“So much of our time is spent in cities. It takes earthly oceans and deserts to recall what thriving emptiness can do to a being.” – Old Sean
Recovery in Casper
Following an ill-advised night of punching through snowstorms, I creaked open gritty eyes to stare at an unfamiliar ceiling in Casper, Wyoming. I wiggled in my sleeping bag slightly and found my compatriots, Krone and Even likewise stirring.
As a groggy group, we stood and begin showering and packing, loading up our vehicle with naturally advancing Tetras skills. It was then we drove casually into the tiny city, swerving around ice patches and pulling into a chrome-colored-building that doubled as a silver-age diner, Johnny J’s Diner. There, burgers were planted in front of us, sugary deserts we paraded in our menu and all of us overate spectacularly.
After a brief shopping trip where Krone restocked on his infamous macadamia nut supply, we made a brief detour through town.
It was a shock to find Casper was the second biggest town in Wyoming. In the previous night, we had barely passed any town of note aside from perhaps Cheyanne. Wyoming does not have metroplexes by any stretch of the imagination.
Empty Road Trip
Regardless, we detoured north, heading to the amusingly named Barr Nun. This postage-stamp town is behind a toxic looking swamp of stagnant frozen water and old mechanical parts.
However, what makes Barr Nun interesting is it’s unique and highly recognizable layout. The town is built atop a decommissioned airfield, and the roads and parks reflect it perfectly. The most popular bar in town, the Hanger, is an actual converted airplane hanger.
With that little visual treat under our belts, I spun the wheel, fondled the gas pedal and we were off again, racing through the snow-pocketed rolling plains of Wyoming.
Mountains remained a bluish hue in the distance and all signs of civilization abandoned us. Markers claiming towns were nearby rushed past just as fast as the “towns” themselves; a mere smattering of buildings boasting populations of ten or below.
The Sharplands
It was along this route we pulled off to see Hell’s Half Acre. Ringed in a tall chain link fence, this feature was a notorious Native American hunting ground, where America’s original people’s drove buffalo in droves, sending them into chasm and trapping them in the unique geological valley.
Hell’s Half Acre is a sporadic mess of cliffs and spires, coming out of the ground like an ocean at it’s most tumultuous. Snow tucked deep in some crevices and melted clear in others made the area more alien than I would have believed.
We continued on, sunlight searing our eyes, ghost town after ghost town vanishing within moments of our passing. For long hours, there was remarkably little to see, although the rolls of the land and churn of the sky kept the landscape from ever seeming monotonous.
Finally, the features began to shift rapidly into something more dynamic and diverse, wish sharp swings of the road and new cliffs rising to meet us.
Rez Drive
We entered the Wind River Indian Reservation, where flat pillars of stone, red and grey began bracing the edges of the road. I feathered the breaks with more and more frequency, since herds of surefooted bighorn sheep tapped along cliff edges. White-tailed deer also dominated the area, freezing and trotting in equal measures when our car went past.
We rested here for a time, crouching in dense, leaf-bare bramble while a freezing flat river trickled past smoothing stones along it’s edges. A pair of deer bolted away and mud was slick beneath our feet.
We continued on for only a minute before spotting an unexpected roadside treat. Old military tanks stood firm and covered in frost on the side of the road.
This was the National Museum of Military Vehicles which boasts an impressive display of hardware. Pilot training shells, river crossing vehicles, WWII anti-aircraft guns, amphibious platoon transporters, light WWI tanks and of course the iconic Sherman all were parked outside in stellar condition. There were black walls in the parking lot, honoring veterans and the building itself was in pristine condition.
Due to time constraints, we didn’t enter, but touring around the outside sights was a distinct pleasure.
The Dubois Stop
It was from here we wandered into Dubois, Wyoming which was an outlandishly political experience.
Trump 2020 flags still flew high in town and when we wandered into a gas station with our fabric masks for road snacks, our reception was decidedly frosty.
We then went to an even odder stop within town called the Country Store. This small shop boasted a life-sized statue of the famously fake cryptid, the Jackalope. This was actually a full model, roughly as big as a horse, fully saddled and combining the antlers of an antelope and the haunches and face of a jack-rabbit.
In this establishment, Evan and I opted not to wear masks and our greeting was effusively friendly, unlike the masked man who checked out before us. So kind was our visit, we ended up leaving with a heavy amount of freshly made chocolate turtles, mint marshmallows, dark chocolate with nuts and huckleberry gummy bears.
Mask politics are a strange thing to live through in this day and age.
There were other fun sights in Dubois, Wyoming as well. Arches made of discarded antlers, a mind shaft behind a building boarded shut, a leather tannery standing next to an honest-to-god saloon and homey cabins ready to stand against the splintering of time and modernization. Very cool little town.
Yellowstone Horizon
Onward, we began to reach out ultimate goal, with Yellowstone just beyond our headlights. We began driving through the breathtaking beauty of Grand Teton National Park and Bridger Teton National Forest.
Snow stood high here, four feet deep and frozen into a hard, weight-bearing ice shell. Snowmobiles puttered in the distance, leaving great sweeping tacks along the hills and thick pines began springing up straight and powerful around us. The snow blinded our eyes as we clambered about before continuing on our way.
Moments later we crossed the continental divide, sending any water spilled here west to the Pacific rather than east to the distant Atlantic. In honor, I spit out the window. I’m sure that valiant glob is a quarter way to the Pacific as I post this.
Moments later, we were forced to stop as a cautious line of mule deer stalked across the road in single file, more emerging from the trees skittishly. Once past them, our destination was minutes away.
Finally, we pulled up to the southern entrance for Yellowstone, only to find it shuttered. Supposedly the West Gate was open, but that was an extremely long loop out West.
Western Recalibration
Slightly daunted, Krone, Evan and I regrouped at the post office where I asked a man from Jackson for advice. He told me with utter confidence that the western gate was also locked for the season, bringing a certain amount of glumness down on my party. I’d never found anything online that Yellowstone was entirely shuttered for the season.
Regardless of circumstances, we needed a place to plan our next phase. Jackson, to the west and south was our only realistic option, so with an urgency brought on by the falling sun, we drove forth.
We paused only once more, glancing across the wide planes and crowning mountains to peer into the gorge that hosted Snake River. Hundreds more mule deer decorated the roads as we drove, but blessedly none blocked our path again.
In Jackson, we asked for directions from a lovely hotel hostess.
“Is the west gate for Yellowstone open?”
And her perfectly manicured voice replied, “Open now? No, it’s not, but let me check.”
“No?”
“Ah, wait, yes, yes it is. It opened April fourteenth.”
And with that tidbit I jogged back to our battered Equinox to tell my compatriots our unholy luck was holding strong.
Thrive and Drive
I’d like to stop here and mention that Jackson is an utterly beautiful, if somewhat bourgeoise town. There are great sights, high-end hotels, deer-antler arches, stunning vistas, rings of numerous parks, snug cabins, a long and bustling shopping avenue all while nestled in the shadow and sunset of mountains.
The next portion of the drive took us upward, finally trading off the wheel to Evan to weave through the night. We pushed on, finally, finally reaching West Gate as a waning moon blared out the stars. We opted for a hotel for the night, promising to start fresh and earnest in the morning. We stayed at a lovely Day’s Inn, where a water pipe had broken outside leaving a huge, crystal gout of clear ice.
In defiance to this prior declaration for rest, Evan and I decided to roll the dice on a local bar for a drink while Krone settled in for an early night. Armed in too many layers, we pitched through the night until we reached The Buffalo Bar. Trophy heads of deer hung on the wall and a huge taxidermy bison kicked it’s legs forever near the bar.
Again, in defiance of early mornings, I downed a pair of Old Fashions while Evan sampled the local brews and the night was whittled into tomorrow. We returned to our hotel room in an awkwardly ill-oriented loop and settled in for the night.
Tomorrow, we enter Yellowstone, the land of thermal reactions, the home of a world-ending super volcano and range for America’s most iconic and endangered creatures.
Until then,
Best regards and excellent trails,
Old Sean
Written April 20th 2021
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The GoPro Hero Black is my go to Action camera. I’m not comfortable bringing my cell phone to many wet and rugged locations, so the GoPro does most of my photographic heavy-lifting. The only things I bring in my GoPro kit are the camera, a spare battery and the forehead mount. I upgrade my GoPro once every two years. It was particularly excellent to have during my aquatic tour of Belize.
