Reporting for Duty

Pris and I packed our van with clothing and household items and headed north on the I-15 for the 1200-mile drive from Lake Forest, California to the Northwest corner of Wyoming.

After two and a half days of driving, we drove up to the West Entrance Gate and were greeted by a Park Ranger.

“Welcome to Yellowstone. I’ve got a park brochure for you and information about the latest road conditions.”

“Thanks. I’m reporting for duty at Lake Ranger Station today.”

It was the first time I ever identified myself as a Park Ranger. It felt good. I could barely contain myself about putting on the gray and green uniform, with the gold badge, distinctive hat, and joining the ranks of the National Park Service.

“Alright then. I’ll just need to check your paperwork and get you on your way.”

I handed the ranger a packet of orientation papers which he quickly looked over.

“Looks good to me. You have a good season over at Lake.” And off we went.

Two hours later, we pulled into a dirt parking area in front of Lake Ranger Station. It was an amazing structure with its “trapper cabin” style overlooking the north shoreline of Yellowstone Lake. The ranger station had been completed in 1923 when it replaced one of the soldier stations.

When it was first built, it was designed with a large octagonal “Community Room” with a central fireplace. This rustic hall served an informational function by day, and, in the evening, it became the scene of a folksy gathering place around a log fire.

I met briefly with Bob Mahn who was the Sub-District Ranger at the time. Mahn was bigger than life and a legend in Yellowstone National Park.

Mahn smiled, and slowly and loudly said, “Rick. I want you to get settled in. You can report in tomorrow morning at 8 o’clock. For now, get on over to the South District Office and one of the clerks will give you directions to the housing area.”

The next morning, I was up bright and early putting on my new uniform and out the front door before Pris was awake.

As soon as I entered Lake Ranger Station, I was greeted with smiles and handshakes from a group of seasoned Park Rangers who were getting ready to hit the road.

The first thing I did was to drop my government forms all over the floor while trying to shake hands. As I bent over to pick up the forms, I split my trousers along the rear seam. So much for first impressions.

Blushing with embarrassment, I politely excused myself and headed back to our efficiency apartment to sew up my new forest green trousers so they wouldn’t split open again and make a second attempt at reporting for duty.

“Pris are you awake? My new uniform trousers don’t seem to fit right. Do we have any green thread and a sewing needle?”