If Emily’s one stated desire for this trip was the drive-through tree, Phil’s hope was to see a moose in the wild. After spending his youth hiking through the Adirondacks, encountering moose tracks but never seeing the elusive beast, he made it a priority. Driving through the wilds of British Columbia and Alberta, he craned his neck around looking through prime moose territory, swampy lowlands purpose built for a moose. No luck. Enter Grand Teton National Park outside Jackson Hole, Wyoming. Five minutes outside Jackson we encountered our first moose group; one bull, one cow, and two small calves, replete with an idiot with a camera inching closer and making noise, trying to get the bull to stand up. He was successful, but the professional photographer standing next to us was sure that he was in for a rude surprise.
The second set of moose were even more amazing, just chilling in a closed campground, less than 100 yards from where we spent the night. As one of the photos in our gallery shows, this was a Mooserazzi encampment, a dozen or more wildlife photographers waiting for the right light and the bull to stand up so that they could get the perfect calendar shot. It was a surreal scene, one that shattered our illusions about wildlife photography.
In the weeks before we left, Emily was hit with a perfect storm of grading, packing, and job applications, so she didn’t get a chance to contact relatives in Wyoming about a possible stay. Poor planning reared its ugly head again as we drove into Jackson and passed Lewis and Clark Expeditions, only to find it closed for the day. Spending the night at Gros Ventre campgrounds, however--the same place where she stayed six years before after a Peck family reunion--was a happy coincidence that provoked fond stories of that first visit to the West.