Tag Archives: Gibbon river

Summer Wind

Posted on by

There are portions of the Firehole river that race down from its confluence with the Madison and Gibbon rivers to tumble over the Firehole falls and through the Firehole canyon. At this point it’s a boisterous, tumultuous river, roaring with exuberance as it crashes over rocks, slams around high walled bends in the canyon, and sends its white frothed waters dancing into the air. Finally it makes its way through the Firehole Cascades and begins to widen and slow down and rest for awhile.

As it enters the Fountain Flats area very near the Mount Mary/Nez Perce trail it becomes an entirely different river. It’s wider, slower, often attaining a mirror like surface reflecting the pines that line its banks, with nothing to break its surface but the occasional trout rising to take a Stonefly or White Miller Caddis. Osprey take advantage of its crystal clarity to swoop down and grab its daily meal sending widening ripples outward until gradually the river returns to its quiet flow.

It is here that a pair of Trumpeter swans took residence one late spring choosing this quiet stretch of river to mate and feed and make it their home, at least for the summer. They slowly cruised up and down the still waters, gently feeding along the banks and seining the river bottom with their large webbed feet to bring the insects and other choice bits to the surface.

One warm summer day the breezes that blew up and down the river causing ripples and swirls and little wavelets to spread across the river’s surface, disturbing its normal mirror like surface, found one of the swans standing on the bank. It wasn’t a strong breeze but it was enough to stir something in the swan. A memory of past flights perhaps, or a reminder of changes to come, it called to the swan and it spread its wings and raised itself high to catch every delicious bit of the breeze ruffling its feathers. Most likely reminding it of the journey it and its mate would soon be taking as the summer wind changed to fall. The call to them to begin that journey to their winter home too strong to ignore. That will come later, for now it can bask in the sun and take delight in the wonder and warmth of the summer wind.

Flash Frozen

Posted on by

2015-12-11FlashFrozen2376

What we have here is a very strange and unusual sight. Many of you out there in reader land, not being buffalologists, do not know that there are several type’s of Buffalo in Yellowstone park. The Institute in its quest for knowledge and a new way to twist the facts for our own ends, have discovered a hither to unknown variety of buffalo which we have named bison bison congelata which loosely translated from the Latin means “one frozen ass buffalo”. We apologize for the rude language but the Latin’s were a crude people, not withstanding the fact that they could speak Latin, which now-a-days would make them really smart.

What makes these buffalo different from your run of mill buffalo that brings traffic to a stand still while they lay in the middle of the road chewing their cud like big fat lumps? Well for one, they’re cold-blooded. That’s right, just like a lizard, or a snake, which in certain light and after a quart of Everclear they have been mistaken for. We have had interns screaming “Snake, Snake!” when it’s only been one of these buffalo. But then we have had that same intern screaming “Buffalo, Buffalo!” when it has been a snake so take all that screaming with a grain of salt.

Scorpions are also cold-blooded creatures which will sting you stupid with their poisonous tail but so far our researchers have not ascertained whether this new breed of buffalo can sting with its tail or not. We know for sure that when they’re active they can flat stomp you into the ground then hook you if they see you twitching. But so far no stings.

This particular buffalo has been caught in the classic dilemma facing all cold-blooded creatures. When your blood runs cold natures’ defense is to get you somewhere warm, otherwise your blood congeals to the point of peanut butter and it can no longer flow through your body and keep you active. As the blood cools and congeals cold-blooded creatures begin to get muddled and forgetful, often misplacing things like their car keys or that Post it note telling them to get somewhere warm before it gets cold. Then they become completely immobile, literally freezing in place.

That’s what has happened here. This cold-blooded buffalo had been crossing the Gibbon river to get to the warming shed before the temperature dropped any further when he made the classic bovine mistake. He stopped to eat some of the grass there along the river bank. Stuck his big fat head right into a clump of buffalo grass. There you are, game over, the temp dropped and that was it. Dumb mistake, but remember the muddled part, which probably played a big part in its becoming Flash Frozen.

There’s no fixing it now. These guys weigh in at about 2000 lbs so you’re not going to be dragging it off somewhere. Plus you’d have to get in that water which right now is very cold and if you didn’t bring waders and a come-a-long you’re not going to get much done. However all is not lost here. Being a cold-blooded creature as soon as the sun comes out in the morning he’ll start to warm up, finish chewing that mouthful of grass and be on his way. That is if the wolves don’t find him during the night.

This is a worrisome thought for the buffalo as he is not dead, he is just temporarily frozen, he can hear, probably even see even if he can’t turn his head, so the night is long and filled with terrors if you’re a flash frozen buffalo. We had heard the pack howling earlier but it seemed a long way off. They probably won’t find him.

The Moral of this tale is, “Pay Attention. Keep an eye on the weather. Don’t lose the damn Post it. And don’t believe everything you read.”

When The Sun Comes Out

Posted on by

2015-09-27FallColor6292

When the sun comes out and the color is at its peak in Yellowstone National Park this kind of thing happens. This is what makes color photographers go absolutely gonzo nuts. At this time of year there is always a cloud cover of sorts going on. From high gray clouds that act like a filter on your lens and make the colors deeper and richer and more muted than average daylight, to the other side of the spectrum where the clouds are singular but very large, covering huge parts of the landscape. When the bright sun breaks through them and hits an open spot along the stream bed this happens. An explosion of color that looks like flames that give off no heat. It hits your eye and you are instantly mesmerized unable to look away. Especially when you know its only going to last a few moments.

This is the Gibbon river as it flows through the Virginia Cascade on its way down into the Norris valley. This is a narrow canyon with steep vertical walls that forces the river into a narrow channel and sends it over several beautiful waterfalls. At the lower end of the valley there is room for foliage and grasses to grow. This foliage is part of the few plants that turn into the reds  and golds and oranges you see in the park. When they are in contrast with the deep dark greens of the pines and the natural purplish shadows formed by the canyon walls you get these incredible bursts of color. Intense, vibrant, profusion’s of color that are set into the river bank like jewels in a crown. This view is not a constant unchanging scene, as soon as the clouds move it will be gone. When it returns it will most likely look entirely different, providing a slow-moving kaleidoscope of visual delight. The trick is to be there when it happens.

Animal Portraits – Otters

Posted on by

AnimalPortraitsOtters3492

I was walking down memory lane this morning when I found myself along the Madison river in Yellowstone. It was way back in 2005 and I had been hoping to see some elk cross the river. Elk crossing the river is always good shooting. Bulls stopping to thrash their antlers in the water, throwing spray into the air, bellowing, cows bunching up to wait him out before they cross behind him. This was September so the rut was in full force and there was always lots of action.

But there weren’t any elk. They had moved out to greener pastures and the river was empty. I was just getting ready to pack up and find something else to shoot when I heard a high-pitched squealing coming from downstream. It was a young otter that had gotten separated from its family and was crying desperately to be found. It was racing frantically back and forth along the bank, shooting out into the river, climbing everything it could find and continually calling out for the others to come find it. This was the beginning of a very good afternoon.

Now otters in Yellowstone are not rare. But they’re one of those animals that you never see. Not unless you’re lucky. You can spend your entire time hunting for them, chasing down rumors, staking out places where they’ve been and never see one. Then you’ll talk to someone who had been picnicking at one of the picnic sites along the river and they’re all “Oh yeah we saw them. They were fishing right in front of us. One of them caught this great big trout. It was really neat. There was like four of them.  You should have been here. ” Serendipity plays a very big part in Otter spotting.

Now any place along the river is prime otter territory but there are some places more prime than others. I just happened to be unknowingly at one of them at just the right time. There is a spot on the Madison that is called the “Log Jam”. It’s just a little ways upstream past 7 mile bridge in a wide shallow bend in the river. It’s shallower there than the areas above and below and consequently a perfect place for the logs and branches floating downstream to snag and pile up forming the log jam.

This is the otter equivalent of Disneyworld. They go absolutely gonzo nuts in a place like that. First off every part of the Log Jam in an E ticket ride, they crawl up on it, they dive off of it, they wrestle and toss each other into the river. They take naps on the larger logs that are warm from the sun, hang out, talk about their day, fight, play snuggle, goof off, and generally just be otters, plus there’s food all over the place. Trout are always under and around the logs and so are the otters, because the only thing they like better than playing and sleeping is eating.

The otter family wasn’t lost. They were just upstream of the log jam and the youngster was on the downstream side. After Mom heard the little one wailing she gave a few sharp barks and soon they were all reunited again. Thus began one of the most perfect afternoons in the entire history of Yellowstone, Photography, Otter watching and sublime happiness, ever. As if deciding to give this photographer a gift they spent the next several hours swimming back and forth between that Log Jam and the confluence of the Madison and Gibbon and Firehole rivers at the eastern end of the Madison valley. Maybe a distance of 5 or 6 miles. We, the otters and I, plus about a dozen other photographers that joined in, walked back and forth along that stretch of river until I had filled every storage card I had with me with otter pictures and the otters decided it was time to go somewhere else. Without a sound they suddenly turned and swam downstream faster than we could run and they were gone. In the nearly 10 years since that afternoon that I’ve been going to Yellowstone I have never duplicated that experience again.

Fortunately I have these images to remind me of that incredible afternoon. It’s not the same but it’s pretty darn good.

Dreams

Posted on by

sleepingGrizzly-3724

I dream of many things. Walking through a pine forest, stepping carefully on each shadow so I don’t break the sunbeams dappling the forest floor. Stopping, listening, is that just the wind, or is it an elk cow brushing against the pine boughs as she secretly returns to her calf. I dream of finding the choke cherries along the Gibbon river ripe enough to eat and there are many of them. I dream of these things and more. I dream of the fierce joy of killing a buffalo, feeling it become still under my claws, eating it, eating as much as I can hold, then resting to eat even more.

I dream of warm, sun filled days where I stand chest deep in fresh green grass, feeling the earth soft beneath me, perfect for digging out marmots and ground squirrels, perfect for leaving my tracks on the rich dark earth. I stand and smell the scents of all the others around me, the elk in the aspens upriver, the wolves cleaning up the remains of their last kill, the scent of those strange beings that always seem to find me no matter how I hide. I smell the sharp heavy distinctive odor of another male, one I haven’t met before. I remember it as I will probably have to fight him. And I smell the pure cool air of the wind itself, it tells me where I am, who I am.

I dream of the female I have mated with the last two seasons. I dream of her fierceness, her strength, the feel of her razor-sharp claws on my side when I first approach her when she is undecided and uncertain. The summer is passing and it’s time to find her again. I dream of the high snow-covered ridges where I must find a place to rest through the cold months, I dream of being fat, heavy with enough energy stored within me so that I wake in the spring. Sometimes I dream of another small one, just like me, that I wrestle with and race across the meadow to find our mother so we can drink and sleep and play again, but those are hazy dreams, indistinct and shadowy. I dream those less and less as time goes on.

This is a good day to sleep, the warm sun on my back fills me with comfort. I will wake in a while but for now I dream, I dream, I dream.