After breakfast it was a quick drive through some of the most spectacular western country: grey snow capped mountains standing tall behind verdant green fields, cows and horses grazing beyond modern farms and historic old homesteads. The sprinklers in the distance silently make a white curtain as hawks and magpies stand watch on the crooked juniper fenceposts, meadowlarks singing.
The town of Lamoille has a beautiful old white church sitting at the main crossroad, and the Saturday swap meet was in full session. I stopped to look into the church, and Dennis talked with a local couple who told him it was a very wet year. We drove slowly through town, then turned left into Lamoille Canyon where we slowed way down and stared up at the cliffs lining the road.
We snagged a great campsite, number 13, for two nights, and dropped all our gear. After paying for the site we headed into Elko for gas, ice and a shower, since there will be no hot springs today or tomorrow.
Coming back into the canyon we were struck by its beauty, and marveled that it is not a national park. We kept watch for bighorn sheep and mountain goats, but saw none.
Now as I write this, we are sitting behind our campsite on the shore of Thomas Creek, Dennis is playing guitar as I write and look up at the snow covered peaks. Our campsite is in an aspen grove, we walk through to the willows lining the creek, everything just budding out. Up on the south facing slopes, just under the snow line maybe 200 feet above us, the aspen are already that bright neon green of new leaves, quivering in the still air. It is hot here in the sun, and my iced bottle of Sierra Nevada Summerfest Ale is just the ticket with jerky and yogurt.
Here is something I never thought I would write:
The outhouse here smells fresh and wonderful.
I want you to think about that observation for a moment. The campground opened just yesterday, the outhouse has been cleaned three times already, there are only two other campers besides us, and the campground hosts thoughtfully put one of those smelly odor hanging things in the outhouse. For once in my entire camping life, it will be nice to go!
We drove up three miles to where the snow blocked the road, then hiked another mile or two. Beaver ponds and dams in the valley, recent avalanches higher up. We walked and looked, and again saw no sheep or goats. The golden and red willows were budding, and we came across a couple places where avalanches swept trees across the road.
Further down the valley I climbed to the top of a waterfall that looked like it had a hanging, U shaped valley at the top. I topped out above the waterfall and found that the view from below was deceiving as the canyon laid back a little, but then just continued up and up in a series of waterfalls.
Back in camp, I made appetizers of spicy, BBQ prawns with a Sterling Meritage. That was a treat.
Next up: we had roasted asparagus spears, with olive oil, salt, pepper and parmesan cheese melted over it.
Taking a break, Dennis played guitar while I read and tended the fire. It is cold here when the wind blows, warm when it is still, so I keep my fleece on.
A feeling of being watched: the eyes of the aspen stare at us from the grove.
Finally, around dark, I made a dinner of tri-tip with Francis Coppola Cabernet.
Relaxing, we stoked up fire and sat until the moon rose.