This week, Emily (finally) attended school all day for the very first time as she embarked on the adventure that is year 1.
There is of course mixed emotions with the youngest of the clan reaching this milestone. There’s the elation that a stay a home Mum might be tempted to indulge in as she is left with four whole days of the week where she has the opportunity to do what ever she likes for 6 hours a day (even if it is cleaning). There’s the realization that another step has passed, that there’s another kid to pester into doing homework and of course that time marches inexorably on.
Mostly its been very positive. Emily is at the same school that she attended kindergarten, so there weren’t any real transitional traumas and given her age and level of intelligence, I’d say that on the whole, she was excited by the prospect of getting to go to school and continuing to grow her fledgling knowledge.
Then last night, after day 3 of school, I went to put Emily to bed. She was most upset and told me that she needed to see Mummy. Caroline happened to be playing golf, so I told Emily that she’d not get home for a while longer yet, so she would have to put up with me (which in the past has been more than sufficient to keep her happy). She wasn’t going to have a bar of it and was very distraught. I took her upstairs, read her a story, made sure that she had ‘little husky’ and she seemed to have calmed down, but at the prospect of my leaving, the blubbering began again. What caught me by surprise was that this was real blubbering, not that fake, I’m winding you around my finger stuff that I usually get.
I probed a little to try and discover its source and asked if something had happened at school. Well that set her right off. First she just clammed up and then the tears flowed. I was worried that someone might have been picking on her (though its hard to believe that Emily would let that happen) but it turned out that someone had told her a scary story about their friend’s sister who had ended up dead (or something along those lines). Either way, it had her petrified and only Mummy coming home was ever going to fix it.
At the point that she said to me, “Can I stay home from school tomorrow?” with fear all but oozing from the pores of her skin, I was crushed. I wanted to find out who the little bugger was that had told her the story and go pay them a visit. I would have done a little more than tell a scary story too. As it stands, Caroline got home and managed to settle the little girl and she slept soundly right through the night. I haven’t yet heard how she got on in getting her to school.
Sep 3, 2009
Aug 25, 2009
Pets
So far, we’ve managed to avoid the accumulation of any animals in our house other than Jack the Cat who resides with the in-laws back in Australia. He’s been there long enough now (since we extended the house) that its hard to even really think of him as our cat. As the children grow older though, there’s mounting pressure for us to get some thing for them to torture bestow their love upon other than their parents (let’s face it we’re sure to be well on our way down the ‘cool curve’ at this stage).
One of the good things about having moved overseas is the ability to use the excuse that we can’t have a pet because we won’t be able to take it back to Australia. Hell, we might be able, but if someone else isn’t going to foot the bill, I’m not forking out for furry removals!
Emily may very well melt at the sight of anything fuzzy and cute, but even that hasn’t managed to sway me thus far.
Things did get dangerously close though. A couple of weeks ago Michael and Sam went to a science camp (camp over here does not involve sleeping there) and amongst all that happened, there, came home deciding that they had found a pet that they wanted.
A snake. Of course, what else would it be? When they excitedly told me about it, I asked if they had asked their mother (knowing full well what to expect).
“Yeah and she didn’t say no!” came the excited response. Emily and Thomas had even been there when Caroline had gone to pick the boys up, so they’d seen the snakes as well. So the limiting factor quickly became the ability to import the little critter into Australia. Turns out that getting them in is about as easy as getting them out (though probably more legal if you actually do it right) so for now, we are continuing with our pet free journey.
Of course, I personally believe that we should get it and just let it free when we leave if we can’t find someone else that wants to take it off our hands ... its only a tiny little corn snake after all.
One of the good things about having moved overseas is the ability to use the excuse that we can’t have a pet because we won’t be able to take it back to Australia. Hell, we might be able, but if someone else isn’t going to foot the bill, I’m not forking out for furry removals!
Emily may very well melt at the sight of anything fuzzy and cute, but even that hasn’t managed to sway me thus far.
Things did get dangerously close though. A couple of weeks ago Michael and Sam went to a science camp (camp over here does not involve sleeping there) and amongst all that happened, there, came home deciding that they had found a pet that they wanted.
A snake. Of course, what else would it be? When they excitedly told me about it, I asked if they had asked their mother (knowing full well what to expect).
“Yeah and she didn’t say no!” came the excited response. Emily and Thomas had even been there when Caroline had gone to pick the boys up, so they’d seen the snakes as well. So the limiting factor quickly became the ability to import the little critter into Australia. Turns out that getting them in is about as easy as getting them out (though probably more legal if you actually do it right) so for now, we are continuing with our pet free journey.
Of course, I personally believe that we should get it and just let it free when we leave if we can’t find someone else that wants to take it off our hands ... its only a tiny little corn snake after all.
Aug 5, 2009
Tour de Birchwood
Last year there was an event in Fort McMurray that we didn’t take part in, but arrived at the end of as we decided to go for a family walk. It was a family orientated bike race through the birchwood forest and it looked like a lot of fun.
So this year, when it popped up again, we decided to take part. The kids got to go first, round a short 1km loop that went through the forest for 500m or so and then back along a bitumen path. Emily and Thomas’ age group went around once, Michael and Sam’s three times.
I missed Thomas’ as I was back home fetching the rest of the bicycles that we’d need to compete. Things were looking good for us because there was only about 5 adults enrolled. Possible prizes loomed.
Thomas enjoyed his short run so much that he went round with the big boys. I’m sure that part of that stemmed from the disappointment that was evident when he told me passionately that he would have come second or third if someone had knocked his stand down! He came in fifth. In the big boys race he cruised, saving himself for a final burst through to the crowd at the finish somewhere near the back of the pack. Michael and Sam came in fourth and fifth in their race.
Then came the adult race. An hour before the race there was probably 6 people going to be involved and I was looking forward to a nice quiet roll through the forest.
Then the lycra showed up.
Obviously these people were seasoned campaigners, showing up some 3 hours after the sign in deadline with their fancy bikes and lycra clad muscle bound bodies. Caroline and I exchanged knowing looks. Yep, hello last place.
Caroline took the kids home because they didn’t want to wait the hour and a half until our race after theirs. I spent some of that time talking to the people from the bike club that had organized the event and they let me know about some of the fun that we had to look forward to. Apparently there was going to be a bit of mud down the bottom of the gully but that there were some pallets and planks and things that had been put down to help get us through.
The time for the race rolled around and Caroline and I lined up at the back of the pack, happy to let the lycra brigade have their lead. As we took off through the first part, things weren’t too bad at all, cruising along on the flat, through the trees, I found myself moving past the first of the girls and even getting into the back of the guys’ pack. I was watching the odometer on the bike, knowing that the race was ‘only’ 15 kilometres long and therefore counting down those that were left as I attempted to measure the beats that were remaining in the old blood pump. There was a bit of mud in some of the dips, but nothing that would cause any concern. I was starting to think that this wouldn’t be so bad after all, even if some of those people I’d made my way past were now in front of me again.
And then we went down the hill. Now the the bastard part of this is that normally, down the hill means hands off the brakes and cruise. But the path was narrow enough and steep enough that going fast simply wasn’t an option.
And that’s when we hit the mud. Sure there were planks. Sure there were pallets. But somewhere in the discussion no one seemed to think to mention that the mud would be something like 3 inches deep! Or that to get onto a pallet, you’d have to get through a metre of the mud and then basically jump up onto the pallet. Or in fact, that some of the stretches of the mud would go for 20 metres! Sometimes I made it, sometimes I didn’t. And the biggest problem with the didn’ts was that it meant that I ended up walking through the mud and caking it onto my shoes. I wasn’t worried about getting dirty, but when you’re staring up a hill that is seemingly endless and more cliff like with every fading beat of your heart, it’s a bit bloody hard to pedal when your foot slides off every time you put the pressure on!
Needless to say, there was some pushing of the bike up the hills and at times, I was well and truly reminded of the time that I went and did a triathlon with exactly no training for it, because that was how much training I’d done for the bike race.
But I finished. Heart pumping, legs shaking, with a burst at the finish to get a second ahead of the guy that had been in front of me I sailed across the finish line in some 39 minutes. I expected something of a wait for Caroline based on how hard I’d found it, but she came across in 44 minutes, far from last place.
We had survived the tour de birchwood.
So this year, when it popped up again, we decided to take part. The kids got to go first, round a short 1km loop that went through the forest for 500m or so and then back along a bitumen path. Emily and Thomas’ age group went around once, Michael and Sam’s three times.
I missed Thomas’ as I was back home fetching the rest of the bicycles that we’d need to compete. Things were looking good for us because there was only about 5 adults enrolled. Possible prizes loomed.
Thomas enjoyed his short run so much that he went round with the big boys. I’m sure that part of that stemmed from the disappointment that was evident when he told me passionately that he would have come second or third if someone had knocked his stand down! He came in fifth. In the big boys race he cruised, saving himself for a final burst through to the crowd at the finish somewhere near the back of the pack. Michael and Sam came in fourth and fifth in their race.
Then came the adult race. An hour before the race there was probably 6 people going to be involved and I was looking forward to a nice quiet roll through the forest.
Then the lycra showed up.
Obviously these people were seasoned campaigners, showing up some 3 hours after the sign in deadline with their fancy bikes and lycra clad muscle bound bodies. Caroline and I exchanged knowing looks. Yep, hello last place.
Caroline took the kids home because they didn’t want to wait the hour and a half until our race after theirs. I spent some of that time talking to the people from the bike club that had organized the event and they let me know about some of the fun that we had to look forward to. Apparently there was going to be a bit of mud down the bottom of the gully but that there were some pallets and planks and things that had been put down to help get us through.
The time for the race rolled around and Caroline and I lined up at the back of the pack, happy to let the lycra brigade have their lead. As we took off through the first part, things weren’t too bad at all, cruising along on the flat, through the trees, I found myself moving past the first of the girls and even getting into the back of the guys’ pack. I was watching the odometer on the bike, knowing that the race was ‘only’ 15 kilometres long and therefore counting down those that were left as I attempted to measure the beats that were remaining in the old blood pump. There was a bit of mud in some of the dips, but nothing that would cause any concern. I was starting to think that this wouldn’t be so bad after all, even if some of those people I’d made my way past were now in front of me again.
And then we went down the hill. Now the the bastard part of this is that normally, down the hill means hands off the brakes and cruise. But the path was narrow enough and steep enough that going fast simply wasn’t an option.
And that’s when we hit the mud. Sure there were planks. Sure there were pallets. But somewhere in the discussion no one seemed to think to mention that the mud would be something like 3 inches deep! Or that to get onto a pallet, you’d have to get through a metre of the mud and then basically jump up onto the pallet. Or in fact, that some of the stretches of the mud would go for 20 metres! Sometimes I made it, sometimes I didn’t. And the biggest problem with the didn’ts was that it meant that I ended up walking through the mud and caking it onto my shoes. I wasn’t worried about getting dirty, but when you’re staring up a hill that is seemingly endless and more cliff like with every fading beat of your heart, it’s a bit bloody hard to pedal when your foot slides off every time you put the pressure on!
Needless to say, there was some pushing of the bike up the hills and at times, I was well and truly reminded of the time that I went and did a triathlon with exactly no training for it, because that was how much training I’d done for the bike race.
But I finished. Heart pumping, legs shaking, with a burst at the finish to get a second ahead of the guy that had been in front of me I sailed across the finish line in some 39 minutes. I expected something of a wait for Caroline based on how hard I’d found it, but she came across in 44 minutes, far from last place.
We had survived the tour de birchwood.
Yellowstone Pt 5. - The Long Road Home
Having seen much of the Yellowstone park by this point in time and having driven a bloody long way to get there, we thought that we should at least spend a day seeing the Grand Teton National Park seeing how close it was relative to our Fort Mac abode.
So once again, we piled the kids in the car and set out to drive. Straight into a traffic jam. Yep, even in the national parks those lovely folks that keep things running need time to repair roads. So we spent the first hour or so of our day alternately stopped and crawling through the traffic, knowing that the end of the day was going to look much the same. Yippee.
It had been hoped (and hyped) that we would get to see a lot more wildlife in the Tetons as the park was expected to be less busy than the better known Yellowstone, but by the time that we’d driven from one end of the park almost to the other end, including a stop for lunch over-looking a gorgeous lake, mountains seeming to rise up from the interface there hadn’t been anything particularly exciting to see (ie nothing we hadn’t managed to spot already).
The big hope for the whole day was to see a moose (or more … meese? I think not). So having reached the end of the park we stopped at the visitor’s centre and Caroline asked about where we should go to see them and what the best time of day was. Of course the best time of day was dusk (by which time we had firm intent of being ensconced around the campfire with a beverage or two) but we hadn’t been through the best part of the park for spotting them yet.
There had also been hopes of fitting in a white water rafting ride, but through the Tetons this was offered more as a ‘drift’. This may have provided a great way of seeing moose, but I wanted the rush of blood that would come with the white water. Add to that the prospect of the exercise taking 3 hours and finishing around dinner time and it just proved too much to consider. After all, we still had to get back through all the construction work.
We buckled ourselves back in the car and took an alternate route back to Yellowstone, stopping for a walk, always hoping for the elusive moose, but by the time we were out of the Tetons, we hadn’t spotted one. We crawled back through the road works, made it to camp and at least managed to enjoy our dinner.
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I thought that it was about time that I managed to finish off the last part of our Yellowstone trip and so once again I find myself sitting around a camp fire with the computer, blogging. This time we’re at Faucet Lake (no, I don’t know if it’s shaped like a tap).
We departed Yellowstone and began the long trek home (well, the destination was actually Drumheller, from where Caroline would deliver me to an airport and I would fly back for work for a week. We passed through the endless trees of the park again, Caroline peering hopefully, desperate for a glimpse of that elusive moose. We only struck one animal-jam on the way out and it wasn’t too bad. There’s a small section of road that is labeled no stopping because it’s a bald eagle reserve. There happened to be some bald eagles present so of course people stopped and took photos.
We drove all the way through Montana and back to the border crossing without anything untoward or worthy of note happening with the intent of trying to camp at Writing on Stone Provincial park. We hadn’t booked or anything, we just though that we’d rock up to a really popular park in the middle of the peak tourist season and stay the night. Well we managed to get as far as the town before Writing on Stone and there was a lovely sign posted saying that their RV park was full. Bugger.
We went to the RV park in the town that we were in, thinking we’d just stop there (after all, it was about 10:30pm at this point in time but they were full as well. We were offered the opportunity to pay $12 for the privilege of setting up in their carpark for the night, but declined such loving hospitality.
Instead, we drove on, hoping to find a park somewhere else. We found the small town of Warner which had a lovely little lions park in it (with all of about 12 sites) and so stopped and set up at 11:30pm, once again glad not to be in the tent trailer. Everything was great until about 7:30am. That was when we were woken by a deep base rumble that seemed to resonate through our very bones. One of those things you don’t notice when its 11:30pm at night is just how close you are to the local rail siding. Two lovely diesel locos, travelling as a light engine had pulled in to the siding and there they sat, idling. Their arrival had seemed to pass about a foot outside the door of the van so loud and close was it, but in reality there was probably a good 200m to the siding. Yippee. We were up fairly soon after that, because those locos were waiting for something and no one was about to shut them down while they waited. At about 10;30 a freight train passed trough and I said to Caroline that they were probably waiting for the cross and would be off soon. Well when we left the park an hour later, they were still there and still idling.
We made it to Drumheller and set up camp, excited that the next day, we’d get to see the dinosaurs.
Ever since last year’s aborted attempt to see the Royal Tyrrell Museum I have been hanging out for a chance to get back there and really not expecting to get the opportunity and so I was insisting that we be there as soon as they opened. Well of course that didn’t happen, but we weren’t too far off and enjoyed getting there before most of the crowd.
Caroline signed everyone up for a fossil casting session which was good fun and then we continued our exploration. I’ll attach some photos because it really was awesome.
And then of course I was dropped off at the airport and abandoned the family in Drumheller as I returned to work. Lucky me.
So once again, we piled the kids in the car and set out to drive. Straight into a traffic jam. Yep, even in the national parks those lovely folks that keep things running need time to repair roads. So we spent the first hour or so of our day alternately stopped and crawling through the traffic, knowing that the end of the day was going to look much the same. Yippee.
It had been hoped (and hyped) that we would get to see a lot more wildlife in the Tetons as the park was expected to be less busy than the better known Yellowstone, but by the time that we’d driven from one end of the park almost to the other end, including a stop for lunch over-looking a gorgeous lake, mountains seeming to rise up from the interface there hadn’t been anything particularly exciting to see (ie nothing we hadn’t managed to spot already).
The big hope for the whole day was to see a moose (or more … meese? I think not). So having reached the end of the park we stopped at the visitor’s centre and Caroline asked about where we should go to see them and what the best time of day was. Of course the best time of day was dusk (by which time we had firm intent of being ensconced around the campfire with a beverage or two) but we hadn’t been through the best part of the park for spotting them yet.
There had also been hopes of fitting in a white water rafting ride, but through the Tetons this was offered more as a ‘drift’. This may have provided a great way of seeing moose, but I wanted the rush of blood that would come with the white water. Add to that the prospect of the exercise taking 3 hours and finishing around dinner time and it just proved too much to consider. After all, we still had to get back through all the construction work.
We buckled ourselves back in the car and took an alternate route back to Yellowstone, stopping for a walk, always hoping for the elusive moose, but by the time we were out of the Tetons, we hadn’t spotted one. We crawled back through the road works, made it to camp and at least managed to enjoy our dinner.
----------
I thought that it was about time that I managed to finish off the last part of our Yellowstone trip and so once again I find myself sitting around a camp fire with the computer, blogging. This time we’re at Faucet Lake (no, I don’t know if it’s shaped like a tap).
We departed Yellowstone and began the long trek home (well, the destination was actually Drumheller, from where Caroline would deliver me to an airport and I would fly back for work for a week. We passed through the endless trees of the park again, Caroline peering hopefully, desperate for a glimpse of that elusive moose. We only struck one animal-jam on the way out and it wasn’t too bad. There’s a small section of road that is labeled no stopping because it’s a bald eagle reserve. There happened to be some bald eagles present so of course people stopped and took photos.
We drove all the way through Montana and back to the border crossing without anything untoward or worthy of note happening with the intent of trying to camp at Writing on Stone Provincial park. We hadn’t booked or anything, we just though that we’d rock up to a really popular park in the middle of the peak tourist season and stay the night. Well we managed to get as far as the town before Writing on Stone and there was a lovely sign posted saying that their RV park was full. Bugger.
We went to the RV park in the town that we were in, thinking we’d just stop there (after all, it was about 10:30pm at this point in time but they were full as well. We were offered the opportunity to pay $12 for the privilege of setting up in their carpark for the night, but declined such loving hospitality.
Instead, we drove on, hoping to find a park somewhere else. We found the small town of Warner which had a lovely little lions park in it (with all of about 12 sites) and so stopped and set up at 11:30pm, once again glad not to be in the tent trailer. Everything was great until about 7:30am. That was when we were woken by a deep base rumble that seemed to resonate through our very bones. One of those things you don’t notice when its 11:30pm at night is just how close you are to the local rail siding. Two lovely diesel locos, travelling as a light engine had pulled in to the siding and there they sat, idling. Their arrival had seemed to pass about a foot outside the door of the van so loud and close was it, but in reality there was probably a good 200m to the siding. Yippee. We were up fairly soon after that, because those locos were waiting for something and no one was about to shut them down while they waited. At about 10;30 a freight train passed trough and I said to Caroline that they were probably waiting for the cross and would be off soon. Well when we left the park an hour later, they were still there and still idling.
We made it to Drumheller and set up camp, excited that the next day, we’d get to see the dinosaurs.
Ever since last year’s aborted attempt to see the Royal Tyrrell Museum I have been hanging out for a chance to get back there and really not expecting to get the opportunity and so I was insisting that we be there as soon as they opened. Well of course that didn’t happen, but we weren’t too far off and enjoyed getting there before most of the crowd.
Caroline signed everyone up for a fossil casting session which was good fun and then we continued our exploration. I’ll attach some photos because it really was awesome.
And then of course I was dropped off at the airport and abandoned the family in Drumheller as I returned to work. Lucky me.
Jul 22, 2009
Yellowstone Pt. 4 – The big one.
Invigorated by the previous day’s fishing experience, and completely over the whole geyser thing, by the time that we got back to camp, the kids were extremely keen to try out their own rods and lures in the lake that our camp site backed onto.
Everyone seemed to split off and go their own way for a few moments. We were starting the fire ready to cook our dinner (there is nothing better than damn good steaks over an open fire) Caroline wanted to get the kayak out on the lake, keen to try a spot of fishing and the boys were all off to the lake edge with their rods.
So it was that I found myself alone at the camp, watching the fire, beer in hand and a few moments peace.
That in itself is of course a recipe for something to happen. Because you can’t have four kids and expect a quiet beer around the campfire early in the evening. It just doesn’t work. Thus, as I sat contemplating life’s grand puzzles, like how empty was my beer and should I bother moving my arse to get another just yet, the sound of kids casting lines into the lake and retrieving them almost entirely dismissed from my consciousness, the peace was broken by the sound of Caroline calling me from the kayak. As may can tell from the photos, I didn’t exactly have vision of what was going on either out in the lake or along the shoreline, which dropped about 2-3 metres from the level of where we camped.
Now admittedly, the first thought wasn’t all that complimentary, but the call was persistent enough that I knew that I was going to have to do something other than just screech “What?” back across the lake. The fact that Caroline’s voice was soon added to by a stranger saying something along the lines of “Is Sam’s Dad there?” had me moving a little more quickly.
The fact that the next thing I heard was “Sam’s got a fish hook through his lip!” had me all but sprinting through the brush, leaping felled trees like a frenzied deer (admittedly it was probably more like a deer that’s been half eaten by a wolf and that is getting on in years) as I navigated the tangled shore of the lake.
I made it to where Sam was and sure enough, there he was, a stranger holding his rod for him and on the end of the line … himself with a hook piercing his lip.
He was luck on 2 counts. Firstly, because we were in Yellowstone, the hook was barbless. Secondly, the hook had only gone through the fleshy part of the lip rather than through the entire front of his face so to speak. That of course did very little to lessen his distress. I tried to work the hook out, but barbless doesn’t mean you just slip off the hook with no effort (unless you’re a trout apparently) as there’s a slight flaring below the tip that was just enough to keep Sam on it without me giving it a really hard pull (and he wasn’t up to that to be sure!).
So with more people descending on us to find out what’s going on (after all, ‘Sam’s got a hook through his mouth’ tends to draw attention) I sent Thomas off for the pliers.
As we waited, I kept the tension off the line and tried to cheer him up as best as I could, I told him that we’d get him some ice for it, that it was unlikely to need an stitches or serious medical attention and askiedif he still though the geysers were boring, or whether he’d rather be caught on a fish hook.
Without batting an eyelid (hew as trying to keep still after all) he looked at me and said, “The fish hook is more fun.” Little bugger! The pliers duly arrived and with a quick clip, the flared tip was removed and Sam slipped off like the elusive ‘one that got away’.
No blood and so nice ice was required and Sam was off being his usual self within minutes. Even when I quipped that I might have to start calling him trout he smiled and in fact, I think he’s secretly pleased with the new nickname!
No photos with this one ... for some reason i didn't think to stop and take any!
Everyone seemed to split off and go their own way for a few moments. We were starting the fire ready to cook our dinner (there is nothing better than damn good steaks over an open fire) Caroline wanted to get the kayak out on the lake, keen to try a spot of fishing and the boys were all off to the lake edge with their rods.
So it was that I found myself alone at the camp, watching the fire, beer in hand and a few moments peace.
That in itself is of course a recipe for something to happen. Because you can’t have four kids and expect a quiet beer around the campfire early in the evening. It just doesn’t work. Thus, as I sat contemplating life’s grand puzzles, like how empty was my beer and should I bother moving my arse to get another just yet, the sound of kids casting lines into the lake and retrieving them almost entirely dismissed from my consciousness, the peace was broken by the sound of Caroline calling me from the kayak. As may can tell from the photos, I didn’t exactly have vision of what was going on either out in the lake or along the shoreline, which dropped about 2-3 metres from the level of where we camped.
Now admittedly, the first thought wasn’t all that complimentary, but the call was persistent enough that I knew that I was going to have to do something other than just screech “What?” back across the lake. The fact that Caroline’s voice was soon added to by a stranger saying something along the lines of “Is Sam’s Dad there?” had me moving a little more quickly.
The fact that the next thing I heard was “Sam’s got a fish hook through his lip!” had me all but sprinting through the brush, leaping felled trees like a frenzied deer (admittedly it was probably more like a deer that’s been half eaten by a wolf and that is getting on in years) as I navigated the tangled shore of the lake.
I made it to where Sam was and sure enough, there he was, a stranger holding his rod for him and on the end of the line … himself with a hook piercing his lip.
He was luck on 2 counts. Firstly, because we were in Yellowstone, the hook was barbless. Secondly, the hook had only gone through the fleshy part of the lip rather than through the entire front of his face so to speak. That of course did very little to lessen his distress. I tried to work the hook out, but barbless doesn’t mean you just slip off the hook with no effort (unless you’re a trout apparently) as there’s a slight flaring below the tip that was just enough to keep Sam on it without me giving it a really hard pull (and he wasn’t up to that to be sure!).
So with more people descending on us to find out what’s going on (after all, ‘Sam’s got a hook through his mouth’ tends to draw attention) I sent Thomas off for the pliers.
As we waited, I kept the tension off the line and tried to cheer him up as best as I could, I told him that we’d get him some ice for it, that it was unlikely to need an stitches or serious medical attention and askiedif he still though the geysers were boring, or whether he’d rather be caught on a fish hook.
Without batting an eyelid (hew as trying to keep still after all) he looked at me and said, “The fish hook is more fun.” Little bugger! The pliers duly arrived and with a quick clip, the flared tip was removed and Sam slipped off like the elusive ‘one that got away’.
No blood and so nice ice was required and Sam was off being his usual self within minutes. Even when I quipped that I might have to start calling him trout he smiled and in fact, I think he’s secretly pleased with the new nickname!
No photos with this one ... for some reason i didn't think to stop and take any!
Yellowstone Pt. 3 – Old Geezers.
The next day was decided to be dedicated to Geysers. In particular, we thought that we’d set out to see Old Faithful. After all, how could one travel all the way to Yellowstone and not see the world’s most famous geyser.
There’s a lot of geysers in the park, but the most notable fact about Old Faithful is the regularity with which it erupts and the fact that they can predict the eruption to within about 20 minutes. The guy that took us fishing recommended going to the visitor’s centre first and see when some of the other geysers were likely to erupt as many of them would likely only go off once a day, whilst you could come back and see Old Faithful anytime given its approximate 90 minute interval between eruptions.
We timed our arrival nicely so that it was due to go off in approximately 5 minutes, so we didn’t rush off to see any of the others (some of which had times posted like ‘within 2 hours of 6pm’). We joined the throng of people sitting to wait for the eruption, listened to a talk by one of the rangers about the geyser, its history and its mechanics (I won’t bother explaining, if you want more information, go here)and waited. And waited. It seemed that we managed to pick one of those days where the old geezer was feeling its years and waited until well past the time that it was supposed to erupt.
This of course gave the kids plenty of time to talk about how boring the whole thing was. Sam in particular really wasn’t all that impressed with the steaming hole in the ground that would occasionally spit and bubble in a teasing, preemptory show only to settle back down again.
But with a little more patience, the geyser did indeed do its thing, spouting a vent of hot water and steam impressively high into the air for about 4 minutes. After about 1 of those 4 minutes, Sam was certainly ready to leave.
Following the eruption, we force marched took the kids for a stroll on a walk around the geysers and hot pools in the area of Old faithful. There were some spectacular formations and pools, some of which looked like incredibly inviting spas whilst others looked like festering sulphurous death traps. It was quite frightening to read that a number of people had died in the area in the park’s history as the crust over some areas can be quite thin and it doesn’t take much to crack through it and descend rapidly into your own little lobster pot. Fortunately there is a wooden walkway these days.
The only time we came close to danger was when my hat decided to fly from me head, past the safety railing and onto the – no trespass zone. With some judicious climbing and delicate balance I managed to hang from the support structure for the walk way and retrieve it without even touching the ground.
I won’t write too much more about this part as I think the photos really describe the place more adequately than I can with words.
Let’s just say that after a long walk with tired kids and without seeing any other geysers erupting, the ice cream that the kids were allowed at the end of it was probably the thing that they’ll remember most!
There’s a lot of geysers in the park, but the most notable fact about Old Faithful is the regularity with which it erupts and the fact that they can predict the eruption to within about 20 minutes. The guy that took us fishing recommended going to the visitor’s centre first and see when some of the other geysers were likely to erupt as many of them would likely only go off once a day, whilst you could come back and see Old Faithful anytime given its approximate 90 minute interval between eruptions.
We timed our arrival nicely so that it was due to go off in approximately 5 minutes, so we didn’t rush off to see any of the others (some of which had times posted like ‘within 2 hours of 6pm’). We joined the throng of people sitting to wait for the eruption, listened to a talk by one of the rangers about the geyser, its history and its mechanics (I won’t bother explaining, if you want more information, go here)and waited. And waited. It seemed that we managed to pick one of those days where the old geezer was feeling its years and waited until well past the time that it was supposed to erupt.
This of course gave the kids plenty of time to talk about how boring the whole thing was. Sam in particular really wasn’t all that impressed with the steaming hole in the ground that would occasionally spit and bubble in a teasing, preemptory show only to settle back down again.
But with a little more patience, the geyser did indeed do its thing, spouting a vent of hot water and steam impressively high into the air for about 4 minutes. After about 1 of those 4 minutes, Sam was certainly ready to leave.
Following the eruption, we force marched took the kids for a stroll on a walk around the geysers and hot pools in the area of Old faithful. There were some spectacular formations and pools, some of which looked like incredibly inviting spas whilst others looked like festering sulphurous death traps. It was quite frightening to read that a number of people had died in the area in the park’s history as the crust over some areas can be quite thin and it doesn’t take much to crack through it and descend rapidly into your own little lobster pot. Fortunately there is a wooden walkway these days.
The only time we came close to danger was when my hat decided to fly from me head, past the safety railing and onto the – no trespass zone. With some judicious climbing and delicate balance I managed to hang from the support structure for the walk way and retrieve it without even touching the ground.
I won’t write too much more about this part as I think the photos really describe the place more adequately than I can with words.
Let’s just say that after a long walk with tired kids and without seeing any other geysers erupting, the ice cream that the kids were allowed at the end of it was probably the thing that they’ll remember most!
Jul 17, 2009
Crossing to the Dark Side
When the kids first had an opportunity to play soccer in Canada I wanted to be involved but was also conscious of the fact that if I committed to coaching a team, it was likely that someone was going to miss out on Dad getting to their game, especially as Michael, Sam and Thomas played on the same nights (even if Michael was an hour later).
I figured that the easiest way for me to get involved was to volunteer to referee (much as I had done at home) and that way, which ever game I was at I could assist with. What I didn’t expect was for them to send me back information about how I would have to undertake a 2 day course and pay money in order to be a referee. With how busy I was at work at the time, it simply didn’t happen.
Since then, every now and then, the call goes out for people to learn to be referees. I maintained an interest, but the timing for the courses never quite seemed to line up. Until recently, when I spent a weekend, including Father’s day doing a referee’s course.
I have crossed to the dark side. I am now an officially qualified regional referee in Alberta. All that’s left to do is get the uniform. Of course this is Fort McMurray so that is a task in itself.
I figured that the easiest way for me to get involved was to volunteer to referee (much as I had done at home) and that way, which ever game I was at I could assist with. What I didn’t expect was for them to send me back information about how I would have to undertake a 2 day course and pay money in order to be a referee. With how busy I was at work at the time, it simply didn’t happen.
Since then, every now and then, the call goes out for people to learn to be referees. I maintained an interest, but the timing for the courses never quite seemed to line up. Until recently, when I spent a weekend, including Father’s day doing a referee’s course.
I have crossed to the dark side. I am now an officially qualified regional referee in Alberta. All that’s left to do is get the uniform. Of course this is Fort McMurray so that is a task in itself.
Jul 16, 2009
Yellowstone 2 - Here fishy fishy
We arose in the morning and planned out our first day in the park, deciding to go for a drive and see a bit of the park as well as to try and secure a fishing trip and possibly even a white water rafting expedition (though every time someone mentioned white water rafting, Emily would state with unequivocal intent that she would not be participating).
Information in hand, we decided to drive up as far as Canyon as that sounded like one of the more interesting places in the park, stopping on the way to photograph whatever wildlife we happened to come across (Elk and Bison on that first trip). The waterfall at Canyon was well worth the drive and we had even managed to book ourselves into a fishing trip on the way up there. All we had to do was drive back in time to make the boat.
Yellowstone's Grand Canyon
Sounds ominous doesn’t it?
As always, yours truly was the only one that actually stressed about the time commitment and I distinctly recall saying something about leaving on time because “it only takes one Bison on the road to delay you!” (We’d passed lots of them and some significant herds on the way up).
Such prophetic words. We were of course running later than I for one preferred in order to head back and make our fishing charter when we came to a complete standstill behind a line of cars. The line curved down around a series of trees which blocked us from seeing what the cause could be. Ever so slowly the traffic inched ahead and the time ticked on toward our scheduled departure.
Caroline got on the phone (which was a hit and miss affair in the wilds of the park) to try and let them know that we were on our way, but were stuck in traffic.
As we finally moved to a point where we could see what was going on, it was indeed bison blocking the road. It seemed like the entire herd had decided to cross just at that particular moment, which may have not been so bad if it had simply crossed over, but these were big woolly coated, thick headed bison; with calves. And do you think they could make up their minds as to which way to go? Hell no, back and forth across the road they wandered, tourists with massive grins aiming their cameras at them and snapping away. And all the time our time ticked away. Finally, five minutes before we were due to be at our destination (which was 20 minutes away) Caroline got through to the right people and they told us that they’d hold the boat (lucky we were the only ones on it)
We made it to the charter location and set out for our 2 hour fishing adventure. The wind had blown up a bit, so we weren’t taken all the way across the lake like most of the trips, but did find a sheltered spot where we could get the rods out and cast out our lures with their barb-less hooks.
Sadly only three of us were allowed to fish at a time, much to the kids disgust (and to Caroline’s disappointment) so there was quite a bit of rod and time management involved in trying to let everyone have a good go. I was starting to think that it was all a big bust when I first felt a fish take my line. It was at that point that the fact that the reel was left handed undid me. Rather than what I was used to, holding the rod with my left hand and managing the reel with my right, this was reversed, so when I went to jag the hook and bring it in, all I did was fumble about a bit and the fish was gone.
At least it was a moment of excitement. I was up the bow of the boat and of course as soon as that had happened, despite the fact that I’d been fishing to the stern, Michael wanted to get up there as well (as much because it meant climbing past the cabin rather than standing in the boring designed to be fished from stern of the craft). Soon I had three boys with me and very little room! Fortunately as they managed to get a turn with the rods they spread out a bit.
After moving the drifting boat and whilst still at the bow, I heard some excitement and Thomas was reeling in a nice big trout. It turns out there’s two types of trout in Lake Yellowstone, Yellowstone Cutthroat and Lake Trout. The Cutthroat is protected and thus catch and release whilst the Lake trout is not allowed to be thrown back, but unlike the old European Carp of the Murray, is apparently worth eating.
Thomas reeled in a Cutthroat. I think we have a photo, though he declined to give it a kiss before sending it on its way!
Rods changed hands, people moved about and I believe Caroline was the next person to reel in a fish. Now I should mention that these were fish worth catching, being as long as from my elbow to my fingertips if not longer. I too managed to snag one and get it all the way to the boat and must say that I thoroughly enjoyed it. Both Caroline’s and mine were Cutthroat as well.
That just left the two eldest boys and a little girl. Everyone wanted to cast the lure out, though this of course meant that it often didn’t go far (especially where Emily was involved) and they wanted to hook and reel in their own fish (especially Michael). The problem was that there’s a particular jagging action to use as you reel the rod in and I just don’t think the kids quite had the hang of it. I offered to help Sam and after a couple of casts he was happy to have me try and hook something for him if he got to reel it in. I managed to snag one and Sam happily got it back to the boat. You guessed it, another cutthroat. I don’t think Michael was quite right in claiming that it was the same fish over and over again!
Poor Michael, who would refuse all help was left with his bottom lip getting lower and the storm clouds brewing over his brow as time marched on. And when it was time to go back and he hadn’t brought in a fish, it was positively stormy (well not literally). Fortunately our guide was sensitive to the situation and part way back, called Michael up to the wheel and had him drive the boat most of the way back. A wonderful little salvage operation, I must say.
And so we drove home for yet another late dinner (I was thoroughly over 9pm dinners by now) and found that our friends Matt and Bron had arrived in their new caravan and so drinks were drunk and dinner deferred even later as we closed out the day discussing what we’d get up to on the ‘morrow.
Information in hand, we decided to drive up as far as Canyon as that sounded like one of the more interesting places in the park, stopping on the way to photograph whatever wildlife we happened to come across (Elk and Bison on that first trip). The waterfall at Canyon was well worth the drive and we had even managed to book ourselves into a fishing trip on the way up there. All we had to do was drive back in time to make the boat.
Yellowstone's Grand Canyon
Sounds ominous doesn’t it?
As always, yours truly was the only one that actually stressed about the time commitment and I distinctly recall saying something about leaving on time because “it only takes one Bison on the road to delay you!” (We’d passed lots of them and some significant herds on the way up).
Such prophetic words. We were of course running later than I for one preferred in order to head back and make our fishing charter when we came to a complete standstill behind a line of cars. The line curved down around a series of trees which blocked us from seeing what the cause could be. Ever so slowly the traffic inched ahead and the time ticked on toward our scheduled departure.
Caroline got on the phone (which was a hit and miss affair in the wilds of the park) to try and let them know that we were on our way, but were stuck in traffic.
As we finally moved to a point where we could see what was going on, it was indeed bison blocking the road. It seemed like the entire herd had decided to cross just at that particular moment, which may have not been so bad if it had simply crossed over, but these were big woolly coated, thick headed bison; with calves. And do you think they could make up their minds as to which way to go? Hell no, back and forth across the road they wandered, tourists with massive grins aiming their cameras at them and snapping away. And all the time our time ticked away. Finally, five minutes before we were due to be at our destination (which was 20 minutes away) Caroline got through to the right people and they told us that they’d hold the boat (lucky we were the only ones on it)
We made it to the charter location and set out for our 2 hour fishing adventure. The wind had blown up a bit, so we weren’t taken all the way across the lake like most of the trips, but did find a sheltered spot where we could get the rods out and cast out our lures with their barb-less hooks.
Sadly only three of us were allowed to fish at a time, much to the kids disgust (and to Caroline’s disappointment) so there was quite a bit of rod and time management involved in trying to let everyone have a good go. I was starting to think that it was all a big bust when I first felt a fish take my line. It was at that point that the fact that the reel was left handed undid me. Rather than what I was used to, holding the rod with my left hand and managing the reel with my right, this was reversed, so when I went to jag the hook and bring it in, all I did was fumble about a bit and the fish was gone.
At least it was a moment of excitement. I was up the bow of the boat and of course as soon as that had happened, despite the fact that I’d been fishing to the stern, Michael wanted to get up there as well (as much because it meant climbing past the cabin rather than standing in the boring designed to be fished from stern of the craft). Soon I had three boys with me and very little room! Fortunately as they managed to get a turn with the rods they spread out a bit.
After moving the drifting boat and whilst still at the bow, I heard some excitement and Thomas was reeling in a nice big trout. It turns out there’s two types of trout in Lake Yellowstone, Yellowstone Cutthroat and Lake Trout. The Cutthroat is protected and thus catch and release whilst the Lake trout is not allowed to be thrown back, but unlike the old European Carp of the Murray, is apparently worth eating.
Thomas reeled in a Cutthroat. I think we have a photo, though he declined to give it a kiss before sending it on its way!
Rods changed hands, people moved about and I believe Caroline was the next person to reel in a fish. Now I should mention that these were fish worth catching, being as long as from my elbow to my fingertips if not longer. I too managed to snag one and get it all the way to the boat and must say that I thoroughly enjoyed it. Both Caroline’s and mine were Cutthroat as well.
That just left the two eldest boys and a little girl. Everyone wanted to cast the lure out, though this of course meant that it often didn’t go far (especially where Emily was involved) and they wanted to hook and reel in their own fish (especially Michael). The problem was that there’s a particular jagging action to use as you reel the rod in and I just don’t think the kids quite had the hang of it. I offered to help Sam and after a couple of casts he was happy to have me try and hook something for him if he got to reel it in. I managed to snag one and Sam happily got it back to the boat. You guessed it, another cutthroat. I don’t think Michael was quite right in claiming that it was the same fish over and over again!
Poor Michael, who would refuse all help was left with his bottom lip getting lower and the storm clouds brewing over his brow as time marched on. And when it was time to go back and he hadn’t brought in a fish, it was positively stormy (well not literally). Fortunately our guide was sensitive to the situation and part way back, called Michael up to the wheel and had him drive the boat most of the way back. A wonderful little salvage operation, I must say.
And so we drove home for yet another late dinner (I was thoroughly over 9pm dinners by now) and found that our friends Matt and Bron had arrived in their new caravan and so drinks were drunk and dinner deferred even later as we closed out the day discussing what we’d get up to on the ‘morrow.
Jul 15, 2009
Photos from part 1
So, here's some photos from our Yellowstone adventure that go with part 1. Part 2 will be posted soon ... along with it's photos. (click on the photo to enlarge)
Crossing the Border
Dinner at Applebees
Overnight stop .. Dick's RV ... what luxury eh?
A little piece of Montana
We made it! To the gate at least
And the campsite was worth it.
Crossing the Border
Dinner at Applebees
Overnight stop .. Dick's RV ... what luxury eh?
A little piece of Montana
We made it! To the gate at least
And the campsite was worth it.
Jul 9, 2009
Yellowstone Pt. 1 - Are we there yet?
Okay, so I started this sitting in bed in the caravan and then continued whilst sitting around the campfire. Now close to a week after I left, I thought I should get around to finishing and posting it! The photos will have to wait though, they’re still with the camera, which is with Caroline and the kids. I fly down tomorrow night to drive them back up over the weekend.
------------------
Here we are, in the USA. In Great Falls, Montana, actually, with a long way still to go.
I left work early on Friday so that we could get a nice early start, but of course great plans are never quite executed with the perfection that they are conceived and so it wasn’t until much later than anticipated that we finally managed to get ourselves away from Fort McMurray.
This time, the aim was to get out of the driveway and if possible, all the way to our overnight camp without incident. I was in two minds as to whether to fill the caravan tank with water and pay the price of towing it or wait until we arrived at our destination, but in the end decided that I’d take a bit with us, just to get us through the first night. It wasn’t until I had been filling it for a while that I noticed the trail of water down the driveway. That’s when I remembered that the valve on the low drain point of the water tank was broken … hmm seems like that wasn’t quite going to go to plan. I took a look and decided that it wouldn’t be too hard to fix so we left home sans water and decided to fix it at some later point.
From there, the only thing providing minor hiccups to the plan was the cough that Michael had been living with for the days leading up to our departure. I had spread to Sam and wasn’t far off infecting Emily and Thomas as well, which means that we travelled most of the way to a chorus of hacking coughs and wheezing throats. I fully expected to get my turn around about the time that we stop driving and sit down to enjoy the holiday.
We over-nighted in the tiny town of killam and woke up to the sound of rain pattering away on the caravan roof and the solid roof that covers up our little extendable sleeping box (it will make sense when you see the pictures). And at that point I think Caroline and I were both more than happy to smile and enjoy the fact that we’d upgraded from the tent trailer and wouldn’t have to worry about wet canvas. And so it was that we set out for day two of the adventure, happy with progress.
As I drove, towing a large, loaded caravan behind me for the first time, I couldn’t help but keep one eye on the fuel consumption, noting the fact that I was making a considerably larger donation back to the industry that supports my employment than we used to have to make with the tent trailer, the needle all but visibly drooping under the rapid draining of the fuel tank. Ahh, the price of comfort.
The target for the day was to successfully negotiate the border crossing and try and get down to Great Falls (which we obviously succeeded at). We managed to get away nice and early and even kept the kids entertained with a ‘treasure hunt’; something Caroline came up with to entertain the kids and even get them to tear their gaze away from the screens and look out the windows. It’s really like scenic bingo. You have to find all the things on the list that the instigator comes up with. It was significantly more successful that eye-spy, a game which at the time seems like a great idea, but which quickly wears out its welcome and deteriorates into a series of protests, arguments and insults. After all, eye spy is particularly challenging with someone of Emily’s age, who is likely to start with “I spy with my little eye something that starts with A”. And of course the answer is ‘Elephant’. Go figure, wrong letter and you can’t see the bloody thing anyway. As long as you don’t apply logic, or open your eyes, you have a chance.
Now whilst the treasure hunt game started out well, as Caroline read out her list, I started to have my doubts. These were things that we were supposed to see from the car. When she got to goat, chicken and more importantly, bear, I believe I expressed my disdain. After all, I don’t ever recall having seen a chicken from the car here and we’ve even only spotted one bear.
But unbeknownst to me at the time was how flexible she was prepared to be with the rules. Who would have thought that the KFC we were eating for lunch would qualify as the chicken, or that she’d accept a picture of a bear in a newspaper for that animal. Not the way I would have run the game, but hey, it worked. Funnily enough, I think by the end of the trip we had actually managed to cross off everything on her list, though having started well, we went for hundreds of kilometres past many many paddocks full of horses without seeing a foal. In the end we even saw the elusive goat (and no, it wasn’t me).
After stopping to pick up some hardware to repair the water tank valve in Great Falls, we made it to West Yellowstone on the edge of the park around lunchtime and did some over-priced grocery shopping, stocking the pantry for the days ahead and then set out to enjoy the marvelous scenery on our way to our camping location at Grant Village. We had hoped to be there by mid afternoon, but the further we travelled, the further our destination seemed to be from us. With mountains, the continental divide and seemingly ever decreasing speed restrictions to deal with, it seemed like every time I estimated how long there was to go, it was the same. At least the scenery was varied and eventually we made it.
While Caroline checked us into the park and arranged permits (you need a permit to fish, a permit to paddle a kayak … I’m surprised you didn’t need one to use the air!), I crawled around under the van and fixed our valve problem in the carpark so that we could fill the tank before we headed down to our site. It turned out to be a magic spot with a view through the trees across Lake Yellowstone. A campfire followed over which we cooked our dinner before hitting the sack.
------------------
Here we are, in the USA. In Great Falls, Montana, actually, with a long way still to go.
I left work early on Friday so that we could get a nice early start, but of course great plans are never quite executed with the perfection that they are conceived and so it wasn’t until much later than anticipated that we finally managed to get ourselves away from Fort McMurray.
This time, the aim was to get out of the driveway and if possible, all the way to our overnight camp without incident. I was in two minds as to whether to fill the caravan tank with water and pay the price of towing it or wait until we arrived at our destination, but in the end decided that I’d take a bit with us, just to get us through the first night. It wasn’t until I had been filling it for a while that I noticed the trail of water down the driveway. That’s when I remembered that the valve on the low drain point of the water tank was broken … hmm seems like that wasn’t quite going to go to plan. I took a look and decided that it wouldn’t be too hard to fix so we left home sans water and decided to fix it at some later point.
From there, the only thing providing minor hiccups to the plan was the cough that Michael had been living with for the days leading up to our departure. I had spread to Sam and wasn’t far off infecting Emily and Thomas as well, which means that we travelled most of the way to a chorus of hacking coughs and wheezing throats. I fully expected to get my turn around about the time that we stop driving and sit down to enjoy the holiday.
We over-nighted in the tiny town of killam and woke up to the sound of rain pattering away on the caravan roof and the solid roof that covers up our little extendable sleeping box (it will make sense when you see the pictures). And at that point I think Caroline and I were both more than happy to smile and enjoy the fact that we’d upgraded from the tent trailer and wouldn’t have to worry about wet canvas. And so it was that we set out for day two of the adventure, happy with progress.
As I drove, towing a large, loaded caravan behind me for the first time, I couldn’t help but keep one eye on the fuel consumption, noting the fact that I was making a considerably larger donation back to the industry that supports my employment than we used to have to make with the tent trailer, the needle all but visibly drooping under the rapid draining of the fuel tank. Ahh, the price of comfort.
The target for the day was to successfully negotiate the border crossing and try and get down to Great Falls (which we obviously succeeded at). We managed to get away nice and early and even kept the kids entertained with a ‘treasure hunt’; something Caroline came up with to entertain the kids and even get them to tear their gaze away from the screens and look out the windows. It’s really like scenic bingo. You have to find all the things on the list that the instigator comes up with. It was significantly more successful that eye-spy, a game which at the time seems like a great idea, but which quickly wears out its welcome and deteriorates into a series of protests, arguments and insults. After all, eye spy is particularly challenging with someone of Emily’s age, who is likely to start with “I spy with my little eye something that starts with A”. And of course the answer is ‘Elephant’. Go figure, wrong letter and you can’t see the bloody thing anyway. As long as you don’t apply logic, or open your eyes, you have a chance.
Now whilst the treasure hunt game started out well, as Caroline read out her list, I started to have my doubts. These were things that we were supposed to see from the car. When she got to goat, chicken and more importantly, bear, I believe I expressed my disdain. After all, I don’t ever recall having seen a chicken from the car here and we’ve even only spotted one bear.
But unbeknownst to me at the time was how flexible she was prepared to be with the rules. Who would have thought that the KFC we were eating for lunch would qualify as the chicken, or that she’d accept a picture of a bear in a newspaper for that animal. Not the way I would have run the game, but hey, it worked. Funnily enough, I think by the end of the trip we had actually managed to cross off everything on her list, though having started well, we went for hundreds of kilometres past many many paddocks full of horses without seeing a foal. In the end we even saw the elusive goat (and no, it wasn’t me).
After stopping to pick up some hardware to repair the water tank valve in Great Falls, we made it to West Yellowstone on the edge of the park around lunchtime and did some over-priced grocery shopping, stocking the pantry for the days ahead and then set out to enjoy the marvelous scenery on our way to our camping location at Grant Village. We had hoped to be there by mid afternoon, but the further we travelled, the further our destination seemed to be from us. With mountains, the continental divide and seemingly ever decreasing speed restrictions to deal with, it seemed like every time I estimated how long there was to go, it was the same. At least the scenery was varied and eventually we made it.
While Caroline checked us into the park and arranged permits (you need a permit to fish, a permit to paddle a kayak … I’m surprised you didn’t need one to use the air!), I crawled around under the van and fixed our valve problem in the carpark so that we could fill the tank before we headed down to our site. It turned out to be a magic spot with a view through the trees across Lake Yellowstone. A campfire followed over which we cooked our dinner before hitting the sack.
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