Going up, cooling off     

The journey . . .

What a lot there was to see and enjoy between Vernal, Utah, and Dubois, Wyoming!  Our drive was mostly on Highway 191.  We were just bedazzled by the views as we traversed a vast high plateau with snowy mountains - the Wind River range - alongside us.

One primary stop we made (besides halting just to allow our senses to take it all in) was at a spot where the Oregon Trail/California Trail/Mormon Trail/Pony Express Trail was visible as its twin tracks wandered across the plain and disappeared over the next rise.  I nearly wrote “as it rumbled across the plain”: that’s how close it felt to imagining the sounds of people shouting, livestock plodding, wooden wagons and leather harnesses creaking.

We walked for a goodly piece along those grooves worn into the dirt, and did our best to conjure a sense of that journey on which so many embarked, a horrifying number of whom were buried along the way after succumbing to disease, exposure, injury, starvation and drowning.  It is estimated that between 10,000 & 30,000 people, young & old, perished on that trek.

The place we stopped is dubbed “the parting of the ways” because of diverging cutoffs and alternate routes.  It was common for various guides to lead wagons on what were deemed to be routes that took days off the journey, were easier passages or had better water or stock feed.

 

 

Further along, we stopped at South Pass, a route through the mountains used by Indians for centuries, fur traders & mountain men later and then wagon trains bound for western regions.  Jedidiah Smith was among the earliest Anglos to utilize that passage in 1823, although earlier fur traders had traversed the route in 1812. The landmarks of two prominent buttes there must have been a welcome sight for travelers worn by many weeks of great hardship; anything that relieved the tedium and marked progress would have been occasion for gratitude.

 

 

Red Canyon. . .

And then there was Red Canyon - I was awestruck at the sight!  Clouds prevented my getting a photo with the sun on it; hopefully, a sense of it comes through.

Dubois . . .

We landed at the small town of Dubois - pronounced locally as Dew Boys, not Dew Bwah like my Huguenot ancestors.  It's a lovely small town on the Wind River in one of the most picturesque regions imaginable: surrounded by mountains, mountains and more mountains, including the Wind Rivers, Owl Creeks and Absarokas. 

The Grand Tetons . . .

Majestic, stupendous, glorious - Really there are no words to describe that range of mountains.  They just are, and I am grateful to have experienced the sight as we wandered through the Grand Teton National Park.

 

 

 

 

During the return to our humble (it feels more humble all the time) abode, we were on the lookout for moose & bear.  Numerous signs along the highway caution people not to exit their vehicles to view bears (yes, some do need cautioning), but nary a bruin did we spy.

We did call a halt to peruse a herd of buffalo lounging in a huge pasture and the many elk beyond them.  Because they were a good distance from the highway, we cast around for a way to get closer and found a dirt road that promised that.

We were only partially successful; forward progress halted at a waterhole that spanned the road.  We came to what appeared to be an abandoned resort.

By that time, a rip-roaring storm was approaching and we still couldn't see the wildlife we had come to see because they were up on a higher plain (that sounds kinda spiritual), and we were down in a mosquito-infested bottomland.  After liberal applications of bug spray, we climbed a steep bank, hoping that we would not come face to face with an enraged beast when we attained the top (enraged mosquitoes were plenty).  That hurdle completed, we found that we were still quite a distance from our target beasts, so we sidled closer, near enough for an unsatisfactory photo and far enough not to put ourselves in danger.  

At that juncture, we realized that we were more vulnerable to lightning strikes than anything else, thus we hied ourselves back down the steep slope without any satisfying gazes at any beasts a'tall, with the exception of a small grass-gathering critter (or criter, if you're back at the museum) that the señor identified as a pika.

Meager additions to the trip bird list include sage thrasher, northern roughwing swallow, white pelican, mountain bluebird, rock dove & house sparrow.

Sara's photography . . .

Backing up to our little family reunion, I had a heck of a time trying to utilize photos from five different cell phones in addition to my camera, resulting in leaving out one of my faves, so I'm including it here.

Sara shot this one, and I have come to realize that she has developed quite a good sense of photography, especially for candids of people.  Isn't this a masterful shot, and so was that one I posted earlier that she did of the señor & me teetering on rocks in a creek!