There is something to be said about the routes I choose
to fly and how they relate to the original pathways
that Native Americans, French fur trappers, settlers,
cowboys of yore riding horses, and cowboys of today
riding their BMWs use: terrain has an unsurprising
way of shaping transportation and culture. The same
holds true with an old airplane: it’s just plain easier
and safer to take the same pathways of those before
me, albeit one thousand feet above the ground with an
excess of wind and cold in my face. Jackson Hole was
a major transit area for countless adventures through
all points in and around Yellowstone, the mountains of
Wyoming, and into Montana as I set off for seemingly
greater adventures and destinations.
Like anywhere that I have lived or visited, it becomes
surprising to uncover the magnitude of beauty and
intrigue in a location, as terrestrial living has a way of
dampening comprehensive access to the world around
us. It is almost depressing to add up the surface of the
earth that the average person has access to and traverses
with any regularity, though to some extent, ignorance
is bliss. When roads lead around something, few waste
thought energy on what may lie in a certain area, instead
focusing on the road ahead and a desired destination. An
aircraft, and particularly a slow one, makes it possible to
see and savor an immense amount of information about
the world around us. More than just an accelerated
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