Puddles in My Boots
After traveling 14,596 miles, Betty, our diesel damsel, needed “new shoes”. RV tire life has little to do with miles driven and everything to do with age. Betty’s rubber soles were just about 8 years old, a stretch for RV tires. Not scuffed, worn, or tread bare, she happily kicked them off for what Greg calls the Manolo Blahniks of tires! Now she’s styling and set for 6 more years of cruising.
I, on the other hand, got puddles in my boots. Squishy, sloshing, icy cold pools complete with pebbles and sand. It all started with a drive down Ghost Village Road off Highway 287 about 18 miles out of West Yellowstone. The dirt road wound along the Madison River, a favorite fishing spot and graveyard for a resort that floated down river in the 1959 earthquake. Remnants of log cabins haphazardly dot the grassy river bank. An eery reminder of the 7.5 magnitude quake that tilted Hebgen Lake, brought down a mountainside, dammed the river, created a lake and blew hurricane force winds through the canyon. A pitched roof sat crookedly in the meadow while fishermen trolled for a morning catch. It seemed a weird mix of past trauma and current recreation.
The road ended in a parking lot and we took a trail along the river. From a distance, Greg spotted an eagle’s nest and that’s all it took. We trekked for about a mile. Snags (standing dead trees) stood tall in the river like telephone poles.
Canadian geese honked and performed aerobatics in flight. Pelicans danced on the water’s surface.
Bald eagles soared. We found ourselves in our very own wild bird sanctuary! Two juvenile bald eagles sat in the nest while their parents played sentry from nearby trees.
A cry alerted us to a third juvenile obscured in the bushes on the river bank. That’s when my adventuring-loving, photograph-seeking husband threw his tripod over his shoulder and forged across slippery rocks and knee-deep, frigid water. While thoughts of “getting the photo” claimed his mind, I wondered how waterproof his 2 cameras, monster lens and other photo gear would prove to be. He grinned, pleased with his successful crossing. I waved him on and stared at the water flowing by. Eventually, I crossed. Not gracefully nor elegantly but effectively.
Sometimes, splashing through life’s puddles brings great rewards.
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