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The journey to the Eastern gate of the park was as different as the scenery had been on the previous two days. It was as I imagine Yellowstone to be – steep hills and tight bends. We followed the curves of the Shoshone River, which grew from an emaciated if excitable flow into an obese expanse just before the dam. The journey was beset with excitement around each corner. Wild fires ravaged a succession of valleys and spoke spiraled skyways muting the layered tones of brown of the sandstone cliffs. A helicopter buzzed overhead dowsing the woodland with the Shonone River.
Our first stop was Cody. I had intended to visit the Wild West Museum but my eye was caught by the old town that had been assembled from all points Wyoming. We paid our entry fee; Val and I were at the Senior Citizen rate and ambled up the single street of log buildings. There were homesteads, a saloon with bullet holes in the door, a blacksmith, a store and a livery stable. Several of the buildings had connections with Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. Some rooms were set out with furniture, others housed collections of artifacts and photos. Most impressive were the weapons, the Indian artifacts and the angora cowboy coats. I sat outside the shack where the Hole in the Wall gang hid and was immersed in the atmosphere of the moment.
The route from Cody was through the Big Horn Park. Again, it was outstanding. At its climax, we passed through at 9000 plus feet. At one stage, the granite walls hung over us, even dwarfing the beast. I think it was Greg Mortensen who wrote in Four Cups of Tea about how insignificant yet empowering the mountains made him feel. At the final series of twists and turns, we watched a hang glider throw himself over the sheer precipice of rock to glide effortlessly to the canyon floor 12 miles away. We did pass him as he was disengaging himself from his fly suit.
The RV had much going for it; internet, a pool and neighbouring eating houses; all of which we used. I published 5 days of blogs.
Our first stop was Cody. I had intended to visit the Wild West Museum but my eye was caught by the old town that had been assembled from all points Wyoming. We paid our entry fee; Val and I were at the Senior Citizen rate and ambled up the single street of log buildings. There were homesteads, a saloon with bullet holes in the door, a blacksmith, a store and a livery stable. Several of the buildings had connections with Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. Some rooms were set out with furniture, others housed collections of artifacts and photos. Most impressive were the weapons, the Indian artifacts and the angora cowboy coats. I sat outside the shack where the Hole in the Wall gang hid and was immersed in the atmosphere of the moment.
The route from Cody was through the Big Horn Park. Again, it was outstanding. At its climax, we passed through at 9000 plus feet. At one stage, the granite walls hung over us, even dwarfing the beast. I think it was Greg Mortensen who wrote in Four Cups of Tea about how insignificant yet empowering the mountains made him feel. At the final series of twists and turns, we watched a hang glider throw himself over the sheer precipice of rock to glide effortlessly to the canyon floor 12 miles away. We did pass him as he was disengaging himself from his fly suit.
The RV had much going for it; internet, a pool and neighbouring eating houses; all of which we used. I published 5 days of blogs.
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