Transition Zone

JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

Yellowstone National Park in Wyoming

On our way out of Yellowstone, we are driving once more through Lamar Valley as the Northeast Entrance Road is technically U.S. Highway 212. Before we get to that point in the day though, we were stopped on the road by a herd of bison meandering from one side to the other. We definitely weren’t in a hurry (nor were the bison), but one California driver showed his disdain for some stupid animals and stopped cars as he pressed his Big Ass Truck through the waiting cars and past the bison while gesticulating wildly at us sheep who were observing these creatures’ right of way. Sadly, those of us who don’t (or no longer) live in California don’t really expect any different behavior from these elitist tools. And what did we get for our patience? This photo is of a beautiful young bison who personally came up to our car and thanked us for not running over any members of her tribe.

Yellowstone National Park in Wyoming

Then that very same baby bison offered to have its parents pose for us, Dad looking stoic and Mom gazing lovingly at her mate. Our fairy tale visit to Yellowstone is now complete, except for not seeing bears, wolves, herds of elk, bald eagles, lions, the largest eruption ever of Old Faithful, a helicopter view of Grand Prismatic, witnessing the super volcano hurling its guts over the Eastern United States, and Jesus appearing in the heavens above. Other than those omissions, our time here has been great.

Yellowstone National Park in Wyoming

Somehow, we ended up under the caldera rim as smoke started billowing from the rumbling floor of Yellowstone. Is this the big one? Are we about to be launched into the stratosphere to get that birds-eye view of the total destruction the tabloid press and Discovery Channel have been promising us for years? False alarm, we’re just passing through a mountain range on the way towards Cooke City, Montana.

Beartooth Mountain Range in Montana

We are in the Beartooth Mountains for my first-ever visit to this rarely accessible range. The southern end of this road is often closed due to snow which has stymied Caroline and me driving this famously scenic byway in the western United States on previous occasions. The rest of the images that accompany this blog post are seriously compromised as the smoke from California and Oregon wildfires were making for poor visibility conditions. The following photos have a judicious amount of dehazing applied to them.

Beartooth Mountain Range in Montana

The short stretch of Beartooth Highway, a.k.a. U.S. 212 that I’ve traveled on in the past I thought might be indicative of the entire highway, and I therefore assumed that the beautiful photos I’d seen from deep in the mountains required hikes far away from the road, but today I would learn that this idea was wrong. This was the first stop along U.S. 212 that was so enchanting that I had to pull over. Mind you, I wanted to pull over a dozen times before this, but convincing myself that I wouldn’t get a reasonable shot left me with so much doubt that I hadn’t given in. Reflecting upon even this image, I feel cheated as we were near the top of a pass in a large meadow, and there was so much more that captured the eye than this photo represents that I’d like to exclude it, but then I’d have to also end this blog entry right here.

Beartooth Mountain Range in Montana

In-person, the pink and gray granite against the green meadow was so vibrant that it encouraged me to attempt grabbing images that avoid the hazy horizon, but without direct sunlight, my camera just didn’t do the job that my eyes were able to glean.

Beartooth Mountain Range in Montana

I should share that I took very few notes about this day while Jessica and I were out on our road trip, and so here I am eleven days later, looking at the images and considering what I want to say and finding it difficult to grab words that will be vibrant enough to convey how profound things appeared. This tight crop betrays the nature of what’s up here, though maybe that’s a good thing as it should press me even harder to bring Caroline on a return visit with the hopes of catching this range on a clear day.

Beartooth Mountain Range in Montana

I shot this as a panorama, but the blue haze towards the right of the lake obscured too much, so here’s the left corner. With this final bit of lament regarding air conditions, I’ll try to move on.

Beartooth Mountain Range in Montana

Every corner up here in the Beartooth Mountains begs the visitor to leave the car behind and go for a hike, but without knowledge of trail length, bear spray, or even somewhere to pull over, it’s not so easy as just venturing into the landscape. If a return visit is ever going to be possible, it should be with the idea that we will remain in the area for three to five days with a number of trails already selected.

Beartooth Mountain Range in Montana

Like our visits to the glaciated area along the Alsek River in Canada and Alaska, I’m in awe at the profusion of wildflowers which have the briefest of windows to explode on the scene before the snows begin to fall again and the days grow short.

Beartooth Mountain Range in Montana

Why isn’t this area a national park? I’m guessing that the main reason would be that the designation would then require a better effort to offer visitor services in a place that might only be intermittently visitable for 60 to 90 days a year. Jumping ahead in our drive through here, I got the impression in Red Lodge, Montana, where we were staying for a couple of nights, that there are parts of the Beartooth range that are accessible for a good part of the year. So, the problem of access might be restricted to the highest elevations and coming in from the southerly entrance.

Beartooth Mountain Range in Montana

If you suffer from a fear of heights, avoid this road. Being simultaneously drawn to look out at the horizon and demanding that I maintain tunnel vision can produce moments of panic as it feels like my eyes are drawn too deeply into what lies beyond the safety of the road.

Beartooth Mountain Range in Montana

Live cams need to be placed throughout the area, or better yet; I need to photograph a couple of dozen or more locations once a month for a year so everyone can see how these places change throughout the year.

Beartooth Mountain Range in Montana

One has to wonder why this road is even here. On one side is Cooke City, Montana, and entry to Yellowstone, but there are plenty of other ways into the park. On the other side is Red Lodge, Montana, with a small population of 2,200 that really doesn’t gain a thing having this road wend its way through such treacherous terrain. That must mean that this road is only here for the pleasure of those few travelers who learn about its existence and need to revel in such extraordinary sights.

Beartooth Mountain Range in Montana

Along the road, we encountered a construction site where a primitive single-lane dirt road must be navigated behind a pilot vehicle that takes us past a bridge being built. $27 million in improvements elevate the roadway over the landscape so animals will have a better path through the environment. As construction can only proceed during the short summer season, there’s no completion date in sight, but when it is finished, it promises to add to the nail-biting experience of being out on the edge of the earth.

We are obviously above the tree line here at 10,947 feet (3,336 meters) above the sea far below. Sorry, but I must lament that with the Sturgis Motorcycle Rally starting soon, the roar of the bikes hauling ass up here is a bit annoying. Of course, to them, the incredible vistas make for an exciting ride, but those who get out of the car and want to spend a moment in admiration of the solitude in such a remote area find it difficult with the constant racing by of so many bikers. Not only do we hear the noise of their stupidly loud exhausts, but we must also contend with radios blaring classic rock and country anthems.

To belabor the point, this public performance of these songs from motorcycles is my equivalent of hearing the Horst Wessel Song on a hike through the Zugspitze in Germany. Mountains are for quiet contemplation, not listening to AC/DC sing Thunderstruck or Lee Greenwood asking God to bless the U.S.A. Yeah, I’m that curmudgeon.

Beartooth Mountain Range in Montana

The expanse is nothing short of awe-inspiring; the scale exceeds any ability of the photograph to portray what is seen beyond the haze. For the rest of our drive out of the mountains, the weather was turning dark due to storms in the forecast, and I just wanted to exit the strenuous side of the drive, so this was the end of photos.

Arriving in Red Lodge, Montana, it was raining as we checked into the hotel, but we were quickly gone to find a restaurant. Just a few minutes later, the rain stopped again, and instead of grabbing a bite to eat, we dipped into the local coffee shop that was closing at 6:00 to catch up on some note-taking and ensure we’d be awake past 8:00 p.m.

Dinner was at Piccola Cucina Ox Pasture Italian restaurant. What this place is doing in a town of 2,200 is beyond me, as their other locations are in New York City and Ibiza. Real and I do mean real Italian cuisine is to be found here. When I ordered the Cacio e Pepe I would have never dreamed that they actually make their pasta here locally and that my dish would be served from a cheese wheel at my table instead of a plate of something they call Cacio e Pepe.

Wild Nature

JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

Grand Prismatic Spring at Yellowstone National Park in Wyoming

It’s right in front of you, the biggest of its kind on these shores, but you can’t see it as it hides below a veil of steam. We are at Midway Geyser Basin in Yellowstone National Park, and right there is the Grand Prismatic Spring. Some walk by disappointed that the thing they know from photos or TV is not can’t be seen by them today while I relish the idea that I’m once again in the proximity of greatness.

Midway Geyser Basin in Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming

What would be needed to wake people to the fact that they are always near greatness? Because this rainbow-hued spring cannot be viewed in all of its vibrancy, people are grumbling while perceiving something was lost during their vacation. Nothing is common here; everything is out of the ordinary and unique, yet they fixate on seeing one or two things to define the value of where they’ve been. For some, seeing Old Faithful and bison will be enough to say they’ve seen Yellowstone, but that’s as shortsighted as going to Paris and briefly seeing the Mona Lisa and glancing at the Eifel Tower in order to tell everyone back home that they’ve been to the City of Light while ignoring the billions of other things that make Paris the city it is. While no one can see the entirety of a place in hours, we can be grateful for what we do have the opportunity to experience.

Midway Geyser Basin in Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming

Looking at the earth below our feet, we can gaze into the heavens using the reflection of the sky above while the waters that flow from the Grand Prismatic Spring continue to build the travertine structures and create beds for the bacteria that live in these organic puzzle pieces. The tiniest bit of skill is required to extract words from the language to give meaning to where we are, but when we betray that potential by reducing our vocabulary to grumbling, we forget to pay homage to our humanity and good fortune. We do not only smile at the baby, we convey a multitude of cultural and emotional context that is sharing with the next generation what we find important. When we pass through nature and find disappointment that we didn’t see the bear or some other particular thing, we are breaking the contract of sharing our best traits with the next generation by teaching them to vocalize their disapproval for all those around them who might be enjoying the moment.

Midway Geyser Basin in Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming

Behind me, while I was taking in the Grand Prismatic Spring, was the Excelsior Geyser, also shrouded in steam but with the gray sky and bits of sunlight peeking through. I looked at the reflections in that direction and couldn’t believe my luck at how many times I’ve stood in the park watching billowing clouds rise from hot springs that give us hints of things unseen below us.

Midway Geyser Basin in Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming

Words and emotions are the communicative hints of who we are within that are largely unseen by others. When we express ourselves with enthusiasm we are recognizing our good luck at how many times we’ve been in a situation worth sharing. Our essence of being human is locked in this exchange just as the waters of the geyser create the picture of the object you are looking for.

Midway Geyser Basin in Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming

Far from the waters that flow from the hot spring, beauty is also to be found. In a similar sense, the words and emotions people share flow far away from them, offering impressions to artists and new generations who borrow from those precious moments to shape culture. To desire only the big picture is to throw away the largest mass of unrealized potential, and this is the condition of those who only desire to exemplify the most superficial nature of the self, the exterior. We inhabit a multitude of various planes of existence that create our cultural complexity, and yet, by displaying only our external selves, we fail to share the inner self, maybe because we are afraid of the person inside we don’t really know. In my view, it’s a tragedy that we fail at putting the deeper self on display while we invest so much energy and money visiting the gym, buying trendy clothes, the right accouterments, tattoos, our cars, and homes that demonstrate the external self. We should aim for the same symbiotic relationship of elements we witness in the complex beauty we find in nature. When someone is more aligned with that symbiotic balanced personhood, we are better prepared to find magnificence in the little things.

Standing on our own atop a monument of what lies below the surface takes daring, as in our culture, we have no real room for individuality. Like here in Yellowstone, we don’t care about the hydrological function below the surface; we only desire to see the herd of animals, the forest, or the geyser as it’s geysering.

Excited to get to Grand Prismatic before the crowds, we waited for breakfast until we reached the perfect place for it. That ended up being after we turned east, away from Mammoth Hot Springs, on our way to the Lamar Valley at Blacktail Pond Overlook. I should finally note that we are traveling with much of our own food to cut down on expenses, hence why our first meal of the day was roadside.

I have to give my daughter credit as, like this ground squirrel, she takes an intense interest in observing stuff and trying to find her own angle as she snaps away, taking photos that will join her book of memories. The entire drive from Phoenix to this corner of Wyoming, she’s been talking about seeing animals along the way; this is the reminder for her that she not only saw ground squirrels but even had one rush up to her and try to poop on her shoe.

Bison in Lamar Valley at Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming

It’s rutting season for the bison, and the males are emitting some impressive guttural sounds. If their size doesn’t frighten you, these deep grunts certainly will.

Bison in Lamar Valley at Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming

As they compete for dominance among one another, they pair off and let the fur fly as we onlookers marvel at the primal force and musculature on display here in the park. Jessica and I were able to hang out at a safe distance and watch the fury the bison were directing at rival males to land prime mating opportunities if they could prove they were at the apex of this hierarchy.

Bison in Lamar Valley at Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming

These incredibly beautiful animals are but a few of the 360,000 that exist in the North American herd today. Prior to the arrival of our European ancestors, it is estimated that 30-60 million of them existed. At the low point, only about 1,000 of them were alive as they verged on extinction. If farmers on the borders of Yellowstone had their way, this herd would be destroyed as they risk bringing disease to the nearby cattle populations. A disease that ironically was brought in by non-indigenous cattle in the first place. By the way, those 360,000 bison are nothing when you think that right here in the United States, we slaughter 46 million cows, 121 million pigs, and 9 billion chickens per year, and it’s the existence of 360,000 bison that irks the cattle industry.

Okay, I’ll get off the mountain and come back down to being a tourist. Leaving Lamar Valley, we couldn’t take the road that passes Mt. Washburn (this is not that mountain) as that road is closed for construction. So we backtracked through Mammoth, past Norris Geyser Basin, where we turned left towards the lake again in hopes of seeing more elk.

Okay, so this isn’t wildlife, but if you think about it for a moment, this is wildlife.

West Thumb at Yellowstone National Park in Wyoming

Over the course of our drive to West Thumb Geyser Basin, we spotted a few elk, but with periodic rain and dark skies, I wasn’t able to capture a half-decent image, but that’s okay, by the time we reached this corner of the lake we had a respite in the foul weather.

West Thumb at Yellowstone National Park in Wyoming

Here at the Fishing Cone, it was common practice 120 years ago to stand on the cone and fish for trout. Once caught, the fish was dunked into the hot waters of the geyser and cooked before incredulous visitors. Back then, it was possible to see this geyser erupt to heights of 40 feet over the lake.

West Thumb at Yellowstone National Park in Wyoming

Back in 2003, the boardwalk led right up against this hot spring. I can only imagine it was moved closer to the lake to help stop people throwing stuff into the pool. While we are lucky to have been able to walk the original trail, I understand that we humans are not trustworthy to follow the rules and act respectfully. If you’d like to see that old boardwalk and what this pool looks like on a sunny day, click here and scroll down 24 photos.

West Thumb at Yellowstone National Park in Wyoming

Here we are at the edge of controlled and wild nature. In one corner, we have the National Park’s attempt at controlling people who oftentimes are being introduced to a vast, uncontrollable side of America, and in the other corner the untameable and unpredictable face of a caldera. Nature cannot bow to our will, though we do have the ability to harm it. In the end, it has a greater ability to inflict destruction upon us in profoundly unsettling ways. We are the ones who, with knowledge and the ability to control our actions, are supposed to respect nature and support how we can symbiotically live within it as it sustains us and all other life.

West Thumb at Yellowstone National Park in Wyoming

This dry, hot spring that might have also been a geyser is a dusty bowl here on our visit. Is it only dry due to the time of year, was it clogged with debris people threw into it, or is something ominous at work where the hydrology of the park is cooking up even bigger changes? We are not afforded the luxury of knowing the intention of such large complex systems below the surface of the earth, so why do we think we can control even larger and more complex systems such as oceans and the atmosphere of our planet? I think indigenous people are correct in saying that modern man does not pay enough respect to the land we live on or the skies we live under.

West Thumb at Yellowstone National Park in Wyoming

Forboding sky, meet convulsive earth, with these little naive people standing between you who believe they reign tall in the hierarchy of this spectacular evolving creation. I dream of the day they stand with respect before nature and harness their knowledge to instill values in their kind that are able to invest in places such as this in the same way they do their cars, homes, and cities. Fortunately for humans, there are no destructive hordes of creatures harvesting or burning their cities, and there are no other animals or organisms on earth that intentionally poison their drinking water or work so vigilantly as they themselves do to soil their environment. In that respect, humans might be one of nature’s biggest mistakes.

Grand Prismatic Spring at Yellowstone National Park in Wyoming

Well, here we are back at Midway Geyser Basin for a late-day visit to Grand Prismatic Spring to see how conditions changed between morning and now.

Midway Geyser Basin in Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming

Everything checks out for being in its place. Beauty still rules the view. Best of all though, thanks to the overcast skies, the parking lot, earlier quite overloaded with dozens of cars waiting to get in, was half empty, meaning we were here mostly alone. Just us here with some hot springs, distant trees, threatening storm clouds, the warm and glorious bacteria cheering our return, and some unfathomable amount of air and earth. Yep, just us.

Midway Geyser Basin in Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming

Hey John, is this really one of your best examples of photographic magic? Well, that’s purely subjective, isn’t it? What I can assure you of is that it’s a snapshot of a place and a moment that I experienced with my daughter here on August 2nd, 2021.

Grand Prismatic Spring at Yellowstone National Park in Wyoming

Yep, that’s lava flowing out of the water, or maybe it’s a trillion parties of bacteria in their lit cities, as seen from this satellite view. Oops, I was wrong; this is the work of Banksy, who threw down some damn realistic-looking graffiti turning this plain old hot spring into a multi-billion dollar artwork.

Escaping Nothing

JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

From Craig, Colorado, the Wyoming border is maybe 30 miles away, and while we were offered a beautiful sunrise, it was going to be short-lived as rain was on the horizon. Until that point, we’ll try to see as much of our environment as possible. Before we reached the border we had to contend with a stretch of road that I was happy we didn’t attempt to drive last night. Five miles of dirt with a few deep ruts from heavy trucks taking the trek were dry by this morning, letting me sigh in relief that I didn’t chicken out and turn around for a long-haul detour.

I’m in love with these bucolic scenes and ideas of pastoral life, but beyond the terrific landscape, people are living angry lives right now. Funny how decades ago the problem was damage being done by DDT; today, it is DJT (Donald J. Trump).

Always trying to avoid the highways that, while fast, offer little in the way of scenery and, of course, little opportunity to stop for a photo of curiosities and sights of interest.

Then again, on a highway, you’ll never run into a single-lane gravel road regulated by a red light, and you get to drive through a trough where a new bridge is being built out in the middle of nowhere.

After our nearly 6 miles of bumpy, slow driving, we encountered paved road again and maybe 10 miles after that, we reached the Wyoming state line. This is looking back into Colorado at that spot.

What have we escaped by leaving Colorado and entering Wyoming? The same things we left behind in Arizona and New Mexico, just about nothing. Everywhere, there are things to discover unless you’re one of those who feel trapped and cannot see the opportunity all around them. The state line we are crossing is where road number 13 turns into the 789.

We have a lot of miles to cover today on our way up to northern Wyoming, but easily distracted by nearly everything, we’ll stop again and again. These distractions are known as pronghorn antelope.

Looking west, we are near Interstate 80, which we’ll have to contend with as there’s no way to avoid it. But if I turn around…

…and look east there was a train approaching far in the distance. So, we waited about 10 minutes for this multi-engine, nearly 2-mile-long train with an additional engine about two-thirds of the way back to reach us here at the bridge. Jessica commented that she couldn’t remember ever seeing a train from above, come to think of it, I don’t know if I ever had either. I should add when those diesel engines pass right below your face, the power they are exerting feels quite intimidating.

We only had to cover a 20-mile stretch of the freeway before reaching Rawlins, Wyoming, where we could reconnect with Highway 789, also known as the 287. It’s raining off and on out this way, leaving few opportunities for photos. Even though we are far away now from Interstate 80, nothing slows down the impatient on their way somewhere other than where they are. So I just try to mind our safety, and when a car in the rearview mirror is closer than about a half-mile, I pull over and wait as where we are going will still be there whether we arrive sooner or later.

It was just one such stop that I noticed a sign of roadside interest, but you couldn’t see it from the main road, so I turned down a street, and we walked over to read this. Welcome to the modern ghost town of Jeffrey City that sprung to life in 1957 as a uranium mining town but less than 30 years later would lose thousands of residents. A biker rode up to collect his mail from a central mailbox still operating for the few who remain and told me that there are still about 20 people living there.

Another 50 miles up the road, we finally stopped for a proper coffee in Riverton at the Brown Sugar Coffee Roastery on Main Street. Taking a few minutes to sit down away from the car and write in this small town is a great luxury celebrated with grabbing a pound of coffee beans and a little snack. With our goal to get to our next destination earlier than the previous two days, it’s time to hit save and get moving again.

Another 22 miles north, and we have arrived at our destination, Shoshoni, Wyoming, but something looks amiss.

Shown our room, we weren’t the least bit pleased as not only things don’t look like the brochure they mailed us, but we’d asked for a room with two queen beds. Management at the Shoshoni Motel was unrelenting in insisting they had a 24-hour cancelation policy and wouldn’t refund our money. So, Jessica slept in the chair, which was probably a better deal as she didn’t have to rest her head on that filthy pillow.

Of course, that motel was NOT where we were staying. But nothing is at it seems out here. The river in this photo is the Bighorn River, while the area is called Wind River.

This is my daughter’s look of confusion as she was trying to solve the puzzle of exactly where she was, though it might have also been the latent effects of that wicked, powerful joint we bought yesterday in Colorado, where weed is legal for recreational use.

I have a soft spot for granites and schists.

Pulling into Cody, Wyoming, with a few hours of daylight remaining, the draw of Yellowstone National Park was too much to ignore. Fortune struck on two counts for us: first of all, we didn’t have a reservation for tonight; secondly, after calling Old Faithful Inn, I was able to tack on an extra night a day early. So, instead of waiting till morning for the drive into the park, using a park entry I’ve not driven before, we’ll be heading in under gray skies this early evening.

Here we are, cruising ever closer to Yellowstone, passing through Wapiti, when I spot a lone Bob’s Big Boy statue standing guard in front of the range. That’s some loving care out there as someone gave this nearly forgotten icon a beautiful home, mounted it on concrete to thwart its theft, and is keeping it painted so it looks as fresh as ever.

We passed through the entrance of the park but skipped the crowded entry sign as the selfie-a-gogo party was in full effect. So instead of our smiling faces noting that we’d dropped into Yellowstone, I present you flowers and water.

I smelled this bubbling hot spring before seeing it; it’s not a smell I find awkward at all; as a matter of fact, I quite love the reminder of where I’m at.

This unnamed hot spring was our welcoming thermal feature, and though it’s no Old Faithful geyser, it was perfect for me this late day.

Ran into our first traffic jam caused by gawking at wildlife with a small group of elk standing next to Yellowstone Lake. It was dark as we arrived at Old Faithful Inn and found the parking lot packed full. Over near the gas station, we were able to find a spot and hauled our stuff up the short incline. Not that short, though, as at 7,300 feet of elevation, this old man was huffing and puffing, trying to drag everything up in one go. At the iconic red doors of the inn, signs were added yesterday that required everyone entering to wear a mask; back to this routine as things seem to be spiraling out of control in America.

Out Finding The Road

JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

Here we are in the San Juan Mountains, heading towards Telluride. This should have been one of the more beautiful drives in America, with mist rising off the forest and streams, wildflowers, bursts of summer growth, and soaring mountains, but the path through it all is a utility not intended as a corridor of exploration and appreciation. There are just not enough pullouts to stop and enjoy the glorious views. Couple this road with the aggressive nature of those in a hurry to get to their destination as they’ve grown so accustomed to the sights that the scenery means nothing to them, and I’m left feeling that we are on a road to nowhere.

Signs used to be limited to pointing towards directions and upcoming conveniences such as hotels, food, and restrooms, but nowadays, we also must contend with a politicized thoroughfare where perpetual campaign slogans are seen every so many miles instead of being able to enjoy the birds and trees. This long drive that should have led into the wonderful becomes a maneuver through the psycho-consumptive mental illness that is modern America.

My love affair with the grand wide open spaces I was so fond of on previous visits is being crowded out by the anger of a populace that is growing disenfranchised and their mantras affirming their disillusionment. The vistas still rise majestically, but I can’t help but feel that the morass of stupidity is accumulating like molasses around the ankles of those who wish to move freely.

Pullouts are few and far between. Picnic benches are non-existent. The speed limit is 60, with most drivers pressing 70. I try to mosey along, barely maintaining 40; I am the hazard. It’s summer here at the end of July, and while the temperature is a pleasant 53 degrees before 9:00 this morning, my opportunity to listen to the silence between bursts from the songbirds with rushing water below is limited. Massive pickup trucks with a single occupant, windows rolled up tight, occasionally with bass thumping from a quarter-mile away scream past, letting me know that we are in different universes. Nature is no longer here for poets, writers, composers, hikers, and explorers; it is either a financial resource or an impediment to arriving at a destination where money is to be found.

Moving through Telluride but not stopping for more than a photo at the end of the road, I’m struck by the contrast of those walking and riding by and the Goethe’s walk along the Lahn River to the Rhein River. Goethe walked for three days to cover the 70 miles, and after his arrival back in Frankfurt, he wrote a book that led to a new era in literature. Today, people have to have the right LuluLemon tights, the best namebrand shoes, $10,000 carbon fiber bikes, kitted-out Jeeps with all the popular accouterments, and water bottles that speak to their brand loyalty. They do not move; they present.

Walking, hiking, or biking without style and the display of conspicuous consumption is for the commoner. Being mentally present for the sake of doing something of any particular meaning is passe when Instagram pages are waiting to be filled, and likes are accumulated for simply going to the place everyone believes holds a kind of cache not found in places not branded as “hip.” And what is going to lend that air of importance to a location besides the beautiful setting? It is the expensive nature that can be brought to the destination to maintain exclusiveness. Why should the poor experience “our” beautiful places when they can go to their local lake?

There’s a conundrum here as I fully understand what places like Daytona Beach, Myrtle Beach, and Atlantic City attract concerning tourism and how the exclusive natures of Jackson Hole, Telluride, and Sun Valley maintain their dignified airs. The real problem is a lament I’ve shared here far too often: America cultivates a vast underclass so that at any given time, it has massive reserves of expendable bodies to fight whatever conflict it wants to enter. As long as America’s lower and middle classes have lakes, sectioned-off segments of the coast, and places like Branson, Missouri, that are referred to as “Family Vacation Destinations,” this divide will continue to exist. I’m comparing this to Europe, where in places such as Vienna, all the economic classes of Europe mingle with the cultural attractions on offer.

Damn, this is a line of writing that I’ve grown tired of, but here I am in western Colorado, being confronted with the American reality that the haves and have-nots should remain as far apart as possible, and this makes me seriously uncomfortable.

I am on vacation with my daughter, and I can’t let go of the built-in, inherently unfair structural elements that define this country. I resent that we no longer want to do better and build a solid society but instead are cozy with our ugly mediocrity, bias, racism, and classism.

Just as I gaze out on the profound nature all around me and want to be lost in the moment within the environment, I cannot shut off the hostility pulsing through this country.

And then I realize that part of my problem for experiencing anxiety today is that I’m catching glimpses of the conditions that are leading to the re-masking of America due to the pandemic going out of control again. As the Delta variant of COVID has been ravaging corners of America, especially the unvaccinated, I’m watching people go about as though nothing is wrong. I feel like it’s the end of February 2020 all over again, where Caroline and I had already stocked up on masks, sanitizer, and food while the majority of the population seemed to think nothing much at all was going to happen.

Had you given me an all-expenses-paid vacation to Anywhere, Earth, last February or March, I would have turned it down, but here in Colorado, on our way to points north and then southeast, it’s business as usual. While my daughter and I are among the vaccinated, it’s obvious that at least half of everyone out here is not, while social distancing is nonexistent. Hopefully, when we finally start in on some hikes, we’ll find some solitude where the pandemic can, for a few days, be put out of my head.

The rainbow should be the perfect metaphor for what lies ahead, as the darkness of stupidity can’t loom over my head forever. True, I’m not out of the woods yet, and I can’t say that I’ll be able to escape the malignancy overcoming the landscape of the United States.

Here we are, America. We’ve lost our way, and our dreams no longer exist. The corpse just continues to wither away, and remnants of what was once an elegant creature are left by the side of the road, unseen by those on their way to suffering the same fate. We are now redefining our flag with various colors or trying to live with archaic symbols of an age long gone. We are pledging allegiance not to an idea but to a man some would like to be seen as all-powerful. This is the empire and body politic in decay. Sadly, I can no longer glide over the landscape without smelling the putrid stench of the rot.

Will the clouds dump their cleansing waters of enlightenment and clear our minds of the rampant hatred, or are we doomed to live in perpetual night?

Well, the sun sets over this day, too, and maybe tomorrow, the glimmers of something new will rise with our nearby star, but I will not hold my breath as while I may wake to witness beauty another day, as long as I’m within these borders I’m afraid the storm of our mediocrity will continue to rain down.

Wednesday Whales and Fog

JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

On Monday, Caroline had asked about going whale watching today. I kiboshed that idea as we have some 50 miles of coastline to drive, and knowing us, that would take the better part of the day. So, I offered a compromise: we’d head over to Lovers Point, the place our motel is named after, and we’d spend the morning watching the squirrels. The action was just getting going when the inexplicable happened…

The distinctive sound of compressed air shot out of a blowhole caught our attention; then we spotted an arching back: whales right near the shore! For forty-five minutes, maybe even an hour, we watched a small pod of whales feeding right here at Lovers Point, making these two lovers super happy for every moment they were hanging out in our presence. But, there was another surprising aspect of our encounter…

A mom was traveling with her calf directly by her side. Just when we thought our brief time in the Monterey Bay area couldn’t get any better, it got seriously better. The worst thing about seeing whales is trying to peel yourself away from wanting to see more. Luckily, we watched them swimming away, which allowed us to head down the road.

But of course, it now being past 11:00 a.m., the local yarn shop called Monarch Knitting was open, so we had to add shop #5 to our yarn buying spree. Caroline is holding yet another skein of yarn that will transform into socks for me someday.

Leaving the rather large yarn store, I spotted a Mexican restaurant across the street. Seeing it was now past lunchtime, we stopped in at Mando’s for chips, guacamole, a chimichanga, and shrimp for Caroline. And I forgot to share that this morning, we breakfasted once again at the Red House Cafe.

Out on Highway 1, driving south, we encountered a lot of fog. No, seriously, it was a lot of fog just not in this photo yet.

Okay, so I was focusing on the moments when the fog wasn’t hugging the coast, and we were gaining glimpses of the aquamarine waters below.

Well, I’m not so sure anyone will ever believe that we were driving mostly in the fog if all I keep sharing are these beautiful landscapes.

Ah, there we go; that looks like pretty heavy fog, right?

We are in Lucia, and the ocean is just beyond that cabin, believe it or not.

This is the bridge at Limekiln State Park with some of the most interesting positioned campsites we’ve seen. Maybe tomorrow we’ll return when we can visit earlier in the day.

In all of our years on this road, we’ve always managed to miss the natural springs offering travelers a drink of fresh water. If you are driving too fast or have some asshole (there are many on this road) right behind you that risks rear-ending you, you’ll go right by these treasures. It’s not like there are dozens of places to turn around on the Pacific Coast Highway, and there are no signs informing you of upcoming springs.

We’ve been out here now for nearly five hours before we finally get to our destination.

Treebones Resort, home to the Human Nest, where we stayed for New Year’s Eve 10 years ago. We are here for the next two days.

This is our perch on the sea; it is all ours. Also all ours is our time tomorrow as with the driving and not having shot so many photos today, this entire blog entry is complete right after dinner here at the resort. Good night.

Sunday at the Aquarium

JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

Caroline Wise at Red House Café in Pacific Grove, California

Breakfast was at the Red House Cafe just up the street from our hotel and around the corner from the glimmering sun shining on the bay. It was a good thing we showed up when we did as only about 15 later, the wait for people showing up went from “seated immediately,” like we were, to approximately 45 minutes. My frittata with avocado and a side of bacon and Caroline’s breakfast sandwich were both great, and while tempted to stick with what we know for tomorrow’s breakfast, we will be trying a place called Toasties Café.

Pacific Grove, California

The ulterior motive for finding places within walking distance of our hotel is that we have a parking place nearly in front of our door, and the aquarium is only a little more than a mile away, so we can walk nearly everywhere we need to be. And what’s not to love about these kinds of views?

Monterey Bay Aquarium in Monterey Bay, California

This is the second day the Monterey Bay Aquarium has been open in more than a year, and here we are on opening weekend. Capacity has been greatly reduced, and the first two weeks are open exclusively to members only; lucky us. From more than 17,000 people on busy days, operations have been scaled down to only 1,700 as they experiment with what will work to keep staff and visitors safe. We’re in line and couldn’t be more excited, even if we were 5-year-olds going into Disneyland for the first time. As a matter of fact, this might as well be any theme park on Earth right now, making dreams come true.

During the first hour, only 200 visitors were let in. I can’t emphasize how perfect this is as we’ve been here on busy days that only discouraged the idea of ever wanting to return.

Monterey Bay Aquarium in Monterey Bay, California

Our first stop was at the Kelp Forest, wherewith the pulse and sway of so much beauty, Caroline’s tears joined in the flow with the oh-so-familiar music, guaranteeing her emotions would go sailing. This is where the mandatory mask policy came in handy as not only do they hide the emotional outbreak on the lower half of her face, but the top of the mask can also be used to mop up tears that escape her eyes.

Monterey Bay Aquarium in Monterey Bay, California

Like our drive at 18mph up the coast yesterday, we are trying to maintain a velocity that might confuse others into believing we are chitons, moving imperceptibly. We couldn’t tell you if anything has ever changed in the Kelp Forest over the years; for all we know, these are the exact same fish that were here on our very first visit back in 1991. We continue to sit right here, enchanted that there isn’t a massive crowd forming, just us and the sway reminiscent of the tide pushing things to and fro.

Monterey Bay Aquarium in Monterey Bay, California

The elusive octopus remained so and spurred Caroline into wondering if a donation of sufficient bribery size might get us into a behind-the-scenes opportunity to have a close encounter with one of these fascinating creatures. I think we’ll likely inquire with management tomorrow how something like this could come to pass.

Monterey Bay Aquarium in Monterey Bay, California

We are not competing with others to gain close-up views of the fish; we don’t have to allow small children to step through to have their moment, as everyone is following social distancing guidelines and remaining appropriately separated.

Monterey Bay Aquarium in Monterey Bay, California

While hard to see, I’m posting these skeleton shrimp today because tomorrow I may not get one even this good, if this can be considered that. These guys or gals are tiny, and how a guide we had years ago while kayaking the Strait of Juan de Fuca saw one in some kelp at the surface still remains a mystery to me.

Monterey Bay Aquarium in Monterey Bay, California

You might think we’ve grown tired of seeing anemones due to the numbers of them seen in tidepools and snorkeling over the many years we’ve been exploring coastal waters, but you’d be wrong, as all anemones are special in our eyes. Should you ever be so lucky to visit the Monterey Bay Aquarium, you’ll see hundreds of these creatures on display and will likely be inclined to start naming them just as we do. This particular specimen is named Ganymede Jones.

Monterey Bay Aquarium in Monterey Bay, California

I took a really nice photo of this American Avocet head-on, but you can’t see the curve in its beak, so I chose my second favorite. The other 72 pictures I took of this bird didn’t make the cut. Seriously though, I didn’t take quite that many.

Monterey Bay Aquarium in Monterey Bay, California

If you are familiar with the aquarium, you’ll know that we are upstairs in the Splash Zone, where the tropical fish and penguins reside.

Caroline Wise at the Monterey Bay Aquarium in Monterey Bay, California

This is probably for kids, but Caroline fit so back into the egg she went. Back, you ask? Caroline was once an egg found under a cabbage leaf many years ago. Click here for proof.

Monterey Bay Aquarium in Monterey Bay, California

Steve the Eel was happy to welcome us back after our four-year absence. That he still remembered us was a big surprise, but seeing his smile again warmed our hearts just as it did on our first encounter.

Monterey Bay Aquarium in Monterey Bay, California

If you, too, are thinking I should consider starting a side business in fish portraiture, I’m inclined to believe there’s an opportunity here going untapped.

Caroline Wise at the Monterey Bay Aquarium in Monterey Bay, California

While it was already lunchtime when I started writing this, our meal was done, and Caroline was nearly finished with her can of Alvarado Street Pils she mixed with a bottle of Lemon Seltzer. We need to get walking again as we only have about three hours left here. It’ll be evening by the time I get to transfer the hundreds of photos I shot today with hopes of reducing the count to a mere couple of dozen, maybe three dozen, but seriously, no more than that.

Monterey Bay Aquarium in Monterey Bay, California

We know our way around the aquarium, and while on one hand, the beautiful weather here in the Monterey Bay begs us to be out there listening to the shorebirds and crashing surf right now, we’ll have plenty of opportunities to linger out here in the next few days.

Monterey Bay Aquarium in Monterey Bay, California

With two days available to visit the aquarium, there is no rush. If we feel like lingering, we have all the luxury in the world to do just that.

Monterey Bay Aquarium in Monterey Bay, California

It was just about here that Caroline gasped in the horror of recognizing that having salmon poke for lunch with a beer produces burps that back-flow from the mask right into the nose and they aren’t pretty. Hopefully, my wife doesn’t edit out this bit of too-much-info [I was sorely tempted – Caroline].

Monterey Bay Aquarium in Monterey Bay, California

If I had to wager, I’d say that the jellies and the otters are the two most popular exhibits, and for good reason. The otters look cuddly and sweet, though if you saw one of them captured, you’d be rightfully afraid of them. Otters are big and pry open clams with their bare paws, so while their images are sold as a loving plushy, just ask the last bird that was pulled into its maw how cute these creatures are. Jellies, on the other hand, excluding the Portuguese Man o’ War, are non-aggressive angelic floating sea clouds that pose on command, showing the wonders of the universe in their psychedelic inner folds where time dissolves into the sea.

Monterey Bay Aquarium in Monterey Bay, California

The nemesis tank is how I refer to this giant window on the deeper ocean. While always entertaining with its tuna darting around and a couple of turtles swimming around above them, it is notoriously difficult to photograph those things that ply the waters of the Open Ocean.

Monterey Bay Aquarium in Monterey Bay, California

Every visit to the aquarium we’ve ever made has always introduced us to creatures we’ve never seen before but there are consequences that come with that.

Monterey Bay Aquarium in Monterey Bay, California

Certain animals on display you might hope to see on a subsequent visit might be replaced and so it was with the missing nautiloids that disappeared years ago and the giant cuttlefish that change colors. Well, at least there are these squids that are obviously from an alien dimension theorized to exist by Michio Kaku in his landmark book, “Squids Are Smarter Than You And Are Aliens.”

Monterey Bay Aquarium in Monterey Bay, California

Mini cuttlefish were better than no cuttlefish. I’m asking Caroline to have this engraved on the tombstone I won’t have, as my instructions are to be cremated upon death so this is a non-starter for deeper conversations that might include anybody else’s opinions for what is appropriate.

Staring at this photo, hopelessly lost for something witty to write about it, I got to thinking about cloning and splicing DNA, especially in human genetics, and realized that cuttlefish or squid DNA responsible for the wild gyrations in color would be conducive to offering future generations of people some truly unique appearance characteristics.

Caroline Wise at the Monterey Bay Aquarium in Monterey Bay, California

Well, here it is at 4:00 p.m. with an hour to go before the aquarium closes, and it’s time for a coffee and a large glass of water. For while we are surrounded by water, I find very few fountains to slake my thirst; that or I’m too focused on taking 1000s of photos. (Okay, it’s only 609 so far). Actually, I don’t really want to write anything at the moment, as watching the waves roll in while sipping my coffee is mesmerizing. It’s almost strange how soothing the ocean is on a calm sunny day when one stops to think of the roiling abyss that, to a human lost in the middle of it, would appear to be an inescapable infinity. But there it is in all of its mystery, somehow talking to me, reassuring my senses that everything is fine.

In forty-five minutes, the aquarium will close, and while we have all day here tomorrow, we are considering asking for passes for a 3:00 p.m. entry on…nope, I was just reminded that this place is closed on Tuesday and Wednesday for cleaning and evaluating how the first few days of being open are going. And after learning that, we now have about 30 minutes to race through the kelp exhibit. Time to run, but I’ll return.

Monterey Bay Aquarium in Monterey Bay, California

The lights are being turned off, and the fish are snuggling up as they pair off to head to sleepy land, or would that be a watery world?

As for us, we headed over to Wonju Restaurant, a Korean place we ate at the last time we were in Monterey. After the carnage of a year without tourism, the other Korean restaurants shut down and this one is hopeful to survive after being at the same location for 27 years now. Do we have recommendations here? Well, I’ll vouch for the Bibimbap being a solid and hearty dish; while Caroline’s flounder and tofu soup was great, I know it was great because I tried it.

Pacific Grove, California

The temperature was dropping fast as the sun dipped out of the sky. While both of us would have enjoyed staying out for another hour or two, I’m trying my best not to fall too far behind in blogging about our experience before we’ve collected even more impressions further down the road.

Katharina – Salt River Wild Horses

JWise Photo of the Day

Wild Horses at Salt River in Arizona

Today is Kat’s last day in America but that didn’t mean we’d not try to do something spectacular to close out this leg of her gap year and brief three-week vacation in America. We woke shortly after 4:00 in the wee hours of the morning with about 90 minutes to go before the sun would rise. After dropping Caroline off at her office our niece and I continued across the Valley of the Sun over to the Salt River.

Since Katharina arrived on the first of July from New Zealand we have traveled over 2,192 miles with her here in the Southwest, which at 3,528 kilometers is about the same as driving from Barcelona, Spain, to Moscow, Russia. Our destinations have included the Petrified Forest National Park, Grand Canyon National Park, Chaco Culture National Historic Park, Canyon de Chelly National Monument, the Navajo and Zuni Reservations, the San Juan Mountains, Heard Museum, the Desert Botanical Garden, the Colorado River, Sedona, and a horse sanctuary right here in Phoenix. These places took us into the northeast corner of Arizona, the southwest corner of Colorado, northwest New Mexico, and we dipped into southern Utah.

Our niece has tried Mexican food, Korean food, a Piccadilly (Navajo shave ice), various pizzas, pancakes, pizza cookies, and cheesecake. All the while she was able to maintain being a vegetarian which she chose to practice while in New Zealand. She got a judo practice in, visited the gym a few times with her Aunt Caroline, rode a mule into the Grand Canyon, went horseback riding in Sedona, and obviously from these photos had the chance to photograph and visit with the wild horses of the Salt River.

Along the way she’s been offered countless cups of coffee (she doesn’t drink it), cigarettes (she doesn’t smoke), marijuana in Colorado (it’s legal for recreational use but she doesn’t smoke that either), tattoos weren’t appealing, we couldn’t get her to cuss so I made up for it by cussing all the time. Even when we tried to turn her to another kind of vice by offering her beer or hard alcohol she was able to abstain, good thing too, as she’s only 19 and we’d have been contributing to the delinquency of someone to whom it’s illegal to give alcohol. She didn’t want a haircut, she vigilantly wore sunblock, she stayed awake for our long drives, didn’t get car sick once (she’s quite prone to that), she didn’t complain about me listening to Rammstein or dubstep in the car but I don’t think she liked either. Boba tea didn’t go over well, nor did deep dish pizza but she made up for most everything with enthusiastic laughter.

Wild Horses at Salt River in Arizona

Like all young people, and creatures too, our niece is only now stepping out on her own and still has lots to learn. She may not know it yet but she’s got a big journey ahead of her where each step offers her experiences that will help define her evolving perspectives which will hopefully grow as she continues to mature. We learn best when others give us nudges that help keep us on the right path and just like with the horses she adores, sometimes a sharp bite or solid kick (metaphorically speaking) is needed to bring attention to a drifting awareness. Most of all though we need compassion and love and while we may not be well-practiced in how to best share that, it doesn’t mean we don’t try our best to give of ourselves and find compromise when we are not getting our way.

Wild Horses at Salt River in Arizona

It’s been nice to run around the Southwest with Katharina and show her a different way of life of two people she hardly knew when she landed here. She left the winter of New Zealand and dropped into our summer heat in the desert and has done great keeping up with us and helping us think about the way we do and see things so we might better understand a teenager. I’m guessing that the next time we spend some serious time with her she may likely be in her career following the next four years of university she’s returning to Germany for. For now, she still feels like an adolescent to us oldies but given a bit more time she’ll join the ranks of adults, and if she’s lucky she’ll still be laughing and ready for other adventures.