National Park After Dark - Trail Tales 50

Episode Date: July 4, 2024

Today’s stories include unlikely reunions, wild horse chases, dog-sent wolves, lifesavers and Alaskan surfing. Outsiders Only bonus stories available for Patreon and Apple Subscribers!We love our National Parks and we know you do too but when you're out there, remember to enjoy the view but watch your back. Please take a moment to rate and subscribe from wherever you’re listening to NPAD! Become part of our Outsider family on Patreon  or Apple Subscriptions to gain access to ad-free episodes, bonus content, and more. Follow our socials Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter. To share a Trail Tale, suggest a story, access merch, and browse our book recommendations - head over to our website.Thank you so much to our partners, check them out!Rocket Money: Use our link to get started saving.Lumi Gummies: Use code NPAD50 at checkout for a free jar of gummiesfor a limited time.Quince: Use our link to get free shipping and 365-day returns. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

Monday AI agents took over my work. And I absolutely love it. Chasing deadlines, writing status reports, updating stakeholders. Agents handle the daily grind now. They live inside Monday.com. So they see the full picture, my work, my team, the whole company. And I don't have to worry about the data. It's safe, which means I'm free to focus on the big stuff,

knowing everything runs smoothly in the background. It's completely shifted the way we work. Create your own AI agent in minutes on Monday.com. Girl, winter is so last season. And now Springs got you looking at pictures of tank tops with hungry eyes. Your algorithm is feeding you cutoffs. You're thirsty for the sun on your shoulders. That perfect hang on the patio sundress.

Those sandals you can wear all day and all night. And you've had enough of shopping from your couch. Done hoping it looks anything like the picture when you tear up on that envelope. It's time for a little in-person spring treat. It's time for a trip to Ross. Work your magic. Hey everyone, welcome back to National Park After Dark Trail Stories. As always, you all have written in some amazing stories that we're really excited to tell today. We are. And we're also excited

to remind you that our merchandise is back. We kind of teased it. Tell me about it. So we teased it a little bit over the last couple weeks. But just as a reminder, the store is now live. There are links in this episode description on our website. On our Instagram, there are plenty of places to find it. It's everywhere. We're so excited for it. So it's everywhere. We have all of it.

We've been wearing it. And I know a lot of you have already been buying it. But if you haven't had a chance or don't know about it, it is up. It's there. Go check it out. And someone actually, I was wearing the hat. And someone at like they just said it was at a cashier just complimented my hat. And I was like, they're like, I love your logo on your hat.

I'm like, oh, thanks. Did not elaborate. That's like me when someone saw me wearing the merch. I'm like, oh, thanks. Thanks. Anyway, bye. Yeah. So anyways, we're really proud of the designs and the merchandise itself, the store, the web page is beautiful. Everything's great about it. And it's been a long time coming. So go check it out if you are interested. But other than that, we've got some stories for you. Do you want to go first? Sure. Cool. My first one is titled Wild Horse Chase in Canyon Deschay. Hi, Cassie and Danielle, my name is Ali. Feel free to use my name. Let me start by saying, thank you for hosting such an incredible podcast. I have grown a new appreciation for the great outdoors, and I make an effort to hike whenever I can. I hiked a lot when I was younger with my parents,

traveling to places like Yosemite, Zion, and the Grand Canyon as a child. As I've gotten older, I grew lazy and was less inclined to wander outside my apartment, thanks COVID. But your podcast helped re-inspire my love of being outside, which I will be forever grateful for. I'd like to give a short introduction to where the story takes place. Canyon Deschay National Monument is located in northeastern Arizona, just south of the four corners. The National Monument covers a 131 square mile area that lies entirely within the territory of the Navajo Nation. It is made up of several intersecting canyons that have gorgeous rock structures and beautiful views of the valley floor from the canyon rims. The most famous structure is spider rock, a 750 foot sandstone,

twin spire that rises from the canyon floor and reaches towards the sky. Back in 2003, when I was about seven years old, my parents decided to pile into the car and drive up to Canyon DeShay for the weekend. One thing to know about me is I was a horse girl. One of those girls who, if they had a personality type, it would just be horse. I feel that. That was me in elementary school for sure. That was me for, like, what's up? I'm like, I really like Palomino's. Let me tell you everything I can about quarter horses. It's just so funny that have you, I don't know, I'm probably going to embarrass myself because you probably haven't heard it.

But that thing, it's like, I have purse, I have hat on head. Have you heard that? No. Okay. Well, I'm not even going to. For the people who are listening and know, they know. Anyways. If you know, you know.

Cassie doesn't. So we're moving on. I don't. I'm not in that group. But the rest of the other than. She goes on to say, I wanted to be a real life cowgirl. I had taken a couple riding lessons courtesy of a family friend, and obviously at seven, I was unstoppable and a professional rider. So due to the aforementioned horse obsession, my parents decided to surprise me with a horseback riding tour of the canyon.

I didn't care about the canyon. I was just happy to see horses. My parents had managed to find a Navajo who owned and operated a horseback riding tour company. My parents wanted experience guides and to support the locals. Navajo families still live at the bottom of the canyon and operate farms, and, and many different tour companies, the bottom of the canyon is a protected area that you can only go to with a guide and with permission, which I find incredible. So, we arrive at the stables around 7 a.m. on a Sunday, bright and early. My dad, having seen spider rock from the rim the day before, is absolutely enamored with it,

and asks one of the guide if it's possible to ride down to the canyon floor to see it up close. The guide says yes, but it would be a very long and uncomfortable ride that would take almost the entire day. The next best thing would be riding out as close as we can to the lower rim of the canyon. My dad decides to go with option two. Next, it's time for horse assignment. The adults all get the normal horses. For some reason, they decided it was okay to give the seven-year-old the mischievous gilding that had a previous history of taking off running on the trails.

The guide said, oh, he's okay. He just gets excited when it's time to go back home. Me too, buddy. Me too. I'm told to watch out on the way, back in case he tries to bolt. Why were my parents okay with this? It was the early 2000s. Who knows? We take off and the trail is normal for the most part. We cross a dry riverbed full of smooth stones around the halfway point. Other than that, it's just an easy trail. One of the guides

has my reins while I hold onto the saddle pommel on our way to the rim. Once we get to the rim, we see the rock. It's great. Hurrah. Okay, time to turn around. At this point, my horse is getting antsy. It's been a few hours and Buddy wants to go home. The guide originally holding my reins is now behind me while I ride my horse on my own. My parents make it across the riverbed at the halfway point and are waiting with the first guide for us to cross. This is where the shit hits the fan. When I give him a gentle nudge to cross the riverbed, he takes this as a starting pistol and immediately takes off galloping across the rocks. The start of the motion is so sudden and so forceful, my saddle slides off the side of the horse. I'm still strapped to him, but it comes loose and slides at a

45 degree angle off of his left side. Picture a small child hanging off of the side of a galloping horse clutching onto its neck with legs furiously scrambling to keep purchase on the horse's back and stomach. This all happens within maybe four to five seconds. Within a blink, the guide behind me spurs his horse and begins chasing after me and yelling me to hold on. I don't. I don't. I don't. I don't. I don't. don't even remember if I was screaming or if I was silent with fear. I managed to look up as the horse veers off the riverbed away from the trail and straight to the edge of the canyon rim, which is now quickly approaching. He shows no signs of slowing down.

I remember my mom and my dad yelling as the rim got closer and closer. I'm too scared to let go. Thank goodness for the guide haunt on my trail as he finally catches up and grabs my reins, pulls my horse up short about 10 feet from the edge of the rim. He leads me back to my parents and tells me that I'm lucky because the drop from that spot is about 200 feet to the canyon floor. By the way, who tells a kid that? Thanks, man, but come on, time and place. Read the room. Read the room.

At this point, both my mom and I are crying hysterically. I get off my horse, but I'm told I need to get back on because we're still a few miles away from the stable. After some convincing, I finally get back in the saddle, right as I get situated, all five horses nearly simultaneously. start peeing. Mine starts and the others follow suit. I started laughing and everyone else was too. It helped break the tension a little bit. We made it back with no further issues. I still rode horses and took lessons for years after that, but it's been many years since I've ridden a horse now. Sadly, I am not a real-life cowgirl. I'm a legal assistant that shouts pony every time I see a horse, even at the age of 27. Thanks for reading this. And remember, never be afraid to get back in the saddle alley. I love it.

that story and the sentiment at the end. It's a fun, it's a fun story as a kid to be able to come back and tell that and be like, imagine me holding onto the neck of a horse, galloping, holding on for my life, about to plummet us both to our deaths. But you made it and now you're here. You did make it. The scariest, like, encounter I think I had out of all the years of riding is I, so I leased a horse for a few years. Well, I personally did. My parents did for me. That sounds so snobby. It's true. And so obviously you just get like, you know, you're leasing the horse. You can do whatever. You don't have to like stay in the arena or whatever. And so I, her name was Misty and I would take her out onto the trails. And there was a outdoor, because I did hunter jumper. So there was like a small jump course pretty far away from the main stables that was set out in like a big field. And after being on the trails, I went out and I was like practicing our runs. And she stopped like about halfway through. She's. stopped like right before one of the jumps. Like she was just over it. She's like, I'm not doing this anymore. And it was so abrupt that I fell off of her. But not only did I fall off of her,

she fell on top of me. And we were kind of pinned to the ground. Like, I thought my leg was broken. Ouch. And I was out there by myself, you know, by myself. I'm like, is she okay? Because everyone knows, like, horse people know. Like, if a horse gets a leg injury, it's usually not very good. Yeah. So I was like, am I okay? Is she okay? What's going on? And it happened. Again, yeah, so fast. And I was definitely bruised up. It kind of reminds me of when your bike dropped on you, on your leg. Yeah.

Yes. Yes. The memories. So it was bruised up. But, yeah, horse things are dangerous. Like, people make fun of horse girls, but horse girls are brave. They are very brave and very fit because you have to hold on for your life sometimes. It's just, I can remember, since we're talking about horse stories.

This isn't my scariest horse story, but it's my funniest, I think. So I was working at a ranch in Jackson Hole for a little bit, and I went out on a horse ride, and it was just with some other co-workers. It wasn't with anyone else because a lot of times they did trail rides, so there would be guests and stuff that would come. But it was just us. So we went out into this field, and we just took off. And it was so fun and, like, so freeing. And we went up to the summit of this peak. And when we got up to the top and looking out, you can see the titans.

there's these beautiful mountains all around. And then I'm sitting there and I feel my horse just start to go down. And she, this little, I loved the sour shoot who's so sassy and so fun. But she decides that it is time to roll over with me on her back. And I literally had to pull. I pull my feet out of the stirrups and I jump off the side as she just brings herself to the ground and just does a full roll where I was just sit. And I was like, are you serious right now?

Like, she's like, move or lose it? She was just like, I'm sick of having you on my back, like, get off. And she just rolled over as I'm having this like peaceful moment at the top. But it was so funny. And I was just like, okay. She had other plans. Yeah, and then she was fine. I just got back on and we went back.

But it was just so funny. I was like, what are you doing? Horses are fresh. They all are. Every single one. Actually, that's not true. I used to volunteer at a rescue farm where this woman, she rescues horses that are at slaughterhouses across the country because a lot, it's a huge problem. And she's a saint and rescues all these.

And I used to volunteer until she moved. But it's called Storybrook Rescue. If anyone wants to go check her out and support her, she's awesome. But she had some really beautiful, like older horses. And she had one in particular. Her name was Paloma. and she was just the, she was this huge draft horse and she was beautiful and so calm. Like anyone could go near her.

Anyone could do anything and she was not phased. She kids could ride her like anything. She was just the sweetest, kindest, most gentle horse. But she had a lot of horses like that that were safe from rescues that lacked the sass. I was going to say it's probably also like a little bit of appreciation for being rescued. In a safe space. Yeah. in a safe space. Yeah, I totally would think that's like a theme for a lot of those animals.

Just the sweetest, nicest horses. This episode is brought to you by Prime. Obsession is in session. And this summer, Prime Originals have everything you want. Steamy romances, irresistible love stories, and the book to screen favorites you've already read twice. Off campus, L. every year after, the love hypothesis, Sterling Point and more. Slow burns, second chances. Chemistry you can feel through the screen.

Your next obsession is waiting. Watch only on Prime. Anyway, off the horse train, my next story is titled, I survived a thunderstorm, kind of not really. Let's hop to it. When Cassie mentioned in episode 211 that men get struck by lightning more than women, I wasn't exactly surprised. Let me explain.

I like to think of myself as a pretty adventurous person, a bit neurotic and careful maybe, but overall I deeply enjoy exploring the outdoors, traveling, storm watching, and I'm up for most adventures. I've traveled to and hike trails in Sedona alone, drag my friend to New Mexico, underrated, stunning state, by the way, have fed raccoons, Rhesies, yeah, I definitely shouldn't have done that, and have taken my dog for many nightwalks in the woods, and I'm not afraid to go on a hike in rough weather. Sure, these are normal for many travel and outdoor enthusiasts, but really adventurous compared to the average woman, especially

traveling and hiking alone. However, all my pride and the adventurous person I thought I was came crashing down when I met my now husband and started hanging around his family. Boy, do they have stories. Here's just one from the beginning of our relationship. When we were first dating, many of our dates and evenings were filled with adventure, visiting beaches, hiking trails, exploring new areas. The usual, casual things you do when you're first in love and want to spend every moment together. We lived in San Diego County, and there were not too many thunderstorms, but we had a couple of summers in a row where we got several huge ones. They were beautiful. I love driving in my car with him to chase down the storms and get a closer watch or sit in

and snuggle. One evening, there was a massive thunderstorm. It was incredible and sure enough, we ended up driving around in the rain to check it out. At one point, we stopped in front of an open field. It was an incredible view. We were sitting in admiration in the car when he said the words, let's go over there so we can see better. I kind of looked at him funny. The storm was right over our heads and we couldn't drive any closer since the field was fenced off to cars. Then it clicked. He was pointing to the top of the hill. This man wanted to stand on top of an open hill, no trees around, just San Diego brush and dirt right in the middle of a thunderstorm. What? What do you mean? Honestly, at this point, I panicked because I was not going to get zapped into oblivion because

of this man. This is where things get boring. I made him drop me off at his house while I waited for him to come back from storm watching. I may have been a vibe killer at this point, but oh well, This is why men get hit by lightning more than women. They have some sort of broken danger radar in their brains. We've gone on so many adventures together since, and he's even taking me skydiving, which was incredible. So I am still cool, but just not dying in a thunderstorm cool. Thanks for all you do, and I hope you enjoy it, my very silly thunderstorm survival story.

Valid. Valid. Thank you for the clarification. I was wondering where that stat came from. It's like just because they're willing to go out. It's actually really funny because we just had to. a thunderstorm here yesterday. And my friend came over and she drove up from New Hampshire and she got here. And right as she pulled in the driveway, we had had tornado warnings. And I get this notification on my

phone and it's like tornado warning in your area seek shelter now. And I was like, what are you talking about? There isn't even wind. And I look out, I'm on top of a hill and we've had thunderstorms all day. And because we're so high up when thunder happens, it sounds like it's right above the house. and I look out and I just see wind coming in from afar and then it comes in immediately. It was going, I guess, 40 miles per hour towards the house. And suddenly all the trees around are just shaking violently. I'm like, oh, shit. And I run outside to see if she's coming in the house and she's sitting in her car

because she was texting me. My house is kind of confusing on like which direction you walk in. So I'm looking at her and I'm waving at her like, get in the house, get in the house. And she's not. And it's torrential downpours. There's thunder. and I run out to her and I like knock on her window and she looks up and I'm like, get in the house. There's a tornado warning right now.

And so she like throws her stuff out. We grab all of her stuff and we're running inside. We're getting pelted. There was like there was hail that was coming down and all the trees were like violently. And there was not a there wasn't like a wisp of wind five minutes before this. And we're running into the house. We run into my basement and we're just sitting there watching and there's a window in my basement. So we're like watching all the trees shake around.

And after five minutes, it disappeared. But I was just like, so hearing a thunder story here, it just reminds me of my little encounter yesterday. And the tornado didn't hit where we were. But it shook things up and it got a little gnarly up here. Well, that's interesting. You say that because I like, I didn't get an alert on my phone. But it was definitely like a weather.

It was like a weather advisory that said like there was a tornado warning. And I'm like, where am I? Like over the last cover. I mean, I know we haven't talked about on the podcast, but the last two weeks for me have been a complete, my life has been a tornado, okay? But it's just been a whirlwind. So like the collective like three days I've been here since I actually, because I got here on a Saturday night. And then Sunday, the ninth is when Bertie passed away. And then like I was here for like a day and a half.

And then I went to Portugal for Natay's wedding. And then I kind of, I just got back. yesterday or the day before. And I'm like, it's so confusing that I'm living in New Hampshire, or where am I? Maine. You're like, I don't even know where I live. I don't know what state I am in. I don't know what year it is. So it's like when I saw that, I'm like, tornado warning. I'm like, what? Like, where am I? And I had to get, it's so funny, I had two D, no, two humidifiers for my house in Washington, basically chuck those in the garbage. And I got a dehumidifier. And I've been pulling water out of the air, like crazy in this. I'm like, I can't, it's, I don't know how people do it. I don't know how I did it. It is so wet. Everything's wet. It's just wet here. And I feel like a cat who was just dunked in a bathtub unwillingly. And every like my hair is like a mess. I'm always sticky. Like everything's sticky. I feel like a three year old. Like I'm just sticky. Everything is has a sheen to it. I'm like, what am I doing here?

shiny. Thank you. Yeah, I'm like, what is happening? Why are there tornadoes? Everything is soaked. Welcome to England. What have I done? Okay. What have I done? Okay. My next story is titled, My dog sent me way more wolves than I bargained for. Hey there. My name is Haley. I'm from Salt Lake City and was very blessed to grow up in the great outdoors, but your podcast has given me a new passion for our wild places. I've been such a huge fan for the past couple of years. Me and my older sister sent each other the Zion episode within a minute of each other in early 2022, and I've loved every episode since. Your week of wolf episodes and the most recent trail tales about signs from loved ones who have passed on inspired me to tell my own story. I was a critical care in ICU vet tech in a specialty vet hospital in Salt Lake City for several years. I loved my job,

but as I'm sure you both know well, the mental and emotional burnout of compassion fatigue was taking its toll. But it got so much worse in October of 2022 when my childhood dog Brody was diagnosed with cancer. To say I was devastated is an understatement. Brody was a special dog. Me and my family always joked that he was an old man stuck in a canine body. He was grumpy, kind of an asshole, had a love of ear and chin scratches, and was the guardian of my childhood home. And he loved opening presents. He was my partner in crime, my adventure buddy, my best friend, my Brody Bear. A month before his diagnosis, I had decided to go back to school for wildlife biology. I had fallen out of love with veterinary medicine and wanted to work outside,

to work towards conserving wilderness and the animals that inhabit it. Fast forward for months of school and full-time work and taking care of a sick dog when I learned that Brody's cancer had spread to his lungs and his heart. This was my first time making that horrible and heartbreaking decision of saying goodbye to one of my own. I had countless brushes with euthanasias at work, but nothing can prepare you for your own dog. especially your first. But I felt guilty, unsure if he had any good days left, if it was time for me and my family to say goodbye.

I put Brody down at home on a bright winter morning in February. He passed away in his favorite sun patch, eating a handful of cheese as I kissed his head, goodbye. It was heartbreaking watching my other dog Lucy mourn him. She had lost her big brother and best friend too. God, okay, I just have to insert this right now and say that, like I pre-pre-pre-trial episodes like I would say like a month or two in advance. Just because we have so many like it's yeah you know like I just like prepare them in batches.

And this is such a poignant. Like I can't believe I'm reading this story right now. Like it's so similar just like from the obviously like a lot of euthanasias are similar in the way that they happen. But just like the trajectory of you like getting compassion fatigue and like falling out of love with vet med and like wanting to do wildlife conservation instead. I was going to say this sounds like very similar. Yeah. And then like cancer and all that. And yeah.

I mean, I don't know if she lists the cancer that Brody had, but Blue had five days. From his diagnosis to his when I put him down also at home was five days. Like it was less. It was so fast. Yeah. It's awful. Anyways. Okay.

Oh yeah. And also the other dog. So Chosca has not, Chosca has been surviving on Puppets. cups from Starbucks and a particular type of treat. But he won't eat. He won't eat his food. He won't eat certain treats. He doesn't play. He doesn't do anything. Like he's so depressed. And I'm like, please. Like it's so sad. It is so sad watching your other dog mourn. You know, and he's always just kind of, yeah, his best friend. I mean, he was with him for nine years. Yeah. You know, I don't want to get emotional right now. Back to the story. Back to the story. Back to the story. Back to the emotional story that

is not mine. The next couple of months were a blur of grief and trudging through my responsibilities. I had thrown my resume at any job that I was remotely qualified for in wildlife, hoping for any sort of reprieve from working in a clinic, but not really thinking I would get anything concrete for the summer. To my surprise, I scored an interview with a conservation corps in Montana. Somehow, out of all people, they chose me. I would be heading to Northwest Montana to work with the Confederate Salish and Kootenai Tribal Wildlife Division. on the Flathead Reservation for the summer of 2023. I was conflicted and confused on whether I should reject the job.

I was still heartbroken and grief-stricken, not knowing if leaving home, my family, and my friends for the first time in my life was the right decision. Soon after, I had decided to accept, I found out my uncle, Ono or Ono. I would feel like Ono. Yeah, I feel like Ono. If it's not, I don't know. He had passed away from cancer.

Once again, I found myself amidst a turmoil of loss. My uncle had been one of the biggest inspirations for me pursuing a career in wildlife. I had just been thinking of how excited I was to tell him that I was moving to Montana when I got the news. I didn't know what to do. Should I stay home or go? I was so torn, wavering about if I was strong enough to move a thousand miles from home right after my world was turned on its head. My sister Julia had booked an appointment with a medium for the following week.

I had always been a skeptic not believing that anyone could commune with those who had passed on. but how wrong I was. She was spot on about Brody, his personality, that he was a Westie, that cancer had taken him. She told both of us that Brody was out of pain and happy on the other side and that I had made the right decision

when to let him go. She also told me that I just had to do it to move. Little did I know that moving would change my life in the most fundamental of ways. On a cool spring morning in May, I finished packing up my car and hugged my parents and Lucy goodbye

as I pulled out of my neighborhood, choking back sobs as I drove through some of the west's most beautiful places on my way north. But the summer of 2023 was magical. My job consisted of bullfrog management in the Mission Valley, long days spent out in wetlands and ponds, catching frogs, and enjoying the insane beauty of the high country of Montana. My weekends were spent hiking in glacier, falling in love with the vast sweep of glaciated mountains and alpine lakes. One weekend in July, my parents came to visit. I showed them my new home and was their tour guide through going to the Sun Road,

and my favorite places in glacier. Our last afternoon together, we got Huckleberry ice cream cones and sat along the edge of Lake McDonald. My dad was telling me childhood stories about his own adventures in Montana when a flash of white down the way caught my eye. A Westie was bounding along the rocky shore. My heart stopped.

I handed my half-eaten ice cream cone to my mom and immediately went to say hi. That little white dog's name was Finn, the same name as my cat back home. Those poor owners didn't know what to do, as I burst into tears as I knelt down on the rocks, throwing a tennis ball for that dog. I didn't think it was a coincidence.

Brody had come, letting me know he was still with me. Two months later, I met up with my dad and my siblings for a camping trip in Yellowstone in late September for the explicit purpose of finding wolves. I had been to Grand Teton in Yellowstone countless times before and had never glimpsed my favorite animal. Our first night there, my sister said we should ask Brody to send us some wolves as a sign.

We sat around the campfire, I watched the smoke curl up into the sky towards the Milky Way, silently hoping that Brody would do just that. The next day, we all piled into my dad's four-by-four and headed to Lamar Valley. The morning was fruitless. Only elk and bison to be seen with no wolves in sight. We decided to come back at dusk and spend the day driving and hiking around the infamous Beartooth Highway. As the sun-crested the ridge and afternoon shadows lengthened, we stopped along the Soda Butte Creek where a small crowd had gathered. Rumor was that there was a bison carcass somewhere up on the ridge. An hour later, the crowd gasped.

Outtrodded four wolves from the tree line, two black and two gray, stark against the sagebrush. I held my breath, eyes tearing up and wonder as they disappeared from view. Several more wolves of the junction Butte pack took the same path, occasionally popping up from the carcass and playing up on the ridge. A grizzly came moseying into the kill before moving off into the trees. Here I was, sitting in one of the most remote places in the lower 48, watching a nature documentary in real time. Brody had sent them, but I had no idea just how many more he would send. Heading back to Montana, I started applying for seasonal winter wildlife jobs as my time in the Mission Valley was coming to a close. A week after seeing the wolves in Yellowstone, I got a call I was not expecting.

I don't even remember applying for it, but the wildlife biologist from the Mexican Wolf Recovery Program had left me a voicemail. She wanted to interview me for a field tech position in New Mexico for the winter. I threw my phone across my room, heart pounding and disbelief. Me, wolves? Not even a year into my career switch? Wolves were a species I never even considered that I would have the opportunity to work with. I immediately called her back and we interviewed right there and then. I stumbled over my words, unsure of all the answers I gave her as she asked me about my field experience.

I hung up, defeated, thinking that was the worst interview. I had ever given. She called the next day offering me the job. If you told me a year ago that I would ever get my hands on a wolf, I would not have believed you. I packed up not long after and went from the northern border of Montana south all the way to New Mexico to work with this critically endangered subspecies of the gray wolf. The next six months were a dream, filled with experiences that I can't even begin to describe how magical they were. I worked primarily in the hillo wilderness and national forest, such a rugged, beautiful place. I began my six months there trapping with my boss and my new co-worker for a pack called Beaver Point. Trapping efforts were unsuccessful, but little did I know what I was in store for. The annual

population count began in November, which involved tracking wolves with radio telemetry and walking in to try and get a visual count on pack members. Nearly two months went by with no success and my frustration was mounting. One warm December day out in the middle of nowhere, after a week with no luck, My co-worker and newest friend asked if I wanted to join her to go and try and get a count on Beaver Point. We hopped in the truck, still both in PJs, and not prepared for a trek in the rough country. Within a couple of minutes, we had a signal. We had a signal on the alpha male. We got a triangulation, dumbfounded that we had actually finally gotten location on these elusive animals.

So began the hike up and down steep ravines slick with volcanic rock and pine needles underfoot, then up the side of a mesa. What unfolded will be burned into my memory for the rest of the rest of the lake. of my life. As we crested to the top, a big male wolf trotted out from between the junipers within 10 yards of us, his mate and two pups just behind him. The three others got one sniff of us and were off like a bullet, but that male just stopped for a long moment. He turned his head, looking over right over his shoulder, directly into my eyes. Full body shivers coursed through me, tears walling up in my eyes as that male regarded me, seeing right down to my bones my very soul.

And then he was gone, gone with the wind between swaying meadow grasses and gnarled juniper. I think we were both a little shocked having run right into a pack of wild wolves. Weeks and months went by full of dusty days out under the sun and tracking packed through the wilds. Nearly a month later, my last field days out in the hila were coming to an end. I was up early driving that same rocky road that had led me to beaver point. It had just snowed. The world was brilliant, white and bright. From nowhere, two wolves trotted out onto the road, silent as ghosts as they slid.

flipped back into the trees on the other side. I slammed on my brakes, wide-eyed as I fumbled for my telemetry receiver, and flicked it on. The answering chirps of their callers on my receiver confirmed it was Beaver Point Wolves. I sat there in my truck for a long time, overwhelmed with emotion and gratitude. I like to think that they had come to see me off onto my next adventure, saying goodbye in their own wolfish way. Two hours later, I received a text from an old co-worker with a picture of a Westie that had been going to the hospital that morning. It was almost a year to the day that I had let Brody go, bringing him peace and an end to his suffering.

And he had sent me the gift of wolves. Way more wolves than I could have ever hoped for. Brody showed me that magic is real and it wears fur and teeth and howls of the moon somewhere deep in the wilderness. And I have had a place there too, striving to protect all the wild things that still prowl there. He led me to witness some of the most incredible stories in places to meet new lifelong friends and show me that life doesn't end when we lose those that we love the most.

It just makes what we do have and what we find in the aftermath all the sweeter and more cherished. My uncle was one of Brody's favorites, and I know Brody was there for him when he crossed to the other side, greeting him with a wagging tail and that big, goofy grin. I can't help but think that they both had their hand and paw in how I ended up here, living a wild dream of working with wolves. I had to lose my best friend to realize that we're really never alone. Even when the best dogs go from this world, they're still right here at our heels. A guardian angel with four paws instead of wings.

Thank you both for sharing stories of lost and signs. I think it brings hope and closure to those of us who have lost loved ones and may have lost our way for a while after. Enjoy the view and remember to watch your back because you never know when a little white dog will send you more wild things than you bargained for. I'm not crying, you're crying. I tried really hard not to cry at the end of that. Wow. That was a beautiful story and an amazing experience too. From start to finish, what an experience. And to have that in Yellowstone and now you're working with wolves.

I mean, it's all amazing and good for you for having all of your dreams come true in those ways. And I think you're totally right that your dog was looking out and help make these things happen. Yeah, 100%. You don't have to convince me. Yeah, we're convinced. All right. My next trail tale is titled, A Trail I meant to send two years ago. Hi, friends. You know I love the show and both of you. And so we'll go ahead and jump right into this. June 25, 2017. I was dating a now ex-boyfriend at the time. Let's call him Ryan. It was early in New England summer. You know how exciting this is. It's not too hot yet. The daylight hours are the longest and the breeze is perfect. It's beautiful. We decided we were going to set out for a hike. Well, to tell the truth, I decided and

dragged him along. I wanted to show him one of my favorite trails. I'd hiked this trail quite a few times. He wasn't a huge outdoorsman. I won't claim that I was either at the time, although more than he was. We drove up to the White Mountains National Forest and parked in the parking lot of the Welch and Dickey Mountain Loop Trail. This is about a five-mile hike out and back. And if you decide to summit both mountains. It was approximately 2 to 3 p.m. if I remember correctly, and we decided we would just summit the first and head back down as we were already getting a late start.

We packed lightly figuring it would be quick and easy walk in the woods. Well, we were wrong. First, let's note there were only two other cars in the parking lot. I think it was Sunday, if I remember correctly, our car was the third. I felt this was odd, but didn't pay much mind to it. We began our ascent. It took probably about an hour and 15. minutes to get up there, stopping often to admire the forest for short periods of time.

We got to the top and it was spectacular. The temperature was perfect. The sky was darkening gray blue, a hole of one to two clouds in the sky. We lied down and closed our eyes and just took it all in. For the first time, after a long New England winter of being stuck inside the apartment, I felt small again in the best way. There was a couple at the top and then there was a man and his dog. The couple left shortly after our arrival to begin their descent.

The man and his dog walked by us, a smile and a quick one. question of, hey, it'll be getting dark soon. Do you guys have flashlights? We did not. We thanked him and said we will head out shortly. The sun was near the tips of the mountains surrounding us, turning them into purple silhouettes. It looked like a painting. Just a few more minutes is what we agreed on. The man noted that there had only been two other cars in the parking lot. He asked which was ours. We told him. He said when he got to the bottom, if he still saw our car there, he would wait until it was dark and even a few minutes past that. If he did not see us in the parking lot, he he would come back up. We chuckled lightly at the thought of this, two people who hate accepting

favors ever, let alone from a stranger. No, no, really, we appreciate it, but if you don't have to do that, please enjoy your night. We'll head down in a minute, we said. He thanked us and once again said he'd be there. He and his dog, who we later learned to be Mecca, began their trail run down. We watched the sunset just a little bit more. We were the only ones at the top of Welch Mountain. It was nearly silent, aside from the soft rustling of leaves, a few flapping wings of birds heading to their nose. for the night. Living in a small city in southern New Hampshire, it was amazing to not hear, see, or smell a single vehicle. No highways, no upstairs apartment neighbors. Okay, it was getting dark. We had our phone flashlights. We tried convincing ourselves this would be enough. I did not

have all trails or any of the sort at this time. We wanted to stay up there all night. Maybe 20 minutes after the man left, it was our turn to reluctantly begin our descent down. So we did just that. About 30 minutes down, we began realizing how difficult this may prove to be, as dusk was nearly ending. It was darker under the shade of trees than it was at the top of the mountain. Surprise, surprise, we continue walking, chatting, joking. A few more minutes go by, it felt like we were racing daylight. Okay, we were. Whatever. The trail began to look unfamiliar. I didn't know if it was the shadows, did we take a different way accidentally? Did we go off the trail while talking? At one point in the trail, there's a big slab of rock you have to kind of scale up during your

the ascent and then back down the ascent. It felt longer going down, narrower, and steeper. We decided to try to cut through where it looked like there was a more friendly terrain, just parallel the rock face. More time had passed. It was dark. We could hardly see our hands in front of our faces. It had maybe been an additional hour and we were sure we were not even halfway down. Maybe not even a quarter. Who knew? Not us. We plopped tirely on a rock, wishing we had told the man and his dog to wait for us. They were long gone by now. We were sure of it. Nobody in their right mind wants to be on their way to summit the same mountain for a second time in the same day after dark. We're anxious. What energy we have left is quickly withering away with the added anxiety of the situation. Ryan asked if we should just call

911. I was appalled. Absolutely no way am I doing that. We waited a little more in silence. I tried to pull up the trail map on my phone, but there was no service. We sit in silence for a few more minutes, realizing it will be cold and there will be more bugs soon. And even if we were to wait for daylight, we were certainly not equipped for this. The night had just begun. We got enough service to somehow pull up the search and rescue number. I was humiliated, but I did not want to sleep on this damn ass rock. With what little dignity I had left, I called the number.

Ryan was in my ear, frantic, telling me the only way is if we go back up and they send a helicopter. Nope, absolutely not. I'm not doing this. I hate flying. and that feels way too dramatic. I want the car, I want my bed, I am figuring this out. I open up my compass app and peek in reading coordinates. So the man on the other end of the line can tell me which way to walk.

It's working. Then it's not. Then it is. Then it's not. And my phone battery is low. Ryan then suddenly shushes me. He hears something. I pull the phone away from my ear and I'm not hearing whatever it was he heard.

He tells me to wait. Still nothing. I continue reading coordinates following the compass and my phone died. all of the sudden we see the glimpse of a flashlight through the brush. We hear a yelling from somewhere. I couldn't tell the direction and it was still far away. So we yell back. The voice was getting closer.

Could it be the man we saw at the top? We were wondering. It goes quiet again and it feels like minutes keep passing. I don't see the light. I don't hear the voice. We're getting scraped by numerous twigs in the brush. Weeding our way through branches and stumbling over roots. Absolutely no trail in sight at this point.

Then I hear rustling. and a dog appears. It was a small black dog from the top of the mountain. No fucking way. Was I imagining this? How was she here? Ryan calls back the number. He tells him, we don't need help.

I don't know what came of this, but I hope they didn't go up the mountain to look for us. I couldn't tell you. We follow the dog and she's heading back towards a voice yelling, Mecca! She occasionally looks over her shoulder to check that we are still following her. And we were. A few minutes go by and we see the man.

with a flashlight. It was the same man from the summit. Holy hell, he did come back. What a serious act of kindness, I thought. What would you even call that? I don't think I've ever been that kind to anyone. We were in disbelief. We apologized, thanked him, admitted to our wrongs, you name it. He just kept saying, it was cool. He did what he said he was going to do. And he did just that. He saw our car, waited and began his way back up. He introduced himself to us as Dave. His dog, as you already know, Mecca. She led the three of us back to the parking lot. Dave with his headlamp, backpack, and an extra flashlight he handed us to follow him with. I think we continued thanking him the entire way down, apologizing and thanking him and then more apologies. We talked a lot about

his adventures with Mecca. How had she been able to find us? Was she trained to do this? He replied that she wasn't. She did not have any formal training and rescue missions, but he told us many stories of his and Mecca's adventures together. This wasn't the first time she had save someone. He had been led down Mount Washington, nearly lost in fog, by Mecca, he recalled. A workhorse, he called her, the smartest girl. I'm sure we talked about many other things on the way down. I was consumed by thoughts of tiredness and thankfulness and what ways I could repay him. We got to the parking lot and I said goodbye. I know we said thank you many more times. I can't remember any of it. I know I got David's name and we added each other on Facebook. This was too core of a memory to never be in touch

again. It's been five years. I reached out to David before sharing this, and I asked if I could tell the story to my friend's podcast using his and Mecca's real names. And if you guys do choose to read this, I would let him know which episode Mecca is featured on. I guess this is sort of my tribute to them. After all, I really never got to repay them. He said it was our right to use their names. David is a travel nurse out of Montana now. Mecca passed away a little over a year ago at the age of 15 and a half years young. David had her for 14 and a half of those years. He has a dog now by the name of Toby, aka Mini Snapperoo. I followed many of their adventures via social media. He says he shares the story of Mecca's rescue mission often with friends, and although he loves

Minnie Snapparoo, she is no Mecca. We joked about her puppy brain and how she's just happy to tag along. Anyways, sorry for the length of this story, I wrote this about two years ago now, and I'd never sent it. Dave has since adopted another dog, the three of them do trail runs in the White Mountains often. Dave has reminded me bits and pieces of the story that I have seemed to completely forgot for the most part, but it lines up. Details like he was with a friend, and apparently a Waterville Valley police officer was waiting at the bottom for the four of us, with Dave's friends to return, LOL. I now have two dogs of my own. We spend most of all four seasons on different trails and hiking in the mountains. We've yet to get lost. I think I'd like to thank

my dogs for that. And again, I'd like to thank Mecca for being the coolest and best girl around. I believe I still owe Dave some brownies. I'll say it once. I'll say it a million times. We just don't deserve dogs. And yeah, I feel like this is dog theme episode in a weird way. It is. I feel that too. And this story is particularly fun because we know the person who wrote this in. It's actually someone we used to work with.

Yeah, she didn't sign her name. She didn't sign her name. So we'll keep you anonymous. Keep your secrets. We'll keep your secrets, but we know. We know. Oh my gosh. That's a good one.

And it's just so funny knowing because it's like, I am not calling the search and rescue. you because we know exactly like it's just so her like yeah you just have to know her but we can't even name her so I guess she's anonymous it's fun for us yeah it's fun for us okay my last story is titled how a deadhead pilot saved our lives hi from Arkansas I had been listening to your podcast through graduate school and I'm slowly getting caught up I just graduated from my speech language pathology program and I would listen to the show on my drives to and from clinical placement This show has been the perfect thing to turn to when classes in life would become too stressful. Here is my story.

I just started listening to episode 207, which covers the crash of Air Florida Flight 90, and I remembered my dad telling me about this story. My dad has his pilot's license and loves all things aviation. When we were younger, he used to take me and my siblings up in his friend's Cessna plane. Although he hasn't flown much recently, anytime we're in an airport, he is always quick to point out things to us and is always always. always willing to explain how things work to ease some of our travel anxieties. This past December, however, we had a totally new experience.

We usually fly to the Pacific Northwest to visit my grandparents once a year, and in December of 2023, we were going there for Christmas. We were flying out of an airport in northwest Arkansas, and until we boarded the plane, everything had proceeded normally. Once we were seated, we were asking Dad the usual questions, and he was easing our anxieties like normal, but he was tenser than usual and kept looking out the window. Before we began taxiing towards the runway,

he mentioned how there was thick ice on the wings, but that we should be going by a hangar on the way to the runway to get it de-iced. He hadn't told us yet, but he had seen every other plane get their wings de-iced. The plane started to move, but instead of going to the hangar where the other planes were waiting to be de-iced, our plane turned towards the runway. It's not a big airport, so we got to the runway quick.

My dad was trying to flag down a flight attendant, but before she got to him, a man from the back of the plane ran down the aisle and demanded to speak with one of the pilots. In my 20-plus years of flying, I have seen some drama unfold on planes, but I had never seen anything like this. The flight attendants tried to block the man, but he pulled out his ID and raised his voice to turn the plane around. They let him through to the cockpit, and then the plane was turned around. Most people on board were confused, and a few people demanded to know what was going on. The woman next to our row thought the guy was trying to get in the cockpit for other reasons and was starting to panic. The pilot and the co-pilot of our flight got on the intercom and said, apparently there's a little ice on the wings, so we've been recommended to take care of that before we get into the air.

Because of this complaint, there will be a delay. My dad didn't want to scare us, so he waited until we landed at our final destination to tell us what had fully happened. After the flight, he stayed back to thank the man who ran up to stop the flight. So here's what went down. The man who ran to the front of the plane was a pilot who was deadheading our flight. Deadheading is when a pilot or flight attendant rides the plane for free between different destinations. He had seen the ice on the wings, but, like my dad, had thought that the plane was going to get de-iced before it hit the runway. When the pilot realized that we weren't going to be de-iced, he ran to the front to make sure that the plane was turned around.

was originally told to sit down by the pilots, but eventually they listened to him when he threatened to call their superiors. He also chewed them out after the flight for putting our lives in danger, and rightfully so. Some mechanics. The wings of the planes are specifically shaped and smooth to create a lift. This, combined with the speed and angle of the wings, allows the planes to stay in the air. Too much ice can add weight and disrupt the airflow above and below the wings. If it was a situation like a failed engine, the plane could potentially glide to the ground. In a sense, situation where the lift is disrupted, the plane could drop instantly, just like what happened in the story on Air Florida Flight 90. Prior to our flight, northwest Arkansas had freezing rain. There was

visible, thick ice coating the wings. For reference, the FAA's federal regulation says that a fourth of an inch of ice is too much for a plane to get airborne. Every plane that day was highly recommended to receive the de-icing treatment. Our pilots were the only two that refused. I truly believe that that that man who ran to the front of the plane helped prevent a catastrophe that day. Even with federal regulations in place to prevent accidents, our pilots were on a time crunch and were reluctant to admit that they had made a mistake. They were willing to risk all of our lives to save a couple of minutes. The next day, our airport's Facebook page uploaded a post on the importance of de-icing planes,

the danger of flying with ice or frost on the wings, and the importance of a few extra minutes to prevent accidents. I'll leave y'all with the lessons we learned from that day. Don't be afraid to tell someone when you notice something is wrong. And don't cut corners that could put people's lives at risk. Thanks for all y'all do. Enjoy the view. Watch your back and check your wings for ice.

Katie. Oh my God. That story gave me so much anxiety just because I researched that story. And I read all of the stuff of why you have to de-ice the plans and read in depth of why the other one crash. I'm like, oh, my God. She's writing it so I know she survives. But this is giving me such anxiety. And that's so scary that pilots do that. I mean, if you don't know and you're just sitting there like a normal day. Normal day? Not even like what if you don't even have, number one, that knowledge. And number two. Yeah. I mean, it's not your responsibility as a passenger. That's not your responsibility. So it shouldn't be, you know, but oh my God. I'm so glad that I read that now after my flights that I was just on. Yeah, I'm getting on a flight on Thursday. So but there's no freezing. There's, it's summer.

There's no freezing rain. It's summer. Well, now we all know what to look out for is ice on the planes. And it's true. Speak up if you notice something. I like that sentiment. Yes. All right.

My next story. Your last one, I think. My last one, yes. Yeah. So my last story is titled Summitting Half Dome at 7 in a Lightning Storm. Oh no. We know how this goes. Hi, Danielle and Cassie.

Until I listen to your episode about the Spark Ranger, episode 164 and learned how tricky lightning can be, I didn't realize how much danger my dad, sister, and I were during my first half dome summit. We really were so lucky to make it up and down without getting struck by lightning. In the 90s, after my parents got divorced, my dad was excited to take my sister and me out on outdoor adventures, which my mom had never been that interested in. He had been to Yosemite solo a few times and had loved it and decided this would be our place. From the time I was three up to my early 20, we went to Yosemite at least once a year, but often twice, once in the summer to hike

Haftome and once in November to have Thanksgiving dinner at the Yawani. What a cool tradition also. At ages 9 and 7, my sister and I hiked Haftome for the first time. On the day of our Half Dome Summit hike, the weather wasn't great, but after so much training and planning, we weren't going to let some weather bring us down. It was a strenuous hike, but I frankly enjoyed all the attention from adult hikers who were impressed that such young kids were heading to the quote-unquote top. As we got further along our route, the traffic on the trail thinned out,

and we started encountering groups of people who are heading back down without summiting, citing the weather. But we were determined. When we reached the sign warning hikers to turn back if there was lightning in the area, we pushed on despite distant rumbles of thunder. My dad was sure we could rush up to the top, take in the view, then rush down before the storm reached us. We pushed through the switchbacks and made it up to the subdom and time to see the lightning we'd been hearing. It seemed pretty far off. and we were right there at the cables. So we booked it. We geared up with gardening gloves and carabiners attached to ropes around our waist for safety on the cables and climbed on. At seven, I had very little

context for what was happening. I assumed since my dad said it would be okay, that it would be okay. When I started feeling shocks at my arms while holding onto the cables, my dad said he didn't feel anything and to just keep moving. And my sister told me to stop being a baby. So I shut up and kept climbing. I bit back tears as I climbed, dreading the next jolt of pain from the cables, willing myself to just get to the top and off of them. When we reached the summit, we were totally alone and could see the massive storm headed straight for us. The air had chilled humidity with a touch of electricity you could get just before the big storm hits. We took a couple of pictures together and headed back to the cables. I mentioned one more time that the cables had hurt and my dad,

not wanting to hear me complain more, offered to switch gloves with me. I agreed and we headed down. Within a few seconds of holding the cables, my dad pulled his hands away, swearing. And in that moment, he realized that the whole way up the rock, I was being mildly electrocuted because there were holes in my gloves. He said something along the lines of, why didn't you say it was this bad? And I said something along the lines of, no one believed me. And we proceeded to hurry down the cables as the rain started. We jogged most of the way down to the valley and ended our day with a hamburger dinner at our campsite. We were all fine and in retrospect, we were all fine. And in retrospect, we were. We were so lucky that things weren't worse. For me, it was a great lesson to follow the rules of the trail. They're there to keep us all safe and alive. We went on to Summit Halfdome about 12 more times until the permit rule was implemented. On one of those trips, my dad and stepmom got married at the top. Every year we wonder if the weather would hold, if we were in good enough shape,

if the waiting lines on the cables would be too dangerous. But we always made it. It has been over a decade since my last visit, but my heart still lives in Yosemite of my memories. In that valley, I learned how to ride a bike, whistle, and skip rocks. I encountered bears and marmots with awe. I spent years counting time based on when our next trip to you, Somity would be. I hope you enjoyed this little tale. And if you ever get the chance to summit half dome, take it.

You won't regret it. Enjoy the view, but heed trail warning signs. Courtney. And believe your kid, I guess. Oh my God, you were getting mildly electrocuted the whole way up and you're just like, okay. I guess this is fine. I guess this is fine. I'll keep going.

God, that is awful. And very glad you're okay. I mean, as a kid, you're like powerless, you know? Like, there's only, I mean, I remember things. I mean, obviously not anything to that degree. But you know that feeling of just trying to advocate for yourself, but because you're a child. No one believes you. Yeah.

Or you're brushed off or minimized or whatever. And like, oh, you're just being a baby. Like they said, oh, you're just being a baby. Keep going. It's like, am I being a baby? Okay. I thought this really hurts, but maybe everyone's feeling this. Oh, God. But cool, yeah, really cool tradition. Yeah. I mean, that's a great place to have annual trips growing up especially. And to learn. And yeah, and you have all your core memories learning how to ride a bike. And just in Yosemite is such a magical place to be. Yeah. Okay. Two more to go. But only for outsiders. Sorry. Sorry everyone else. Unless you want to join us. We're on Apple subscriptions and we're on Patreon. We always do bonus episodes. for Trail tales. We also do monthly bonus episodes. We do live episodes sometimes where we're a live

video and everyone can chat. All our outsiders can hang out together on Patreon. We do that every so often. So if you're interested, come on over. But if not, we'll see you next time. Enjoy the view. But watch you're back. Bye everyone. See ya. Thank you so much for joining us again this week. If you have a trail tale or story suggestion, send us an email at Stories at NPADPodcast.com. Follow us on Instagram and Facebook at National Park After Dark and on Twitter at NPAD podcast. Join our Outsiders-only community on Patreon or Apple subscriptions to listen ad-free, unlock monthly bonus episodes, and exclusive content.

And remember, when you support our sponsors, you are supporting our show. For our exclusive discount codes and source information from today's episode, check out the show notes. For more information on our show, our book recommendations, merch updates, and more, visit our website at npadepodcast.com. And please rate, review, and subscribe from wherever you listen to podcasts. You're listening to this podcast, so I know you've got a curious mind. Here's a helpful fact you may not know yet. Drivers who switch and save with Progressives save over $900 on average.

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