Knowing we had some rough mountain driving ahead of us, we made an early departure from Sheridan, heading up over the Big Horns before the day got too hot. Fortunately going westbound put us on the mountain side of the road as opposed to the cliff side but there were still plenty of sharp curves to keep me gripping my seat belt and holding my breath. It didn’t improve my blood pressure any when the engine began to complain that she was thirsty and hot, never a good sign when you’re on a road with no pull-offs. But we eventually reached the top at Granite Pass (elevation 9033’) and the descent into Greybull seemed less dramatic. Once we were in the Big Horn Basin it was easy sailing to Cody even though the scenery is not much to write home about.
We had to navigate our way through Cody to the nearly non-existent town of Wapiti. Our campground had an odd arrangement of sites, a grumpy office manager with no idea he’s actually in the hospitality business and an unobstructed view of what we later learned is Smith’s Mansion. During our week-long stay we experienced some pretty dramatic weather and it was always interesting to see the changes in light and shadows on this totally weird structure. It wasn’t until our departure that we learned the whole story behind this bizarre landmark. Check out the story, we think you’ll find it interesting.
On our first full day in the area we headed back into Cody to scope things out, wandering in and out of all the shops and galleries along the main drag. On the way back to Wapiti we stopped for a tour of the Buffalo Bill Dam where the Shoshone River enters a narrow canyon. During the spring run-off, feeder streams and rivers wash dead logs eastward and they clog up at the dam. Eventually someone comes and scoops them out and hauls them away. The dam creates a large reservoir which provides irrigation water, allowing the desert-like valley to be turned into lush pasture land. There are a number of camping areas along the shoreline of the reservoir but it’s strictly dry camping we which don’t enjoy unless it absolutely can’t be avoided. But the sites sure were pretty, with views of the water and surrounding mountains.
The next day we returned to Cody for a tour of the Buffalo Bill Center of the West, a five-part complex which features a natural history section, a gun collection that just boggles the mind, Native American art and artifacts, a gallery of Western art (just when we thought we’d seen every Remington and Russell in existence, there’s more) and a museum devoted to the subject of Buffalo Bill Cody himself. Cody worked his way up from Pony Express rider to world-renown showman and became an icon of western Americana. The Codys had five children, four of whom died at a relatively early age and are buried at the Mount Hope Cemetery in Rochester, New York. Who knew? The only one to survive to adulthood was Irma; Buffalo Bill built a hotel in downtown Cody and named it in her honor.
Although it was no easy drive, we made three day-trips into Yellowstone National Park. We had first visited the park about seven years ago, traveling in from the north entrance near 
Gardiner, Montana. And we thought that was a long and inconvenient trip to reach the important sights in the park! At least we didn’t have to go up and over Sylvan Pass twice a day to get where we were going and home again as we did on this visit. 
Our purpose on the first day was to check out the viability of our plan to cross the park in the coach as we exited the area and headed into Montana. But you can’t help but go sightseeing when you’re in Yellowstone so we visited the Lower Falls of the Yellowstone River (where we saw the one and only bull elk of our entire visit), drove through Hayden Meadow and visited the Norris Geyser Basin. At one of the visitor centers we watched a film about the park and some of its denizens which included footage of bison bulls facing off in a shoving contest. I couldn’t help but picture them as offensive linemen 
and like offensive linemen after a hard day of pushing and shoving, they like to settle down for a nice steam bath. They often park themselves very near the bubbling water which brings them into quite close proximity to tourists. We ran out of time that first day and had to backtrack from Norris to Canyon Village in order to get home before dark (and before the storms arrived).
The following day we went back to the park and took the southern segment of The Grand Loop clockwise around, skirting the shores of Yellowstone Lake through West Thumb and up to Old Faithful. We arrived there about half a hour before it was “scheduled” to do its thing. The parking lots were mobbed and we trudged quite a distance to get to the viewing area but we only had to stand around for about twenty minutes before the geyser began to making some gurgling and steaming motions, teasing the crowd a bit before actually spewing forth. It’s not easy to convince yourself that it is all Mother Nature’s handiwork; there’s always a bit of suspicion that some fancy 
underground plumbing is involved. We stopped at the visitors center to watch a short film which explains what causes the area around Yellowstone to be seething with underground activity making the entire area highly unstable. We got back to our campground just in time to watch yet another thunderstorm play itself out over the Absarokas.
Our final trip into the park was made on the Fourth of July and we expected huge crowds. But there was no more traffic than there had been with approximately the same number of really dumb tourists who don’t seem to realize that wild animals are just that and therefore unpredictable. “Bison jams” and “bear jams” are common on the roadways and driving times are all approximate. You just never know when Mama Buffalo will stop in the middle of the road to nurse her calf or when some doofus will leave his car halfway off the shoulder, doors open and motor running, to stalk what he thinks is a grizzly off in the distance.
We chose the northern Grand Loop, heading counter-clockwise from Canyon Village to Tower Junction then around to Mammoth Hot Springs. We didn’t see any elk this time but plenty of bison and one lone grizzly ‘way off in the distance. Once again we got back to the coach before the storms began.
Having exhausted the major sights of Yellowstone and being tired of the long drive, we spent our final day on a trip to Heart Mountain Relocation Center Museum which is about 15 miles from Cody on the road to Powell. One hardly expects a visit to a museum devoted to the subject of the incarceration of first and second generation Japanese immigrants during WWII to be a heart-pounding experience but it turned out to be for us when Howie discovered his drivers license and an insurance card were missing from his wallet. It was no fun contemplating how to go about getting a replacement. We were distractedly trying to read the story boards when Howie was paged; someone had found the documents and turned them in at the desk. Whew! With the onus of the loss removed, we were able to relax and appreciate the information the museum had to offer. There were upwards of 14,000 internees at Heart Mountain, mostly from the coast of California, and they did not adapt well to Wyoming’s bitter winters. But they were nothing if not resourceful, turning the high desert landscape into bountiful gardens to supplement their meager meals, making their stark living quarters into cozy (if crowded) family quarters. They eventually had most of the comforts of home
but lacking the important component of freedom. Like most of the internment camps, the landscape is stark and Heart Mountain seems to lurk over it. Only one “lobe” of the heart-shape is visible from the museum but closer to Cody you can see both “lobes”. Heart Mountain is in itself an interesting specimen geologically.
Finally it was time to pack up and move on. The trip across Yellowstone in the coach was, for me, a white-knuckle adventure until we got to turn onto West Entrance Road for the final miles into West Yellowstone, Montana. And we were certainly happy to be heading west out of the park instead of east into it – the traffic was lined up four lanes wide and all the way into town from the entrance gate. It looked for sure like there’d be some “speed touring” happening that day! The drive to Ennis, our next stop, is entirely along the Madison River, around Hebgen Lake and then Quake Lake and back once again to the shoreline of the Madison. Anglers were out angling and we enjoyed the wide vistas of the river valley.
Our campground turned out to be behind a motel consisting of a number of small cabins, each boasting flower boxes crammed to over flowing with all sorts of posies. After the busy-ness of the past week, it was good to just kick back and relax, enjoy the peace and quiet, sniffing in that good sweet mountain air. My idea of “camping out” is to leave the bedroom window open at night and I was lulled to sleep by the breeze in the aspens and the river gurgling its way to Three Forks.
Our purpose in coming to Ennis was to pay a visit to the old mining town of Virginia City which we did on a fine Sunday afternoon. Once home to 10,000 people and the capitol of Montana Territory, Virginia City is now home to about 190 hardy souls. The main street is crammed with shops selling all manner of souvenirs, tourists wandering about and cars parked in a more or less random pattern. The majority of buildings have been left “as is”, adding a certain authenticity to the town. Certainly not authentic, was a young cowgirl astride her horse merrily texting away on her cell phone. On our way back down the hill to Ennis we stopped at the Madison Valley History Association Museum. We didn’t have high hopes for the contents of the museum but, as with so many small town historical museums, this was a trove of interesting local artifacts. 
The docent was quick to lead us to the museum’s prize possession, a mount of a rather scruffy-looking canine of some sort, known as the Madison Monster. About the size of a German shepherd with a head like a hyena’s and oddly bent forelegs, it was hard to guess the genesis of this beastie. DNA testing has not been allowed by the person or persons who own the rights to the Monster’s story. And the monster was only one of the fascinating items on display at this friendly little museum. There was plenty to see, including a magnificent view of the Gallatin Mountains and the thunderstorm brewing above them.
The town of Ennis has devoted itself to the fly fisherman and there are many shops downtown selling fishing gear of all sorts. And there are many places to eat. They have a very nice little library and quite possibly the handsomest bank west of the Mississippi. The bank probably has a drive-up window and an ATM but it also has a broad green lawn with picnic tables and a display of metal sculptures near the street. Our visit came to a close with an emphatic thunderstorm and some steady rain, giving us an excellent chance to get caught up on some chores around the coach.
Tomorrow? Well, it’s on to Missoula….
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