7 Mile Hole - a Night at the Bottom of Yellowstone Canyon.

Night clouds drift across the sky like ships, dark blue and heavy, obscuring the last glow of dusk. I am lying at the bottom of Yellowstone Canyon. No, not dead as a doornail, but in our tent. We managed to get one of the popular backcountry permits that allows us to camp overnight in Yellowstone National Park by the river deep down in the Yellowstone Canyon. We hiked down into the gorge from the rim, packed with gear, five miles long and 2000 feet deep.

And now I'm peeking out of the open flap of our ultralight trekking tent into the darkness, while thunder rumbles quietly in the distance. Thunderstorms seem to love to follow us around on these tours. Last year, we got almost washed away by a river at Lone Star Geyser. Shit happens. This time, our camp is far enough away from any water source. But now there's something else. There's something out there. A wild animal.

I nervously peer into the darkness. A darkness that knows no light pollution. It's as black as a bear's butt. Why do I have to think about bears of all things right now? “Just close the tent door,” my husband says pragmatically before falling into a peaceful deep sleep. Great. Now we're alone—me, the wild animal, and paranoia. 
What was going on out there, why the canyon walls were steaming, how filtering water led to a moment of deep happiness, and how a kidney stone pushed me to my limits on the way back—now here, in the logbook of darkness.

“This hike gets longer every time we do it,” I philosophize as we walk along the forested rim of the canyon before the trail plunges bottomlessly down into the gorge to the river. We have walked this path several times before as a day hike, but this time we want to camp overnight down in the canyon.
My husband agrees. On our first hike, the trail was five miles long, then at least ten, and now definitely fifteen. Or maybe we're just getting older and more melodramatic. 
In fact, the trail is five miles long. However, its official name is “Seven Mile Hole.” The explanation from the National Park Service: it feels like you're walking five miles down and seven miles back up. So apparently we're not the only ones who add emotional miles.

As we arrive at the bottom in sweltering 85°F heat, I drop my heavy backpack onto a small, flat patch of dirt. That's all there is. There's no running water (except for the river), no toilet, no snack bar, no electricity, no cell phone service. It's the backcountry, after all. All the National Park Service provides is a reasonably flat area and–at least a hundred feet away–a spot where you can pull up your bag of food and cosmetics with a rope – so it doesn't attract bears. Because under no circumstances, absolutely no no never never whatsoever, should you keep anything in your tent that smells strongly of food, coffee, toothpaste, or other “bear attractants.” I sniff my T-shirt briefly. Seems okay. 

After setting up camp, we take a look around. Yellowstone Canyon is “active”. What does that mean? Well, Yellowstone is a supervolcano with over 10,000 hot springs and roughly 500 geysers. This means that the national park has over half of all the geysers in the world. Steam rises from the river below. There are also several hot springs, fumaroles, and other geothermal wonders hidden in the canyon walls. A small stream that flows into the large Yellowstone River at the bottom is lukewarm and splashes over bright yellow and pink sinter terraces. The entire canyon is colorful and surreal. Actually, this is where Yellowstone got its name from – yellow stone. No kidding. 

We explore a few springs, some of which are boiling hot and need to be treated with respect and distance. The turquoise river water, on the other hand, is ice cold and rumbles and roars past us. So if you're not careful enough, you can either scald yourself or drown in ice water. Or you can take a jar of yummy honey into your tent overnight. Fifty ways to die in Yellowstone.  

Instead of dying, we later prepare a delicious backcountry dinner in the “dining room” and “kitchen” under the bear rope poles. Instead of buying the expensive, tasteless, freeze-dried crap from the outdoor store, we've been dehydrating our own food at home for a few years now. Both processes–freeze-drying and dehydrating–remove water from the food, which drastically reduces its weight, which is pretty good when you're trekking five, ten, or fifteen mental and real miles with camping gear.

On location, you rehydrate the food with hot or cold water. Today we have macaroni with tomato sauce, basil, mushrooms, onions, and peppers. Omnomnom! We sit on tree stumps with a phenomenal view over the canyon. You can scrap any five-star hotel for this.

As night falls, I have to go back down to the river to filter more drinking water. It's hard to believe how much water you use just for drinking and cooking. I sit down on a rock in the roaring, icy river and start pumping. Here in Yellowstone in particular, natural water sources are often full of sediment, which can be filtered out this way.

I am knownt to I hate monotonous work. I remember endless hours at the keyboard and on the phone in my old office job, which I was lucky enough to swap for remote self-employment eight years ago. But filtering the river water at this moment is like meditation. I become completely still inside, looking at the greenish water, the standing waves, the sky.

It takes a while to filter a full gallon, but I feel infinite, calm, and peaceful. If it was for me, this moment could last forever, here and now in this place.

But now back to the wild animal I mentioned at the beginning. So after we've packed everything away, stowed it bear-proof, my husband already asleep, I'm lying awake in the dark. For once, I'm not worried about the approaching thunderstorm, but about the scratching, scurrying noise outside. Just as I'm about to truly just stoically zip up the tent or rush out screaming with a flashlight, I see something fist-sized with a paintbrush on its rear. A ground squirrel! Oh. My. God. Squirrel Sarah is shitting her pants over a squirrel. I'm cracking up.

The next day, we have to hike the “seven miles” back out of the canyon and to the surface of civilization. Everything is going well until I suddenly get cramps in my lower abdomen which spread all the way to my back. I have the autoimmune disease Ulcerative Colitis, and unfortunately, the only medication that helps me is one that repeatedly causes kidney stones as a side effect. It's a choice between a rock and a hard place. Today, it's the hard place.

I don't have kids, but medical sources say that passing a kidney stone is one of the most painful experiences imaginable, comparable to labor pains. And now I'm hiking up a canyon wall with twinty pounds on my back. Even my painkillers only help very little. Congratulations, body, perfect timing!  

I have to stop ans sit down frequently. Every time I do, a cloud of mosquitoes descends on me, despite me being clouded in insect spray. Then it rains. I want to scream. For so many reasons. But then something miraculous happens. Again and again, small animals suddenly appear at the side of the path. Squirrels, a hare, marmots, and finally a grouse! It almost seems as if they want to cheer me on. I have never seen so many animals on this hike before. 

After six terribly long hours of colic, we reach the hiking car park. I throw my backpack down. I am completely exhausted. Would I do it again? In a heartbeat!

If you like, you can follow our adventures, hikes, and experiences daily on Instagram: @squirrel.sarah. 

Find more hiking and wilderness adventures here:

• Backcountry Camping Yellowstone: Shelf Clouds, Snow and the perfect Moment
• Comets, Fire Trees, and Granite Domes: Camping off-the-grid in California
• Long-distance Hike Laugavegur Iceland
• Away from it All - Christmas in a self-sufficient mountain Cabin