Riverton Rendezvous: take-off field.

Baby Rex.

Thus I departed to balloons in Riverton, properly stressed out from the outlook to days, maybe weeks, with twelve-hour daily workload. This did not improve my sleep hygiene a single bit. I'm nervous, and when stressed, I can't sleep; combine that with getting up at four in the morning for the ballooning event, and you feel like being liquidated. Still we tried to enjoy our extended weekend — besides balloons, where both me and Tom got to fly, we planned a trip to Popo Agie Falls. We always only watch Wind River Mountains on the horizon; it's time to start exploring. At least the civilized and accessible parts, although I would like to check out the wilder areas some day.

The waterfalls are noticeably popular; we met lots of people (given this is Wyoming) — surely at least ten. A small river with a funny name Popo Agie squeezes through a narrow canyon, on whose lower end there are cabins, and we even spotted a fisherman; further up it gets prettier. In a spot where one could access the river, we noticed kayakers — I glimpsed they had obviously inflatable boats, but very sporty-looking, and flushed through the rapids like balls. As we ascended farther upstream, I realized that they had to bring their kayaks on their backs, for even higher up there was no civilized (car-rated) access available.

Popo Agie River.

Yeti had to naturally dip in.

The falls are grandiose and thus practically un-captureable. The river rushes downhill into the valley and subsequently the canyon, in a cascade that won't fit in any frame or lens. One can photograph individual steps of the cascade, but the rest is always either too far, or hidden around corners, behind rocks or trees. Curious what will happen around the next turn, we continued upstream through woods and between cliffs — until we reached a pool, into which water falls through a long rocky trough — and people in the know ride down this natural slide. That inspired me a lot, but I reckoned that at my age it would likely elicit a heart attack instead of adrenaline rush. So I merely dipped into the pool. Since various other tourists happened to pop out around us at times, I had to endeavor this feat at least in my undies — it would be bad manners to cause a shock in innocent bystanders. However, since that moment (when I tried to proceed wearing only my shorts, and eventually had to give it up and tried to dry my underpants on a sun-baked rock), I shall always bring along spare underwear / swimsuit everywhere.

A squirrel along the trail to Popo Agie Falls.

Carol flew yesterday, Tom flies today.

On the following day we drove — with Jeanne — to Thermopolis. I planned swimming in the Bighorn River, but on the spot there was clouded sky — and lightning and thunder smashed all around, so we decided to try out local state baths. You can enter and soak (for free) in a covered hot pool, equipped also with showers and toilets and changing rooms. Which in the end was not bad at all, especially after the storm had passed and the baths opened their outside section, with a much larger and more pleasant pool than the claustrophobic indoor.

My internal yeti grumbled contentedly that this kind of summer was rather acceptable — and began to demand kayaking. We had one such boat, a fishing kayak, functional, wonderful — and heavy. I alone (yeti notwithstanding) can't lift it, and organizing expeditions where either Tom or Sid must help me with the boat, and then they may find their entertainment on the shore, is a bad deal. Therefore I ordered ANOTHER kayak. A cheap one, relatively light, my decision made mostly on the basis of one picture of the same stuffed INSIDE a Subaru. Disadvantages were obvious from the very start — the kayak is a simple plastic mold, with a seat being only a depression in the shape, thus holding water; reviews urged buyers to purchase a proper paddle — the one that arrives with the boat is the cheapest option lacking rings to catch water (hence the lake flows down the raised paddle on your hands and in your sleeves), furthermore people complained that the kayak wasn't "speedy" and maneuverable. Well, it was not of the class I have seen on Popo Agie; that much was clear at first glance.

Popular primitive baths under the sinter cascade of Thermopolis hot springs.

Little Bighorn River near hot springs in Thermopolis.

On Monday after the balloons, I had to get up after five a.m. to take care of my animals and milk Bonnie, in time for Sid on his way to work, to drive me down-town to the court and my jury duty (for I was sort-of still car-less). Jet lag, caused by getting up for the balloons and by my sleeplessness, had truly amplified my pleasant and friendly nature — on top of which, we were forbidden to take any food inside the building — even COFFEE! — which made the judge and legal representatives conclude that such a batty harridan had no place in their jury — and I did not try to talk them out of it. Wyoming proved awesome even in the detail that once I complained about my car and inability to drive from home to down-town, I received lift offers from other participants in this circus. Fortunately I could order Tom to pick me up and drive me home.

Rory

The sun has set behind our little house.

At this point I should mention that the hearing took place inside the week of Frontier Days — ten days of annual rodeo festival, which brings hundreds of thousands of participants and spectators to the city, closing down traffic on account of parades and various happenings, so getting to down-town and to the court is generally delectable. One of those happenings was Cheyenne Day on Wednesday — when streets turn into a big fair — with stands, jumping castles, food, beer, music — and farm animals in the stable — horses and a calf, goats, chickens and puppies, all to entertain the masses. We (that is, our family) brought Bonnie with her boys, and chickens — we had hesitated whom of our chickens to take along, using the elimination method in the end. Sasha is not very friendly, Jet is old and does not look good, and she's not very mobile. Of the younger ones, Toad is domesticated, but if she does not like it somewhere, she solves it by flying away with a vertical take-off (I have yet to figure out how she does it, but apparently she is very athletic) — which leaves Ashley and Rosie. Logistics were a bit complicated — we had to reach down-town BEFORE they closed all the streets (by 11am) — and then we could not get away until the program was over (after 4pm). I must say that for the animals it all took too long; five hours is a lot even for a human, more so for a baby goat or a chicken. It was very hot, and eventually we started taking chickens from their stuffy horse box into the stable hallway with a bit of draft. As a plus, some children, who did not dare to enter among the goaties, got at least a chance to pet or cuddle a chicken. The happening was apparently well received, but I was glad to have Tom and Lisa along, so we could take turns a little.

My new kayak.

It fits in my car.

By the end of the month a miracle happened and I was not only delivered my new kayak, but I was returned my Neddie — that is, my car-Ned. My new car is white and I hope that it shall be at least as dependable as was my horse-Neddie — and it's got the same slanted eyes and rascally look like he had. Thus I attempted to stuff my new kayak into my Neddie — and on the first try I did not succeed. Even with the passenger seat pushed all the way forward and bent down to the dashboard, I was able to close the hatchback, but the kayak was practically jammed between the door and the dash. I consulted google again and found out where the Party failed to educate me — it was necessary to flip the front seat BACK, whilst the rear seat flipped forward. Huh. It took me, with internet research, horribly long time, but I must boast that now I can onboard the kayak within few minutes. Alas, it's still large enough that I take it out after each trip; I can't leave it in the car for the season like I do with my skis.

My first ride was all about testing. On my way I had to stop at our Game and Fish Department and obtain a sticker for the kayak. All Wyomese vessels (perhaps with the exception of inflatable paddleboards) should carry a local stamp — allegedly because of invasive water species — and undergo mandatory inspections when crossing state lines. Honestly, I don't get it, mostly because who can enforce it. But at five bucks a year I don't consider it such a set-back — only that one has to go to Game and Fish, where one is subject to a detailed form-filling quiz — a boating sticker that runs the same process like a hunting license, so I daresay it's a wasteful bureaucratic hassle. But what can I do.

Carol on North Crow Reservoir.

Bunkhouse offers an acculturated conclusion after an athletic performance.

Thus even my new kayak was embellished with a sticker and I was free to continue to the next bureaucratic obstacle — the purchase of a parking permit inside state parks. This would set you back seven bucks per day, but at least is issued by a machine at the park entrance, and only requires entering your car license plate — one does not get queried for intimate measurements in a complicated manner. During my third water trip I decided to purchase an annual state park permit at the main entrance. This, however, required an official act — especially since we already hold a permit for our Ford, and additional cars in the family get a discount. And since this is Wyoming, after I forgot my credit card at the counter, the clerks did not waste time, searched for our contact numbers and called our home about finding my credit card. I was impressed — instead of just letting it go, and me going crazy over a few days, wondering where I could have lost the card, and canceling it with the bank, they phoned, and I simply had to stop at the visitor center again on my way back from paddling, and pick it up. All it took was Tom's text message to my cell phone.

Carol and Tom on North Crow.

Tom.

But back to my first kayaking trip — inspired by reviews, I didn't even bother to carry the issued paddle, and grabbed the regular one from our other (proper) kayak. Then I discovered that the integrated seat was indeed there only to cause anger, and it would hold water, so that one sits in a puddle like a poorly trained puppy dog. Furthermore I discovered that I had a choice — I could either wear the mandatory life jacket — or I could breathe, but not both; for said jacket would always ride up under my chin and tilt my head back. The jacket therefore went onto the seat, where it serves as an insulation from the puddle, by which I elegantly solved both problems!

The new kayak proved good; it became an ample substitute for my winter cross-country skis — although I also own skis on wheels, I am forced to seek out paved city paths with them, which I find boring. I seem to need nature at my old age. In nature, I don't mind if it's repetitive and that I keep revisiting same old spots. Nature changes with weather and seasons; I find the city same all the time. A hot summer favored kayak a lot — it was so hot that we did not really feel like stumbling around some mountains in the sun — it was much more pleasant near water. Thus I took even Sid and Tom out kayaking a few times, now that we have TWO, and can paddle together. I also purchased padding for the seat, which at least partially eliminates sitting in a puddle.

The Hareship eventually flew on a Saturday in Walden.

There was no flying on Sunday due to a storm, here over Crowdrey Reservoir.

We managed to fit in other events beside kayaking — balloons in Walden, Colorado, in mid-August. Our ballooning friends own a cabin there and sometimes fly in a wide open valley surrounded by Rockies. Laramie, where our offspring has a flat, is located half-way between Cheyenne and Walden, and Sid with Tom drove there on Friday night to sleep closer to the balloon, while I went to my afternoon shift. In the morning, the boys finished the route to Walden and helped Dan with his launch and landing. I was at work on Friday, and slept in on Saturday, taking care of my animals, reaching Laramie later, where I switched places with Tom — who went back home, while I stayed for Sunday ballooning. When Sid and I, still before dawn, set out from Laramie, we could see lightnings on the horizon; it was obvious our flying did not have much chance, but we made it there — only then entering signal range and receiving Dan's message that there would be no flying. At least we said hi at the parking lot and then had to turn back. It was my first time in Walden, and I enjoyed the landscape; we stopped for breakfast at a lake whose opposite side was flooded in rays of the rising sun — again we congratulated each other to having moved to a beautiful place. The city of Cheyenne itself is not very pretty, but one can easily reach awesome spots from there.

King bolete hunted from a kayak on Lake Marie.

The skies featured sheep clouds and a super-ram.

Unfortunately, precipitation and autumn weather as experienced during ballooning in Walden did not last long, and the hot dry summer extended till October. Consequently, our mushrooming season collapsed into a single week in August. On our last good spot, we managed to find some brown and orange boletes, but afterward it became too dry everywhere. In the end, I was the one who scored the most interesting mushroom catch — absurdly, on a kayak. I took advantage of Tom's ongoing summer break, we stuffed both kayaks into our Ford truck, and set out to real mountains to check out Lake Marie. Naturally it was crazy cold at 10,000 feet, a wind was blowing and clouds chased each other over the ridge. We had to carry our kayaks a long way along a path from the parking lot, but being two, we managed. We pushed off the shore with an outlook to possibly turning around, depending. We found ourselves momentarily on the other side of the lake, when a strong pre-storm wind picked up, and dark clouds rippled across the Snowy Range cliff. I was glad for our unsinkable kayaks, as waves jumped right into our boats. We headed for a cove that follows the turn of the road and offers a bit of wind cover. I stepped out onto the shore to check that in the worst case we could pull the boats up the bank and walk a path back to the main parking lot for our car — and mainly to ascertain that another parking EXISTS in that spot, where the kayaks could be loaded — we would still have to pull them up a steep slope, which would be even less pleasant than carrying them down the path to the lower end of the lake, but it was an option. As I strode down the bank back to the water, I almost stumbled over a king bolete. It was very crisp and I had dried it up and stored in a jar since — and Sid envies me big time.

What an athlete I am!

Boats on Lake Marie must be carried along the outflow.

But back to our trip — the wind calmed down a little, so Tom and I decided to try paddling back to out original launch spot after all, instead of forcing our kayaks up the bank. We succeeded in the end — and the rain started only after we had loaded the boats and were ready to drive home.

On the following weekend then Sid and Tom went to Hot Springs, South Dakota to fly balloons again. We had been there three years earlier, and I just thought it a good program for September, when Petra, the organizer, contacted me about an August 23, event. Indeed we were interested, but just that week Lisa was scheduled to return from Europe and needed to arrange things around school (semester was starting August 26), so tying her up at home with goats would not be best — and I did not have enough time to switch my work shifts — and I felt bad about it — I took two weeks off for baby goats this year, three weeks for Europe, an extended weekend for Riverton, and a week for my jury duty — it even began to be noticeable on family finances.
After returning from Dakota Sid had asked me, how I knew to disentangle myself — for they had such lousy weather, there was no flying at all.

Mirror Lake: if you have a boat, you can levitate over the rocks.

Lakes Mirror and Marie.

On the subsequent weekend we had organized a family outing to the mountains — Tom and I went to try Mirror Lake — and we took Sid along to fly his drone and hunt mushrooms — since Mirror Lake is right upstream from Lake Marie, where I had found my bolete. That day was beautiful, but what we did not count on, was the coincidence of Labor Day three-day weekend. Mirror Lake was seriously overcrowded, surface marred by at least five boats! We did not wait and joined them with our mini-kayaks. Mirror Lake is awesome — dominated by the cliffs of Snowy range reaching up to 12,000 feet elevation; the lake itself is crystal clear. It's so transparent, I was kind of vertiginous from the start when looking from my kayak into the depths below me, I felt like about to drop down among fish, rocks and water plants. It was a flying feeling — my kayak can apparently fly like the legendary Persian carpet!
Tom and I swerved around the one small island with three trees, where we had looked for Sid's crashed drone while on Nordic skis in June, and continued to the rear part of the lake, hoping to find there fewer shore-bound fishermen, and other crowds seeking mountain trails.

A snack break.

Clear.

In that we were wrong; many other people had the same idea — we found ourselves among four other floaters — mostly fishing ones. Yet we secured a spot suitable for pulling ashore and even checked out the woods for mushrooms — but no way, even here in the mountains it had been dry for a long time. After a snack we headed back; the lake felt treacherous — it was hard to estimate depth in such clear water, and to guess if you'd pass smoothly above this or that boulder, or not. On the spot by the road, where we originally launched from, a few fishermen were gathered now and to our surprise one of them started yelling at us, what were we doing there, and that we should not get this close. They call them quiet lunatics, well! I'm not quite sure what he had in mind — HE came after us and started fishing in a spot that we intended to pull out on. I really wished to know how to levitate, if possible with the kayak as well (my back would absolutely appreciate such levitating kayak), but I could not oblige him. Tom got rather bothered by him, I'd say pointlessly — this was perhaps our first experience of such kind in Wyoming, when somebody was abusive and aggressive — which is quite an accomplishment in four years.

My friend Pip.

I have the rest of my kayaking trips in a haze — outings to our closest reservoirs, Crystal and North Crow, became a routine part of this (very hot) summer. During one trip to North Crow, Sid took his drone again and recorded me and Tom in our respective boats — when a military helicopter flew in and began to circle around the lake. Sid thinks they detected his signal and decided to practice by finding him — leaving only after they did — that was their last and lowest sweep over the lake. I had a different excitement during my solo trip, when a pelican swam close while I was getting out of the boat. He stayed nearby, let me take pictures, and only after I loaded the kayak, he up and flew away. A less positive was my UTI by the end of the summer; despite all extra seats and padding, one gets cold on a kayak — I had no other choice than to obtain neoprene shorts. I look like a fool in them (what else), but it eliminates changing in the middle of kayaking, optionally trying to dry my swim-pants / shorts / underwear during a snack break, to avoid freezing in wet ones. I was worried that I would not be able to use them this year at all before autumn hit us (it's no extreme here getting snowed-in in September), but the fall kept on not coming.

All about that, however, next time.