Strange Women Go Hot Springing

I took the day off work, crossing my fingers that snow wouldn’t ruin the day. Chelsea was insistent, saying that regardless, we’d be going. The night before, we were marveling at just how good Blackfoot Single Malt IPA beer is (while drinking it) and getting excited. The weather looked clear, shockingly, and I was excited.


We piled into Chelsea’s car and headed West. I told Logan about our plans, and from deep in South America came the reply, “you strange women have a blast”. We really were a rather strange, rag-tag group, the three of us, thrown together through proximity but choosing to also care about one another, in that strange way that fate and chance have.

The drive was spectacular. Passing burned out woods, tall evergreens, beautiful cottonwoods guarding little meandering creeks, and isolated homes and winding roads that went off to unknown places, Chelsea told us about the place. We got there, with only one truck with a camper on it in the parking lot. Success! Hot springs get notoriously overcrowded and we were thrilled to have some decent odds of having a good time.


Upon reaching the hot spring after a half mile or so of hiking, we encountered four souls who had been sleeping in the camper. One was unfortunately very naked, and another had brought a waterproof speaker and was playing dubstep. Luckily, they shut the speaker off within about five minutes, because I was going to either punt it like a football or ask them to turn it off, whichever would have offered a quicker solution.

(Pro tip: do NOT be the person who brings a fucking speaker to the hot spring, you are a rude jerk if you do so. Enjoy the fucking tranquility of nature goddammit!)  



It was beautiful. It was tranquil. Our current hot spring partners seemed a bit…not sober, not stoned, but off. A bit meth-y, perhaps, which is actually not unlikely in rural Idaho, Montana, Wyoming, or lots of other places. Luckily, they left fairly quickly, and we had the hot springs to ourselves for a good while before a dozen or so people came in a big group, complete with a tiny dog.


That time in the hot spring was amazing. We quietly chatted, took pictures, breathed in the steam, and reveled in the marvelousness of the misty, quiet woods. I felt quietly settled, content in a way I hadn’t in some time. After dropping Colette off Chelsea and I went to Kettlehouse and chatted more, sipping a delicious New England style IPA. It was a damn fine day, with damn fine souls. I couldn’t ask for a better one.


“We’re going to be murdered by ghosts!”

I foolishly loaned Chris The Shining three weeks prior to our going to Boulder Hot Springs. Upon suggesting that we venture there for some hot spring goodness, he balked and hesitated and hemmed and hawed, citing the resort as looking very much like the Overlook.

Finally I persuaded him (although to be honest I think he was as intrigued as I about this place) and we got our bathing suits, towels and imaginations ready to go.

The drive was beautiful- from the passenger seat I was able to see the dry, somewhat depressing landscape morph into more rich views as we got over the pass. The sun roof was open, my hair whipping about the car. I snapped a view frames of the views, and photographed clouds through the sun roof. Chris played Pink Floyd and Jimi Hendrix.

Spanish Mission style architecture greeted us when we parked. Geese paddled around a pond, a slight breeze refreshed everything, and the air was cooler in the higher elevation. We decided to wander around the grounds.

Everybody on staff was friendly! “Have you two been here before?” The lovely woman at the counter asked us- I had, Chris hadn’t. We paid the $14.00 and put on our suits and walked to the outdoor pool. I had to put sunscreen on everywhere- Chris declined, citing his Latin roots and dark skin. We swam around and floated, noting the breeze and relaxing- it was  perfect.

The afternoon was spent there, frolicking and relaxing and exclaiming our good fortune at being some of the only people there. I got a little pink on my legs and arms, to my great chagrin- I had applied, re-applied, and applied sunscreen again! BLAST!

We left Boulder happy, and drove back to town with the sunroof open to eat some well deserved pizza.