Columnist Cathy Hamilton and friends visit Idaho for a girls-only vacation. In a show of solidarity for their friend who had been treated for severe nosebleed, the ladies struck a nose pose for their group photos.

I’m lucky to have friends in high places.

The place I refer to is Swan Valley, Idaho (elevation: 5,315 feet), where a gal pal of mine has a summer place on the Snake River. I’d never been to Idaho, Yellowstone National Park or Jackson Hole, Wyo., so when she invited me and our girlfriends for a visit, how could I refuse?

Sure, I had just returned from a vacation 12 days prior and was racked with guilt over taking two pleasure trips in one month, but this was really just an extended weekend. And besides, there was a decent possibility we’d see Dick Cheney floating down the river in my friend’s backyard. (In a boat, that is; the Snake is reportedly his favorite fishing spot.) As long as he was toting a fly rod and not a shotgun, I thought I might get some face time with the man. You know, tell him what I think.

(Of course, with my luck, I’d be standing on the bank spouting off about his – I mean, President Bush’s – administration, and the bleepin’ veep would hook me in the cheek and pull me into the river. Accident? You decide.)

A Cheney sighting wasn’t the only possibility for excitement. Eagles, heron, elk, moose and polygamists (of the Mormon variety) had all been spotted in the area this summer. My friends and I de-boarded the plane in Idaho Falls, our cameras at the ready.

If you’ve ever traveled anywhere with a bunch of females over the age of 12, you know there are millions of photo opportunities around every corner:

“Look! A giant potato on the back of a flatbed truck! Everybody out of the car!”

“Line up by the geyser, girls. One, two, three : smile!”

“Wow! A sign that says ‘Whoa!’ instead of ‘Stop!’ What’d I do with my camera?”

The first photo op came at the airport when our hostess met us at the gate with a strange device dangling from her right nostril. She had a severe nosebleed the night before – an unfortunate byproduct of the high and dry climate – and had to be rushed to the emergency room. There, they packed her nostril with cotton and strange white tubing that was taped to her cheek.

It wasn’t a good look for anyone, but she was a trooper and we were sympathetic, not to mention a little giddy from the altitude. Until her packing fell out the next night, we posed for pictures with our fingers in our noses, as a sign of solidarity. (Listen! You can almost hear my mother shrieking in horror, all the way from Kansas City!)

Our photo-taking ramped up from there. By the time we got home, we had amassed 395 pictures of rivers, bison, potato fields, waterfalls, The Million Dollar Cowboy Bar, restaurants, Old Faithful, Grand Teton, eagles, herons and, of course, our smiling selves.

I didn’t get to shoot the vice president (missed him by one day), a moose or any polygamists (that I know of), but I came back with priceless souvenirs – photos of my 50-something, childhood friends having a great time together in the mountains : with our fingers up our noses.