After our outstanding experience with the Yampa bench road (and bentonite clay), we elected to expand our horizons. Soon (by 18 June), we need to be home (for a variety of reasons), and for some mysterious reason we found that Wyoming was calling us. Perhaps only because we were so close, and had not explored its regions (in an RV lifestyle) in any way. We wanted to spend some time there.

We departed Dinosaur (Green River camp), but we still felt a developing affinity for this amazing waterway. John Wesley Powell had made his historic exploration of the Green, and subsequently, the Colorado, from very nearby our current location – – so we decided to go to Wyoming via the Flaming Gorge reservoir (and National Recreation Area).

Our first camp was at Mustang Ridge, still in Utah, and we did have a nice view of the reservoir (lake). The situation was lovely, but functionally somewhat limited. The water was far below our camp site, and our desire for a kayak expedition was not to be fulfilled from this location. Besides, we weren’t in Wyoming yet.

So we drove further north, up along the east side of the Gorge, from Utah into Wyoming (huzzah!) and to Firehole Camp. We found quite a bit of antelope (Pronghorn) along the way, but no wild horses or elk or other game.

Look as we would along the way, we could spy no geological coloration to warrant the flamboyant Firehole name, and we think perhaps the gorge itself, and its subsidiaries, may be a trifle over-booked. Grand, detailed, eroded, and intriguing for sure, but just not FIERY per se. There is very much the possibility that the dominant colors of the original river channel were submerged by the rising waters behind the dam. Or perhaps it’s fiery only under certain seasons or lighting conditions. Regardless, Firehole camp did indeed have some splendid non-fiery scenery. Here is the northern view from our landing spot, which was a free dispersed camp on the edge of the water.

Unfortunately, the great scenery came with a very special set of climatic and entomological conditions.

It’s worth noting that the word “Wyoming” originates with an ancient Indian word meaning “the land of gale-force winds which will unrelentingly drive you insane” – – that’s a loose translation of course. The wind was in fact quite unrelenting, and amazingly forceful. I’d guess (in aviation terms) it was 35-gusting-50. Karin and I would literally be knocked off-balance just walking along the beach. Howie would rock back and forth, not (necessarily) ready to tip over, but cheerily threatening the possibility. Any open vent or window would roar like storm surf at the ocean.

The wind would course across the short stretch of water in our inlet, less than a mile, but even with so little purchase, would pluck up gouts of water off the surface. As the water would rise up into the air, the malevolent wind would shoot the spray up into the sky and along any down-wind terrain, spraying and wetting any objects in its path.

For the evening meal, we tried to sequester the BBQ by using Howie and Ralph as wind blocks, but to little avail. As I waited for the wind-cooled BBQ to lackadaisically cook our meat, the wind would occasionally rotate vertically, lifting my baseball cap straight up off my head.

And little did we know what a blessing all of this was. Later in the evening, after the sun, storm cells, and wind died down, clouds of mosquitoes in pestilential proportions would arise from the water-side plants, looking desperately for any and every warm-blooded creature with a vein to probe. They would swarm our windows, creep through our window screens, and show, or demonstrate, with great malice, their ghoulish blood-sucking intent.

Late in the evening, maybe 9PM, the wind died off. That was the clue for the mosquitoes to arise in force. We took our trash up to the dumpster way above the beach, and there, among the drier desert plants, there was much less bug activity.

In the morning, we were planning to evade the bugs by kayaking out on the inlet. Hah, best-laid-plans and all that. The wind started rising at 7AM and by the time we finished breakfast was already rocking Howie merrily back and forth again. Our inflatable kayak would be blown down-wind against any conceivable paddling effort.

In resignation, we quit. Nice camp, but we have our limits. We headed out for Green River, Wyoming – – the town. There, we found a sort-of-okay RV park. Pretty close to the highway, but there was not much to choose from in the area without a lot of exploration, for which we really had no time. For the first time in six weeks, we had AC power, and we used the air-conditioning in guilty pleasure.

The RV park is close to the Green River (the river), and we are planning to take a float trip down same tomorrow. We will place our two vehicles at the entry and exit points, float down the river, and then recombine everything. Sounds simple, huh? Well you can’t believe how complicated it is to do this thing. Back-and-forth driving, parking places, inflating/deflating our boat, stowing/carrying it, etc. etc. But we’ve wanted to try this for a long time, and this legendary river is a great place to start.

Well, a great place unless you consider that the current weather has caused the Green to rise to five feet ABOVE flood level, and it is as fast-flowing as the local residents have ever seen it. We’ve scoped out both launch and exit points, and we’re not entirely sure that we can steer the damn thing as accurately as we need to. Oh well. “Let the Devil take the hind-most”, as the saying goes. We’re going for it.

Stay tuned….