The unexpected

For the past few days we have watched a bighorn ram at the end of his life.  Isaac first noticed him a couple miles upstream when he was returning from a camera walk.  He noted the strangeness of finding a sheep down in the brushy riparian area of the river bottom, and as he watched, noticed that the ram did not seem well.  He was thin and somewhat weak looking, and had a bit of a runny nose and a cough that racked his sides.  The ram was searching out mineral licks, and Isaac filmed from only a couple dozen feet away as he licked the dirt, craving something his body badly needed.

Two days age we again spotted him, this time just across the river from Taylor Ranch.  He was walking slowly down river, and ended up bedding right on the trail just fifty yards downstream from the Taylor Ranch bridge.  We kept an eye on him all day, skirting wide around him when we went hiking down the trail. Sometime in the evening, the ram moved off the trail, picking his way even closer to the river on the steep and high riverbank that carves its way around the corner.  He was within twenty yards of the bridge, just standing, when we noticed the length of his hooves.  All four feet where extremely overgrown, and there was some thickening to his right front leg, and he looked more emaciated even than he had only days before.  But although he bedded frequently, and coughed with a vengence, he surprised us by mustering the strength to climb the steep bank again just before dark.  He bedded at the top, and we weren’t sure we would find him in the morning.

Morning light had us walking up and down stream, searching the riverbanks and the hills beyond, listening for birds and watching tracks.  Coyotes had been around, their prints leading both directions on the trail, and milling around the spot where he had been bedded the night before.  Just about the time we were thinking we wouldn’t find him, and that he had most likely moved off downriver and probably had days or even weeks still ahead of him, we found him.   He was only feet from the end of the bridge, and we had walked right by his camouflaged body.  The pair of coyotes had gotten him at some point during the night, and he had fallen back down the bank he had climbed only the night before, to wedge behind the bare fingers of a large willow bush.  We were surprised at how little was left, and figured the coyotes must be curled up somewhere, with distended bellies and well fed dreams.  All the better for the ram, who had been uncomfortably hard to watch even the day before.  In a way it was surprising he had lasted so long, in a place filled with hungry predators that seemed always looking for a weakened animal, an easier catch.  How had this animal made it so long in his state?  Clearly, this had been going on for a long time, judging by the length of his hooves and the shape of his body.  It’s a funny world, and just when you think something must be one way, it goes the other.  I guess there are no musts or definites or for sures… no iron rule that permits things to happen in only one way. 

 

Our wilderness...(?)

Why are humans so darn possessive?  Isaac and I have both noticed this feeling gradually creeping into our wilderness perspective.  About a week ago we heard a small plane come buzzing up the canyon, low and slow as if either looking for something or preparing to land. We immediately speculated that it was headed for Cabin creek, and potentially contained cat hunters. 

The feeling crept into both of our minds, gripping our consciences with persistent fingers.  What were they doing here?  Why were these people flying into our canyon?  Our canyon.  It’s fairly laughable.

Talking about it with Jim and Holly later, they wore knowing smiles and we all mused at how quickly it can happen.  It doesn’t take long for the mind to begin thinking along the lines of this is our place, why are you coming in now?  We don't want to share our canyon during these special quiet months of winter.  Not with anyone else, at least anyone else of the bi-pedal variety.  Jim and Holly knew exactly what we were talking about, and we tried to imagine to what degree they felt that same thing, having spent nearly 25 years in this place, watching people come and go.  Spending mostly quiet winters watching the flux of hunters ebb and flow.  

To film or not to film...

      I’ve been having this dilemma for some time now, maybe even since the beginning of this project.  But recently, some events seem to have brought it into sharp focus, and it’s on my mind so I thought I’d write it out a little bit.

Most recently it happened with the mountain lion that I saw (and we were not able to film) and even more recently with the wolf kill that we watched (and were able to film).  Both of these things were events that we only dreamed of actually getting to watch while out here in the wilderness.  Yes, they go on all the time.  Mountain lions abound, and wolves eat regularly.  And while we see tracks of big cats, and the remains of wolf meals (they are very thorough, so all that remains is usually a pelt and a stain, and maybe a hoof or two), we had yet to see the actual animal, or event respectively. 

I saw the mountain lion almost three weeks ago now.  And although I feel somewhat selfish saying this, I’m glad I had no camera with me.  It was one of those moments that whizzes by in a flash of heart pounding, jaw-on-the-ground, disbelief, and when its over you feel like an ecstatic Gumby, able to do multiple flips and contortions, and in my case, fly back down the mountain without your feet ever touching the ground, because you are so excited.  And where was I running?  None other than straight back to get Isaac and the camera, to film.  Because that’s what we’re out here to do.  We’re trying to film everything we see, hear, and experience.  We’re trying to end up with something to show that perhaps people may not otherwise get to experience themselves, in person.  We feel like this area, this wilderness, is something special enough that it deserves some extra attention and awareness.  We’re…. we’re… yes, I am struggling for words to complete that sentence, the sentence that explains what we are actually doing.  But we feel there is something worth sharing, and although we may not quite be able to put our finger on it in a sentence or two, perhaps in a film, in a year of experiences, we can relay a feeling, even the slightest wisp of a flavor of the place, and that would be enough.

But in that moment when I rounded the corner with the dog trotting in happy zig-zags by my side, and saw that tawny body leap off the bighorn ewe carcass, in that moment when adrenaline swept through me and I grabbed Kea around the chest and we both sank to our knees and watched as the mountain lion picked its graceful way up the scree slope, in that moment a camera was the last thing on my mind.  And even if I had one with me, I just don’t know how you would begin to capture that feeling of complete awe, respect, and magic that has allowed you even the tiniest glimpse of a rare sight.  And (again, selfishly) I feel like it should be a rare sight, and not one that gets shown on a screen.

Ok, so do I sound confused?  Well than good, I am confused.  I’m just trying to explain how I am feeling about the whole thing.  And while I can see both sides, and can argue and convince myself of either side at different times, it is a constant struggle to figure out what I really believe as to what to film and what not to film.  In all honesty, what it really comes down to is that we film whatever we have the chance to, and that if I had had a camera with me that day, you can be sure I would have been scrambling to film the mountain lion.  That’s the reality.  This mental battle is an indulgence allowed only after the fact.

Just over a week ago we watched a wolf kill, something else that we never really believed we’d actually see while out here.  Actually, Isaac and the camera saw it, while I again sat clutching the dog who had only moments before tried to get herself eaten by chasing a wolf we bumped into on the trail while walking home.  But Isaac was in just the right spot at the right time, and watched eight wolves pull a deer out of the icy river (which presumably they had chased into the river in the first place) and devour the entire thing in thirty-five minutes.  I am honestly glad he had the camera with him, and was in the right spot to catch the whole thing as it happened.  So what’s the difference?  I have no idea, and I guess I don’t hope to figure it out.  But that is all part of what keeps us on our toes, what keeps us thinking about what we are doing out here, and what keeps it all interesting and exciting.

visitors!

This is my first blog at the new site.  I hope it works better for everyone, it certainly is easier on my end.  It had gotten to the point where I couldn’t upload anything, and the blog was gone, vanished into cyberspace, to some obscure galaxy where no one could retrieve it.  It was time to make a change. 

 

            For the last week or so we have had the most wonderful company out here in the wilderness!  Isaac’s mom, my mom, and my youngest sister were all out here visiting.  I know I had a blast, and hope everyone else did as well.  The week included some interesting (and quite adventurous) flying to get out here.  I commend all participants for being of strong spirit…  The weather was a little prickly for both flying days, the coming and the going.  Everyone showed up with a smile, and looks of sheer exhiliration, although perhaps slightly wobbly legs. 

            The time was spend hiking in all directions. Seeking views when the days brought clear weather, and staying in the river canyon when it didn’t.  We persuaded the horses and mules to take us riding up and down river.  We listened to the wolves serenade us from just across the river one night, and found their fresh-caught dinner the next day while hiking (a mule deer).  We sauntered past a large herd of Bighorn sheep up high on the benches, and quickened our saunter when one large ram began to follow us with a particularly determined look in his eye.  We clambered high onto the ridge to catch an incredible view (and I scared the bejeezus out of myself, remembering just how steep it gets up there, and wondered how we were ever going to get back down, but I’m pretty sure my guests did better than I did).  We spent relaxed and lazy mornings in the warm cabin, knitting and visiting and talking about wilderness.

Basically, Isaac and I got to remember what an amazing place this is, just by watching people see it with new eyes.  It really was refreshing and a wonderful visit.  Thank you all!  

Big cat

Well, we can call the whole project off now: I saw the one thing I really really wanted to see while out here in the wilderness!  Just kidding…about calling it off anyhow.

I really badly wanted to see a mountain lion.  They just seem so wild, and wily, and mysterious, and regal, and independent, and beautiful, and strong, and…and so darn reclusive.  We have seen many cat tracks out here, and followed them along trails in the dust, and in the snow.  We have heard stories, and seen places that look so, well, cat-like that you just have to imagine a big cat must be watching from somewhere just over the ledge where you can’t see it, but it can certainly see you.  But we had not yet seen hide or hair of the real thing.

It was just a few  days ago, that I set out with Kea (the golden retriever we are companioning while caretaking at Taylor Ranch) for a good old energy-burning hike up the steep benches to our north.  We had lofty goals of reaching the high ridge beyond in quick time, and gazing out over the wide view you have from way up there, while burning a few extra amps of energy on the steep miles to get there.  We set out full of conviction and scampered along the trail (or more realistically: scampered, huffed-and-puffed, wheezed, scampered some more, played rounds of tag and keep-away, panted…) until we got just beyond the first bench.  We were rounding the corner to the steep gully into the second bench when motion caught both our eyes.  A bald eagle flapped close and large out of the gully, and we were both distracted by the graceful flight of the huge bird as it flew by on our level, about 20 yards away, before noticing a second flash of movement.  This time it was the tawny and sinuous body of a mountain lion as it leap off of something in the grass about 100 yards away and bounded towards a scree slope.  Not quite grasping what I was seeing, I grabbed Kea with a firm arm around her chest and we both sank to our haunches to watch.  I breathed “cougar!” and could hardly believe my eyes as the cat reappeared from behind a clump of trees, picking its graceful way up the scree with the dignity and agility only a cat could possess.  

We watched until it was out of sight, and then wheeled around and churned back down the trail, leaping over rocks and running pellmell all the way back to the cabin where we grabbed Isaac and he grabbed the camera, and we all (more quietly now, and without Kea) retraced our steps back up the mountain where we staked out our blind and watched and waited to see if the cat would return.  It turns out it had a freshly caught bighorn ewe it had been eating, and though it never did return for the rest of the feast, we were able to film several coyotes, some eagles, and many entertaining ravens and magpies.  We spent the rest of that afternoon into evening, and the next morning watching, and waiting.