The Life in My Years

An anthology of life

The second day of our little central coast trip was spent exploring the region south of Half Moon Bay.  Twenty minutes south of Half Moon Bay is Pescadero State Beach. Twenty minutes that is if you take Highway 1 along the coast which ia a beautiful drive, passing bright green fields of artichokes and brussels sprouts and the blue Pacific coastline itself. For a little rustic variety you can hit the Stage Road cut off just north of San Gregorio State Beach.  San Gregorio is a pleasant sandy beach surrounded by bluffs which ward off some of the coastal breezes.  An adjoining estuary is home to birds and small wildlife.

If nature is your thing then you can get really close to nature at the private clothing optional beach that you can access off a little road between Stage Road and the state beach. There’s a fee for parking. It’s a long sandy stretch of beach that has high bluffs on the land side. Legend has it that this beach, opened in 1967, was the first nude beach in America.

Allow me to digress for a moment while I reminisce.

Denise was the first love of my life. We met in Spanish class at the local College of San Mateo. On warm summer days we would often go to the beach. At some point we heard rumors about this nude beach about 15 minutes south of Half Moon Bay.  Being young and inquisitive we figured, “Nothing ventured, nothing gained, let’s check it out.” Well we thought that this nude beach thing was the greatest invention since the wheel so the beach became our hang out that we never dared to tell our parents about-particularly hers. I still shudder to think about her conservative, born and raised in the south dad’s reaction if he found out we were not only baring all in front of each other but in front of God and everyone. 

The first time we went out there Denise was a little careless with the sunscreen and burned her bottom- badly. We got home and her mom gave her a playful slap on the rear making Denise stifle a scream and leading us to wonder if her mom had some sort of clairvoyance, “She couldn’t possibly know could she?” For about a week, Denise wore the loosest pants she could find. 

Denise and I were on track to get married until the day when she took me aside and said, “We have to break up because I’m a lesbian.” Well surprise, surprise, surprise. Over the many years I’ve made countless vows and resolutions and like many people I’ve managed not to keep most of them. It was about then that I figured that getting into a romantic relationship with a lesbian wouldn’t have much of a future so then and there I resolved never to do that again. I’ve managed to keep that resolution. 

You know that whole small world thing?  I guess that it was about 9 years after we broke up that I happened to see Denise at the corner of Mission and Fourth Streets in San Francisco.  We talked for a few minutes and set up a date to meet for dinner.  We got together at Hamburger Mary’s, talked over old times and caught up on the intervening years.  After dinner we went our separate ways. I’ve not seen or heard from her since. I hope she’s well and regret we never kept in touch. 

Back to Stage Road.

The drive along Stage Road is winding and narrow over rolling hills and Cora, true to nature, wasn’t happy about it.  Despite her nervousness she allowed that the scenery was picturesque. Heading south, Stage Road dips and curves and then arrives at the little burg of San Gregorio, which consists of a small handful of buildings and some local farms. On the right just before the intersection with La Honda Road is the San Gregorio General Store.

San Gregorio Barn

The morning sun peeks out from behind the coastal hills behind a San Gregorio farm.  This picture was taken the morning after the massive Butte County Camp Fire started over 200 miles away to the northwest. Note the haze from the smoke.

The San Gregorio General Store is a trip back in time when a small general merchandise emporium would provide a variety of necessities for the local residents. If merchandise isn’t what you’re looking for, then go in to warm up at the pot bellied stove or have a sandwich and a drink at the bar, or on weekends listen to some live music. The best description comes from the San Gregorio General website.  Saloon, lanterns, seeds, no television, U.S. Post Office, cast iron cookware, aspirin, advice, wines fine to rot gut, western and work clothing, groceries, hardware, bullshit, toys, cowtechnician hats, international beers, beeswax, cheesecloth, piano in-tune, books (literature, poetry, gender and environmental politics), homemade sandwiches, diapers, crockery, weather analysis, coal hods, raccoon traps, tequila (18 flavors), posters, cards, tee shirts, buttons, candles, rain gear, organic garlic, apples and butternut squash in season, live music (Irish R&B, bluegrass, original everything else).

At the corner of La Honda Road and Stage Road is the deteriorating stage stop which in the 19th century was a busy saloon and inn for people taking the stagecoach south from San Francisco. Standing there before this old building you wonder what it was like in its heyday when travelers would alight from the stagecoach, brush off the dust and go inside for a drink and a bite while outside horses whinnied, their  rigging jangled and the teamsters and wranglers shouted and cursed as they went about their business. At one time it must have been an important junction, now it’s just a ramshackle old wooden relic from another time – a curiosity that most people along this route might give a nod and a glance at as they continue on their way.

San Gregorio Stage Stop

San Gregorio Stage Stop

The drive along Stage Road continues for about 20 minutes until the road dead ends at the little town of Pescadero at Pescadero Creek Road.

The two main attractions in town are the Arcangeli Grocery Company, a small food store and deli that dates back to 1929 and Duarte’s Tavern, established in 1894 as a saloon and barbershop.

Aracangeli Grocery is known for its sandwiches and its herb and artichoke breads. We took home a take and bake loaf. If you can’t get to the store you can buy online at the Arcangeli website.

At Duarte’s the barbershop is gone but the old timey saloon is still there adjoining the small dining room which serves good food from locally sourced purveyors. Cora and I stopped for a tasty lunch at this James Beard Award winner. I had their cream of artichoke soup and a calamari steak sandwich. Cora had an appetizer order of fried calamari and a bowl of gumbo. Check out Duarte’s website for more information.

Below: Views of the quiet Pescadero farmlands. 

Pescadero farmhouse

Harley Farms

Heading west on Pescadero Creek Road you run into two jewels of nature, Pescadero State Beach and Pescadero Marsh Preserve.

On occasion dad would suggest a trip to Pescadero Beach. Mom fried the chicken and packed some side dishes and we took the drive south to picnic. After lunch mom would lay out in the sun and dad and I would clamor over the rocks to check out the tide pools.  Occasionally we would walk over to chat with some of the fishermen casting out into the ocean. I don’t know that we ever met a fisherman who’d caught something fishing from those wave swept rocks. 

On our trip we stopped to observe the shore birds, including the hundreds of pelicans on the offshore rocks. Early the following day I ventured out at sunrise to take pictures of the birds and hike one of the trails of the marsh.

Landing Pelican

Oystercatcher 3

It looks like this Black Oystercatcher is giving me the evil eye

Sandpiper 2

Sandpipers on the rocks at Pescadero Beach

Pescadero Marsh Preserve which lies on the eastern side of Highway 1 has four hiking trails that wind along the waterways and through the brilliant red pickleweed. Sixty species of birds nest in the preserve. Other species include garter snakes, the California red-legged frog, tidewater goby, steelhead trout and Coho salmon.

The trails are short and mostly flat and can be easily explored in an afternoon. Docent led hikes are available on weekends.

Pescadero Marsh 4

Morning sun reflects off the waters of Pescadero Marsh and lights up the red pickleweed

Pescadero Marsh 2

Acres of pickleweed brighten Pescadero Marsh

Caterpillar

A bright caterpillar makes its way along a bush

Pigeon Point 

Six miles south of Pescadero Beach on Highway 1 is the Pigeon Point Light Station.  At 115 feet tall, the lighthouse, first lit in 1872 is one of the tallest in America.  It sits on a point of land that was originally called La Punta de la Ballena (Whale Point).  The name was changed to Pigeon Point after the clipper ship Carrier Pigeon got lost in the fog and ran aground nearby.

At the lightstation there is a boardwalk that leads to an overlook where visitors can view birds, the crashing waves and elephant seals. If you happen to be there during the months of January through April you might be able to spot Gray Whales on their migration.

If you want to stay overnight at the point, there is a hostel where you can stay in a dorm style environment or in a private room.

Just north and south of the light station are beaches that are accessible to the public.

After sunset Cora and I headed back to our motel in Half Moon Bay. She had a steaming bowl of soup from a small Mexican restaurant nearby while I went north to the Half Moon Bay Brewing Company to get a fresh from the tap growler of one of their many beers that you can find listed on their website. Click the link for Half Moon Bay Brewing Company.

The next morning it was breakfast and home.

Pidgeon Point sunrise 2

Morning sun lights up Pigeon Point

Pidgeon Point sunset 2

Above and below – Sunset at Pigeon Point

PIdgeon Point sunset 1

Here in the San Francisco Bay Area we have boats and plenty of them.  That’s because here in the San Francisco Bay Area we have water and plenty of it; bays, marinas, piers, sloughs,  docks, landings, wetlands, the blue Pacific and San Francisco’s Fisherman’s Wharf. There are endless possibilities for photographing boats and ships. So I get myself out of bed early, tell my dog Lexi “time to get up” and we head out to find boats at sunrise.

Hey Lexi its time to wake up!

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Here’s a little sampling for Friday Fotos.

South Beach, San Francisco.

South Beach is that area of bay shore in San Francisco that is bordered by the Ferry Building on the north which houses the bustling Farmer’s Market and AT&T Park (Home of the San Francisco Giants baseball team) to the south. The busy bayside promenade is an excellent place to run (all the way to the Golden Gate Bridge if you want), relax in one of the small parks or have a nice meal in one of the many restaurants. If you have a boat and plenty of money you can dock your boat at the South Beach Marina.

Sailboats Mission Bay Marina Seasons effect

Sunrise over the bay at the South Beach Marina

South Beach is one of my favorite places to to catch a sunrise. If I’m fortunate to remain  late enough on a Saturday morning I can have a breakfast of house made corn beef hash and eggs at the iconic Red’s Java House. Red’s has a history that goes back to the 1930’s serving hearty grub to longshoremen when San Francisco was a bustling port town. Back then the breakfast special was a cheeseburger and a beer – hey it was noon somewhere – right?  Follow the link to Red’s Java House.

Freigher 4

Wisps of fog hang over a ship on a bronze sunrise. Taken from South Beach.

 

Emeryille, California

On the eastern side of San Francisco Bay is Emeryville, the last little city before you hit the San Francisco-Oakland Bay Bridge to San Francisco.

Looking for some dawn photo opportunities I found one particular boat that caught my eye and not so much for the boat as its handle – Endurance.  Seemed appropriate as I’ve been a runner for most of my 65 years and the Emeryville Marina has been a favorite running haunt.

Endurance march 2018

I’ve caught Endurance a few times.  This one was during a golden sunrise

Endurance pink

And this one under a sky tinted pink

Besides being a nice place to run, the Emeryville Marina is a nice place to spend some quiet time. There are little wooded areas with places to picnic; you can gaze at the San Francisco skyline across the bay; you can try your luck at fishing (though I wouldn’t eat ANYTHING out of that water) or you can just bring your book, read and look up now and then to listen to the sounds of the bay.

Emeryville Marina 3

Masts reflect on a blue morning

 

The Emeryville Marina is also home to a legendary tiki bar, Trader Vic’s started by Vic Bergeron who claimed to be the inventor of the Mai Tai.  If you like bamboo, rataan and tiki heads then this is the place for you.  Sit at the bar and have some pupus and a concoction that will sneak up on you and get you hammered before you realize that you’ve been drinking 3 kinds of rum mixed with tropical juices.

Follow this link to Trader Vic’s site. Trader Vic’s Emeryville.

Cora and I have had a forgettable 2018. It started with my recovery from a broken foot and then went right into her bout of cancer and the subsequent surgery and chemotherapy. By October the dust was settling and by November it was time to take a short trip.

Half Moon Bay, California on the central Pacific Coast is about a one hour drive from our house in the San Francisco Bay Area’s northeast region. Half Moon Bay was our base of operations from which we explored Pillar Point Harbor about 15 minutes north to the environs of Pescadero about 30 minutes south of Half Moon Bay. Continue reading

 

Firehole 2 copy

Canon EOS 60D 

ISO 125

1/8 sec.  F36  135mm

What looks like a waterfall is actually a flow of water from the crater of the now dormant Excelsior geyser at the Midway Geyser Basin, a place which Rudyard Kipling once described as “Hell’s Half Acre.” The crater measures out at 276 x 328 feet and dumps 199 degree (F) water into the Firehole River at a rate of 4000 gallons per minute.  During it’s active period in the 19th century Excelsior’s spectacular eruptions would reach a a height of 300 feet. In 1985, Excelsior erupted to a height of 55 feet, an eruption that lasted for two days. It last erupted in 1988.

 

Excelsior Geyser Firehole River 1 copy

Canon EOS 60D 

ISO 125

1/8 sec.  F36  100mm

We’ve left Erzulie’s Voodoo Store, strolling along Royal Street. It took some coaxing to get Cora to go into Erzulie’s and she was relieved and happy to leave. Left her a little creeped out, it did. Like most of the French Quarter streets, Royal is a splash of color, heavy on the black, gold and purple. Balconies with wrought iron railings decorated with flowers, bushy green plants a sprinkling of New Orleans Saints banners and cascades of multicolored beads.

Wrought iron rails and fences are everywhere in the French Quarter and the one on Royal in front of Saint Anthony’s Garden is adorned with paintings, colorful renditions of this brash, spirited city called The Big Easy.

Bike and paintings 2

Continue reading

We’re five days past Thanksgiving and the local wild turkeys are strutting around with unabashed self-assurance.

Actually being the honored guest at a family feast is the least of the dangers our local turkeys face. Their only concerns should be a speeding motorist or a hungry coyote. Continue reading

It’s Sunday morning after Thanksgiving and I’m scanning the refrigerator – and I’m not happy. Let’s see, there’s a quart of eggnog, orange juice, a gallon of milk, a bag of spring mix, a plastic container of rice, the usual mayo, mustard a collection of various hot sauces and containers of various leftovers. But on this particular morning I’m not feeling thankful. I’ve got a fridge that’s bulging full and I’m not happy about it. More on this later. Let’s go back to Thanksgiving Day.

 

Continue reading

 

Be thankful for what you have; you’ll end up having more.  If you concentrate on what you don’t have, you will never, ever have enough.     ~ Oprah Winfrey

“Every leaf speaks bliss to me, fluttering from the autumn tree.” ~ Emile Bronte

Trees snake river

 

Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower.
Albert Camus

When I started counting my blessings, my whole life turned around.  ~ Willie Nelson

Leaves

 

“Not what we say about our blessings, but how we use them, is the true measure of our thanksgiving.”   ~  W.T. Purkiser

I know the lands are lit, with all the autumn blaze of Goldenrod.
~ Helen Hunt Jackson

Golden trees

What if today, we were just grateful for everything?  ~ Charlie Brown

I’ve posted four photo essays on our visit to Grand Teton National Park. Here is the final Grand Teton post – the narrative.

Grand Teton National Park is in northwestern Wyoming, just north of the town of Jackson and bordering Yellowstone National Park to the north. Located anywhere else in the country Grand Teton would be a headliner but it often finds itself an understudy for being on Yellowstone’s southern border.  

 

A Little History

It was in the early 1800’s that the famous range got the first version of its unorthodox name. French trappers set eyes on the three prominent peaks of the Teton range and christened them “Les Trois Tetons” which translates to the  “The Three Breasts.” Men, right?  It’s always about the boobs. The name would be shortened to Tetons and then the park would be given its final and current name. The original name for the range was teewinot given it by the Shoshone, the nomadic tribe that occupied the area for thousands of years before the arrival of white fur traders.

Fur traders plied the area and the valley just south known as Jackson’s Hole named after trapper David Jackson (A “hole” was what mountain men termed a high valley surrounded by mountains.)  For some.decades fur would be the valley’s big attraction; bringing the Rocky Mountain Fur Company to work the streams for beaver pelts. Beaver hats were all the rage with the rich back east and in Europe. In history there are constants and one of those is that when the rich have an itch that needs scratching someone inevitably gets screwed. In this case it was the North American beaver. Later on it would become the bison.

An area of the park that is half of the current park was designated a national park in 1929 by Calvin Coolidge. Shortly thereafter John D. Rockefeller bought up over 100,000 acres of land south of the new park in the name of what was apparently a shell company called the Snake River Land Company. Rockefeller’s intention was not to develop the land but to help to preserve it. After years of political squabbling between Rockefeller, the federal government and the State of Wyoming, the Snake River Land Company’s holdings were incorporated into Grand Teton National Park in 1950.

 

A Little Planning

Cora and I visited the park in the autumn when kids were back in school and the summer high season was done. It was a part of a larger trip that included Yellowstone; Cody, Wyoming and a side trip to Pinedale, Wyoming to visit my family.  

I’m a planner. Well before a trip I buy one or two travel guides, bury myself in the internet and plan an itinerary that’s as detailed as possible. Before I became a planner Cora and I would arrive in a hotel room, look at each other and say, “Now what’ll we do?” Unfortunately before this trip I miscalculated on two things. One would cost us opportunities and the other would cost us money.  

My plan was to avoid the crowds which turn Northwest Wyoming into Disneyland with trees. Cora and I went a little too late in autumn when the park lodging and some of the restaurants were closed as well as all of the outfitters and tour guides. That was mistake number one, costing us the opportunity to go bike riding or horseback riding or to take a boat ride on Jenny Lake.  Autumn is apparently a sort of dead time between the busy seasons of summer and winter.

Jackson was still packed, though not as much as it would be in the high season. We spoke with a business owner who told us that on a busy summer day a San Francisco traffic jam would have nothing on Jackson. It was, for her, a double edged sword; good business but lots and lots of people and brutal traffic jams.

Lodging is available both in the park itself or in the town of Jackson on the park’s southern border but make sure that you have reservations. If you plan on staying in the park reserve well in advance and be prepared to spend plenty of coin of the realm for the experience. When we were in the area, the park was a short drive from Jackson.  In the high season you might be battling some traffic in and out of the park.

Plan your trip early and check when the outfitters and tour guides close in the fall and reopen in the spring. My suggestion is to squeeze into those few weeks when the crowds are smaller than in the peak season and the guides are still in operation so that you can go rafting or horseback riding, or take a boat or hiking tour or a guided fishing excursion. That would be early autumn and late spring.


Our Accommodations
Here’s my take on accommodations; as long as I don’t get infested with creepy crawlers or fear for my life when I leave the hotel and I have a place to hang my clothes, take care of the physical necessities and lay my head for a quiet, comfortable night’s sleep I’m usually satisfied.  I don’t need a spa or a massage or an in-room whirlpool or plush robes or an adjacent 18 hole PGA approved golf course. That means we’re somewhere north of Motel 6 and light years south of The Ritz-Carlton. But that’s just me. Some want the full experience with a luxury hotel and all the extras being part of the package. For me the destination is the attraction.

We stayed at the Elk Country Inn in the town of Jackson (with the exception of one expensive night at The Rustic Inn at Jackson Hole – more on that later). When possible, I like to opt for a small cabin with a kitchen, giving us the option of cooking if we feel like it. Our Elk Country Inn cabin was clean, and comfortable and well situated on the southern end of Jackson within walking distance of restaurants and the center of town. We had all the usuals that you might ask for; internet, TV, a small fitness center, a clean well equipped kitchen and excellent customer service.  Our cabin had two televisions; one in the bedroom and one in the small living room/kitchen area (Cora watched the news which I refuse to watch while travelling and I watched football).  The property also has a nice family barbecue and picnic area.

Which takes us to miscalculation number two. DO NOT go to Jackson (or any other travel destination) and assume you can just find a room for the night. We (more properly – I) made that mistake. Our plan was to drive from San Francisco to as far as we could in Nevada and find a room. That was not a problem. The next night we would stop someplace in Idaho and find a simple motel and then get to Jackson on the third night when I had a reservation.

Ah, but I was greedy and wanted to steal some extra hours at Grand Teton and so we made a brutal drive from Fernley, Nevada all the way to Jackson where there was no vacancy to be found. We drove all around Jackson and there wasn’t so much as a cot available.

I was just about to turn the car back down the winding road to Alpine, the next town down, when we finally found a place that said VACANCY.  I pulled into the lot of a posh looking inn and dropped Cora off in front of the entrance. “I’ll park the car. If they have a room, take it.” I parked the car and as I walked towards the office two biker guys walked out shaking their heads followed by my wife looking very unhappy.  I started to imagine the dull ache and stiffness in my back from spending a night in the car parked at some turnout on a mid-twenty degree night.

“They have a room but the man said it’s 339 dollars,” she told me in a disappointed tone. Well no wonder the bikers left, I thought.  I told Cora we’d take it and before she could lodge the protest hovering on her lips I told her that I wasn’t going to take a chance on going back down the road, find nothing only to come back to Jackson and find that the last room in the county was sold.

We were tired, we were depressed, we were hungry and we were sore but we also have a credit card with a 40,000 dollar credit line so hell yes we were taking the room. What good is a credit card if you don’t have it to fix a flat tire, pay for a late night plumber’s visit or get fleeced at a hotel when you were too stupid to not have a reservation?

We went into the reception area and I asked the man, “You have a room available for 339.00?” From the back of the reception desk a humorless woman corrected me; “That’s 389.00, not including fees and taxes.” Well, apparently the meter was running or inflation increases by the minute in Jackson. Cora rolled her eyes at the new price and I could see her temperature start to rise. This is usually where the little Filipina stomps her foot and exclaims “NO!!” The look I shot her warned, “Keep quiet, I’m not going to piss this woman off.” I didn’t know if I was being gouged or not.  What I did know is that I wanted a shower, a warm bed and some food in no particular order and I was prepared to pay out the nose; or any other orifice the innkeeper wanted me to pay out of.

I suppose I could’ve suggested to the woman that at this late hour we needed a room and she just happened to have a room to sell that might go empty at that late hour so maybe we could come to a middle ground?  I could’ve suggested it but I didn’t because she was clearly not in the mood to play Let’s Make a Deal. I would like to have suggested to her that if she was going to screw me she should at least be pleasant while doing so, but that would have only earned us a cold night in the car. We got the “deluxe king cabin by the creek,” which was a nice room but not for 400 bones. The next morning we went to the place that we had reserved. No problem, all good and I decided to forget my dented credit card until the bill arrived. (Note: I later checked the hotel’s website and found that we were not gouged. The room actually went for what we were charged).

Grand Teton N.P. is where you commune with nature and the town of Jackson is where shopkeepers commune with your wallet; boutique and souvenir. I have a faint recollection from childhood vacations of Jackson as a sort of frontierland with lots of log buildings and wild west trappings like cowboy hats, lever action rifles, six guns, lariats and animal heads on the wall. Wyoming isn’t called the Cowboy State for nothing.

You can still see that at Jackson but the Old West seems a bit understated; almost as if that western stuff is a bit unsophisticated for the Chamber of Commerce.  We only saw two cowboy hats during our stay in Jackson and one of them was sitting on my head. It’s a picturesque little town that has apparently decided that it wants to be a mountain version of California’s Napa Valley.  In fact I made that remark to a gallery owner who was delighted by the comparison. The comparison translates to a quaint town with expensive charm. 

I guess part of that is due to the Jackson area being home to Harrison Ford, Sandra Bullock, Dick Cheney and a countless number of corporate big giant heads who get big giant paychecks and have big giant stock options to buy big giant custom homes. That always tends to run up the price tag for both residents and tourists.

Food

For us part of the fun of traveling is the eating. I noted that Jackson has a restaurant run by famous chef Michael Mina. At Michael Mina’s joint you could get a single (one) appetizer pretzel with American cheese for 13 bucks.  And if you wanted a beer with your 13 dollar pretzel you could get a Bud Light for 5 dollars. So for 18 dollars you got watery beer, one pretzel and cheese that probably wasn’t real cheese. I’ve done much better at the ballpark and let’s face it ballparks are notorious for being a rip off. And so we opted for a different place to eat.

On that night we went to a restaurant called The Gun Barrel Steak and Game House. If you want a taste of The Old West this would be the place for you. From the log walls, wooden floors and Western motif furniture to the antique cowboy artifacts and a meat loaded menu the place dripped Wild West Wyoming. The building used to house a business called Wyoming Wildlife Museum & Taxidermy and much of the decor was retained. In fact, building used to house The Gun Barrel Steak and Game House; as of this writing it is permanently closed. 

I love meat and so I had the Mixed Game Grill, a combination of elk steak, buffalo prime rib, and a venison bratwurst. As a side I ordered a baked potato which was roughly the size of a football. Cora ordered Rocky Mountain Rainbow Trout, lightly breaded, sauteéd and stuffed with a mushroom crab dressing. It wasn’t a cheap meal but it was excellent and a better value than a single 13 dollar pretzel.

 

 

Rainbow Trout, Mixed Game Grill, Some Gun Barrel decor,

The next night, staying with the flavor of the Old West we went to The Million Dollar Cowboy Bar.  It’s a fun place that’s a hangout for locals and tourists alike where you can belly up to a long bar inlaid with silver dollars, sit on a saddle (the bar stools are actual saddles) and enjoy a game of pool, dance to country-western music or just look at all the memorabilia in the place.  Understand that the menu is simple bar food so you won’t find a Nicoise salad or oysters Rockefeller. And if you’re looking for quinoa you’re lost – try Chef Mina. At the Cowboy Bar you can have a cold beer, a nice basket of hot wings and a unique experience all at a moderate price. I’m the first to admit that it’s simple and not gourmet but it is fun. We had a snack of chicken wings and burgers at the Cowboy Bar. The wife wasn’t at all impressed with the saddles. She found them uncomfortable and noted that sitting in one hurt the, uh, female area (what Cora terms in Filipino jargon as peck-peck). As we were sitting at the bar a woman asked me if the saddle was comfortable.

“It’s a saddle,” I shrugged.

“As least it isn’t moving,” she said.

I offered that with enough tequila shots it might appear to be moving.

A short while later another woman approached me and asked if the saddle was comfortable.

“It’s a saddle,” I shrugged.

“As least it isn’t moving,” she said. First Pete and then repeat.

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Our last supper (so to speak) was at The Merry Piglets, a Mexican restaurant which is more or less like all the other cookie cutter Mexican restaurants that have tile floors, some thatched roofs, arches, mariachi music, bright colors and offer chips and salsa in a basket and Margaritas in a glass big enough to bathe your Great Dane in. The food was good, the price was reasonable and we walked out stuffed and satisfied.

Jackson

Jackson’s population is listed at just over 9000 but if you throw in the tourists that number would fluff up considerably. And when you add in the tourists Jackson becomes like a sort of cultural crossroads, a Wild West Istanbul.  There are the aforementioned rich folk who contrast with the blue collars that populate the taverns; but it’s the tourists that account for a United Nations gathering in a mountain valley. The families in vans; the retirees in motor homes; the tour bus crowd confined to busses except when allowed fifteen minutes off the bus for good behavior to take in a spot that really deserves a couple hours; the car campers and the backpackers:the hikers geared up in Patagonia boots and Marmot jackets walking past a middle aged guy wearing Bermudas and dress socks with his hiking boots and all of them weaving through forests of selfie sticks wielded by tourists of every conceivable nationality. In the summer you can add to this stew the leather clad bikers who use Jackson as a stopover on the way to Sturgis and in autumn the hunters geared up in camo and toting high powered rifles.

Unless there’s an event going on in town shopping is the main attraction and it runs the gamut but it can be pretty darn frou-frou. There are a number of jewelry stores along with galleries that display paintings and photographs of the scenery and the history of the surrounding area. The works are beautiful and I was tempted to buy but I’ve found that when you attach the word “gallery” to the back end of a retail store’s name it means that whatever‘s for sale inside is well beyond my budget. So I window shopped.

But don’t be discouraged. There are plenty of shops that cater to the larger percentage of tourists who can’t afford an 8000.00 dollar giclee print of a comely Native American maiden wearing inauthentic, cleavage revealing buckskins and what appears to be makeup (yes such prints are available). In fact you can probably find the same bogus representation of a Native American woman for 20 dollars in one of the souvenir shops. It just isn’t signed and numbered. You can find affordable souvenirs and western wear in many of the shops.

Jackson has a nice plaza with an arch that’s fashioned out of elk antlers. Your first reaction might be to ask why anyone would want to celebrate the wanton slaughter of so many elk and then you come to learn that elk shed their antlers. It’s a great picture spot.

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No elk were killed in the production of this photo


Located between Jackson and Grand Teton National Park is the National Museum of Wildlife Art. The impressive stone building set into a hillside above Highway 26 isn’t hard to miss.  The museum houses sculptures and paintings from such renowned artists as Georgia O’Keeffe, Andy Warhol, Robert Kuhn, John James Audubon, and Carl Rungius. The museum includes an interactive children’s gallery and an outdoor sculpture trail. Adult tickets are 14 dollars and there are tickets priced for seniors and children.  Cora and I spent the better part of an afternoon there. It’s definitely a worthwhile attraction but you might want to weigh this option against all of the possible outdoor activities.

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At the outdoor sculpture trail, National Museum of Wildlife Art

The main attraction is of course Grand Teton National Park. For a magnificent scenic ride (by car or bike) take the Teton Park Road. A short easy hike is the HIdden Falls Trail that departs from the Jenny Lake Trailhead. The hike offers views of Jenny Lake and 200 foot Hidden Falls. Since Cora and I went too late in the year, we missed the chance to take an interpretive cruise on the cobalt blue waters of Jenny Lake. There’s also an interpretive ranger led hike to Inspiration Point which was cancelled for the year when we visited.

One late afternoon, we took a drive to the summit of Signal Mountain and took in a cloud decorated sunset. The caveat with this drive is that it’s closed to RV’s and trailers and it might be a slog for your car’s engine. It’s a 5 mile paved road that ends at the the 7720 foot summit. The views of the valley below are spectacular and ours had the extra bonus of splotches of fall colors far below. It was the elk rutting season when the males bugle. From the summit we could hear the sounds of the males far below on the valley floor.

There was a lot that I’d hoped to do but didn’t get a chance to due to the closures. If you plan a trip to that area a good guidebook or the internet can give you the options. For a family experience you might look into a dude ranch.

Don’t assume from this post that the area goes dead in the winter. In fact the area starts to come alive again in winter with different wintertime activities. I would love to visit the area when it’s got a blanket of snow but I would probably be going solo – Cora isn’t a fan of snow. Jackson is home to a ski resort; there’s snowshoeing; winter ecotours, wildlife tours and photography tours.

Final tips:

Don’t be an idiot. Grand Teton is home to wildlife; BIG wildlife with teeth, claws, horns and antlers. The first stop that we made before entering the park was the visitor center where we bought bear spray and watched a video on how to use it. Chances are you won’t round a bend in a trail and come face to face with a 500 pound grizzly bear and we didn’t, but I decided that a 10 dollar can of bear spray was worthwhile insurance. Cora and I took a hike on a trail near Jenny Lake and I was astounded to find that we were the only ones carrying bear spray.

Likewise give wildlife a wide berth. During my trips to Yellowstone and Grand Teton I’ve seen people get far too close to bear cubs; approach within a few feet of bison and park their cars near a bull elk to get a better view. I’ve also heard stories of people trying to take a selfie with a bison and getting launched, or having a bull elk ruin the paint job on a car; they will ram cars.

A final note. If you do plan to visit Grand Teton National Park I strongly suggest that you bring a camera; a real one and not the one in your phone. I have a DSLR with a variety of lenses that go up to 600mm. Unless you’re really into photography like I am you don’t need that much but if you want memorable photos that won’t disappoint when you get home bring a camera. If buying isn’t an option you can always get a rental online.
Resources

The guide book that I used is:

Yellowstone and Grand Teton National Parks, by Brian Kevin, Copyright 2012, published by Fodor’s Travel, a division of Random House, Inc.

Internet resources include:

Grand Teton National Park (U.S. National Park Service), https://www.nps.gov/grte/index.htm

Grand Teton National Park | Travel Wyoming. That’s WY, https://www.travelwyoming.com/national-parks-and-monuments/grand-teton

Jackson Hole Traveler Visitor’s Guide,  http://www.jacksonholetraveler.com/

Wildlife Art – National Museum of Wildlife Art | Jackson Hole WY, https://www.wildlifeart.org/

All of the usual travel guides, Trip Advisor, Booking.com, Expedia, etc, I find useful only as starting points.

 

 

 

The last in a series of photo essays on Grand Teton National Park. Coming up: The narrative. 

I was driving back to Jackson having just have photographed the Moulton barn and environs when I noticed a little side road that exited the main highway. Why not; nothing ventured, nothing gained. I arrived at a parking area and as I usually do I got out to scout the area for possible photo opportunities.

It turned out that I’d stumbled on to a boat landing on the Snake River called Schwabacher’s Landing. A short walk from the car revealed a photographer’s paradise; an Eden of trees, and mountains and Autumn foliage reflected in a string of beaver ponds.  My walk from the car turned into a run back to the car to collect my gear.

I don’t know a thing about this person named Schwabacher but for the fact that he or she found an absolutely gorgeous location for a boat landing; or a picnic, or a hike.  Or a place to just pause and reflect on the breathtaking reflections.

Reflect is just the perfect word to describe Schwabacher’s Landing because when you look in the waters you see flawless reflections of the peaks and surrounding area. That morning there was me and only two or three other photographers. As we went about our hobby we observed each other’s views and vantage points, sharing ideas and locations that we’d been along the slightly less than two mile trail.

 

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