Filed under: There and Back Again
Laurel and I wandered around downtown Philly for a little while, I fell in-love with the City Hall building. It is just so imposing and fancy and, well, gorgeous. I wished it had been open (we visited on Saturday) so I could wander around the inside as well.
While I was in Phoenix last February, HRH and I visited the LOVE sculpture in Scottsdale. I actually didn’t know that the original–and much smaller sculpture–was in Philadelphia. The one in Arizona is probably 20 feet tall, so big you can crawl around on it and be, literally, in love. The original is much smaller, elevated and cased in green instead of turquoise. Did I still love it? Of course! I’m a sucker for such things!
That fountain is not usually green, it was dyed for a football game. I promise it’s safe to to drink water in Philly.
As much as I loved Philly, and how much it loves Diet Dr. Pepper, I am not a fan of humidity. At all. I am a desert girl, I love the dry heat of the American west. I really just don’t function well with the wet and the soggy and the feeling of just having gotten out of the shower the second you walk out the door. That being said, I love how the moss grows on everything. We don’t have moss out West, and it is still so romantic to me. I’m sure it gets old, and I’m sure you East Coasters get sick of the moss and the ivy covering everything, but lawsy, it is gorgeous.
In my wanderings around Philly, I took several hundred photos (I pinky promise I won’t post them all here) and was constantly amazed at all the enormous trees, the cobblestones, and the narrow streets. In Salt Lake 7 city blocks are one mile, that means our streets are really wide and our blocks are enormous. The idea of crossing a street in seven steps, and a block in 25 just blows my mind (and yes, these are actual numbers, I counted, in several different parts of the city).
This is perhaps my favorite photo from my traipsing around the city. For the rest of the photos, check out my Flickr set.
Filed under: There and Back Again
In September I spent a lovely, girly weekend in Philadelphia with Laurel and RA. I’ll get to the lovely time I had with both of them in a post or two, first I want to talk about my visit to historic Philadelphia, the part that feels like you have walked onto the set of National Treasure. You know, without the spontaneous plot to steal the Declaration of Independence or the bad guys trying to kill you.
Independence Hall–the site of the founding of the United States, the signing of the Declaration of Independence and creation of the Constitution–was under a bit of construction, but the inside was still fascinating, even though much smaller than I had anticipated.
There it is, folks, under thick, darkly tinted, bullet proof glass and heavily guarded. I was in Philly the weekend of September 11th, and there was quite a bit of seemingly extra security around Independence Hall, Constitution Hall and the Liberty Bell.
George Washington, in front of Independence Hall.
One of the upper rooms of Independence Hall, I love all the gray-blue trim throughout the whole building.
I don’t know why I love this so much, but the curly-q stair rail was one of my favorite parts of the building.
The Liberty Bell, I’m not sure why I was so excited to see the bell either, but the crack, the history, the nostalgia. Don’t know, but it was cool to stand and people-watch as dozens of tourists filed past the bell and all the surrounding displays.
Ben Franklin’s grave, I found this small cemetery quite by accident and wished I had a penny in my pocket to contribute. As it was, I took pictures of his grave and the really old, slightly creepy cemetery.
Just around the corner was a firehouse with a fantastic sculpture of Ben Franklin himself.
The outside was completely covered in keys. Hello, awesome! After a bit more wandering I stumbled upon Elfreth’s Alley, the longest inhabited street in the United States.
Unfortunately, it was garbage day. It took quite a bit of maneuvering to get a picture that wasn’t littered with boxes and piles and bags of trash and recycling. But, I got to spend a good 30 minutes wandering up and down the street taking pictures of all the doors. I have a thing with doors, apparently.
Yep, again, I loved everything about it.
I think this is one of the first bank buildings, maybe the first? Not sure, but I was totally crushing on the columns, and, as my feet were getting tired and the afternoon was waning and it was time for dinner with Laurel and RA.
I got to spend a day geeking out about history and America and old buildings, and then I got to spend the evening hanging out with two lovely ladies. Quite a fabulous weekend, I’d say! For more photos, check out my Flickr set.
At the top of Glacier National Park is Logan Pass and a fairly short hike to Hidden Lake. After a glorious motorcycle ride on the Going-to-the-Sun Road, I stripped down in the parking lot to change from biking clothes (jeans) to hiking clothes (running skirt). What, don’t judge! The only other option was taking my chances in one of the scary, smelly, cramped port-a-potty’s. Not. Happening. (Also, there is no photographic evidence of said scandalousness, so as far as anyone else is concerned, it probably didn’t happen and I’m just making stuff up for a better story.)
I’ve never experienced the kind of winter where it lasts for 9 months, so when we arrived at the visitor’s center and there were still patches of snow on the peaks I just thought “Cool, high elevation!” Um, no. Not really. Well, yes, it’s a high elevation, but not so long prior to my arrival the entire building was still covered in snow. May I remind you, the photo above was taken towards the end of August.
Yeah, this was the end of June. Hello, winter, nice you’ve made it past the equinox. The summer equinox, not the spring one.
At any rate, J-Mo and I shed our biking gear, strapped on hiking stuff and headed up the trail. It was beautiful, the weather was perfectly cool and breezy to counteract the up-hill hiking and sunshine.
I think roundtrip the Hidden Lake hike is only about 3 miles, but I was surprised and delighted at how much snow was still on the trail. I mean, I would have been had I not packed only watershoes. My Teva’s are sturdy and perfect for tramping through rivers, like the Hidden Canyon of Secrets in Southern Utah. But snow? Well, my toesies got a bit cold a time or two. Nothing frostbitten or anything, just slushy.
J-Mo and I happened across a small family of mountain goats.
The first glimpse of Hidden Lake. This sizable body of water is all glacier melt and the clear, blue color is amazing. I think I audibly gasped when the lake appeared through the trees.
Sitting on the rocks rehydrating and having a little mid-hike snack and laughing with J-Mo was probably the highlight of this trip. I couldn’t have been more content. My stresses (which I promise I’ll fill you in on soon) receded and the high mountain air really began to work it’s magic.
J-Mo and I.
As we made our way back to the visitors center I was more and more fascinated with how much snow was still on the ground. Let it be known that I threw a snowball on August 20, 2011. And then I threw another one. And then J-Mo and I got in an epic snow/slush ball fight.
See? There’s still a LOT of snow to throw at people, er, I mean, to hike through.
Gorgeous, just gorgeous. Even though they aren’t splashed around the Interwebs in these last few posts, J-Mo’s parents came with us on their Harley’s and as charming and hilarious as ever. It was awesome to spend the weekend with them on another Harley adventure.
A few weeks ago J-Mo and I went on a much needed break to Glacier National Park in northern Montana. Glacier is known for amazing hiking and a very short summer season. One of the most gorgeous stretches of road in the country, the Going-to-the-Sun Road, goes through the park and in mid-June it was still buried under several feet of snow. Opening in July and already closed for the year, the window to experience this drive is pretty narrow.
The Going-to-the-Sun Road was built as part of FDR’s New Deal social spending, it is 50 miles long and quite narrow, the winding road hugs the side of the cliff with a thousand plus foot drop-off on one side and views that take your breath away.
Luckily, J-Mo and I were on a motorcycle, so we got to drink up as much of the gorgeous views as were there to enjoy.
The Going-to-the-Sun Road snakes to about the center of this photo, see that skinny little line heading up the side of the mountain? Yeah, that’s the road. And it is incredible.
Even though it was late August, the green in the park was so vibrant because, well, it was technically still “spring” in Glacier.
I can’t get enough of this view. This Glacier trip came on the heels of one of the more emotional weeks I’ve ever had (which is saying a lot as the last week of my life reduced me to tears at least a half-dozen times. See: midterms, college is hard, PMS, palpable loneliness, etc.) Spending six or seven hundred miles on the back of a motorcycle, the wind in my hair and clothes, sun on my face and my arms wrapped around J-Mo was the best possible thing I could have done at the time. Come to think of it, perhaps I need some more of this therapy? I’ll look into it.
Taken near the summit of the Going-to-the-Sun Road, looking down into the park.
J-Mo and I, in all my Harley glory. Jacket? Check. Biker headband? Check. Real biker? Ehhhh…probably not, the Mo family are hardcore Harley people, I am an excellent weekend warrior.
Stopped for construction traffic just shy of Logan Pass, looking down the canyon with the road on the right.
In our two days in the park, J-Mo and I went up and down the Going-to-the-Sun Road twice, once in the early evening when the setting sun turns the world into a jewel box of gorgeous light, and once in the morning when, despite the chilly temperatures, the morning light made everything sparkle. Yes, the mountains sparkled. Don’t try and contradict me on this one. I took hundreds of photos from my perch on the back of the Harley, but I also want you to see more of Glacier than this one road, despite it’s gorgeousness.
Lake McDonald, view from the pier at the lodge. The reflection on the lake was absolutely beautiful, the lodge was calm and reminiscent of the enormous grand lodges of last century, not quite as big as the one in Yellowstone, but still very impressive.
This is the opposite side of the park from Lake McDonald. This small glacier-melt lake is in West Glacier at the European-chalet style lodge and you can see 5 remaining glaciers from the expansive deck looking over the water. Can I point them out here? No. (Evidence that I really should blog about things as they happen instead of wait for two months when I no longer remember names and details. Noted.) The thing I really recall about this particular lodge is the huckleberry soft-serve ice cream that changed my life, and staring at the mountain side for what seemed like hours trying to locate the bears. Yes, bears. Bears wandering around the trails, preventing hiking. Bears that dozens of people claimed to have seen. Bears which, according to me and my perfect vision were completely non-existent. I feel like I should have been upset about the wildlife messing with my hiking plans, but by this point J-Mo and I had been on a motorcycle for a couple of hundred miles and the idea of relaxing on the wide, sunny deck at the lodge eating ice cream sounded much better than sweating my way up the side of a mountain.
Yes. This. Love.
Filed under: There and Back Again
Sra and I decided to hit-up the Portland Art Museum and while I am yet again reminded that I don’t understand or appreciate most modern art (as in, the last 20 years, Picasso is awesome), the museum had an absolutely fantastic exhibit of old cars.
It looked like The Great Gatsby’s parking lot with Bentley’s and Rolls Royce’s standing in all their V8 glory. Goodness, they were shiny.
I’m not really big into cars, but you can’t help but be bowled over by a hunk of machinery that weighs 5,500 pounds and has the engine of a hot rod.
These dozen or so beauties were my favorite part of the museum, hands down.
Gazing and drooling over these automobiles (they are so much more than “cars”) made me want to throw a flapper-era party with fancy drinks and costumes required.
Eventually, Sra had to go back to work and I had a day of my own to explore the city. Left to my own devices there is really only one place I will end up: book store.
Oh. My. Gaaaah! Powell’s isn’t just a “bookstore”, it’s book heaven.
There are rooms and rooms full of books, but I found it fairly easy to navigate due to their excellent organization. I browsed the economics aisles, the feminism aisles, the fashion section, the cook books, the novels and poetry, the classics and travel sections. After several hours of happy browsing I walked away with a dozen new-to-me books to love.
After all that book-hunting, it was time for lunch. I had heard rumors of Portland’s famous food carts and set off to find them.
After some excellent Mexican food and the most delicious rhubarb frozen yogurt, I was off to do some more shopping and wandering. I found a few vintage stores, hit a funky-shopping jackpot at Tender Loving Empire, and found a long-sought after turquoise necklace at Ray’s Ragtime thrift store.
Satiated with my finds, I hopped on the train up to Washington Park to visit the Japanese Tea Gardens.
While the Chinese Gardens were very relaxing and peaceful, the Japanese gardens were traditional and had layers and layers of green.
Honestly, it was surreal how green this little corner of the world was, it was absolutely gorgeous.
I still can’t get over the moss that covers everything in Portland. Utah doesn’t have moss, a little lichen in the mountains, but no moss.
After wandering around for a while, I decided to head down the hill to the International Rose Test Garden, also in Washington Park.
My great-grandmother loved roses, and she taught my mom how to take care of them. While I was growing up the entire east side of our house was a rose garden with probably two dozen different bushes. My mom picked roses for their scent, not their look, and during the summer she’d cut a hundred blooms from that garden every few days. Our house always smelled like fresh roses, which is a completley different smell than the roses that come from the florist.
I loved walking through the rows and rows of roses, inhaling the sweet smell of “real” roses.
I only took a hundred pictures of flowers while in Portland, but hey, I couldn’t help it! They were everywhere!
Before heading home, I met up with Rhi for breakfast and Lindz for some Starbucks, and was again reminded how the people in The Internet are so awesome. A millions thanks again to Sra for a wonderful weekend! See the rest of the Flickr set here.
Filed under: There and Back Again
Portland, Oregon. City of Roses, home of Powell’s Books and famous for treehuggers and food carts. A few years ago an old roommate of mine, Sra, got accepted to law school in Portland and a few weeks ago I decided to take advantage of a long weekend and her generous hospitality and spend a few days in the Northwest.
First up was the Portland Saturday Market, a giant craft market where you can buy everything from handmade clothing or soap to a hand-carved sculpture of your face as a garden gnome. I wish I was kidding about that, but no. Garden gnomes are rampant at the Saturday market. I wish I had the room in my suitcase to bring a few home as white elephant gifts. After stopping for an extra-delicious pita sandwich from the Beirut Cafe stand (seriously, recommended), Sra and I, with her boyfriend in tow, headed out to see the rest of the market. My favorite stand was the stand that sold carnivorous plants, Venus Flytraps and this tube thingies that would trap insects and gobble them up. I don’t know why I’m so fascinated by these, but I have had this twisted love for insect-eating plants since I first learned about them in grade school. If there was any chance of a Flytrap surviving in the harsh Salt Lake winter I would have bought one in a minute. As is, I simply oooh’d and aaaah’d over them and headed to the next booth.
Temporary Tattoo-ing. Everyone is doing it.
After watching several people get spray-on tats, I decided that hey, why not. For only $3 dollars and a few days commitment I decided that a prancing pink and purple pony would be perfect. (And I swear that’s the last time I will use that much alliteration in one sentence.)
Mr. Tattoo Face (probably not his real name) didn’t even crack a smile when I told him what I wanted, in fact, he very seriously asked me specifics on what kind of shading and coloring I wanted on the pony mane and tail. I think everyone should respond that way when I tell them I want a pony.
Cute, right? Granted, it only lasted for a day and not the 3-5 that was promised, but I’m not complaining. I loved seeing that prancy cuteness peeking out from my wrist all day long.
What is that voodoo that you do for donu…okay, that doesn’t rhyme. Whatever.
We wandered through Chinatown to Voodoo Doughnut’s, but one look at the line that zig-zagged back and forth across the sidewalk, and we opted to go to Sesame Donuts instead. With absolutely no line and delicious donuts, no harm no foul! (I did go back to Voodoo later on my trip, and frankly, while they win on funky decor and charm, their donuts were no more delicious than Sesame. And now you know. You’re welcome.)
Our next stop was Uwajimaya, an Asian market and grocery store that has absolutely everything you can imagine. They have hundreds of types of mystery food, with labels in Japanese, Korean or Chinese I had trouble identifying what they were, exactly, but I did come away with some fantastic kitchen accessories and a package of lavender noodles. I’ll let you know how they taste.
Sra and I decided to check out the Chinese Gardens in Portland. I wasn’t expecting much, and was kind of blown away by how tranquil and peaceful this little block felt.
There were pathways and ponds and bridges and terraces and little pavilions tucked away in half-hidden corners. I wish I a) had a block of ground to translate into a Chinese garden and b) the funds to hire a little Chinese man to make it as beautiful as these gardens.
I loved all the intricate, dark trim on white buildings and cool tile.
Sra and I settled into the Tea House for a little refreshment after a long day of walking. Jasmine flower tea for her, and a red bean Mooncake for me.
Sigh. Gorgeous.
You know, before you think Portland is all tranquility and mushy gooshing about gardens, there are also plenty of crazies, lots of funky-colored hair, and Portland has learned to embrace their, well, weirdness.
Portlanders: Just keepin’ it real, yo. See the rest of the Flickr set here.
Ely, Nevada is in the middle of White Pine County and 120 miles south of Wendover. This area is universally known as The Middle of Nowhere. On that 120 mile stretch there isn’t a single gas station, or a diner, or even a lived-in trailer park (abandoned ones, yes, but no active ones).
(Leaving the Salt Flats, heading south on US 93)
Ely itself is a booming metropolis of about 4,500 people (no, that is not a comma mistake) and more shuttered businesses than open ones. So it may surprise you that my weekend spent there was full of interesting things and gorgeous vistas, right? Well, it surprised me.
First up was the East Ely historic train station, which still operates several daily steam trains for tourists and is home to the Nevada Northern Railway Museum.
The train yard is small, but they have several different cars, engines, and a couple of overall-clad workers manning the trains. We timed it dead-wrong to take a ride, but wandered around the yard, across the tracks, and peeked in the windows of the various cars.
I immediately fell in-love with the yellow caboose, it reminded me of my dearly departed Daisy Mae. (To those of you new here, Daisy was my beloved VW bug who died to save me. True story. A sad, true story.) You can spend the night in the caboose for a small fee (ok, it’s kind of expensive), but the idea of paying that much money to sleep on an uncomfortable bed without an adjacent bathroom in the Middle of Nowhere, Nevada–especially when I had a perfectly comfortable bed to sleep in–preempted any train-sleeping for me. But hey, it’s an option, and now you know.
Either the museum was closed, or it consisted of some very lovely black-and-white photographs, a train table for little kids, and a bunch of T-shirts and conductor-stripe hats for sale. Either way, the train yard was fun to wander around, with or without a bonafide museum.
I don’t think I’ve been this close to a legit train since I was a kid and rode the Heber Creeper. You know, before it was given a makeover to be Thomas the Train or the Polar Express. I’m talking cowboys on horseback jump on the train and rob you of all your money, THAT was a good time. (Do they still do this? Goodness, I hope so. It’d be worth checking out, methinks.)
After we had sufficiently wandered around the train yard and museum, J-Mo and I headed out towards the mountains with a quick stop at the Ruth Mine to watch all the Tonka Trucks. Er, I mean, the mine trucks.
Now, I don’t know if you can see the teensy little stop sign that comes perhaps half-way up the tire for that mining truck…but, um, those trucks are enormous. And even fully laden they can move pretty darn quick. If all hauling vehicles were super heroes, this truck would be The Hulk; only, yellow instead of green. Obviously.
That boy of mine sure does love his trucks. (Detail: J-Mo is a civil engineer, so his interest in mining and dirt and big, giant trucks is central to his occupation. Although even if he were an accountant and was still obsessed with oversized Tonka’s I’d still think it was adorable.)
Instead of heading back to town, J-Mo and I headed out on the Success Loop to see what we could see.
First stop, Cave Lake State Park. This lake was lovely, small, quiet, and surrounded by fishermen. I wish we had packed a picnic or a canoe.
As it was, we’d just filled up on a delicious lunch and homemade pie at Big Apple in Ely (the Philly and the peach cobbler are recommended!) and I’d left my canoe in my other purse. So, after exploring the small beach we were on our way again.
The Success Loop was a surprisingly beautiful drive. The mountains surrounding Ely are covered in trees and gorgeously green right now. And the wildflowers! Oh my goodness, people, they have millions of wildflowers! Perhaps I go to the wrong parts of Utah canyons, or perhaps at the wrong time, but I have never in my life seen as many wildflowers as I saw on this loop!
These wild, yellow daisies were in clumps all over the sage-covered hills. And I audibly squealed when we came around a corner and saw fields of them. I don’t think I’ve seen anything like it, they were everywhere!
Of course I requested a quick stop so I could tramp through the daisies. Do you remember that scene from the beginning of Disney’s Alice in Wonderland where Alice is laying in a giant field of daisies and she’s making daisy crowns for the cat? I have always loved that scene, and this little photo-romp through a couple of acres of wild yellow daisies was as close as I’ve ever been to re-enacting it. Too bad I didn’t have my Alice costume with me (it’s in my other bag…with the canoe). Next time, next time.
As we reached the summit the sun was starting to sink behind the mountains. The elk came out. I kept taking pics of wildflowers because, well, I just couldn’t stop myself. At first I thought this was a columbine, but when I climbed out of the truck to get a closer look I think it’s actually a wild, mountain iris. I was chatting with an Ely woman the next day and she told me that there was a field on the Success Loop that is full of mountain iris in a dozen different colors. It was dark by the time we hit that part of the road, but I would have loved to see that. Iris and daisies are two of my favorite flowers (you can see, now, why this particular drive was so squee-inducing for me, right?)
Also–little known fact–the mountains of White Pine County are home to thousands of Sego Lily’s. Now, even though it is the state flower of Utah, up until a few months ago I had never seen a Sego Lily. Native American’s taught the Mormon Pioneers who settled the Salt Lake valley that Sego Lily bulbs, which they considered a delicacy, could be eaten if there was a great enough need for food. Unfortunately, in those first few years the pioneers had a lot of rough winters and their crops were thin. (Oh, and what came up was eaten by millions of crickets, who were then devoured by flocks of seagulls. The crops survived, the pioneers didn’t starve, and the seagull earned the honor of state bird.) So, the pioneers ate a lot of bulbs, survived the winter, and deemed the lily as the state flower. (Does anyone else see a pattern here?) At this point Sego Lily’s are endangered in Utah and almost impossible to find.
So, imagine my surprise to discover that those small, white flowers dotting the roadside were, in fact, the elusive Sego Lily. I almost wanted to write a poem on the spot in the style of The Scarlet Pimpernell, but I’m not very good at on-the-spot rhyming and the syllable structures were throwing me off, so I took pictures instead. And you know what they say, a picture is worth a thousa… anyway. Moving on. The point is Humboldt National Forest in White Pine County has thousands and thousands of beautifully delicate Sego Lily’s, and I was thisclose to digging a few up to bring home with me. (I didn’t, but I seriously thought about it.) It is comforting to know that even though my state is practically void of their state flower, just a few hundred miles west they have them in droves.
As dusk rolled through the purpley mountains, Nature pulled out all the stops and painted up one of the most beautiful sunsets I have ever seen. The colors were so intense! Bright orange, and molten-lava yellow, and deep, dusty purples.
Seriously, this is exactly what the sky looked like. Photoshop not required.
Overall, this was a surprisingly beautiful and busy weekend spent in the Middle of Nowhere White Pine County, Nevada. See full Flickr set here.
In my 28 years living in the Wild, Wild, Rocky Mountain West I have never been to Yellowstone National Park. Until a few weeks ago. On my way back from Montana I decided to take the long way home and drive through Yellowstone and the Tetons. I’m afraid and delighted that I will never be quite the same, the gorgeous mountain vistas, the sheer scope of the park, the geysers and hot pots, the smell of unadulterated sulphur. It was amazing. I wish I had a few more days in the park, I would have loved to take a few hikes and get off the beaten path. Part of me wishes I had someone to share those vistas and experiences with, and the rest of me is happy that I went alone, just me, the buffalo, and ten million acres of wilderness.
From Gardiner, MT I came through the historic Roosevelt gate, commissioned by President Roosevelt when Yellowstone National Park was created. I picked up my Annual National Park Pass, and off I went exploring.
Mammoth Hot Springs, the orangey parts of the formations are the parts that currently have water running over them and the white parts are dry. Depending on the springs below these formations, parts can be dry or wet and things change all the time. In the 1970′s the entire thing was orangey and slippery. Now it is mostly white and dry.
I wandered through these springs for a good hour, snapping a couple dozen pics as I went. I’m still fascinated by the colors and the intricate details of some of the formations, it’s almost like coral.
It would be a waterfall, you know, if it wasn’t made out of rock-hard mineral-coral (that is a technical term that I just made up, by the way).
Aren’t these beautiful!? I can’t get over it.
First buffalo sighting, there is no zoom involved in this shot. Awesome.
A canyon vista on the way to Tower Falls. This view only gets better and better, stick with me. I drove up Mt. Washburn to Dunraven Pass, and down the other side to see the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone.
I could look at this view all day, it almost looks like a painting, photo taken at the brink of the Lower Falls.
I didn’t hike up to the Upper Falls of the Yellowstone, but I did go to a look out to see the Lower Falls. This view? Also amazing.
After a long day of exploring the park, I headed to West Yellowstone for the night and had my first bison pot roast and it was delicious. Yellowstone: don’t feed the wildlife, eat them with gravy.
The next morning on my way into the park I saw a herd of buffalo, including a few pale babies that just make your heart melt. For as wooly and mammothy as they grow up to be, those babies are adorable. (Note: I also saw 2 wolves, a black bear, and a couple of deer…although not a single pic of those animals turned out recognizable, so you’ll just have to take my word for it.)
The Celestine Pool in the Lower Geyser Basin, which is just outside of Old Faithful.
The Grand Fountain Geyser, a constant gurgle of boiling water and steam.
Old Faithful. It’s faithful alright, it spit up right on the dot. Honestly, I was pretty underwhelmed by Old Faithful, I’m glad I saw it, but I’m also glad I showed up right on time so I only had to wait for 10 minutes before seeing the geyser blow.
West Thumb of Yellowstone Lake, this was perhaps my favorite and the most picturesque place that I visited. The lake is beautiful and the geyser system next to it have these gorgeous aqua and green pools with orangey-red surrounding soil. It’s stunning.
Those colors are incredible, and the steam coming up from the pools makes it feel like you are walking through a sauna (mind you, it was chilly enough that I needed a jacket, so the sauna-steam felt fantastic).
There is this wooden walkway that leads you around the hot pots, and it is worth every step (I think total it’s about a 1.2 mile walk).
I am withholding a ridiculous amount of restraint in posting pics of West Thumb, I took about 200 photos here, not all of which turned out, sure, but there are a dozen more beautifully gorgeous ones on Flickr.
After finally extricating myself from West Thumb, I headed south towards the Grand Tetons, passing Moose Falls on my way out.
See all photos here (and there’s a ton more, I have only posted 20 of my 100 favorites here.)
Philipsburg, MT is the biggest city in Granite County (it’s still a really small town though), and notable for their quaint downtown, overpriced food, and an amazing candy shop.
The Sweet Palace is on the main floor of one of the Victorian buildings on Main Street, and the shelves are packed with glass jars full of every kind of candy and sweet that you have ever (or never) heard of. I could have walked in circles for days and not seen everything I wanted to try. (Note: I need to learn how to adjust my camera to take pictures inside, because they all turned out orangey and blurry. Learning curve on SLR, right here.) They also have a big selection of various flavored chocolate and a fudge counter where they give everyone
Granite Ghost Town and Mine are located in the mountains above Philipsburg, and frankly, if I hadn’t seen a little blurb about it in guide book I bought for this trip we would have missed it completely. (By the way, that book was the best $15 I spent for the entire trip.) The road to get up there is really steep and 4WD is definitely required. The views over the valley are stunning and the ruins of the town and mine are hauntingly fascinating.
The town part wasn’t very big, perhaps 10 collapsed buildings long with the biggest one–a 3-story Miners’ Union Hall–being the one that was most impossible to photograph. I loved the eerie, almost surreal quality of this place. (Yes, I edited these pics to be more ghost town/old timey because the bright colors didn’t really give the feel that I wanted of the town. My blog, my rules.)
The old mine was a bit up the hill from the town, and it was fascinating. The rock wall that was half-collapsed, the stamped bricks, the enormous wood pillars and the dilapidated building up at the top. Part of me wished I had the space and where-with-all to haul a couple of those distressed wood columns home–they really were beautiful up-close. (Yes, I totally crawled all over that pile of wood and brick and stone. In flip-flops. Carefully clutching my camera as I scrambled up to the top. That’s just how I roll.)
**Editor’s Note: I had initially decided to break this post into two separate ones, but I seem to be on a roll right now and I’m excited to get to the Yellowstone leg of my trip, all 437 pictures of it. Yes, I’m serious. At any rate, on we go from Philipsburg to Helena to Bozeman.**
After stocking up on candy at The Sweet Palace and touring the ghost town, J-Mo and headed back to his parent’s house. A few days later he and I went on a 100+ mile Harley ride through some gorgeous country and an unpleasant downpour. Of course, I didn’t take a single picture of that. (Don’t judge me, I had the wind in my hair and was trying really hard to dodge the bugs that kept dive-bombing my face). Before I had to pack up and head back home, J-Mo and I had one last adventure on the Green Jeep Tour, starting with an off-roading attempt over the pass between Butte and Helena. Unfortunately, even in June, there was too much snow to get through. I’m sure we would have just gone for it if we had a bottle of extra water, and real shoes, and perhaps a jacket. Here’s to being responsible, I guess. Even so, the scenery was lovely up there and the lodge pole pines are strangely soothing.
I have heard Helena is absolutely beautiful, and the little I saw of the city only confirmed that. It was pouring rain while we were there, so instead of getting soggy, sloshing wet while exploring the city, we opted for lunch, a movie, and drive-about to see a few buildings. Like the state capitol building.
And this fantastically Gothic cathedral. I would love to go back to Helena and explore a little more. But for now let’s head East to get chilly and wet in some caves. The Lewis and Clark Caverns were not discovered by Lewis or Clark, but they are located on the famous route the explorers took through Montana.There are signs here and there stating “Lewis and Clark slept here” and “Lewis and Clark allegedly camped here once” and every other road, diner, and sight-seeing point is named after the traveling duo.
Now, I’ve been through caves before, I’ve seen how incredibly dark they are, felt how deliciously cool they are, and can tell you the difference between stalactites and stalagmites. That being said, I’ve never been through a cave like these ones.
The formations were incredible, the story about discovery was exciting, the knowledge–imparted by our 20-nothing tour guide–that cave bats are a regular site/sound in the cave was a bit thrilling. That part was awesome. The not-as-awesome part was the pathway through said cave. It was narrow, ridiculously narrow, and steep, and in some places (most places) the ceiling was less than 5 feet tall which meant I was crouching constantly to avoid cracking my skull open on the rocks. I was careful and paid close attention, but I still managed to get a good bonk in somewhere in the middle. Seriously, it’s slick, and narrow, and tiny. If you are claustrophobic or have trouble walking I would not recommend this particular excursion. At one point you actually scoot on your bum along a slide to get from one cavern to the next. Is this awesome? Yes, it is. But I didn’t love having to stare at my feet the entire time to avoid taking a tumble into million-year-old rock formations, the kind that essentially die (stop growing) if they have contact with the oils on human skin. That’s a lot of pressure, you know!
That being said, there were some really spectacular formations. Towards the end of the caverns the state has invested in some new lighting that is supposed to help make the formations look their true color (instead of everything looking any orangey-yellowish color), and you can see lots of pinks and greens and even some purple. I love how a trace amount of the right minerals in the dripping water will change the formations colors so drastically.
All in all, this stop was well worth the hike and the super-skinny-super-tiny trail to see everything. Just be warned that you will get to go on a slide to get through these things. A slide made of millions-of-years-old slippery, shiny rock.
After hitting up the Caverns we had just enough time to get to Bozeman and go to the very impressive Museum of the Rockies. This museum has a little bit of everything. They have a “living museum” of “old timey” things, a house and garden and farm that is staffed by people in costumes from the 19th century, doing things like churning butter, milking cows, weaving on looms just like it would have been done 150 years ago. You can go through all the rooms and see the beds and furniture and kitchen and black smith shop and everything. It reminded me a lot of the founding and settlement of Salt Lake City, actually.
In addition to this part of the museum, there were also displays on Native American dress, weapons and life with photos and beadwork and history plaques. There was a giant display about frogs; the museum has it’s own planetarium, and at least a dozen rooms full of dinosaurs. Did you know that the Rocky Mountains have revealed more dinosaur skeletons than anywhere else in the world? I didn’t. And I live in the Rockies for heaven’s sake! Seriously, their dinosaur displays rivaled the one I saw at the Museum of Natural History in New York City a few summers ago.
And then, after all the skeletons and poisonous frogs and gorgeous bead-work on moccasins, we got to the part of the museum that is dedicated to all things Yellowstone. As this was my next stop, I was particularly interested in this section. It’s got a lot of great stuff for kids to do, activities and coloring and clothes to try on and earth-systems to study.
And they had a life-sized buffalo made out of junk. Bike tires, belts, a guitar, engine parts. The wooly part on it’s head is made out of piles of old-school telephone cords. And doyou see the baby buffalo laying on the ground between Big Buffalo’s hooves? Adorable. And Awesome. Seriously, click on that pic to blow it up a bit and then play “I Spy With My Little Eye.” Go on, clickity-click-click.
Coming up next: Yellowstone National Park
See all my Montana pics here.
Home base for the Mo Family is somewhere between Butte and Helena, Montana. But J-Mo wanted to make sure I saw a bit more of Montana, so he chartered himself as driver of the Green Jeep Tour and off we went. After wandering around Butte, J-Mo and I set off on an adventure throughout the southwest corner of Montana. On the docket: the Big Hole Valley, the teensy hamlet of Wisdom, the Bitterroot Valley, Phillipsburg, Missoula, and Anaconda with a few spontaneous stops along the way.
Big Hole Valley, enormous mosquitos, miles of beautiful.
Wisdom, MT. Population: 12 (ok, 114), small, quaint, rustic, but with a sattelite dish. We stopped at Conovers, the little trading post on Main Street, and I found some really fantastic jewelry, stocked up on huckleberry jam (there are huckleberry products at every single store in Montana, apparently, it’s their thing), and was only slightly freaked out by a giant stuffed peacock hanging on the wall. Some Montanans have elk or moose? Conovers has a peacock (and an elk, and a moose, and maybe also a bear.)
On the north end of the Big Hole Valley is where Nez Perce Chief Joseph (“I will fight no more, forever”) finally surrendered to the United States Army after thousands of miles of running, and just 40 miles shy of the Canadian border. I remember watching a movie about Chief Joseph in school and his story has always stuck with me. Unfortunately, the visitors center here was under some major rennovations and there was a tiny little bookstore and a few black and white photos of prominent players, both Native American and not, in the history of the Big Hole crammed into the garage and front room of a ranger residence. I wished I’d had more things to read and look at.
Chief Joseph Pass, on the Continental Divide at the Montana/Idaho border; elevation 7,000-something feet and even in June there was plenty of snow to make and throw snowballs. Not that I would ever do anything like that…ahem. Moving on.
Leaving the Big Hole Valley and coming down the other side of the pass you end up in the Bitterroot Valley, which is one of the most picturesque places I have ever been. The mountains were tall and spikey and covered in snow and granite. The fields were green and inbetween were thousands of lodge-pole pines that have not been attacked by the beetle infestation that has taken over most of the rest of the state. Montana has these majestic mountains that are covered in tall trees, and in most places at least half the trees are reddish brown or gray because their insides have been eaten by pine beetles.
I don’t remember what teeny little town houses this lot, but I thought it was absolutely hilarious, and I’m lucky enough to have a chauffeur/tour guide who is happy to stop every time I want to take a picture (again, this happens A LOT). After a bit more driving, J-Mo and I stopped for dinner in Hamilton at Signal Grill, which was absolutely delicious and then drove to Missoula where we had reservations at C’mon Inn, a lodge-style hotel with five hot tubs. This is perhaps the most brilliant idea ever in the history of brilliant ideas. The lobby/atrium of C’mon Inn is decorated with huge rocks and trees and even some waterfalls so it feels like your room is just off Nature. And scattered around the sizable lobby are five, separate hot tubs so you can avoid the splashing kiddos, or the creepy old men, or the slimy young men. Seriously, more hotels should invest in this kind of set-up.
The next morning, J-Mo and I headed to his old haunt, Anaconda, a town with strong ties to mining and smelting (i.e. turning the copper they dig out of the mountains into something that can be used).
I loved the almost familiar feel of the town, it was all old houses and historic buildings; it reminded me of Park City (a silver mining town) for the 50 weeks a year it is not invaded by Hollywood types hankering after the latest documentary or indie film.
J-Mo and I drove around for a while, visited his old company and co-workers, and he showed me the house he lived in. We walked around the “downtown” area for a while and I snapped pics of all the things I loved.
Like, this bus! I loved it! What I love even more is that there was an Anaconda local who was actually giving tours with this bus and spouting historical facts right and left.
We stopped at the memorial-thing that commemorates Anaconda’s mining history, and I snapped a pic of this tin man who is probably 10 feet tall. Anaconda is famous for it’s black “slag”, the leftovers from smelting. In fact, they have a mountain made out of the stuff and the Anaconda golf course has black slag for their sand traps as well.
The smelter is a bit outside town, and you can see the black slag mountain for miles. In the pic above you can see the smoke-stack/smelter-stack, it is taller than the Washington monument and the top is 60 feet across. That’s a big pile of bricks, yo!
This is one of the buckets that they use while smelting; hello, giant. You could probably fill that up with two dozen teenagers and still have room leftover! I was surprised at how huge all this mining equipment was! I mean, after seeing the GIANT pits they dug in Butte, and the GIANT black towery-thingies all over there, I didn’t expect the rest of the machinery to be Barbie-sized or anything, but it’s another thing all together to be standing next to this, imagining it full of liquid copper-lava, ya know?
I don’t know if this train is still in use or not, but it sure is photogenic. The entire time we were in Anaconda I kept having thoughts about Atlas Shrugged and it’s copper mining and train-empire story line. Yep, still harboring a significant crush on this gorgeous corner of Montana.
Up next: the Green Jeep Tours through Southwest Montana continues…
See all photos here.
