A year ago today, I was snowmobiling in Idaho. I’m just now posting memories from the trip, but I can go back to moments from this weekend instantaneously. The conversations and the solitude, the whine of the Ski Doos and the thunder of waterfalls, the high altitude trails and the flat open fields. I invited about 70 guys on this trip, and Jesus knew which three would be able to go—the dudes with whom I was meant to experience it all.
We stopped at The Grizzly & Wolf Discovery Center in West Yellowstone. I love that they have river otters in addition to the scarier inhabitants. The gift shop had this fun “couch” that begged for a group shot.
Big Springs earns it name, emitting an average of 83,000 gallons of water *per minute* (185cfs for you whitewater paddlers). This water becomes the gorgeous Snake River.
In addition to snowmobilers, cross-country skiers, snowshoers, and snow hikers, the headwaters of the Snake River also attract hardy ducks.
Per usual, I broke some speed limits on my snowmobile. We all did. (Bo set our group top speed on this trip.) We rarely encountered other riders on the trails and had these remote fire roads to ourselves. I wish I had footage from when Jon Marc hit a bump at highway speeds and went airborne. The rookie rider landed it perfectly. I was so impressed.
Our wives know who is who in this picture, especially Bo’s wife. haha
Before we returned the sleds on our last afternoon, the boys let me play around in this field for almost an hour. I’m not talented with a snowmobile. I don’t know any tricks. But I absolutely love riding them, and wish I didn’t have to travel so far to play in the mountains on them.
I enjoy introducing my friends to new places and new experiences. This weekend with Bo, Jon Marc, and Whit filled my heart.
According to Wikipedia and The US Forest Service, Mesa Falls is “the last prominent waterfalls on the Snake River to resist human control.” And I hope “human control” never reaches this 114-foot-tall cascade. I’m happy to see obsolete dams starting to come down in the American West. I’d love to see a series of no-longer-needed dams removed where I love. Lynchburg could become a whitewater destination, if that happened—with the takeout downtown beneath rows of restaurants and loading options.
My primary spiritual pathway is nature. Nothing brings me to tears or to my knees like the beauty stored in remote places. Jon Marc captured this moment of my soul trying to absorb my surroundings, and I’m so grateful he did. Whether I’m hiking, paragliding, or riding any number of motorized exploration vehicles, this is the posture of my heart. I’m not just in “my happy place,” I’m on what is for me holy ground.
Normally, when I rent snowmobiles in the States, I have to return the machine by 5pm. We rented from Island Park Rentals that let us keep the machines overnight. So that meant we got to use our headlights.
We played in this little meadow like kids learning how to do new tricks on their BMX bikes. So fun! But I also luxuriated in the silence in the mountains, the smell of the alpine, and the texture of snow I miss so much from my childhood memories outside of Buffalo, NY.
We covered a lot of ground on these machines: 112 miles the first day alone. It was cool to see stateliness signs along the trails.
When I have to be away from my parking team on a Sunday, I usually take my hat and vest with me to take a picture to send to them in solidarity. One of the sayings on our team is that if we’re being Jesus when we’re away from the lots on Sunday, we’re all serving together. I met Bo on the parking team and even got to officiate his wedding. When he showed up in “parking yellow,” I had to commemorate that shared part of our Jesus stories.
Whit Johnston embodies the American West better than I ever will. He and his wife are the embodiment of the kind of sportsmen outdoor brands try to capture. He is both a man of few words and a storyteller who captures my attention. And in the Bozeman airport, he also let us know that he could be a cowboy at a moment’s notice.
