Last One Standing

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It’s that time again. The time when everything changes. The mornings have that cool, ‘ I’m seriously thinking about snowing’ feel to them, the wind has a new bite that reminds you to check to see that you still fit into your down jacket, and of course there are those magnificent colors. The colors are just starting to change and with each new brilliant orange or red or yellow that occurs you see the ending of one season in preparation for the new one to come. The ending is bittersweet because of the beauty of what is passing, the season that seemed that it would never end as you drifted through the long summer, knowing change was coming, sure of its certainty, but denying the reality because summer was too glorious, but, end it will. As always there are a few who do not go quietly into that dark night, but the change is inevitable and as this season passes we can look forward to that new one we call spring, the one with all it’s fantastic opportunities, the one that is only a few snow storms away.

I Can See You, You Know

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Many of you loyal readers, and you know who you are, who have been following us for any length of time know that we here at the Institute often do top-secret work for the government as part of our charter. Various organizations come to us hat in hand, begging, threatening ,cajoling to have use of our facilities and the various programs and researchers that we have in the works at all times. Being primarily a wildlife and nature front, I mean, organization, our primary mission has always been to bring you new and old research, anything that will make us a buck, that will better your life and allow us to continue receiving those fat checks we get monthly.

Imagine our surprise when we learned that we were part of a clandestine program conducted by some super secret organization whose name can not be revealed but whose initials are NSA, to eavesdrop on the American public for God knows what purpose. We were shocked at the audacity of this program. Shocked right out of our BVD’s. How dare they? We’ve been accused by our critics of doing anything for money but even we have our limits. If it hadn’t been for that guy, what’s his name, the squealer who leaked all that secret stuff, Justin Arrange or whatever his name is, spilling his guts and naming us as one of the perps in this ongoing mess, we never would have found out about it.

Here’s the real deal. We had been studying the amazing ability that marmots, the golden ones not the hoarys, have in receiving, and now we’ve recently discovered in transmitting, the information broadcast in the C-band radio — radio in the 3.7-gigahertz (GHz) to 6.4-GHz frequency range and the digital broadcast in the Ku frequency range (11.7 GHz to 14.5 GHz ). In other words Television. Yup. TV. What we hadn’t put together yet was that also included computers and you know what that means, the Internet.

To break it down further into language that we can understand, not that geek-speak where you listen and nod your head sagely like you understand what that fool is talking about but you really don’t have a freaking clue, this means that marmots, beneath that cute fur and those stubby little ears, have the ability to spy on us and worse, tell everybody else what we’re doing. Think about that for a second. You’re sitting there in front of your computer in the morning and you accidentally slide your finger up into your nose, just for a second mind you, and somewhere probably close by, there is a marmot surveillance team monitoring your isp address and suddenly you’re going viral on YouTube. You don’t know, that’s what clandestine means, you’re sitting there with a red nostril oblivious to the fact that some one in Bolivia is squirting milk out of his nose watching you.

Well, we’re not having it. That program is going down, regardless of how much it costs us in grant money, we’ve cashed the check already anyway. There will be no more using our defenseless wildlife to spy on the American public. We have taken steps to counteract this program. They are harsh steps but we feel, necessary ones. The only way we have found to deactivate a trained marmot is to deactivate it permanently. It is no longer a case of a ‘Good Marmot is a Dead Marmot’ instead it is “A Dead Marmot is A Silent Marmot’. We’ve found that by Googling ‘marmot, the preparing of ‘ there are many recipes on the very net we are trying to protect and save, for the preparation and serving of freshly cooked marmot. I know, I know, but we have to do something, our reputation is at stake. Besides the staff kind of likes it, says it tastes like chicken or emu and it’s rich in vitamin C so we see it as a win-win situation. We save the country and cut our food costs at the same time.

The cost of this self-sacrificing action has been huge, costing us that grant that we had and basically prohibiting the chances of obtaining any more money at that trough, but due to the fact that we are constantly submitting new ones, grants that is, under different names, the chances of this being a permanent setback are few. These guys don’t talk to each other and since their marmot listening stations have been going dark lately at a hell of a clip, (we have a lot of staff to feed) they’re like a blind guy in a brassiere factory. They don’t have a clue. We’ve told them that we think the marmots have developed some kind of virus and unfortunately in attempting to discover a cure we’ve lost every patient on the operating table. So unless one of you guys decides to leak this info, you won’t will you, we’re home free. OK then, mum’s the word. And remember until we’ve made this country of ours free from the scourges of the nefarious plans of those who would violate our privacy, watch what you’re doing when you sit there, because somebody else is.

When Only One Will Do

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One of the little known off shoots of photography is the niche shooter. The person who dedicates his photo career to the specialized shooting of just one subject until it takes over his life to the point where he can only do one thing and that is photograph that obsession that has become his life’s work.

In this case, it is the photographer’s single-minded pursuit of the perfect berry, in fact not just the perfect berry, but the perfect red berry. Yes, in the beginning he may have started out shooting somewhat promiscuously, he was young and his vision unclear, and shooting all types and colors and shapes of berries allowed him to gather all the experience possible. But the hardships of berry shooting, the long nights spent curled up next to the berry plant so as to have the best light possible in the morning, the storms and danger from wild berry eating beasts of the forest snuffling around waiting to rob him of the perfect image by eating his subject, none of this deterred him from his passion.

Soon due to his constant efforts, his vision began to clear and the needed clarity brought direction and unfortunately, obsession. His other work suffered, his life outside of photography, what there was of it, fell away and he became an outcast, lost for months at a time, constantly searching for the elusive red berry that would complete his life. He spent many hours thinking, planning, dreaming of how to get the perfect shot. He went back to his mentor’s teaching, looking for that one clue that would allow him his success. He had studied under the noted, but terribly mad, Scottish berry photographer, Morgan Singleberry, who later was famously killed while trying to wrestle a perfect blue berry out of the mouth of a feeding grizzly, near a little village called Smoomiak on the edge of the Arctic circle in the late 50’s. There is a little bronze plaque placed where he died with the simple words “Hér liggur mállaus rass” which means “Here lies Dumb-Ass” in Inuit.

However his parting advice to our photographer still echoes in his mind after all these years. “Ye dinnae hav to shoot them all, laddie, when only one will do” and so his quest continues, year after year, alone, frightened, terrified actually, that he will die before his life’s work is done, looking for the perfect berry, no not just the perfect berry, the perfect red berry.

Skippy

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In an ongoing effort to showcase the incredible range of talent in Yellowstone National Park we would like to introduce you to Skippy the Wonder Buffalo. Skippy, shown here working out the choreography for this seasons presentation of “Oklahoma”, is the best known choreographer working in the park today. He has received rave reviews in the Yellowstone Gazette for his work in “Mame”, “West Yellowstone-side Story” and his biggest hit, in which he did double duty as lead choreographer and also took on Robert Preston’s role as the irascible musical instrument salesman ‘Professor’ Harold Hill in “The Music Man”, is still being talked about as the single greatest performance by a buffalo in a lead role in a park sponsored musical. River City will never be the same. Being a true performer he is always on stage and ready to put on a show. There isn’t a show tune that you can whistle, hum or play on your banjo that he can’t set his nimble hooves to tapping to and soon he is giving you an impromptu exhibition of his breathtaking dancing skills.

Born Francois Beeson to loving parents Eduardo and Maria Constanza y Beeson, (an incredible flamenco dancer in her own right) in a little corner of the Lamar valley near the confluence of Soda butte creek and the Lamar river, he had a short but troubled childhood. The family’s Basque heritage kept them from being totally accepted by the main herd and due to his constant wearing of his jaunty red beret and being different from the other youngsters in the Lamar herd his teen age years were difficult for him. He was often bullied by the other young bulls because he’d rather dance or lie quietly in the reeds next to the river listening to the melodies of the water cascading through the shallows, than engage in the rough sport of mock fighting and the locker room mentality of the buffalo wallow crowd. Often he could be found alone in some small meadow dancing to the sound of the wind in the aspen. Sadly he was dubbed Skippy, as a derisive nickname, by the others who thought he was a ‘little light in his hooves’ * so to speak, and didn’t understand his need to dance, dance, dance.

It wasn’t until his third year in his drama class at the prestigious Yellowstone Institute for the Arts that he found his true calling. On a whim he tried out for the part of the King in the amateur production of “The King and I” and discovered what he had been created for. He had been born to dance and the rest as they say is history. He went on to perform in every musical done in the park’s illustrious repertoire and was soon choreographing and playing parts well beyond his tender years. Now the nickname that was given to him as a derogatory insult by his peers has become a stage name he wears proudly. That name, Skippy the Wonder Buffalo, now draws standing room only crowds from as far away as the South entrance of the park, to Sylvan Lake in the east and from the Madison river valley in the West, all the way to the metropolis of Mammoth in the north, all clamoring to see Skippy perform. Twyla Tharp, the noted Broadway choreographer and dancer, was supposedly heard to say after seeing Skippy perform the lead in the all buffalo production of  “Sweeny Todd”, “Bravo! Bravo!” and what higher praise could a dancing buffalo aspire to. If you’re lucky, because tickets are becoming nearly impossible to acquire, you may get to see Skippy performing in the sunset production of “Cats” being  presented every night but Wednesday in the Gibbon meadows amphitheater. Please remember, no recording devices are allowed and stay back at least 100 yards from the performers. Hope to see you there, I know I won’t miss a performance.

* [Politically Correct disclaimer: Back when Skippy, I mean, Francois was a young buffalo this was a common attitude amongst the younger buffalo in the herd, but after rigorous and constant readjustment of their prejudicial belief structure by the media and the enlightened intelligentsia, that kind of buffalo-phobic thinking has been completely eradicated, or so they say. We, of course, make no judgments here, preferring to treat each buffalo with the respect they deserve.]

Announcement!

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As some of you have noticed we have not been posting for several days. We want to correct the rumors that we were shut down for making misleading statements about important issues regarding various government programs, and no, none of our researchers were killed or maimed very much in defending the compound, or that we were not paying our internet bill or even, and this really hurts, the particularly vicious rumor that some of the things we have stated in previous blogs were basically untrue and might have even been made up. Man you people fight dirty when you don’t get what you want.

What really happened is there was this alien invasion… no wait, that part was untrue, it wasn’t alien at all, what really happened, and you are going to feel so bad about what you were thinking when you find out what really happened, that I would not want to be you, is that the storm of the millennium that we just went through last week took out our phone line, internet, Sadie Collin’s little dog Ralphie, who was last seen dogpaddling towards Kansas and a lot of other really bad stuff that I won’t go into because it’s personal and private and I don’t want you asking about it. Yeah I know, some of you have said, “Come on, Tell me  I won’t laugh.” but I’ve dealt with your kind before, so no dice. What happens at the Institute stays at the Institute.

The phone company is supposed to be here tomorrow to fix things and apologize and get me back up and blogging. They promised. But you know how things go, maybe they lied to me. It could happen. So we’ll know for sure tomorrow. “So how are you posting this then if all that bad stuff happened to you, eh?” and well you might ask. Its like this, one of the idiosyncrasies of the computer and electronic age is that it can toy with you, tease you, lead you to believe everything will be all right then when you least expect it, kick you in your nether regions just to hear you cry. That’s what has been happening for the last hour or so. The net will come back on and just stay on long enough that I can add a few words then go out again. It is a heartless bastard that internet and some times I hate it. Yes, I said it, I sometimes hate the internet and the horse it rode in on.

So if this gets posted and I don’t know if it will, then you will know the straight skinny and can help set those godless mis-believers that are spreading those hateful ugly rumors straight. If not then we should be back Thursday, if not Thursday then I really recommend your calling your local, state and federal representatives and make them aware of the dire straights we’re in here in Colorado. OK then, see you soon. Tell them to send us lots of financial aid too, lots of greenbacks not those crappy vouchers. AND we don’t need no stinkin’ trailers either. And, double, double And, tell them we don’t think this is funny one bit. Alright, the green light is back on my modem and I’m ready to hit the publish button. See you on the other side.

Respite

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Every storm has an end and it looks like we’ve finally caught a break. The torrential rain and flooding with all its damage seems to be subsiding. I just heard from a friend living in a small town near Estes Park that they’ve measured over 14″ of rain since the storm began. That is a lot of rain by anyone’s standards. To put that into perspective the annual average rainfall for Colorado is 15″ per year, they’ve gotten that in less than a week. They’re completely cut off from the outside world because every single road leading in and out of their town is washed out. They’ll probably have to wait for air drops to get resupplied.

Constancy, tenacity, determination all come into play to be successful in a really tough business. These characteristics are carried over into the everyday world and give you the strength to keep fighting when all seems lost. Perhaps the worst is over for now and things can struggle back to normal. I hope so, everyone around here has certainly paid their dues. The image above is from a Yellowstone trip and is the final stage of a huge storm that swept through the valley. The sun breaking through the clouds over the Madison river was a welcome sight and showed that there is always an ending to even the worst problems. Something we can all take to heart.

100 Year Events

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If you think your life is going by faster and faster there is a good chance it is. Out here in Colorado our 100 Year events are coming about every 35 years now. This last week we’ve had torrential rains and unprecedented flooding dumping up to a foot of rain in some areas close by. We got 7.3″ here at the Institute and for us that is a huge amount of rain to get in 2½ days.  That’s not quite biblical or ark building rain but it is a bunch of rain.

There isn’t a lot of up side to that much rain but if there is any, it is the beautiful sunsets we get after and sometimes during one of these big weather events. This image isn’t from this weeks storm, it’s from another 100 year event that we had recently. When the cloud cover is broken and the sun begins to set while it is still raining, and the storm is in the right place just as the sun goes below the horizon, the sun’s rays will shine through the storm clouds and the valley and produce images like this. And occasionally because we live a good wholesome life here at the Institute, I will have my camera at hand when it does. Apparently it is one of the rewards you get for not smoking cigars anymore and eating all that crappy health food you’ve got to eat as you geeze out.