the mountain spirit

In the high country there is an ancient voice that hangs on the howling winds. It  winds through the black timber and hides in the sleepy hollows. It  whispers through the rushing torrents and flutters down the secret canyons. This is a place where the work of the ages spills upon you from all directions and the mountain spirits still reign supreme.   

 

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a space between

A Space Between

Snaking its way between the crumbling, tumbling Gros Ventre and the sky-chasing Wind Rivers is a ridge of high meadows, whitebark dells, and secret Beaver terraces.  

equus ferus caballus

Equus ferus caballus

For  almost six thousand years humans and horses were nearly inseparable.  The horse was part of daily life. The skills necessary to ride, work, train, and care for these creatures were those of the common man. Equine Knowledge was ubiquitous, permeating many levels of society and culture. Despite this deep historical connection,  the last century has separated us from this animal. With the introduction of more efficient transportation methods our common knowledge of the horse has been lost.  For those who have continued to foster appreciation for and knowledge of horse-work, it is a remarkable, timeless, and tactile  life.

The Winds

The Wind River Mountains of Wyoming, offer an escape to a grand but hidden world. Large distances,   hordes of hellish mosquitos, and volatile weather make it an exposed and unforgiving landscape, but for those willing to move past its hostilities, the mountains  present themselves  with incomparable grandeur and curiosity. Towering granite, terraces of pristine tarns, and carpets of paintbrush  highlight a near fantastical region.

Spring

spring in the northern rockies is a time to savor the precious flows of water. It's a season of mushroom hunting, waterfall discoveries and joy of soft earth underfoot.

contrasts

teton jellyfish

Teton Jellyfish

sparrow

desolation

desolation in the Centennial Valley

peaks

spring flows

spring is on its way and so are the animals

"school house under the big sky"

to cast a fly

Fly fishing is simply an excuse to stand in a river. It's  a reason to plant your feet deep in a cold current, to focus on the life of the moment, and to feel that primordial energy rushing around you.  It's a chance to better understand the light and texture of the world. It's an opportunity to investigate the workings of grace..... and sometimes, you do catch a fish.

The Canada Geese are back and busy

 

longing for sun

A cold front just swept into the northern rockies, setting back the spring thaw that had been teasing all of us beings.  These are some memories of a warm "indian-summer" night in the tetons. It will be spring again.

 

home to the sea

Where the forest meets the sea I wander and wonder. It's a seam, a crease, a joint,  a binding. Few other places exemplify the path of life so well. You're at the edge. Behind you, the comfort of the known world; your posessions, your past, your aquaintences. Outward you look to a horizon that cannot be distuingishd from the sky. It is vast, unkown, exciting,  terrifying. Sometimes the sea laps gently at the land, other times it thrusts itself aggressively towards you.  It's easy to stay right where you are amongst the trees and earth and people and past, but if you are willing and brave,  you can  move foreward and navigate the uncharted waters.

To Stay the Same

A couple of weeks ago I returned to my childhood home on the coast of Maine.  I usually retrace my old stomping grounds... the marshes, the coastal woodlands, the sea shore. My eyes are wider then they were when I left. My ears are larger, and my nose is more keen. Everything is always changing, everything looks different... except the rocks. The buildings decay, the trees grow and fall,  the towns gentrify, but the rocks are just where I left them as a child. Granite and quartz, lichen and moss, cold and rugged. They are objects not of physical warmth, but  their steadfast nature provides a comfort in this fast-changing world of today.