Weather: partly cloudy
162 miles
I got up at 7.30, and after another breakfast of cereal and muffin, went to purchase a few more postcards of Yellowstone from the shop. I returned to the cabin to pack, paid the bill, took a couple of pictures of the ground squirrels (out in force again), and left.
I drove southwards to the West Thumb area of Yellowstone Lake, where another concentration of geothermal features lies by the shore. Some of the most fascinating were those right on the shoreline: at this time of year, with the water level high due to meltwaters, some were completely submerged. One is known as the ``Fishing Cone'', from the days when fishers would stand on the shore, catch their dinner, then without unhooking the fish, lower it into the cone to be cooked by the heat of the spring water. Such behaviour is now strongly discouraged.
Two of the most striking pools in the area were Abyss Pool, deep turquoise in colour, and Black Pool, which was actually blue (it had formerly been black until a rise in temperature killed the micro-organisms responsible for the colour).
Passing a small group of trees just beyond Abyss Pool, I found a group of people gathered, evidently watching something. I turned around to realise that I had just passed by a female elk and her tiny calf, about two days old according to one of the rangers. They were rather concerned about the elk, as earlier in the day it had been charging at anyone straying too close to the calf, but the elk soon wandered off into the trees, away from the boardwalks.
After an hour or so in the thermal area, I returned to the car and continued on towards the south entrance to the park. As I crossed the continental divide en route, I stopped to take a photograph of the sign at the point. My camera had other ideas and demonstrated the ``Rule of Three'' for me -- the mirror lifted and the shutter opened to take the picture, but failed to return to their usual positions. I retreated into the shade of the car to retrieve the film, hoping that what I had already taken would not be affected, before turning my attention to the jammed camera.
It was quickly evident that I was stuck with the problem -- although I could force the shutter to close and mirror to drop, on taking another photograph they would stick again. I strongly suspected a failed spring internally, not something that could easily be fixed in this part of the world, in which case I would need to find alternative camera arrangements for the last week of the trip.
Grand Teton National Park and Yellowstone lie just seven miles apart, separated only by the John D. Rockefeller Jr. Memorial Parkway, named in honour of the benefactor who gave the funds which enabled much of the land in Grand Teton to be purchased for the nation. The main road takes one through an area of forests and gentle hills, on the side of the Snake River Valley. I turned off onto a side road heading to Flagg Ranch and several campsites beyond, and stopped at the ranch in search of food. Nothing appeared to be on offer, however, and I continued southwards into Grand Teton.
I was a little surprised not to have to pass through any entrance station, until I realised that passes for Yellowstone are also valid for Grand Teton, and vice-versa. The only way in without paying is via several miles of dirt road heading towards Flagg Ranch from the Idaho border to the west, something few people can be bothered to do.
I stopped at Colter Bay Village in Grand Teton, on the shores of the large Jackson Lake through which the Snake River flows. I picked up a park map from the visitor centre and then went in search of lunch. I found a rather upmarket sandwich bar, serving various sandwiches named after the peaks of the park. I chose a ``Mount Woodring'', with turkey, ham, cheese and salad.
Suitably fed, I continued southwards -- rather than explore the park I decided to head for Jackson, the nearest town of any size, and investigate alternative camera arrangements. I felt a little frustrated at passing such beautiful scenery and being unable to record it on film for posterity, but I could always come back the next day, or indeed the day after -- I could spend an extra day in the area without having to make too much of a rush back towards Denver.
The town of Jackson lies just outside the park's south entrance, and alongside the wonderfully-named National Elk Refuge. It is a popular town with visitors and is essentially in season all year, with skiers in the winter and park visitors in the summer months. I stopped at the tourist information centre on the north side of the town, and went to enquire about camera shops. A most helpful man gave me a wonderful pictorial map of the town, marking all its major businesses, including several photographic shops. Short of Salt Lake City, three hundred miles to the south, this was the place in the region to be for cameras.
Rather than trying to park closer to the centre on the town's busy streets, I walked in the short distance. The first shop I went to passed verdict on my camera: almost certainly a broken spring, something that could not be fixed in Jackson and I would need to send the camera away for repair. I wandered around various shops to see what was on offer -- any decent new camera would be quite expensive (and even more so with VAT and import duties added). I settled instead for a secondhand camera body, compatible with my existing lenses, not particularly cheap at nearly £100 but evidently the best I was likely to be able to do here. In any case it could be sold on or retained as a spare once I got home.
I contemplated returning into Grand Teton but it was by now nearly 5.00. I decided to go and find the motel I had booked. This was a Motel 6 a mile or so beyond the town centre, and I had a large, comfortable ground floor room with a strange device called a ``television'' -- the cabins in Yellowstone had been a rarity in the US in not having such things, not that I had particularly missed it.
I spent a while looking at my cameras, during which time I was surprised to have my old one suddenly return to life, somewhat unexpectedly. I concluded that perhaps the spring had not broken but merely been clogged up with something, perhaps debris from the disintegrating mirror pad. I did my best to clean it out and verified that it appeared to work, but decided I had better hold on to the spare body just in case. It later turned out not to be needed -- subsequent films shot on my usual camera came out fine, and only one frame was lost on the film in the camera at the time of the jam.
I took a short walk up the road to check out whether a nearby bistro was a possible eatery (it was a little pricey but certainly possible), and to look in the K-Mart supermarket, mainly out of curiosity rather than a strong desire to buy anything. I was surprised to find a very good deal on camera film inside -- four 36 exposure reels for under eight dollars, a sum one might expect to pay for a single film at most ``tourist'' shops.
I opted to drive back into town for dinner, finding a free parking area and then walking to nearby ``Anthony's'' Italian restaurant for a meal of minestrone soup, salad, garlic bread and smoked salmon fettuccine. I then returned to the motel and spent a while considering what to visit in the park the next day, before retiring to bed.