Jasmine and I are now two weeks into our journey down the Yellowstone River, to its confluence with the Missouri.

Grey and yellow cliffs tower over the south banks, and dense vegetation lines the north. In the distance we can see the rolling hills of the prairie.

Just outside of Laurel, it was a dark and starlit night. A pack of coyotes prowled in the forest behind us. It was as if we could hear the breaths they took between howls. As I lay in the tent frozen in fear, my imagination running away with me, Jasmine, my fearless 4-year-old only giggled and let out a big, "Hooowl!"

The following day we travelled through Billings, which marks the last point of navigation for the steamboat Josephine in 1875.

On day 11, our challenge was Huntley Diversion Dam, termed a mandotory portage. Local river authorities said the left bypass channel was too low for passage. After scouting the powerful dam, I decided to try our luck in the low water channel, for a portage would take hours. I dragged the heavy boat through multiple shallow areas like a stubborn horse.

I thought the dam sneak was going relatively well until we came to a downed tree entirely crossing the narrow channel. After sawing branches, clearing rocks, and seemingly endless pushing and pulling, we eventually made it through.

Later that day we were joined by my friend Rene, her son, Will, 4, and her niece Hailey, 13.

"We're off to discover new lands!" Will shouted with determination and excitement as he threw his small fist into the air.

Together we passed Pompeys Pillar, a massive sandstone outcrop near the river. The children listened eagerly as we told them the story of how, on July 25, 1806, Capt. William Clark carved his name and the date into the soft rock on his homeward voyage down the Yellowstone. History seems to interest kids more when they can experience it first hand.

We set up camp just downstream from the famous landmark. The children explored the willow thickets, caught frogs and crickets, and built homes in the sand for their captured critters. Strong gusts characterized the day that followed. The wind tossed the raft about like a toy ship in a rough sea. A mysterious orange cloud rose beyond the golden cliffs. Later came the smell of fire. In the hour that followed our friends' departure, the once faint smell of smoke quickly grew stronger.

Nightfall inevitably came, and the many hazards still in the river would make navigating in the dark difficult. I found a cliff-surrounded lagoon with a small pebbled beach that would help protect us from the downstream winds and smoke.

Hesitantly, I set up the tent, as Jasmine was ready for bed. I then climbed to the top of a nearby cliff to view the flames.

It appeared that the forest fire was on the north side of the river. We needed to move further downstream and cross the river for a fire break. I woke up Jas, put on her life jacket, and placed her in the tent on top of the raft.

Within moments she was sound asleep and cozy as I rowed downstream in the eerie darkness. I found my way through channels and around submerged cottonwood snags by listening to the water. My headlamp only lit up the smoke.

A few miles down I pulled the raft ashore and tied off to a tree. That night we both slept in the tent on the raft in order to make a quick getaway if the flames approached.

A still and smoky morning came after a long night. The wind itself seemed to be tired. A few miles downstream, after running a small diversion dam, a helicopter hovered over the river just above us. We realized it had come to scoop up water for the nearby fire. Jasmine yelled to the fish "swim for your lives."

Grand sandstone cliffs now followed the north side of the river, intricately sculpted by wind, water, and time. I feel the river has finally lost its drop. The current has grown calm, in some places still. Jasmine says there are snails on shore moving faster than us. On our 14th evening we admired the 290 river miles behind us, along with a spectacular sunset.

Mariah Davis is a river guide with 13 years of experience.