The Occidental Saloon was packed when we moseyed on in. Lots of blue jeans and cowboy hats. Sitting, drinking, carousing and two-steppin'. We ordered our beer and instantly loved the country jam band. Banjos, violins, and all sorts of crazy guitars; they were rockin'. The walls were filled with the heads of moose, elk, longhorn, bison and bear skins. The embossed tin ceiling twinkled and the "come-together-after-a-long-week-on-the-ranch" mood was infectious.
The band kept shifting; a woman came up to sing a Patsy Cline song and then a tall cowboy, apparently a notorious crooner, was pulled up by the men to sing a few sentimental songs. He also played the harmonica. Then they picked up the tempo and belted out some bluegrass. The played one of our favorites - 'Man of Constant Sorrow'.
Just as we set our empty beer glasses down on the bar, a giant brass belt buckle, emblazoned with 'Wyoming' and a longhorn, walked our way. "Can I buy you ladies a drink?" he asked. We said, "Why sure!" "Welcome to Buffalo," he said. "The name's Paul Bellamy". He introduced us to his charming sister, visiting from Montana. Apparently, we had wandered in on the best night. Thursday nights were when all the cattle ranchers, oil barons, and musicians came to drink and make merry. Paul was a petroleum drilling specialist.
Throughout the evening, it was impossible not to notice a boisterous gentlemen who, when we were finally introduced, Mary Lou kept asking, "do I know you from somewhere?" Nicole told her that she was probably mistaking him for Jerry Garcia, since he was a dead ringer. The man laughed at that, said he had gotten away with some trouble in his day because of the resemblance, and bought us all shots of Patron Silver. David C. Burt works in water recycling. He also represents country singers in Nashville, and was an investor in the Occidental. He introduced us to his lovely business associate, Dana Fowler.
When the music finally ended, David said we were "pretty fun girls", and told us to join him for breakfast at the cafe next door. We demurred, and said we had a long drive out of town to our campground. He disappeared and came back a few minutes later with a tag that said, "Guests of the Occidental" and told us to park right around the corner, next to the river. "Breakfast," he said. "9.30."
We slept peacefully and met David, Dana, Paul and his sister at The Busy Bee for trout, fresh biscuits and eggs. David brought a gift for Mary Lou - a bottle of Silver Patron. "Am I supposed to put this in my coffee?" she asked. "Save it for the road," David said.
Everyone had to work, but, David said if we met him at his office (in the Occidental) at 5.30, they would take us to find our elusive moose. We spent the day in the gigantic public swimming pool. It's the biggest pool that we have ever seen. And it was a free shower.
At 5.30, we got a tour of The Occidental. Beautifully renovated, we were completely immersed into the turn of the century. Furniture, fabrics, fixtures; everything was authentic. The bordello was left just as it was, a twin bed and a sink in each tiny room. The library, once an office of the creator of Zoo Books, was left full of archeology books and dinosaur bones.
We had a quick shot of Patron Silver in David's office, and hopped into Dana's Audi Quattro. She drove us up into the Bighorn Mountains, on the back roads, through aspen forests and fields of wildflowers. And then, we saw it! A moose! We finally got to see a moose in the wild. "Okay, now we can go to dinner!" said David.
They drove to the South Forks lodge, high up in the mountains, and found Chef Alfredo out on the porch catching a breath and looking down into the valley. Mary Lou immediately broke out the very limited Italian that she knew and introduced herself as Maria Luisa. Alfredo was impressed, and ushered us right in. We ordered a bottle of wine, and Chef Alfredo said to just let him take care of the meals, he would make us each something special. "For Momma Brazilian Beef. And for Filia, Shrimp Stir Fry."
The food was absolutely delicious. We ordered another bottle of wine, and shared tastes of our meals with each other. Dana, with big, beautiful eyes sparkling, told us about the mysteries of the Bighorn Mountains and the wildlife. David peered out over the rim of his glasses to regale us with personal stories, our sides splitting with laughter. Chef Alfredo came out to join us, offering a dessert platter for us to share. He told us about his work in California and Miami and how he comes out to Wyoming to relax and take in the fresh air.
He told Momma to turn off the open sign in the window and shut the restaurant. "I'm done for the night. Take me with you!" he said, as he grabbed a bottle of wine and jumped in the car. Back to the Occidental.
Click here for the photos!
7.20.2011
Buffalo, WY
From Thermopolis, Mary Lou really wanted to avoid the mountains, but Nicole wasn't going to wuss out from seeing the Bighorns. Everyone she asked said that the low road, the highway to Casper, was damn boring. Nicole won, and drove East on Rte 16. When we reached Tensleep, at the edge of Bighorn National Forest, we both went silent. The road seemed to be descending into the start of a canyon, even as the canyon walls rose higher and higher. But the Tensleep River, swollen with winter runoff and running parallel with the road, seemed to be rushing upward!
"Nicole," Mary Lou said, "That river is flowing upwards. Isn't it? That can't be right, but. . . Is it?" It was wild! We thought we had driven into those magnetic hills we had heard about on Discovery Channel. Spots on the planet where gravity doesn't work, they say. The river was defying gravity. And then, as we went deeper into the canyon, it looked and felt as if we were headed downward, but the RV engine was revving to climb. Surreal.
We kept stopping to scan the mountains for bighorn sheep, but we never did spot any. We drove through the Powder River Pass (9665 ft) and down into Buffalo, WY. It was late evening, and we were pretty tired, but we knew there was a famous watering hole in Buffalo - The Occidental Hotel.
"The Historic Occidental Hotel, established in 1880, in Buffalo, Wyoming has hosted many notorious guests over the years including Butch Cassidy and the Hole-in-the-Wall Gang, Calamity Jane, Buffalo Bill, Tom Horn, Teddy Roosevelt, President Herbert Hoover and Ernest Hemingway. The Virginian Restaurant at the Occidental Hotel is named after the famous novel "The Virginian" by Owen Wister who also spent a fair amount of time there. Colorful cowboys, lawmen and drifters were regular customers. Today, the hotel has been accurately and beautifully restored to its original grandeur. All rooms and suites are furnished with antiques and decorated in elegant period style. Many original features remain such as the embossed tin ceilings and several antique chairs along with the 23 bullet holes in the saloon. The 25-foot back bar in the saloon was brought in by wagon over a hundred years ago. True West Magazine recognized this gem by recently naming The Occidental Hotel “The Best Hotel in the West”. National Geographic Traveler included the Occidental Hotel in the top 129 Hotels to visit in North America 2009."
We agreed that we would stop in for one beer, just to see it. We left the Occidental two days later.
"Nicole," Mary Lou said, "That river is flowing upwards. Isn't it? That can't be right, but. . . Is it?" It was wild! We thought we had driven into those magnetic hills we had heard about on Discovery Channel. Spots on the planet where gravity doesn't work, they say. The river was defying gravity. And then, as we went deeper into the canyon, it looked and felt as if we were headed downward, but the RV engine was revving to climb. Surreal.
We kept stopping to scan the mountains for bighorn sheep, but we never did spot any. We drove through the Powder River Pass (9665 ft) and down into Buffalo, WY. It was late evening, and we were pretty tired, but we knew there was a famous watering hole in Buffalo - The Occidental Hotel.
"The Historic Occidental Hotel, established in 1880, in Buffalo, Wyoming has hosted many notorious guests over the years including Butch Cassidy and the Hole-in-the-Wall Gang, Calamity Jane, Buffalo Bill, Tom Horn, Teddy Roosevelt, President Herbert Hoover and Ernest Hemingway. The Virginian Restaurant at the Occidental Hotel is named after the famous novel "The Virginian" by Owen Wister who also spent a fair amount of time there. Colorful cowboys, lawmen and drifters were regular customers. Today, the hotel has been accurately and beautifully restored to its original grandeur. All rooms and suites are furnished with antiques and decorated in elegant period style. Many original features remain such as the embossed tin ceilings and several antique chairs along with the 23 bullet holes in the saloon. The 25-foot back bar in the saloon was brought in by wagon over a hundred years ago. True West Magazine recognized this gem by recently naming The Occidental Hotel “The Best Hotel in the West”. National Geographic Traveler included the Occidental Hotel in the top 129 Hotels to visit in North America 2009."
We agreed that we would stop in for one beer, just to see it. We left the Occidental two days later.
7.19.2011
RVederci Yellowstone
We knew that nothing could top the night of carnage in Hayden Valley, and we didn't want Kyle to get too jealous that we got to stay for so long, so we packed up the RV, said our goodbyes to Yellowstone, and drove out the East entrance of the park. We drove around the Old West town of Cody and stopped in to wildlife artist Charles Kirkham's workshop. He's a retired biologist who now buys, trades and creates with local and renewable deer, elk and moose antlers. As we admired the elk antler chandeliers, we spoke to Mr. Kirkham about our experience in Yellowstone.
Firstly, he told us that we did the right thing by not taking the bull elk skull out of the park. He asked if the tips of the antlers has been cut off, which they had, and said that the park rangers do that so the piece is not a trophy anymore. Then the rangers will place a tracking chip in the antlers and if and when someone takes it out of the park, they'll show up at their door to give them a $1,500 fine.
Then the conversation moved to the wolves. He, like most of the locals living off the land outside of the park, believed that it was time to start allowing permits to hunt the wolves. When the park reintroduced the wolves, they promised that the pack would be protected only until they were proven sustainable, and not at the risk of any other park species. The reintroduction had been so successful, and the wolves were so plentiful, that they were starting to become detrimental to the other species. That's why we didn't see any moose, the wolves had killed them all, or driven them down to the Tetons.
Also affected, were the elk herds, primary food for the bears, which were already starting to look for alternate food outside the park. The year before, a man had been hunted and killed by a bear. Not in an accidental encounter, but stalked and killed as prey. The wolves were a problem, the ex-biologist told us, and the park was hesitant to deal with the problem because the wolves have become the biggest attraction at the park. Everyone wants to see the wolves.
Before we left, Mr. Kirkham told us one more story of the man from "the city" (L.A.) who brought his family to Yellowstone. The first wildlife they saw were the grazing bison. He lifted up his two year old girl, placed her on the back of the bison, and stepped back to take a photo. The bison shook off the little girl and stomped her to death, as he watched. "And who did the city newspapers blame?", he asked us. Walt Disney. For making wild animals so friggin cute.
From Cody, we took the scenic route to Thermopolis, Wyoming. After two weeks in the wilderness, we needed what Thermopolis had - the worlds largest mineral hot springs.
In 1896 a treaty was signed with the Shoshone and Arapaho Indians, which gave the public use of the "healing waters". According to the agreement, use will forever remain free at the State Bath House, and that is straight where we headed. After twenty minutes soaking in the 104 degree mineral water, we were clean. Refreshed. We joked that Yellowstone had purified our minds, and the hot spring was purifying our bodies. It was blissful. Rejuvenating.
Firstly, he told us that we did the right thing by not taking the bull elk skull out of the park. He asked if the tips of the antlers has been cut off, which they had, and said that the park rangers do that so the piece is not a trophy anymore. Then the rangers will place a tracking chip in the antlers and if and when someone takes it out of the park, they'll show up at their door to give them a $1,500 fine.
Then the conversation moved to the wolves. He, like most of the locals living off the land outside of the park, believed that it was time to start allowing permits to hunt the wolves. When the park reintroduced the wolves, they promised that the pack would be protected only until they were proven sustainable, and not at the risk of any other park species. The reintroduction had been so successful, and the wolves were so plentiful, that they were starting to become detrimental to the other species. That's why we didn't see any moose, the wolves had killed them all, or driven them down to the Tetons.
Also affected, were the elk herds, primary food for the bears, which were already starting to look for alternate food outside the park. The year before, a man had been hunted and killed by a bear. Not in an accidental encounter, but stalked and killed as prey. The wolves were a problem, the ex-biologist told us, and the park was hesitant to deal with the problem because the wolves have become the biggest attraction at the park. Everyone wants to see the wolves.
Before we left, Mr. Kirkham told us one more story of the man from "the city" (L.A.) who brought his family to Yellowstone. The first wildlife they saw were the grazing bison. He lifted up his two year old girl, placed her on the back of the bison, and stepped back to take a photo. The bison shook off the little girl and stomped her to death, as he watched. "And who did the city newspapers blame?", he asked us. Walt Disney. For making wild animals so friggin cute.
From Cody, we took the scenic route to Thermopolis, Wyoming. After two weeks in the wilderness, we needed what Thermopolis had - the worlds largest mineral hot springs.
In 1896 a treaty was signed with the Shoshone and Arapaho Indians, which gave the public use of the "healing waters". According to the agreement, use will forever remain free at the State Bath House, and that is straight where we headed. After twenty minutes soaking in the 104 degree mineral water, we were clean. Refreshed. We joked that Yellowstone had purified our minds, and the hot spring was purifying our bodies. It was blissful. Rejuvenating.
7.17.2011
Night of Carnage
We parked the RV in a designated pull-off in the middle of Hayden Valley. If in the car, we would have driven around, looking for rangers, or following the guys with the really big cameras to find wildlife. But with the RV, we figured we would just park up and take a chance that something would run by. We grabbed the binoculars and the camera, and climbed up to the roof. We hadn't even sat down before a man below cried out, "Grizzly, dead ahead!"
The distinctive hump of the Grizzly's back was easy to spot, moving across the low sage brush. We watched as it zigzagged through the brush, nose to the ground. "He's searching about for a baby elk. Mother elk leave their little babies hidden in the brush, while they go out to graze." When the Grizzly suddenly sat back on its haunches and popped its head up to take a scan across the valley, the cry went out, "It found one!" Through the binoculars, you could see a limp and lifeless baby elk in its mouth.
It proceeded to rip apart its find, popping its head up occasionally to look around. When two large ravens showed up to grab a piece of the action, the bear got fed up at the nuisance, took the remainder of the elk in its mouth, and swam across the river. We watched for quite some time more while it finished its meal, before we decided to try another spot in the valley.
We drove South and pulled off at the next jam that we crossed. Far off in the distance, silhouetted against the setting sun, was a mother Grizzly and two cubs. We were having such luck that we decided to drive the Northern end of the valley. As we crested a small hill in the road, we came across the mother of all wildlife jams. The cars were at a dead stop, four wide, half a mile up the hill and around the corner. Since ton cars were getting by from the North, we were able to slide into a free space in the pull-off at the bottom of the hill.
Before Nicole could even shut the engine off and ask, "What are they looking at?", she saw them - wolves! Back up on the roof of the RV, we could see four wolves: two gray, one black, and one white. They were tearing apart an elk. That had apparently just taken it down because the rest of the herd was looking down cautiously from the top of a hill, like, "Is she doing to make it?"
Mary Lou grimaced as she saw bits of flashes of brilliant red as the wolves worked together to rip off chunks of elk flesh, but Nicole watched everything through the binoculars. For an hour, she sat and watched them finish of everything edible, observing the alpha white male eat first, with the help of one of the gray wolves. When the white one was finished, muzzle coated in blood, it trotted over to a clearing to rest, and clean up a little. With the alpha gone, the black wolf jumped in, while the other gray wolf sat patiently, watching, and waiting for its turn. It was bloody. It was raw. It was primal.
Satisfied with our night of carnage, we waited until the wolf jam cleared out a little, and got back on the road. We had just left Hayden Valley, riding parallel to the river, when we started to see brake lights ahead. We followed the line of sight of the pointing passengers and, through the pine trees, across the river, was a grizzly bear dragging something out of the water. Mary Lou jumped out of the moving RV with her camera, and left Nicole to navigate it to the next pull-out. Nicole backtracked through the woods, and watched as the Grizzly finished heaving a sickly grey, bloated carcass onto the riverbank.
No one could tell what it was, elk, antelope, maybe even a bison. The back legs of the carcass had already been stripped clean, and the white leg bones were splayed and pointed up to the sky. They trembled nauseatingly as the grizzly sunk his sharp claws into the beast and tore it open. A knowledgable gentlemen that had joined the jam informed his family that sometimes, during difficult winters, bears will eat some of their kill, and store the rest of it in the almost freezing river. A wildlife refrigerator, if you will. That carcass could have been pinned there in the logs, preserved all winter long, until the bear needed it. Awesome.
The sun had finally set. As we sat outside at our picnic table, we breathed deep the fresh air, looked up at stars and realized. . . you just can't get any better than this.
The distinctive hump of the Grizzly's back was easy to spot, moving across the low sage brush. We watched as it zigzagged through the brush, nose to the ground. "He's searching about for a baby elk. Mother elk leave their little babies hidden in the brush, while they go out to graze." When the Grizzly suddenly sat back on its haunches and popped its head up to take a scan across the valley, the cry went out, "It found one!" Through the binoculars, you could see a limp and lifeless baby elk in its mouth.
It proceeded to rip apart its find, popping its head up occasionally to look around. When two large ravens showed up to grab a piece of the action, the bear got fed up at the nuisance, took the remainder of the elk in its mouth, and swam across the river. We watched for quite some time more while it finished its meal, before we decided to try another spot in the valley.
We drove South and pulled off at the next jam that we crossed. Far off in the distance, silhouetted against the setting sun, was a mother Grizzly and two cubs. We were having such luck that we decided to drive the Northern end of the valley. As we crested a small hill in the road, we came across the mother of all wildlife jams. The cars were at a dead stop, four wide, half a mile up the hill and around the corner. Since ton cars were getting by from the North, we were able to slide into a free space in the pull-off at the bottom of the hill.
Before Nicole could even shut the engine off and ask, "What are they looking at?", she saw them - wolves! Back up on the roof of the RV, we could see four wolves: two gray, one black, and one white. They were tearing apart an elk. That had apparently just taken it down because the rest of the herd was looking down cautiously from the top of a hill, like, "Is she doing to make it?"
Mary Lou grimaced as she saw bits of flashes of brilliant red as the wolves worked together to rip off chunks of elk flesh, but Nicole watched everything through the binoculars. For an hour, she sat and watched them finish of everything edible, observing the alpha white male eat first, with the help of one of the gray wolves. When the white one was finished, muzzle coated in blood, it trotted over to a clearing to rest, and clean up a little. With the alpha gone, the black wolf jumped in, while the other gray wolf sat patiently, watching, and waiting for its turn. It was bloody. It was raw. It was primal.
Satisfied with our night of carnage, we waited until the wolf jam cleared out a little, and got back on the road. We had just left Hayden Valley, riding parallel to the river, when we started to see brake lights ahead. We followed the line of sight of the pointing passengers and, through the pine trees, across the river, was a grizzly bear dragging something out of the water. Mary Lou jumped out of the moving RV with her camera, and left Nicole to navigate it to the next pull-out. Nicole backtracked through the woods, and watched as the Grizzly finished heaving a sickly grey, bloated carcass onto the riverbank.
No one could tell what it was, elk, antelope, maybe even a bison. The back legs of the carcass had already been stripped clean, and the white leg bones were splayed and pointed up to the sky. They trembled nauseatingly as the grizzly sunk his sharp claws into the beast and tore it open. A knowledgable gentlemen that had joined the jam informed his family that sometimes, during difficult winters, bears will eat some of their kill, and store the rest of it in the almost freezing river. A wildlife refrigerator, if you will. That carcass could have been pinned there in the logs, preserved all winter long, until the bear needed it. Awesome.
The sun had finally set. As we sat outside at our picnic table, we breathed deep the fresh air, looked up at stars and realized. . . you just can't get any better than this.
7.13.2011
RVederci Kyle and Laura!
It was great to see Kyle, especially in such a ridiculously beautiful place. The time just flew by, wandering through the wilderness, and it was hard to say goodbye. But, Kyle and Laura packed up their stuff, hopped in the rental car, and headed South. They still had one more fun night planned in Jackson Hole, with some friends, before they had to catch their flight the next day. We thanked them both over and over for all the planning and coordination they did, but I still don't think Kyle understands how great it was for us. After seven months of planning, it was a vacation for us to just follow him around. And, because we didn't research the parks, each and every stop was a surprise. We got to be little kids, driven around to magical places, worrying only whether we had packed enough water and remembered the binoculars. Thanks Kyle!
And Laura! She also drove us around, picked some great trails, and made us kebabs. She was a fantastic trivial pursuit and pitch partner. She introduced us to a strange, but delicious, fermented drink that I still can't remember the name of. She's an ambitious girl, and we wish her the best for her Half Iron Man. Go Laura! We're rooting for you!
Mary Lou and Nicole took a few minutes to sit in the RV and feel it adjust to the two missing voyagers. We sighed deeply, commented at how quickly the time passes, and then jumped up to book another night at Mammoth Hot Springs. There was no reason we had to leave Yellowstone yet.
We decided to take the long way around to Old Faithful lodge, to see all the things we hadn't seen yet, and revisit some our favorite spots (like Dragon's Mouth!). We needed to use the lodge as a recharging station for all our many drained electronics. Just a few miles down the road, we had to stop for a gorgeous silver coyote, and watched as he pounced on frogs in the marsh. We stopped at Beryl Springs to get photos for my buddy Beryle. We stopped to see the Fountain Paint Pots - fantastic belching, spasming, flatulence-like geysers. We had cappuccinos brewed by a vacationing psychologist for troubled children, as we recharged all our batteries and watched another eruption of Old Faithful from the Lodge balcony.
We were going to sit and do some more work - sort the photos, write the blog, and such - but it was such a beautiful day outside! The week long rain clouds had finally cleared out, and the sun was shining bright in the big blue sky. We decided to go to Uncle Tom's Trail, a long, steep staircase down the canyon walls, to the Yellowstone River. After enjoying the view from the bottom, and climbing the 300+ steps, 500 feet, back up, we wanted more. We kept walking on the trail, not knowing how long it was, or where it would go.
The trail went to Clear Lake. It was rather clear, the numerous fallen logs visible far below the surface. While staring at the surface of the Lake, and debating whether we should keep walking, a couple passed coming from the other direction. "Don't stop now," they said, "the best part is coming up." Sometimes, the signs are so easy to follow.
We followed the trail around the Lake, through the woods, and onto the moon! The ground was white, barren, and pockmarked with craters. We smelled sulfur: geothermal events. There was no one around, and no fences on the trail. We could walk right up to the bubbling, hot springs and cavernous geysers, although we knew better than to get too close. We played "Lewis and Clark", pretending we were the first ones to wander into this strange, treacherous landscape (besides the Natives that had lived there for centuries, of course).
We hiked past Lily Pad Lake, which had only a dozen lily pads on it, but mosquitos the size of hummingbirds. A mile later, the trees cleared, and we found ourselves staring down into the Yellowstone Canyon. No railings. Straight down. And from the spot we were at. . . wow! Nicole was so overwhelmed that she had to sit down. Right up close next to the edge, of course, so she could look way, way down to the river.
Mary Lou left her there for fifteen minutes or so, while she pondered the smallness of her existence and the blink of an eye that was her life. Nicole only got up when other hikers started to peer over her shoulder, wondering what she was looking at for so long.
Another mile back to Artist's Point, past all the Japanese and clicking cameras, and to the RV. The sun was getting lower in the sky, and we decided to stop off in Hayden Valley on the way home, to see if we could catch any wildlife.
Holy crap. . . What a show. Next post. . . Carnage.
And Laura! She also drove us around, picked some great trails, and made us kebabs. She was a fantastic trivial pursuit and pitch partner. She introduced us to a strange, but delicious, fermented drink that I still can't remember the name of. She's an ambitious girl, and we wish her the best for her Half Iron Man. Go Laura! We're rooting for you!
Mary Lou and Nicole took a few minutes to sit in the RV and feel it adjust to the two missing voyagers. We sighed deeply, commented at how quickly the time passes, and then jumped up to book another night at Mammoth Hot Springs. There was no reason we had to leave Yellowstone yet.
We decided to take the long way around to Old Faithful lodge, to see all the things we hadn't seen yet, and revisit some our favorite spots (like Dragon's Mouth!). We needed to use the lodge as a recharging station for all our many drained electronics. Just a few miles down the road, we had to stop for a gorgeous silver coyote, and watched as he pounced on frogs in the marsh. We stopped at Beryl Springs to get photos for my buddy Beryle. We stopped to see the Fountain Paint Pots - fantastic belching, spasming, flatulence-like geysers. We had cappuccinos brewed by a vacationing psychologist for troubled children, as we recharged all our batteries and watched another eruption of Old Faithful from the Lodge balcony.
We were going to sit and do some more work - sort the photos, write the blog, and such - but it was such a beautiful day outside! The week long rain clouds had finally cleared out, and the sun was shining bright in the big blue sky. We decided to go to Uncle Tom's Trail, a long, steep staircase down the canyon walls, to the Yellowstone River. After enjoying the view from the bottom, and climbing the 300+ steps, 500 feet, back up, we wanted more. We kept walking on the trail, not knowing how long it was, or where it would go.
The trail went to Clear Lake. It was rather clear, the numerous fallen logs visible far below the surface. While staring at the surface of the Lake, and debating whether we should keep walking, a couple passed coming from the other direction. "Don't stop now," they said, "the best part is coming up." Sometimes, the signs are so easy to follow.
We followed the trail around the Lake, through the woods, and onto the moon! The ground was white, barren, and pockmarked with craters. We smelled sulfur: geothermal events. There was no one around, and no fences on the trail. We could walk right up to the bubbling, hot springs and cavernous geysers, although we knew better than to get too close. We played "Lewis and Clark", pretending we were the first ones to wander into this strange, treacherous landscape (besides the Natives that had lived there for centuries, of course).
We hiked past Lily Pad Lake, which had only a dozen lily pads on it, but mosquitos the size of hummingbirds. A mile later, the trees cleared, and we found ourselves staring down into the Yellowstone Canyon. No railings. Straight down. And from the spot we were at. . . wow! Nicole was so overwhelmed that she had to sit down. Right up close next to the edge, of course, so she could look way, way down to the river.
Mary Lou left her there for fifteen minutes or so, while she pondered the smallness of her existence and the blink of an eye that was her life. Nicole only got up when other hikers started to peer over her shoulder, wondering what she was looking at for so long.
Another mile back to Artist's Point, past all the Japanese and clicking cameras, and to the RV. The sun was getting lower in the sky, and we decided to stop off in Hayden Valley on the way home, to see if we could catch any wildlife.
Holy crap. . . What a show. Next post. . . Carnage.
7.10.2011
Mammoth Hot Springs and Cold Rivers
It was time to move the RV to our next adventure campsite, way North in the park - Mammoth Hot Springs. Since Kyle had been planning all the stays and stops, the Sottung girls had done no research and had no idea what to expect. It was fun that way. Lots of surprises.
On the road, we played yet another round of "Name That Jam!" There were about 30 people neatly lined up on the side of the road, super-lenses poised on tripods, waiting patiently for something. We looked up the hill, over the field, into the woods, but didn't see anything. "What are they looking at?" As we slowly navigated through the jam, Kyle shouted, "Oh! It's the Wisconsin Mascot!". He was so excited, he had to pull off, contribute to the jam, and get a photo of the badger. The girls waited in the car.
We stopped to let a mini-herd of bison ramble down the highway. Stopped to see Roaring Mountain, a full, rocky hillside spewing sulfur steam out of every crevice. Saw our first elk with big, fuzzy antlers. Then a giant rock dildo. Sorry, but, that's what it looked like. It's actually Liberty Cap, a dormant hot spring. But it looks like, well. . . you know.
We parked the RV at Mammoth Springs Campground and learned that campfires were allowed! Yay! We could have our first cookout that night. The campground host said we could find some great cuts of meat in Gardiner, Montana, just a few miles North, out of the North Entrance.
But first, we went to see Mammoth Hot Springs. "Mammoth Hot Springs is a large complex of hot springs on a hill of travertine in Yellowstone National Park. It was created over thousands of years as hot water from the spring cooled and deposited calcium carbonate (over two tons flows into Mammoth each day in a solution). Although these springs lie outside the caldera boundary, their energy has been attributed to the same magmatic system that fuels other Yellowstone geothermal areas."
It was pretty. Orange and yellow steaming rivers bubbling over layered, pod-like pools. It looked like rusty marshmallow land. We had fun, but then decided to go pick up our campfire meat.
We drove to Gardiner and bought hotdogs and brats and fresh vegetables for kebabs. When we stopped to buy ice cream, the lady told us if we just waited for ten minutes, we would catch the parade. Everyone rode horses, dressed in their Western best, the Yellowstone fire truck came by, and there were lots of pack mules. And they threw candy.
As we were piling back in the car after a pizza lunch, Kyle said, "We could go rafting." Everyone was silent for a few seconds. "Yeeeeeeaaaaah!" was the unified response. We got back out of the car and walked over to the rafting shop right across the plaza. They were ready for us, and we were ready to go.
We squeezed ourselves into damp wetsuits, picked out close-enough-size, already wet, water shoes and headed down to the river. None of us had been rafting before, so we were all really excited! Mary Lou was worried that the Yellowstone River was too high and too fast, but "pappa-bear" our guide, assured us, it was safe. We got a quick lesson of proper sitting, paddling, and command taking and we pushed off.
Wheeee! The first set of rapids blasted us with icey cold water, but amazingly, it wasn't that numbing. It was totally worth it. We paddled through the rapids, each getting blasted by different whitecaps coming from all directions. We stared up at the passing mountains and caught sight of osprey nests in the trees above us. It was invigorating. And now, we could officially count Montana in our list of states visited.
It started to rain just as we got the campfire up to cooking potential. Laura made the kebabs and held the umbrella, while Kyle turned the brats, and Nicole ran back and forth to keep the wine glasses filled. Nothing like smoking your dinner! It was delicious and we followed it up with a rubber match of Pitch and some smores. Kyle would run out in the rain, toast the marshmallows, and bring them back inside where Laura had neatly laid out the chocolate on the graham crackers. We stayed up as late as we could, because the next day, Kyle and Laura had to head back to Jackson Hole and then catch the flight home the next day. Their vacation was coming to an end.
On the road, we played yet another round of "Name That Jam!" There were about 30 people neatly lined up on the side of the road, super-lenses poised on tripods, waiting patiently for something. We looked up the hill, over the field, into the woods, but didn't see anything. "What are they looking at?" As we slowly navigated through the jam, Kyle shouted, "Oh! It's the Wisconsin Mascot!". He was so excited, he had to pull off, contribute to the jam, and get a photo of the badger. The girls waited in the car.
We stopped to let a mini-herd of bison ramble down the highway. Stopped to see Roaring Mountain, a full, rocky hillside spewing sulfur steam out of every crevice. Saw our first elk with big, fuzzy antlers. Then a giant rock dildo. Sorry, but, that's what it looked like. It's actually Liberty Cap, a dormant hot spring. But it looks like, well. . . you know.
We parked the RV at Mammoth Springs Campground and learned that campfires were allowed! Yay! We could have our first cookout that night. The campground host said we could find some great cuts of meat in Gardiner, Montana, just a few miles North, out of the North Entrance.
But first, we went to see Mammoth Hot Springs. "Mammoth Hot Springs is a large complex of hot springs on a hill of travertine in Yellowstone National Park. It was created over thousands of years as hot water from the spring cooled and deposited calcium carbonate (over two tons flows into Mammoth each day in a solution). Although these springs lie outside the caldera boundary, their energy has been attributed to the same magmatic system that fuels other Yellowstone geothermal areas."
It was pretty. Orange and yellow steaming rivers bubbling over layered, pod-like pools. It looked like rusty marshmallow land. We had fun, but then decided to go pick up our campfire meat.
We drove to Gardiner and bought hotdogs and brats and fresh vegetables for kebabs. When we stopped to buy ice cream, the lady told us if we just waited for ten minutes, we would catch the parade. Everyone rode horses, dressed in their Western best, the Yellowstone fire truck came by, and there were lots of pack mules. And they threw candy.
As we were piling back in the car after a pizza lunch, Kyle said, "We could go rafting." Everyone was silent for a few seconds. "Yeeeeeeaaaaah!" was the unified response. We got back out of the car and walked over to the rafting shop right across the plaza. They were ready for us, and we were ready to go.
We squeezed ourselves into damp wetsuits, picked out close-enough-size, already wet, water shoes and headed down to the river. None of us had been rafting before, so we were all really excited! Mary Lou was worried that the Yellowstone River was too high and too fast, but "pappa-bear" our guide, assured us, it was safe. We got a quick lesson of proper sitting, paddling, and command taking and we pushed off.
Wheeee! The first set of rapids blasted us with icey cold water, but amazingly, it wasn't that numbing. It was totally worth it. We paddled through the rapids, each getting blasted by different whitecaps coming from all directions. We stared up at the passing mountains and caught sight of osprey nests in the trees above us. It was invigorating. And now, we could officially count Montana in our list of states visited.
It started to rain just as we got the campfire up to cooking potential. Laura made the kebabs and held the umbrella, while Kyle turned the brats, and Nicole ran back and forth to keep the wine glasses filled. Nothing like smoking your dinner! It was delicious and we followed it up with a rubber match of Pitch and some smores. Kyle would run out in the rain, toast the marshmallows, and bring them back inside where Laura had neatly laid out the chocolate on the graham crackers. We stayed up as late as we could, because the next day, Kyle and Laura had to head back to Jackson Hole and then catch the flight home the next day. Their vacation was coming to an end.
7.09.2011
"Wolves! Wolves!"
The next morning, we all woke up at the buttcrack of dawn and drove far North into the park to reach Lamar Valley, the best wildlife viewing area in the park. On the way, just before crossing a bridge, we had to brake hard for a black bear crossing the road. We waited and watched as he lumbered down to the river and out of sight around the bend.
In Lamar Valley, the die hards were already parked up, mono scopes and telescopic zoom lenses mounted and ready, waiting for a glimpse of the parks latest and greatest attraction. Gray Wolves.
"Thanks to a controversial but very successful reintroduction program, wolves are now back in Yellowstone after an absence of almost 70 years. Several dozen wolves were captured in Canada and turned loose in Yellowstone In March 1995. Those animals have done remarkably well, reproducing at a rapid rate. Estimates of wolf numbers at the end of 2002 were 284 wolves in the Central Idaho Recovery Area, 271 in the Greater Yellowstone Recovery Area, and 108 in the Northwest Montana Recovery Area for a total of 663."
Radios crackled and a report came across that "the grays were headed toward the road". The rangers stopped the traffic, and we caught just a glimpse of grey streak across the road and up the hillside. We barely had time to raise the binoculars before the pair disappeared into the mountains. We waited for a few more minutes, but no sign of them. We felt lucky for seeing them at all, knowing how elusive they are.
We put on our hiking boots and backpacks, left the photogs in the parking lot, and hiked in to Lamar Valley. Before even a quarter of a mile, we stopped to survey the bison herd that was lounging in our path. They are the most dangerous things in the park, responsible for the most human injuries, so we wanted to make sure we gave them a wide berth. We cut our own path around them, and in doing so, came across the stark white bones of something big. They were scattered about, but we found a piece of every major skeletal system. Kyle named them all as we picked them up to examine their size and weight: "Lumbar vertebrae, femur, rib, scapula." The scapula was three times the size of Kyle's head. We kept looking for the trophy head and antlers, but couldn't find it.
As we pressed on into the valley, we noticed two antelope, fully alert and staring at us. They were definitely on guard as they ran ahead, before stopping again to check us out. "Are they scared of us?" we wondered. We scanned the valley behind them, but didn't see anything else following them. It must be us. But ten minutes later, as they bolted up the hillside that we were traversing, Laura pointed at the horizon, "Wolves!"
A pair of them, silhouetted against the horizon, trotting along. They paused for a few moments, to check us out, before continuing up the hill. Kyle urged caution, but Nicole wanted to race up the hill to get a better viewpoint to watch their journey. They were long gone by the time we reached the top of the hill. We didn't see them again, but through the binoculars we did spot what could have been their den, dug out at the peak of a hilltop, overlooking the entire valley.
We saw wolves! We were thrilled.
On our way out of the valley, we kept an eye on the wolf den, waiting for any movement. But as we paused to check through the binoculars, a low rumbling made us all stop dead in our tracks. Thunder? The ground under our feet was shaking. An earthquake? "Is it an earthquake," we asked each other with startled glances.
The sound grew louder, the earth shook deeper, as the bison crested the ridge above us and came charging down into the valley. Adults and calves, about 30 of them, in a full run, looking amazingly agile for such large beasts. We stood still, in awe, and glad we weren't in their path. But as they reached closer to the valley floor, we heard the steady sound of more hooves approaching on the ridge above us. There was nothing we could really do. Nowhere really to go. Nothing to hide behind.
The second group of bison crested the ridge, much closer to us than the first. Our hearts were beating hard. The lead bison saw us, though, pulled up short, turned and led that section of the herd around us. More and more bison were racing down the hillside, detouring around us. Maybe two hundred of them. A stampede all around us.
We scanned the hillside, looking for the reason they would stampede. We didn't see any predators. But we did see a few 'guide bison' at strategic points along the route, waiting for lagging sections of the herd. Adults would turn around and wait for little ones and nudge them to encourage them on. Was it just a training exercise for the little calves? Was it simply rendezvous time down in the valley? Whatever it was, it was incredible, and we followed the last stragglers down into the valley, unscathed.
The last section of the trail, leading back to the parking lot was still littered with resting bison. Kyle made us climb up the steep hillside to avoid them. As we slid back down the hill, we found it - the trophy piece from the earlier discovery! The bull elk skull. With giant antlers. It was bleached white by the winter and the sun, but when we flipped it over, there was still red, muscly stuff around the jaw. We all took turns posing with our find, before someone commented how freaking awesome the thing would look mounted on the RV. How fitting, to be able to ride back into Pulaski with such an impressive elk skull guiding the way. . .
Our excitement didn't last long, though, as we were all reasonably sure that the park's policy was "Leave No Trace". Leave nothing. Take nothing. Surely, we weren't allowed to keep it. And surely, if we tried to sneak it out, all the wolf watchers, with their super-powerful lenses, would spot us. "How much is the fine, you reckon?"
We left it, sadly, and trudged out of Lamar Valley. We were still talking about the skull as we pulled onto the main road. We hadn't gone 100 feet when Kyle slammed on the brakes. A gray wolf was standing right on the side of the road. He gave a quick glance in both directions and crossed right in front of us. Right there, in front of us. He trotted down into the marshy valley, and disappeared into the sage brush. But not before we got a few great photos. We could now officially cross the gray wolf off our wildlife list.
We also added 'bison stampede' to our checklist, and then crossed it off.
Click here for photos!
In Lamar Valley, the die hards were already parked up, mono scopes and telescopic zoom lenses mounted and ready, waiting for a glimpse of the parks latest and greatest attraction. Gray Wolves.
"Thanks to a controversial but very successful reintroduction program, wolves are now back in Yellowstone after an absence of almost 70 years. Several dozen wolves were captured in Canada and turned loose in Yellowstone In March 1995. Those animals have done remarkably well, reproducing at a rapid rate. Estimates of wolf numbers at the end of 2002 were 284 wolves in the Central Idaho Recovery Area, 271 in the Greater Yellowstone Recovery Area, and 108 in the Northwest Montana Recovery Area for a total of 663."
Radios crackled and a report came across that "the grays were headed toward the road". The rangers stopped the traffic, and we caught just a glimpse of grey streak across the road and up the hillside. We barely had time to raise the binoculars before the pair disappeared into the mountains. We waited for a few more minutes, but no sign of them. We felt lucky for seeing them at all, knowing how elusive they are.
We put on our hiking boots and backpacks, left the photogs in the parking lot, and hiked in to Lamar Valley. Before even a quarter of a mile, we stopped to survey the bison herd that was lounging in our path. They are the most dangerous things in the park, responsible for the most human injuries, so we wanted to make sure we gave them a wide berth. We cut our own path around them, and in doing so, came across the stark white bones of something big. They were scattered about, but we found a piece of every major skeletal system. Kyle named them all as we picked them up to examine their size and weight: "Lumbar vertebrae, femur, rib, scapula." The scapula was three times the size of Kyle's head. We kept looking for the trophy head and antlers, but couldn't find it.
As we pressed on into the valley, we noticed two antelope, fully alert and staring at us. They were definitely on guard as they ran ahead, before stopping again to check us out. "Are they scared of us?" we wondered. We scanned the valley behind them, but didn't see anything else following them. It must be us. But ten minutes later, as they bolted up the hillside that we were traversing, Laura pointed at the horizon, "Wolves!"
A pair of them, silhouetted against the horizon, trotting along. They paused for a few moments, to check us out, before continuing up the hill. Kyle urged caution, but Nicole wanted to race up the hill to get a better viewpoint to watch their journey. They were long gone by the time we reached the top of the hill. We didn't see them again, but through the binoculars we did spot what could have been their den, dug out at the peak of a hilltop, overlooking the entire valley.
We saw wolves! We were thrilled.
On our way out of the valley, we kept an eye on the wolf den, waiting for any movement. But as we paused to check through the binoculars, a low rumbling made us all stop dead in our tracks. Thunder? The ground under our feet was shaking. An earthquake? "Is it an earthquake," we asked each other with startled glances.
The sound grew louder, the earth shook deeper, as the bison crested the ridge above us and came charging down into the valley. Adults and calves, about 30 of them, in a full run, looking amazingly agile for such large beasts. We stood still, in awe, and glad we weren't in their path. But as they reached closer to the valley floor, we heard the steady sound of more hooves approaching on the ridge above us. There was nothing we could really do. Nowhere really to go. Nothing to hide behind.
The second group of bison crested the ridge, much closer to us than the first. Our hearts were beating hard. The lead bison saw us, though, pulled up short, turned and led that section of the herd around us. More and more bison were racing down the hillside, detouring around us. Maybe two hundred of them. A stampede all around us.
We scanned the hillside, looking for the reason they would stampede. We didn't see any predators. But we did see a few 'guide bison' at strategic points along the route, waiting for lagging sections of the herd. Adults would turn around and wait for little ones and nudge them to encourage them on. Was it just a training exercise for the little calves? Was it simply rendezvous time down in the valley? Whatever it was, it was incredible, and we followed the last stragglers down into the valley, unscathed.
The last section of the trail, leading back to the parking lot was still littered with resting bison. Kyle made us climb up the steep hillside to avoid them. As we slid back down the hill, we found it - the trophy piece from the earlier discovery! The bull elk skull. With giant antlers. It was bleached white by the winter and the sun, but when we flipped it over, there was still red, muscly stuff around the jaw. We all took turns posing with our find, before someone commented how freaking awesome the thing would look mounted on the RV. How fitting, to be able to ride back into Pulaski with such an impressive elk skull guiding the way. . .
Our excitement didn't last long, though, as we were all reasonably sure that the park's policy was "Leave No Trace". Leave nothing. Take nothing. Surely, we weren't allowed to keep it. And surely, if we tried to sneak it out, all the wolf watchers, with their super-powerful lenses, would spot us. "How much is the fine, you reckon?"
We left it, sadly, and trudged out of Lamar Valley. We were still talking about the skull as we pulled onto the main road. We hadn't gone 100 feet when Kyle slammed on the brakes. A gray wolf was standing right on the side of the road. He gave a quick glance in both directions and crossed right in front of us. Right there, in front of us. He trotted down into the marshy valley, and disappeared into the sage brush. But not before we got a few great photos. We could now officially cross the gray wolf off our wildlife list.
We also added 'bison stampede' to our checklist, and then crossed it off.
Click here for photos!
7.08.2011
Grizzly
The Sottung girls slept in while Kyle and Laura tried again to go run up a mountain. Unfortunately, they found the most exciting trails closed, due to the stubborn snow that refused to melt. They came back from the high altitudes to pick up the girls and take us to Yellowstone Falls. The waterfall itself was gorgeous, but it was the in the canyon when we finally realized why it's called 'Yellowstone'. The walls of the canyon are yellow. Go figure.
We stayed at the tourist viewpoints, noting the exceptional number of Japanese and waiting patiently to squeeze into a spot on the rocks for the obligatory waterfall backdrop photos. As we waited, the grey rainclouds overhead finally cleared a bit. The sunshine poured through and rainbows cut through the canyon. The Japanese cameras went nuts.
On our way back to the campsite, at the Fishing Bridge junction, there was another traffic jam. "Must be the bear jam," Kyle said. "Should we pull off?" We figured the bear would be far off in the field again, scavenging, but decided it was worth a second look. We pulled off to the side, last in line, when we realized that all the people were running towards us. The ranger was shouting, "Get in your cars! Get in your cars, now!"
The Grizzly bear appeared from behind a scanty row of trees, on our side of the road, not 30 yards from us. Oh my God. . . it was huge! Our eyes widened and we all gasped like startled prey. It was intimidating.
It was foraging again, clawing at the ground trying to snag roots. Mary Lou clicked photographs from the passenger seat as it moved closer and closer. When it stopped to look up and assess the massive traffic jam it had caused on the road, Mary Lou whispered loudly in terror, "Kyle! Is your finger on the window button? Kyle! Are you ready to close the window? Kyle!" Kyle assured her that he would close the window if it got any closer, and as it lumbered towards us, flashing its giant white claws, all the windows went up fast.
The Grizzly carried on down the hillside, barely bothered by the Japenese guy that tried to sneak around his car for a better shot or the ranger that shouted at him, "No! No! Are you freaking crazy?" We watched him sniff and pounce and dig for a few more minutes. It took that long for our heartbeats to slow and our blood pressure to drop. To come so close to something so powerful, so wild. . . unforgettable.
In the afternoon, we drove to Old Faithful. There was already quite a crowd when we reached, so we figured it was about time for the never fail 90 minute showtime. We waited patiently, readying our cameras at each teasing breath of steam that rose out of the small cone. Finally, eruption. It was fun. Not as exciting as some of the other things we had already seen, but, you have to see it once, right?
We spent some time in Old Faithful Lodge, admiring the log treehouse-like structure, taking advantage of the mobile and 3G signal that's nowhere else to be found in the park. 90 minutes later, it was time for Old Faithful to erupt again, and this time, it was much more impressive. Higher and longer than the first eruption, it definitely deserved an applause.
We walked around the rest of the geyser basin, oohing and aching over all the fantastic geysers. The centers of hot water were crystal clear, electric blue, the sides brilliant yellow and orange from the different thermopiles growing in the hot water. We saw lots of elk, bison and a yellow bellied marmot scampering around the valley.
For dinner, Mary Lou cooked up some yummy chicken and we finished off a few bottles of wine while playing pitch, a family favorite game. We taught Laura how to play, and she caught on in no time. She partnered with Mary Lou, so Nicole and Kyle were forced to be partners, a motherly preemptive move to reduce bickering.
Click here for photos!
We stayed at the tourist viewpoints, noting the exceptional number of Japanese and waiting patiently to squeeze into a spot on the rocks for the obligatory waterfall backdrop photos. As we waited, the grey rainclouds overhead finally cleared a bit. The sunshine poured through and rainbows cut through the canyon. The Japanese cameras went nuts.
On our way back to the campsite, at the Fishing Bridge junction, there was another traffic jam. "Must be the bear jam," Kyle said. "Should we pull off?" We figured the bear would be far off in the field again, scavenging, but decided it was worth a second look. We pulled off to the side, last in line, when we realized that all the people were running towards us. The ranger was shouting, "Get in your cars! Get in your cars, now!"
The Grizzly bear appeared from behind a scanty row of trees, on our side of the road, not 30 yards from us. Oh my God. . . it was huge! Our eyes widened and we all gasped like startled prey. It was intimidating.
It was foraging again, clawing at the ground trying to snag roots. Mary Lou clicked photographs from the passenger seat as it moved closer and closer. When it stopped to look up and assess the massive traffic jam it had caused on the road, Mary Lou whispered loudly in terror, "Kyle! Is your finger on the window button? Kyle! Are you ready to close the window? Kyle!" Kyle assured her that he would close the window if it got any closer, and as it lumbered towards us, flashing its giant white claws, all the windows went up fast.
The Grizzly carried on down the hillside, barely bothered by the Japenese guy that tried to sneak around his car for a better shot or the ranger that shouted at him, "No! No! Are you freaking crazy?" We watched him sniff and pounce and dig for a few more minutes. It took that long for our heartbeats to slow and our blood pressure to drop. To come so close to something so powerful, so wild. . . unforgettable.
In the afternoon, we drove to Old Faithful. There was already quite a crowd when we reached, so we figured it was about time for the never fail 90 minute showtime. We waited patiently, readying our cameras at each teasing breath of steam that rose out of the small cone. Finally, eruption. It was fun. Not as exciting as some of the other things we had already seen, but, you have to see it once, right?
We spent some time in Old Faithful Lodge, admiring the log treehouse-like structure, taking advantage of the mobile and 3G signal that's nowhere else to be found in the park. 90 minutes later, it was time for Old Faithful to erupt again, and this time, it was much more impressive. Higher and longer than the first eruption, it definitely deserved an applause.
We walked around the rest of the geyser basin, oohing and aching over all the fantastic geysers. The centers of hot water were crystal clear, electric blue, the sides brilliant yellow and orange from the different thermopiles growing in the hot water. We saw lots of elk, bison and a yellow bellied marmot scampering around the valley.
For dinner, Mary Lou cooked up some yummy chicken and we finished off a few bottles of wine while playing pitch, a family favorite game. We taught Laura how to play, and she caught on in no time. She partnered with Mary Lou, so Nicole and Kyle were forced to be partners, a motherly preemptive move to reduce bickering.
Click here for photos!
7.06.2011
Yellowstone National Park
From the Grand Tetons, we entered Yellowstone National Park through the South Entrance. On the way to our campsite in Fishing Bridge, we came up close and personal with our first park wildlife - elk. They were resting under pine trees, peacefully, and Mary Lou got within a few years of them, before the rangers came to remind everyone of the 25 yard mandatory distance to be kept between all wildlife. Except for bears - 100 yards.
Kyle had, much to the appreciation of Mary Lou and Nicole, made all the reservations for this Jackson/Teton/Yellowstone leg of the trip. And what a fantastic job he did. Fishing bridge had full hook-ups, a huge general store, and was in the heart of Grizzly country. We hadn't even reached our campsite before we came upon a traffic jam at the Fishing Bridge junction. Two rangers were trying to keep the traffic moving, but also understanding of all the people that had pulled over. We pulled off the road, and joined the throng to see our first Grizzly Bear. Out in the field, framed by pine trees, the lake, and snow-capped mountains behind, we watched the grizzly forage for roots in the soil. When he exited, stage right, into the woods, everyone jumped in to their cars to see if they could intersect him around the bend, but we carried on to our campsite.
After a quick lunch and map study session at the Lake Lodge, we took a drive around the Eastern side of the park. We saw our first herd of bison, complete with baby bison. We wondered at what baby bison were called (calves), while we watched the massive beasts lumber through the fields. They were far away, but we sat and watched, not knowing that we would be inundated with bison throughout our stay.
Kyle asked, "Anyone interested in seeing the Mud Volcano?" "Hell yeah!" We could smell the mud volcano before we saw it. Before we even got out of the car, the sulfur smell filled our nostrils and made us all say 'ewww'. By the end of our stay, we sought out that sulfur smell, knowing that it would lead us to any number of remarkable geothermal events.
Mud Volcano was exactly that. A steaming cauldron of mud bubbling out from a collapsed hillside. The clay mud edges were dried into artistic cracked tiles, and the deep path of bison tracks showed that, even with the boardwalks to keep the people off, the area was still a favorite for wildlife.
The Mud Volcano area was filled with lots of geothermal events. Walking on the boardwalk over the steaming, hydrogen sulfide rivers felt like walking through the 'bog of eternal stench', from our favorite movie, Labyrinth. We "oohed and ached", but nothing compared to our reaction when we reached "The Dragon's Mouth".
From a small, dark cavern cut into the hillside, a tremendous roar emanated from its bowels and monstrous gusts of steam spewing straight up into the air. You could only imagine what the first intrepid explorers thought when they came upon this cavern. It looked and sounded exactly as if a dragon had been awakened and was growling his dismay at the intrusion. Even now, understanding the science of the cave, you could almost be certain the science was wrong, and that there was a dragon in there. It was too awesome to be of the 'real' world.
If all of Yellowstone was going to be as amazing as this first day, we were in for quite an adventure.
Click here for photos!
Kyle had, much to the appreciation of Mary Lou and Nicole, made all the reservations for this Jackson/Teton/Yellowstone leg of the trip. And what a fantastic job he did. Fishing bridge had full hook-ups, a huge general store, and was in the heart of Grizzly country. We hadn't even reached our campsite before we came upon a traffic jam at the Fishing Bridge junction. Two rangers were trying to keep the traffic moving, but also understanding of all the people that had pulled over. We pulled off the road, and joined the throng to see our first Grizzly Bear. Out in the field, framed by pine trees, the lake, and snow-capped mountains behind, we watched the grizzly forage for roots in the soil. When he exited, stage right, into the woods, everyone jumped in to their cars to see if they could intersect him around the bend, but we carried on to our campsite.
After a quick lunch and map study session at the Lake Lodge, we took a drive around the Eastern side of the park. We saw our first herd of bison, complete with baby bison. We wondered at what baby bison were called (calves), while we watched the massive beasts lumber through the fields. They were far away, but we sat and watched, not knowing that we would be inundated with bison throughout our stay.
Kyle asked, "Anyone interested in seeing the Mud Volcano?" "Hell yeah!" We could smell the mud volcano before we saw it. Before we even got out of the car, the sulfur smell filled our nostrils and made us all say 'ewww'. By the end of our stay, we sought out that sulfur smell, knowing that it would lead us to any number of remarkable geothermal events.
Mud Volcano was exactly that. A steaming cauldron of mud bubbling out from a collapsed hillside. The clay mud edges were dried into artistic cracked tiles, and the deep path of bison tracks showed that, even with the boardwalks to keep the people off, the area was still a favorite for wildlife.
The Mud Volcano area was filled with lots of geothermal events. Walking on the boardwalk over the steaming, hydrogen sulfide rivers felt like walking through the 'bog of eternal stench', from our favorite movie, Labyrinth. We "oohed and ached", but nothing compared to our reaction when we reached "The Dragon's Mouth".
From a small, dark cavern cut into the hillside, a tremendous roar emanated from its bowels and monstrous gusts of steam spewing straight up into the air. You could only imagine what the first intrepid explorers thought when they came upon this cavern. It looked and sounded exactly as if a dragon had been awakened and was growling his dismay at the intrusion. Even now, understanding the science of the cave, you could almost be certain the science was wrong, and that there was a dragon in there. It was too awesome to be of the 'real' world.
If all of Yellowstone was going to be as amazing as this first day, we were in for quite an adventure.
Click here for photos!
7.05.2011
Grand Tetons: Canoe Trip to Heaven
Kyle and Laura woke up ridiculously early to go and run up a mountain. Laura has actually been in training for the Half Iron Man. Admirable. Mary Lou and Nicole gladly took the chance to sleep in. But, due to the amount of snow still on the trails throughout the park, most of the best hiking trails were impassable without snowshoes. They came back to the RV with a new plan: a canoe ride around Jackson Lake.
Since the canoe could only take three, Mary Lou volunteered to stay back, but came to the Colter Bay Marina to see 'the kids' off. Kyle was undisputed captain, taking up the stern. Laura opted to row first, and Nicole sat in the middle, navigating from the laminated map, and testing all the ziploc seals on the bags holding phones and cameras. She was also designated photographer and wildlife spotter, since she was getting a free ride.
We paddled South, staying within 200 yards of the coastline, weaving in and out of small bays, looking for moose. As we got farther South, towards Elk Island, the wind died, and Jackson Lake went still. Like glass. Each and every craggy outcropping, loose rock, and snow pile was reflected in the mirrored lake. Everything around was silent. The few clouds draping the highest peaks seemed to slow and hang in place. We were alone in utopia.
The oars made whirpools in the looking glass, but the mountains held still. Solid. When the oars were pulled up, so as not to disturb even the reflection, the water drops made perfect, concentric circles, before finally ceasing. It was like floating through heaven. Heaven above. Heaven below. And we, adrift in the middle.
We pulled up onto Heritage Point beach for a rest, before turning around and rowing back to the marina. It was our last night in Grand Teton, so we decided to watch the sunset from the Grand Teton Lodge. We even put on a little make-up to go sit on the lodge patio, overlooking the full expanse of the Tetons. We sipped local, Wyoming potato vodka martinis and huckleberry margaritas, watching the wildlife in the valley below, and the tourists posing for photographs in front of the panorama. We felt our sunburns from the canoe trip, start to heat up as the sun set lower in the sky. It was a picture prefect ending to a picture perfect day. The Grand Tetons goes on the list of the most magical places that we have been lucky enough to visit. . .
Click here for photos!
Since the canoe could only take three, Mary Lou volunteered to stay back, but came to the Colter Bay Marina to see 'the kids' off. Kyle was undisputed captain, taking up the stern. Laura opted to row first, and Nicole sat in the middle, navigating from the laminated map, and testing all the ziploc seals on the bags holding phones and cameras. She was also designated photographer and wildlife spotter, since she was getting a free ride.
We paddled South, staying within 200 yards of the coastline, weaving in and out of small bays, looking for moose. As we got farther South, towards Elk Island, the wind died, and Jackson Lake went still. Like glass. Each and every craggy outcropping, loose rock, and snow pile was reflected in the mirrored lake. Everything around was silent. The few clouds draping the highest peaks seemed to slow and hang in place. We were alone in utopia.
The oars made whirpools in the looking glass, but the mountains held still. Solid. When the oars were pulled up, so as not to disturb even the reflection, the water drops made perfect, concentric circles, before finally ceasing. It was like floating through heaven. Heaven above. Heaven below. And we, adrift in the middle.
We pulled up onto Heritage Point beach for a rest, before turning around and rowing back to the marina. It was our last night in Grand Teton, so we decided to watch the sunset from the Grand Teton Lodge. We even put on a little make-up to go sit on the lodge patio, overlooking the full expanse of the Tetons. We sipped local, Wyoming potato vodka martinis and huckleberry margaritas, watching the wildlife in the valley below, and the tourists posing for photographs in front of the panorama. We felt our sunburns from the canoe trip, start to heat up as the sun set lower in the sky. It was a picture prefect ending to a picture perfect day. The Grand Tetons goes on the list of the most magical places that we have been lucky enough to visit. . .
Click here for photos!
Grand Tetons: "Big Breastesses"
We woke up early so that we could catch the morning wildlife on the drive North from Jackson Hole to Grand Teton National Park. The skies were grey, the weather was chill, and the clouds hung low over the mountains, giving us only fleeting glimpses of sunlit glaciers. Once we reached our campsite at Colter Bay, we put on our hiking gear, and headed out to the Heritage Point Trailhead. Kyle told us it was a long hike, but flat, no elevation change. No problem.
Just five minutes into our hike, we spotted our first wildlife. A bald eagle, perched in a dead tree, right next to the lake. We walked slowly on the trail until we were right under it. It didn't seem too bothered, but just kept a keen eye on us. He was a beauty. There was one beautiful large feather sticking out of it's wing, and we waited patiently, hoping that he would pluck it out and drop it down to us. We didn't get the feather, but we considered the eagle our blessing for safe passage into the wilderness.
We walked through the forests, spotting grouse, hearing jackrabbits thump warning on the forest floor, and everyone and a while saying, "I'm a bear! I'm a bear!", so as not to take any bear by surprise. We passed a beaver lodge in a small lake, and watched the beavers frolic about, smacking their thick tails on the surface of the water. The clouds still hung low, and from the open meadows, we could just see the base of the mountains.
Three and a half miles into the hike, we came to a crossroads. We could either walk one and a half more miles to Heritage Point, on the lake, with the supposed most stunning view of the Grand Tetons, or, Nicole could walk Mary Lou back to the trailhead. Nicole wouldn't even take that as an option, and told her mother she would make it to the Point.
After five miles, and a short nap in a suddenly sunny, green meadow, we reached Heritage Point. It was as if the clouds parted just for us. As we walked onto the rocky beach, the whole panoramic of the Grand Tetons stretched before us, snow glowing silver in the sunlight, and reflecting in the lake. Spectacular.
"The majesty of the peaks within the Grand Teton National Park has always left wide-eyed onlookers searching for ways to best describe them. Native tribes had numerous names for the jagged spires, from the The Three Brothers to the evocative Hoary Headed Fathers, the seemingly age-old peaks commonly dusted in silvery snow. The Shoshone knew them as the Teewinot ("many pinnacles"), while the early white explorers called the range The Pilot Knobs, sky-high lighthouses used to navigate the surrounding wilderness. The designation the stuck, Les Trois Tetons (literally "The Three Breasts"), was bestowed in to 1830's by imaginative, if sex-starved, French-Canadian fur-trappers."
They were breathtaking. We sat on the beach, each on our own little rock bed, and watched the clouds pour towards us over the highest peaks. Although the complete range was visible most of the time, the highest peak, Grand Teton was always cloaked in grey clouds. It was as if Grand Teton, at 13,770 ft, created it's own weather for the purpose of remaining shrouded in mystery. Just as we would think it was about to show itself, the clouds would form behind and quickly wrap themselves around the peak.
The shadows of passing clouds animated the peaks, showing the glaciers flowing and avalanches racing down. We sat in awe for quite some time, until we got up to take the obligatory family photos. We made sure everyone was rested, and ready to embark on the 5 miles back. Mary Lou was already complaining, but we were encouraging, telling her to 'suck it up and enjoy it'. Kyle tried to keep her entertained by playing hide and go seek behind very skinny trees.
Kyle and Laura also did a great job 'herding' Mary Lou and Nicole to maintain a good pace. Nicole would wait for Mary Lou to catch a breath, and they would lag behind. So, Laura would stride along ahead, while Kyle came around to bring up the rear and keep the train moving along. By mile 8, though, we were all pretty tired, and sat on some logs to drink water, eat trail mix and peel off some layers. We kept looking back at Grand Teton, but never got a clear view, even as we reached back to the trailhead.
We found the eagle still perched in the dead tree, five hours later, keeping guard over the path, ensuring that we had made it out. We gave him a wave as we walked our sore feet back to the campsite.
Just five minutes into our hike, we spotted our first wildlife. A bald eagle, perched in a dead tree, right next to the lake. We walked slowly on the trail until we were right under it. It didn't seem too bothered, but just kept a keen eye on us. He was a beauty. There was one beautiful large feather sticking out of it's wing, and we waited patiently, hoping that he would pluck it out and drop it down to us. We didn't get the feather, but we considered the eagle our blessing for safe passage into the wilderness.
We walked through the forests, spotting grouse, hearing jackrabbits thump warning on the forest floor, and everyone and a while saying, "I'm a bear! I'm a bear!", so as not to take any bear by surprise. We passed a beaver lodge in a small lake, and watched the beavers frolic about, smacking their thick tails on the surface of the water. The clouds still hung low, and from the open meadows, we could just see the base of the mountains.
Three and a half miles into the hike, we came to a crossroads. We could either walk one and a half more miles to Heritage Point, on the lake, with the supposed most stunning view of the Grand Tetons, or, Nicole could walk Mary Lou back to the trailhead. Nicole wouldn't even take that as an option, and told her mother she would make it to the Point.
After five miles, and a short nap in a suddenly sunny, green meadow, we reached Heritage Point. It was as if the clouds parted just for us. As we walked onto the rocky beach, the whole panoramic of the Grand Tetons stretched before us, snow glowing silver in the sunlight, and reflecting in the lake. Spectacular.
"The majesty of the peaks within the Grand Teton National Park has always left wide-eyed onlookers searching for ways to best describe them. Native tribes had numerous names for the jagged spires, from the The Three Brothers to the evocative Hoary Headed Fathers, the seemingly age-old peaks commonly dusted in silvery snow. The Shoshone knew them as the Teewinot ("many pinnacles"), while the early white explorers called the range The Pilot Knobs, sky-high lighthouses used to navigate the surrounding wilderness. The designation the stuck, Les Trois Tetons (literally "The Three Breasts"), was bestowed in to 1830's by imaginative, if sex-starved, French-Canadian fur-trappers."
They were breathtaking. We sat on the beach, each on our own little rock bed, and watched the clouds pour towards us over the highest peaks. Although the complete range was visible most of the time, the highest peak, Grand Teton was always cloaked in grey clouds. It was as if Grand Teton, at 13,770 ft, created it's own weather for the purpose of remaining shrouded in mystery. Just as we would think it was about to show itself, the clouds would form behind and quickly wrap themselves around the peak.
The shadows of passing clouds animated the peaks, showing the glaciers flowing and avalanches racing down. We sat in awe for quite some time, until we got up to take the obligatory family photos. We made sure everyone was rested, and ready to embark on the 5 miles back. Mary Lou was already complaining, but we were encouraging, telling her to 'suck it up and enjoy it'. Kyle tried to keep her entertained by playing hide and go seek behind very skinny trees.
Kyle and Laura also did a great job 'herding' Mary Lou and Nicole to maintain a good pace. Nicole would wait for Mary Lou to catch a breath, and they would lag behind. So, Laura would stride along ahead, while Kyle came around to bring up the rear and keep the train moving along. By mile 8, though, we were all pretty tired, and sat on some logs to drink water, eat trail mix and peel off some layers. We kept looking back at Grand Teton, but never got a clear view, even as we reached back to the trailhead.
We found the eagle still perched in the dead tree, five hours later, keeping guard over the path, ensuring that we had made it out. We gave him a wave as we walked our sore feet back to the campsite.
7.01.2011
Jackson Hole, Wyoming
We reached Jackson Hole one day early, so we could give the RV a major spring cleaning. Not just to impress Kyle at how well we were keeping up, living in style, but he was also bringing a guest. Laura is a friend of Kyle's back from his working days in Glens Falls, NY, and his long-time hiking and rock climbing buddy. Our spare beds had been used as storage space for these many months, so we had to reorganize our whole storage system: in the cupboards, under the bed, under the RV. . . We put our tools away in the actual toolbox, sorted all the receipts that were floating around in different drawers, stacked our museum catalogues neatly in the bookshelf, and figured out how to turn the lounge chairs around to give everyone some more leg room. We drank creative cocktails mixed of whatever small amounts of liquor was left, in preparations for a re-stock, while Mary Lou rearranged the food cupboards and Nicole finally fixed the broken window shades.
When Kyle and Laura reached, we spent a few minutes catching up, but headed right out to town. This was a much needed, and too short, vacation for them, and they weren't going to waste any minute of it. We walked through the elk antler arches in the main square, past the Million Dollar Cowboy bar, and to the Snake River Brewery. A few hamburgers and pints later and we were at the Jackson Hole Rodeo.
None of us had been to a rodeo before! Kyle had bought us all tickets, saying that this was a real rodeo. Sometimes, people die.
It started with a parade of the Rodeo Princesses, adorable little cowgirls riding huge horses around the ring and waving to the crowd. The current Rodeo Queen carried the flag for the national anthem. And then, the first round of bull riding. The gates burst open, the first bull came out kicking and threw the cowboy down in less than a second. The next riders did better.
Next came the bareback broncos. No saddles, cowboys hanging on by just a rope, laying across the bucking horse and trying to stay on for seven seconds. The main rodeo clown huddled in a barrel until he was needed to save a cowboy from being trampled. Next came the steer catching, then the partner roping. One more round of bull riding, and then. . . our favorite event of the evening: Mutton Bustin'.
Oh my gosh. . . these little kids, helmets on, bursting out of the gates on bucking sheep, holding on for dear life, and picking themselves up proud after getting thrown to the ground. They were awesome! The smallest ones, I swear, three years old, would be snatched by the belt buckle, by the rodeo clowns, before they got too far out of the gate, but, they did it! No fear.
There was a round of catch-the-flag off the goats for the kids, before the final rounds of bull riding. There really weren't too many riders that were able to stay on for the full seven seconds. The bulls must have been in a really feisty mood. There was no injuries, no one gored, but we thoroughly enjoyed ourselves.
The next morning, we woke up early for the drive North into the Grand Tetons. Bring on the mountains!
Click here for the photos!
When Kyle and Laura reached, we spent a few minutes catching up, but headed right out to town. This was a much needed, and too short, vacation for them, and they weren't going to waste any minute of it. We walked through the elk antler arches in the main square, past the Million Dollar Cowboy bar, and to the Snake River Brewery. A few hamburgers and pints later and we were at the Jackson Hole Rodeo.
None of us had been to a rodeo before! Kyle had bought us all tickets, saying that this was a real rodeo. Sometimes, people die.
It started with a parade of the Rodeo Princesses, adorable little cowgirls riding huge horses around the ring and waving to the crowd. The current Rodeo Queen carried the flag for the national anthem. And then, the first round of bull riding. The gates burst open, the first bull came out kicking and threw the cowboy down in less than a second. The next riders did better.
Next came the bareback broncos. No saddles, cowboys hanging on by just a rope, laying across the bucking horse and trying to stay on for seven seconds. The main rodeo clown huddled in a barrel until he was needed to save a cowboy from being trampled. Next came the steer catching, then the partner roping. One more round of bull riding, and then. . . our favorite event of the evening: Mutton Bustin'.
Oh my gosh. . . these little kids, helmets on, bursting out of the gates on bucking sheep, holding on for dear life, and picking themselves up proud after getting thrown to the ground. They were awesome! The smallest ones, I swear, three years old, would be snatched by the belt buckle, by the rodeo clowns, before they got too far out of the gate, but, they did it! No fear.
There was a round of catch-the-flag off the goats for the kids, before the final rounds of bull riding. There really weren't too many riders that were able to stay on for the full seven seconds. The bulls must have been in a really feisty mood. There was no injuries, no one gored, but we thoroughly enjoyed ourselves.
The next morning, we woke up early for the drive North into the Grand Tetons. Bring on the mountains!
Click here for the photos!
6.28.2011
Sometimes, even we can't believe we made it this far!
The RV brought us safely to Jackson Hole for our long anticipated Yellowstone adventure with Kyle! Throughout these past seven months, every time we talked to Kyle, he would say goodbye only after telling us to treat the RV well, so it would last until Yellowstone. I think there were a lot of people back home that probably thought we wouldn't make it this far, or this long. Two women in a machine and all. . .
And so, it's a great time for a shout-out to the Sanefski's, from whom we bought the RV. They treated this baby really well, throughout their time in it, and handed us over a solid, reliable machine. Mary Lou was always trying to avoid driving over the mountainy roads, but Nicole always headed straight into them, and this pink Jayco Eagle soared right over the passes.
The Sanefski's also handed over their compiled user's notes and procedure checklists, along with the user's manual for each and every component of the RV. Without those, we probably would ripped off our door by leaving the stairs down, or blown up the propane tanks by leaving the gas on. So. . .
Dear Sanefski's,
Thank you!
Love,
The Sottung Girls
And so, it's a great time for a shout-out to the Sanefski's, from whom we bought the RV. They treated this baby really well, throughout their time in it, and handed us over a solid, reliable machine. Mary Lou was always trying to avoid driving over the mountainy roads, but Nicole always headed straight into them, and this pink Jayco Eagle soared right over the passes.
The Sanefski's also handed over their compiled user's notes and procedure checklists, along with the user's manual for each and every component of the RV. Without those, we probably would ripped off our door by leaving the stairs down, or blown up the propane tanks by leaving the gas on. So. . .
Dear Sanefski's,
Thank you!
Love,
The Sottung Girls
6.25.2011
EBR-1
EBR-1
On to Jackson Hole to meet Kyle.
But, first, as we were driving through the hours and hours of flat potato fields of Idaho, staring at the big fluffy clouds in the big blue sky, we passed a sign that read: 'EBR-1 Atomic Museum'. We both looked at each other, like, was that a mirage? It was so random. As we were still debating whether we had read it correctly, we passed another sign that read: 'Idaho National Laboratory, Expiremental Breeder Reactor Entrance'. What the. . .
Nicole pulled out her Droid and asked it about EBR-1 Atomic Museum. The first google result was an article from ABC news, published exactly 41 minutes previous. The article said that it was a cool thing to do, to visit EBR-1, the nation's first power plant to generate electricity from nuclear power. Now part of a larger nuclear power research campus set in the middle of barren fields, far away from cities in case of any 'accidents', the EBR-1 was open for us to visit. Hell yeah; we hung a right at the only intersection we had seen for miles, and went in.
Some of you know that our family has a bit of experience with nuclear power. Mary Lou's ex-husband, Nicole's father, has had a long career working at the James A. Fitzpatrick nuclear power plant in Oswego, NY. He has been the Electrical Maintenance Chief for quite some time now. When Nicole and Kyle were very small, he used to be able to bring them every once and a while, for "Take Your Kid to Work" day. They don't do that anymore. Also, both Nicole and Kyle have been able to work at the power plant, during their bi-annual refueling shutdowns. Working as Utility Technicians, they received Nuclear Regulatory Clearance for plant access, to be able to go in the reactor building to work. Hanging lead sheets in work areas, wearing contamination suits to clean up stray contamination, or putting on respirator suits to go in and clean the drywall: they both worked 12 hour shifts, 6 days a week during the outage.
So, the museum was of special interest to us, and it was a trip back in time to see the control room as it was in the 1950's. The turbines and the generator were ridiculously small, compared to ones we had worked around. And the electricity from the generator was channeled to light up 5 lightbulbs hanging from a wire. But there were some familiar sights, notably a sign reading: 'Practice Good Housekeeping: A Place for Everything and Everything in Place.'
The most fun, though, were the radiation enclosure boxes. You know, that glass box with the rubber gloves sticking in the sides, where you can reach in and open test tubes. And, using the same joystick/mechanical arm like mechanism that they used to handle radioactive material with, Mary Lou pretended to pick up (her lost) marbles and drop them into a container, and Nicole tried to screw nuts onto bolts.
We took lots of pictures, for all our 'nucular' friends.
Click here for the photos!
On to Jackson Hole to meet Kyle.
But, first, as we were driving through the hours and hours of flat potato fields of Idaho, staring at the big fluffy clouds in the big blue sky, we passed a sign that read: 'EBR-1 Atomic Museum'. We both looked at each other, like, was that a mirage? It was so random. As we were still debating whether we had read it correctly, we passed another sign that read: 'Idaho National Laboratory, Expiremental Breeder Reactor Entrance'. What the. . .
Nicole pulled out her Droid and asked it about EBR-1 Atomic Museum. The first google result was an article from ABC news, published exactly 41 minutes previous. The article said that it was a cool thing to do, to visit EBR-1, the nation's first power plant to generate electricity from nuclear power. Now part of a larger nuclear power research campus set in the middle of barren fields, far away from cities in case of any 'accidents', the EBR-1 was open for us to visit. Hell yeah; we hung a right at the only intersection we had seen for miles, and went in.
Some of you know that our family has a bit of experience with nuclear power. Mary Lou's ex-husband, Nicole's father, has had a long career working at the James A. Fitzpatrick nuclear power plant in Oswego, NY. He has been the Electrical Maintenance Chief for quite some time now. When Nicole and Kyle were very small, he used to be able to bring them every once and a while, for "Take Your Kid to Work" day. They don't do that anymore. Also, both Nicole and Kyle have been able to work at the power plant, during their bi-annual refueling shutdowns. Working as Utility Technicians, they received Nuclear Regulatory Clearance for plant access, to be able to go in the reactor building to work. Hanging lead sheets in work areas, wearing contamination suits to clean up stray contamination, or putting on respirator suits to go in and clean the drywall: they both worked 12 hour shifts, 6 days a week during the outage.
So, the museum was of special interest to us, and it was a trip back in time to see the control room as it was in the 1950's. The turbines and the generator were ridiculously small, compared to ones we had worked around. And the electricity from the generator was channeled to light up 5 lightbulbs hanging from a wire. But there were some familiar sights, notably a sign reading: 'Practice Good Housekeeping: A Place for Everything and Everything in Place.'
The most fun, though, were the radiation enclosure boxes. You know, that glass box with the rubber gloves sticking in the sides, where you can reach in and open test tubes. And, using the same joystick/mechanical arm like mechanism that they used to handle radioactive material with, Mary Lou pretended to pick up (her lost) marbles and drop them into a container, and Nicole tried to screw nuts onto bolts.
We took lots of pictures, for all our 'nucular' friends.
Click here for the photos!
6.23.2011
CRATERS of the MOOOOOoooooooN!!
We were going to meet Kyle in Salt Lake City, but, it was about 6 hours, one way, out of our way, and, we weren't in a city mood. As we were looking at the map, debating what to do, we saw a big green patch, marking a State Park, that read, Craters of the Moon. Oooooh, that sounded up our alley. We told Kyle we would meet him in Jackson Hole instead, and headed to the park.
"Although there are many lava flows on Earth's actual moon, astronauts confirmed that most lunar craters resulted from meteorite impacts, not volcanism. The craters of Craters of the Moon, however, are definitely of volcanic origin. These vast volumes of lava issued not from one volcano, but from long fissures across the Snake River Plain that are known collectively as the "Great Rift." Beginning about 15,000 years ago, lava welled up from the Great Rift to produce this vast ocean of rock."
It really was like being on the moon. Black, lava rock as far as the eye could see. We used our guide map to spot Spatter Cones (miniature volcanos), pahoehoe lava (rope like), 'a'ā lava (crusty, rubble-like), iridescent cinders, and lava bombs (big globs of lava blown out of cinder cones that harden in flight). Flashlights in hand, we crawled inside Indian Tunnel, a lava tube formed as the lava hardened on the outside, while hot lava still flowed within.
As we walked back down to one of the day's trailheads, we found two men, in full, perfectly fitted leather suits, atop two gorgeous BMW motorcycles. The motorcycles were packed tightly with leather cases, holding camera equipment, and with cameras mounted on handlebars and helmets. Nicole exclaimed, "Whoa. Nice getup." The men said, "Do you know which way to Boy Scout Cave?" We helped get them in the right direction, but not before we asked what they were up to. These two guys were on a mission: to ride through each and every state, visiting the highest and lowest altitude points in each state. Our type of guys!
We had a fantastic time at CRATERS of the MOOOooooooN! (as we affectionately called it), feeling like exploratory astronauts, boldly going where no one had gone before. We made absolutely sure to follow the park rules, and not take any twisted, iridescent, sculptural lava rocks home with us. (So don't even bother asking to see our collection).
Click here for Photos!
"Although there are many lava flows on Earth's actual moon, astronauts confirmed that most lunar craters resulted from meteorite impacts, not volcanism. The craters of Craters of the Moon, however, are definitely of volcanic origin. These vast volumes of lava issued not from one volcano, but from long fissures across the Snake River Plain that are known collectively as the "Great Rift." Beginning about 15,000 years ago, lava welled up from the Great Rift to produce this vast ocean of rock."
It really was like being on the moon. Black, lava rock as far as the eye could see. We used our guide map to spot Spatter Cones (miniature volcanos), pahoehoe lava (rope like), 'a'ā lava (crusty, rubble-like), iridescent cinders, and lava bombs (big globs of lava blown out of cinder cones that harden in flight). Flashlights in hand, we crawled inside Indian Tunnel, a lava tube formed as the lava hardened on the outside, while hot lava still flowed within.
As we walked back down to one of the day's trailheads, we found two men, in full, perfectly fitted leather suits, atop two gorgeous BMW motorcycles. The motorcycles were packed tightly with leather cases, holding camera equipment, and with cameras mounted on handlebars and helmets. Nicole exclaimed, "Whoa. Nice getup." The men said, "Do you know which way to Boy Scout Cave?" We helped get them in the right direction, but not before we asked what they were up to. These two guys were on a mission: to ride through each and every state, visiting the highest and lowest altitude points in each state. Our type of guys!
We had a fantastic time at CRATERS of the MOOOooooooN! (as we affectionately called it), feeling like exploratory astronauts, boldly going where no one had gone before. We made absolutely sure to follow the park rules, and not take any twisted, iridescent, sculptural lava rocks home with us. (So don't even bother asking to see our collection).
Click here for Photos!
Ever seen a Harpy Eagle? And, if a bear falls in the woods. . .
To get to Yellowstone, we chose the scenic route: Rte 2 to Leavenworth, Rte 97 through the Wenatachee Mountains to Ellensburg, and 821 to Yakima. We figured we would pick up a few more bottles of wine from the vineyards in Yakima, to add to our collection. But, when we reached on Sunday evening, we found the whole city deserted. The only thing open was an A&W and Kentucky Fried Chicken. We decided that was okay, since we hadn't showered in a few days, and didn't look our best. The other diners looked even worse than we did, and there was quite a crowd of shady looking people hanging around their beat up cars in the parking lot. We didn't get a good vibe from the city at all, and decided that we would press on East, instead of spending the night there.
We drove on 82 until our eyelids were heavy, and pulled off to sleep at a Walmart in Richland. But, the signs posted said there was no overnight sleeping allowed, and we had to get on the highway and drive 40 miles to the next Walmart. Luckily, we could stay at that one, and we crashed out to sleep before the RV engine had even cooled down.
The next morning we drove into Walla Walla. We wanted to go there just so we could say that we had gone to Walla Walla, Washington. It's a great name. We did some errands in the morning, made ourselves a big lunch and caught the end of happy hour at the Marcus Whitmen hotel. After a few glasses of L'Ecole No 41, we walked across the street to the Whitehouse-Crawford restaurant. Bon Apetite had listed the restaurant as one of the 'best country restaurants' in the nation. We stayed at the bar, people watching the older ladies in their fur shawls and worked on faces, and the younger ladies in their 6 inch pumps and diamond earrings, accompanying their older, distinguished, grey haired dates.
On our second glass of Rosso, blondy Hayden joined us at the bar. She had recently moved to Washington to be with her fiance, who had called it off two weeks before the wedding, due to the fact he had already been cheating on her. She wanted out of Washington, but wasn't sure whether she should go back home to California, or move to New York City to be closer with her boss, whom she was now having an affair with. We drank wine, talked trash about men, and ate trout salad and salted caramel ice cream. Salted caramel ice cream (who would have thought?) is delicious.
From Walla Walla (Walla Walla! Walla Walla, Washington!) we cut across the Northeast corner of Oregon. It was a mostly uneventful section of road, until we were passed by a truck with flashing lights, pulling a bear trap. We knew it was a bear trap, because we had seen them in Yosemite. We had stopped to walk along a waterfall, but when we caught up with the truck, parked at the side of the road, we were just in time to see a black bear shimmying up a tree and away from a ranger dog. Mary Lou pulled the RV over in a safe place, while Nicole jumped out with the camera to catch the action. Just as she joined the group of spectators, she saw the ranger coming out of the woods with his leashed dog, and heard the sickening, "ppffumpp," of the bear falling out of the tree. The ranger heard everyone at the side of the road gasp and asked the assisting traffic cop, "Did he come down?"
They waited a few minutes, to make sure the tranquilizer had kicked in, and carried some equipment into the woods. They came back a short time later, with a sling like stretcher carrying a fairly small size bear. All we could see were tufts of black fur sticking out of the canvas. They placed the bear in the trap, and answered the crowd that, no we couldn't come see the bear, since we really needed to get out of the road and stop blocking the highway traffic.
A few more miles and we were in Idaho. Where the potatoes grow. And there were lots of potatoes. Miles and miles and miles of them. We stopped in Boise, to spend the night in another Walmart. On the West Coast, most of the Walmarts had prohibited overnight sleeping, so it was nice to again be able to save some those overnight fees, and still be safe. Walmart was familiar ground.
Since hitting Washington State, we had really been slacking on our planning. Maybe just a skim through the guide books, a quick look in the local newspaper, or just looking for green patches of State/National Park on the map. It was on the map that we saw The Snake River Birds of Prey Conservation Area, and subsequently, The Peregrine Fund and World Center for Raptors, just south of Boise.
What a place! Started in 1970 by Tom Cade who was then the Professor of Ornithology at Cornell University:
"The Peregrine Fund works nationally and internationally to conserve birds of prey in nature. We conserve nature by achieving results--results restoring species in jeopardy, conserving habitat, educating students, training conservationists, providing factual information to the public, and by accomplishing good science. We succeed through cooperation and hard-work, using common sense, being hands-on and non-political, and by emphasizing solutions. We are also cost effective--94% of all donations go directly to programs."
The raptor courtyard held two injured bald eagles, a peregrine falcon, and a Bateleur Eagle, whose reptile like skin on face and feet turns different colors depending on his mood. He liked to shout at people if they looked at him too long.
We spent a long time admiring the California Condors, one of the most endangered birds. Their population steadily declined to fewer than 25 birds in the 70's, mainly due to shooting and poisoning. Through captive breeding, California Condors have been reintroduced to the coastal mountains of south-central California and the Grand Canyon area of northern Arizona. Large body covered in black feathers and scaly, bald heads accentuated by a plush feather boa - awesome.
The presentation arena was one of the most impressive exhibitions we have seen in a nature park. The walls were covered in beautiful murals highlighting the bird species or their environments. The display bins were full of every bird feather you could possibly imagine, and pelts of all the local fauna. In the movie room, there was a wall size glass window full of ascending Blue Morpho Didius flutterbies. It was beautiful and informative.
Inside the largest of the bird enclosures, there was a stunning, white Gyr Falcon and a great horned owl, who watched us calmly, blinking one eye at a time. But, in the last enclosure, with his back turned to us, was the most incredible bird we have ever seen. Large and slate grey, we waited for the bird to turn and look at us. When, in a precise, calculated movement, he turned his head 180 degrees to look at us, we both gasped. The beady eyes were surrounded by a perfectly round display of smaller, lighter feathers, and four or five larger feather rose from the back of it's neck to give it the appearance of horns.
It was a Harpy Eagle. Have you ever seen the nature clip on National Geographic, where the sloth is painstakingly, slowly climbing a thick vine, high in the jungle canopy, and this giant bird comes out of nowhere, sinks it's claws into the sloth and effortlessly carries it away? That's the Harpy Eagle. It's claws can be as big as a grizzly bear's. We sat and watched it for a long time, moving about with such. . . again, no other way to describe it but, precise, calculated movements. Ancient. Unworldly.
One the rangers brought out a Marsh Hawk, now called a Northern Harrier, and educated us about the bird, and falconry. We were sitting with another ranger, who had been walking with us through much of the park, telling us the individual stories of the rescued birds. He had been gripping his coffee cup in a metal claw, for much of the time, and, Mary Lou took the opportunity to ask him, "You didn't lose your hand in a falconry accident, did you?" He laughed and said, "No, no. On the last day of high school, we blew up the chemistry lab."
The Peregrine Fund for the Raptors is absolutely amazing, and doing great work in the world. If you are ever out in Boise. . . www.peregrinefund.org.
Click here for photos!
We drove on 82 until our eyelids were heavy, and pulled off to sleep at a Walmart in Richland. But, the signs posted said there was no overnight sleeping allowed, and we had to get on the highway and drive 40 miles to the next Walmart. Luckily, we could stay at that one, and we crashed out to sleep before the RV engine had even cooled down.
The next morning we drove into Walla Walla. We wanted to go there just so we could say that we had gone to Walla Walla, Washington. It's a great name. We did some errands in the morning, made ourselves a big lunch and caught the end of happy hour at the Marcus Whitmen hotel. After a few glasses of L'Ecole No 41, we walked across the street to the Whitehouse-Crawford restaurant. Bon Apetite had listed the restaurant as one of the 'best country restaurants' in the nation. We stayed at the bar, people watching the older ladies in their fur shawls and worked on faces, and the younger ladies in their 6 inch pumps and diamond earrings, accompanying their older, distinguished, grey haired dates.
On our second glass of Rosso, blondy Hayden joined us at the bar. She had recently moved to Washington to be with her fiance, who had called it off two weeks before the wedding, due to the fact he had already been cheating on her. She wanted out of Washington, but wasn't sure whether she should go back home to California, or move to New York City to be closer with her boss, whom she was now having an affair with. We drank wine, talked trash about men, and ate trout salad and salted caramel ice cream. Salted caramel ice cream (who would have thought?) is delicious.
From Walla Walla (Walla Walla! Walla Walla, Washington!) we cut across the Northeast corner of Oregon. It was a mostly uneventful section of road, until we were passed by a truck with flashing lights, pulling a bear trap. We knew it was a bear trap, because we had seen them in Yosemite. We had stopped to walk along a waterfall, but when we caught up with the truck, parked at the side of the road, we were just in time to see a black bear shimmying up a tree and away from a ranger dog. Mary Lou pulled the RV over in a safe place, while Nicole jumped out with the camera to catch the action. Just as she joined the group of spectators, she saw the ranger coming out of the woods with his leashed dog, and heard the sickening, "ppffumpp," of the bear falling out of the tree. The ranger heard everyone at the side of the road gasp and asked the assisting traffic cop, "Did he come down?"
They waited a few minutes, to make sure the tranquilizer had kicked in, and carried some equipment into the woods. They came back a short time later, with a sling like stretcher carrying a fairly small size bear. All we could see were tufts of black fur sticking out of the canvas. They placed the bear in the trap, and answered the crowd that, no we couldn't come see the bear, since we really needed to get out of the road and stop blocking the highway traffic.
A few more miles and we were in Idaho. Where the potatoes grow. And there were lots of potatoes. Miles and miles and miles of them. We stopped in Boise, to spend the night in another Walmart. On the West Coast, most of the Walmarts had prohibited overnight sleeping, so it was nice to again be able to save some those overnight fees, and still be safe. Walmart was familiar ground.
Since hitting Washington State, we had really been slacking on our planning. Maybe just a skim through the guide books, a quick look in the local newspaper, or just looking for green patches of State/National Park on the map. It was on the map that we saw The Snake River Birds of Prey Conservation Area, and subsequently, The Peregrine Fund and World Center for Raptors, just south of Boise.
What a place! Started in 1970 by Tom Cade who was then the Professor of Ornithology at Cornell University:
"The Peregrine Fund works nationally and internationally to conserve birds of prey in nature. We conserve nature by achieving results--results restoring species in jeopardy, conserving habitat, educating students, training conservationists, providing factual information to the public, and by accomplishing good science. We succeed through cooperation and hard-work, using common sense, being hands-on and non-political, and by emphasizing solutions. We are also cost effective--94% of all donations go directly to programs."
The raptor courtyard held two injured bald eagles, a peregrine falcon, and a Bateleur Eagle, whose reptile like skin on face and feet turns different colors depending on his mood. He liked to shout at people if they looked at him too long.
We spent a long time admiring the California Condors, one of the most endangered birds. Their population steadily declined to fewer than 25 birds in the 70's, mainly due to shooting and poisoning. Through captive breeding, California Condors have been reintroduced to the coastal mountains of south-central California and the Grand Canyon area of northern Arizona. Large body covered in black feathers and scaly, bald heads accentuated by a plush feather boa - awesome.
The presentation arena was one of the most impressive exhibitions we have seen in a nature park. The walls were covered in beautiful murals highlighting the bird species or their environments. The display bins were full of every bird feather you could possibly imagine, and pelts of all the local fauna. In the movie room, there was a wall size glass window full of ascending Blue Morpho Didius flutterbies. It was beautiful and informative.
Inside the largest of the bird enclosures, there was a stunning, white Gyr Falcon and a great horned owl, who watched us calmly, blinking one eye at a time. But, in the last enclosure, with his back turned to us, was the most incredible bird we have ever seen. Large and slate grey, we waited for the bird to turn and look at us. When, in a precise, calculated movement, he turned his head 180 degrees to look at us, we both gasped. The beady eyes were surrounded by a perfectly round display of smaller, lighter feathers, and four or five larger feather rose from the back of it's neck to give it the appearance of horns.
It was a Harpy Eagle. Have you ever seen the nature clip on National Geographic, where the sloth is painstakingly, slowly climbing a thick vine, high in the jungle canopy, and this giant bird comes out of nowhere, sinks it's claws into the sloth and effortlessly carries it away? That's the Harpy Eagle. It's claws can be as big as a grizzly bear's. We sat and watched it for a long time, moving about with such. . . again, no other way to describe it but, precise, calculated movements. Ancient. Unworldly.
One the rangers brought out a Marsh Hawk, now called a Northern Harrier, and educated us about the bird, and falconry. We were sitting with another ranger, who had been walking with us through much of the park, telling us the individual stories of the rescued birds. He had been gripping his coffee cup in a metal claw, for much of the time, and, Mary Lou took the opportunity to ask him, "You didn't lose your hand in a falconry accident, did you?" He laughed and said, "No, no. On the last day of high school, we blew up the chemistry lab."
The Peregrine Fund for the Raptors is absolutely amazing, and doing great work in the world. If you are ever out in Boise. . . www.peregrinefund.org.
Click here for photos!
6.22.2011
San Juan Islands
Mary Lou had her heart set on seeing the Orcas up in the San Juan Islands. We drove North from Seattle and across Deception Pass to Whidbey Island. It was an unusually clear day, for the Pacific Northwest, and at the pass, we could see Mt. Rainier rising up all mystic-like over Puget Sound. Before staying overnight in a State Park campground, we grabbed dinner at Adrift, in Anacortes. Edamame, sea scallops, crab cakes, kale and a bottle of Asti Spumante. It was an absolutely delicious meal and quenched our seafood cravings.
The next morning we were up early and back to Anacortes to catch the ferry to San Juan. It was a pleasant hour and a half ride around the islands, bothered only by an incessant car alarm echoing from the car bay. By the end of the trip, the alarm had drained to a whimper, and the unknowing owner must have surely been disappointed to find his battery dead.
We disembarked at Friday Harbor, picked up some maps, had coffee and pastries at a cafe near the docks, and hopped on a bus to the West side of the island. Lime Kiln National Park, our best chance of seeing the Orcas from land. We spoke to the rangers at the park and they informed us the Orcas had been spotted about a week before, but they had moved farther out to sea, in search of food. But, we enjoyed our walk up the rocky coast, spotting some sun soaking seals and looking through the kelp layered tidal pools to find starfish.
From the West Coast of the island, we could see Mt. Rainier again. It appears, ethereal, like a shimmering mirage floating just above the sea's horizon. But at the same time, it is so massive and seems so solid, a giant iceberg waiting to sink passing ships. A truly remarkable sight.
In the park we talked to some locals, and the Orca research rangers working from the Lime Kiln lighthouse, about the Killer Whale Watching Trips. The locals said that, maybe ten years ago, they would have paid to get up close and personal with the Orcas. But, nowadays, the populations had decreased, due to noise and water pollution from all the whale watching boats. In turn, the minimum distance required between the boats and the whales had increased, and so all you can really see is a fin here and there. The rangers said the Orcas weren't anywhere close by anyway, since the salmon hadn't yet started to run. Even though Mary Lou really wanted to see them, we decided it wasn't worth the money or the damage to the Killer Whales.
It was time to really start heading East. We had a date, with Kyle and Yellowstone National Park.
The next morning we were up early and back to Anacortes to catch the ferry to San Juan. It was a pleasant hour and a half ride around the islands, bothered only by an incessant car alarm echoing from the car bay. By the end of the trip, the alarm had drained to a whimper, and the unknowing owner must have surely been disappointed to find his battery dead.
We disembarked at Friday Harbor, picked up some maps, had coffee and pastries at a cafe near the docks, and hopped on a bus to the West side of the island. Lime Kiln National Park, our best chance of seeing the Orcas from land. We spoke to the rangers at the park and they informed us the Orcas had been spotted about a week before, but they had moved farther out to sea, in search of food. But, we enjoyed our walk up the rocky coast, spotting some sun soaking seals and looking through the kelp layered tidal pools to find starfish.
From the West Coast of the island, we could see Mt. Rainier again. It appears, ethereal, like a shimmering mirage floating just above the sea's horizon. But at the same time, it is so massive and seems so solid, a giant iceberg waiting to sink passing ships. A truly remarkable sight.
In the park we talked to some locals, and the Orca research rangers working from the Lime Kiln lighthouse, about the Killer Whale Watching Trips. The locals said that, maybe ten years ago, they would have paid to get up close and personal with the Orcas. But, nowadays, the populations had decreased, due to noise and water pollution from all the whale watching boats. In turn, the minimum distance required between the boats and the whales had increased, and so all you can really see is a fin here and there. The rangers said the Orcas weren't anywhere close by anyway, since the salmon hadn't yet started to run. Even though Mary Lou really wanted to see them, we decided it wasn't worth the money or the damage to the Killer Whales.
It was time to really start heading East. We had a date, with Kyle and Yellowstone National Park.
Our Television Debut!
On Wednesday, June 1st, we were on TV! We had been invited by KING5 News to be interviewed on their morning show, New Day Northwest. And we had accepted, albeit with flutterbies in our stomachs.
It came about thanks to a gentlemen that we had met at a happy hour a few days before. He enjoyed our story, said we should write a book about our trip, and offered to put us in touch with KING5. Margaret Larson, host of New Day Northwest, seemed genuinely excited to have us on her show. She said it was one of the more fantastic stories that she had heard in a while.
We had spent all week being excited and nervous. Mary Lou was afraid that she would mix up her people and places, call her camera a 'Nike' or say we had been in Yellowstone instead of Yosemite. Nicole was afraid she would sweat under the hot lights and go blank when asked a question. But, after we actually watched an episode of the show, we found Margaret to be very friendly and sweet, and decided it was going to be fun.
We woke up bright and early to make sure we didn't get stuck in traffic. When we reached the studio, they had us park the RV inside their prop bay. They gave us a rundown of some ideas they had for the segment, and told us to relax in the green room until the show. We chatted with the other guests, but kept checking the mirror to make sure we were all put together.
They wanted us to be their teaser segment, to air during the Kathy Lee and Hoda show. They had us stand on the steps of the RV and wave and smile for the camera. Then we took a seat in the audience to watch the first segment, an interview with Riley Griffiths, young star of Super 8. Sitting the audience, watching all the cameras move around, hearing the audience laugh and clap, was getting us more and more excited. We were really going to be on TV!
The second segment was a local chef sharing his recipe for trout ceviche, and then, we were on! They had us step down from our RV in the garage and walk onto the set. Margaret asked us questions while photographs from our trip played on the screen behind us. It was smooth, and easy, we sat up straight, didn't stare at ourselves on the prompter, and Mary Lou didn't mess up any proper names!
It went by in a flash. Margaret thanked us for our time, and said she really did think our trip was a one of a kind adventure and asked if there was room for one more in the RV. We thanked her back, and while they removed our microphones, told all the crew that had helped us, that we had so much fun. They even let us keep the RV parked in their prop room while we wandered around the city for the rest of the day. It was quite an experience, and, who knows. . . if we ever do write that book, the publicity can't hurt.
Click here for the interview video!
For the rest of the day, we lunched at Tilikum Place Cafe, walked around the Space Needle, through the World's Fair Science Center, and took the monorail under the Gehry Music Experience Building back to Pike's Market. After we picked up the RV, since we were right in the neighborhood, we went back to Petite Toulouse for happy hour! A little celebration of our television debut, and a goodbye to Seattle.
Click here for the photographs!
It came about thanks to a gentlemen that we had met at a happy hour a few days before. He enjoyed our story, said we should write a book about our trip, and offered to put us in touch with KING5. Margaret Larson, host of New Day Northwest, seemed genuinely excited to have us on her show. She said it was one of the more fantastic stories that she had heard in a while.
We had spent all week being excited and nervous. Mary Lou was afraid that she would mix up her people and places, call her camera a 'Nike' or say we had been in Yellowstone instead of Yosemite. Nicole was afraid she would sweat under the hot lights and go blank when asked a question. But, after we actually watched an episode of the show, we found Margaret to be very friendly and sweet, and decided it was going to be fun.
We woke up bright and early to make sure we didn't get stuck in traffic. When we reached the studio, they had us park the RV inside their prop bay. They gave us a rundown of some ideas they had for the segment, and told us to relax in the green room until the show. We chatted with the other guests, but kept checking the mirror to make sure we were all put together.
They wanted us to be their teaser segment, to air during the Kathy Lee and Hoda show. They had us stand on the steps of the RV and wave and smile for the camera. Then we took a seat in the audience to watch the first segment, an interview with Riley Griffiths, young star of Super 8. Sitting the audience, watching all the cameras move around, hearing the audience laugh and clap, was getting us more and more excited. We were really going to be on TV!
The second segment was a local chef sharing his recipe for trout ceviche, and then, we were on! They had us step down from our RV in the garage and walk onto the set. Margaret asked us questions while photographs from our trip played on the screen behind us. It was smooth, and easy, we sat up straight, didn't stare at ourselves on the prompter, and Mary Lou didn't mess up any proper names!
It went by in a flash. Margaret thanked us for our time, and said she really did think our trip was a one of a kind adventure and asked if there was room for one more in the RV. We thanked her back, and while they removed our microphones, told all the crew that had helped us, that we had so much fun. They even let us keep the RV parked in their prop room while we wandered around the city for the rest of the day. It was quite an experience, and, who knows. . . if we ever do write that book, the publicity can't hurt.
Click here for the interview video!
For the rest of the day, we lunched at Tilikum Place Cafe, walked around the Space Needle, through the World's Fair Science Center, and took the monorail under the Gehry Music Experience Building back to Pike's Market. After we picked up the RV, since we were right in the neighborhood, we went back to Petite Toulouse for happy hour! A little celebration of our television debut, and a goodbye to Seattle.
Click here for the photographs!
6.09.2011
Fish, Folkies, Fun and Frustration in Seattle
We knew it would be difficult to get the RV in and around Seattle. We planned to park it and take the Bremerton ferry into the city for a day of sightseeing. When we reached Bremerton, though, we found a wine and craft festival set up in the main open parking lot. We drove around and around in circles, trying to find a parking lot that we could fit in, even if we took up two spaces and had to pay $22 parking fees plus the $22 ferry tickets. We finally found an adequate space, free, in a residential neighborhood about ten blocks from the ferry. We were already getting a late start. As we sat there, assessing whether we would want to walk the ten blocks, at night, after walking around the city all day, we saw a man chase his escaped pit bull across the street, yanking up his sagging, baggy jeans and carrying what looked to be a 40 in a brown paper bag.
"There's a Macy's in the next town," said Nicole.
"Let's go," said Mary Lou.
We spent the rest of the day sorting through the 75% off racks, enjoying happy hour at the Brew Pub, and reassessing our Seattle attack plan. We decided to drive closer to the city and risk staying in one of the few, poorly rated RV parks. After sleeping, we woke up early, drove to a Park and Ride Station close to SeaTac airport, with 600 parking spots. We took two spots, way in the back of the lot and hopped aboard the Sounder Light Rail. We rode past Safeco Field, with the roof retracted to get ready for the evening Yankee game, and got off a few blocks from Pike Market. Even from that distance we could see the people streaming in and out of the warehouse like space that runs along the harbor, hear the music from multiple street bands, and smell the fish.
We walked straight to the fish market to find, gloriously displayed, all the seafood that we had imagined we would be eating all up the Western Coast. There was every fish and shellfish imaginable, and plenty of it. Up and down the main market hall, we walked passed aromatic fresh flowers, dried fruit, candy, fresh vegetables, fresh fruit, local honey, jewelry, pasta. . . anything you could possibly want. We passed by a quartet of young boys in suits and shaggy bobs, looking the like the Beatles, and singing Beatles songs. We passed a guy playing acoustic guitar and singing La Bamba. We did stop to listen to the Zydeco Band, complete with a the dorky guy in a wife beater and suspenders wailing on the washboard.
We found the fish market where they throw the fish. Attendants, down at the front of the crowd take orders, pick up the desired fish, and chuck it to the weighers and packers elevated behind the stall. Watching the Copper River Salmon and Golden Perch flying through the air made us hungry, so we bought a heaping crab cup and a few oyster shooters. We popped over to Mee Sum Pastry and had bbq pork homboys and pot stickers. We really could have stayed there all day, but, we moved on a few blocks to the Seattle Art Museum.
The current exhibition was Nick Cave, which we had seen at the Norton, in Palm Beach, but absolutely delighted in seeing again. His 'sound suits' are crazy imaginative, aesthetically beautiful, and, when he actually puts them on and moves with the inspiration of the suit (rolling, jumping, spinning, crawling. . . ), the visuals are rollicking. To place the exhibition side by side with the, now quiet, masks and tribal dance costumes of the Pacific Northwest Indians, was enlightening.
We walked around the Sculpture Garden, passed all the lilacs in bloom (Mary had to stop and get allergy medicine), and found ourselves in the middle of the Seattle Folklife Festival. The park below the Space Needle was an ocean of young, spiky haired, pierced and bolted, skateboarding, guitar slinging folkies. They were all dressed in black, the only splash of color in the fire engine red dyed hair. They seemed sort of goth, in a grungy sort of way, but branded in North Face. We had fun sitting on the grass, by the fountain, watching the freak show go by. We made a few friends while we passed the time until Happy Hour.
4.00pm and we were sitting in the middle of the bar at Toulouse Petite. Fantastic place. Mary Lou had a Katie-Mae (pearl vodka, grapefruit, St. Germaine, Prosecco), Nicole started with a Sazerac. We had some Foie Gras with Pear Conserva and Fresh Crab over Fried Green Tomatoes. Switched to Moscow Mules (vodka, lime and ginger beer) and had Tuna Tartar and Fried Okra and Pork Bellies. We chatted with the people at the bar. The couple to Mary Lou's left looked pretty sober, he was a wine maker, she a teacher. But they laughed the hardest when Mary Lou asked the heavily tattooed waiter why he would tattoo his wife's lips on his forearm. "That seems like a totally logical place to put my wife's lips," he said, "Where would you put them?" He wandered off while Mary Lou made knowing, dirty smirks at the couple. The waiter came back a few minutes later, saying "Ooooh, yeah. Ha ha. Yeah. Good one!"
The bartenders were adorable, and Nicole chatted with them and their local friends, while Mary Lou chatted with a distinguished, older gentlemen. It was such a fun night, and we giggled the whole way home, until we reached the parking lot at the train station and found a man shining a flashlight into our RV windows.
"Can we help you?" we asked.
"We're going to tow this," he said. "You can't park here. You can't take up two spaces. Didn't you read the sign?"
"We're very sorry, sir, but we did not see any sign. With 600 spaces, we thought this would be the ideal place for us."
"You can't park here. Oversized vehicles are not allowed."
"Where are we supposed to park to be able to visit your fine city?"
"You have to park at Walmart or KOA."
"We are spending the night at Koa. But that doesn't get us into the city."
"Well, the people who drive cars around here have it just as bad."
He let us drive away without a tow, and without a ticket, but we were left frustrated at the notion of getting into in the city again. Mary Lou especially, was looking forward to spending some quality time in Seattle, assessing it as a possible retirement place, but the pain of transportation and the non-stop drizzle was really starting to put a damper on that idea.
"There's a Macy's in the next town," said Nicole.
"Let's go," said Mary Lou.
We spent the rest of the day sorting through the 75% off racks, enjoying happy hour at the Brew Pub, and reassessing our Seattle attack plan. We decided to drive closer to the city and risk staying in one of the few, poorly rated RV parks. After sleeping, we woke up early, drove to a Park and Ride Station close to SeaTac airport, with 600 parking spots. We took two spots, way in the back of the lot and hopped aboard the Sounder Light Rail. We rode past Safeco Field, with the roof retracted to get ready for the evening Yankee game, and got off a few blocks from Pike Market. Even from that distance we could see the people streaming in and out of the warehouse like space that runs along the harbor, hear the music from multiple street bands, and smell the fish.
We walked straight to the fish market to find, gloriously displayed, all the seafood that we had imagined we would be eating all up the Western Coast. There was every fish and shellfish imaginable, and plenty of it. Up and down the main market hall, we walked passed aromatic fresh flowers, dried fruit, candy, fresh vegetables, fresh fruit, local honey, jewelry, pasta. . . anything you could possibly want. We passed by a quartet of young boys in suits and shaggy bobs, looking the like the Beatles, and singing Beatles songs. We passed a guy playing acoustic guitar and singing La Bamba. We did stop to listen to the Zydeco Band, complete with a the dorky guy in a wife beater and suspenders wailing on the washboard.
We found the fish market where they throw the fish. Attendants, down at the front of the crowd take orders, pick up the desired fish, and chuck it to the weighers and packers elevated behind the stall. Watching the Copper River Salmon and Golden Perch flying through the air made us hungry, so we bought a heaping crab cup and a few oyster shooters. We popped over to Mee Sum Pastry and had bbq pork homboys and pot stickers. We really could have stayed there all day, but, we moved on a few blocks to the Seattle Art Museum.
The current exhibition was Nick Cave, which we had seen at the Norton, in Palm Beach, but absolutely delighted in seeing again. His 'sound suits' are crazy imaginative, aesthetically beautiful, and, when he actually puts them on and moves with the inspiration of the suit (rolling, jumping, spinning, crawling. . . ), the visuals are rollicking. To place the exhibition side by side with the, now quiet, masks and tribal dance costumes of the Pacific Northwest Indians, was enlightening.
We walked around the Sculpture Garden, passed all the lilacs in bloom (Mary had to stop and get allergy medicine), and found ourselves in the middle of the Seattle Folklife Festival. The park below the Space Needle was an ocean of young, spiky haired, pierced and bolted, skateboarding, guitar slinging folkies. They were all dressed in black, the only splash of color in the fire engine red dyed hair. They seemed sort of goth, in a grungy sort of way, but branded in North Face. We had fun sitting on the grass, by the fountain, watching the freak show go by. We made a few friends while we passed the time until Happy Hour.
4.00pm and we were sitting in the middle of the bar at Toulouse Petite. Fantastic place. Mary Lou had a Katie-Mae (pearl vodka, grapefruit, St. Germaine, Prosecco), Nicole started with a Sazerac. We had some Foie Gras with Pear Conserva and Fresh Crab over Fried Green Tomatoes. Switched to Moscow Mules (vodka, lime and ginger beer) and had Tuna Tartar and Fried Okra and Pork Bellies. We chatted with the people at the bar. The couple to Mary Lou's left looked pretty sober, he was a wine maker, she a teacher. But they laughed the hardest when Mary Lou asked the heavily tattooed waiter why he would tattoo his wife's lips on his forearm. "That seems like a totally logical place to put my wife's lips," he said, "Where would you put them?" He wandered off while Mary Lou made knowing, dirty smirks at the couple. The waiter came back a few minutes later, saying "Ooooh, yeah. Ha ha. Yeah. Good one!"
The bartenders were adorable, and Nicole chatted with them and their local friends, while Mary Lou chatted with a distinguished, older gentlemen. It was such a fun night, and we giggled the whole way home, until we reached the parking lot at the train station and found a man shining a flashlight into our RV windows.
"Can we help you?" we asked.
"We're going to tow this," he said. "You can't park here. You can't take up two spaces. Didn't you read the sign?"
"We're very sorry, sir, but we did not see any sign. With 600 spaces, we thought this would be the ideal place for us."
"You can't park here. Oversized vehicles are not allowed."
"Where are we supposed to park to be able to visit your fine city?"
"You have to park at Walmart or KOA."
"We are spending the night at Koa. But that doesn't get us into the city."
"Well, the people who drive cars around here have it just as bad."
He let us drive away without a tow, and without a ticket, but we were left frustrated at the notion of getting into in the city again. Mary Lou especially, was looking forward to spending some quality time in Seattle, assessing it as a possible retirement place, but the pain of transportation and the non-stop drizzle was really starting to put a damper on that idea.
6.08.2011
Tacoma
It was a cloudy, grey day, but we drove the RV into Tacoma and to the Museum of Glass. Mary Lou's Chihuly radar led us right to it. Designed by Canadian architect Arthur Erickson, the 90 foot, stainless steel, tilted cone that houses the glass blowing studio, is a contemporary beacon rising out of the industrial waterfront. And that day, the clear, flame-like Chihuly glass emerging out of the water pond made a stunning foreground for the dark and stormy skies.
We stopped first at the Hot Shop, a functioning studio where real artists are creating masterpieces out of molten glass. When there are not internationally recognized or local emerging artists at work in the studio, the resident team of glassblowers is at work completing personal projects or museum commissions. The day we visited, they were working on a collection of 75 goblets, each resting atop a glass cheeseburger. Nicole had never seen a live glass blowing studio, so she made her mother sit and watch for hours. It was mesmerizing, watching them pull glowing globs of molten glass from the furnace, blow through tubes to 'make the bubble', work in unison to meld all the goblet pieces together and drizzle the condiment colors around the rims. To see glass so malleable, and yet, so fragile; the transformation is magic.
They were exhibiting a Master Artist's Collection, one recent piece by each of the Master Glass Blowers that had come to the museum on residencies over the past few years. Some of the pieces, like a golden, balloon like Airstream, seemed so solid and tangible. Others, like a thin, green snake hanging from an orchid plant were ethereal. Really beautiful pieces.
And then came the 'Kids Design Glass' exhibition. The museum invites children 12 and under to stretch their imaginations and create original designs that the Hot Shop Team then transforms into glass. The team, led by Ben Cobb, turned the crayon drawings into actual, colorful pieces of art. There were open-mouthed, toothy sharks, and pointy-eared aliens, lollipop eating dinosaurs and one that looked like Kyle's imaginary friend MiddleVottle. They were so amusing, and the letters from the children told about how proud they were to see their imaginations blown into real characters. We loved it! Click here to see!
We walked over the Bridge of Glass, connecting the museum with downtown Tacoma, a 40 foot display case with at at least a hundred Chihuly glass works. It was bizarre to see such fragile glass suspended over the industrial railroads passing below. I'm sure that, on a sunny day, the glowing glass can be seen from all over the city.
We spent the rest of the day walking around downtown, eating burritos, shopping at the Buffalo Trading Company and finding other Chihuly installations in the Court House, pub, and restaurants. On our drive out of the city, the sun shone through the clouds and created a full, double rainbow. We pulled over at the first place we could find, so Mary Lou could take a picture. It happened to be in a church parking lot, right under a giant sign that read, "Jesus Cares About You". It can't hurt. . .
We stopped first at the Hot Shop, a functioning studio where real artists are creating masterpieces out of molten glass. When there are not internationally recognized or local emerging artists at work in the studio, the resident team of glassblowers is at work completing personal projects or museum commissions. The day we visited, they were working on a collection of 75 goblets, each resting atop a glass cheeseburger. Nicole had never seen a live glass blowing studio, so she made her mother sit and watch for hours. It was mesmerizing, watching them pull glowing globs of molten glass from the furnace, blow through tubes to 'make the bubble', work in unison to meld all the goblet pieces together and drizzle the condiment colors around the rims. To see glass so malleable, and yet, so fragile; the transformation is magic.
They were exhibiting a Master Artist's Collection, one recent piece by each of the Master Glass Blowers that had come to the museum on residencies over the past few years. Some of the pieces, like a golden, balloon like Airstream, seemed so solid and tangible. Others, like a thin, green snake hanging from an orchid plant were ethereal. Really beautiful pieces.
And then came the 'Kids Design Glass' exhibition. The museum invites children 12 and under to stretch their imaginations and create original designs that the Hot Shop Team then transforms into glass. The team, led by Ben Cobb, turned the crayon drawings into actual, colorful pieces of art. There were open-mouthed, toothy sharks, and pointy-eared aliens, lollipop eating dinosaurs and one that looked like Kyle's imaginary friend MiddleVottle. They were so amusing, and the letters from the children told about how proud they were to see their imaginations blown into real characters. We loved it! Click here to see!
We walked over the Bridge of Glass, connecting the museum with downtown Tacoma, a 40 foot display case with at at least a hundred Chihuly glass works. It was bizarre to see such fragile glass suspended over the industrial railroads passing below. I'm sure that, on a sunny day, the glowing glass can be seen from all over the city.
We spent the rest of the day walking around downtown, eating burritos, shopping at the Buffalo Trading Company and finding other Chihuly installations in the Court House, pub, and restaurants. On our drive out of the city, the sun shone through the clouds and created a full, double rainbow. We pulled over at the first place we could find, so Mary Lou could take a picture. It happened to be in a church parking lot, right under a giant sign that read, "Jesus Cares About You". It can't hurt. . .
6.05.2011
Like Tourists on the Washington Coast
Another milestone was getting closer - the Northwesternmost point in the contiguous United States. We had been to the Southernmost point, Key West (gosh, it feels like years ago!), so it only made sense to visit Cape Flattery, and make this trip truly 'cross country'.
On the way up the Oregon Coast, we stopped to fill our money hungry gas tank and chatted with the lady at the till. She told us to have fun on our journey and that we would pass through her town just a little up the road - 'Hump Two Lips'. "Hump Two Lips?" I asked. "Yes," she said, "Hump Two Lips." Okay. . . In just a few miles and we saw the sign 'Entering Humptulips'. 220 people, a small grocery and a post office.
There were many small towns like this along the coast, which was not as impressive as the California Coast, so we went inland to the temperate rainforests and lakes. The forests lived up to their name and were very rainy. Moist and mossy. Weekend getawayers form the city (Seattle) park their Mercs and Beemers outside the Lake Quinault Lodge, where Roosevelt used to frequent. We sought out a few waterfalls, but didn't linger long in the drizzle.
We entered the Maka Nation to get to Cape Flattery. Drove through the fishing, boating, and Coast Guard community, parked at the trailhead and walked West as far as was humanly possible. The trail ended high up on the cliffs, looking out at Vancouver Island in the distance and looking back at ocean carved caves and whirlpools. We took lots of beautiful pictures, proof that we made it. Cross Country. But Mary Lou accidentally deleted all the photos the next morning while formatting her camera.
Walked back to the RV and, for the first time, plotted an Eastward journey. There is still a lot to see on the way back, but, we took a moment's pause to consider that we were kind of, sort of, starting to make our way home. Although 'home' has definitely become more of the "where your heart is" that the decorative wood plaques say, than the house of 28 years that is still so clear in the memory. It's funny to think that someone new is walking up the staircase to bed, opening the screen door to watch the sunset off the deck, or sitting on the front porch watching the neighbor kids ride their bikes up the hill.
So, Eastward bound. We stopped in Olympia National Park to drive up Hurricane Ridge. They still had 15 foot high snowbanks and the mountains were hiding behind the low, grey clouds pouring over the peaks and trickling through the pine trees. We stopped at Dungeness Spit and walked along the bleached, driftwood covered beach. We were going to walk the country's longest natural sandpit, out to the lighthouse, but it looked really far.
It felt like we had been driving for weeks, so we decided to find a nice campsite for little relaxation time. Port Townsend seemed like an adorable place to do a little shopping, have some seafood, and make a few minor RV repairs. The historic downtown ran right along the harbor and the original 1800's buildings housed little galleries, quiet cafes, and used bookstores. We looked for otters in the harbor while we had some espresso and checked our internet. Had a peaceful nights sleep right next to the water in Fort Warden Park.
In the middle of the night, our furnace stopped working, and by 5 am our toes were freezing. We bundled up in layers until the sun rose, and then asked around for help in the marina next door. We were directed to young man that used to work at an RV shop, who took a look inside and said it was most likely our ignition board. He gave us the directions to his father-in-law's RV repair shop. Lucky for us, it was only a sail switch that has broken, and we didn't have to pay $140 for a new ignition board. But, they did keep our RV in the back, working on it for two and a half hours (we also needed a new flush lever on our AquaMagic Toilet). At $90 and hour, we couldn't help but thinking the owner had kept us chatting a little longer than necessary.
But, we were all fixed up, road ready, and hungry. We asked around for the best seafood place, craving some fresh fish or mussels or clams. We were directed to Sea J's, a little dive right next to the fishing boat docks. The haggard waitress balked when I asked her what the fresh catch was. "We serve Alaskan filets, just like we always do," she said. Too hungry to find someplace else, we ordered their "world famous fish and chips" and spent the rest of lunch peeling off the way over-fried batter and eating whatever fish pieces were left. By the waitress' busy clanging and exasperated sighs, it was clear that she didn't have time to write a check, so we stood by the till, to show we were ready. As we were walking out the door, calculating in our heads, it was clear she overcharged us by $4. We were getting treated and cheated like tourists!
We hadn't met very friendly people in a while, too. No one to say, "My! You're a long way from home, aren't you?" or "What are you doing all the way out here?" People would give us an extensive list of all the nice things we should do in their town, to spend our money, but didn't seem to care about anything else. In response to numerous questions, people around town told us that you couldn't really find fresh fish or seafood anywhere in town, despite all those fishing boats docked in the harbor.
It had been grey and rainy since we left Portland, and showing no sign of clearing up. We went to see Pirate's of the Caribbean, to pass the time until we could sleep, wake up, and drive to Tacoma. We need some Art.
Click here for photos!
On the way up the Oregon Coast, we stopped to fill our money hungry gas tank and chatted with the lady at the till. She told us to have fun on our journey and that we would pass through her town just a little up the road - 'Hump Two Lips'. "Hump Two Lips?" I asked. "Yes," she said, "Hump Two Lips." Okay. . . In just a few miles and we saw the sign 'Entering Humptulips'. 220 people, a small grocery and a post office.
There were many small towns like this along the coast, which was not as impressive as the California Coast, so we went inland to the temperate rainforests and lakes. The forests lived up to their name and were very rainy. Moist and mossy. Weekend getawayers form the city (Seattle) park their Mercs and Beemers outside the Lake Quinault Lodge, where Roosevelt used to frequent. We sought out a few waterfalls, but didn't linger long in the drizzle.
We entered the Maka Nation to get to Cape Flattery. Drove through the fishing, boating, and Coast Guard community, parked at the trailhead and walked West as far as was humanly possible. The trail ended high up on the cliffs, looking out at Vancouver Island in the distance and looking back at ocean carved caves and whirlpools. We took lots of beautiful pictures, proof that we made it. Cross Country. But Mary Lou accidentally deleted all the photos the next morning while formatting her camera.
Walked back to the RV and, for the first time, plotted an Eastward journey. There is still a lot to see on the way back, but, we took a moment's pause to consider that we were kind of, sort of, starting to make our way home. Although 'home' has definitely become more of the "where your heart is" that the decorative wood plaques say, than the house of 28 years that is still so clear in the memory. It's funny to think that someone new is walking up the staircase to bed, opening the screen door to watch the sunset off the deck, or sitting on the front porch watching the neighbor kids ride their bikes up the hill.
So, Eastward bound. We stopped in Olympia National Park to drive up Hurricane Ridge. They still had 15 foot high snowbanks and the mountains were hiding behind the low, grey clouds pouring over the peaks and trickling through the pine trees. We stopped at Dungeness Spit and walked along the bleached, driftwood covered beach. We were going to walk the country's longest natural sandpit, out to the lighthouse, but it looked really far.
It felt like we had been driving for weeks, so we decided to find a nice campsite for little relaxation time. Port Townsend seemed like an adorable place to do a little shopping, have some seafood, and make a few minor RV repairs. The historic downtown ran right along the harbor and the original 1800's buildings housed little galleries, quiet cafes, and used bookstores. We looked for otters in the harbor while we had some espresso and checked our internet. Had a peaceful nights sleep right next to the water in Fort Warden Park.
In the middle of the night, our furnace stopped working, and by 5 am our toes were freezing. We bundled up in layers until the sun rose, and then asked around for help in the marina next door. We were directed to young man that used to work at an RV shop, who took a look inside and said it was most likely our ignition board. He gave us the directions to his father-in-law's RV repair shop. Lucky for us, it was only a sail switch that has broken, and we didn't have to pay $140 for a new ignition board. But, they did keep our RV in the back, working on it for two and a half hours (we also needed a new flush lever on our AquaMagic Toilet). At $90 and hour, we couldn't help but thinking the owner had kept us chatting a little longer than necessary.
But, we were all fixed up, road ready, and hungry. We asked around for the best seafood place, craving some fresh fish or mussels or clams. We were directed to Sea J's, a little dive right next to the fishing boat docks. The haggard waitress balked when I asked her what the fresh catch was. "We serve Alaskan filets, just like we always do," she said. Too hungry to find someplace else, we ordered their "world famous fish and chips" and spent the rest of lunch peeling off the way over-fried batter and eating whatever fish pieces were left. By the waitress' busy clanging and exasperated sighs, it was clear that she didn't have time to write a check, so we stood by the till, to show we were ready. As we were walking out the door, calculating in our heads, it was clear she overcharged us by $4. We were getting treated and cheated like tourists!
We hadn't met very friendly people in a while, too. No one to say, "My! You're a long way from home, aren't you?" or "What are you doing all the way out here?" People would give us an extensive list of all the nice things we should do in their town, to spend our money, but didn't seem to care about anything else. In response to numerous questions, people around town told us that you couldn't really find fresh fish or seafood anywhere in town, despite all those fishing boats docked in the harbor.
It had been grey and rainy since we left Portland, and showing no sign of clearing up. We went to see Pirate's of the Caribbean, to pass the time until we could sleep, wake up, and drive to Tacoma. We need some Art.
Click here for photos!
5.31.2011
Oregon
Long stretches of beaches with giant rocks rising from the sea, windswept, crooked trees, tidal pools with electric purple and orange starfish. . . we drove the entire coast of Oregon. We slept overnight in the Oregon Dunes National Recreation Area. All we wanted to do was catch the sunset on the ocean and so took the trail over the dunes to see it. Well, we walked over the first dune and found ourselves in a desert wonderland.
Rolling, sandy dunes as far as you could see, the ocean far away in the distance. We walked and walked to random small hilltops of forest and then to the sandy, clear pools of water scattered about. We watched groups of ATV's and dune-buggies jump the ridges and skid out of wide turns. After one particular group had passed, the rear guard crested the hill, saw us, and drove over.
"You ladies lost your camel?" he said.
Nicole swooned, "Yes, he ran away. Please help us."
"Unfortunately, I can only take one of you."
"Take my mother, kind sir," said Nicole.
"As if!" Mary Lou snorted.
He tipped his helmet and drove off to rejoin his group. We took full advantage of the Recreation Area, and recreated. Nicole rolled down the dunes until she started getting a headache. Mary Lou made sand angels. We had so much fun that we spent the next day walking another section of the dunes. It was awesome.
Back on the road, pressing North, we stopped for a fill-up at the Chevron gas station near the Umpqua Dunes. It was full service, and as we sat and waited, we saw a thin little cat sneak out of the bushes, cross the busy street towards us and jump into the gas station garbage can. "Aw!" Nicole said. "Don't even think about it," Mary Lou said.
"Yeah," the gas station attendant chimed in, "that cat has been around here for a few days now. It's starving. I've been thinking about taking it to the shelter, but they will probably euthanize it."
"AW!"
"Fine," said Mary Lou, "if you can catch it, and it doesn't have fleas. . . "
Nicole bribed it closer with a piece of ham, grabbed the scruff of its neck and threw it into the RV. It catapulted itself up on the dashboard and pressed itself as flat as possible against the glass, eyes wide and wild. Nicole gave it a quick check for fleas, found none, and curled it up in a ball on her lap. It buried its head in her arm and rode the next two hours in silence.
When we stopped at the campground, kitty slowly, gingerly sniffed around the RV. We fed it milk and ham, and found out it was a she. Stomach full, she submitted to a brief health exam, some olive oil in the ears to clean them, and then took a long, deep nap. She has chosen to stay, is quite fond of us, and is very grateful. When she sits on our lap for some ear scratching, she raises her paw up and tenderly places it on our cheek. She uses the litter box, loves string and broccoli.
We named her Umpqua. A funny name for a funny looking cat. Mary Lou says she looks like a calico cat that's been put in the blender. She's a mash-up of colors and patterns, and has a thick black mustache like a Marx Brother, over a white bottom lip. It is our intention to find her a loving, stable home somewhere along the way, but how we'll make that happen, I don't know.
Driving North up the Oregon Coast, we stopped at the Sea Lion Caves. We smelled them before we saw them, but it was incredible to watch all the Sea Lions in their harems, sleeping and swimming in the rough surf. At sunset we stopped and walked out into the tide pools, poking at neon green, squishy anemones and brilliant purple star fish. We went to the Tillamook Cheese Factory, watched them make and package cheese, and ate lots of cheese curd. Had baked oysters and grilled crab and cheese at Pacific Oyster.
Stopped and saw the California Seals in another harbor. We watched them for a good hour, flopping their fatty bodies over each other to get better sleeping spots, barking at each other the whole time. A marine biologist who was there to tag the younger ones told us that all the hundred or so seals were all male, and the fattest they have ever been, due to the high number of salmon they are eating up the river. They were hilarious to watch.
We went to visit Mt. St. Helens on the anniversary of its eruption. 31 years ago, when Mary Lou was pregnant with Nicole, in 1980, it erupted, causing the largest land slide in recorded history. It was a rare, clear, sunny day, and we were blessed with some spectacular views.
We went into Portland, visited the Powell Street Bookstore, had lunch at Rogue Brewery and rode the tram up to for an overall view of the city. We hiked into the Columbia Gorge to chase some more waterfalls. It was a great hike through the steep caverns and wildflower covered hills of the Gorge. As we were leaving the trailhead, Nicole said that it be cool if she caught a snake today. And sure enough, on the way into the gorge, she spotted a snake, but couldn't follow it into the incredibly steep hillside. But, on the way out of the gorge, Mary Lou spotted a little guy, a garter snake, and Nicole caught that one. Snakes crossing your path usually mean forthcoming good fortune, or good sex, right?
We went back into Portland to hear Dj Joe play some lounge music at a place called Saucebox. Met some Aussie visitors, who ended up getting kicked out of the bar for breaking two glasses and being loud. They actually asked us to leave too, but when they found out we has just met them, they let us stay for a few more cocktails.
Oregon was fun! Our 20th state. Northward to Washington.
Click here for photos!
Rolling, sandy dunes as far as you could see, the ocean far away in the distance. We walked and walked to random small hilltops of forest and then to the sandy, clear pools of water scattered about. We watched groups of ATV's and dune-buggies jump the ridges and skid out of wide turns. After one particular group had passed, the rear guard crested the hill, saw us, and drove over.
"You ladies lost your camel?" he said.
Nicole swooned, "Yes, he ran away. Please help us."
"Unfortunately, I can only take one of you."
"Take my mother, kind sir," said Nicole.
"As if!" Mary Lou snorted.
He tipped his helmet and drove off to rejoin his group. We took full advantage of the Recreation Area, and recreated. Nicole rolled down the dunes until she started getting a headache. Mary Lou made sand angels. We had so much fun that we spent the next day walking another section of the dunes. It was awesome.
Back on the road, pressing North, we stopped for a fill-up at the Chevron gas station near the Umpqua Dunes. It was full service, and as we sat and waited, we saw a thin little cat sneak out of the bushes, cross the busy street towards us and jump into the gas station garbage can. "Aw!" Nicole said. "Don't even think about it," Mary Lou said.
"Yeah," the gas station attendant chimed in, "that cat has been around here for a few days now. It's starving. I've been thinking about taking it to the shelter, but they will probably euthanize it."
"AW!"
"Fine," said Mary Lou, "if you can catch it, and it doesn't have fleas. . . "
Nicole bribed it closer with a piece of ham, grabbed the scruff of its neck and threw it into the RV. It catapulted itself up on the dashboard and pressed itself as flat as possible against the glass, eyes wide and wild. Nicole gave it a quick check for fleas, found none, and curled it up in a ball on her lap. It buried its head in her arm and rode the next two hours in silence.
When we stopped at the campground, kitty slowly, gingerly sniffed around the RV. We fed it milk and ham, and found out it was a she. Stomach full, she submitted to a brief health exam, some olive oil in the ears to clean them, and then took a long, deep nap. She has chosen to stay, is quite fond of us, and is very grateful. When she sits on our lap for some ear scratching, she raises her paw up and tenderly places it on our cheek. She uses the litter box, loves string and broccoli.
We named her Umpqua. A funny name for a funny looking cat. Mary Lou says she looks like a calico cat that's been put in the blender. She's a mash-up of colors and patterns, and has a thick black mustache like a Marx Brother, over a white bottom lip. It is our intention to find her a loving, stable home somewhere along the way, but how we'll make that happen, I don't know.
Driving North up the Oregon Coast, we stopped at the Sea Lion Caves. We smelled them before we saw them, but it was incredible to watch all the Sea Lions in their harems, sleeping and swimming in the rough surf. At sunset we stopped and walked out into the tide pools, poking at neon green, squishy anemones and brilliant purple star fish. We went to the Tillamook Cheese Factory, watched them make and package cheese, and ate lots of cheese curd. Had baked oysters and grilled crab and cheese at Pacific Oyster.
Stopped and saw the California Seals in another harbor. We watched them for a good hour, flopping their fatty bodies over each other to get better sleeping spots, barking at each other the whole time. A marine biologist who was there to tag the younger ones told us that all the hundred or so seals were all male, and the fattest they have ever been, due to the high number of salmon they are eating up the river. They were hilarious to watch.
We went to visit Mt. St. Helens on the anniversary of its eruption. 31 years ago, when Mary Lou was pregnant with Nicole, in 1980, it erupted, causing the largest land slide in recorded history. It was a rare, clear, sunny day, and we were blessed with some spectacular views.
We went into Portland, visited the Powell Street Bookstore, had lunch at Rogue Brewery and rode the tram up to for an overall view of the city. We hiked into the Columbia Gorge to chase some more waterfalls. It was a great hike through the steep caverns and wildflower covered hills of the Gorge. As we were leaving the trailhead, Nicole said that it be cool if she caught a snake today. And sure enough, on the way into the gorge, she spotted a snake, but couldn't follow it into the incredibly steep hillside. But, on the way out of the gorge, Mary Lou spotted a little guy, a garter snake, and Nicole caught that one. Snakes crossing your path usually mean forthcoming good fortune, or good sex, right?
We went back into Portland to hear Dj Joe play some lounge music at a place called Saucebox. Met some Aussie visitors, who ended up getting kicked out of the bar for breaking two glasses and being loud. They actually asked us to leave too, but when they found out we has just met them, they let us stay for a few more cocktails.
Oregon was fun! Our 20th state. Northward to Washington.
Click here for photos!
5.26.2011
Napa Valley and Northern California
We couldn't get any more reservations in Yosemite, it was time to go. But we just couldn't bear to leave yet, so we found a parking spot and spent the day crossing swinging bridges and chasing waterfalls. We took a wrong turn somewhere, and found ourselves traversing the boulder walls of the raging river to get up the falls. When the rocks became too slippery, and the drop down to the water too nauseating, we had to go straight up the cliff. Mary Lou almost lost her footing and refused to go any further, but Nicole was able to talk her back up to the trail.
By the time we got back to the RV, out of the park, and on the road, we were exhausted. For the sake of our brakes, we chose a more level road out than the one we came in on, through the mining towns of the 'Gold Coast'. At Sacramento, we hung a left and "Oh! Will you look at that! We're in Napa Valley!"
Derek Mims, Wine Consultant, had given us his suggestions, and we were happy to take them! Before parking up for the night, we had time for one vineyard. St. Supery was a great place to start. Their self guided tour takes you through the entire process of winemaking, closing with an aroma booth, where you stick your nose in a plastic tube, open the valve and inhale the essence of olives, cut grass, wet soil, grapefruit and many other yummy things you can smell in wine. It wetted our appetite and we enjoyed a great, closing-time tasting. We walked out with three bottle of white, the first time that's happened (usually, it's three reds)!
The next day, we toured the castle-like Rubicon, a Coppola Vineyard. Stone vaulted ceilings and dark wood, private tasting rooms. . . not too shabby a place. It's full of memorabilia from the entire family, including Oscar awards for Francis Ford, his wife and Sofia and an incredible collection of antique kinetoscopes, zoetropes, stereographs and motion picture projectors. Lunch was burgers, and milkshakes at Gott's Roadside, and then a tram ride over Napa Valley to reach the Sterling tasting room. We enjoyed the view of the volcano that formed the valley and deposited all the minerals and dust that gives the wine the Napa wine its distinct flavors. We kept calling it 'Mt. St. Helens,' but its really St. Helena. Tsk. Tourists. . .
Drove North, spent the night at a KOA that was overrun with albino bunny rabbits, and then back to the Pacific Coast Highway. We went for a late evening walk through a pine and rhododendron forest. We happened upon a herd of deer, who allowed us to sit and watch them as they grazed along the more open meadows. As we continued through the clearing, we saw a tire swing hanging from a robust, sunlit tree. As Nicole ran ahead to jump on the swing, she noticed some wooden planks up the trunk, like a ladder. Up in the tree was a totally fantastic tree house. Six different levels, carpeted, all with a different view of the forest, the valley and the lake in the distance. There was an old leather car seat way out on a limb as a lookout perch. We stayed and played for a bit, then headed back to grill ears of corn and hotdogs on the campfire.
We enjoyed the next few days in Mendocino and Humboldt County. Total hippy territory. The grocery store in Eureka was full of organic foods and unshaved armpits. Stopped for some smoked salmon filets and smoked trout jerky. Drove North through Redwood State and Redwood National Park. Took all the scenic roads, camped overnight on 'The Avenue of Giants'. We stopped for herds of Elk crossing the road. And drank lots of coffee. On every block around here is a tiny little espresso booth. Some sell hotdogs or donuts too, and they give you a little chocolate covered coffee bean on the lid of your cup.
Click here for photos!!
By the time we got back to the RV, out of the park, and on the road, we were exhausted. For the sake of our brakes, we chose a more level road out than the one we came in on, through the mining towns of the 'Gold Coast'. At Sacramento, we hung a left and "Oh! Will you look at that! We're in Napa Valley!"
Derek Mims, Wine Consultant, had given us his suggestions, and we were happy to take them! Before parking up for the night, we had time for one vineyard. St. Supery was a great place to start. Their self guided tour takes you through the entire process of winemaking, closing with an aroma booth, where you stick your nose in a plastic tube, open the valve and inhale the essence of olives, cut grass, wet soil, grapefruit and many other yummy things you can smell in wine. It wetted our appetite and we enjoyed a great, closing-time tasting. We walked out with three bottle of white, the first time that's happened (usually, it's three reds)!
The next day, we toured the castle-like Rubicon, a Coppola Vineyard. Stone vaulted ceilings and dark wood, private tasting rooms. . . not too shabby a place. It's full of memorabilia from the entire family, including Oscar awards for Francis Ford, his wife and Sofia and an incredible collection of antique kinetoscopes, zoetropes, stereographs and motion picture projectors. Lunch was burgers, and milkshakes at Gott's Roadside, and then a tram ride over Napa Valley to reach the Sterling tasting room. We enjoyed the view of the volcano that formed the valley and deposited all the minerals and dust that gives the wine the Napa wine its distinct flavors. We kept calling it 'Mt. St. Helens,' but its really St. Helena. Tsk. Tourists. . .
Drove North, spent the night at a KOA that was overrun with albino bunny rabbits, and then back to the Pacific Coast Highway. We went for a late evening walk through a pine and rhododendron forest. We happened upon a herd of deer, who allowed us to sit and watch them as they grazed along the more open meadows. As we continued through the clearing, we saw a tire swing hanging from a robust, sunlit tree. As Nicole ran ahead to jump on the swing, she noticed some wooden planks up the trunk, like a ladder. Up in the tree was a totally fantastic tree house. Six different levels, carpeted, all with a different view of the forest, the valley and the lake in the distance. There was an old leather car seat way out on a limb as a lookout perch. We stayed and played for a bit, then headed back to grill ears of corn and hotdogs on the campfire.
We enjoyed the next few days in Mendocino and Humboldt County. Total hippy territory. The grocery store in Eureka was full of organic foods and unshaved armpits. Stopped for some smoked salmon filets and smoked trout jerky. Drove North through Redwood State and Redwood National Park. Took all the scenic roads, camped overnight on 'The Avenue of Giants'. We stopped for herds of Elk crossing the road. And drank lots of coffee. On every block around here is a tiny little espresso booth. Some sell hotdogs or donuts too, and they give you a little chocolate covered coffee bean on the lid of your cup.
Click here for photos!!
5.24.2011
Wawona, in Yosemite
We weren't at all ready to leave Yosemite Valley, but, it was the weekend, and all the campgrounds were fully booked. We even tried to get a spot in the Southern most campgrounds in the park, in Wawona, but were told they were also full. We knew we had to head South anyway, because that's where the giant sequoias were waiting, in Mariposa Grove. We took our time leaving the valley, stopping to say goodbye at all the many wonders: Goodbye, Half Dome. Goodbye, Yosemite Falls. Goodbye, Cathedral. Adios, El Capitan. Goodbye, BridalVeil. We'll be back. For sure.
We drove South through the park, weaving our way up and down through the forests until we reached the campground at Wawona. We drove up to the park ranger and said the we knew it was a long shot, but might they have an open spot for us? No chance, she said. Ah well, it was worth a shot.
As we were driving to the Wawona Lodge to make a new plan, we saw a Campground Reservations park sign. Without hesitation, Mary Lou turned the RV down the dirt road and to the park trailer. Another RV pulled in right beside us, so Mary quick stepped her way up to the Ranger. Might you have a spot for us tonight? The Ranger said, probably not, but, let me check the system. We watched the little yellow mayflies dart over the long grass in the sunshine while she tapped away at her computer inside. "Is two nights here at the Wawona campground okay for you? It's the very last available spot" she came out asking. "Of course!" we said a little too excitedly. The Polish couple that were waiting behind us walked away crestfallen.
We thanked our lucky stars, parked up and put on our hiking boots. Nicole wanted to hike up to Chilnualna Falls (difficulty: difficult), but Mary Lou demurred and said the Meadow Walk looked much more interesting. We walked across the golf course and followed the old logging road through the forest skirting the Wawona meadow. It smelled like cedar heaven and every step was cushioned by the trail's pine needle blanket.
After about a mile of walking, we both caught movement up ahead and stopped in our tracks. It took a few moments to focus through the dizzying stripes of sunlight and shadow. "Wolves?" Nicole asked. "Coyotes," Mary Lou said. A pair of them, still trotting up the trail towards us. They paused, briefly, sniffed the air, but kept on coming towards us. We instinctively, slowly stepped aside, and it seemed as if they were going to pass right by. At only about fifteen feet away, they veered off the path and walked around us through the meadow. Absolutely silent, they moved gracefully and left us feeling that this sure was a lucky day.
We decided to celebrate our good fortune with a drink at the Wawona Lodge. We took a spot on the porch, ordered some martinis and watched the sunset over the pine trees. We struck up a conversation with the trio next to us. They were from Texas, as we had guessed from the fantastic ostrich boots the gentlemen was wearing. We talked about all we had seen in he Lone Star State. After they went inside for dinner, we chatted with the couple on the other side. Also very charming, he was an English anesthesiologist and she, an Irish nurse who smelled of Joe Malone, Red Roses perfume. Delightful company all around, and it was a lovely way to end our lovely day.
The next morning, we woke up early, put on our hiking shoes and headed into the Mariposa Grove. We had been waiting to see the giant sequoias this whole trip, but really had no idea what to expect. There was snow at the trailhead, and Mary Lou started to wonder if she had made a mistake by wearing her walking sandals instead of sneakers. We hadn't even reached the sequoias yet, but we kept staring up in wonder at the Ponderosa Pines and Cedar trees. Even they were incredibly tall. Towering above us.
The first famous sequoia we met was the Grizzly Giant, one of the oldest and largest in the park. You can read all you want about these ancient trees, but you just don't understand until you are standing at the base, bending backwards to look up the massive trunk, to the short, thick branches. They are just. . . unimaginable. The Grizzly Giant is over 30 feet in diameter, and some of its limbs are over 6 feet in diameter. That's bigger than many of the trees in the grove.
We hiked a half a mile to the next giant, the California Tunnel Tree, carved out in 1895 so that you can walk through it. Another mile to Columbia Tree, the tallest tree in the park, at 290 feet. This brought us into the Upper Grove, where we found ourselves basically alone, walking among these giants. We stopped in a clearing, shifting every few minutes to be in the sunshine filtering down through the trees, and ate our picnic lunch.
We found the Galen Clark Tree, the first sequoia that Galen Clark first saw when he discovered the grove in 1857. Walked past the Fallen Wawona Tunnel Tree, perhaps the most famous tree in the world. The 1881 tunnel through it was 10 feet high and 26 feet long, but then it fell over, after all the visitors and cars ruined the shallow root system.
We were at the Northernmost point in the park and there was no one else around. It was our forest. And it was magical. The fallen tree trunks were sculptures of breaching whales and shipwrecks. The exposed, twisting roots of uprooted trees were bigger than our RV. Rotted logs were tunnels to crawl through and emerge from the other side into a different reality. Blackened, burnt logs were bears hiding behind trees waiting to pounce or giant, evil ravens on the lookout from above.
As we followed the outer loop, we found the Telescope Tree, the Clothespin Tree and finally, the Faithful Couple. The Faithful Couple is two sequoias that have grafted together to produce a combined trunk over 40 feet in diameter and a height of over 250 feet. Two, became one.
Just like Yosemite Valley, we didn't want to leave the Mariposa Grove. We reluctantly got on the last shuttle back to the RV park. We wanted to stay with the trees as long as possible, so we lit a campfire and cooked hotdogs and baked beans. We drank Paso Robles wines until the hotdogs charred and turned crispy. Best hotdogs ever! We stared at the stars and the moon until our fingers and toes started to get cold and then, with a sigh, crawled into bed, to continue the dream of the magic forest.
We drove South through the park, weaving our way up and down through the forests until we reached the campground at Wawona. We drove up to the park ranger and said the we knew it was a long shot, but might they have an open spot for us? No chance, she said. Ah well, it was worth a shot.
As we were driving to the Wawona Lodge to make a new plan, we saw a Campground Reservations park sign. Without hesitation, Mary Lou turned the RV down the dirt road and to the park trailer. Another RV pulled in right beside us, so Mary quick stepped her way up to the Ranger. Might you have a spot for us tonight? The Ranger said, probably not, but, let me check the system. We watched the little yellow mayflies dart over the long grass in the sunshine while she tapped away at her computer inside. "Is two nights here at the Wawona campground okay for you? It's the very last available spot" she came out asking. "Of course!" we said a little too excitedly. The Polish couple that were waiting behind us walked away crestfallen.
We thanked our lucky stars, parked up and put on our hiking boots. Nicole wanted to hike up to Chilnualna Falls (difficulty: difficult), but Mary Lou demurred and said the Meadow Walk looked much more interesting. We walked across the golf course and followed the old logging road through the forest skirting the Wawona meadow. It smelled like cedar heaven and every step was cushioned by the trail's pine needle blanket.
After about a mile of walking, we both caught movement up ahead and stopped in our tracks. It took a few moments to focus through the dizzying stripes of sunlight and shadow. "Wolves?" Nicole asked. "Coyotes," Mary Lou said. A pair of them, still trotting up the trail towards us. They paused, briefly, sniffed the air, but kept on coming towards us. We instinctively, slowly stepped aside, and it seemed as if they were going to pass right by. At only about fifteen feet away, they veered off the path and walked around us through the meadow. Absolutely silent, they moved gracefully and left us feeling that this sure was a lucky day.
We decided to celebrate our good fortune with a drink at the Wawona Lodge. We took a spot on the porch, ordered some martinis and watched the sunset over the pine trees. We struck up a conversation with the trio next to us. They were from Texas, as we had guessed from the fantastic ostrich boots the gentlemen was wearing. We talked about all we had seen in he Lone Star State. After they went inside for dinner, we chatted with the couple on the other side. Also very charming, he was an English anesthesiologist and she, an Irish nurse who smelled of Joe Malone, Red Roses perfume. Delightful company all around, and it was a lovely way to end our lovely day.
The next morning, we woke up early, put on our hiking shoes and headed into the Mariposa Grove. We had been waiting to see the giant sequoias this whole trip, but really had no idea what to expect. There was snow at the trailhead, and Mary Lou started to wonder if she had made a mistake by wearing her walking sandals instead of sneakers. We hadn't even reached the sequoias yet, but we kept staring up in wonder at the Ponderosa Pines and Cedar trees. Even they were incredibly tall. Towering above us.
The first famous sequoia we met was the Grizzly Giant, one of the oldest and largest in the park. You can read all you want about these ancient trees, but you just don't understand until you are standing at the base, bending backwards to look up the massive trunk, to the short, thick branches. They are just. . . unimaginable. The Grizzly Giant is over 30 feet in diameter, and some of its limbs are over 6 feet in diameter. That's bigger than many of the trees in the grove.
We hiked a half a mile to the next giant, the California Tunnel Tree, carved out in 1895 so that you can walk through it. Another mile to Columbia Tree, the tallest tree in the park, at 290 feet. This brought us into the Upper Grove, where we found ourselves basically alone, walking among these giants. We stopped in a clearing, shifting every few minutes to be in the sunshine filtering down through the trees, and ate our picnic lunch.
We found the Galen Clark Tree, the first sequoia that Galen Clark first saw when he discovered the grove in 1857. Walked past the Fallen Wawona Tunnel Tree, perhaps the most famous tree in the world. The 1881 tunnel through it was 10 feet high and 26 feet long, but then it fell over, after all the visitors and cars ruined the shallow root system.
We were at the Northernmost point in the park and there was no one else around. It was our forest. And it was magical. The fallen tree trunks were sculptures of breaching whales and shipwrecks. The exposed, twisting roots of uprooted trees were bigger than our RV. Rotted logs were tunnels to crawl through and emerge from the other side into a different reality. Blackened, burnt logs were bears hiding behind trees waiting to pounce or giant, evil ravens on the lookout from above.
As we followed the outer loop, we found the Telescope Tree, the Clothespin Tree and finally, the Faithful Couple. The Faithful Couple is two sequoias that have grafted together to produce a combined trunk over 40 feet in diameter and a height of over 250 feet. Two, became one.
Just like Yosemite Valley, we didn't want to leave the Mariposa Grove. We reluctantly got on the last shuttle back to the RV park. We wanted to stay with the trees as long as possible, so we lit a campfire and cooked hotdogs and baked beans. We drank Paso Robles wines until the hotdogs charred and turned crispy. Best hotdogs ever! We stared at the stars and the moon until our fingers and toes started to get cold and then, with a sigh, crawled into bed, to continue the dream of the magic forest.
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