Wydaho Report, Part I
Posted: Wed Jul 16, 2008 4:33 pm
Here’s one version of my trip to that part of the Rocky Mountain West where Wyoming becomes Idaho without warning, and vice versa. I planned my trip to arrive for Adventure Boy’s days off between 48-hour shifts as a firefighter and EMT. Just before he had to go back to work, he would take me to not-too-distant Cora, Wyo., for an annual get-together with friends that date back to junior high school.
Adventure Boy had not had a good weekend. On Saturday, he answered an EMT call for a motorcyclist who had been broadsided by a pickup truck whose driver suddenly decided to turn left. The cyclist was wearing a helmet, and he was conscious when the EMTs arrived, but he had undergone a heart transplant the year before. To be on the safe side, they arranged for a helicopter to airlift him to a regional trauma center. Everything looked good for him, but complications started to develop later at the hospital. I don’t know the final outcome. On Sunday, AB’s crew was called to a rural residential complex. A two-year-old girl had been run over by her older brother. The law enforcement officer who was first to respond said he thought he had detected a faint pulse, so AB and his colleagues worked long and hard to try to get her heart pumping, but their efforts were futile. Evidently, the vehicle’s wheels had done great damage to the toddler’s tiny body, and AB took it personally. His crew had been out to the complex only a week or two before to put out a minor fire, and AB had encountered the little girl then, joking with her and noting how cute she was. (To make it worse, on his next shift, they were called to the scene of another tragedy involving a two-year-old, a little boy who accidentally hanged himself on the ladder of a bunk bed.) To the credit of fire district officials, professional counselors were called in to meet with everyone involved in these events, from the dispatcher to those who responded on the scene.
On the good -- no, glorious -- side, we were in the middle of one of the most beautiful places on the planet. We saw abundant wildlife, including at least 10 pairs of moose mamas with their babies, deer, antelope, and huge herds of elk. If that weren’t enough, I repeatedly heard those remarkable words, “Your money’s no good here.” That began the first night, when we ate at Signal Mountain Lodge in Teton National Forest. Two of AB’s oldest friends from Norman are the head chef and a bartender there. (I’d once despaired for the future of all three of them. I’m pleased to report that today this is a trio of confident, hard-working, charming, and downright respectable young men.) We went back to Driggs over the Teton Pass that night. The next day, I walked the length of the little town to investigate the stores -- big and little, old -fashioned and up-to-date, inexpensive and fabulously costly. The latter are laying in wait for the golf-course communities with multi-million-dollar houses now being built. In other words, the area is changing. I wanted to see the old town before it was overtaken by whatever may be coming. That night we ate at a bar with a food menu -- perhaps it’s “the” bar that fits the description. One of AB’s fellow firefighters picked up our check. On the third night, we were invited to dinner at the home of AB’s fire chief. His wife made luscious lasagna and a magnificent brownie and raspberry concoction for dessert.
There I heard a bittersweet story about another moose-and-baby pair. They were crossing the highway. Mama ran in front of a truck and was killed instantly. The truck had significant damage. The uninjured baby remained at the side of the road, bereft. The deputy sheriff who arrived first at the accident scene recognized that the little moose was too young to survive on his own, so he radioed the location for help from animal control. Somehow, the baby wandered out of sight before the animal control unit arrived, so they searched adjacent fields and drove slowly up and down the road for miles in each direction until dark. The next morning, somebody thought to phone area ranchers to help watch for the baby. One of the ranchers said, “I know exactly where he is. I found him last night, nursing off one of my goats. The goat doesn’t mind, and the moose seems happy, so I thought he could live here for a while.”
Adventure Boy had not had a good weekend. On Saturday, he answered an EMT call for a motorcyclist who had been broadsided by a pickup truck whose driver suddenly decided to turn left. The cyclist was wearing a helmet, and he was conscious when the EMTs arrived, but he had undergone a heart transplant the year before. To be on the safe side, they arranged for a helicopter to airlift him to a regional trauma center. Everything looked good for him, but complications started to develop later at the hospital. I don’t know the final outcome. On Sunday, AB’s crew was called to a rural residential complex. A two-year-old girl had been run over by her older brother. The law enforcement officer who was first to respond said he thought he had detected a faint pulse, so AB and his colleagues worked long and hard to try to get her heart pumping, but their efforts were futile. Evidently, the vehicle’s wheels had done great damage to the toddler’s tiny body, and AB took it personally. His crew had been out to the complex only a week or two before to put out a minor fire, and AB had encountered the little girl then, joking with her and noting how cute she was. (To make it worse, on his next shift, they were called to the scene of another tragedy involving a two-year-old, a little boy who accidentally hanged himself on the ladder of a bunk bed.) To the credit of fire district officials, professional counselors were called in to meet with everyone involved in these events, from the dispatcher to those who responded on the scene.
On the good -- no, glorious -- side, we were in the middle of one of the most beautiful places on the planet. We saw abundant wildlife, including at least 10 pairs of moose mamas with their babies, deer, antelope, and huge herds of elk. If that weren’t enough, I repeatedly heard those remarkable words, “Your money’s no good here.” That began the first night, when we ate at Signal Mountain Lodge in Teton National Forest. Two of AB’s oldest friends from Norman are the head chef and a bartender there. (I’d once despaired for the future of all three of them. I’m pleased to report that today this is a trio of confident, hard-working, charming, and downright respectable young men.) We went back to Driggs over the Teton Pass that night. The next day, I walked the length of the little town to investigate the stores -- big and little, old -fashioned and up-to-date, inexpensive and fabulously costly. The latter are laying in wait for the golf-course communities with multi-million-dollar houses now being built. In other words, the area is changing. I wanted to see the old town before it was overtaken by whatever may be coming. That night we ate at a bar with a food menu -- perhaps it’s “the” bar that fits the description. One of AB’s fellow firefighters picked up our check. On the third night, we were invited to dinner at the home of AB’s fire chief. His wife made luscious lasagna and a magnificent brownie and raspberry concoction for dessert.
There I heard a bittersweet story about another moose-and-baby pair. They were crossing the highway. Mama ran in front of a truck and was killed instantly. The truck had significant damage. The uninjured baby remained at the side of the road, bereft. The deputy sheriff who arrived first at the accident scene recognized that the little moose was too young to survive on his own, so he radioed the location for help from animal control. Somehow, the baby wandered out of sight before the animal control unit arrived, so they searched adjacent fields and drove slowly up and down the road for miles in each direction until dark. The next morning, somebody thought to phone area ranchers to help watch for the baby. One of the ranchers said, “I know exactly where he is. I found him last night, nursing off one of my goats. The goat doesn’t mind, and the moose seems happy, so I thought he could live here for a while.”