When we want to see Rocky Mountain Goats, the top of the Beartooth Mountains is our goat-to place. A two-hour drive gets us up to 10,947 elevation by car. The goats hang out near the summit.
This is located at the tippy-top of Wyoming, just past the Beartooth summit at the old chairlift (you can see its cables), where crazy people actually ski/careen down a severe slope that most might call a crevasse.
A week ago, these goats were so fixated on this portion of ground they actually walked directly toward us & our guests as we stood on its edge. These goats weren't the first, as you can see by all the wool shed on the ground.
To the rest of the world, a mile or two lower in elevation, it was Tuesday. As we stood on the mountaintop, looking down at other mountaintops, our friends' children played in scattered snow fields.
In a country of 330 million, no one else was there. Not one person. There was no admission fee. No reservation or ticketing process. No hours of operation. The only expense was using some knowledge & time & gasoline to drive there.
And of course, arranging our lives to live nearby, free of jobs & work schedules so a mundane "Tuesday" could become a magic memory.
Everyone might not enjoy yodeling goat songs from the Sound of Music.
But we did.
At the top of the Beartooths.
On a Tuesday.
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