"Of all these passers-though, the species that means the most to me, even more than geese and cranes, is the upland plover, the drab plump grassland bird that used to remind my gentle hunting uncle of the way things once had been, as it still reminds me. It flies from the far northern prairies to the pampas of Argentina and then back again in the spring, a miracle of navigation and a tremendous journey for six or eight ounces of flesh and feathers and entrails and hollow bones, fueled with bug meat. I see them sometimes in our pastures,standing still or dashing after prey in the grass, but mainly I know their presence through the mournful yet eager quivering whistles they cast down from the night sky in passing, and it always makes me think what the whistling must have been like when the American plains were virgin and their plover came through in millions."
Our last pack trip of this summer season, was a 5-day, 4-night trip into the Bechler region of Yellowstone National Park. I was quite looking forward to it as I had not been on a Park trip yet this year... and what better place to see wildlife and experience nature than YNP? Touted for it's opportunities to view wildlife, catch wild trout, and generally immerse yourself in the past, it is the vacation destination for millions every year.
"To grow up among tradition-minded people leads one often into
backward yearnings and regrets, unprofitable feeling of which I was
granted my share in youth - not having been born in time to get killed
fighting Yankees, for one, or not having ridden up the cattle trails."
Rising ridiculously early on Tuesday a.m., (3:30.. ugh), we packed up food boxes, caught & saddled 15 horses & mules, loaded up & headed out. A 3.5 hour drive south, brought us to the entry, west of Ashton ID. We unloaded the stock from the trailers & then got all our gear loaded up on them, the guests on the horses & started into the Park. Six guests, all men (mostly retirement age or older except for the son of one of the guys), Tim, Jeff and me.. Yes, I was the only woman in a group of 9 people.
"But the only such regret that has strongly endured is to not have known the land when it was whole and sprawling and rich and fresh, and the plover that whet one's edge every spring and every fall."
Our first night was spent on Mountain Ash creek. The Park actually requires that you sign up for your campsites ahead of time, and as stock users, we must use the sites assigned for horses. It was a fairly nice location although the guests were disappointed in the fishing as they had very little luck. And, Tim had forgotten the wire for the portable electric fence so we didn't have a good way to enclose the mares. (Info note here: This method is actually a somewhat old-school way of containing stock. The idea is that you have only one or two mares and the rest of the herd, especially the mules but the geldings as well, will bond to those mares. So, as long as you have the mares, you have everyone else. If you can't restrain the mares, you may well lose your stock if they decide to go home or whatever). We tried using a rope corral and it worked for a bit till my mare, Jasmine, discovered that it was just rope.. not electric (her special gift is finding "holes" in pens.. whether it's opening gates, finding gates you've missed, etc.) And, one of the new geldings in the herd decided to leave one morning and took most of the rest with him (everyone except those that were caught for that days ride) so Jeff & Tim had to race down the trail to catch them... nearly a mile down trail!
We were, of course, hoping to see some wildlife - or at least some signs of such. Alas, no live animals, no scat, no prints... nothing. There were some old signs of bear activity in the camp, but nothing recent.
In recent decades it has become customary - and right, I guess,and easy enough with hindsight - to damn the ancestral frame of mind that ravaged the world so fully and so soon. What I myself seem to damn mainly, though, is just not having seen it.
On the third day, we moved camp from Mtn Ash Creek down closer the Beckler river. It was a cold & blustery day with some snow flurries. So, we were glad to get into camp & get set up. That night was bitter cold (it was 26 degrees when we got up at 7am). But, the next day was beautiful. I stayed in camp that day while everyone else took a ride up the trail to view the many falls & enjoy some of the natural hot springs in the area.
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| See the rainbow? |
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| Yes, it was that cold in the a.m., that the mist from the falls caused frost on the surrounding greenery |
That night in camp was beautiful, and several of our guests took advantage to go fishing. Jim, especially. was stylish!
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| The horses enjoying evening grazing |
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| Dinner around the camp fire |
Without any virtuous hindsight, I would likely have helped in the
ravaging as did even most of those who loved it best. But God, to have
viewed it entire, the soul and guts of what we had and gone forever now,
except in books and such poignant remnants as small swift birds that
journey to and from the distant Argentine and call at night in the
sky."
The fifth and final day, we packed up camp again & headed out to the trail head. We'd had a great time with mostly great weather and amazing vistas. But, in our final tally, STILL had not seen any wildlife. We did spot one set of moose tracks, found one clam, and spotted one duck. That's it.. in five full days of riding, fishing & camping in that area. Thanks Park Service for that wolf reintroduction... now the only place to see any large animals are in their new "natural habitat" - the green lawn around the buildings in Mammoth & West Yellowstone, where they are safe(er) from the wolves.
The ride out:
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| Accidentally took this picture, but like it so much I kept it! |
Final thoughts on our trip... how wonderful that we had leaders, when it counted, who were visionary enough to put into place things as majestic, crazy, amazing and enduring as our National Parks. How sad that we've allowed an un-ending series of knee-jerk decisions to heap consequences one upon the other until we are no longer able to see even a shadow of the greatness that once lay upon these mountains.
I was reading a series of essays by Rick Bass while in camp, and came across this quote he used in his book. The above excerpts were taken from that quote, which he used to introduce his 3rd & final essay in the book. The final two sentences resonated deeply with me. Are we each honest with ourselves & can we admit that we would likely have participated in the ravaging, many times BECAUSE we loved it so much? Rather than the commonly put forth notion that it was ignorance, greed and self-satisfaction that caused the ruin? All I can say, is to repeat John Graves' words: "God to have viewed it entire, the soul and guts of what we had and gone forever....."
(Here is the excerpt in it's entirety)
"Of all
these passers-though, the species that means the most to me, even more
than geese and cranes, is the upland plover, the drab plump grassland
bird that used to remind my gentle hunting uncle of the way things once
had been, as it still reminds me. It flies from the far northern
prairies to the pampas of Argentina and then back again in the spring, a
miracle of navigation and a tremendous journey for six or eight ounces
of flesh and feathers and entrails and hollow bones, fueled with bug
meat. I see them sometimes in our pastures,standing still or dashing
after prey in the grass, but mainly I know their presence through the
mournful yet eager quivering whistles they cast down from the night sky
in passing, and it always makes me think what the whistling must have
been like when the American plains were virgin and their plover came
through in millions.
To
grow up among tradition-minded people leads one often into backward
yearnings and regrets, unprofitable feeling of which I was granted my
share in youth - not having been born in time to get killed fighting
Yankees, for one, or not having ridden up the cattle trails. But the
only such regret that has strongly endured is to not have known the land
when it was whole and sprawling and rich and fresh, and the plover that
whet one's edge every spring and every fall. In recent decades it has
become customary - and right, I guess,and easy enough with hindsight -
to damn the ancestral frame of mind that ravaged the world so fully and
so soon. What I myself seem to damn mainly, though, is just not having
seen it. Without any virtuous hindsight, I would likely have helped in
the ravaging as did even most of those who loved it best. But God, to
have viewed it entire, the soul and guts of what we had and gone forever
now, except in books and such poignant remnants as small swift birds
that journey to and from the distant Argentine and call at night in the
sky."
- John Graves, Self-portrait with birds
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