Yellowstone Standoff by Scott Graham Page B

dangerous place in the whole park?”

9
    C armelita looked up from her shoes.
    Rosie grabbed her sister’s hand. “No,” she said breathily to the pilot.
    From behind Carmelita and Rosie, Chuck directed a look of warning at the woman. Who did she think she was, playing the part of drama queen in front of the girls?
    â€œYou’ll be entirely safe today, of course,” she told them, hurrying on. “Our boats are specially designed to take on the roughest weather Yellowstone has to offer.” She licked her lips, avoiding Chuck’s gaze. “But that wasn’t always the case.”
    â€œIt wasn’t?” Rosie croaked.
    â€œAnyone who tried to cross the lake before the invention of PFDs—personal flotation devices—took their lives into their hands,” the pilot said. “At 7,775 feet above sea level this far north of the equator, Yellowstone Lake is one of the coldest navigable bodies of water on Earth, if not the coldest. The lake is covered with ice most of the year, and for the few summer weeks when the ice melts, the water temperature is barely above freezing.” She lifted her eyebrows until they nearly reached the brim of her cap. “Yellowstone Lake is big, deep, and cold. In the old days, before PFDs, anyone who fell into the water was paralyzed within seconds and sank to the bottom of the lake like a stone, their bodies never to be recovered.” The pilot’s tone lightened. “But you can rest assured that Bessie here—” she tapped the rear deck of the boat with the toe of her black work boot “—couldn’t flip in the worst Yellowstone storm if she wanted to. Even so, PFDs are mandatory.”
    She beckoned the scientists into the back of the boat.
    Chuck rolled his shoulders, loosening the muscles at the back of his neck. It probably wasn’t such a bad idea for the pilot to emphasize the danger of the lake to the girls.
    Inward-facing bench seats lined both sides of the long, narrow stern. The pilot lifted each of the hinged seats in turn, pulling PFDs from the storage compartments beneath and passing them out before donning one herself.
    The researchers slung their PFDs loosely over their shoulders and took their seats on either side of the stern, facing one another, their backs to the gunwales.
    The Canine Team researcher, Keith, climbed into the boat and lowered his dog, Chance, to the rear deck. The dog, a shepherd with brown and black fur and a long, black snout, stood thigh-high next to Keith as he accepted his PFD.
    Chuck sifted among the PFDs until he found a pair small enough to fit the girls. He fastened his own life jacket tight around his chest, then strapped the smaller flotation devices snug around Carmelita and Rosie.
    â€œThe temperature of the lake reminds me of the water in the Colorado River through the Grand Canyon,” he remarked as he worked, squatting in front of them. “The river there is freezing cold, too.”
    â€œBut that’s in the desert,” Carmelita said. “It should be warm.”
    â€œThe water in the Colorado comes out of the bottom of Glen Canyon Dam, upstream from the canyon, so it’s ice cold.”
    â€œJust like here,” Rosie said, eyeing the bay water lapping against the boat. “Can I feel it?”
    Without waiting for an answer, she set off for the center of the boat’s stern, where a break in the railing allowed for easy loading and unloading of gear and passengers. Chuck chased her down before she could plunge her hand into the water that showed in the gap between the dock and the rear of the rocking boat.
    â€œMaybe when we get to the other side,” he told her. “There’s sure to be some sort of a beach there.”
    He sat her beside him on one of the bench seats while the pilot entered the wheelhouse and started the engine. Janelle and Carmelita settled next to Rosie. Keith sat a few seats away, Chance tucked between