Gros Ventre

i had some wonderful correlation between great expeditions and my notes from last weekend but upon review almost a week later i've decided that what i wrote was mostly crap. these things happen. so the notes from our weekend in the gros ventre are only notes, thoughts etc. i've been trying to rethink my idea of a travel narrative. combine a strict account with reflection and thought. maybe even make it interesting. i've discovered the blog idea to be very different from a personal journal in that the blog needs to interest not only the writer but the reader. obvious of course, but often a journal is only interesting becasue it is written for a single person with no thought given to the reader. hopefully this will improve.

"Two roads diverged in the wood and i took the one less traveled, this has made all the difference; Frost."
"yeah, but we're trying to get somewhere."
"maybe we should get out the map"
-with a slight miscalculation matt and i have rolled up our jeans, changed into sandals, and waded bravely, yet inncorrectly into a stream of waist high snow melt.
-dinner is a hobo; no, but tinfoil packet of leftover chicken, vegetables and pasta. compliments of andy, a cook a the ranch. they claim the only difference between a chef and a cook are tattoos. as far as i know its true. andy cooks in puerto rico during the winter, his girlfriend and her friend are also working at the ranch. if it were not raining we would have warmed the hobo on coals, but instead we throw wood on the fire and eat it cold.
-theres snow
-we are following flat creek south, upstream to the source
-with snow melt and rain the water is high and everywhere. we cross streams and creeks by log rock and leap. we shimmy, wade and stretch from one spot of dirt to another. streams and meadows are crossed in a similar manner when the water is this high.
-its raining and cold, but beautiful.
-snow covers the path, but its not hard to follow the stream or tracks of elk and coyote.
-make camp and attempt to build a fire with wet wood; fall asleep next to the half constructed fire when the sun comes out.
-always bring more dry socks than you think you will need.
-continue our ascent as there is still daylight left.
-there is 3 and 4 feet of snow covering everything. the stream can be seen rushing by through tunnels of ice and snow. it would be best not to fall in.
-i continue up alone. myself, rock, ice, sparse trees, the sky is getting closer. maybe a roof of the world.
-moose calls to matt
- fill my pink nalgene with cold sweet water from the side of the snowy peak.
-sound my barbaric yawp (i dont know any bloodhound gang(smile)) ski down on my shoes
-Matt has followed my footprints and he spots a sign pointing towards flat creek in one direction and granite creek in another. barely rising above the snow this is a graceful indication of our current location.
-biscuits and summer sausage, kings of our domain. humbled by the power that surrounds us.
-reading james joyce, a portrait of the artist as a young man.
-gets cold in the mountains, sleep between rocks and chills
-collect rock for ross, bask in the sun beneath a tree
-the small white flowers in each clearing are very small. they present themselves so subtely that they go unnoticed until one is standing directly upon them. it is only then you will look up and notice the green clearing speckeled by offwhite is actually blanketed by flowers.
-matt fills his boots with fish on our return trip. (those streams are wet and the decaying logs are slippery) no lifeboat, only a short quickening of the heart.
-we stop at disappearing lake; it will be gone by august and return again next spring with the snow melt and rain
-of course we are inclined to swim; a leap from a nearby rock gets us in and most likely when matt looses his glasses. i've been in some seriously cold water, but this may win.
-one weekend, 20 miles, a mountain, a stream, snow, rain, and two beat ranch hands
-home sweet home.
this is our summer residence, the bachelor pad. everyone else lives in fancy cabins. somehow we were convinced to set up the tent. one could say its quaint, or even cold.