Trip: Day Ten

This was parting day. Max, Alta and the kids were heading back to Salt Lake City, and we were heading up into Bridger National Forest to camp along the Greys. Paul, Steve and I had done this once before, either '95 or '96, and it had been highly memorable. We'd neglected to pack in water and had to treat stream water with Campden tablets - ick! There is no electricity anywhere within miles of the place, meaning that when I popped out of the tent in the middle of the night to head for the pit toilet, it was black as tar all over, except for the sky. That was decorated with the most impressive display of stars I'd ever seen in my life! I almost forgot what I was doing out there.

I'd managed to misplace the flashlight I'd parked right next to the tent door before heading into my sleeping bag, but came up with a surprising alternative: my Indiglo (Timex) watch face! With the button pushed down, my path was lit enough to get me to and from the toilet, as well as finding the necessary things within.

Having told those stories often, and fondly remembering that night, I was very much looking forward to this reprise of that long ago night. Plus, at that time Steve and I were just friends, and both wanted newer memories of a very special place.

Before we could start out, of course, we needed to head over to Max and Alta's RV to say our good-byes. Plus, I had not seen the inside yet, and had heard it was impressive.

Boy, was it! To start, anything that had an actual bedroom with an actual bed in it, not a converted something-else, had my instant vote of approval. The bathroom was not only large enough to move in, it boasted a small tub. The kitchen had a microwave, the dining table nested inside a bench that surrounded it on three sides, and the far end was a bedroom with four bunks for the kids. Even better, it had a door that closed! We weren't sure if the sofa was convertible to a bed, or a loveseat recliner - what I'd ask for given the choice. I didn't even care that the RV had a TV, or an outside flip-down gas grill, or.... This was the way to travel!

Of course, if it meant traveling with the kids, I might retract that.

At this time, I wasn't so much irritated with them, and hadn't been all that much during our interactions, as semi-amused by them. Perhaps it was how short our time together was going to be, although Steve was heartily glad to be done with them by the time we parted. Much before, in fact. Perhaps it was that I'd taken on the roll of assistant parent instead of passive witness (victim?) during our encounters. Then again, maybe it really was that they'd soon be gone. I'd also been amused by Steve's conversations with his daughter, assuring her that she and her brothers had been just the same at that age.

I'm not going to discuss my kids in this context.

In order to facilitate leaving camp soonest, I'd promised to buy everyone breakfast at the cheese shop, breakfast being defined as the ice cream cone of their choice, both size and flavor(s). This meant several things: Paul and Maria got to see Star Valley, I got to shop for cheeses as well to restock our larder, Steve got the rest of his birthday present, and Maria got her birthday present early. Well, plus the ice cream was yummy, Paul got time to fudge shop, and I picked up a souvenir sweatshirt.

Heading up Greys River, we made the priority a photo op day. Stopping frequently was a good thing, since the washerboard gravel was much meaner to the RV that it was to a van with its modern suspension, and the dust had to have time to settle both for shooting purposes and for our lungs. As early as we got out on the road, we did not manage to beat the 4-wheeler ATVs whose sole purpose seemed to be kicking up as much dust as their machines could manage. While there were fewer than the day before, the 5th still being officially a holiday, there were still an overabundance of them for our tastes. Perhaps if it had rained recently enough to settle the dust, we'd not have minded.

We took advantage of nearly every pull-out, even stopped on occasion where there were none. The river is incredibly scenic, particularly from the higher vantage point of an RV, blue water winding back and forth around curves, shot from up above to maximize the water, mountains rising in the distance, and nearly always a leaning pine at a strategic spot along the river for accent.

The hope had been to make it up to the headwaters of the Greys, and we likely would have had we just driven. As it was, by late afternoon we'd made it 25 miles up the road, turning around by the Deadman Ranch and heading down to our camping space. With no electricity, outside or inside, I wanted that done with plenty of time to spare. On the way up, I'd spied the location where we'd camped years before, and I directed us to that.

Apparently I was the only one who recognized it. The official campground sign was gone, paths were unmowed, the pit toilet, while still standing, was not serviced. Trees had grown much taller. Picnic tables and fire rings were still present, however, and we claimed the same exact spot we'd had before. It worked well. The campground had one added advantage: since it was not officially maintained, camping was free, just like at any other unofficial spot you could pull off and park to camp on.

Paul took off with the camera after the tent had been set up, and came back with an armful of firewood. Some previous camper had left a large supply of cut and split wood down at the end of the road in another spot, and we helped ourselves, adding to the supply we'd bought that morning in town. It was a good thing, because evening chill drove both Steve and me into the RV for an early night in our sleeping bags despite the fire. It was our coldest night of the trip, and we dug out long johns or sweats for PJs inside our sleeping bags.

Paul and Maria stayed around to enjoy the deer that wandered through our campsite, eating the tops off the blooming phlox scattered through the open areas. They would calmly stand and munch withing twenty feet of us, unconcerned so long as we made no sudden moves. Our roasting hotdogs or cooking corn had no impact on their movements, nor did normal conversation. I am not sure how many different deer there were, or if most of them were a single doe moving in and out of our area. After we elders went to bed, Paul and Maria reported seeing a group of adults with a pair of fawns.

Only one expectation remained unmet. Our previous visit, after the sun dropped behind the western mountain tops, an elk herd had descended from the trees and down a long meadow to eat and to drink from the river. This visit we heard one, twice, from further downstream of our site, but "our" meadow remained unvisited, except by deer. Possibly part of the reason was some idiotic fellow camper, well out of our sight, being as noisy as possible for well over an hour making the worst elk imitations on some brassy-sounding thing that we'd every heard or could imagine. If I were an elk, it would certainly keep me well away!