Camping in April; I used to know better

My memory is beginning to fail.

I used to know better.

You don’t camp in Montana in April.

I forgot that.

A couple of weeks ago Barb and I hooked the pickup to our camper trailer and drove south to Park County. We set up camp on a bluff above the Yellowstone River and enjoyed an afternoon of beautiful weather.

Shortly after we arrived the campground begin to fill. I thought that a bit odd. I was expecting to have the place to ourselves, but there are a lot more people in Park and Gallatin counties than there used to be, folks new to the state who don’t know any better or perhaps old guys like me who have forgotten.

We were there to celebrate my birthday and planned to have the kids and grandkids out for a wiener roast the next day.

By the following morning, however, the wind had picked up enough that it was blowing sand through our campsite. We changed plans and moved the roast to my daughter Audrey’s backyard in Livingston. The wind was still blowing there, but it offered a bit more shelter.

Following the evening’s festivities Barb and I drove back to camp where the wind had picked up considerably.

The trailer was well set up, the outriggers cranked down and the wheels blocked, but it still rocked in the wind.

All night long our sleep was interrupted by the stronger gusts and I became acutely aware of how structurally unsound was this little tin box, perched above the river. Newsreel footage of tornado-ravaged trailer parks filled my head and sleep became impossible

Instead I listened to the wind as it shook my bed.

Somehow I fell back asleep and when I awoke pellets of snow were pelting the camper. The wind had laid a bit but the mountains were white to the valley floor.

I remembered an early April horn-hunting trip years earlier when a friend and I spent two days huddled in our sleeping bags waiting out a snowstorm.

I remembered early April days huddled at the oars of my drift boat pulling hard to row downstream against the cold wind.

I remembered waking in a snow-covered tent during a crappie fishing trip on Tongue River Reservoir, pulling on frozen boots and driving into town for breakfast.

None of those memories, however, made themselves known when I planned this trip. Whether they were repressed or simply forgotten, I should have known better.

You don’t go camping in Montana in April.

Parker Heinlein is at [email protected]