Monthly Archives: November 2015

Rush Hour

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In the Kingdom of the Ice People speed is essential. There is a very small window of time to get to your destination before Ameratsu, the destroyer of all things cold, rises over the horizon and anyone not where they must be are melted where they stand.

The last of the morning crowd is racing to their destinations, some going this way, others going the other way. This is right at the very limit of their ability to stay out in the open, as Ameratsu is gathering her power and soon the full focus of her heat will be felt on any traveler left in the unprotected light of day. They bend forward as it their posture will cause those ahead to move faster. Others lower themselves as they scurry along hoping that by doing so, they will suck some of the cold radiating from those on the outside lane, giving them the extra life they need to make it out of this dangerous open space.

Unfortunately as you can see by the shadows cast by the last of those still exposed most of them are already doomed. As Ameratsu increases her power these poor victims will return to their other form and their essence will trickle down to drop on to the next dimension. What happens next is unknown, but these Ice People will not see the next night and its welcoming cold. They have found that Life is hard and It’s often unkind.

Buffalo Jokes

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So Ed, You’re still dating aren’t you?

Yeah, I am. Why do you ask?

Well this just came in over the wire and it sounds serious. I thought, as a friend, I better let you know about it.

Well go ahead, I’m just all horns waiting for this. It’s not another brucellosis scare is it? I’ve been vaccinated.

No this is worse, but pay attention, this came straight from the clinic. “Twenty-five percent of women are on medication for depression and other mental disturbances, which means that the remaining 75% are running around untreated.” Just thought you should know.

Note from The Director: First off, as Director of The Institution, I do not condone making disturbed women jokes. Let me be perfectly clear on this. If they’re crazy, I say leave ’em alone. No jokes about any woman regardless of how screwed up she may be should be used under any circumstances. This has been a long standing policy here at The Institution. Now as some of you know, me and my evil twin brother write everything on this blog. But sometimes when I’m in a sugar induced coma and unable to get my hand up to the keyboard to stop him, my evil twin brother will take advantage of the situation and post something like this. I am shocked and dismayed that this has happened. It turns out that he was in collusion with another blog director whose name is, wait, I just got word from our legal team, “Oh, Krap, Doan, Doit” not to disclose his name but you probably already know it. Yes it’s him. He really enjoys getting my evil twin brother to do things like this. I am going to have a stern talk with him the next time I see him. Again my deepest most heartfelt apologies to any crazy woman out there who may have read this poor excuse for a joke. Thank you for your understanding. The Director.

Color Of Sun

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Some times as a photographer you can become image blinded. What that means is you have a shot in mind, in this case it was to get over to the Blacktail ponds to try and get the sunset coming off the water, and you are so intent on making your schedule that you are not watching for anything else. The sun was already setting and the ponds  were still about five miles away yet, and there was a tendency to hurry. You’ve had this shot in mind all day and here you are scrambling to get there, late as usual.

Rounding the long sweeping bend in the highway that runs past Yellowstone Picnic area and heads out towards the flats, you look over to check the light intensity which is your gauge as to whether you will make it in time. OK you got maybe 10 mins. based on the slant of the shadows, is that enough time to get there and get set up, can I make it, is the thought that goes through your mind, and yet here is this gorgeous patch of foliage all lit up and waiting for you. Its bright golden yellow just perfect in its color and hue.  Can you pass it up and try and get over to the ponds and get set up in time. Quick calculations go through your mind, I mean here is perfect color and it’s only going to last a few more minutes, do you really want to tear over to the ponds only to be late? The old bird in the hand thing pops up and you pull the rig over to shoot this scene.

So intent on your schedule and program you have not even recognized the old silver back grizzly standing there for what he was. He had been standing still and as your eye swept the scene to check out the color and composition he appeared to be a boulder there in the valley. Until he moved. Not startled but focused on his travel he would soon be out of the frame. Man what the hell were you doing? Are you losing it here? was just one of the thoughts going through your mind as you realized what the situation was. Nothing snaps a wildlife photographer out of his preoccupation and inattentiveness than seeing a grizzly appear magically in your shot. Scrambling to get the camera ready, get out of the rig and shooting before he had traveled far enough that this shot wouldn’t be possible, it was a flurry of action that would be comical later if you got the shot, but tragic if you didn’t.

Fortunately practice and experience and pure blind dumb luck was present enough that the image was made. It is called Color of Sun and the grizzly is gratuitous. Blacktail ponds would have to wait another day.

The Buffalo Whistle

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Many of you long time readers remember that *The Institute has its own fully domesticated herd of North American Buffalo. You can see them in the picture above coming in from The Institutes high country where they summer. These are Buffalo not bison which so many of those so-called naturalists keep insisting is their correct name. Those nattering nabobs of negativity constantly repeat this misnomer. They have even gotten it into some scientific writing, by having made up a scientific name for the animal. It is “Bison, bison” as if repeating it over and over makes it so. Look it up, they have even assigned a bunch of Italian words to its Scientific Classification. Like bringing Europe into this is going to make them right.

Remember when you were young and you went to the movies. What did every single Indian and a lot of white guys call these animals? That’s right Buffalo. Sometimes Tontonka but that a story for another time. Why would they lie? All through our history, our ancestors, who couldn’t all be lying, have used buffalo in song and story. “Buffalo gals, won’t you come out tonight, come out tonight, etc.” It’s buffalo, they’re called buffalo just deal with it. Wild Bill Hickok didn’t hunt bison. He was a buffalo hunter. He’d a probably shot you for calling him a bison hunter. They were touchy about things like that.

But we digress. This is just a small part of our bison Buffalo herd. We decided to bring them down from their high country pastures because of the storm brewing back there on the mountain behind them. We bring them in so they don’t get wet. They become irritable when they’re wet and even though we have them trained they become peckish and out of sorts when damp.

It also gives us a chance to trim their hooves, comb them out and remove as much tartar from their teeth as possible. That all works best when you have dry buffalo to work with. Each of the mature buffalo has its own monogrammed blanket which we put on them to ward off the chill. Woe betide the intern who places the wrong blanket on the wrong buffalo. You only do that once. That’s when we bring up the interns assistant to make the change from the wrong to the right buffalo. Sometimes we have to bring up several assistants in a row to get the job done. Cardinal Rule: Watch Which Blanket You Put On Each Buffalo.

We had a moving post card from one of our young readers concerning Buffalo. Here it is.

Dear Mr. The Director, Isn’t it hard to handle Buffalo when they’re alone? How do you do it with a whole big herd? Do they bite, or kick? I’ve seen stories about buffalo on TV and they make a lot of messes all the time. Who cleans that up? I think buffalo are neat and I would like to have one. Do you ever sell them? If so I know where Mommy’s credit cards are and I could send you the numbers. Would that be all right? Sincerely, Towanda Clarice Malachowski, from Green bay, Wis. P.S. If you send one don’t send it on the weekend, that’s when my dad’s home. I don’t think he likes buffalos. Love, Towanda.

Well Towanda, thank you for writing and liking buffalo as much as we do. We can answer your questions. It is hard to handle buffalo when they’re alone and it’s really hard when there’s a bunch of them, which we call a herd. They will bite and kick but only when you do something the buffalo doesn’t like, such as tightening the blankets straps to tight. If you get one, don’t do that. It makes them grumpy. Yes Towanda they do make messes but it depends on how much you feed them. If you get one we will send along a pamphlet to explain their care and feeding. As for who cleans all that up we have a new intern here that does that. Her name is Hane Fonda and you can write to her if you want. Just send your letters to Hanie the Scooper % of The Institute.

The big question you didn’t ask, Towanda, was how do we get them to come when we call them and behave when they get here. That’s our big secret about handling buffalo. And it involves a special invention that we created right here at The Institute. Our staff at our “Inventions Made To Order While You Wait department” made it just for handling buffalo. It’s ours and no one else can have it. It’s called the “Buffalo Whistle”. When we blow it our specially trained buffalo come running to be first in line to get out of the weather. And also to do other things like tricks and synchronized dancing. We have a great big special one that we mount on a half-track ( A great big truck thing that hauls guys to places where they can shoot other guys. Ask your Mommy about War,) and when we blow that one, you can hear it in Kansas, it’s really, really loud. If there are any buffalo out there they’ll hear it and come running for sure. If you get your very own buffalo, and you said you know where mommy’s credit cards were, we’ll send you your very own buffalo whistle with your name on it. It has a hole in the top for a chain so you can wear it around your neck. None of the other kids have one of those we’ll bet. You ‘ll be the most special kid in school. Just think of show and tell day when you get to show off your new pet. We’ll send you a phone number where one of our special friends in Mumbai will help you with mommy’s credit card numbers. Then just sit back and wait. Before you can say “Holy Mackerel! That’s a big buffalo” there’ll be one at your door. Thank you for writing Towanda and you might ask some of the other kids if they like buffalos too.

We here at The Institute love to receive mail from young or old so keep those cards and letters coming in. Email too. We like Emails. We’d like to stay and chat longer but we have to get down to supervise the tartar removal process. That’s a complex process that needs a lot of supervision. It takes several interns to hold the buffalo’s head while we drill and fill as our resident dentist likes to say. Stay tuned.

* Note: For those of you unfamiliar with The Institute and what it does, please see the page labeled The Institute on the Menu Bar above. That should explain everything. You shouldn’t have one single question remaining regarding The Institute after reading it. None. For those of you favored few who already know about the Institute, Nevermind. Return to your daily activities. Thank you for your support.

To Watch A Crooked Tree

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Lots of things can be learned by watching a crooked tree. When we walk through the forest surrounded by the quiet, our footsteps barely audible against the damp soil, we slow down enough to actually look around, take in the multitude of trees standing tall and straight and think, this is the way a forest should be. All of the trees perfect specimens, their trunks straight, their leaves the perfect shade of green, their roots solidly planted in the earth.

This is what makes a forest a good forest. All the trees living their lives in perfect harmony because they are just like the other trees, both in thought and deed, they all fit together perfectly. Their stories are also the same. ” I’ve had a good life. As a sapling I was fortunate enough to be planted in a good grove, I’ve had all the water and sunlight I needed to grow strong and true. I have been sheltered from storm and winds by the others. I have never faced fire. I am a good tree.”

But then you see a crooked tree. A tree misshapen and gnarled and the recipient of much of the hardness that life has to offer. It has been bent and twisted by forces both in and out of its control and they have left their marks on the crooked tree. It is no longer straight, it shows the scars that hard times have placed on it. You stop and wonder, arrested by its appearance. There  are many questions. How is it that you are different from other trees. Are you a bad tree. Are you being punished. What has happened that you are a crooked tree. Tell me your story.

And the crooked tree does have a story and it is much different from the tall, straight tree’s story. “Many things have befallen me as I stand here before you. I too wished to be a straight, tall tree living in a perfect grove with my history all around me, proud of my standing amongst my friends and  family, the same as every other tree, but a stray breeze, nothing more than a simple zephyr, carried me to a different place, an inhospitable place for trees and I lodged between rocks and sand where there often wasn’t much water and the thought of bright clear sunlight was a distant dream. Misfortunes befell me and made long-lasting changes to my shape. A massive fallen tree dislodged in a storm fell upon me. It was years before it finally was removed but by then it had changed my shape.”

“I have had to fight for my water, my sunlight, my very survival and yet I am still here. I have been immersed in snow and frozen in cold so deep my roots began to lose their grip. Animals have tasted my leaves and branches and others, laughing at my shape have attempted to change it even more, but through it all I am here. I have produced leaves and needles, I have continuously pushed my crown towards the sky and I have succeeded for the most part. But as you can see it has left me changed. Yet through it all I am still a tree. And a tree is just a tree no matter its shape. There are many more stories that tell of events in my life that caused me to take on this shape but they are stories for another time.”

There is much to be learned from watching a crooked tree. Its shape tells part of its story but not all. One must spend more time listening with your eyes and feeling with your heart to learn what stories the tree has to tell. Some may find it worth it, but others may not. Whatever you hear or see and however you choose to accept it is up to you. Barring catastrophe the tree will still be there, misshapen or not.

Horses – Wild Ones

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This is the real deal. Wild horses. Not those tame ones a few of the western states rent out to stand alongside the road and look wild. These are the real bona-fide dyed-in-the-wool wild horses that belong to the McCullough Peaks wild horse herd. They live outdoors. There is none of this bring them inside to get out of the weather, or wear a blanket to keep flies off of them, stuff going on here. First off, if the stallions let you get close enough to even put a rope on one they’d tear that blanket off before you could say, “Hey! Dammit, that blanket cost 130 bucks”. Plus they’d chase you back to your rig so fast you’d have that embarrassed look on your face that you hope nobody saw.

If you look closely you won’t see any wear marks on them that indicates they wear saddles. Instead you will see all along their sides and legs and sometimes their faces, bite marks. Acres of bite marks. That’s because that’s what they do all day, every day, is have some kind of altercation with the other horses in the herd. If they’re stallions they have them because stallions fight, often, vigorously, and with malice a forethought. That is their job. They have to do it because, just like every pond has to have a bull duck on it, there has to be a dominant, I am the freaking boss here, stallion in the herd.  And since there are at least a half-dozen stallions in this group the fights go on, and on.

Same with the mares except they tend to get upset over more domestic matters. They handle their problems much like the stallion’s. “Get away from my kid, you great stupid cow” which is one of the  worst insults in the horse community. Someone gets kicked in the face after that is tossed out there. Or bitten. Or both. Usually though there is snorting, then swapping ends, then kicking, then biting, just to make sure you got the message. Anyway it leaves marks.

This morning it just felt like the time to interject a little reality back into the system. Wild horses do it for me. Just knowing that Wild Horses, not tame ones, just the real deal are still running loose out there. That feels ok doesn’t it?

Something Feline This Way Comes

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If you’ve ever been stalked, pounced on and partially eaten by a tiger, this is probably what you saw right before it happened. There was this blur, a sound something like oiled death sliding across bare ground, then a crunching noise as one of your arms was like completely tore the hell off.

There wasn’t anything personal in this, unless you had been rude or disrespectful to the tiger earlier that is. In that case yeah, you could consider it personal. Tigers don’t usually attack people, unless you live in India or something. As far as it can be researched no one in Northern Colorado has been killed and/or eaten by a tiger here in years.

There was one case where a guy had gone to India just to mess around with tigers and he got attacked and everything removable was bitten off. They sent him back here wrapped in one of those black garbage bags, the ones with the red strips you pull out to tie it shut with, and he died. But that was his own damn fault for going to India in the first place. We all told him, “Don’t Go to India Dude, you’ll get your ass bit off by  a tiger.” Did he listen…No.. so back he comes, assless. Some people just can’t be helped.

Many people ask “Why is that picture so blurry?” Well just look at it. That’s a tiger coming at you. Do you want to wind up like assless Harry? No I thought not. What you do if you have this much warning is you put your camera up over your head and run like a bastard for that tiger-proof dugout over there. Hopefully there will be someone behind you that isn’t as fast as you are.

Tigers are not our friends. You do not see touching stories on YouTube of young women who frequently lie down with wolves or bears or even lions doing so with Tigers. No that’s because tigers are equal opportunity biters. They will bite anything, man, woman, child, land rover, chickens, guys who like to look at tigers, anything, simply because they are tigers and that’s what they do. There will be some skeptics out there that will say ” Yeah but, what about those pictures of people feeding those baby tigers in the Zoo? What about them?” ( the huh? is understood) I hate those kind of questions. The asshats that ask those questions always act like they “got you” by asking stuff like that.  (they are probably related to Assless Harry) The answer is easy, all of those tigers that can be handled by people are animatronic. That’s right they’re not real. They’re like little furry robots. They have all these air tubes and wires running out of their butts that you don’t see because of clever camera angles. All they can do is lay on their back and drink milk out of a bottle and squeak. You put them on the floor and they take two steps and fall over their little tiger legs still moving like they were walking. The big ones out in the yard are real tigers. You don’t see anyone laying down with them all friendly like. They’re professionals. The people not the tigers, wait, the tigers are professional too now that you think about it. They know that they’ll get things bit off if they go in there.

This has been a quick little lesson if you will, about tigers,  how to approach them, or how not to approach them. It has been presented not so much as a life lesson, but if you learned anything that’s great and just might help you out some day, but more to let you know that if you see a tiger loose in your neighborhood, don’t approach it. Don’t attempt to give it treats to win it over. Don’t listen to its velvety voice telling you that it is a friendly tiger and he wouldn’t mind if you wanted to lie down together for awhile. That would be a big mistake. Just ask old Assless Harry, Oh wait, you can’t.