Road trips

Fine days being few and far between of late, we take advantage of those we are graced with.

The weather forecast is generally not reliable, yet we took a leap of faith on Tuesday, getting on the road before it was light enough to judge whether promises of clear skies were false.

We wanted to be at Dead Creek as the marsh came awake.

Dead Creek is the wetland where we eventually found the elusive migrating snow geese last Fall. We have been hoping to see the geese on their return migration and according to the internet, late March, early April is the time.

So when a single fine day was suggested, how could we let it pass?

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Sunrise is at about 0650 currently, so we were up at 0430, somewhat to the surprise of the pussycats, though not beating Lily’s wake-up wail by much.

Leaving bowls of kibble in strategic places, we were out the door by 6 o’clock.

The first pale light of dawn revealed that there had been a hard frost overnight.

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But what a very fine morning it was. The sort of morning that is worth rising early for.

There is something special about those moments just before the Sun breaks the horizon, the quality of the light, the outlines of distant mountains, the hush of a world not yet woken.

Years ago when returning to Seattle after a holiday with my father and brother, I added a stopover near Jackson Hole because on the outbound journey, bad weather had robbed me of my chance to view the Grand Tetons.

The following morning I was up before dawn to watch those wonderful mountains catch first light. It was everything I expected and as I watched, entranced, I caught movement in the periphery. A moose was on the walkway a mere stone’s throw from where I stood.

A moose is a dangerous creature and perhaps I should have been afraid, but I sensed no need to be. I remained still and the moose walked on down the hill to the marsh below. It was a magic morning that I shall never forget.

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That was the year we took my father on a trip for his 90th birthday. He wanted to see the Badlands of South Dakota and the Grand Coulee Dam in Eastern Washington, so I consulted a National Geographic map and plotted a route.

The trip was a great success, although the Smith men were not impressed to arrive in Yellowstone Park at the beginning of June in a snowstorm. I, on the other hand, was delighted, as I had always wanted to see the park in Winter.

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As my companions moaned about the weather, we ground to a halt behind a queue of cars.

“Oh, now what?” sighed my exasperated brother.

Father always travelled in the back seat, so I had a clear view of the road and noticing certain deposits, I had a good idea what.

Left to plot a road journey across the western USA, you know my itinerary would include animals. Bison. I had waited all my life to see bison in the wild.

They are very large and when they decide to occupy the road, you wait.

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If a bison had come as close to me as that moose, I would certainly have been afraid!

But from inside the car and from a safe distance, I admired them greatly.

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The following year we went to the International Peace Park in Alberta, Canada, crossing the border into Glacier National Park in Montana.

It was equally enjoyable, despite my great disappointment. One day my brother and I split up searching for Dad. Brother encountered mountain goats while I did not!

Father had wandered off to photograph something.

Armed with a camera, he found great reserves of energy, right up till his final year.

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Dad never knew the joy of digital photography, but at the age of 88 he got himself a computer for the dual purposes of email and reading the BBC news. Whether it was worth the frustration, I don’t know, but it certainly kept him busy.

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When I was a little girl and even later on, when I visited my parents in Barbados, my father took me on road trips. Though he disliked driving, he liked going places. I learned not to listen to the driver’s complaints, instead watching the world pass by.

As I did then, I can always find something of interest.

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