July 23, 2006

July 23, 2006

I haven’t had any allergy problems since coming down from Yellowstone. The wildflower pollen I am allergic to must only grow in the mountains. I guess I am destined to be a flatlander forever. Aimee is fine with this as she is scared of heights. I guess this is what you call Star-crossed compatibility.

This morning we rise again with the alarm clock. At 8:00am we meet the fishing guide where the local road crosses the Snake River. We fish about a half-mile upstream from there. In the first half hour I catch several cutthroat trout but nothing of a size to write home about. I failed to hook the lone big one well and he got off. I don’t get a bite for the rest of the morning but I do learn a few tips about fly fishing from the guide.

Just after noon, we hit the road again and head south following the Snake, then the Hoback and finally the Green Rivers. I like the beautiful forested area the Hoback flows through. The upper Green river valley is back to desert ranches covered mostly with sagebrush. Farther down the Green we come upon mile after mile of Badland type terrain. South Dakota has nothing on Wyoming badlands, just better advertising. After what seems hours and with a little backtracking we finally get to Fossil Butte National Monument outside Kemmerer, WY. Fossil Butte was the site of a large shallow lake 50 million years ago. Because of some unique circumstances a huge variety of fish and other freshwater animals were entombed and fossilized almost perfectly in a narrow white limestone layer called the Green River Formation. I have often seen these fossils for sale in stores and on the Internet. A former coworker had one on display in her office. Because of lightning, we tour the nice visitors center, but forgo the hike to the original quarry site atop the butte.

Since it is late on Sunday night, I can’t visit any of the local fossil stores so we decide to keep moving. By the time we get to the city of Green River, it is very late and the campground is full. (By the way Green River is the Soda Ash capital of the world). Another fifteen minutes east on I80 we find an open spot in the Rock Springs, Wyoming, KOA. As we turn in, Aimee and I both comment that it looks just like the initial campground in the recent Robin Williams’ RV movie, just a big gravel parking lot, next to an oil storage depot. No character at all. Oh well, Beggars cant be choosers.