move anything, but they were still breathing. This one was breathing with hostile chuf-chuf-chuf sounds. We staggered through the woods, carrying the bear back to the ranger’s bear trap. I don’t know how long the tranquilizing drug lasted, but it lasted long enough for us to load the bear into the trap and the ranger shut the gate.
