weather

Palisades State Monsoon

/ L. Ryan Storms / Leave a comment

Day 19: 6/20/24
From: Badlands National Park, SD (Cedar Pass Campground)
To: Garretson, SD (Palisades State Park)
Distance: 290 miles 

We “sleep in” today. Though we wake often in the tent, we manage to ignore the daylight until 8:30. It’s been raining on and off all night, too, but the tent has held up well. Fog covers the rugged peaks in the Badlands and we’re supposed to hit significant storms on the way east today. It’s going to be a tedious 4-5 hours on the road, especially with the incessant wind.

We pack up camp and head out to the gift shop, which has a diner where we expected to eat breakfast, but neither kid wants anything on the menu, so we leave with the intention of stopping somewhere else along the way.

We make a quick detour to a prairie dog “ranch” we saw when we came into the park, where we proceed to watch the critters poking their heads out and running around. You can buy peanuts in the store to feed them, which is probably why they are so tame and easily photographed.

There’s just one problem with relying on our own plans for breakfast. There’s nothing “along the way.” We end up at two different gas stations, both insanely busy. Is Summer Solstice a holiday in South Dakota? It certainly seems like everyone is out today. By the time we get any sort of food, it’s noon. Breakfast was basically yogurt and pastries. No one is complaining. (Lies. Husband is complaining. He wants eggs and bacon and something significant in his stomach.)

The next two hours on the road are some of the scariest. Lightning, thunder, wind, and heavy rain abound. We pass one car stuck in the middle of the grass that divides the highway. They must have spun out with all the water on the road. I’m getting worried that our campsite might be flooded out. When I check the weather forecast, there’s areal flood watches over the entire county.

I was looking forward to seeing this today, but I’m pretty sure that’s not happening. The weather on this trip continues to be wild.

When we reach the campground, there’s a small break in the rain. It lightens just long enough for us to set up the tent if we move at light speed. We get everything inside just in time for the next round of pouring rain. Split Rock Creek is roaring pretty good and I’m a little disappointed. I picked this site specifically because I know how much Husband loves the water (even when he can’t fish).

We spend an hour and a half just catching up on social media, reading, drawing, and napping and when the rain lightens again, we venture out for dinner. A sports bar in Brandon, SD called Tailgators calls our name and has plenty of gluten-free options.  The meal is incredible, as is the dessert. During dinner, we play each other in archery, basketball, and darts in Game Pigeon on our phones (it *is* a sports bar after all). And when we come out to the parking lot afterwards, it’s just starting to rain again. 

Back at the campground, we climb into the tent just in time for the next downpour. It looks like this will be our night! From the tent, we hear the roar of the creek just below us and train whistles from trains coming down the tracks on the other side of the creek. Plus thunder and rain. So much rain.

At 11 pm, the Sheriff drives through the park with a message playing on the loudspeaker that severe weather will be developing in the area over the next several hours. What does this mean for us? Is he telling us to leave? Just warning us that it’s going to get sketchy? We don’t know. What I do know is that our little tent site #94 at Palisades State Park ends up with a raging river on two sides of us by 1 am.

The storm gets so loud and vicious that I can’t fall asleep, despite Husband’s snores being drowned out entirely by the rain on our tent and the rushing water of the creeks. So at 1 am, I check the weather app and see that we’re now in a flood warning, which makes sense since I can hear the small trickle of a creek beside us now rip-roaring and emptying into the larger one. It’s already flooded half the campsite and is still rising. What I can’t understand is how the weather reports could be so wrong all day and into the evening, predicting an end to the rain in “2 hours” no matter what time of day I checked. Regardless of time, the radar always seemed to look like this:

I wake Husband. I know we’re *probably* okay where we are (the tent is on the highest ground on the site), but I don’t want to be a news headline for all the wrong reasons. And I can’t sleep when I’m terrified the way I am. I like data. I like being able to analyze data and figure out the *right* answer to problems. Husband thinks we’re safe where we are. But he agrees that if the kids and I aren’t sleeping because we don’t feel safe, then we should get a hotel. 

So at 2 am, I book a hotel 6 miles down the road. We aren’t even sure we can get out of the campground. When we try, we face a small bridge already under several inches of swiftly moving water, a veritable river flowing up and around both sides of it as well as through it. We make the right decision and don’t try to go through it, but it’s scary how quickly your mind thinks “Well, it’s just a couple inches deep. We could probably…” I’ve seen too many videos. Instead, we turn around to wake the camp host (a saint!) who instructs us to use a service road to get to the main highway and tells us if we can’t get out for whatever reason, we can move the tent to any open site.

We reach our hotel safely by 2:30 am, but it takes an hour for the adrenaline to wear off before I can even think of sleep. Water is no joke. It’s powerful and fast and unpredictable.

Older Child says the quiet of the hotel is weird after so many hours of listening to rain pounding the tent. They say it’s like being at the beach all day and then coming home and still hearing the phantom echo of waves in your ear. It certainly is.

I know people keep telling us we’re creating so many amazing memories for our family, but this kind? This kind, I could do without. For now, I’m just glad we’re safe and dry and can hopefully get a few hours of sleep.

In Spite of the Weather

/ L. Ryan Storms / Leave a comment

Day 16: 6/17/24
From: Grand Teton National Park, WY (Colter Bay Campground)
To: Yellowstone National Park, WY (Grant Village Campground)
Distance: 33 miles (+ many miles of mindless park driving)

It’s cold. But nowhere near as cold as it will be tonight. At least we were toasty warm in our sleeping bags and blankets last night. And our dude-bro friends are up at 8, which means we get music again. No singing yet, but I don’t want to hear this, so I am in favor of leaving ASAP.

We’re on the road by 9:30 and at Yellowstone by 10:30. But now there’s a steady cold rain. Check-in isn’t until 1, so we decide we’re going to drive to see some of the sights. Bad idea.

We drive three extra hours to try to see sites around the park, but the traffic is awful and all we manage to see is a bunch of steam from hot springs beyond our sight (there’s no parking to be had) and the occasional bison. The parking lots for Old Faithful and for the Grand Prismatic Spring are packed. It’s a zoo.

So we drive back and set up the tent at 2 in cold wind. At least the rain stops for 15 minutes so we can set up. Then we climb in, huddle beneath blankets and in sleeping bags and take a much-needed 3-hour nap.

When we wake, we are reluctant to get out of sleeping bags, but we do and we head to the gift shop/grocery store/grill to get dinner. It’s an hour before closing and they are out of almost everything. No fries, no cheese, no creamer for coffee, and a whole list of other things I didn’t listen to. Sandwiches and drinks are all we need anyway! We watch the snow falling outside and then shop for an hour to stock up on anything we might need for the cold, cold night ahead. A hat for Husband, gloves for me and Younger Child, a couple of extra sweatshirts, and we’re set.

When we get outside again, the snow has stopped. We debate going back to Old Faithful and Grand Prismatic again since no one seems to be on the roads, and as we’re debating, we see an doe elk and her suckling calf. Now we have to take a drive. Even if it *is* 8 pm. (We all just had a lengthy nap after all…) So we brave the impending night and weather and trek out into the falling snow (again) and across the continental divide (again) and head to Old Faithful with just enough time to walk from the empty parking lot, wait 5 minutes, and watch it spout high into the air. Amidst the falling snow. How magical! There’s hardly anyone here at all and this feels like an incredible gift. 

Leaving the geyser, we spot a gorgeous bull elk grazing in the pasture. Do we risk driving a little farther to see if we can catch Grand Prismatic Spring before complete darkness? We do. And we get there after dusk. It’s a long walk on a boardwalk that’s mostly frozen from the steam of the hot springs and the currently 30 degree temps. There’s not much color to see at this point, but with no one here, it’s hauntingly beautiful. (Literally, almost no one. There’s one person here – a girl from Chicago who caught up to us mostly because she didn’t want to be walking it alone, but wanted to see it before she leaves the park.) By the time we return to the car, it’s completely dark and both kids are convinced they’re somehow going to die. And of course…husband finds a ring on the ground in the parking lot, in the dark. Who needs a metal detector? (All these plummeting temps must be making those rings just slide off cold fingers.)

We have an hour drive back through dark and snow to get to our side of the park. It’s a little harrowing, but we make it back to the camp by 11, brush teeth, and hop into freezing sleeping bags that take some time to warm.

And in the middle of the night, Younger Child and Husband heard elk bugling to each other somewhere near the campground. I pretend not to be jealous, but—OH!—*these* are the sounds I want to hear in nature!