The Long And Winding Road

On the plane from Billings to Denver. It's very crowded, lots of squawking babies. Mmmm, my favorite. Luckily, it's not a long flight.

We had a decent night at the Billings Crowne Plaza, “the tallest free-standing brick building in the world.” How's that for bragging rights? It had really nice QUEEN beds. And free wi-fi. The best part (in Jarrah's world) was the flat-screen TV. She screamed “YAY!” at the top of her lungs and did a little happy dance when we opened the door. This same kid refused to even LOOK UP from her iTouch game when a bison practically stuck his nose in her window.

We didn't see much of Billings because we didn't get there until after 8:00. We had dinner downtown at The Soup Place, which was absolutely delightful and had the yummiest food, including maybe the best chicken noodle soup I've ever had (barring the stuff my friend Beth made me after my surgery in 2003. Let's give credit where credit is due.) Our waiter was an adorable self-described “Montana boy” who blushed with pleasure when I complimented the soup, and chit-chatted with us a bit about the local wildlife. He said that occasionally bears can be seen strolling the streets of Billings, looking for snacks. No offense, Billings, but calling all bears: You can do better in Yellowstone.

Lots of driving yesterday. We knew that was going to happen, but still. We drove (and stopped) all day in the park, and finally programmed the GPS for Billings about 5:00 p.m. Three hours! The first stretch, to Livingston, was gorgeous, with snow-capped mountains, and fields of cows and horses (and what I thought were gazelles—Cute Waiter said they would have been antelope.) I kept yelling “The sky is HUGE here!” just because I know it annoys David when I claim Montana truly is Big Sky Country. But that's what I believe, and he's not going to talk me out of it.

From Livingston, the road was dark and dull, and I was driving. Shortly before Billings, we started to see lights, which turned out to be refineries, spewing smoke into the pristine air. From the 20^th floor of the Crowne Plaza, it was clear that refineries of various sorts are the main attraction in Billings. David told me that this morning when Jarrah opened the curtains, she crowed “Look, Daddy! GEYSERS!” Hee.

I was a bit agitated when the day began. We'd been told we'd need a ranger escort to travel from West Thumb to Lake, due to a recent fire in that area. The first posted opportunity was 6-8, which was out of the question, but the next was 12-1, which seemed like a late-ish start, particularly since we had to back-track due to another road closure. And we were hoping the Geyser Gods would grace us with a full showing of Old Faithful, since we had yet to experience that. I was nervous about getting to West Thumb in time, thinking we'd be trapped in Yellowstone forever otherwise.

After breakfast, we felicitously wandered into the middle of the Old Faithful Inn tour, and though Jarrah was the only kid on it, she was surprisingly well-behaved. Our tour guide was extremely knowledgeable, having written the only biography of Robert Reamer, the inn's architect, and I really liked her style. Having done my own research on 19^th century American tourism, I liked seeing one of the original rooms (no plumbing, of course, and log walls) and learning about the wealthy early guests who all sat down to dinner together, and danced in the lobby after. I was glad we were able to squeeze in this little history lesson.

After, we were able to pack the car and run outside in time for Old Faithful, and we even got a front-row seat (yes, there are seats.) And sure enough, it went off only 4 minutes after the predicted time. It shoots for less than a minute, making it maybe the world's shortest show, but it was awfully cool. It felt right to conclude our stay this way—minutes later, we were checked out and on the road to West Thumb.

And for all my hand-wringing, the timing was a non-issue. We sailed through the junction at West Thumb and soon were hugging Lake Yellowstone on our way north. A bunch of people were stopped on the roadside and—knowing the drill now—we joined them. OMIGOD! A bald eagle at the top of the tree! Seriously, I have never seen one before, and I was in awe. We stayed until it flew away, and then continued on to the Lake Yellowstone Hotel.

I wanted to stop there for two reasons: one, I'd read it was the only dining room still open in the park (except for ours) and two, the hotel is even older than Old Faithful, putting it architecturally in the same period as the Catskills resorts that I've studied. Sure enough, it was a very Victorian yellow wood building with a wide, sweeping veranda, and the dining room was light and airy, perfect for people-watching. We enjoyed our lunch—the best of the trip, in my opinion. My sandwich was grilled organic cheddar, slivers of Granny Smith, watercress and curry butter on cracked wheat. Oh, I'm getting hungry again just thinking about it.

Next we continued north to the Grand Canyon of Yellowstone. I was a little skeptical about the grandness, since I've seen the one in Arizona, and another in Kauai. But this one did not disappoint. I think it was the most beautiful scenery we saw in Yellowstone, and that's saying something. Because of Jarrah's aversion to hiking, we didn't try any of the trails, but we did take a short walk off of North Rim Dr. (a loop road) to observation decks at Grand View, Lower Falls and Inspiration Point. At Inspiration Point, you descend some stairs and stand on a deck over the canyon, which actually feels pretty safe. What did not seem safe was looking across the canyon (which feels vertiginous even to the eyes) and spotting a tiny, rickety-looking staircase built into the cliff, with ant-like people standing at the end of it. It made me shiver just to look at them. At the bottom of the canyon, stained orange and red from the geyser bacterial deposits (that sounds icky, but bacteria is the reason for the striking colors in Yellowstone phenomena), a turquoise river runs through it. I would have been happy to hike around there all afternoon, but the road called.

Back in the car, we wended our way through the Norris Geyser Basin without stopping, but now started to spot the wildlife we were beginning to think everyone else was making up. We saw several clusters of bison, and at least two only a couple feet from the road. I remarked that they looked incredibly healthy, all clean and fluffy and plump, which I guess is what happens when you have a whole National Park to yourself. We saw the back of a retreating wolf, too, by following the photogs. We saw a couple herds of elk. I thought I saw a black bear down by a river, but it was on the other side—could have been a thirsty bison. In any case, we became hyper-alert to the roadside as we drove, expecting new delights around every corner.

Eventually we reached Mammoth Hot Springs, the last settlement in Yellowstone (by the north entrance) where we'd been told that the geothermal attractions were like no other. I'm not sure if I was jaded by this point or what, but a short stroll and a slightly longer loop road (more like a path that barely fit our car) failed to excite me (and believe me, I'm easily excited.) A lot of the terrain seemed white and ashy, like a recent fire site, but we only saw a few patches of the crystal-like terraces, weeping with color. I was puzzling over why all the guidebooks describe this spot as a must-see as we headed down a little hill into the town of Mammoth Springs, and here I fell in love again, just as I'd done in West Yellowstone, only for different reasons.

Mammoth Springs contains a hotel, some cabins, a visitor center, a restaurant and precious little else, but the whole collection is arranged prettily around a big lawn and nestled into a tiny valley between mountains. The buildings are Victorian style (I think faux-Victorian, but still) and in the middle of it all? A large herd of elk, strolling and lounging between the buildings, only inches away from the folks snapping their pictures. One large buck with the most amazing antlers actually seemed to be posing, turning slightly so we could get him from different angles. I told David I could imagine staying there sometime, which I think he found odd of me.

I felt wistful about driving out of the park, but it was time. It was only five miles to the northern entrance at Gardiner, Montana, another wild-west town, but not as homey (in my limited exposure from the car) as West Yellowstone. I was mighty curious about the folks we saw congregating—in swimsuits!--down at “Lava Creek” as we drove away from Mammoth. Since it was only in the '40s outside, I can only imagine that the creek must be bubbling with warmth. Perhaps we'll find out on another trip.

Have A Nice Day

We are home. I still have one more trip post, coming later today, and--of course--photos. Which will happen. It's not just a myth.

I thought I'd share my little brush with bureaucracy from yesterday afternoon in the airport. Now, some of you may know that I am a veteran of the international adoption process. Some of you may even know what that entails. Either way, I'm here to tell you that I'm deeply familiar with the sharp inhalation coupled with a long, slow shake of the head that is the most typical response to any question that seems:

1. difficult to accomplish
2. hard to understand
3. lengthy, thus requiring more than 10 seconds of attention
4. not personally beneficial to the listener
5. requires operations such as crossing the room, or pressing a button on a computer

Not only do I know this, I consider myself a seasoned professional at handling this response. There was a time when I got the inhalation/head shake in a County Records office where--one day before--I'd gotten cheerful, immediate compliance. The request involved applying an ink stamp to a piece of paper. I remember that I raised my voice--only slightly--and with a steely smile spake thusly:

"Please listen carefully to what I'm about to say. I have already been to this office, and already gotten a 'yes' where you are telling me 'no.' So, just so we understand each other, I am not leaving this spot until you give me what I want. I will keep asking to speak to someone else until my request is granted, and I will do this all morning if necessary, and I will do it with a smile. I will not back down, go away or change my mind. There is only this piece of paper that stands between me and becoming a mother, and your resistance is not going to break me. I will overcome."

And she did it. How's that for can-do spirit? I like to think of those happy times as my first test of parenthood. And I think I rocked the bell curve.

The lady in the airport Lost and Found had no idea what a formidable opponent she faced when she buzzed me through her door. I had received a call in Jackson Hole from a man in the same office who told me my Kindle had been found. He asked when I could pick it up, and I told him Sunday. I asked if he'd be there, and he said no--but Joanne would. That's all I was told. It's all I figured I needed I know.

Now here I was:

Sam: Hi, are you Joanne?

Joanne: Yes. How can I help you?

Sam: I'm here to pick up my Kindle, which I left in a security bin a few days ago.

Joanne: (doing the inhalation/slow head shake thing) Ohhhh, I don't know. I doubt I can find that.

Sam: What? Can't you just look?

Joanne: I need the property number.

Sam: I don't have a property number. The man I spoke to didn't give me one.

Joanne: Who was this man?

Sam: I don't know him. When he said he wasn't going to be here today, I asked for your name. That's how I knew it.

Joanne: I think you're going to have to come back Tuesday, when he's here.

Sam: Tuesday! Can't you just look (trying to peer behind her head, where there was clearly a closet full of stuff)?

Joanne: Not without a property number.

Sam: Really? It's a Kindle. That's an electronic book, with a black...

Joanne: I know what a Kindle is. I have one.

Sam: Okay, can you see if there's one in back?

Joanne: Not without a property number.

Sam: Is there anything else you can check?

Joanne: I think you should just come back Tuesday, since that other guy knows more about it.

Sam: But he told me about YOU. That's how I know your NAME.

Joanne: I don't know...I don't think so...what day did this happen?

Sam: Tuesday, September 29, about 9:30 a.m.

Joanne: I don't know...(pulling massive, six-inch thick binder from beneath desk)...I don't think so...(opening book to September 29 and scanning down orderly list with finger)...I have a feeling this won't help....(finger alights on item KINDLE-BOOK-WHITE)...I don't know (points to property number next to item and then writes it down on another piece of paper)...this probably won't work...(walks to back room and returns with Kindle, encased in plastic)...I don't know...this could be yours....but I don't know (pulls another massive binder from beneath desk, opens to item, retrieves form with the report about my Kindle on it)...I need you to fill this out completely...

Sam: (snatching Kindle) Okay. (noting that I have to list my address, phone number, weight, height, family history, employment records, bank statements, references from former teachers, blood type, and degree of brownie chewiness preference on this form, but stifling EVERY SCREAMING URGE to ask why any of this is relevant)

Joanne: And I need your driver's license.

Sam: (STIFLING EVERY SCREAMING URGE TO ASK WHY THEY NEED MY DRIVER'S LICENSE WHEN THEY PREVIOUSLY DIDN'T EVEN KNOW MY NAME, AND ALL THEY'RE DOING IS GIVING ME MY OWN PROPERTY, WHICH I THOROUGHLY DESCRIBED) Here it is.

Joanne: Thank you. Have a nice day.

Sam: Thank YOU. (turns to go, realizing door is locked, waiting with heart-pounding to be buzzed out, and then practically running into the hallway, Kindle clutched to my chest)

And that, Dear Readers, is how I rescued my Kindle from the fire-breathing dragon of institutional non-policy. It's resting now and doing fine. It appreciates your kind wishes, and in lieu of flowers, requests that you send donations to the Fund for San Diego Government Employees, to get them a better coffee maker.

It's Not Really The Apocalypse, It's Yellowstone

Right now we are recovering from an adventure-filled day before our dinner reservation downstairs, and I hope we get to sit near the fire. We did a lot of walking today and I feel chilled through. Jarrah is in the bath and David is trying to get to the next level of an iPod game. And me? I'm blogging, of course. Because I'm obsessed with documenting every minute of this trip, apparently.

Which is why I must correct an omission from yesterday. When we got to our room, there was a plush wolf on the bed, encased in some plastic explaining something or other. Which of course Jarrah didn't care about. She'd found her new best friend. The fine print explained that by leaving the room with the wolf, you are agreeing to purchase it, and “a portion” of the proceeds benefit wildlife somehow. I hate it when they say “a portion.” It could be 10 cents. Anyway, the deal was sealed, and Wolfie has been with us ever since. He goes to meals, in the car, even on walks if we don't forbid it up front. I've taken to calling him “Volfie,” like Mozart's wife does in Amadeus. He's cute, but I'm sure he'll be abandoned like all the rest as soon as we get home. Enjoy your 15 minutes, Wolfie.

We have learned that many of the connecting roads through Yellowstone are already, ominously, closed for the season or for repairs, which suggests that tomorrow we'll be driving for 20 hours, in big circles, trying to get to Montana. I'm a little nervous about this, yet it's a testament to today's lovely sights that I'm also excited to see new parts of the park. Today we took the western route from Old Faithful, which travels through the village of Madison on the way to the park's western entrance in West Yellowstone, Montana (which, confusingly, is not in Yellowstone.) The distance was a scant 30 miles, but between stops, excursions and detours (planned ones) we were driving most of the day. The roads here are so pleasant and scenic, though, we hardly mind it.

Today dawned bright and sunny, though still witch's tit freezing, and we were glad to see the blues and greens of the park, and not just the grays. It had been a hard night—once again, I hardly slept, and there was a cacophony of coughing. I felt like I'd been slapped around without dinner first when Jarrah said it was time to rise and shine. The breakfast buffet was certainly ample, but it wasn't Jackson Lake quality. I think we were feeling a little too full the whole day. We hit the road about 10:00 and it wasn't long before we reached Midway Geyser Basin. In addition to the smoldering pits of the Old Faithful trail, there were massive crystal pools the color of opals and tourmalines, which are around 160 degrees and seem to descend to the center of the earth. In the cold air, the pools were billowing steam and mist so high they blocked out the sun. I told David later that driving through Yellowstone is like seeing the most gorgeous scenery on earth directly after the apocalypse. There are tall trees and snow-capped mountains and verdant meadows...and bare stretches billowing with smoke. We had a lovely ½ mile walk around the raised boardwalk while Jarrah kvetched constantly that she was tired. How is it that the child can literally run up and down a beach for six hours with 10 pound buckets of sand, but the second her sneakers cross the trailhead on a parent-enforced hike, she's exhausted? I ask purely for information.

Our next excursion was a loop road off the beaten path called Firehole Lake Drive (there were many references to the Firehole today, and I must say they all made me wince) wherein we were able to see scads of geysers without leaving the car. In fact, we saw our first unscheduled explosion—the Pink Cone Geyser—going crazy about a foot from our window, and that was really thrilling. (Unfortunately, I didn't realize David was filming until I'd already said something untoward about the spectacle, quite audibly.)

From that detour, we doubled back briefly to the bubbling fields known as the Fountain Paint Pots, and that was all kinds of cool. Everything seemed about ready to blow wherever we looked, and one geyser, The Red Spouter, was making noise that sounded like a Zambonie. The paint pots themselves bubbled very agreeably, and one of the geysers—I believe called the Clepstyra—was hurtling towards the sky when we encountered it. I find it so mind-boggling when this is happening, but I know David is a little disappointed to keep missing the beginning of the eruptions, which he thinks may be the best part.

We continued through Madison, and right after, spotted a crowd of people by the roadside with giant lenses. The next thing we saw was a herd of elk. We skidded to a stop to watch them—most of them were just chilling on their bellies in the grass, and we only saw one buck with huge antlers. But it was an amazing sight, even once we learned that this particular herd makes this particular meadow their home. I had just been speculating that we were going to to leave Yellowstone without a good look at the locals, so I was happy to be proved wrong.

From there, it was a very short way to the West Entrance, and we noted with consternation that we were leaving the park, having paid $25 to enter and forgotten our receipt to re-enter. Oh, well. I took a gamble on the way back and asked the (yet another) adorable ranger if they had credit card records, and she smiled and waved us through. It was so nice of her to do that on faith that I instantly felt guilty and wished we had offered to pay again. What is wrong with me?

And now we were in downtown West Yellowstone, and I was instantly in love. Like Jackson, there was a lot of stylized “old west”-type architecture, with rough logs and advertisements for bison hides and cowboy boots. If anything, it felt even more striving and tacky. But there were also a couple teeny community theaters, independent bookstores and coffee shops, and a Yellowstone cultural museum on the site of an old railroad station that featured every single china pattern of all the railroad lines that used to service Yellowstone. The main street had blinking red lights instead of actual stops, and the candy store offered chunks of just-pulled taffy to Jarrah. We ate some half-way decent barbecue in a place with no pretensions whatsoever and a table of guys in camouflage who ended every sentence with “man.” What really sealed my love was the public library, where I went to steal their Wi-Fi, flooded with natural light, delicious-looking books and lots of overstuffed chairs and couches. I am a sucker for libraries.

We took a leisurely route home, including a detour through some sheer cliffs with rolling white water at the base, and stopped to visit the elks again. This time they were more active, and one of them let a gaggle of photographers who were up in their faces know who was boss. It was funny to see them grabbing their tripods and backing away in a hurry. A talkative, maybe lonely guy, offhandedly complimented my parenting, which at the moment consisted of explaining to Jarrah that if she followed her desire to run down the hill and play with the elk, she might get squished. Turns out he works at a “raptor” rehab facility in Washington (silly me—I heard “raptor” and immediately went Jurassic Park in my mind) and had some harrowing tales of youngsters who messed with bald eagles and lived to regret it.

We had plans to do more trails on the way home, but it was mighty cold and I knew we'd be hearing from Jarrah the whole time. So we ended up back at our place, arriving—once again—in mid-geyse. We got some ice cream cones in the deli and took them to the balcony, where there were actually three open seats with a view. We ate ice cream, listening to the piano and the crackling fire. It was the right choice.

Dinner at the famous OF dining room was tasty (the Roasted Red Pepper and Smoked Gouda soup was sublime), but David and I are feeling the need for food detox at this point. A week of watercress soup is calling to me. I'm hoping we all sleep better tonight, with far less coughing.

She Is Indeed Faithful

This is a long one, coming to you from the public library in West Yellowstone, Montana (which is not actually in Yellowstone--Yellowstone itself has no wi-fi, apparently.) I will be writing more about this adventure, and hopefully getting some photos up finally, when we get to Billings.

************

Ensconced in the famous Old Faithful Inn, which—let the record show—really is within spitting distance of Old Faithful itself. Which was erupting as we pulled into the driveway. Which was pretty freakin' cool.

While our room is rustically comfortable (I was particularly overjoyed to find a rickety old table fan in the closet, as I can't sleep without a lot of white noise) there is no Wi-Fi at all on the premises (the horror!) so this post will be coming to you on Saturday at the earliest.

Just now we took a turn about the lobby and its verandas (I do believe that's the expression they would have used back in the 19th century, when the place opened) and the place is nothing short of magical at night. I mean, it's glorious during the day—soaring ceilings of knotty logs held up by flying buttresses fashioned from whole trees, a stone fireplace three stories tall—but at night, with an unobtrusive piano player plunking out Mozart from the second balcony, a fire blazing, couples and families cozied around the hearth in comfy chairs, and (the piece de resistance!) nothing but scores of candelabras for illumination, I was lulled towards a less frenetic time, when people didn't have laptops and didn't miss them. But here's the kicker, and it's amusing me still, hours after realization: the real reason I felt so giddy with happiness as I soaked in this scene is that it reminded me—oh so powerfully—of a cross between The Haunted Mansion and the Blue Bayou restaurant in The Pirates of the Caribbean. That's right, I felt peaceful and nostalgic because something actually old and lasting and grand reminded me of a totally fake corner of Anaheim. And I'm sure whats-his-name, the post-modern “simulacra”guy (see what's happened to my brain since motherhood?) would have lots to say about this.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Today was filled with adventure. We took to the road about 1:00, planning to have lunch at Flagg Ranch, near the Yellowstone border. I thought this would break up the trip nicely. The mountains were stellar in the occasional winks of sun through the clouds. Then we hit a patch of road construction that had us going 20 over some gravel for half an hour, and then Flagg Ranch was closed for the season. Oookay. Back on the road, Jarrah now remarking firmly about every minute or so “I am ready for lunch. Where is lunch?” There was no lunch. We passed into the park, greeted by a lovely and friendly ranger.

And then the next half an hour or so was like arriving in fairyland. The car was completely enveloped in an avenue of very tall trees, and every tree and stick and rock was lightly dusted with about an inch of snow, so it was like driving through a negative—blinding white frosting, and dark, contrasty everything else. I was enchanted by Yellowstone already.

The map showed a settlement called Grant Village well before Old Faithful, so we planned to eat there. And when we arrived, all the restaurants were closed for the season and the whole area was like a ghost town. Jarrah did not like this. Here is a conversation we had in the car:

J: Mommy, we have not had lunch.

D: Good observation.

S: No, sweetie, I know. But look around you—do you see any restaurants?

J: No.

S: Should we stop and lick some snow off the trees?

J: No.

S: Then I think we're going to have to wait, don't you?

J: I get it, Mommy. You are very funny.

S: Ah yes, that's going to be your burden in life, isn't it?

By some miracle, a tiny general store in Grant Village, run by an elfin old couple, was open, guarded by the largest crow we've ever seen. We blew through the door with whirls of snow, and Jarrah helpfully handed us bags of gummy centipedes for our “snack” as we perused the offerings. We finally decided on the adult version of Lunchables—these terrifying boxes with cookie-shaped turkey, ham, cheese and crackers in them. And soda and chips. We sprinted back to the car and ate with the heater on, and you know what? That was an amazing lunch. We made little sandwiches out of the processed meat-like circles and squares, and were perfectly satisfied. I guess it's all relative when you haven't eaten in eight hours.

Soon after, we pulled over at Keppler Cascades, a several-tiered waterfall tumbling over a really steep cliff. And you can experience the steepness with brain-rolling vertigo by going to the end of the observation deck above the falls. Which we did, and it was very nice, though Jarrah was more excited about the chunks of snow she found on the ground.

We were at Old Faithful village before we knew it, and we laughed later about how I'd shrieked from the main road “Everything is on fire!” Forgive me—I am new to the wonders of geothermal phenomena. When I heard “geysers,” I assumed we'd see a couple of fields of bubbling, smelly mud, but hello! Have you people been to Yellowstone? The place is crazy!

After we checked in, we had an hour before OF's next scheduled eruption, so we crossed the parking lot to the warren of trails (helpfully raised above the smoking earth on wooden platforms) that weave in and out of the geyser fields mere yards from the hotel. We walked for over an hour, and I can't even tell you how many wild things we saw (well, earth-wise—the wildest fauna we've seen has been chipmunks and what we think was the rump of a mule deer)--even Jarrah was impressed. Everything was steaming and bubbling and shooting and stinking, and there were glassy pools of water in the most unnatural colors, shaped like stars and hearts and ears.

And, finally, Old Faithful—in the distance, which was my fault because I didn't really believe it would be on time and I was engrossed in the trails. But it is definitely very high and very impressive, and tomorrow we won't be so cavalier about the time.

We weren't able to reserve a table in the fabled Old Faithful dining room, so we headed towards the Snow Lodge for dinner, but ended up in the regular lodge (David thinks they suffer from a dearth of naming creativity around here) and I'm glad we did. It was closed for the season (natch) but had a picture window overlooking the geyser, old wooden rockers (Jarrah and I rocked on them, and she said, “Look! I'm just like a mother.”) and 20-foot-high wooden grizzly bear holding a trout. I mean, what could be better than that?

Eventually we found our way to the Snow Lodge dining room, which was lovely but the food was meh. I did like the corn chowder; the various meats I could have done without. Oh, and “The Yellowstone Sundae” (shortcake, huckleberry ice cream and hot huckleberry compote) was pretty special. Jarrah wouldn't touch her food, which is getting really old.

Oh, and we had one of those mortifying moments when she insists on being in the photo with total strangers who have just asked us to take their picture. A nice couple from Kentucky, who said how pretty she was (they did say it in that special voice that always sounds to me like “Oh, look at how Chinese you are!”) and then took ours, too, which was sort of necessary at that point because Jarrah was crying. That's right—weeping because people she's never seen before might not want her in their photo. And of course they didn't say that—I always figure it's implied. But do me a favor, would you? If Jarrah ever jumps in one of your photos, humor her? You can delete it later.

Mountains and Pirates and Bears, Oh My

For the first time since we arrived, the view from our room is sunny and clear, and since it snowed last night, it's also pretty awesome. I know I'm a terrible tease to keep telling you this stuff with no photos, but I'm just trying to prove that you don't need pictures when you have language that is pure poetry.

Just kidding. Our Wi-Fi access is so inconvenient there just hasn't been time to load the photos, but hopefully the Old Faithful Inn (where we're going today) will be more tech-savvy. Yeah, right. But for now just take my word for it that four or five snow-covered peaks that seem to be rising directly out of the lake make for a pleasant vista.

David is doing his last...well,whatever it is that he's doing; I immediately glaze over when he starts to explain...and will be done around lunchtime. He managed to get us a late check-out so Jarrah and I are not on the streets. Jarrah and I just returned from a leisurely breakfast up at the lodge, and I suppose we need to start packing up this typhoon-aftermath of a room pretty soon.

Last night, David was finished around 6:00, so we decided to drive north a bit (Jarrah and I had driven to the park's southerly border already) for dinner. We went to Colter Bay Marina, and enjoyed ourselves with the unlimited supply of rocks for throwing in the lake. Which would be another side of Jackson Lake, because that is one big-ass lake. Several of the resorts make use of its charms. Once again, the cold spurred us back to the car, and then we discovered that the resort's restaurant was closed, either for the evening or the season, hard to tell.

An aside: I have realized that I am mortally and irrationally afraid of meeting a bear. Seriously, just seeing the paw print “Be Bear Aware” signs everywhere is enough to throw me into a panic. I haven't let Jarrah venture five feet down any of the clearly marked trailheads because I'm certain that a bear is waiting around the corner, holding out a bag like a trick-or-treater. I read the “what to do” instructions obsessively, and can tell I would be unable to follow them: “Do not run or scream. Back away slowly and try to stay downwind.” Hello? Wouldn't you have to be on 'ludes to follow this advice? We haven't seen any more wildlife since the elk herd of the first night. Jarrah suggested they are all indoors, enjoying some hot chocolate.

Because David needed a change of scenery, we headed back to Signal Mountain, but that was less successful than at lunch—the service was glacially slow, and David looked ready to use his cornbread for a pillow, which is how I felt. Jarrah regaled most of the tables (without their permission) with loud tales of pirate treasure, and did crack me up every time she instructed us to say “ARGH!” which is how she is hearing “ARRR!” She fell asleep on the way back, and all of us were in bed before 10:00. I wish I can say we slept well, but once again there was a lot of coughing, and maybe I was giving David a lot of kicks because by the morning he was in bed with Jarrah. I would have thought, based on past experience, that her kicks would be worse.