Wyoming to Salt Lake City, Utah

The campsite.

Far above 10,000 feet in the Snowy Range of Wyoming, which at the time was much more icy than snowy, I found myself at the shoreline of a beautiful lake.

I have some regrets over not taking a dip in the not-exactly-inviting waters, but seeing as I was having trouble getting my fire going (I don’t pack wood, and the wood left by others was a teeny tiny bit too wet.) If I could’ve gotten a fire to rage, perhaps I would’ve enjoyed the cool waters. But I couldn’t, so I didn’t, and I avoided freezing to death.

Anyways, the landscape up around this high altitude was beautiful. Meadows abound, small ponds to your left and right. It really did feel quite close to my time in Alaska, which I probably shouldn’t have been surprised by.

On the way to the lake, the narrow trail split. This always leaves a difficult choice; do I play it safe, or do I entertain a risk? On the way in (or up), I played it safe. The choices were between a mud hole which I attempted to tell the depth of with a rock but which only resulted in further confusion, or a slightly less terrifying mud

hole which I could tell the depth of.

As the sun rose through the pine trees in the high mountains of southern Wyoming, I finally came to realize how cold it truly was. It was forecasted to be in the low 30s a few thousand feet below in the nearest town (town is generous: Centennial, WY population — 240.)

Being that I am from South Carolina, numbers are irrelevant. Salt water is salty, or it is not. The percentage of salt to water is irrelevant.

The same applies to temperature; it is cold outside, or it is not. For the record, it was cold.

After making my way across many frozen mud puddles, and the one deep one which was nearing the seal with my door, I made my way down the Rocky Mountain and to the highway where I aired up my tires and continued west.

My destination was Encampment, a recommendation from a friend named Noah who spent the previous summer as a fly fishing guide somewhere around these parts.

Now, no doubt he was recommending the natural part of Encampment. But being Bryce, I ignored that, and went to the museum instead.

I love learning about the history of a place like Encampment.

Why does it exist, what keeps people there?

Well, let me answer those questions for you: it exists because of a mining boom, and what keeps people there is pure stubbornness.

Encampment was once home to the largest ariel tramway in the world: 16 miles long. It existed to bring raw ore down from the nearby mountains and to a refinery. The Encampment Museum, which is a fantastic place to visit if you find yourself in this small town, is full of the mining history of this town.

Home to the world famous two story outhouse (which sadly does not increase the number of users but instead only exists because so much snow falls here in the winter), the Museum has mining, railroad, general town and Indian artifacts. In a place so remote, which has no restaurants and only one or two general stores, it does make you wonder why folks stick around.

Most of the folks living in Encampment are there because their family was there. Tracing their roots back hundreds of years to the original homesteaders.

But there are far wealthier people than I who also want to find themselves in the middle of nowhere. In a strikingly similar fashion to my hometown of Charleston, land is bought up by folks building second or third homes. Instead of a single lot though, these newcomers by up multiple smaller ranches, building their own empires — sending small cattle ranchers out of business and leaving the folks employed by said ranchers out of work, crashing the local economy.

Not all is lost, though, as there is occasional reinvestment. One gentleman is actually reinvesting in the town in the form of a new restaurant and motel (both with heated parking lots!)

These were slated to open as I was there — Fall 2022 — but it seems as though they’ll be delayed due to, as Anita, a museum volunteer shared, a lack of carpenters in a town of 452 people.

I had planned on camping outside the town of Encampment, but the prior days events (primarily not being able to drive over the rocks above 4mph) had slowed me considerably. Alas, I had to make up time, and in order to do so, I continued westward.

Or so I tried.

When I hit the giant mud puddle while coming down from the Snowy Range, mud went everywhere — including covering my solar panel. I decided to make a stop at a self-serve car wash on the side of the interstate to resolve this problem, but unfortunately that only made things worse.

When I came out of the wash, I heard a loud hissing noise. Of course, I knew what that meant — a flat. I had tire plugs and my air compressor, so I instinctively began to work to plug the hole. It was only after I had labored for a good five minutes or so that I realized I was in an actual city — Rawlins — and actual cities have actual tire shops.

I pumped the tire up as much as I could with my Viair portable compressor, and with a now gaping hole in my tread, I sped across town to Kilburn Point S tire shop. They worked me in as fast as they could, which still took four hours. Come to find out they’re the only tire shop around. Nevertheless, as day turned to night, I was prepared to continue on.

Luke Furman of @realBushwhackers fame, had told me of another spot even further into Wyoming that I should check out. I won’t share the name but with a moment spent on Google maps you’ll be able to deduce.

More impressive to me, though, would be the nearby petroglyphs. There is always something extremely humbling about recognizing that you are only one of many to walk amongst these places. One of many to be Created, one of many to ever exist.

My day had started with petroglyphs, and it was destined to end in Salt Lake City. That meant hours of driving, and just after passing the Utah/Wyoming border heading south, I would cross 200,000 miles oon The White Whale’s odometer.

She’s been around the block. Well over 40 states, probably more than 45. I am forever bonded to this beast.

My next log will document my two weeks spent with the aforementioned Bushwhackers. Unfortunately, my current location of Fillmore, UT, is quite limiting with regards to internet. I am writing to you from a Maverick gas station on the side of I-15. Quite romantic.

Until next time,

Far Finer Sand

Time Stands Still in The Valley

Ridge to Ridge