Yeah, I just don't really know how to start a post about a trip to Yellowstone National Park.
Do I get all whimsical and silly about OH we saw bears and wolves and elk and deer and geysers and bison with their babies and waterfalls and pronghorn and a moose (yes, a moose. Don't even try to say that there aren't moose in the park anymore because we saw one and THEY ARE THERE) and a marmot and some birds and OH DID I MENTION WE SAW A BLACK BEAR IN A TREE?!
Or, do I do the "Oh the traffic and ridiculous tourists with their Disneyland Drive-thru approach to nature" shtick where I complain ironically about how tourists in Yellowstone are so like this and so like that and totally wear those tshirts with wolves howling at the moon on them while they park their RV across two lanes of traffic so they can videotape bison wandering in the road?
Or do I confirm your suspicions that we're all just a bunch of classy ladies with photos of our high-flalutin evenings on the town and in our five star hotel suite?
I found that to be a shameless waste of antlers.
So now I feel better knowing that we, like the Native Americans, have used all the parts of this creature for good.
No horse's asses were harmed in the shooting of this photograph.
I think you will appreciate our fine hotel crystal. Only the best for Girl's Weekend '09.
Let's talk flyfishing.
Yellowstone River - you are HOTNESS.
I can see at least three spots in this photo I'd like to be standing in with my fly rod.
Like forever and ever until you get bored of fishing.
See, I haven't been fishing yet this year. And during this trip my rod arm was all itchy to cast into the quiet riffles around the bends of this endless stretch of tempting water. I wanted to pull on my waders and go wandering out into the never-never just so I could stand in the middle of, what appeared to be, Creation, and fish it. To see if I could, in fact, become bored of fishing.
Ok, so my cast isn't *this* good, but I think you see what I mean about temptation.
But until Charley the Pink Fuzzy, who we met while soaking in the pools at Chico Hot Springs, told me that he had during the last eight years of living in Montana actually gotten bored of fishing because it's, like, such a sure thing what is the point, I hadn't yet dreamed that I, Super Novice FlyFisherWoman, would even stand a chance of doing more than standing in the river with my prop fly rod casting meaninglessly into the current.
But the words, "sure thing", "endless trout", "so easy I'm bored of it" really hit home with me. Because I need ease and sure things when I fish so that I can stand a chance of catching something.
Also, the other words in our conversation with Pink Fuzzy Porno Wilderness Man weren't inspiring in any way unless you consider "fleeing for your life so you don't get snatched and buried in a basement" inspiring. Which I don't. I consider that more of a call for alarm.
Regardless, I will be back. With my fly rod. And Bubba. And it will be grand.
For the record, we did not encounter any historical romance, although we did enjoy the mineral pools very much.Not Margaritas in the Hot Springs With My Favorite Gals kind of grand, but more Gin From My Vest Flask While I Stand With Bubba in the River kind of grand.
There's room for all these kinds of Grand, you know. Lord knows Montana and Wyoming are big enough for both, after all.
They're not kidding about that Big Sky thing.