Tuesday, August 19
Today is our second morning at our camp north of Dubois, Wyoming. I’m calling it “Camp Absaroka.”
“Hey, guys. It’s a beautiful day. Let’s go to the river!”
We ford a small pool of water to reach the bank of the river.
In Spike’s way of thinking — “Hey, what’s the big deal about a river? This pond is what I like!”
A log makes a convenient seat for me to watch the river and to supervise the crew.
Water-smoothed river rock covers the bank. Bridget gingerly steps over the rocks, and, of course, sits down to survey her surroundings.
A clinger! A fisherman has parked his car in our campsite! (In the photo below the crew cross part of the ample parking space available. Instead this guy drives around to park on our side of the trees.)
He’s standing next to the open driver’s side door of his car, fiddling with a fishing rod. Bridget and Spike walk over to him and stare. I’m as stunned as they are. The guy doesn’t acknowledge our presence.
Not wanting a confrontation after such a mellow visit to the river, I step inside the BLT with smoke coming out of my ears. I hear the car door shut. I look out the window and watch him go on his merry, damn way, fishing rod in hand.
My plan is to leave tomorrow.
As gorgeous as it is at Camp Absaroka, I’m going nuts using a camera without a working LED screen or viewfinder. I’m in anguish at all the photos I’m missing!
I need to drive into Dubois for a strong internet connection and to make arrangements online for a camera to be shipped from Amazon to the UPS Customer Center in Riverton. It’s too far to commute to town from here.
Well, I can spend the afternoon glaring at the side of this mutant’s car, or I can break camp right away and move us to a camp closer to Dubois.
I do the latter. Not one to pass up a “teachable moment,” before leaving I write an educational note and insert it under the windshield wiper of the mutant’s car.
I drive over the mountains about 15 miles and pull into Horse Creek Campground, crossing a cattle guard at the entrance.
The crew and I checked out the campground on our initial drive up this road ($15.oo regular/$7.50 with senior pass). We walked the campground loop that day and Spike enjoyed a soak in Horse Creek. I took pics of his soak using my cell phone. Those photos are still in the phone as I haven’t set it up yet for email transfers. Don’t ask.
Anyway . . . .
I get out of the PTV to consider a campsite for us. I’m immediately attacked by mosquitoes. I jump back into the PTV and drive out of the campground.
I come upon some forest service personnel standing by their truck.
“Say, can you tell me a good place to camp near here? Dispersed camping off by myself?” I explain that there are too many mosquitoes at the campground. “How about (forest road) 507 back that way?” I add, pointing to the north.
The older of the two rangers responds, “No, you don’t want to go on that road. We’re about to get a lot of rain and that road turns to muck. The OHVers go up there when it rains and play around. The road is all messed up.”
“Oh, I know what you mean.”
“Would you like us to show you a few campsites?” he offers. “We’ll drive the truck and you can follow us.”
“What? You mean a personal escort by two rangers in the official forest service truck and everything?” I reply with exaggerated delight. They laugh and slide into the truck.
It’s opposite Horse Creek (where two people were fly fishing in the photo in the previous post). It provides a wonderful view of the mountains beyond a ranch. (Photo taken later on a dark, overcast day.)
The younger ranger remarks, “It’s breezy up here. That’ll keep the mosquitoes away.” He helpfully suggests where I can tuck the BLT behind some trees.
I thank them both and give them a big, grateful smile. With a “Hi-Yo, Silver — Away!” off they go in their truck, ever ready to perform good deeds for other rootless and confused boondockers who may be stumbling around in the Shoshone National Forest.
I set up camp and the very moment I’m finished, it starts to rain.
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