Waiting For A Ride

I recently mentioned Gary Snyder and his film with Jim Harrison, THE ETIQUETTE OF FREEDOM.  I watched it again last night, first time I've seen it since I saw it on the big screen in New York City last November.  Damn, I do love that film for the energy/essence of Snyder it conveys.  I laughed out loud several times. One poem he read I particularly want to share with you:  "Waiting For A Ride"

You can hear Snyder read this poem by following this link Gary Snyder interview in Minnesota Public Radio  On this page, look on right side, under Audio, for Gary Snyder reads Waiting For A Ride.

And here's the text... but do listen to the meter of his voice reading his work.  It does make all the difference.

Standing at the baggage, passing time:
Austin, Texas, airport–my ride hasn’t come yet.
My former wife is making Web sites from her home,
one son’s seldom seen,
the other and his wife have a boy and girl of their own.
My wife and stepdaughter are spending weekdays in town
so she can get to high school.
My mother, ninety-six, still lives alone and she’s in town, too,
always gets her sanity back just barely in time.
My former former wife has become a unique poet;
most of my work,
such as it is       is done.
Full moon was October 2nd this year,
I ate a mooncake, slept out on the deck,
white light beaming through the black boughs of the pine,
owl hoots and rattling antlers,
Castor and Pollux rising strong–
--it’s good to know that the polestar drifts!
That even our present night sky slips away;
not that I’ll see it.
Or maybe I will, much later,
some far time walking the spirit path in the sky,
that long walk of spirits–where you fall right back into the
“narrow painful passageway of the Bardo”
squeeze your little skull
and there you are again

waiting for your ride

–Gary Snyder

A Poem For You, from Robert Penn Warren, via David Quammen

Last evening I lay snug in bed, propped up by sofa cushion and pillows, reading again from one of my favorite authors, David Quammen, and his book The Boilerplate Rhino <click for more info>  Last night's essay was about two writers, Jim Harrison and Robert Penn Warren.  Harrison has come to my attention only recently, in association with Gary Snyder.  They appeared live in NYC last November when I was there and I was fortunate enough to be able to see and hear them re:  <The Etiquette of Freedom>, the release of the film that accompanies the book by the same name.  Warren I have known of vaguely for much of my life but after reading Quammen's tribute to him last evening, I feel cheated out of so much insight and beauty for so much of my life.  Is it too late to get acquainted?  I'm going to find out.... 

Turns out, Quammen was one of Warren's students, and later lived a short while with the Warren family, and later still became friends with RPW. 

Here is a RPW poem that Quammen writes he would want to have with him above any other book or writing if he were lost on the proverbial desert island.  As for myself, in recognition, it takes my breath away.

                                 Grackles, Goodbye

Black of grackles glints purple as, wheeling in sun-glare,
The flock splays away to pepper the blueness of distance.
Soon they are lost in the tracklessness of air.
I watch them go. I stand in my trance.

Another year gone. In trance of realization,
I remember once seeing a first fall leaf, flame-red, release
Bough-grip, and seek, through gold light of the season’s sun,
Black gloss of a mountain pool, and there drift in peace.

Another year gone, And once my mother’s hand
Held mine while I kicked the piled yellow leaves on the lawn
And laughed, not knowing some yellow-leaf season I’d stand
And see the hole filled. How they spread their obscene fake lawn.

Who needs the undertaker’s sick lie
Flung thus in the teeth of Time, and earth’s spin and tilt?
What kind of fool would promote that kind of lie?
Even sunrise and sunset convict the half-wit of guilt.

Grackles, goodbye! The sky will be vacant and lonely
Till again I hear your horde’s rusty creak high above,
Confirming the year’s turn and the fact that only, only
In the name of Death do we learn the true name of Love.

— Robert Penn Warren, from New and Selected Poems 1923-1985 (Random House, 1985)

I leave you in silence to ponder what this stirs within you.

Where I work--more

More on the HRC, where I am volunteering.  It is an affiliate of the National Archives and Record Center, which is very prestigious, and a recognition of the valuable and unique materials available here.  So, what’s available here?  I’ll break it into two:  the archives and the library, though the distinction isn’t as clear cut as one might ordinarily think.  Archives are generally those materials which are unique to the holding institution and are held in a secure, non-public, non-lending status.  And Yellowstone’s HRC has a rich collection of these.  I can’t go beyond the surface, the surface being what I’ve been working on for the archives area.  My first task was to go through two or three boxes of miscellaneous documents, the kind of documents that in our 2011 world of e-mail, e-documents, and e-publishing one would expect to be e-lek-tron-ick.  These, however, were assorted papers from the 1980s and 1990s:  memos, conference proceedings, reports of avalanche prevention operations (usually, detonating explosives at Sylvan Pass as a preventative for severe, unpredictable avalanches would could bury people and cars alive), procurements and requisitions, personnel disciplinary communication (for example:  Adam Baker, said NPS rank 55-1-A-b: DE, was found to be negligent in the operation of government property, namely a 1987 Ford Econoline serial no. (blah, blah, blah) and similar sundry colorless pounds of paperwork.  Said similar such communications would today be in emails, PDFs, and websites.  But, it is the job of the archives to inventory donations from Yellowstone NPS offices of any said such [sic] paraphernalia.  And so that task was saved for volunteer Paul, who happily dived into the piles of paper and listed said such stuff into official NPS Excel files.  It was fun, and thankfully didn’t go on for days and days. 

From that task I moved into the dreaded “black albums.”  Not that I found them dreaded.  The task was (and is, and will be) to list the data contained in each album, in a Word-based template system.  I am enjoying this (as many of the old photos are fascinating), but the job would become dreaded if it were to last an entire eight hour day, followed by several more eight hour days of it. Fortunately, the staff are very kind and they allow me to switch back and forth between projects every couple of hours.  I do have another project besides the black alums (see below…).

So, what are the black albums?  Reasonable question.  They are numerous, perhaps forty to fifty of them, and they contain black and white reproduction photos of Park fauna (and probably flora) from the 1920’s through the early 1950’s.  Who put them together and why is an unknown to me.  Whenever, why-ever, and whom-ever did it did a loving, painstaking piece of work.  Are you old enough to remember the soft, thick, (almost furry) black construction paper-like pages that were used in photo scrapbooks in the 1940’s and 1950’s?  Yes?  Then you can begin to visualize these albums. 

Wait—there is more, much much more.  Each album might have upwards of one hundred twenty pages in it.  And each page might hold between six and twelve photos, most of them 3”x5” or so.  Most of the photos were pasted (ouch!) onto the furry black paper (rather than the old-fashioned black photo corners being used), and beneath each photo was a description that had been typed (yep, you can just see those flying letters, overstrikes, etc) onto a piece of paper which was then cut down to size and pasted below the photo.  Each description consists of a photo I.D. number, description of the photo, name of photographer, location in the park where taken, and date or year it was taken.  Simple, eh?  Maybe not so….

§           Each photographer (most often a ranger) used his own I.D. system, totally separate from that of any other photographer

§           Usually the last name of the photographer was given:  Oberhansley, for example, but occasionally the photographer was designed by initials only, as in F.R.O.  for Frank R. Oberhansley.  How to determine for my inventory who exactly FRO is……?

§           The place described might be Mammoth, Grebe Lake, etc.  Pretty clearcut.  But then, I know a little bit about Yellowstone place names and once in a while a strange one appeared.  For example, Madison Junction Lake.  Well, certainly there’s a Madison Junction here in Yellowstone, and in my history books of the Park I found that there is a Madison Lake, which is nowhere close to Madison Junction.  But… there’s no Madison Junction Lake.  So, how to determine for my inventory what exactly MJL is…..?

§           The wonderous news in my work is that Yellowstone National Park has an official historian, and said official historian resides (8 to 4 or so) in the same HRC building in which I volunteer.  Said historian is Lee Whittlesey.  Said historian has a fascinating memory for facts, names, places, people, and events which have been associated with Yellowstone.  So, whenever I have a question about spelling, initials, place names, etc etc, I walk over to Lee’s office, pop my head in, and try to stump him.  Haven’t succeeded yet….  This man is amazing, and is fun to talk with, and… he has the greatest collection of wildlife cartoons ever taped to the inside of his office door.  More about that later….

§           In addition to the photographer’s I.D. number, the National Park Service assigns a modern inventory number to each object owned by it.  This number is merely a randomly generated number; in other words, it signifies nothing about the subject, date, etc—only the Park which owns it.  For all of the items owned within Yellowstone begin with YELL.  Everything gets a YELL number, including the refrigerators and ranges in the kitchen of the Utah Dormitory where I’m living.  In my work through each black album, if a photo does not already have a YELL numbe assigned, I have to assign one.  It is exciting.  I am a little cog in the wheel of bureaucratic accessioning and record-keeping.  And I truly am grateful for the opportunity to be here, in this Park, in this moment, assigning YELL numbers to historic photographs.

The black albums tend to be organized by animal/theme.  I have done deer, elk, mountain lion, Bighorn sheep, beaver, Trumpeter swan, etc etc.  Some of the photos in these black albums are totally shockingly outrageous.  Case in point:  mountain lion.  Most of those photos are of mountain lions, within the Park, being treed by dogs and shot, or photos of their bodies.  Shot!  Within the sacred boundaries of the national park.  Shot!  And other photos show a stuffed mountain lion from the museum which has been taken out into its natural environment, set up, and photographed.  A stuffed mountain lion photographed in its native environment.!!!  Do you see a problem here?  The painful truth is that perspectives and practices in wildlife management-preservation have changed.  As you know, before they were re-introduced to Yellowstone in 1995-96, wolves were eliminated from Yellowstone in the early 1920’s.  Eliminated with the cooperation and efforts of NPS staff. 

And here are three painfully sad photos I saw and catalogued in one of the black albums:



Wolf pups captured in Yellowstone National Park 1923



Chief Ranger Sam Woodring with wolf puppies captured in 1923



Chief Ranger Sam Woodring with wolf puppies captured in 1923

Here you are casting eyes upon undoubtedly the last live wolves in Yellowstone National Park, until their re-introduction in 1995.  It is a known fact that shortly after these three photos were taken, these wolf puppies were put to death.

Practices change.  Perspectives change.  At one time, it was the government's view that it was doing a good service to people, plants, animals, and our future as a planet to eliminate the wolf from Yellowstone. 

Just as practices change with wolves, so they change with everything:  American Indians, gay/lesbian people, blacks, infidels....  It's sobering to realize that what government and public opinion supports today may be and likely will be considered horrific and unthinkable fifty or one hundred years from now.  There's an entire book to be written about this....  but not here, today, in On Mountain Trails.

Back to barking, soon....

More shots from the lost weekend

An old NPS cabin that's been moved to Old Faithful area

Majestic--in case you can't read the fuel door

Can you see all the layers of snow that came down, one by one, over the past few months?

The hottest spot in town in July and August

Gas log fireplace at the Old Faithful Snow Lodge

I'm always a sucker for a warm fire, comfy chair, good book, and a cold beer.  This is the life.

Photoz frum my weak-end in Old Faithful

Last weekend at Old Faithful was a great, relaxing time.  Here are a few shots from the journey...

A warm drink on a cold day is always welcome--Norris Warming Hut

A mild day except for the wind

Norris has HEATED flush-toilet restrooms!!!

A classic 1950's Bombedier that is well-maintained--much faster than our Chevy Van snowcoach

Still on the road to O.F.

See the guys clearing the snow off the roof--they've done the left side

O F I --closed for the season

My attention wandered for a minute and look, I lost my opportunity for a shot of the front end.  Somehow, the ass-end ain't nearly as interesting....

The new Visitor's Center that opened late Summer of 2010

I'd like to fool you into believing this is a wolf pawprint, but... it's a coyote

The latest Buffalo news

Bison management issues are a frequent part of daily converations here in the Mammoth-Gardiner area.  The fate of the Bison themselves seems to seesaw from execution to a stay of execution from day to day.  The latest steps are:

1.  The federal judge decided that the Bison slaughter could proceed  click to follow link to read about the judge's decision
2.  In less than a day, the Governor of Montana effectively blocked the slaughter from beginning by issuing an executive order  Montana Governor Schweitzer's Executive Order

So, for now, the fate of the Bison is on hold.  If you really want to understand the issue of Yellowstone Bison, take a look at this excellent annual publication from the NPS and Yellowstone Association, Yellowstone Resources and Issues  Yellowstone Resources and Issues 2010: Animal Management Issues  scroll through this PDF to page 165 for some very clear information on why there is a slaughter every year.  It will put things into much better perspective.

And now, for a different perspective, I offer you this outrageous, insightful, right-on article titled  Is Gardiner, Montana the Selma, Alabama of Wildlife Conservation   Please read and share this excellent piece.  Congrats, Michael Leach!

Where I work

I realized the other day that I haven't really writeen much about my volunteer gig here in the Park.  People have said to me “What are you doing on your volunteer job?” and when I tell them, they find it interesting, so maybe you will as well.  If not, just skip down several paragraphs to the close--or turn on the TV.  I had posted a couple of links and will inswer them at the end of today’s post to help give you a better background. 

I am a volunteer at the Yellowstone Heritage and Research Center.  It is the second largest facility of its kind in the entire National Park Service system.  It is housed in a new, state-of-the-art, LEED-certified green building that sits at the edge of the town of Gardiner, Montana.  My drive to work from where I live at the Utah Dorm in the Upper Terraces of Mammoth is less than eight miles but takes close to thirty minutes:  curvy roads, animals on the road, Park speed limit of 45 miles per hour (due to blind curves I drive this about 30 mph most of the way), narrow road, rock slides, and the ugly fact that human beings as fallible as me are also driving on this road, coming towards me in the opposite direction around those curves.  And some of these people do hold cell phones as they drive.  I am a much better person than those folks because my car has a Bluetooth connection and so I can talk on my cell phone hands free.  Isn’t that special?  Besides being a good person for that reason, I am even more good because I volunteer thirty-two hours per week.  I am selfless, noble, and also interested in having a place to live here in Yellowstone rent-free for a month.  My volunteer time gives me such a place to live, a place with running water (that seldom freezes, even at 17^o below), generous heat and light, and a spacious well-equipped kitchen.  Oh, yes, and laundry facilities. 

But back to the topic at hand, which is not my living quarters but my volunteer job.  So, I volunteer thirty-two hours a week, Monday through Thursday, at a new, spacious, beautiful, and well-equipped facility called the Yellowstone Heritage and Research Center.  Even though I have to drive out of the Park, into the edge of the town of Gardiner, MT, to get to the HRC, I drive back into the Yellowstone National Park boundary to get to the HRC.  This facility is the base of operations for three different functions:  library, archives, and museum.  And I have been exposed to tasks in all three areas.  It is a secure facility, meaning that I have a badge and code that gets me into the building before hours, and that can gain me entry into very secure areas.  Secure also because cameras are positioned in numerous places which continuously record activity.  And secure as well due to the fact that no one may enter the library or archives with any bags, boxes, backpacks, or even with a pen.  All note-taking done by staff or public is with pencil.  The library is open to the public, but the archives area is closed except to researchers who make previous appointments. 

I will start with the museum because that’s perhaps the easiest to describe.  Furniture and light fixtures and textiles from old hotel and other properties within YNP are housed in the museum, which by the way is not open to the public.  A large part of the museum is housed six miles away, at Mammoth, in a building shared with the recycling facility for Yellowstone.  It houses the antique vehicle collection:  Tally-Ho stagecoaches, other horse-drawn wagons,  early motorized vehicles (including the famed White Motor Company tour coaches), and fire-fighting vehicles that saw their last use during the catastrophic 1988 fires.  Perhaps the most important, or at least most interesting part of the museum collection is the artwork, principally two-dimensional paintings.  Most of us know at least vaguely of the work of Thomas Moran, and here in the museum I have laid eyes upon some of Moran’s original watercolor sketches that he did while on the 1871 Hayden Expedition of discovery into the Yellowstone area, along with Thomas Henry Jackson original prints and negatives.  These watercolors and photographs helped convince the U.S. Congress that Yellowstone’s wonders were not imagined or exaggerated and that they were national treasures worthy of protection and preservation.  The museum also holds the bones of several animals of note from the Park.  And, it holds ceremonial beadwork and other crafts from native American tribal nations that lived in or frequently visited the area, including a few items that in accordance with tribal practice, only men are allowed to view.  The HRC keeps a muslin cloth covering the item, so that the women who work there do not violate tribal customs.

For more info on the HRC, take a look at:

http://www.nps.gov/yell/historyculture/collections.htm

More on the HRC coming soon, including the archives and the library!

Old Faithful Weekend

This being human is a guest house.

Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,

some momentary awareness comes

as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!

                                                --Rumi

It’s Sunday morning, a shamelessly beautiful winter morning, and I’m in my modern motel-style room at Old Faithful, Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming, USA, Planet Earth..  The sky is blue, the temperature is mild (25^o), and outside my windows I can see snow of every shape, texture, and variety possible, including a seven-foot high mound immediately outside one window, where staff have removed snow from the room entranceway and the roof.  Ravens are calling, the occasional person walks by, and the electric baseboard radiators offer a staccato of reassuring clinks and clunks every few minutes. It occurred to me how fortunate I am to be here on such a mild day, and combined with the bright sunshine, earlier this morning I felt a tug to venture out and take a long walk.  And so I did.  Old Faithful and all the other geothermal features in the area continue to do their thing, 24/7, that we humans find so spectacular and rare and on this particular morning I sense that here is my opportunity to see them live in the heart of winter.  Now, you the reader may be feeling more than just a slight twinge of envy as you sit there safe, warm, and somewhat blasé in your pajamas and slippers in front of your glowing screen.  What is more human than the desire to be someplace else other than the place one is stuck at present, that illusory place being either warmer, colder, more stimulating, less stressful, or offering a vista of some locale either new or long forgotten.  Like so many of us North American humans with idle time, restless mind, and money in the bank (or at least one credit card with a bit of charge left in it) you want something else: relief from the same wake up to coffee (substitute your favorite morning brew), preparation for the all-too-familiar daily routine, followed by the experience of it and then a settling in and winding down over a segment of some stimulating video… only to repeat said routine once again the following day. We want to be, at least temporarily, removed from the repetitive nature of our daily existence.  “I wanna be free… I’ve gotta be me,” Sammy Davis, Jr. crooned into our minds.

And so I came to Yellowstone.  And so I got up this morning, invited by the bright day, and enjoyed a generous buffet in the Snow Lodge restaurant, designated “the Obsidian Dining Room,” although absolutely no obsidian was used in its construction or décor, and diners will thankfully find no pieces of obsidian hidden away in their scrambled eggs or apple pie à la mode.  Obsidian is a product of volcanic activity and is found primarily at Obsidian Cliff in the Park, which has been designated a National Historical Landmark, yet is present throughout the park.  It is a  jet black molten glass-like material found in other types of rock formations and embedded with a unique signature of other minerals which enables a particular piece of obsidian to be traced back to its specific place of origin.  Surgeons have a fondness for obsidian because it can be honed into a cutting edge six times more sharp than any metal, honed to a point of a single molecule.  American Indians throughout the geographic area we now call North America used obsidian as knives and arrowheads.  It was a highly valued item of trade throughout the West and pieces of obsidian from Yellowstone have been found as far east as the Ohio Valley in the Hopewell mounds.

But I digress from this mornng’s breakfast buffet array in the Obsidian Dining Room:  link sausage, bacon, diced fried potatoes, two types of scrambled eggs (with and without cheese, onions, and peppers), mixed fruits and melons, oatmeal, French toast, hot syrup, cold cereals, orange juice, pastries, and—of course—steaming carafes of coffee (or, substitute your favorite morning beverage).  Enough warmth, calories and pig fat to coat the stomach pleasantly and provide fuel enough for a long day’s tromp throughout the great outdoors on a February morning in the Rocky Mountains. 

And that was exactly my plan.  Big breakfast, brisk walk, then a return to the room to pack for a 1:30pm departure via MatTrack snow coach back to Mammoth.  After all, it’s a mild morning and I need the exercise.  And so I proceeded.  Returning from the Obsidian Dining Room, I grabbed camera, gloves, boots, hat, and brand new Columbia Bugaboo ski parka, exterior made with Omni-Tech waterproof breathable fabric and lined with the latest in lightweight high-tech heat-holding synthetic fibers.  It’s all the rage and omni-present in all the product catalogs of sensible, smart winter gear.  When was the last time a goose down or poly fiberfill winter jacket was marketed in North America?  Or for that matter, when was the last time a winter jacket was made in North America?  But that’s a different topic… and it’s not the discussion here.

So, layered, protected by the best available technology, and eager to burn calories, I left the room, walked to the wood plastic composite (WPC) composite decking boardwalk that arches around Old Faithful (take a peek:  Old Faithful Live), and then proceeded north along the snowpack-covered asphalt path that runs along the Upper Geyser Basin towards Biscuit Basin.  I became aware that no one else was within sight.  Not a single walker or skier.  And I noticed that the wind gusts were quite sharp and biting.  I felt very unpleasant.  And so I decided that there was no reason to re-live the experiences of Robert Peary at the North Pole or Earnest Shackleton in Antarctica.  To call the temperature 25^o is a cruel, deceptive lie.  The wind chill made it 10^o below zero.  I figured that my long walk yesterday was enough, so I turned back for the safety of my little room.  Yesterday morning I had walked about six miles, starting from the Old Faithful Visitor Center, on past Morning Glory Pool, up to Biscuit Basin, and then back to my room via the road used by snow coaches and snowmobiles.  Many coaches and groups of snowmobilers had sped past me, and one even stopped to see if I needed a ride.  I was tempted to accept but it was not bitterly cold, the walking still felt good, and I reminded myself of the many calories I still needed to burn, so I declined. 

So.  (For some unknown reason I imagine this “So” delivered by a gowned Betty Davis in a 1930’s film as she takes the cigarette holder away from her mouth and blows a sharp stream of poisonous smoke through her lips, while her eyes flash as only Betty Davis eyes can).  So, where does that leave us?  It leaves me here in my warm, windless motel-like rom in the Old Faithful area, still rosy-cheeked, writing away at this post for my blog, drinking delicious coffee made by that marvelous little invention, the Keurig machine.  And you?  No doubt comfy in your PJ’s, enjoying your favorite beverage while you work on your computer screen tan.

Life here and now--what a long strange journey this has been

It's early Thursday morning and 10 degrees (above), much more welcome and warm than it was yesterday when I woke up.  14 below was the temp outside my little monkish room then, and as I turned on the shower, it spurted out some water and stopped frozen in its tracks for a few moments, as were the taps in the kitchen.  Patience with their measly little trickles of icy water soon did the trick, and so I was able to start the day clean with hot running shower water and braced with strong homebrewed Starbucks.  So today will seem like a heat wave,... in fact the temps today and tomorrow are forecasted for Gardiner, MT to be just above freezing.  Quite tropical....  I like it.

 

I have an eight mile commute daily to Gardiner from the Upper Mammoth terraces where I live in the Utah Dorm.  I like being away from what I like to describe as "the greater Mammoth metro area."  I'm at the edge of a little cluster of mobile homes, apartments, and a few NPS storage and warehouse buildings, half a mile off the road that runs from Mammoth down to Norris and beyond.  Just south of here, that road ends for car traffic, and the only way to continue is via snowcoach, snowmobile, etc.  I travelled with a group of Xanterra and NPS employees on a Xanterra snowcoach last Sunday down that road, and soon after we were on the snowpack, we saw the remains of a bloody killing.  The Indian Creek wolf pack had downed an elk, whose blood was dramatically spread across the snow, with body remains scattered in the woods beside the road. 

 

The daily commute takes me through the heart of Mammoth, past the U.S. Post Office with the two concrete bears standing guard by the entrance, on north where the road runs above the Gardner River canyon and then finally through the Roosevelt Arch (take a look! http://65.121.113.114:8080) and then I can see the NPS Heritage and Research Center where I volunteer (http://www.nps.gov/yell/historyculture/collections.htm  http://www.yellowstone-notebook.com/heritagecenter.html).  The major dangers along that winding road are animals wandering along it, slipping on icy surfaces into the canyon, and head-on crashes with drivers paying more attention to scenery or cell phones than to driving.  I plan for about a thirty minute commute from walking out the Utah Dorm door to arriving at the HRC.  And that doesn't take into account slowdowns that might happen like being stuck behind a maintenance truck scattering gravel for traction on the ice or, like yesterday, a coyote trotting along the center line of the road, blood spread across his chin and breast from a breakfast kill.  Animals, I've quickly learned, LOVE the roadways we build and keep clear for them in winter.  It's much easier and takes far less precious energy to navigate on packed snow than trying to move through deep dry powder snow.  I found this out over the weekend when I tried walking on top of some deep powder snow--I sunk up to my waist and floundered about until I crawled back to firm snowpack on all fours.  Not a pretty picture but definitely easier....  Now, imagine yourself to be a bison attempting to move through some deep snow.  It ain't pretty....

 

So what is it like to be here?  I feel as happy as a pig in shit.  Yes, it's cold, dark, and lonely.  On the other hand, most of the folks I've met are warm, bright, and congenial.  And more than a few of them are like me in that they are outcasts, refugees, dreamers, on the run, and marching to a drumbeat only they can hear.  "Where are you from?" is the most frequent question asked.  Yes, it is inconvenient to live here, and most of those who live here do so because the inconveniences of life in greater Yellowstone are far out shadowed by the terrible, inhumane, life-draining, complexities of an existence gone crazy on "the outside."  I use that term "outside" deliberately.  It's a word used primarily by Alaskans to refer to the other 49 states.  I've been in Alaska (though in the heart of summer) and can appreciate that concept of "the outside."  Life here is much simpler, focuses more on the here and now, and is tempered by the breathtaking scenery that surrounds one with scintillation throughout every day and night.  Here and now in Yellowstone, one can more easily forget about stock markets, relatives, problems, past, future, ageing, love, happiness, religion, and what the rest of the world thinks of one.  One is never out of fashion in Yellowstone.  Or inappropriate.  Or rejected.  Or even lonely.  For though the connections with other humans may be few, those that are, they are stronger and more meaningful, they are more cherished and at the same time felt more as a bestowing of grace. 

 

Everyone knows each other here, or knows "of" each other.  Many times it's by first name only.  "Oh, yes, Allison, she's the one with red hair."  And no one brings shame or their history to Yellowstone.  One is free to reinvent themselves.  How inviting.  I think I might just become someone else while I'm here, someone not exactly as complicated or multi-faceted as Paul Duckworth, someone simply known as "Duck."  No one really knows anybody here... I think there might be some song lyrics embedded in that...  And yet... and yet... the perspective changes for the longtime locals, as well as for the NPS transplants who find themselves landing here in the midst of their life-career journey.  It changes for the divorced father with kids a thousand miles away and for the housewife of an NPS employee who homeschools her three kids and shuttles them about, dodging elk, listening to complaints from children who don't appreciate the gift of growing up at Mammoth.  The stories go on and on and repeat themselves endlessly with different names, different accents, and different perspectives.  What is the same, common bond is that we each of us had different names and lives before we came here.

 

So, enough for now.  I suddenly think of Jerry Garcia's oft repeated-quote "What a long strange journey this has been."  And it continues.  May it continue long and sweet until it no longer holds any speck of interest.

 

 

    Paul

Canyon via snowcoach

This past Sunday, I was lucky enough to be able to go on a Park employee outing to the Canyon area.  Twelve of us crammed into a Xanterra snowcoach and departed the Mammoth area at 8:00 a.m.  Here is a little of what we experienced....

Off to Canyon

Canyon Visitor Center

Luxury snowcoach



Group at Lower Falls





At Lower Falls (just to my left, your right)

 

My golden snowshoes



Look, I'm in the Hayden Valley in February, cool, eh?



Tired but happy, on the bumpy way back to Mammoth

Lamar Valley in Winter

In Summer, the Lamar Valley of Yellowstone is a refuge from the crowds of cars and crazed tourists seeking their quick sighting of ____ (fill in the blank with bear, bison, elk, geyser, etc).  In Winter by contrast it is the only driveable stretch of road in the park, once one leaves the Mammoth metro area.  The remainder of the Park's roads are not plowed and can only be travelled via snowcoach or snowmobile. 

Here are some pix from my drive through Lamar last Friday afternoon.  Enjoy.


Electric Peak Early Morning--ok so this isn't in Lamar
but I pass this view every morning when I drive
from upper Mammoth to the HRC in Gardiner



OK, on to Lamar...

It is still a wondrous winter world

Let me assure you Yellowstone remains a beauti-ous place, despite impending bison executions...  <click here for delight>    

Bad day in the park for Bison

One of the treasured responsibilities for Yellowstone and its rangers is to give refuge to the bison, yes?  Maybe not so....  A planned slaughter is in the works, postponed only by the voices of concerned people, organizations, and a federal judge's injunction.  Read more here:  Bison slaughter on hold as park reviews lawsuit  and Plan to slaughter stray Yellowstone bison ignites furor . 

When Bison experience a hard winter (cold, deep snow, diminished food supplies), they begin to move to lower elevations north of the Park.  North of the Park is right where I'm sitting at this moment, in the Cowboy's Lodge & Grill on 2nd Street in Gardiner, MT.  Good Moose Drool beer, great pulled pork barbeque, and scrumptious sweet potato fries.  And, thanks to the Cowboy's wi-fi, I can write and post on this fine afternoon from the comfort of my table, while sipping another slobbering brown ale moose.  Not bad, eh?

Good for me, not so nice for 'dem buff'lo.  When I first approached the Park last Saturday afternoon (came down south from Livingston on Hwy 89 and passed through Gardiner) I was amazed to see an assemblage of bison and elk grazing, frolicking, foraging and roaming the streets and yards of this little community whose life-blood is the Park's tourists.  "How cool," I thought.  And it is.  But then, over the past few days here, I have noticed how the elk and bison many times use the roadways as their own paths for navigating their days, which most frequently in winter's heart are focused on sur-VIE-vul.  "Where is the grocery store for the wildlife?"  Covered by snow.  Look at this bison digging under the snow to graze  <click>

Yesterday I ventured out from the greater Mammoth area into the one part of the Park where the roads are plowed and people can drive--the Lamar Valley.  The further I got from Mammoth, the deeper became the snow cover, and the more wild and stark the landscape.  White, grey, black is the backdrop:  mountain-weed-snowcoveredlandscape, sky-tree-snowfall is awlllll the eye can take in.  For ever.  And ever.  Without end, save for the mist-clouds of the distant snowfall.  Amen.  And sharing the ice-covered blacktop road with Lucille (my car) and me were elk, bison, and a pair of opportunistic coyotes who looked up plaintively to Lucille's windows and asked if I would like to help them find their next meal.  [bison photos coming soon to these pages--promise]

I'm here--news coming soon

I've been here in Yellowstone for almost a week now.  Internet access and time in front of my laptop are both rare right now, but I'll have news to post soon, along with a pix or two.  I'm going to stop by to see the Bison at Stevens Creek ranch today or tomorrow that are going to be shot.  Will send you a link to news about that.

It's a balmy 27 above here, shirtsleeve weather after the 17 below for past two nights.