I wouldn’t quite go as far as to say we’re cheapskates (although my dad taught me well – and early – the importance of looking after your pennies). But the more we camp, the more we are finding a bizarre correlation between the price of camping and the attractiveness of the camping spot. Should I say an adverse correlation. So the less you pay, the better the views, the more space you have, and the more authentic the camping experience. Free = Freedom!

As an example, this was the most expensive place we camped (like a ridiculous $100 a night!!!) – Jackson, Wyoming. Well situated for checking out the local bars and restaurants, not to mention decent loos and showers. But really, we’re like ducks in a row…

Some of our favorite camping spots on this trip included:

⁃ A riverside campground on Grassy Lake road in the Grand Tetons (free). A campground with just two(!) allotted sites, so space and privacy was not an issue. It also came with a picnic table, fire ring, and even a toilet. And the riverside location gave Darren another opportunity to get into his fly fishing groove.

⁃ A random spot in the Gros Ventre Wilderness, near Granite Hot Springs, south of the Tetons was a treat (free). Perfect after a dip in the hot springs pool, this is just open land you can camp on so no amenities (other than fire rings), but oodles of space. And out comes the corn hole.

⁃ Another random boondocking spot overlooking Henry’s Lake (free). There was a campsite maybe 2 miles away, campers all tightly lined up in a row, with no view. And then there’s us. And a night sky to die for.

⁃ Not forgetting good old Walmart (free). Not big on privacy or space and you might find yourself parked up between weirdos. But the real reason to go here is so you can visit local breweries, bars or other recommended drinking/dining establishments in a city location. When quite frankly any other central campsites tend to be even more densely packed than a Walmart car park and uber-expensive.

When you’re in a National Park your options are, shall we say, limited. Some are certainly better than others. But you are still likely to be packed in a campsite with way too many other campers. Even at the so called end of season when it’s supposed to be quiet(er).

One of the better National Park campsites – St Mary’s in Glacier NP

Luckily, Darren had done his research, and found a tiny rustic campsite in one of the lesser visited areas in Yellowstone: Slough campground in the Lamar valley. One slight problem: first come first served. Surely not a problem for the Hamiltons, we were up at the crack of dawn with the intention of securing a spot, a few choice words uttered as we tried to hitch up in the dark. What we hadn’t factored in to the sunrise drive was the need to stop for the buffalo traffic jam, gawp at the scenery, and savor the early morning light. After our 2 hour + scenic drive through Yellowstone, we arrived at Slough campground at 8:30am, only to find it had filled up over an hour earlier. Booooo.

Undeterred, we actually secured a great alternative (free!) spot along the Beartooth scenic highway outside the park with expansive mountain views, a spectacular sunset, and sooo much space.

We resolved to try again the next day: Slough Campground Take Two. The drive this time would take us over an hour, so the alarm was set for 3:45am. I repeat 3:45! In. The. Morning!!! An uneventful drive in the dark had us arriving at the campsite before 5:30am – second in the queue. We were just tucking into our hot oatmeal in the Basecamp when the ranger approached apologetically to let us know that for the first time in over a month, no one was leaving. As in no site available – move along. Oh well, mustn’t grumble, you can’t win em all. Let’s go find some wildlife instead.

For me, fly fishing will always be linked to J R Hartley. For anyone who doesn’t make the connection, this is down to a 1980s advert (for yellow pages I think) where a well-spoken English gentleman, advanced in years, was earnestly trying to track down a copy of a book called Fly Fishing by J R Hartley. He phoned around a lot of places (presumably where the yellow pages connection came in), and long story short, it turns out this guy was actually the author himself, and the point at which he is reunited with his book is one of those touching moments akin to the more recent John Lewis Christmas ads. Put it this way, I still remember it 30 years on.

Anyway, other than JR Hartley, my experience of fly fishing was limited to watching the film A River Runs Through It the other week. Much as I liked the scenery and enjoyed watching a very young Brad Pitt, it’s really not gonna prepare you for being able to catch fish.

Our 3 hour lesson on the Gallatin River included maybe half an hour indoors (quite welcome when the temperature outside is not much beyond freezing) studying the etymology of bugs and flies, 90 minutes learning to cast and practicing on the lawn (away from harmful trees and anything else we could get our lines tangled up in), and finally, an hour out on the river.

The guide told me that even though my technique worked – enthusiastically bending my whole upper body forward while casting, it didn’t look very cool. This, coming from someone who thinks fly fishing IS cool and idolizes Brad Pitt. Darren seemed to get the hang of it better than me, although in our short time out on the river, we soon learned why it is called fishing and not catching.

Oh but the little teaser lesson had given Darren the bug. We were on a mission to find a fishing shop, and he was straight in there for the starter kit – rod, line and flies.

Flies – now therein lies a whole new world. Bobbers, hoppers, nymphs and gnats. Apparently, you can’t just fish with any old flies. You have to know which flies are currently flying around the area you’re fishing at that exact time – otherwise the fish won’t be fooled and/or attracted by your flies. And we always thought fish were dumb.

As he bought his starter kit, Darren was told by the experienced fisherman/salesman, “Don’t worry, it only took me about 6 months to get the hang of it”. Hmm, well we had less than 2 weeks left and Darren set himself high expectations.

From that point forward in the trip, he took every opportune moment to hang out by the river and cast. Of course, there’s worse places to hang out. And he is nothing if not persistent, my husband!

As time passed, the excuses started rolling in:

“He must have sold me the wrong flies.”

“My lucky hat’s not working – I need a new hat.”

“There’s just so many people fishing, I don’t think there’s anything left for me to catch.“

“Well I can’t expect to catch something in my first two weeks.”

But I wouldn’t want to leave you with anything other than a happy ending. Imagine my relief – and Darren’s joy – when he actually caught his first fish. Trout, possibly/probably brown trout. Not just one but two. And there you have it – like a gambler with his first big win, Darren is hooked. And I am officially a fly fishing widow.

Post-holiday blog research, and I found the J.R. Hartley ad. Enjoy!

YouTube · asseenonthetv0:53Fly Fishing by J R Hartley – Classic Yellow Pages TV advertFeb 11, 2011

You may feel a sense of deja vu reading this. Here we go again, another post where they’re looking for bears, don’t find them, go home. But no… spoiler alert, this one ends differently!

Actually, it kind of starts the same. We’d moved on to the Grand Tetons, the third of the National Parks on our trip. We’d selected a hike based on wildlife viewing opportunities. Moose apparently, around Heron Lake and Swan Lake. No moose. Not even any herons or swans. Darren had to improvise with a rendition of Swan Lake.

Heron Lake. No herons.

Swan Lake. No swans.

Swan Lake!

Bears too apparently frequent this promontory leading out from Colter Bay to Jackson Lake. It’s not like we want to run smack bang into a bear on a blind corner whilst hiking in the middle of a forest. What we were looking for was a cool bear viewing experience that safely involves not being in a vehicle. Like seeing a bear in an open clearing or down by the lake. Again, nothing doing. We did run into another hiker who said she’d seen a mother bear and two cubs. Always the case. (Sometimes I wonder if we’re really that unlucky that we always seem to meet the people who’ve just seen the bear/moose/wolf – take your pick, we’ve had all three. Or if there’s a bit of artistic license and creativity going on).

The views out onto the lake helped ease our pain.

Next up: canoeing.

Done with this wildlife watching lark, let’s just get out on the lake and enjoy it. Rather than choosing our normal watercraft of choice – a double kayak, we thought we’d mix it up a bit and go with a canoe instead. I was a bit surprised that the canoe was made out of aluminium. For some reason, I expected a canoe to be made out of wood.

Took me a while to get used to the paddling (in fact, I’m not sure I ever did get used to the paddling – Darren could attest). Once properly out on the water, we could appreciate the peace and solitude.

It’s difficult to portray how the water itself differs – and therefore how the experience of being out there/in there differs. I find it mind-blowing to come across patches of surface water that are so glassy, it looks like you’re paddling through clouds. It is surreal and quite magical.

After a hard morning’s paddling, we had to do a portage – getting out of the canoe and carrying (aka dragging) it through the shallow water and over the shale to the next inlet.

Darren taking the canoe for a walk

As the canoe was out of the water, and we were tired from our paddling and dragging, an opportune moment then to have our picnic lunch: salmon. No sooner had we sat down and opened the salmon than a black bear appeared over the other side of the lake.

Just wow! We finally had the bear experience we were yearning for. We watched entranced as the mother bear led her two cubs down to the water for a drink (maybe the hiker we saw yesterday wasn’t bullshitting after all). OMG. I can’t explain to you how cool an experience this was. We watched transfixed as the mother bear sniffed her way along the shoreline and the baby bears gamboled along, clumsily splashing in the lake.

BEAR!!!

Let’s just have a little splash…

Oh hang on a minute, I think I can smell lunch…

Wait for me…. and me…

And then the mother bear squinted over towards us and started heading for where we were. I might remind you that at this point we were out of the canoe and on the shoreline. About to tuck into only the best hot smoked wild salmon. I could sense that the mother bear was thinking the same. I wondered if we could make a run for it back to the canoe, to get to the safety of the water before the bears were in striking distance. But as the bears moved ever closer, the canoe was now smack bang between us and the bears. We didn’t fancy our chances of getting to the canoe first, so heading directly towards them at this point would probably not be the most highly recommended tactic.

We announced our presence loudly, just in case the bears thought the salmon was a free for all. Rumour has it their eyesight is even worse than mine.

“Hey Bear” we yelled. Louder and louder. “Hey Bear”. Thinking No way bear, turn right around, this is our lunch! The cubs stood up on their hind legs and looked directly at us. How can something be so adorable and yet at the same time there’s still a sense of danger. That mama bear was still leading the way, nose in the air, and heading in our direction. You should never underestimate the behavior of wild animals.

With the salmon in one hand, I readied myself and picked up a rock in the other, prepared to make even more noise by throwing it down in front of me. Darren cast me a sideways glance and raised an eyebrow. “Really?” You and a tiny rock vs a bear?

We had retreated along the shoreline, and we watched as the bears stomped past our canoe (with barely a sniff, maybe just a little gutted that the salmon was no longer there) and we breathed a sigh of relief as they headed out on their way. I guess they decided there were easier pickings out there than our lunch.

Suddenly that huge long canoe looks quite tiny

So maybe that one was just a little close for comfort. Probably best to move on and finish our picnic lunch elsewhere.

Always looking for ways to mix it up a bit, the next day we rented a bike and went for a ride through the national park.

No zoom. This one was taken from the bikes.

And well, fancy that. A young grizzly stepped right out into the road in front of us and sauntered across. Not batting an eyelid at the bikes or us. Again, such a cool experience. Maybe I’m not jinxed after all.  🙂

Bison. One of the big draws to Yellowstone. The first and oldest national park is well known for its bison herds. Most other ungulates (elk, antelope, moose) migrate out of this ice cold wilderness as the temperature dips below unreasonably cold, whereas the hardy bison have the utmost respect. With icicles hanging off their furry beards, they wage their stubborn war with the elements, using the thermal features of the park in the same way we huddle around a log fire. But for now, during our visit, they’re making the most of the cool autumn temperatures and starting to get frisky before winter sets in.

There are signs everywhere stating that bison are wild and dangerous, do not approach. But when they insist on crossing the road right in front of you, it’s kind of a good opportunity to get some photos nice and close, without getting too wild and dangerous. And they do like to hang around the roads. Which causes more than its fair share of traffic jams.

As with any animal sightings, the best bit is not ticking them off, but getting yourself ensconced in a spot where you can hang out and just watch. Rolling around having a dustbath, mock charging and initiating minor confrontations with each other, leading and following – the herd is always on the move. Even if it means crossing the river.

Ooh, now that feels better!

Heard the best grass is on the other side, follow me!

You up for a fight?

Who said that?

As for the sounds they make, believe me this is no herd of cows mooing. The bison grunt and they snort. They bellow and they roar. At times it sounds like snoring and farting but I think it’s just them doing their thing. They are anything but quiet. In fact, highly entertaining.

We’ve had more than our fair share of hiking trail closures on this trip. Trail closed due to bears. Trail closed due to roadworks closing the parking lot. Trail closed due to habitation regeneration. Trail closed due to fallen trees. I am not joking here. Yet we had found a trail that was open and recommended in the guidebook as great views of the Yellowstone Grand Canyon, and potential wildlife viewing opportunities.

The wildlife opportunities started with a flock of migrating Canadian geese, vocal yet majestic. And then there was the lone bison.

Behind you!

Although not as impressive in itself as a whole herd (which we’d previously seen from the car), it’s very different seeing animals when you’re out walking, just you and them and no car to protect you in between. Actually way better than seeing them from the car. Still, this singular bison didn’t seem too bothered, left us to our own devices, and we carried on our way.

At which point we realized that the lone bison wasn’t by himself after all. He’d just wandered off from his herd. Cue the rest of the motherf*ckers. They stood to the left of our trail but a few of them were walking slowly towards it. Carrying on along the path wasn’t an option, but we figured we could safely veer way over to the right and still continue on our way. Nope. The bison had other ideas.

They waited til we were almost level before they made their move. More targeted than a game of chess, they advanced slowly but deliberately. Once they’d blocked our intended route, they turned to face us – a proper face off. The bison vs the Hamiltons.

Bison to the left. That’s the continuation of our path curving right past them up ahead.

And… we’ll just take a walk over here…

Bully tactics!

It was about this point, we realized we didn’t really know what to do if a herd of bison charge at you… run away? Doesn’t seem too smart, you’re probably not going to outrun them. Drop to the ground and play dead? Nope, you would get trampled for sure. Climb a tree? Excellent option, although there were no trees around. Hmmm, if all else fails, retreat it is then. And so we backed off politely and left them to it.

So now we have Trail Closed due to Bison to add to our list. Undeterred, we drove to a different trailhead and still got our hike in, with cool views of the Yellowstone Grand Canyon.

With all this amazing camping, scenery and wildlife, sometimes it’s tough to know what to blog about. You could be forgiven for thinking that with our bumbling ‘caravan’ lifestyle and progression in hobbies from running to hiking to fly fishing, that we are truly middle aged. Time to reverse that thinking with our next adrenaline-packed adventure: Via Ferrata.

Italian for Iron Path, Via Ferrata started in the Dolomites (actually as pathways for the Italian army over the mountains in the First World War) and the number has grown over the last 30 years. It is now popular in many other mountain regions in Europe, primarily as a Summer tourist activity. It’s not yet big in the US however. The Via Ferrata in Teton Village near Jackson, Wyoming, was the first in the US – and is only in its second season, having opened in 2017.

I didn’t have too much in the way of expectations. In fact I really didn’t know quite what to expect at all. I’d seen a picture of a narrow suspension bridge that you had to cross, and that didn’t bother me too much. I’m not afraid of heights, just afraid of falling. So walking with something solid and reliable under my feet is fine, even with a few hundred feet drop below. I thought they would play on the irrational vertigo-induced phobia that many people have, and the Via Ferrata would consist of these narrow suspension bridges along with precarious ledges and steep drops, all while being safely clipped in.

Umm no. Well, not really. Yes there were steep drops, and indeed they do throw in a suspension bridge (more for the photo ops I think) – but what it’s really about is climbing. Climbing up a rock face at the top of a mountain.

A climber I am not. Luckily, this is very much assisted climbing, for those of us who struggle with contemplating the likes of a sheer bare rock face. So it’s not just you vs the mountain, they throw in some iron steps set securely into the rock, and steel cable strung along the route to clip carabiners into. So even that I could cope with. But no. They also throw in random bits in between where there are no iron steps and you have to negotiate the rock face, looking for crevices – basically anywhere suitable to plant a foot or grip with a hand, to give you leverage to climb up to the next out of reach iron rung.

Luckily, we’d opted for the private tour option – just me, Darren and our guide. I brought up the rear – but it was never made to feel like it was a race (kinda happy about that, I would have earned a wooden spoon). I ritually followed our guide’s advice of never having less than 3 points of contact on the rock (out of two hands and two feet). In fact, I frequently went above and beyond in having way more than that, using elbows, knees and bum for contact with the rock. Most ungainly I’m sure, but it worked. Put it this way – I made it through in one piece. I’d even go as far as to say that I enjoyed it.

Via Ferrata : I came. I saw. I conquered.

Would I do it again? Well, rumour has it they’ve just opened a Via Ferrata in Mammoth, so maybe, just maybe, I will.

Kind of feel I earned that beer!

And…. RELAX!!!