Crow Creek and boulders in National Forest around Happy Jack.

Sid in his natural ballooning function: ballast preventing an unplanned take-off.

I promise to never again make fun of experience of seasoned locals. This year confirms the division of seasons into winter and Frontier Days. Cold and moist spring turned into cold and moist summer, and by the half of July I wrote to Vicky in then hot Europe that she should definitely bring along long trousers and jackets when coming to visit. Locals are morose on account of cold summer, but I find summer without blistering heat much better.

Independence Day fell this year on Tuesday — which is impractical in a blue collar country, where shifts on the railroad or ranch don't pay attention to holidays. On top of it, just that Tuesday, the weather was supposed to be bad — which in our parts means storms, hail and/or wind. Private celebrations thus began in anticipation, that is, already during the weekend. We even got invited to one — to our kids' friend's grandma. Local grannies generally fit my generation, just so you don't imagine some feeble geriatric wreck. This grandma owns a ranch out in the prairie north of the city, with chickens, horses, and with a ever-changing number of dogs, cats and grandchildren. And a private shooting range. The party was very organic (= dis-organized) and nice. Kids, grand-kids, aunts, cousins and guests came with their partners, kiddies, aunties and cousins, and there was grilling and going to shoot some, and teaching dogs to fetch, and making daisy chains — and there was talk. Unfortunately, I had a noon shift at work, and hence I arrived relatively late and rather tired. Consequently, Sid and I left before dusk — and before the high-point — private fireworks. Still I enjoyed more social life than last three years all added together.

I'm taking a picture of Sid in the basket of a flying balloon!

A display of a typical helicopter gunner in Vietnam war.

On Tuesday, the weather had really got worse, and on Friday July 7, our area was hit by hail — mostly pea-sized up the diameter of marbles, but some clusters reached the size of ping-pong balls. It lasted only about half an hour — but in that time, I lost most of my gardening attempts. Even potato plants were stripped down to stems. Strawberries under a wire mesh kind-of survived, as did my experimental plot of wild flowers. I sowed them in spring and was surprised how well they thrived in cold and wet weather. Hail smashed all blossoms — but not the actual plants, and within a week or two the plot looked just like before the storm.

With anxiety I also spied a robin's nest in a small aspen in the front of our house — two years earlier, hail killed hatchlings — this year the female kept sitting there (even birds are late this year, as they started building the nests in June) — and after the hail I discovered one live fresh naked hatchling in the nest, which looked like a very ugly space alien. In the following three weeks, the alien grew feathers and then I saw it sitting on a branch — and fly away. It would seem that even local fauna is ready for hail.

Carol swims in a warm tributary of Bighorn River.

Lookout Lake from a lookout.

In mid July, we already traditionally departed for a ballooning rally in Riverton. Lisa had work — being a summer-camp counselor and a coach at the vaulting club stables — including coaching Saturday adult vaulting class. The fact that she could not come along, simplified our worries about finding nice goat caretaker, and thus only three of us went ballooning — myself, Sid and Tom. We reserved our favorite hotel over the phone (as their corporate website claimed that no rooms were available) — and we congratulated ourselves for having solved this problem. Until the moment, when the THREE of us stood in a room that contained ONE queen bed. Fortunately we were able to negotiate a swap for a different one with two beds. The rest of our experiences were all positive. We decided to check out Riverton's newest Thai restaurant, Thai Chef Two, for dinner, which sported ecstatic reviews. First, we were not sure, when we sat alone in a tiny room (place has been converted from a regular, ancient family house) — but in the moment our food came, all our uncertainty disappeared — this was by far the best Thai we ran into within several last years. So much that we ate there all three evenings of this mini-vacation.

Sid at Snowy Range.

Pika.

The weather was merciful and balloons were flying every day. On Saturday even Sid and I got into the basket — perhaps it was first time we were flying together. That, too, went well — after twenty three years of marriage, neither one of us threw the other one overboard. Besides aeronautical impressions (more in gallery) we enjoyed our "vacation". On Friday we went to the National Museum of Military Vehicles in Dubois. Since last year we owed it more attention, as we then had managed to only cover 2nd World War. Korea and Vietnam were our focus this year. I admit that I don't excite much from technical parameters of various tanks and mechanisms, but this museum is awesome in presenting the vehicles framed into political and strategic developments of the conflicts, and my historian's heart fills with joy.

On Saturday we journeyed to hot springs of Thermopolis. Swimming in a river spells summer break for me. Here the swimming is decorated by beautiful surroundings, where hot water from a cascade of calcareous sinter flows into Bighorn River. There was so much water this year, one could swim in the cove under the cascade — but one could not do so in the river proper — very icy and very swift. It was partially flooding a boat launch and a parking lot. It had a positive effect in deterring many a tourist; boats and rafts were conspicuously absent.

Aboard a tourist train to bison (photo Holger/Vicky).

Visitors in Box Canyon during a storm.

Perhaps you won't find it a substantial vacation, but as I already mentioned in one of the winter journals, we don't really feel so much need to leave for long trips. A half hour from the town, there is a state park with reservoirs for kayaking, and with multiple hiking and biking trails in a picturesque landscape filled with rocks. Ninety minutes out, we have Rocky Mountains (Snowy Range, Medicine Bow Peak). The part which — unlike the Rocky Mountain National Park — is not crowded, and were you don't need a permit to enter. Thus we don't suffer a problem when we feel like taking a half-day off to kayak, or a whole day off to hike at ten thousand feet above sea level, without much planning and needing to reserve (and pay) accommodations or to drag along tents and sleeping bags. We eyeball my shift schedule, weather forecast — and we either go, or watch from a window at home, how a storm delivers more hail.

And so came the decision that it would be a good idea, before our visitors arrive, to check out the surroundings of Medicine Bow Peak. By mid-June, snow had been everywhere; we hoped that middle of July would be friendlier. And we also wanted to finally visit our local hot springs in Saratoga, which you can reach by a freeway route — or by crossing the mountains. Our expedition discovered that most of the snow in the mountains indeed had melted away, and that may wildflower started blooming furiously — including columbines. We spotted a pika that munched on some blossoms — only, it did not grasp the concept of video — when we tried to record it in action, it froze and waited until it ends. Weather in the mountains was alpine, clouds raced across the sky, and we decided to hike up the nearest hill and take a look around yet stay not too far from our car in case of some trouble. And we wanted to have time for the springs.

A marmot at Snowy Range.

Snowy Range.

The township of Saratoga approached their hot spring in a grandiose way. Next to a city swimming pool, they built baths connected to the springs, accessible 24/7, with showers, toilets and storage cabinets. The baths are made with concrete, one rather only the size of a large whirlpool, but the other a regular pool. Alas, now in the midst of summer heat, they turned out to be useless — water was too hot. Thus we ended up in the shallow North Platte River downstream from the baths, where cool mountain water mixed the temperature to a bearable level. Later on we were rather glad of the showers, not wishing to drive home caked with sand and mud. Both showers and toilets are very primitive (there's a stainless bowl lacking any seat), but apparently very easy to maintain — they can be simply hosed off. We concluded that these springs can be entered on our list of local attractions — and it may be better to journey there in winter, when water won't seem so hot.

Well and then came that other season of ours: Frontier Days. About four days before this famous rodeo, summer heat hit us, yet enhanced by afternoon thunderstorms. With the rodeo, Vicky and Holger and their younger son Nico finally arrived to visit. Nico falls age-wise right between our two kids, and thus even in that aspect things went smoothly. My only problem with the visit was in my schedule. I did not want to miss any fun between my work shifts, and so I tried to participate in their local trips. I kept it up for less than a week — seeing my roster assigning my Saturday from four to midnight, I reckoned that a morning hike at Bent Rock made possible by dropping me off at work on our way back from Colorado, followed by five to eight miles walking at work, was not a thing I wanted to do. But I managed to go with them to my beloved Medicine Bow on my day off. We left Vicky and Holger to their photography of wildflowers and enjoying Lakes Trail, which winds through the prettiest and most majestic section of the National Forest, and Tom, Nico and I stepped lively and hiked up to a saddle under Medicine Bow Peak. By then thunder could be heard and we all met back at the car, voting NOT TO GO to the Saratoga hot springs, for splashing in the river when lightning strikes around is marginally sub-optimal. Instead we had a late lunch in a local pub.

Nico & Tom while ascending to Sugarloaf saddle.

Browns Peak from the saddle.

Further, I took our visitors kayaking on Crystal Reservoir — there, it showed, how much we underestimated our preparations — since our last expedition, water surface dropped dramatically, and a picturesque bay turned impassable for boats, thus substantially shortening our kayaking route. Still, visitors took turns paddling and hiking on a trail contouring the reservoir, and perhaps everybody was satisfied. Later at The Bunkhouse they were, besides live music and beer, finally able to taste bison burgers — when you travel to a state that sports bison on its flag, you should sample this delicacy. Bison meat is less fatty and more filling that plain beef — I like it very much, but skipped this time, for I had a feeling I could not finish it (perhaps because I had not paddled at all and only walked along the shore).

On my working days, Sid took the visitors to Bent Rock in Colorado and Box Canyon at Vedauwoo. On one day, I simply dropped our friends off in downtown, in the midst of Frontier Days, where they could check out local attractions related to the rodeo — including a museum and an Indian village. For their half-time, we had planned a three-day trip to Karel's place in the Rockies. But people wish and the government decides for them. Or rather, decides against them. To enter the Rocky Mountain National Park, a mere mortal is required — besides paying entrance fee — to obtain an entrance permit, which is issued for each day only to a limited number of mortals. Permits must be obtained one month in advance — including a commitment, into WHICH part of the park and WHEN one shall enter. And then one can be out of luck, when on that particular day weather turns bad — or one gets re-assigned a work shift (me), or you find yourself in an exit process out of your current job and must hand everything over (Sid). Thus our plan that we would just take our minivan to the Rockies and enjoy the park all together, using a single permit, suddenly fizzled out.

Crow Creek feeds the Crystal Reservoir here.

Holger & Nico.

On Monday we handed our minivan over to our visitors and I followed in my own car, to help with their accommodations and setting-up Karel's apartment, knowing that I must return in the evening to be back at work on Tuesday. I thought I could return to Colorado on Wednesday, but this time the weather interfered. Hiking in the rain got canceled and Vicky with her family decided to drive through the park main route westward, with short stops as weather permitted and viewpoints occurred — passing through the Rockies on the way back to us through northern passes over the beautiful Medicine Bow. Then it made no sense at all, taking a second car to Colorado (without a permit to drive through the park) and later going back somehow to fetch it.

All this had a good side. We managed to organize a little celebration of Lisa's birthday at home. On the very day when she turned eighteen, on Saturday the 29th, I was assigned an unexpected evening shift (I tend to get noon shift on Saturdays) — and thus I had to make do with everybody dropping by at work; they got dinner and dessert. I even managed to speak with them for a few minutes, but Saturday night in a restaurant is rather busy.
Lisa's main birthday present was a school laptop. It was no surprise, but she will need a decent computer at the university. Further, she got some jewelry and decorations — and a women's wristwatch.
Now I have got a problem — since all four of us at home are adults, how do I describe my offspring? Children? Sure, they will always be my kids, but the word conjures the image of small cute creatures. Ought I perhaps try Karel's label, omnivores?

Vicky & Holger on the "Cliffhanger" trail.

Toward the Chameleon and Hidden Falls.

Kids / offspring / omnivores also took over their college apartment at the start of August, which brought additional worries and expenses. The flat is furnished, in the sense that it came with beds and a sofa and a dining table; the kitchen has basic cabinets, stove with an oven and a refrigerator with a freezer; still we had to purchase many things. From bed sheets (beds being yet another size compared to those at home) and towels, through a dish drying rack and a vacuum cleaner, to things like bedside lamps and office desks and chairs. Every time one arrives there with one load, a discovery is made that look here, you need a door mat and a tablecloth and silverware — evermore something. On the other hand, if it goes wall, Tom and Lisa could stay in this apartment till they're done studying at this school — which makes it a real second long-term household.

At the beginning of August, our visitors came back for two more days; we managed to get out with them to Hidden Falls here in our closes state park. We had planned it carefully — arriving at the waterfall by noon and practically alone, for all other tourists either went to have lunch (we met some summer camp group that was just leaving), or they came to splash in the water after lunch (again, we passed some large groups). When we were getting back to the car, thunder rolled; on our way to the the pub we passed through a storm. But at the pub it was just dripping, we nicely hid from the next downpour inside with a beer. Perhaps we should charge some extra fee for professional native guide services and weather control.

Overall, with the end of Frontier Days, weather turned to the worse. It got cooler and we began regarding storms with pea-sized hail as mild weather. We pulled our jackets and sweat-shirts out of our wardrobes again. As our visitors left, a completely autumn mood fell on me — "summer break" was ending and winter awaits us again. I decided that it was high time to check out Medicine Bow Peak — by this time last year's snow HAD practically melted away, and this year's snow STILL has not come.

The trail is called "Pinball".

Hidden Falls.

I talked Sid and Tom to participate after I assured that they would not have to hike with me all the way to the Peak. Once a day off work coincided with a mountain forecast of "mostly sunny", we packed our wind-breakers and set out. When we got closer to Snowy Range, clouds started gathering over the peaks, but the very rocky cliff still basked in sunlight as we were parking. A hailstorm caught us some two hundred yards from the car, so we ran back to seek shelter under the metal roof of our trusty bus. The storm abated after a while, and it was again "mostly sunny"; thus we tried a second time.

In a saddle, where the trail from Lewis Lake (along which we came) meets with our favorite Lakes Trail, leading from the other side and Mirror Lake, the third path leads up — to Medicine Bow Peak. We took time to eat our snacks and ponder, what to do. Meanwhile a group of young Greenies (hipsters from Colorado) went up and ahead, and both Tom and Sid eventually decided to accompany me going uphill. We were clear that descent would be much harder on our arthritic joints than the ascent — we only had no idea how much harder.

When we reached the sight of a post sticking up into the sky and conjuring a deceptive impression of a summit, it got overcast again and a drizzle started. Greenies cantered downhill alarmed by the approaching storm, claiming they practically reached the top, and that the trail goes "horizontal" past the post. I voted to get up to the post and return. Sid claimed that this was not the top and we should keep on going on. Before we finished scrambling up to the post, it became obvious that the storm would pass us at tome distance — and a spot of blue sky appeared over the cliff. So we took pictures of the storm advancing through the Lookout Lake valley — and moved on. We found ourselves again in a beautiful sunny day, the trail actually turned more horizontal, tracking along the cliff-side with awesome views.

Bent Rock.

A dragonfly at the Bent Rock.

Medicine Bow Peak is 12,018 feet tall; I had thought that we were sufficiently acclimatized, since we live at six thousand feet and during our last trip with our visitors we got up to eleven thousand feet elevation. Yet, under the top my had started spinning so much, I had to sit down for a while. A small note — next time on a hike like that, I should really not forget to take ventolin along. We did not waste time during our stop though — we watched a marmot basking on a rock high above the valley. It was not at all disturbed by our presence, got joined by a buddy (a youngling, perhaps?) after a while, and then a third marmot started getting near to them. We waited to see what would happen, but the marmots ignored each other. We still had a few last yards elevation to the actual peak.

The trail crested the cliff edge and here came the most difficult stretch of the ascent — the top consists of huge sharp-edge boulders, and one must jump from one to the next, skipping over huge gaps promising to break one's leg or worse. Some of it was covered by a relatively solid snow cover, and we hiked a length on top of it — it was slippery, but even so it seemed safer. The very last stretch consisted of naked rocks; still we somehow rattled through (the rocks actually rattle and ring and reverberate).

We ate some more snacks on the top, but it was quite windy there — and more clouds started gathering on the horizon. We reckoned it was time to leave the tallest lightning rod in wide vicinity behind, and move to lower elevations. There we discovered how old our knee joints have become — this time not mine, but Sid's. Thus we shuffled downhill slowly, much slower than we should have. The storm caught us about in the middle of the slope. And since we found ourselves so high, it consisted mostly from a very moist snow and hail kernels. I'm glad we were all equipped with hats; being hit with a hail piece in your face is nothing pleasant. Tom and I tried to hid from the stinging downpour behind a rock, but it made no difference. Problem with Sid's knees got company in the shape of wet stones and slippery hail on the ground.

Snowy Range: ascent to Medicine Bow Peak.

When you find yourself in a hailstorm on a mountain, a rainbow forms over the valley.

I managed to convince our Legolas Tom only down at the saddle to hurry ahead to the car — by then we were all soaked and freezing to the bone, despite the rain having stopped long ago and a beautiful double rainbow having formed over the valley — but we did not want to leave the stumbling Sid along uphill. The whole hike is supposed to take under three hours; with snack breaks, taking pictures, hiding from hail, and careful descent, we almost doubled the time. Should you be interested in some numbers, the hike is 3.4 miles long, consisting of 1,272 feet of elevation gain (and loss).
If you're curious about my very subjective conclusion — this was perhaps the most beautiful place that I know. We hiked there along many routes, but the views from the Medicine Bow Peak proper have no equals.

On the Thursday after the ascent, our whole family journeyed to Laramie, to finished moving the kids and finalize their flat. On following Sunday, Tom had moved there for good, as he started his training next Monday. He had signed up to work as a counselor for the freshman Saddle-Up week, which commenced on the following Friday with new students moving into their dormitories — freshman Lisa followed him on Thursday of the same week. Thus actually ended summer break for our students — which allows me to declare Medicine Bow Peak as the highpoint of this year's summer, and a very adequate conclusion of our break.