East Table Campground, somewhere along the Snake River, WY
Have you ever seen an ant hill? Not just a dedicated line of ants heading in
one direction but a hill where there are multiple lines coming and going? If you gazed down at Jackson Hole from above
you would think you were looking at an ant hill: It was positively teeming with people. From all directions—out of Yellowstone, into
Yellowstone, from the west (like me) and the south (like I was about to be.)
And the energy was frenetic.
In town, everyone was masked and waiting in a line for something;
coffee, dinner, shopping, or they were festering along the sidewalks like the
Manhattan of old. Sadly, this frantic energy
flowed all the way out to the campground.
So, sitting in the check-in line the morning following my
night in the parking lot, I looked around and thought, “This is not me. These gorgeous mountains will be here when
all these people are gone and I will return.”
I exited the line, waved to the nice gentleman who helped me last
night, packed up Beagle and hit the road for places unknown. (Two fellow campers both related that in over ten years of going there in October, this was the first time there was ever a line to get in.)
South, that’s all I knew.
I certainly wasn’t going to fight the throngs up around Yellowstone,
Grand Teton was bad enough. Using Campendium, I noted a few campgrounds
along the Hoback River toward Bonderant and headed that way.
On the drive I realized that I had been on the road for only
a week (it feels like a deliciously long time) but had already broken the No
Expectations Rule: I had a ton of
expectations around Jackson: I couldn’t
wait to put on some none-hiking clothes and go shopping, eat a fine meal
prepared by someone else and enjoy a cocktail.
All kinds of expectations. Sheesh.
I drove all the way to Bonderant, a beautiful drive along the
Hoback River, noting that the campgrounds had been closed—and really closed, gates
were across the road. (Sometimes the
National Forests “close” the campgrounds but leave the gates open so if you are
self-contained you can still park.) Closer
to Bonderant I saw a number of dispersed sites along the river and, while
enjoying lunch at the local café/gas station, tried to gauge my level of
courage—was I brave enough to camp alone with no cell service in the middle of
Wyoming? During hunting season? By the way, at the café, without any
expectation of anything being edible, I found delicious coffee, a
mouth-watering hamburger on a Brioche bun, and homemade kettle chips all served
by a delightful lady who made me feel like I had just sat down in her kitchen.
During lunch I had one bar of cell service and in popped an
email from a fellow Basecamper who reminded me to “stay adventurous”. That made two votes for adventure so courage
won out; I returned to one of the dispersed sites along the river (pictured
above.)
It was a long, delightful afternoon in the sun. I painted, read, walked and just enjoyed the babbling
of the water over the rocks, the warmth of the sunshine, the smell of hot dirt,
the comfort of the mountains surrounding me, and the ever-present taste of
freedom. Another lesson learned: I chose to honor who I am by leaving that
long check-in line and choose adventure.
I was glad I did.
Unfortunately this morning (Saturday) Beagle’s power jack
refused to retract (it would still extend) which meant that I could not lift
Beagle from her footing (for those non-trailering readers, this is a
requirement to be able to drive away.) My first thought was to disconnect
Wurzig and drive to a working cell location and call for help, but I could not
get the ball to release from the hitch--I had extended the hitch too far up
with the ball locked in place.
So I sat with my immovable Beagle and her prisoner, Wurzig. It was, literally, freezing out but Beagle was
nice and warm and I was thankful that it wasn’t raining (or snowing!) I knew there had to be another answer to this
puzzle; I wasn’t about to go hitchhiking on the two-lane highway with two dogs.
Eventually I remembered that, during my buyer's walk-through for Beagle, the mechanic said something about some way to use some tool
to manually raise and lower the jack.
(In typical Kit fashion, I don’t pay a lot of attention to the “just in
case” stuff; I have roadside assistance “just in case”, yet another lesson learned.)
So I dug out my owner’s manual, found the paper regarding
the power jack and sure enough, in three short sentences I learned how to raise
and lower the jack manually. As a
benefit, I didn’t need a special tool, the same one that raises and lowers the
stabilizers also fits the jack. (Just
when I was wondering how I was going to keep my arms in shape during this trip!) It was a bit difficult but I persevered. What else was there to do?
Thankfully I only had to lower it, I’ll let you know how it goes
when I have to raise it—with any luck (and we all know I have that), the power jack
will still work to raise Beagle so all I’ll ever have to do is lower it. This is not a “must fix to keep going” kind
of thing. I can use my muscles. Hopefully.
Tonight I didn’t have to raise or lower Beagle, she is
almost completely level while still being connected to Wurzig. I am camped next to the Snake River at the
East Table campground, one of those aforementioned campgrounds that is technically
“closed” but still allowing people to stay.
A bonus picture—the view out of Beagle’s front door to the Snake River.
-K
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