Left
the Tobacco River after sighting four deer and four common loons working their
way up stream having breakfast on nice cut throat fingerlings. Lip smacking
good I bet. Entry into Canada at Roosville, British Columbia, just north of Eureka,
MT. Traveled Route # 93 north. In Cranbrook, BC we purchased a SIMS card from,
which did not work worth a hoot, at least not for texting back to the US. Got
some Canadian money. Exchange rate 1.2285 Canadian = 1.00 US dollar. Camped at
Marble Canyon in the Kootenay National Park, north of Radium Springs. $4.50
Canadian money.
Day
#30, July 18
Entered
Banff National Park after a quick run south to the town of Banff. Just the kind
of place I like to avoid. Hordes of people, convoys of cars, legions of
recreational vehicles and every kind of artisan food, beer, wine, chocolate, yogurt,
coffee, trail gear, trail mix, yoga classes, etc. to separate you from your
money. But the open pit barbecue sure looked good. Every imaginable film,
lecture, tour and virtual experience you can think of to describe the Banff
experience. The new Canadian economy. REI tourism. Camped at Waterfowl Lake in
the north end of the park. Lots of smoke for central BC fires. Mountains just
barely visible.
Day
#31, July 19. Drove through Banff and marveled at that magnificence place,
except of course for the hordes of people, Glaciers, fast flowing rivers
draining those glaciers, filled with gravelly sediment. (glacial till, glacial
milk). Other streams running crystal clear and ice cold. Saw caribou, mountain
goats, a black fox, big horn sheep with young, bald eagles. Walked the Skywalk
Trail which included a plate glass floored veranda, built out over a canyon
chasm where one could, while holding on to the convenient rail to avoid
vertigo, look between one’s legs and gaze downward eight hundred to a thousand feet
into a gorge at a river, discharging freezing water and thousands of tons of chewed
up and spat out fine hard rock sediment from the Columbia Ice Field about seven
miles away, over which we walked after boarding a monstrous ice tractor that
weighed sixty thousand pounds, had three driven axles, five and one-half foot
diameter tires, cost one and a half million dollars to build and carried forty
passengers down a twenty percent grade over a lateral glacial moraine to the
ice field. And to really cap it off the monster was driven by a chipper twenty-three-year-old
recent business major college graduate headed for law school next year who
could have doubled as a field geologist.
Capped
off a stunning day by camping in the “overflow” camp area for the Snaring River
Camp Ground. Perfectly adequate accommodations for the travel weary. Went into
the town of Jasper (more artisan attractions) for provisions. Lovely quiet
night. Watch a young lady traveling alone write in her journal and wondered
what she was writing.
Day
#32, July 20
Drove
west on route #16 to Mt. Robson Meadows Campground very close to the towering
Mt. Robson, at three thousand, nine hundred and fifty-four meters, the highest
peak in the Canadian Rockies. We paid twenty-eight Canadian dollars for this
one. Worth every penny.
Day
#33, July 21
In
the early morning Emily saw a black bear walking through our campsite. We took
showers, our first in a while (get over it), spoke to an attractive
sixty-two-year-old, very young woman, traveling alone hauling a seventeen-foot
Casita Travel Trailer behind a Dodge Ram six-cylinder diesel pickup truck, who,
a year ago, had sold her house, downloaded her possessions and had decided to
live a nomadic life. And now she was doing it. She was delightful to speak
with, invited us in to her Casita and spoke about her life on the road.
We
traveled west on route # 16, then south on the Yellowhead South Highway to
Valemount, BC, where we gassed up and had an overpriced breakfast at
Abernathy’s Family Café. At Valemount is where we reached a fork in the road
and, as Yogi Beira once said, “When you find a fork in the road, take it”.
Which is what we did. Southward we went because, as it turns out, central
British Columbia was on fire. We had been contemplating traveling on to Prince
George then even further to Prince Rupert, then boarding a ferry for a five-hundred-mile
ride down to Port Hardy, Vancouver Island, but, because of the fires, northerly
roads were closed and sixty thousand people had been or were in the process of
being evacuated from the area. Sixty thousand. Central BC is hot and dry, very dry. The
coniferous forest is like a big tinder box. One match, burning cigarette, or
unattended camp fire and up she goes.
Southward
we went, down the Yellowhead Highway. We saw a female black bear with a cub
cross the road. Had to stop while the smashed to smithereens remains of a truck
and a few cars were removed from the road. Had to have been casualties but they
had been removed before we got there. Not sure what exactly happened but for
sure people drive fast out here and sometimes pass in most precarious
circumstances. We have seen it more than once. People passing three, four cars
at once, on hill tops, on double lines. A unique and insidious craziness
possesses some folks when they get behind the wheel of a car. They will risk
their lives and put others a risk to get somewhere just a little faster. Always
amazing to me.
On
we go through Blue River and Clearwater and take highway #24 westward to Goose
Lake to a beautiful camp site overlooking the lake. No one else there. Easy
access, clean, just painted toilet, clear lake water, resident loons, a
hummingbird, picnic tables, fireweed, ox-eye daisies, yarrow, rocky mountain
cow lilies covering portions of the lake, many other flowers. Grey jays,
stellar jays, grouse, a bald eagle coming and going, osprey. What more could a
traveling couple want? Stayed in this spot for two days.
Day
#34, July 22
Another
couple came in, traveling from Belgium. Had flown to Quebec and driven across
Canada to BC. Delightful young couple, camping their way westward. Had just
come from Vancouver Island where we are headed. Gave good advice and showed us
the book to have, Camping Free in British Columbia, a compendium of every known
free camp site in the entire province. Very useful. They swam and bathed naked
in the frigid lake.
We
took a walk around Goose Lake which we renamed Loon Lake in honor of the four
resident loons. I complained about all the damn trees in the way impeding our
view of the lake just about the same time we came to a cleared area and were
presented with an unobstructed view across a beautiful arm of the lake. I said,
“now if we just had a bench”. Emily looked to the right and said, “well,
there’s your bench”. And there it was, a very comfortable iron bench. Further
inspection revealed to flat head stones with engraved remembrances. “In memory
of Mike March, November 11, 1943 – June 13, 2013” and “In Memory of Mike’s Best
Friend, Misty. February 1, 2002 – May 11, 2015”. We sat for a while, silent, lost
in thought.
We
returned to the campsite. That night Emily and the Belgium couple, Sarah and
her boyfriend who were camped right beside us, reported that they had heard
wolves. The boyfriend smiled as he also reported that I was snoring so loud he
thought it was a bear.
Day
#35, July 23
Headed
west on Rt. #28 to 100 Mile House, south of 150 Mile House and north of 83 Mile
House, 70 Mile House and Lillooet which marks mile zero on the Frazer River
gold rush days. Lillooet, one of the oldest towns in British Columbia, which
rivaled Chicago and San Francisco in size at one time. Camped free at Seaton
Lake recreation area. Clean toilets, water. A lovely young couple camped beside
us, Jon and Madeline. Professional photographers. She advised me about cameras
to buy. Jon graduated from the US Naval Academy, just got out of the Navy and
now they are traveling around taking pictures and deciding what to be when they
grow up. Eventually, I bought the camera Madeline recommended. Beautiful and
very dry aspen, lodge pole pine, Douglas fir forest. On through Clinton where
we saw hundreds and hundreds of acres of recently burned forest. And I mean
burned, right down to the soil.
Day
#36, July 24
Route
#12 south out of Lillooet, down Frazer River Canyon. Impressive tunnels and an
air tram across the river. One hundred and fifty-four separate fires reported
this morning, burning out of control in BC. Route #7 west at Hope (population),
touched north Vancouver where the Fraser, Thompson and Harrison Rivers come
together to form a grand delta of sedimentary soils brought by these mighty
from as far away as Banff. On past Vancouver, back in the good old USA at
Sumas, BC and on to Bellingham where we checked in to the Bellingham Guest
House for out very first motel stay on the trip. Showers and laundry.
Day
#37, July 25. Bellingham GH. Visit with Henry
Days
#38 and #39, July 26, 27 Stayed in Henry’s front yard, toured around
Bellingham.
Day
#40, July 28
Left
Bellingham, south on I5 to Marysville for a visit to Cabela’s, then on to
Anacortes where we boarded a ferry for Sidney, British Columbia on Vancouver
Island, for a grand adventure. Drove west to Nanaimo through heavy traffic to
camp at the private Living Forest Camp Ground for our very first camping rip
off. Forth-five American dollars a little place to back Flicka II into and
additional money for showers which we didn’t buy. Worried about how camping
would be on the island but, as it turns out, once we got off into the
hinterlands, we camped free for the rest of our visit.
Day
#41 and #42, July 29, 30.
On
to Arrington to meet up with Captain Tricia Birdsell and her boyfriend Keith.
Tricia is the very person who, in 2005, sold us Flicka, out able thirty-two-foot
Allied Seawind ketch which we have greatly enjoyed since then. Tricia is a licensed
and certified captain. She is from Quebec and has lived throughout northwest
North America, New Guiney, California, etc. She has owned numerous sailboats,
solo sailed in open oceans and taught other women to sail. When we met her in
2005 she was living aboard Flicka in Fort Lauderdale, Florida. We spent a short
time with her then, bought Flicka and have not seen her since, until now. She
and Keith live in Qualicum Beach, Vancouver Island in a great condo just across
the street from a liquor store. Now that’s convenient. We had a delightful
lunch in the Qualicum Market highlighted by a scrumptious curry chicken soup
and then headed out on route #4 from Qualicum Beach to Port Alberni then on to
camp in the British Columbia National Forest at Snow Creek on the road to
Sproat Lake, on the shores of the Taylor River, which we learned is filled with
cut throat trout. Keith and Tricia followed us in their VW Camper Van to a beautiful
site surrounded by Douglas Fir, Western Red Cedar, Ponderosa Pine and
five-foot-tall woodland ferns. We were the only people there in this free site.
We
had a delightful dinner and visit with our friends and retired as old codgers
do at just after the sun went down. In the night Emily reported to me that she
heard some clicking noises outside. I was having none of that and rolled over
to go back to sleep. About six o’clock the next morning I was up to make coffee
and, upon opening the van door, was surprised to see to mice scurrying about
inside. Quick little buggers they are too and not interested in vacating the
van.
Well
let me tell you. Back in Montana where we had the van serviced the guy in front
of us at the dealer was there to have a mouse carcass removed from the duct
work of his Dodge van and it cost him six hundred dollars. So, at six o’clock
in the morning on the Taylor River on Vancouver Island, British Columbia seeing
two robust rodents running rambunctiously throughout the van, especially since
we had been munching nuts, apple fritters, potato chips, fruit, cookies,
crackers, cheese and every other junk food known to man for four thousand miles
as we crossed the USA and parts of Canada, not to mention the food box in the
back filled with anything a country mouse could possibly desire, was horrifying
to say the least.
Nothing
else to do except empty out the van of everything we own and go on a mouse
hunt. Which is what we did. Our two intruders, two so we thought, went
scampering from hiding place to hiding place as we removed stuff. The duo
finally disappeared into the heater duct work. Then we turned on the heat full
blast to encourage an exit. One furry fiend made a run for it and disappeared
instantly into another concealed cranny.
Much
to my surprise, I promise I’m not making this up, I spied a mouse trap laying
on a big rock in the fire ring. Imagine that. It just so happens at that point
in time I was in need of a mousetrap. I suppose that it’s presence there could
be interpreted as a warning to future campers that we were encroaching on a
mouse haven.
I
loaded that sucker up the Jiffy peanut butter and placed it in a logical place,
right where I would suspect a mouse to be, being an educated man with great
experience in these matters. Within fifteen minutes we had our first mouse. A
half an hour later we had mouse number two. Surely, we could not have had more
than two mice in the van. I set the trap a third time but no mouse. I declared
the van a mouse free zone. We went through our food and bags to see the extent
of the damage. Aside from a few bags nips and some droppings it looked as
though we had dodged a bullet, or at least a serious mouse invasion. Gear
stowed away, we went on our merry way. We met up with Tricia and Keith in
Ucluelet, had lunch while watching life unfold on an embayment of the Pacific
Ocean and then said our goodbyes. We traveled on alone through Long Beach and
the Pacific Rim National Park to Tofino, the end of the line on the southern
Vancouver Island shore.
Just
to be sure, we bought four mouse traps in Tofino. There was no available
camping on the south shore in this area and after stopping at some marvelous
places the hour was late so, imagine this, back to mouse haven we went. It
really is a beautiful place and so we were very careful about opening and
closing the van doors. But now we were fully armed, with multiple, brand new
traps. We had dinner, enjoyed the evening and retired in our regular, old
codger time. But not before I set four traps. As sure as I am wearing clean
underwear in short order we had caught four more mice. One more round of
freshly baited traps produced one more mouse. So now are up to seven. I set the
traps a final time and I am happy to report that in the morning we had not
caught another mouse. So, I cautiously declared the van mouse free. And away we
went.
Day
#43, July 31
We
headed back to Qualicum Beach. On the way, we stopped to walk through a
magnificent virgin Douglas Fir forest. From Qualicum Beach we drove on route
#19 past the town of Campbell River. All the free dispersed camp sites were
full by the time we started looking so we ended up camping in a recent
clear-cut on rock Bay Road. Not so bad actually. No bugs and we were by
ourselves.
Day
#44, August 1
We
continued northwesterly on Route #19 to Port Hardy, the end of the line on the
northwest coast of the island. Two hundred miles from Campbell River with
nothing in between except majestic northern forest on steep mountain slopes.
Loggers country. Walked the docks of the city marina in Port Hardy and met nurse
practitioner David Hale who since 1996 has lived by himself aboard a thirty-two-foot,
ocean cruising cutter, port of call, Ketchikan, Alaska. During that time, he
has cruised up and down the inner passage from Anchorage to Washington state
administering health care to all manner of folks living in this grand and
remote country. Before that he traveled all over the world doing that same work,
often in very remote indigenous communities and often as a volunteer. Just
another remarkable person we met on the road. After a look around Port Hardy
and Bear Cove, we traveled east on route #19, then south on Route #30, the Port
Alice Road, to yet another free camp ground, this time on the Marble River. We
left Flicka II at the campsite and traveled to Port Alice, another end of the
line hamlet on a Pacific Ocean Inlet on this remarkable island. The south shore
of Vancouver is chopped up by dozens of long, deep, fiord like inlets filled
with clear ocean water and seasonally brimming with multiple salmon species.
After talking to a few local characters who proudly proclaimed that they lived
in paradise and visiting the ever-present liquor store for necessary
provisioning, back to our home away from home, the Marble River for a restful
night.
Day
#45, August 2
We
left Flicka II at marble River and drove to Port McNeil, where we decided to do
a little whale watching. We went to a visitor center where a charming young
woman carefully explained all the different possibilities. All required reservations
except one, North Island Tours. Owner and chief bottle washer, Dave Iskra. His
boat, a twenty-six-foot, heavy duty Zodiac with twin, one hundred and fifty
horse power gas engines, was parked at the town dock. We called, he answered.
He had a trip planned for right then. In ten minutes, we were outfitted in
bright orange flotation suits which he said would extend our lives for maybe
forty-five minutes if we went overboard but at least we would be floating and
therefore easier to find. We boarded the boat with four other intrepid
travelers and away we went. He has just this year started his business. Prior
to that he was a tree feller for thirty-five years. You read that right, a tree
feller. For thirty-five years he worked in remote parts of Vancouver Island,
living in logging camps and felling virgin timber. He said the largest tree he
ever cut down was eighteen feet across. “You mean eighteen feet in
circumference, don’t you?”, I said. “No”, he replied, “eighteen feet in
diameter”. This adventure requires a separate story, but I’ll sweeten the pot
by just saying that it included a float among one hundred or more foraging Orca
whales. After that everything else was
boring. Dave complained about having to go to work each day in such boring
surroundings. At the end of the day we returned to Marble River to debrief.
Day
#46, August 3
Drove
from Marble River back to route #19 then east to Campbell River, then west on
route #28 to the Strathcoma Dam and a British Columbia Hydro managed free
campsite. BC Hydro is the biggest hydroelectric power provider in the province.
The site was packed with supersized recreational vehicles, four wheelers and
power boats. We carved out a nice site overlooking the Campbell River. Good for
the night.
Day
#47 and #48, August 4-5.
Traveled
back to Campbell River then to Qualicum Beach for a final visit with our
friends Tricia and Keith then on to Naniamo Beach where we boarded a ferry at
Duke Point bound for Vancouver, BC. Skirted Vancouver, entered the good old USA
at Blaine, WA and drove to Bellingham where we camped in Henry’s front yard.
Day
#49 and #50. August 6-7.
Mover
Flicka II to the back yard of a cottage on Bellingham Bay, looking out to Lummi
Island, one of the San Juan Islands. The cottage is owned by Greg and Heidi
Summers who Henry works for occasionally. They had extended a most appreciated
invitation to us to camp there. We watch the eight-foot tide come and go.
Day
#51, August 8.
Moved
back to Henry’s for the night.
Day
#52, August 9.
With
Henry we drove south, bound for Mount Saint Helen’s. Camped on Slate Creek Road
near Packwood, WA, in the Gifford Pinchot National Forest.
Day
#53. August 10.
The
trip to Mount Saint Helen’s was not working. Winter damaged roads were closed
so the approaches we were used to were not available. We drove north onto the
Olympic Peninsula, bound for Port Townsend. Short of that we camped on Brown
Creek in the Olympic National Forest just west of Hoodsport. We got the last
spot.
Day
#54. August 11.
A
long day of travel back to Bellingham via Port Townsend on the Peninsula where
we had planned to board a ferry for Whidbey Island and then work our way back
up to Bellingham via Port Angeles. At Port Townsend, we learned that one of the
ferry boats had ran aground so there was only one boat in service. That meant
that they were turning away anyone who did not have a reservation. That would
be us. Even people with reservations were waiting for three days. So, we
backtracked south to Kingston where we waited for an hour and a half to board a
ferry to Seattle, where we hit a wall of north bound traffic moving at five
miles an hour. Weary we were when we got back to Bellingham at 6PM and camped
in Henry’s back yard.
Day
#55. August 12.
Left
Henry’s compound, south bound for Burlington and then eastward on Route #20
through Hamilton, Concrete, Newhalem and Diablo, then across Washington Pass
(5,477 feet) to a fine campsite at Lone Fir. The last site was ours for the taking.
Next stop tomorrow, Twisp, WA. This route to Twisp is something special because
it is the same route our remarkable, sometimes maniacal, son took just last
year from Bellingham to Twisp, on his bicycle, one hundred and sixty miles,
across Washington Pass at night to arrive in time the next day to run a sixty-mile
foot trail race. Who ever heard of such a thing.
Day
#56 and #57, August 13-14.
Drove
into Winthrop then Twisp. Were able to contact Dorothy, Emily’s sister. Dorothy
and Bob, her husband, had flown to Seattle from Anchorage, AK where they live,
had bought a brand-new Subaru Forester and were planning to meet friends in
Bend, Oregon and drive out to a logical place to see the sun eclipse. It turned
out that their route from Seattle included a drive to Twisp so we made plans to
meet them. Emily and I secured a fine camp site on Early Winters Creek and sent
Dorothy the Latitude/Longitude coordinates and on Sunday they drove right to
the campsite. Isn’t technology cool. Great visit.
Day
#58, August 15.
Had
breakfast with Dorothy and Bob and caravanned our way down the Methow Valley on
route # 513 to Pateros where the Methow River enters the mighty Columbia. We
had lunch with our western family, said our good byes, turned left and headed
for the Grand Coulee Dam, the world’s largest concrete structure and the bane
of salmon everywhere. Thanks to the Columbia we saw acres and acres of peach,
cherry and apple groves. On the way to the Grand Coulee we passed Chief Joseph
Dam at Bridgeport, the second largest electricity producing dam in the US. It
powers Seattle. Dams, the diversion of water from dam impoundments for
irrigation and hydroelectric power generation have made it possible for people
to live in large western cities and enjoy sitting in traffic for hours. On we
drove across the Columbia Plateau through the driest country one can imagine,
green only where water had been diverted and pumped from the Columbia. Through
peach, cherry and apple groves and then through tens of thousands of acres of
golden dry land wheat, much of it being harvested by the biggest combines in
the world. On to Spokane and Coeur d’Alene, Idaho on Interstate #90, then south
on route #3 past an elk farm to a campsite on Rose Lake.
Day
#59, August 16
Today’s
objective was to head down to Hamilton, MT to visit with our beautiful daughter
one more time before we headed back east. We took a little diversion over to
Murray, Idaho. And boy am I glad. Today Murry’s population is twenty-seven. In 1889,
it was thirty. From 1890 to 1891 the population grew to twenty thousand because
gold was discovered in “them thar hills”. In spite of its size, Murry has a
very fine museum, in part about the history of gold mining, but also about
frontier life in this harsh wilderness with all its colorful characters. More
on Murray later. On to Hamilton for the night. A wonderful supper of fresh
salmon, asparagus and potatoes and cucumbers from Sarah’s garden, Chad’s fine
home brew.
Day
#60, August 17
Drove
south from Hamilton on route #93, then on route #43 east along the Big Hole
River, to Anaconda on route # 569, then on interstate #90 to Livingston and on
to McLeod for a visit with a great friend from Staunton, Paula Rau, who lives
part of the year in a beautiful log house on the Boulder River with her two
beautiful black horses. She fixed a wonderful dinner of grilled shrimp and
vegetables, corn on the cob, and peach cobbler for desert. Showers and an oh so
comfortable bed for the night.
Day
#61. August 18.
Paula
got us on our way with bacon and eggs, fresh raspberries and plenty of coffee.
We headed east on route #90, then south on route #78 at Columbus, to Red Lodge
on route #212. Crossed into Wyoming at Beartooth pass at 10,947 feet. The winding
and steep road from Red Lodge to the pass offers stunning vistas of the Yellowstone
River Valley and dizzying looks down thousand-foot slopes to river carved
canyons, as it winds its torturous way through the Absaroka-Beartooth
Wilderness with Granite Peak just to the west, at 12,799 feet, Montana’s
highest mountain. We dropped down the south side of the pass into Wyoming and
camped at the Beartooth Lake Campground. Last available site. Everybody is
gearing up for the eclipse. We have heard horrible stories of the immense crowds
expected to be gathering along the eclipse center line from its start in Oregon
all the way to South Carolina.
Day
#62. August 19.
We
left Flicka II at the Beartooth Campground and traveled down route #296 along
the Clark fork River then route #120 to Cody, WY then west on route #14-20
toward Yellowstone National Park. Route # 296 was open range land and sure enough
we saw a cattle drive, complete with two cowboys on horseback, decked out in
cowboy regalia, spurs and all, with two very intelligent looking cow dogs and
fifty Black Angus cattle. Route #14-20 past the Buffalo Bill Dam and along the
Shoshone River to the east entrance to Yellowstone National Park. Traveled
westward across Sylvan Pass, to Yellowstone Lake, along the course of the
Yellowstone River to Yellowstone Falls, past Mount Washburn at 10,243 feet,
then out to the northeastern entrance. Saw hundreds and hundreds of American
Bison. That night back to the Beartooth Campground.
Day
#63, August 20.
Drove
to Cody, WY then to Meeteetse then into Thermopolis and south along the Bighorn
River into the magnificent Wind River Canyon complete with three tunnels
through granite bed rock. On to our final destination for this part of the
trip, the Wind River Indian Reservation and Ethete, WY, to visit with our new
friend, Sister Teresa, a Franciscan nun and teacher who moved to Ethete twenty years
ago for a one-year assignment and never left. Her story and my story about
Ethete, and what brought me to this place are coming soon. Stay tuned.
Day
#64. August 21. ECLISPE DAY, 2017 through Day #66, August 23, 2017
With
Sister Teresa leading the way we drove to Saint Stephen’s Mission where we had
the singular experience of a full on solar eclipse. The people gathered here
are Catholic priests and nuns, about one hundred native members of the Arapaho
and Shoshone Indian tribes and us. After the eclipse, we headed out from Ethete
to Lander where we hit a wall of traffic coming from all directions. A thirty-mile-long
wall. Dead stopped. Eclipse seekers. But we out smarted them. With some help
from a friendly US Forest Service official in the Shoshone National Forest
Visitors Center, who showed us how to take 5th street from Lander up
to Sinks Canyon Stare Park and enter the Shoshone National Forest for free
camping and no crowds. Which is what we did. We camped at two different spots
in this high country and at the moment are at N 42, 32.007 – W 108, 48.191. Eight
thousand five hundred and ninety feet above sea level.
Day
#67. August 24, 2017
Last
night three mule deer, two does and a buck, walked carefully through our
campsite. This morning we left the Shoshone National Forest after two nights of
roaring evening campfires made from down and dead Ponderosa Pine and Douglas
Fir. Very much appreciated as the temperature plummets quickly in the evening
here. Last night the low was thirty-four degrees. Traveled south on route #28
past South Past and South Pass City. Thousands of westward moving emigrants passed
by here on the Oregon Trail in the mid-19th century seeking
Starbuck’s cappuccino and gold to buy it with.
Saw about fifty antelope near the pass. For us it was on to Farson, then
north on #191 to Boulder and finally to Pinedale, jumping off place for
intrepid souls to enter the Wind River Mountains, sporting four thirteen
thousand plus mountains with Gannett Peak being the highest point in Wyoming at
13,804 feet. We came here today partly to honor our good friend Joe McCue, who
at the age of sixty-nine and with two artificial knees and an artificial
shoulder, along with his beautiful, strong son Mikie, is coming out here in a
few days to trek (that would be to walk – mostly uphill – very uphill) into the
Titcomb Basin in the Wind Rivers and mountaineer their way around these
majestic peaks and do a few easy accents. Yea, easy! But mostly we are here to
pick up a cup of Starbuck’s cappuccino. No surprise, no Starbuck’s in this town
of two thousand, but we did have a big, big breakfast at the Wrangler Café.
After
a visit to the National Forest Ranger Station for maps and advice and
provisioning, we headed back down south to Boulder, then east on #353, then
north into the Bridger Teton National Forest to Boulder Lake Campground (N 42
51 442 W109 37 055) for the night for another fine camping evening. Temperature
dropping fast. Took a sunset ride into the prairie and saw eight antelope.
Lots
of stories to come. I hope I have readers. Good night all.
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