Another day, another sunset . . . .
Fly me up into the clouds . . . .
Autumn glory . . . .
September evening skies are extraordinary. I glanced out the kitchen window and saw this sunset unfolding. Since the evening sky changes from moment to moment, I had to run for the camera to capture it. It seems there is never time to set up for the right shot, or moment. Photography is a little like golf–intermittent reinforcement interspersed with frustration at lost opportunity!
Like no place on earth . . . .
Our annual autumn trek pointed north this year to explore the fall colors in Wyoming. We take for granted some of the most spectacular vistas in our home state, and it was rewarding to renew our memories of what makes Wyoming such a special place. We spent a pleasant evening in Jackson revisiting some old haunts, and headed out early the next morning to Teton National Park for some serious sightseeing.
These terrible beauties are bathed in clouds as the weather threatened rain or, this time of year, quite possibly snow. Fortunately, the sun prevailed but the clouds added great interest to the mountain peaks.
Still the same, after all these years . . . .
Jenny Lake Lodge and surrounding cabins is a family favorite. A photograph of Jenny Lake, taken by my father, hung in the family home for 50-plus years and I tried to duplicate his shot, to no avail. The sun wasn’t with me and I’ll have to try again, on another journey.
What’s this–a stone’s throw? . . . .
The clear, cold waters of Jenny Lake seem invisible and the rocks were so colorful I could not resist photographing them. My consolation for not getting a great image of the lake!
“I’ll bet I can race you to the other side and win!” . . . .
Racing river otters provided entertainment for a picnic lunch at String Lake, which is a narrow channel between Jenny and Leigh Lakes. Wildlife shots are never easy, and a stronger lens is needed to do this justice, but I had to try. River otters are fairly reclusive and a chance sighting was rare good fortune.
Cruising up the river on a sunny afternoon . . . .
This common merganser duck was another great sight at String Lake. Multitudes of ducks, geese and birds ply the rivers and lakes, but this duck stood out in the crowd.
Clouds hovering over Jackson Lake . . . .
The cloud cover arrived in time to catch a shot at Jackson Lake. It was hard to choose which was the more beautiful–the Tetons or the clouds above them.
Oxbow Bend beyond belief . . . .
Just beyond Jackson Lake Junction, we came to the Snake River at Oxbow Bend and the colors were so intense it took our breath away. Clouds obscure the peaks, but afford a softer light on the river. Hated to leave this lovely spot behind.
On the road again . . . .
Our journey takes us north to Yellowstone National Park where we plan to spend the night at Yellowstone Lake which formed at the center of a great caldera. We are hopeful it will not erupt for another few thousand years. About 2 million years ago, and then 1.3 million years ago, and again 640,000 years ago, huge volcanic eruptions occurred here. The last eruption spewed out 240 cubic miles of debris. Too close for comfort! The central part of what is now the park collapsed, forming a 30- by 45-mile caldera. Beyond imagining.
If this is Lewis, where is Clark? . . . .
A roadside attraction, Lewis Falls is the first of a number of spectacular water falls in the park.
In the grand tradition . . . .
Yellowstone Lake Lodge check-in was required for our cabin, which was a delight. This lodge and the cabins remain open until the end of September, however the grand old Yellowstone Lake Hotel was closed for the season.
One of the world’s grand old hotels . . . .
Yellowstone Lake Hotel is so immense it has to be photographed in about six sections. This is the primary entrance and the boarded windows will protect it from the harsh winter that will soon arrive. Crews of maintenance workers were crawling literally over the length and breadth of the hotel to make repairs and secure the site for winter. The only regret of the journey was that we could not book a room here. Ah well, next time. Our cozy little cabin was a delight and a great value.
An architectural icon . . . .
No rubber tomahawks for sale today. We can only imagine what wonders await the visitors next year in this fine old store.
Where’s my breakfast? . . . .
This young bull elk was enjoying a respite on a sand bar along the edge of Yellowstone Lake. Three cow elk were holding court nearby in case he needed any female attention.
The lady of the lake . . . .
She seems to enjoy her repose a short distance away from the male elk. Life is sweet for this moment, and a wolf sighted up the road a short distance from her is not likely to pose a threat today. The wolf moved into the brush too quickly for us to get a clear view of him, and it was a great photo loss.
A tiny little boat on a great big lake . . . .
Hydrothermal steam rises from the shoreline of Yellowstone Lake, North America’s largest high-altitude lake. Twenty miles long, 14 miles wide, 410′ deep at its greatest depth, and 141 miles of shoreline. The lake bed is a volcanic caldera that is constantly monitored for seismic activity.
The ubiquitous burn . . . .
Fire leaves its mark on the forest, and Yellowstone has many fires throughout the years. Fortunately, not many are as devastating and threatening to historic structures as the “big burn” of 1988.
just a humble log cabin . . . .
This intersection of Old Faithful Inn is interesting to understand the log construction of this massive lodge, which is described as the largest log structure anywhere. Our favorite viewing site for the Old Faithful geyser is on the second-story deck above the entrance. Armed with a steaming cup of coffee and warmed by the morning sun, it made for perfect viewing.
Curly logs for support and decoration . . . .
The deck also affords afternoon cocktails. As we waited for Old Faithful to erupt, I was reminded of an elderly man playing the grand piano inside the lodge on the mezzanine. Egad, that was about a dozen years ago now. The memory will stay with me forever, and I have struggled mightily to master one of the pieces he performed–Traumerei by Schumann.
What a chimney–try building one of these! . . . .
Even the chimney is clad in logs! This massive four-sided stone fireplace rises four stories high.
Thar she blows! . . . .
Old Faithful never fails, and is truly a wonder to behold. My first sight of it was as a child, and I still feel the thrill as if for the first time.
Up, up and away . . . .
Having journeyed through Yellowstone a number of times, the multitudes of geysers, thermal pools, mud pits and other wonders were not on our list of priorities. We did enjoy some along the way, but our greater interest was in viewing and photographing the wildlife. We realized soon enough that our itinerary was not conducive to seeing as much as we had hoped, as evenings are some of the best viewing hours and that requires planning and preparation. We learned from this visit, and will arrange our lodging and schedule for more early morning and evening viewing.
Mudpack, anyone? . . . .
This “painted pot” was just beyond Old Faithful Inn, and with easy access, seemed to call out to be included in our photo album.
Nothing like a mud bath to keep the flies off . . . .
An old “hermit bull” bison grazes alone and far from the herd. He has likely been displaced by a younger, stronger and more virile bull who now rules his harem of female bison.
“I’m just a lonely boy”
. . . .
This old bull was lounging along the road and presented an opportunity for an “up close and personal” conversation. A little zoom brought him close enough to be out of harm’s way, however.
just another waterfall along the way . . . .
A side trip to Firehole Falls led us along a spectacular canyon drive that we had never seen before. The Firehole River flows between two lava flows. Impossible to capture on camera, we found this one-way stretch of road to be awesome.
a log in the sun, wine, cheese and thou . . . .
Lunch along the Gibbon River was a peaceful contrast to the thundering Firehole Canyon. The Gibbon River joins the Firehole at Madison Junction, becoming the Madison River–one of three forks forming the Missouri River. An ampitheater, information center and the best restrooms in the park were nearby. About five miles further on, we came to Gibbon Falls.
can it be?
One waterfall is more beautiful than the next. Cannot remember seeing so many in a single day since touring the big island in Hawaii.
oh for a better lens . . . .
Sand Hill Cranes are grazing in a great meadow that is likely teeming with wildlife later in the day. We were torn, but had to travel on to our next destination. We noted this location for another exploration.
I can see forever . . . .
Nearing the north entrance of the park, late afternoon light on Electric Peak is quite lovely. So many mountains, so little time.
Elk for dinner? . . . .
Mammoth Hot Springs is the northwest entrance to the park. Late afternoons will find a herd of elk moving in for cocktails and dinner. We missed a shot of two great bull elk who were cruising the scene, but the cows were placidly grazing and hanging out.
“Now you see me, now you don’t” . . . .
Peekaboo with an elk is good entertainment, as she kept peering from one side of the tree to the other. Park rangers were a little nervous to have the elk commingling with the tourists, and kept warning everyone to stand back. Just another day in the office!
a little cabin in the wild . . . .
There are many memorable, historic structures at Mammoth, and this humble little cabin is our favorite, with the possible exception of the Roosevelt Arch. Yellowstone is the world’s first national park and was established in 1872 by President Theodore Roosevelt. The great stone archway that comprises the northeast entrance was dedicated to him.
Great lodging north of the border . . . .
We left the park for a short drive to a truly unique retreat in the Absaroka Mountains of Montana. Chico Hot Springs Resort taps into 112-degree water which makes for delightful bathing for weary bones and cramped muscles. The hotel was built in 1900 and is listed on the National Register of Historic Places. It combines Georgian-inspired architecture and warm Craftsman-style interiors, alongside a great swimming pool and bath house to “take the waters.” Exceptional dining includes fresh vegetables grown in greenhouses heated by the hot water springs.
Carriage ride, anybody? . . . .
Horses have been an integral feature at Chico, and a carriage ride or trail rides are available to guests. I don’t think the black dog is part of the ride, but he looks the part.
Can’t rollerskate in a Buffalo herd . . . .
The bison have taken the road and the cars have to fend for themselves. They were in no hurry and dawdled along the roadway, but the drivers of these cars didn’t seem to mind. We are back in Yellowstone National Park, driving toward the Lamar Valley.
Ready for a dip? . . . .
An American Dipper (a.k.a. Water Ouzel) joined us for lunch along Soda Butte Creek in the northeast quadrant of the park. Delightful to watch, these birds dive into the water and submerge beneath rocks to forage for food. Usually found along rushing mountain streams, they have become symbolic of our autumn sojourns into the wild, as we have sighted at least one every year for the past three seasons.
Underwater espionage . . . .
The dipper doesn’t seem to mind the icy cold waters as he trolls for lunch. He darts in and out so quickly that all the physical activity must keep him warm. The show lasted for about ten minutes, and my lunch grew stale while I tried to catch up with this delightful bird on the camera lens.
Always in a hurry . . . .
North America’s fastest animal, these antelope have run a complete circle around us and don’t seem ready to stop to think things over.
Autumn fire is aglow . . . .
The view from Chief Joseph scenic byway is spectacular and ranges from great valleys to the tall mountain peaks of the North Absaroka Wilderness Range.
Shangri La of the West . . . .
This view from Dead Indian Pass overlooks the vast expanse of Sunlight Basin upper left and Clark’s Fork of the Yellowstone River below. Named for a member of Chief Joseph’s tribe who was killed by U.S. Army troops, it marks a sad chapter in the history of the West.
The beginning of the end . . . .
Our journey leads from Cody, across the Big Horn Basin, and into the Big Horn Mountains. A favorite jeep road down the face of the Big Horns was a sheer delight, as the colors were incredible.
Aspens shimmering in the sun . . . .
We didn’t mind the bumps, rocks, washboard and loose gravel of the road into Crazy Woman Canyon. Actually, the road is in better condition this year than in many years past and we dropped down to view wonderful fall colors and wildlife.
The rush and roar is no more . . . .
The sounds of Crazy Woman Creek as it winds along the roadway have always been part of the thrill of this canyon drive. In the spring and early summer, it rages and roars from melting snows as it rushes down the mountain. This year a prolonged drought has reduced the creek to a much lower stream-flow. It is still wonderful to hear and see, however.
“What is it you want to talk about?” . . . .
A blue grouse seems determined to hold the road for awhile, and we couldn’t believe our good fortune that he waited around for our camera. Highly sought for hunting and eating, it seems a better course of action to just take their picture and let them enjoy life.
The rock piles hold steady . . . . for now
Giant boulders the size of a barn have tumbled to the base of Crazy Woman Canyon and the creek rambles in and out as it rushes to the canyon floor. The one-way road narrows at this point, but we find a little spot for a pullout. Meeting oncoming traffic in the canyon is always a challenge, but this day we met only two vehicles coming up and we seemed to be the only vehicle going down.
Autumn leaves, anyone? . . . .
By now we are drunk with spectacular autumn colors, but a few more won’t hurt.
Deer crossing . . . .
This young mule deer darted across the road in front of us, then hesitated. She didn’t seem to know whether to retreat or keep going and she finally opted to leap down into a rocky gulch and scramble up the side of the slope.
Here we are without fishing poles! . . . .
Dad never liked to fish this stream. He said there were no fish here, however we suspect the boulders, willows and rugged terrain had something to do with it.
Willy takes a break . . . .
To lend some perspective to the size of the boulders, a jeep helps. To have a great journey, a jeep helps. To get great mileage, comfort, and maneuverability, a jeep helps. And to get an outdoor experience (doors off, roof rolled back), a jeep REALLY helps. Five days, 1000 miles, and seemingly endless beautiful vistas–Willy made it so much fun.
And did we mention wine? . . . .
curbside critic says it is a “snake” fence . . . .
An aging pile of logs stacked alongside the boat house seemed the perfect material to create a stacked log fence. The logs were a bonafide surplus, since it would take the next twenty years to burn them in the pot belly stove inside our mountain cottage, and they likely would moulder and rot before we got around to burning them. They had developed a lovely silver-grey patina that would blend into the landscape, and would create a boundary fence that would appear to have been erected a very long time ago. So, to work!
Having no blueprint or instructions, we began dragging the logs from the back of the property to the front, where the fence would begin at the road and travel up the driveway. After dragging twenty or so logs, we voted to “give it a rest” and sort out how to begin. The first step was place a log up on the “saw buck” and cut two-foot sections that would be used as support to hold the logs up off the ground. The supports had to be notched, and while a chain saw isn’t the best tool for the job, it worked–finally–after the chain came off in protest and caused a considerable delay and many expletives deleted.
Next the chain saw had to be transported to the job site, with lengthy extension cords, to notch the logs so they would stack. It isn’t quite as easy as Lincoln Logs – does anyone remember those? We had no tools to measure with, and eroded at least a foot of topsoil dragging and re-placing the logs to try to get the proper angle of repose. Many trips were made up the hill to “eyeball” whether the logs pointing in each direction were parallel.
A neighbor stopped to watch quietly for about an hour as we struggled, sweat and swore. Then he abruptly decided to take his leave, but not until he informed us we had a crooked log that needed replacing in our “snake fence.” Of course it was on the bottom and required dragging another log from the back of the property over the hill to the front, and re-positioning five or six other logs that were stacked over the top of the crooked one. Thanks, Charlie!!!
fence looks as old as the view (almost) . . . .
At the end of the day, we had utilized all our logs and the fence was taking shape. There are many more logs out back, and we vowed to build another section as soon as we have recovered from bruises, scrapes and aching backs! Oh pioneer!
“I’m so tired I could cry” . . . .
Lady, our elderly Labrador Retriever, came along on our daily walk and decided to take a dip in the pond. Labs love water, and she frequently wades in to have a drink and cool off a bit. On this particular day we were removing some young cottonwoods that were growing up along the edge of the pond. We noted Lady near water’s edge, and it appeared she was enjoying the cool mud on her belly and just continuing to hang out there.
When we finished the job on the cottonwoods and were leaving to go back to the house, we didn’t think anything was amiss. Lady moves pretty slowly, and when she didn’t arrive with us right away we were not concerned. A bit later on, she was discovered mired in the mud, unable to extricate herself. With some help, she was finally able to make it back to the house, where she settled down on the lawn looking like a bedraggled, mud-slimed creature from the deep.
A hosing off seemed to be the solution, and after a thorough dousing, she headed for her sleeping pad on the porch. Before she settled in, however, she shook herself so vigorously I thought she would fall over. And the fun began. Dark, grey water splattered all over the concrete, the walls, the windows, the patio furniture and everything else within a 10-foot range. I ran for some rags to clean up the mess, only to discover the stains left on the siding of the house did not budge. What is this stuff? I can only imagine in 100,000 years we will have oil at the bottom of the pond!
Ugh! Dog splatter everywhere . . . .
It took serious household cleaner, more rags, and about an hour to clean up the traces of dark water that showered off Lady as she did what dogs do when they are wet – shake it off! Getting bogged down in the pond has never happened to Lady before, however the level of water has sunk about four feet this summer during a serious drought that has no end in sight. It isn’t likely she will want to jump in for a splash anytime soon, and it will take some time to restore her dignity.
“They’re going to be surprised to find me in their trap!” . . .
A surprise turned up in the trap set for prowling feral cats, raccoons, porcupines and whatever else decides to sneak into our old garage and steal food from Mr. Mouse, the resident cat. Our first clue was the aroma that filled the air. From there it became a challenge to figure out how to transport our uninvited guest without 1) stinking up the pickup; 2) stinking up the dogs, who were so excited and curious; and 3) stinking up ourselves.
“They’re going to be sorry they treated me so shabbily” . . .
We loaded this lovely skunk, still inside the cage, very carefully into the back of the pickup and drove about 10 miles to what we hoped would become his or her new home. At first it refused to come out of the cage. We waited, and waited. Then tilting the cage up and giving it a jerk emptied the skunk on the ground, while we ran for cover.
“Now it’s my turn to get even–ready, aim, fire!”
It isn’t that we don’t simply adore skunks! If you have ever been sprayed with “Eau De Skunk,” you will never forget the aroma or the experience. Nor will your dogs, who will need to be quarantined for a considerable period of time until you can stand to be within 20 feet of them. Phew!
“I’m going home as fast as my little legs will carry me!”
Last seen headed south, we calculated the skunk might beat us home at the speed he was traveling. Ah well, we tried.
Modern kitchen with wood burning stove . . . .
Don’t wait, demand is great! This charming homestead cabin, circa 1920, has tons of atmosphere and character. Constructed of “square” logs (rounded edges peeled off) from the historic Mayoworth sawmill, it has the original chinking and is finished with cedar shingles on the exterior. It affords the coziest environment for discriminating guests. Rates are unbelievably low, and guests should arrive prepared to “pitch in,” to use a western phrase, and work for bed and board.
They don’t make ’em like this anymore!
Just think of the family fun as you gather ’round to saw, hammer, haul, nail, pry, scrape and fulfill your dreams of life on the western front. Evening campfires will be filled with cowboy music and the occasional rip roaring “Powder River, Let ‘Er Buck,” which is a spontaneous eruption from the locals after a few bottles of the finest selection of beverage (Coors Original) and camaraderie that evolves among the “just plain folks” that will be gathered around.
To preserve your little piece of this great Western experience, just show up. No reservations required. Dry Fork of the North Fork of Powder River. Wyoming, of course.
Eat your veggies! . . . .
A late summer harvest was so bounteous, and this is only a small part of it. We loaded a tub of summer squash to give to the neighbors to feed their hogs. We feed collard greens, kale and Swiss chard to the young guinea keets in the pen next to the garden, and they love it! Why is it gardens keep you waiting all summer, and then give forth in such profusion that you cannot possibly take care of it? Or consume all of it?
I am reminded of my grandmother’s garden which was much larger than my own. She was far more efficient at preserving her summer bounty, and would rise at daybreak, pick peas and green beans, and the next day would be blanching and freezing the peas and canning the green beans in quart Mason jars. The cellar shelves would be lined with her peaches, pears, vegetables, pickles, tomatoes and apple sauce. She dried corn and stored it in 1# coffee cans for reconstitution throughout the long winter months. I loved eating it dry and would sneak a handful to chew on. Her winter squash would be stored in bushel baskets, and carrots, beets and potatoes were stored in wooden crates wrapped in newspaper.
Just before frost, I plant fall crops of red winter kale, spinach, and lettuce. When I recently went to prepare the bed I planned to use, I noticed the sweet pea vines I had planned to tear up were blooming and producing a second crop of peas! A cool weather crop, the peas had gone dormant over the summer. As I began gathering the mature pods, I discovered I had as many, if not more peas than I got from the early spring crop. I wondered if my grandmother had a second crop also, and wished I had spent more time with her in our family garden as a girl. I well remember the scolding and prying to drag me to the garden early on summer mornings, and how hard I tried to resist.
A light frost turned the tips of the squash and cucumber plants brown two nights ago, and served as a reminder it’s time to drag out the heavy plastic row covers to protect the garden for the next month to six weeks. We can always count on frost shortly after Labor Day, and it came right on schedule this year. Fortunately, we got an early warning light frost rather than a killing frost that would have wiped out the entire garden.
So much work, so little time!
Wild Wyoming Woman 