Farewell Summer Camping...

We tried our luck this weekend at Flint Creek Campground, maybe two river miles below the Flint Creek dam (which impounds Georgetown Lake), in the Beaverhead-Deer Lodge National Forest.

Melissa drove.

I took half-baked gratuitously artsy shots from the passenger seat.

Around the bend and down the other side of the pass we went.

Eleven was the lucky number this time, a big, sprawling site backed up against a mountain and the trees, and facing the creek.

During our whole stay, including early in the morning, this talkative Stellar's Jay (Cyanocitta stelleri) was happy to remind us we were intruding. 

Melissa bested her previous record for "least number of matches needed to start a fire", which was one, with this zero-match fire. The campsite's previous occupants had left it trashy and hot, hot enough that the kindling she piled on fired up without a match. Now let's see her beat this record by starting one with -1 matches. I'll bet she can't do it.

I found this food compellingly pleasing, in a visual-aesthetic way, so please excuse the next three pictures.

Putting together wraps, E's camping food of choice. Maybe her food of choice, period.

We set her tent up in case she needed alone time--sometimes she actually requests time to herself--but not for overnighting in.

We were just across the road from a shallow pond. Our campsites seem to always be such that our photos of them are in the direction of the Sun; hence the smoky picture. Also, it was a little smoky. 

iPhoto's "enhance" feature helps, but the colors look kind of fake (and it feels like cheating).

E wanted to head up the steep trail behind our site but stopped short, noticing a small herd of mule deer heading our way.

There were five of them.

It's really hard to see--and photograph--them when they're not moving, so here's some cinema covering the event.

A parting shot of the deer.

This is the dreamcatcher E helped make, which she says keeps her from having bad dreams in Ludwig. Whatever works. It gets folded up and put in a specific place at the end of each trip. She slept well down there by herself, again. We're pretty lucky.

Next morning's breakfast, "Eric Carle Pancakes".

Someday I'll cannibalize another Westy for an additional strut to hold up that fold-out table, as long as we're gonna be setting the somewhat heavy stove up on it once in a while.

Boy, I just love throwing rocks. I can't explain it. My shoulder still hurts.

Tater Tot walking to inspect a seriously huge anthill at a nearby site.

The anthill. (Told you it was seriously huge.)

Tater Tot and Ludie, just before leaving.

That's the campsite down there, just a little right of center. Another success!

miles 224,773-224,824 ←click for map