Virga over the Cathedral Group (Teewinot, Owen, and the Grand), Grand Teton National Park.

Now, a direct shot down Interstate 90 will get you there in about 900 miles, but it took me near twice that to get there, and twice to get back. I had seventeen days before I had to be back at work, so I could take some time to get from here to there, and slow down and nose around for a bit when that seemed the thing to do.

I was off on a road trip, that strange state of simultaneous suspension and animation, that would end up being three thousand three hundred and thirty-three miles, door to door.

Besides sandals, I wanted three things in particular -- to see some of the country that I'd missed on the previous year's shorter trip to Wyoming; to follow a route that would put me and my Toyota van on at least a few of the highest (paved) roads I could drive to; and, like the earlier trip, to be again in country where I could watch and listen for wolves.

Seattle to West Glacier

A little bit of the Clark Fork valley, with the Cabinet Range lost in the rain.

I pondered Hayden Lake as I drove through, nosing around Farragut State Park at the lake's south end, and turned east onto Bunco Road. A couple miles later I turned onto the east shore road leading to Clark Fork, an outpost of civilization on Idaho State Route 200, fifty miles away. After six miles of gravel I saw a sign that stated ominously "45 miles more of gravel road."

Extraordinarily, 25 miles up that road there suddenly appeared a short, steep side road down to the lake and a snug little bay, a resort with protected moorage, parking area, and toilet.

Flathead Lake's Big Arm, the Mission Range behind.

I spent the night at Wayfarer State Park, where the Swan River enters the northeast corner of the lake, my back up against the Flathead Range and the storied Bob Marshall Wilderness. The next day I took aim at Going-to-the-Sun Hiway in Glacier National Park.

The outlet of Placid Lake in Swan Valley, I believe.

As an alternative I thought I'd explore up Hungry Horse Reservoir, south of Glacier, nosing into the north end of the Bob. But I was stopped again by deputies and fire. I figured to take at least one short walk in the Jewel Basin Hiking Area, but was for the third time thwarted by fire. I had rolled the dice, and I had crapped out

So after a night in Swan Valley I left Flathead country, aiming now for the Yellowstone, a couple of hundred miles south-by-southeast down the river valleys and across the high plains of western Montana.

Glacier to Gardiner

Evening showers.

I stayed on US 12 east of Helena to US 89, where it was an easy shot due south through the sagebrush and bunchgrass to Livingston, and Gardiner, and Yellowstone.

This route had the distinction of missing every town of any size between Whitefish and Mammoth, except Helena, which is seemingly unmissable. It's also about as direct as you can get, if you're avoiding the interstates.

Electric Peak behind Gardiner, Montana.

I had good weather for the whole trip -- of course most any weather's good enough when you're traveling with a bedroom and kitchen in your bus. There was often wood to be had and it got chilly enough at night, but because of the fire danger there was a ban on open fires in every place I visited except Teton National Park.

The chilly mornings I dealt with by the usual expedient of staying in bed until things started to warm up.

Lamar River country

Bison and the Absarokas.

Since their reintroduction began in 1995, wolves have so expanded their range that you might see or hear them anywhere in the Park or the greater Yellowstone area -- north into the Gallatin and Beartooth Ranges, east into the Absaroka Range, and south through Teton country into the Gros Ventre Range.

Wolves over there, somewhere.

Some places in the Park are more likely than others, notably the Lamar River valley. It's where you'll find other wolf-watchers (tho' like the wolves, they can be found anywhere at any time), and likely the wolves themselves.

In less than an hour on US 212 you cross the territories of half a dozen wolf packs. You can check places the Leopold pack hangs out on autumn afternoons or where they might spend a night, or where the Druid pack is known to den up in the spring. You'll see other hopeful wolf-watchers, and maybe wolves, too.

This picture with the ominous sky was taken to show where a pack of seven were whiling away an afternoon. They were out of sight in a fold in the land across the Lamar River, until a squall hit and they started moving. Then they came into view and we managed to keep them in sight for 20 minutes or so.

Click me for a close-up.

Looking northeast from Mount Washburn across the Yellowstone.

This picture looks north of east from Mount Washburn across sere grass hills, a bit of silver forest from the 1988 fires, and the trench of the Yellowstone River, to the Absaroka Range in the distance.

Looking up Soda Butte Creek to Barronette Peak and Abiathar Peak.

I wasn't having very good luck wolf hunting in the Lamar valley area. Other people told me about the things they'd seen -- a grizzly feeding on an elk carcass in Hayden Valley (likely a wolf kill), a pack of wolves near the Slough Creek turn-off that made itself easily visible for an afternoon, and so forth. But I had seen nothing of note. It was frustrating.

This year I was also about a month earlier than the year before, September instead of October, and there was too much competition for the limited camp sites. The park rangers are adamant about enforcing the rules against camping anywhere but in official campsites. Just being parked somewhere at night will get you a look and pointed questions about where you intend to spend the night.

In any case, I wanted to explore the fabled Beartooth Highway. After a couple of rather crowded nights in the Slough Creek campground, I headed out.

Over the Beartooths to Red Lodge and Cody

Pilot and Index Peaks, the aspens just starting to turn.

The Beartooth Highway is a 67-mile route that runs from the northeast entrance of Yellowstone Park to Red Lodge, Montana. It takes you east up Soda Butte Creek and out of the Park through Silver Gate and Cooke City, and down the Clark's Fork of the Yellowstone River, past Pilot Peak.

Then the road bends north, leaving the valley of Clark's Fork, and climbs past lakes and camping to the Beartooth Plateau. At Beartooth Pass, 10,947 feet (3,337 meters), it would reach the highest I'd ever driven.

The Precambrian granitic massive that makes up most of the Beartooth Range is more than three billion years old. This great uplift rises a vertical mile above the Bighorn basin to its east.

Tarns below timberline on the Beartooth Hiway.

The area has been highly glaciated, with deep, U-shaped, steep-walled valleys; hanging cirques; and especially in the northern part of the range, jagged summits. But above the glaciation lie large meadowed plateaus, and gentle swales dotted with lakes.

I usually feel comfortable in high country, but not this time. As I drove higher, the skies darkened, and what little traffic there had been, vanished. On this chill September day I suddenly found myself alone at 11,000 feet, with a sense of desolation in this treeless, unsheltered place, with its skiffs of wind-blown snow, and Froze-To-Death Mountain only a few miles away. This interesting high plateau gradually became unsettling.

Looking up and across Rock Creek.

If you could feel the bite of the cold wind when I jumped out of the car to take this snapshot, you might get an idea of what I mean. It was a place to come back to, on another, better day.

Looking up the deep valley of Rock Creek, on the skyline I could just make out the needle of the namesake bear's tooth, itself.

The road down the Rock Creek valley wall.

Beyond the pass the route dropped precipitously down from the Beartooth Plateau into Rock Creek valley. Two men (only) died building this extraordinary road, during the short summers of the late 1930s.

Down at last, I nosed around Red Lodge, then spent the night at Bear Creek State Park on Hiway 308. The next day it was a quick shot out onto the plains of Montana 72 and Wyoming 120 to Cody. At the Sierra Trading Post store (remember?) they didn't have my sandals. But Cody was a nice tourist town and compared to where I'd been just the day before, absolutely balmy. I hung around a bit, then headed west.

Through Yellowstone to Jenny Lake

Lower Yellowstone Falls.

From Cody my route took me past the Buffalo Bill Reservoir, up the Shoshone River past a series of lovely National Forest campgrounds, back into Yellowstone Park's east entrance, and over Sylvan Pass to Yellowstone Lake. There I diverted north, working my way through Hayden Valley to the tourist mecca of Canyon Village and Yellowstone Falls.

The light, the mist, the colors of the cliffs, the photo-editing software -- all combine to make it easy to end up with a picture of Lower Yellowstone Falls that looks more like a painting than a photograph. But in the right light it does look like this.

I escaped the crowds, drove south past Yellowstone Lake again, passing the turning to Old Faithful, headed for the Tetons.

Arriving at the Jenny Lake campground in Grand Teton National Park felt like coming home. I'd stayed there for awhile in the fall of 1979, and had had some adventures on Teewinot. (They first involved yearling black bears, then a climber in another party fallen on steep ice and his helicopter rescue, and finally bears again....)

This time, however, my plans were simply to enjoy my evenings with a fire for the first time on the trip, listen to bugling elk, and amble about a bit.

Morning light on Teewinot from the Jenny Lake campground.

I walked a few easy paths, and took the shuttle boat across Jenny Lake for a stroll around the Inspiration Point loop and up Cascade Canyon a ways. I explored the park rather leisurely by car and I kept on the lookout for wildlife. I took a swim in the Kelly Warm Spring pond, but the new snowmelt seemed to have cooled it off a bit from what I remembered.

Afternoon squall over Mount Moran (on the left) from Signal Mountain.

He's posing, I think.

Coyotes are common all over the West. Because they're hunted, trapped, poisoned, and harassed, they're seldom seen up close. But in the National Parks, they loose, or never learn, their fear of people. This seems to hold true for most animals, which is one of the great attractions of the Parks for me.

"Shane, Shane! Come back, Shane!"

This is in the area where that classic American western Shane was filmed. Do you remember those mountains in the background?

This pleasant interlude with a Jenny Lake basecamp couldn't last forever. It was time to go -- I still wanted to nip down for a quick look at the Wind River Range. I stocked up in the town of Jackson, then headed out.

A look at the Winds, Owyhee, and home

Just a hint of the Winds from the Elkhart Park Road.

There are maybe four good ways into the Wind River Range, but one that gets you in close and high, fast. I drove US 191 southeast from the Tetons skirting the southern end of the Gros Ventre Range. At Pinedale I turned up the paved county then Forest Service road that climbs to Elkhart Park.

At 9100 feet, the campground is the highest I've stayed at. It also gives one of the easiest trail accesses into the heart of the range. The Winds are over 10,000 feet, with summits over 13,000 feet, so starting high if you can is a good idea.

Finally saw some antelope--don't remember exactly where.

Going back, the route took me along US 191 again to Snake River country, then up US 26 to Idaho Falls, US 20 to Arco, and US 93 between the Pioneer Mountains and the Lost River Range to Challis. There I turned south on Hiway 75 for the Sawtooth National Recreation Area and the very nice Sunbeam hot spring.

Near Snively Hot Spring, under the basalt cliffs of the Owyhee River.

The next day I pressed on, taking secondary roads across southern Idaho I'm sure I could never find again, heading for the Owyhee River canyon on the Oregon border.

I found the parking area for Snively hot spring on the banks of the Owyhee in the dark and spent an hour soaking, just staring at the starry sky, then crashed in the van in the parking lot.

Before breakfast I soaked some more, then packed up, and headed for home, a long day's drive on the interstates.

My first trip was A Road Trip To Wyoming.

Here's a short list of useful references, some info on the pictures, an area map, and a copyright notice.