In the morning we arrive at Jackson Hole valley in Wyoming. The town of Jackson Hole lies on the flat valley floor alongside lakes and rivers overlooked by the Grand Tetons, part of the Teton Range and so called after the highest peak here, but which is nestled among two slightly lesser peaks (originally called Les Tres Tetons by French settlers). Jackson Hole the town (officially called Jackson, but commonly referred to as Jackson Hole so as not to be confused with the one in Tennessee) is an old cowboy town pretending still to be a cowboy town for the sake of nostalgic tourists, but is now the base of a recreational national park.
Cristina, talented singer Tai, German Johannes, Asian Aussie Kim and I hike up to the top of Snow Peak, which at this time of year has no snow and isn’t very high, but does have a ski lift for people too unfit to walk. It is a popular dog walking spot for the locals, which we are told include many famous people who keep second homes here. Cristina has taken to doing yogic poses at the top of the peaks we reach, while I have decided to counter this display of athleticism by posing with a cigarette hanging out of my mouth. We take the lazy lift down back to the town after hanging around at the top for a while.
On the bus, Charlie is holding court while Jimmy does the driving. Charlie tells us that animals and plants are a lot smarter than we think they are, citing the 70s book and documentary ‘The Secret Life of Plants’. Plants, according to the theory, can react to aggressive thoughts even from hundreds of miles away. By logical progression, if we can call it that, dolphins and whales will start to become aggressive to humans once word gets around about what some people are doing to them and to their environment.
Meanwhile, while we are stopped for a break, Jimmy asks me and Charlie not to smoke downwind of the bus door, even though we are about twenty feet away.
On our drive toward Jackson Lake, we pass a line of cars at the side of the road. Slowing down, we can see a grizzly bear meandering along the side of a hill, but with all the cars stopped we don’t have any space ourselves to take a closer look.
We set up camp at Colter Bay by Jackson Lake. Some of our group take a dip in the lake and come back vouching for its hypothermic quality. The night turns into a campfire party, with Albina, our companion who is celebrating her fifty something birthday giving us a prolonged lesson in drinking vodka the Russian way. She takes quite a few minutes to explain that the rules are:
1. Do not smell the vodka
2. Down 15ml measures in one
3. Bite into a lemon or Olive
4. Bite something else to distract from the bitterness, like your arm (or somebody else’s if you so wish)
Most of us had longed necked our shots by the time she finished this explanation.
A birthday cake with lit candles appears out of the darkness. Tai is carrying it, but as she steps over one of the logs we are using as benches around the campfire, it becomes unbalanced and she smothers herself with the frosting.
We while away the night with Charlie and Tai singing some songs around the fire. I had got my own guitar out, but am none too keen to play having forgotten all but one of my never very extensive repertoire.
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