Bighorn National Forest Boon-docking (WY)

As the sun wraps-up it's vitamin-D distribution for the day, the eastward-flowing shadows of The Bighorn Mountains converge at the crossroads of Interstates 90 & 26.  It is at this Great Plains junction that you’ll find the town of Buffalo.  What The Badlands failed to do to settler's spirits, this 80-mile long/30-mile wide/13,000+' high obstacle could bring a halt to further westward progress.  Being 19th-Century cowboy town, you'll find a much larger selection of Carhartt than Calvin Klein.  Our visit coincided with the annual county fair, but this wasn't the type of fair that featured carnival rides and stuffed animal prizes.  These folks focused on the important stuff: animal raising, canning, and ranching skills. You won't get a 36" Minion for popping a balloon with a dart, but you can get a years worth of braggin' rights if you can hang on to that bronc for 8-seconds or if your blackberry jam takes top honors.  Priorities...these folks have ‘em.  

The downtown area shows it’s 19th-Century beginnings and cattle-centric mindset.  Across from the city park—where bronze statues of cattle dogs herding sheep mark the entrance—the Occidental Hotel anchors the downtown, two-story skyline.  Like stepping back in time, this hotel has retained its early-western decor.  The vast array of antiques gives the first impression of a static museum; but this is a fully-operational hotel with full room, bar, and dining services.

Occidental Hotel lobby panorama

With our first boon-docking experience being a huge success, we were ready for more.   In keeping with the "scout first—camp later" methodology, we pulled into the Buffalo KOA and established our scouting camp.  The Buffalo KOA is a nice campground that allowed us to flush our holding tanks, do laundry,  take care of any ordering or other personal business requiring internet connectivity.  It also gave us a short break from watching our fuel/battery/tank gauges.

First order of business was visiting the U.S. Forest Service office that oversees Bighorn National Forest.  The helpful rangers provided us with a detailed map similar to the one we used near Devil's Tower.  There was a slight modification to the rules-of-engagement, as the local Forest Service office had implemented a policy allowing dispersed camping only in existing camp locations.  What this meant for us was that we could only camp in an area that was already established as a camping pad and had a fire-ring.  We didn't anticipate this having much of an impact on us, as we were not interested in trailblazing or bushwhacking our rig into the next site.

Where to camp?  Meadow? Forest? Mountain?

Bighorn National Forest is a 1.1-Million acre multi-use government managed area in North-Central Wyoming.  Because of the sheer area that this forest encompasses, we didn't think that we'd have any trouble finding a place to boon-dock—after all, there was far less public land around Devil's Tower and we only saw one or two RV's the entire week we camped.  After leaving the strictly enforced 30 MPH Buffalo city limits speed limit, we began a series of 8-degree climbs into the Bighorn Mountains.  These are old mountains, with Precambrian rock—formations dating back over a billion years—jutting out to frame the edge of the highway. 

Skeleton of a flume is all that remains from the Sourdough Creek timbering activities

About 20-miles into the journey we took our first scouting route: Sourdough Road.  This location was a huge focal point to local timbering activities over 100-years ago, and the remains of that infrastructure can be found amongst the vast undergrowth.  This gravel path follows (what else?) Sourdough Creek as it flows from the spring-fed elevations above.  We saw more established boon-docking sites in the first mile of Sourdough Road than we did our entire stay at Devil's Tower.  Unfortunately, we also saw more campers on these sites than we did our entire stay at Devil's Tower.  Finding a good spot might be tougher than we thought.

Buddy modeling his latest hair coloring: The Dirt Fade

Sourdough Road itself was in fair condition—with only a few spots having teeth-rattling washboarding—but the spurs leading to the boon-docking sites were really bad.  Large rocks on the crest of the road; coupled with severely rutted-out tracks made me give pause before putting Hank's transmission case at risk.  The sites that weren't a challenge to egress were either occupied by fellow campers, or grazing livestock.  I have nothing against livestock...I have them over for dinner at least once a week.  The problem is that they have a tendency to leave evidence of their presence wherever they roam.  This does not bode well in a family with two dogs who are prone to wallowing in newfound turf.

Unknown roadside grave on Elgin Park Road

We found a few spots on Sourdough Road that were just okay, so we annotated our map and continued our search.  The next road was Elgin Park.  We have heard good things about this road through a boon-docking publication that we had subscribed to, so our hopes were still intact.  The first place we found was not a camping site, but a crudely constricted grave just off the road.  We had documented many cemeteries and graves during our cross-country travels, but this one was the most surprising due go its singularity and location.

Lots of boon-docking sites; and lots of boon-dockers

We continued down Elgin Park and were astounded at the number of campers that lined the main road and adjacent spurs.  We counted no less than 30, and that is just what we could see from the main road.  A trip down any side spur would reveal an additional dozen or more occupied campsites.  These people really loved to boon-dock!  As we exited a large strand of pines and approached the ridge-line ahead, we were graced with a magnificent view of the snow-capped mountain range—complete with a meadow of golden grasses spanning across the hillside.  We stopped in the middle of the road to take in this awe-inspiring view, as well as a few photo.  While I remained fixated on the view ahead, Kristy pointed towards my window and said, "Look! Campsites!"  WINNER! WINNER! CHICKEN DINNER!!!

Front yard view from our Bighorn boon-docking site

With our first-choice campsite selected, we returned to Buffalo—making sure to drive 30 MPH when we hit the city limits—and made our final preparations.  Anxious to spend some quality time in the solitude of the mountains, we completed our pre-flight chores much quicker.  The next morning we finished-up our departure checklist and rolled out to higher elevations.  With the sun beaming off the eastern Bighorn slopes, we made our assent up the steep grades.  A full measure of water, propane, generator gas, and recently purchases sundries had Hank was working all of his horses.  Although diesel engines generally perform better at higher altitudes than their gasoline engine counterparts, Hank was earning his keep on the 8% uphill grade while pulling the additional 500-pounds of drinking water.  

After crossing ridge after ridge, we arrived at our (thankfully!) vacant campsite.  The approach was steep enough to cause Glory to scrape her rear hitch on the road as we pulled onto the side spur.  We backed Glory into the campsite and checked for level.  It was difficult to see from with all the rolling terrain, but the site was badly sloping from left-to-right.  After several attempts to get Glory onto a left-right level spot, we noticed a small ditch a few feet away.  It was only about 4-6" deep, and 4-6' long.  The "Ah Ha! moment" arrived, and we realized some other 5'er owner had dug this depression to achieve the left-right  level that we sought.  When Glory's driver's-side wheels eased into the trench, the bubble on the level went to center.  Park It!

Kicking' it by the campfire under the lodgepole pine canopy

After a leisurely set-up, we parked our folding chairs on the front row of our spectacular view and again found ourselves in relative solitude.  The open view to the north and west allowed incoming light, while the rest of our site sat in the shade of Lodgepole Pines.  There was an abundance of seasoned and dry timber to keep the pre-existing fire-ring stoked.  Deer were frequently spotted a few feet from our perimeter, and elk were seen just a bit further back.  There was even evidence of moose activity in the aspen glade about 100-meters behind our camp; with an abundance of large droppings, hoof prints, and chewed bark.  The sunrises illuminated the mountain range, while the sunsets slowly melted behind the darkening contrasted peaks.  These spectacular views greeted us every moment, and we felt as though we were immersed amongst nature.  

Open Range Grazing: A place for every activity in The Bighorn

When the weekend arrived; the solitude, serenity and wildlife predictably reduced.  Caravans of trailers rolled down the dusty road en route to their weekend get-away.  ATVs sprinted up and down the road by the dozens.  We quickly learned that there are two primary seasons in the Bighorn: ATV and hunting.  During Spring and Summer, the majority of users are riding ATVs along the expansive trail network.  In the Fall and Winter, the focus shifts to hunting.

To ensure that everyone is afforded opportunities to respectfully utilize our public lands, the Forest Service hires seasonal rangers to assist in managing the various interests and activities within the forest.  These interests and activities include: dispersed camping, hunting, fishing, trail hiking, motorized and non-motorized trail riding, livestock grazing, timbering, and geological/archeological research.  Keeping all of the aforementioned groups playing nicely together on the same piece of land is a full-time job.  

Miles to explore: A ribbon of road bisects fields of gold

Even with the dramatic influx of weekend activities within the forest, we spent enjoyable days hiking around the immediate area, or exploring the vast web of backroads that provide access across this vast forest.  We found a few roads that took us to tremendous views and wide-open spaces that provided breathtaking views and the solitude of nature that we were seeking; while other roads led to kidney-bruising dead-ends.  Regardless, the hours of exploring this vast, (mostly) unspoiled wilderness was a vacation unto itself. 

Thanks for the warning, but...we're here for the adventure.

One of our exploration trips was down "Crazy Woman Trail."  This narrow and rock-laden road wad a real kidney-bruiser under Hank's ultra-stiff suspension.  We traveled several miles until we decided the views were not worth our fillings being rattled loose.  About halfway back, we were stopped by a guy on a Harley.  He asked us—in a very European dialect—if it was okay to drive a motorcycle down this road.  I told him it was legal, but it might not be the best idea if he wants to preserve his kidneys or paint job.  We took a brief detour and then continued to the entrance of "Crazy Woman Road."

When we arrived at the intersection, the guy on the Harley was there with a group of other motorcyclists.  All of them had patches on their jackets that identified them as Swedish Hog Riders.  This group had obviously traveled a long way to take part in the 75th Sturgis Rally, and we're now a days ride away from the American Motorcycle Mecca. They were all dismounted and looking around at the scenery, so I quickly accessed all of my Swedish phrases I was taught in grade school and gave them a hearty and welcoming, "Bork, Bork, Bork."  The eldest gentleman approached an told us they were looking for moose and asked if I knew where they could find some.  I relayed to them that we had not seen any, but there were river areas that were more prone to moose activity.  I also informed them that (moose) cows can be very dangerous when accompanying their calfs, and to make sure you give them a wide berth when photographing.  Above all, do not approach or try to pet them.  This information seemed to be completely “foreign" to them, and the older guy relayed to the group the info I had presented.  They all gave the universal, “we had no idea" look, and continued to talk amongst themselves.  Still not sure why they were looking for a moose, but I suspect it involved some unusual Swedish cuisine.





Suddenly, a young woman in their group pointed at some objects on the distant ridge-line.  She had the entire groups attention as she pointed at the distant, dark objects that were barely moving.  I grabbed my binoculars and walked to her vantage point.  As the group pointed and pontificated whether it was moose, antelope, or deer; I focused my lens and clearly saw...the tops of aspen trees gently swaying in the wind.  The group awaited my proclamation as to which North American species they were witnessing in its natural habitat.  I told the older guy, "Trees."  He initially looked puzzled, then looked through my binoculars and laughed.  He then informed the group that it was merely tree tops swaying in the wind.  

The younger woman was slightly embarrassed, and was catching some ribbing from her fellow travelers.  Never passing up an opportunity to haze a citizen from a neutral country, I turned to her and said,"Not dangerous. You can pet them."  NOW she was thoroughly embarrassed, as her companions increased their roasting of her.  I offered them some bottled water; thanked them for their utilitarian knives, accurate watches, tasty meatballs, soothing massages, and attractive bikini team; and gave them another hearty "Bork, Bork, Bork."  If Sweden ever declares war against us, I'm taking credit.  

“I see my path, but I don't know where it leads. Not knowing where I'm going is what inspires me to travel it.” -- Rosalia de Castro

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