Eastern Washington is decidedly different from the West Coast. The air gets drier, the topography morphs into windswept agriculture. It was also, apparently. “Covid-free.” As we continued east, through Washington, Idaho and Montana, we were usually the only ones bothering to wear a mask when we stopped for gas or food along our route. The reality of Covid was unsaid but apparent in other ways: many of the places where we pit-stopped to eat were understaffed and service was often harried and slap-dash: We had a really long wait for what we thought would be a quick lunch in Ellensburg; in Coeur d’Alene, a waitress forgot to put in our order.
Several sub-themes rose to the fore during our trip, visiting hot springs among them, so we chose to stay overnight at Bozeman Hot Springs when we passed through town. A KOA-esque camp with tent sites, cabins, RV hookups, complimentary breakfast and a day-care center on the outskirts of town, we stayed here last year on our way to Yellowstone.
The staff is exceedingly nice and welcoming and everyone is pretty mellow. Mineral hot springs have that effect on people. This time, there was also a Red-Tail hawk nest smack in the middle of the campground. Three young hawks appeared to have just fledged and had a lot to say about it: they were screaming and jockeying for position before being chased off by a pair of Western Kingbirds. They flew over a field across the street and I heard them an hour later as we were walking to the hot springs next door.
Youth was on display in other ways: When we returned to our camp, a crew of two-dozen adolescent scouts of some sort were piling out of two big four-wheel trucks parked at an adjacent site. They weren’t screaming but they were as chattery as the birds.
Before dark I wandered off past the pet area — a lot of people were traveling with dogs— and toward the empty volleyball courts. There I found the hawks in a tree overlooking another field, looking regal in their neat new feathers.