coyote, bison, blizzard

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life in the heart

After approximately six years of living in the Greater Yellowstone and  taking in each season's unique presence, I have decided to spend a winter in its heart.... Here, at the Grand Canyon of Yellowstone, the cold is sharp, the snow is thick,  and life seems to just barely get by.

Two coyotes,  six ravens, and an immature bald eagle nervously gorge themselves on the leftovers of a wolf kill. Across a satin-blue Gibbon River  they timidly pick at the deceased bison calf, constantly wary of returning wolves.  Here, the Gallatin mountains rise high above a lodgepole carpet, and a northerly wind rips down from the highlands with such ferocity that it makes all of my sensory organs sting. I can hear the ancient ones... The Sheep-eaters, the Absarokees. Chimes, flutes, howling voices.... It's inescapable. How they lived here, amongst the fumaroles and the wolves and the sharp winter wind, is humbling. How they must have looked to this caldera in the snowless seasons, with such reverence... So much game, so much heat, so many perfect creeks and rivers emanating from its center.  I sense the loneliness of John Colter as he endured a winter deep in this unknown and unforgiving space. "Colter's Hell," they called it... A place  where heat explodes from the earth, and everything bites.  

The writings of Robert service fall nicely here. Like the Yukon,  Yellowstone in winter brings to light the remarkable resilience and perseverance of animals and people.  

Men of the High North, the wild sky is blazing; Islands of opal float on silver seas; Swift splendors kindle, barbaric, amazing; Pale ports of amber, golden argosies. Ringed all around us the proud peaks are glowing; Fierce chiefs in council, their wigwam the sky; Far, far below us the big Yukon flowing, Like threaded quicksilver, gleams to the eye. Men of the High North, you who have known it; You in whose hearts its splendors have abode; Can you renounce it, can you disown it? Can you forget it, its glory and its goad? Where is the hardship, where is the pain of it? Lost in the limbo of things you've forgot; Only remain the guerdon and gain of it; Zest of the foray, and God, how you fought! You who have made good, you foreign faring; You money magic to far lands has whirled; Can you forget those days of vast daring, There with your soul on the Top o' the World? Nights when no peril could keep you awake on Spruce boughs you spread for your couch in the snow; Taste all your feasts like the beans and the bacon Fried at the camp-fire at forty below? Can you remember your huskies all going, Barking with joy and their brushes in air; You in your parka, glad-eyed and glowing, Monarch, your subjects the wolf and the bear? Monarch, your kingdom unravisht and gleaming; Mountains your throne, and a river your car; Crash of a bull moose to rouse you from dreaming; Forest your couch, and your candle a star. You who this faint day the High North is luring Unto her vastness, taintlessly sweet; You who are steel-braced, straight-lipped, enduring, Dreadless in danger and dire in defeat: Honor the High North ever and ever, Whether she crown you, or whether she slay; Suffer her fury, cherish and love her-- He who would rule he must learn to obey. Men of the High North, fierce mountains love you; Proud rivers leap when you ride on their breast. See, the austere sky, pensive above you, Dons all her jewels to smile on your rest. Children of Freedom, scornful of frontiers, We who are weaklings honor your worth. Lords of the wilderness, Princes of Pioneers, Let's have a rouse that will ring round the earth.

~Robert Service

winter in yellowstone

Winter in Yellowstone 

Eight thousand feet above the sea and tucked within the walls of an ancient volcano resides a swath of windswept valleys and dark, deep forests. A place of golden canyons, fuming earth, and the wildest of creatures.  Buried in snow and locked in cold, winter in yellowstone is  a harsh, yet charismatic world offering a window into the west as it once was.

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