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The huge herds of bison in Yellowstone take my thoughts back to a time when these mighty vegetarians roamed the plains in the millions, a time before the Europeans came and changed things with horses and guns and ambitions. It is not much use sighing for the past and romanticising it, but when we drive down to Grand Teton National Park, which is really just a continuation of Yellowstone, we see a log cabin nestled at the foot of the mountains and once again my thoughts turn to the past. This time to thoughts of homesteading, of cowboys and ranchers, of tough men and women who managed to survive frosty, lonely winters and other hardships. A time when men were men (and women liked it).
Grand Teton is smaller and less crowded than Yellowstone but postcard beautiful. Snow-clad mountains are reflected in clear, clean mountain lakes, the air is crisp and fresh and wonderful to breathe. We live in a log cabin on Jackson Lake. I go for a bracing swim in the water. We dine on delicious bison stew. We drive and hike and see elk (aka wapiti), muledeer (aka black-tailed deer), pronghorn antelope, cormorants, ducks, pelicans, eagles and osprey.
Next morning, after yet another sumptuous American breakfast, we take leave of this wonderful little national park and head southwards on the long drive towards Bryce Canyon National Park. The drive is scenic. The background is mountain range, the foreground cowboyland with corrals, ranches and rundown barns. Gradually, the mountains turn to scrubby hills with greenish-grey shades and then the rocks start to take on a reddish hue.
We continue to be struck by the sheer vastness of the landscape.
