Monthly Archives: August 2013

Wolf Prince

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White wolves have always seemed very aristocratic to me. They’re like the beautiful people of the animal world. Regal and aloof but not haughty, self-possessed but not arrogant, courageous and intelligent and very aware of their place in the world.

These guys have been around for a long time, some say as long as two million years. Think of the epic dynasties that have formed, rising to great heights and then fading away to be replaced by even greater ones, and the stories that could be told if only you spoke wolf. Rosetta stone needs to offer a course in high wolfish because we need to hear about the wolves history, its heroes and their villains too. There must have been monumental leaders, wolves who made decisions that changed wolf history forever. Perhaps the King who led his band out of the forest and onto the snow that very first time because the endless enormity of the snow fields satisfied his desire to see forever, and to be able to run for days with nothing to slow then down but the beating of their hearts and the limitations of their lungs. No caribou, no matter how far away, would be safe. They would feast if it took three days to run it down.

This is a society where there is very little democratic about it. You have a King and a Queen and they run the show with a combination of benevolence and savage decisiveness that is unassailable until eventually they are replaced by a younger, stronger and hopefully smarter wolf that is always waiting on the sidelines. In the meantime the current monarchs control the day’s activities with an iron paw and their howl is law. Young princes must wait their turn and watch and learn for soon it may be them leading the pack.

This is a captive wolf and he and his pack-mates live in an enclosure rather than run free. They are treated well and there are legitimate reasons for their captivity that unfortunately do not permit them their freedom. But their current living conditions do not change their makeup. They are still royalty and the genes that make them white wolves still give them the characteristics that make them a splendor to behold.

Didn’t Work Out

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Lots of dreams came into the high country. Some were realistic while others were utter follies. This one had promise. If things didn’t work out it wasn’t because of lack of effort. Lots and lots of labor, not to mention expense, went into making this a paying proposition and maybe it was for a while. The workmanship was excellent, there was water nearby and the location was chosen with the idea that their whole livelihood and maybe even their life here, depended on it. But the high country can be a terrible mistress.

Many things could have happened to cause this going concern to slowly fade away. There were years when tanned bearded men with hand swung scythes slowly moved through the tall grass meadows, the rhythms and constancy of their labor producing wide swatches of new cut hay. Then there were years when those same men stood looking out into parched fields where the grass barely came up to their ankles, wondering if they would have to sell the herd because they couldn’t feed them that winter. Drought cares little for dreams.

Some times small pox or some other undetermined but deadly cough came roaring thru the valleys in a black terrible wave, robbing the families of their future. The families were big, they needed lots of kids to grow up strong and help work the land and when they were taken too soon so was hope. But that was life. These people were hardy, they were strong and they did not give up easily. Always the land called for its due and they provided it, or they didn’t make it. Up here failure was not caused by lack of fortitude, but sometimes fortitude wasn’t enough and hard decisions had to be made. There was no shame when the country defeated you only sorrow that perhaps that extra spark of luck wasn’t there when you needed it most.

As we pass by today and see this testament to the strength, grit and determination of these early settlers we only see the outside of their story. The slowly crumbling buildings, the fences down, the hay uncut. It is easy to dismiss this small set of buildings as just another scenic element, but people lived and loved and worked here. They gave it their lives and we can only imagine what their stories truly were. For some of them it didn’t work out, but their efforts and their lives were not wasted. This land is filled with stories of those that did make it and prospered and helped us become what we are today. Their unrecorded memories are treasures to be discovered and cherished and perhaps the next time we pass one of these forgotten dreams we can stop for a moment and celebrate their lives. Maybe they will some how know and get some comfort that they’re not forgotten.

Sittin’ Here In La La Waitin’ for My …

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It isn’t often that we’re allowed a rare glimpse into the private lives of the inhabitants of Yellowstone. But that’s the case this morning as we see Rosie, a single mom, taking a few moments to herself. The kids are up a tree, they’ve been fed, and this opportunity to stop and take stock of her life comes all too infrequently. She thinks about the dreams she had as a young bear when anything was possible and she thinks about how full her life has been with two cubs every two years as regular as clockwork. She was a victim of her own biology but it was a choice she willing made at the time. But sometimes she wonders if there wasn’t more to life than she received.

At times like this she sometimes feels that there is something missing. Always in the back of her mind is the thought of Big Red, the bear that has had sired so many of her cubs. She wishes he were around more instead of the visits he pays her every other year, but she also knows that isn’t realistic. They fight, she has to constantly be on guard when he’s around the kids as he is a stern father given to moments of unexpected rage. And of course there is that wandering eye of his, but she misses him, sometimes. Like now.

The kids are wrestling up in the tree and the smaller one is squalling, scared he’s going to fall. She woofs once quietly and they cease their constant bickering. They’ll be down soon, hungry, and she’ll be nursing them until its time to feed herself and then it starts all over again. These moments come too infrequently and she cherishes her time alone. These are first year cubs so she won’t see Red for another year and a half. But there’s plenty to do, twins are a pawfull.

Busted

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Many visitors to Yellowstone National Park do not realize that there are only about 152 elk who actually live in the park full-time. I know, that’s not many, but facts is facts. They also don’t know that there are approximately a hundred million, million visitors that come to the park each year. And every single one of them, those visitors, regardless of where they’re from or how goofy their clothes are, all want to see an elk, or maybe even two or three. (Note to People: Dress up people, wear some decent clothes, what do you thing this is WalMart? Nobody wears tie-dyed shorts anymore)  So if we do the math that’s approximately one elk for every eleven million people. And since those visitors do not tend to stay in one place for very long, especially since they’re in those big busses and those drivers have schedules to keep, they’re moved around a bunch. Now Yellowstone is a big place. I’d say it’s somewhere between Rhode Island and Texas in size, no one has ever actually measured it so we have to guess some at how big it really is, but its big. You can’t walk across it in a day.

So here’s the dilemma. Big park, many visitors, few elk. How are you going to make sure that everybody gets to see one or maybe two or three. This is where it gets good. They use computers, big honking ones that they got second-hand from a college, called Cray Computers. They were the biggest, fastest, most braggable computers somebody could have. We had one in our town and I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s where the Yellowstone people got theirs, from us when we trashed-canned it because the new iPhone had more power when it came out. Ours did amazing stuff and one of our biggest claim to fame was using our super computer to time the traffic lights right here on College Ave. You could drive from one end of College to the other at sixty miles an hour and never hit a light. That was very cool.

The elk however are not very computer savvy. Let’s take a moment, Savvy, there’s a word you don’t hear very much any more, who would use the word savvy now a days, let’s use it a sentence shall we. “You must be pretty computer savvy.” Nope doesn’t work. But back to the problem at hand, elk not being computer savvy. What the park service did and this is genius, is put each elk on a schedule, where they worked a 12 hour shift and where in the park they did that shift. Brilliant. One day it would be on the Madison river just up from seven mile bridge, the next day it would be up in the parking lot at Mammoth, and then they could pull a shift over in the Lamar valley or up on the Yellowstone in the Hayden. Lots of moving around, lots of exposure, and most importantly lots of face time with the tourists.

But, and its big one, here’s the fly in the tapioca, Elk don’t like schedules, and they get sick and tired of tourists and they flat-out refuse to pull their load sometimes. So they hide. This plays havoc with the IT boys because it really screws up everything. Their carefully worked out programs get all over wonky of a sudden, the bus schedules get out of whack, the transport system used to haul the elk around to their various duty stations breaks down, you didn’t think the elk walked to those places did you? Do you know how far it is from the Northeast end of the Lamar to the Madison? Well its far. It is just a big mess. So out go the rangers to find the mutineers and get them back on the program.

Well, elk are clever but not very smart. These two in the photo above have hidden themselves by squatting, well I guess lying down would be a better choice of words, in the tall grass so that they couldn’t be found. Unfortunately the mental genius of the two left his great big obvious antlers sticking three feet into the air kind of negating the whole hiding thing. They always act so surprised when the rangers find them, like, “Whoa man, how did you find me? I was totally hidden dude. What, do you like have x-ray vision or something.” and then they’re put on the truck and its off to the Norris campground or somewhere where the next bus is due.

It is a flawed system for sure but it is the only one they’ve got and so they make the best of it. It’s not so bad for the elk, once they’ve dodged the wolf packs, they get to eat all day if they want, they get their antlers buffed so they make for better photo ops, the ones who don’t miss a shift or are never tardy get to choose where they want to winter in the off-season. All in all it could be worse. So our tip for you our loyal readers is if you want to see elk in Yellowstone, you’ve got to slip one of the IT guys a fiver and he’ll give you a copy of the next days schedule.Then you can be there before the next tour bus pulls up and have as much as a half an hour or so with the elk all to yourself. Groovy right? The guy I talk to is Brad, tell him I sent you.

Heading Sideways

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If you’re a migratory bird and you’re in-between migrations what do you do. If you just sit around on the lake and eat goose bon-bons all day you’re just going to get so fat you won’t be able to haul your big butt out of the water. If you don’t flap your wings about a thousand times a day how are you going to be in shape to make it to Argentina or L.A. or where ever you’re supposed to go. These are some serious questions you need to be asking yourself before everybody else is leaving and you’re left behind honking in the bullrushes all by yourself.

These Canada geese are pretty fortunate to be summering in one of the most healthy, disgustingly fit places in the Nation. We got joggers, cyclists, runners, high-speed goofy looking walkers, canoeists, rafters, pool players, orthodontists, horseback riders, marathon doers, people who cheer other people doing stuff, and speed-readers. You can’t swing a Do-Do bird around here with out smacking somebody doing something healthy and fit making. With all that do goodyness happening it’s bound to rub off on everything and everybody and these geese are no exception.

Everyday about the crack of ten they’re up and flying laps around the lake. They put on about 60 miles then nip down to one of our healthy but expensive restaurants and have a nice big plate of eggs. Wait, not eggs, I wrote that before I thought about it, A nice big plate of greens, that’s what I meant. Healthy greens, fresh from Whole Greens, our local high-end greens provider. It’s where all the trendy geese shop and freshness is guaranteed. Then its back to the lake and another 60 miles.

Today there was only this pair making the circuit. Its unknown where the others were. Normally this place looks like an airborne roller derby so something must be happening. Maybe there’s a sale someplace. I saw one of the big boxes had a sale on GPS stuff which could come in handy for the fall trip. Little chic looking unit you can wear around your neck, numbers light up so you can see them in the dark. The rest better get back to it here pretty quick, it’s already August and fall is just around the corner. They don’t want to miss the ‘Day of The Goose’ festival down there in South America.

Cycles

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When you stop and look at things like this cottonwood tree for instance, if you’re paying attention to how things work you’ll notice that this tree is just going to sleep. Its early fall, the summer has been long and hot and filled with blistering days and sudden thunderstorms with wind that threatened to tear off it’s very branches. There was lightning that struck close by but spared it and nearby fires that were the most dangerous thing of all. But through it all it has stood fast.  Now it gets to sleep for its long night. This tree marches to a different drummer, with its night lasting for months before it begins to wake for it’s equally long day. It’s waking and slumbering schedule is incredibly slow as we see things with its days and nights lasting six months each. Do trees live to be as old as they get because they measure time differently than we do?

When this shot was taken it is about 6:00pm in early November on our schedule, the sun is setting and soon our day will be over. The difference is in ten or twelve hours we ‘ll be back at it again while the tree slowly slumbers on. The wheels of time spin at different rates for everything in our existence. To the tree our days and nights must seem like the gentle blinking of the sun, if trees notice it at all, while to us the trees slow cycle can appear to be a form of death or least a sleep so deep it seems that way.

One of the irreplaceable benefits and joys of being a photographer is the ability to document life as we travel though it. To be able to visibly chronicle the passages that affect everything about us and then have the ability to travel back and forth between the changes is a form of magic. To re-experience these events by viewing these frozen moments in time, gives us and all who view the images, the ability to make some sense of our lives. To some degree anyway. It doesn’t answer all the questions but some answers are better than none. In about six months the tree wakes up again and we can ask it more then. If we’re polite and pay attention it should share.

Butterfliticus Blackii

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Those of you who are long time readers of our blog know by now that we here at IRK are interested in documenting, cataloging and identifying every form of wildlife we come across. This includes but is not limited to, butterflies. Butterflies are a type of insect, which is a part of a higher order of things such as elephants, emus, cantaloupes, and fish which is also known as the Animal Kingdom, so it falls under our auspices as allowable research. We don’t care if some know-it-all has already identified it and put their smarty-pants opinion out there as if he and/or she knows all about it and feels qualified to do so. We have even heard that there is a complete field of knowledge already in existence about butterflies. We don’t care. It has always been our creed to live and let live unless of course, they take an exception to what we know is absolutely the truth. Or perhaps more clearly what we think is the truth. Or even what we’ll accept as the truth whether we have any idea if it is or not. We’re flexible here. We have deadlines. Sometimes it’s just easier to go with it.

This butterfly, and I use the term with full confidence, was photographed in the Institutes wildlife garden which is part of our wildlife park, a gorgeous 8000 acre pristine wilderness unsullied by any kind of modern improvements, and conveniently located right outside our door. What luck, you may say, but no, we planned it. What the luck was, was that we were able to locate the Institute’s camera and get it turned on and ready to shoot before the miserable little creature decided to fly off. They do that. They take off just when you ready to shoot them and you’re left standing there holding the camera and looking like a dummy. That’s why we occasionally put super glue on some of the nicer looking flowers as it aids in keeping the insect there long enough so we can complete the photographic process. That’s just a little photographers trick to get pictures that look like something instead of a bunch of empty stems.

Due to the incredible amount of information that flows into our data banks on a daily basis we have developed a state of the art filing system. We have an entire library/pantry/paint storage room that is filled to bursting with things we know about. We’re talking lots of stuff. Our head information retrievel-ist, Edna, who is now in her 90’s but still feeble, is in charge of the whole thing. Unfortunately several months before this article went to press, Edna, bless her soul, left a window open during one of our frequent tornadoes and now we have 3×5 cards and post its scattered all over hell and back and it is a dog’s breakfast in there. It is a Chinese fire drill. You couldn’t find your butt with both hands behind you. Edna is at a loss as to how to deal with it as she spends most of her time napping now, at least we hope she’s napping. Note to self: Check Edna for vital signs.

One of our strong suits here at IRK is we’re nothing if not adaptable. Fortunately we have an intern/researcher/indentured servant who has stepped up and started to bring some kind of order to this problem. As she is one of our more trusted employees and has a background in reading, we know because her living unit is chock full of reading stuff, with People magazine and graphic novels and other techy kind of stuff all over the place, so we felt fully confident in giving her free rein. Unbeknownst to us, but luckily, she had purchased a book of Latin phrases with which she can puzzle out enough Latin kind of stuff to help us rename some of our creatures whose post it or 3×5 card was lost or maybe fell behind the compressor, we don’t know. Renaming this butterfly in time for the publishing deadline put a lot of pressure on Tonisha but she came through. This is one of her better efforts we believe, and we’re quite proud of our Latin-ist now and are considering her as a possible replacement for Edna should she be lacking in vital signs.

Butterfliticus Blackii has now been permanently added to our data base as we have since added a huge whiteboard and a lifetime supply of erasable pens so that nothing can happen to our priceless data or information as we call it here, in the future. Everyone on staff feels much better about the improvements. We have had to caution Tonisha about wearing those big hairy sweaters and rubbing up against the whiteboard. We don’t understand at this point why she needs to rub up against everything but I’m sure it will work out in the future. Butterfliticus Blackii, write it down, you’ll be hearing it again. Oh, and as near as we can figure out it means black butterfly with yellow stuff on its wings, Cool huh?