Tag Archives: Mt. Washburn

Into Each Park Some Rain Must Fall

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RainMustFallPano

Many years ago when Henry Wadsworth Longfellow was perhaps touring Yellowstone National Park he penned one of his famous poems titled “Rainy Day”. The last two lines of the poem are “Into each park some rain must fall, some days must be dark and dreary.” Well this was in 1842 and it is apparently still raining.

Later on the Inkspots were touring the park and covered the poem with their hit song “Into each Park Some Rain Must Fall”. This was back in the early 40’s and Ella Fitzgerald was so taken with it she joined them and together they brought out a jazz version of the song. It was raining that day too.

When we arrived at the park to conduct The Institutes semi-annual inspection it was raining and in fact it rained 15 days out of 17. The two days it didn’t rain we had some sunshine but it quickly turned to rain.

Upon questioning some of the park staff who refused to give us their names, we asked “Why is it freaking raining sooooo much?” We hated to sound like we were whining but enough with the rain already. They had several theories, the most plausible of which was that the animals after a hard winter, spent either hibernating, or standing around buttocks deep in snow, or laying in the dirt somewhere needed some sprucing up before the park officially sprang into high gear after Memorial day. We thought this theory had some merit after being downwind of the buffalo herd as it trudged up the Gibbon canyon. Three hours behind a buffalo herd will give you a new belief in the need for good animal hygiene.

But while some rain is good, great even, there might be too much of a good thing. These animals are now as clean as they are ever going to be. Sparkling, they look like they’ve had the best spa day ever. The Kardashians have never been as clean as these animals and we all know how long they spend at the spa. Weeks.

We thought that the animal washing theory was a little weak and conveyed that fact to the park representative we were speaking to but they adamantly defended this as a valid reason for the rain so, being as they are like official park officials we went along with it. After all if you can’t trust someone who works for the government, who you gonna trust?

So, comfortable with the reasons given for the seemingly endless rain we continued our inspection amongst the squeaky clean animals, enjoying the fresh fragrances of the buffalo and elk and even the grizzlies, although they had a slightly musty odor that went away later in the summer, we were told by the same knowledgeable official who had the rain theory. He said “Trust me, come back in August and smell one, you’ll be pleasantly surprised.” We gave that assignment to one of our newest interns.

We have provided you with an image of a high country valley being rained on as we toured up to Mt. Washburn, one of the highest peaks in the park, where it was raining. But with sweet-smelling ground squirrels and Stellar Jays accompanying us we hardly noticed. The rain. I think that was day nine. That was a particularly rainy day.

Note : To those of you tuning in late the following posts will catch you up on preceding events. There is no extra charge for this service it is included in the cost of admission. We know you don’t want to miss a minute of our fascinating but undocumented report.

http://www.bigshotsnow.com/the-words-out/

http://www.bigshotsnow.com/announcement-13/

http://www.bigshotsnow.com/yellowstone-passes-inspection/

http://www.bigshotsnow.com/ghosts-in-the-darkness/

http://www.bigshotsnow.com/you-dont-see-that-every-day/

http://www.bigshotsnow.com/now-are-the-foxes/

A Mother’s Choice

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There has been a controversial topic in the media regarding a mother’s choice as to where or when she breastfeeds her child in public and we have been asked to comment by concerned citizens. As you know we at The Institute have always been at the forefront of controversy and have never shied away from making comments on things we know little about and we’re not about to start now.

As we understand it the question has been raised as to whether mothers should be allowed to breastfeed in public at all, and if so, where would be an appropriate place. Someone asked “Well, should they be allowed to breastfeed at a NASCAR event, or at one of the Final Four games. What about at the Chik-fil-a at the food court, or during a high-profile murder trial like the OJ case for instance. Or at a bustop during tornado season. How about while jogging?” Well we were at a loss as to how to answer these questions so we decided to ask a mom herself.

We chose Edna, one of the resident grizzly moms at Yellowstone, to see what her opinion might be. We found her, as luck would have it, up on Mt. Washburn nursing Steven, this years cub, in a small muddy patch of dirt along the side of the road. She was in full view of all the passing tourists and other gawkers and seemed perfectly oblivious to the interest they were showing. We approached her gingerly as she was known to have eaten at least two other interviewers and asked her if she thought mothers should be allowed to nurse their offspring in public, thereby flaunting the conventional ideas of modesty. Upon reflection she gave us 10 seconds to get as far away from her as possible and as we split we took that as an affirmative answer.

So there you have it, straight from a mother’s mouth. Nurse where you want to Mom’s, and if anyone gives you any guff send them to talk to Edna.

The Bad Neighbor

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The neighbor8703

Hey, I didn’t think you was doing nothing so I come over. Whatcha doin? Nothin’, eh.

Yeah, me to.

Did you get a chance to go by that Elk carcass over on Alum creek? I stopped by but there wasn’t a lot there. The wolves been at it.

I know, the bastards, the Hayden’s full of them. It’s getting so you can’t swing a buffalo calf without hittin’ one of them. My nephew, Tooth, yeah the one with the ripped ear, he said they ran him off this calf he took down. There must a been a dozen of them.

Me too, I’m sick of them. I try and kill every one I see but they’re fast. They bit my cousin’s sister-in-law’s best friends daughter, yeah Edna, the one that’s been dropping cubs all over Norris junction, and like to tore her up. She had to run like a little black bear to get out of there.

No I don’t know where is Edna is. How come?

Yeah right, No special reason my ass.

You got any grubs, I am flat starving.

No I don’t want any grass shoots. Has she got you on that grass and water diet again? Man when are you gonna put your paw down and tell her where the bear crapped in the buckwheat? How you supposed to get through the winter eating that crap.

No you know I’m single. What’s so hard about it. Just tell her.

What do you mean you don’t like sleeping in the cheat grass by yourself. Dude you’re embarrassing me. Are you a bull grizzly or not. I never thought I’d see you like this. Remember all the hell we raised when we were kids?

Come on, quit that whimpering. Let’s go tear open a log or something. I heard the Miller moths were starting up on Washburn, yeah we could go up there for a few days. Let her cool down.

Yeah, yeah I know you’re supposed to be digging out the den, but screw that, let’s go.

Of course I know where Edna is. I was just messing with you. We can stop by on our way up there. Huh?, no, why would she tell. Listen Cliff, we have got to get you some red meat. Seriously.

You Shall Not Pass !

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YouShallNotPass2554Buffalo Bull Yellowstone

Early this Spring we are began getting reports of a white buffalo up in Middle-Earth or as it is sometimes known, Yellowstone National Park. The reports were sketchy, sometimes it would be seen ghosting along the banks of the Yellowstone, or high up on a forgotten ridge in the Lamar, or sometimes for unknown reasons riding in the back of an old Dodge half-ton, but the reports were consistent. There seemed to be a white buffalo there and we needed to document its existence. After all, that is the mandate of The Institution. To go where no man has gone before and make up stories about it.

The Institute immediately sent its crack photographic team to locate, photograph and get its hoof print on a contract. If you’re going to track down a ghost and document it for the world to see, you have to monetize the experience and be able to cash in to make the endeavor worthwhile, otherwise it’s just a good deed and there are enough of those going on at the moment. We need some of those big fat green smackaroonies to keep the lights on.

Our team of seventy-three highly trained staff members arrived and quickly fanned out to begin collecting  data on this white buffalo. The reports began trickling in, he was up on the south side of Mt. Washburn licking the side of a pine tree, he was down near Fishing bridge cavorting with the Cutthroats, he had just been seen getting the oil changed in the dodge. When people began hearing about our project the reports went from a trickle to a furious outpouring of information. It was if the public took a strange delight in bringing us these reports, each more fantastic than the last. We began to be suspicious and concerned that some of these sightings were unreliable.

One report that seemed to have some reliability to it was the sighting in the Hayden Valley near the Mt. Mary trailhead. It was one that would not die. Each report was very similar to the others and we began to think we might have hit on something. If you stood on the edge of the road and glassed the tree line there would often be a glint of white back in the trees. Sometimes in the morning when the fog was thick from the Yellowstone river and you could barely make out the dark outlines of the big pines, a ghostly bellow could be heard throughout the valley, echoing back and forth until it faded away in the early morning stillness.

We immediately established base camp at the pullout near the trailhead and set up the tent and satellite transponders to send the data out as soon as we received it. It was here that we also set up the field kitchen, the explorer’s club, the theater, the T-shirt stand, the cut-out of what we thought the Great White, as we had begun calling him, would look like so you could get your photo taken with it as a pricey but tacky souvenir. Security was tight and bracelets were issued to all of the paying customers. This was to keep those pesky park rangers out who were trying to establish authority over what is our property as tax-paying citizens, with the flimsy excuse that commercial activity is banned from our National parks. What a bunch of yahoo’s, like we’d believe that making a buck was illegal. Anyway since it is legal to carry weapons in our national parks our staff was able to reason with them without having to resort to using the AR-15’s we had brought along for self-protection.

Everything was going gangbusters and the support from the public was pouring in, T-shirt sales had jumped 86% in the last 48 hours especially the one with the “I Saw the Great White Buffalo and It Was Bitchin” slogan on it. We immediately tripled the order from our Chinese outlet in Singapore and told them to air freight them here. So with the bailing machine working overtime to handle all those great big fat green smackaroonies, there was talk of franchising this operation to other national parks just as soon as we could fabricate reasons for it.

Then the big one hit. The great White had just been seen on the edge of the meadow and was simply standing there as if it were daring us to come and photograph it. You don’t dare The Institute. We don’t back down from a challenge, or run from adversity. Instead we stand and fight, we endeavor to persevere, and we do the hard thing. The call went out for our more trustworthy interns to take over our sales centers and we grabbed our cameras and headed for the meadow. Calls were going out left and right as we mounted what was nearly a paramilitary operation. “Don’t forget your extra flash cards, make sure you got charged batteries, no tripods those just make buffalo mad.”  Photo equipment was banging  and clanging together matching the sound of slightly overweight photographers grunting and wheezing as they ran to be in the first wave of white buffalo shooters. The excitement was heady and the thrill was on. We charged en-masse into the meadow and that ‘s where we met disaster.

Disaster in the form of Randalf. Randalf the Brown. The horned one. He stood there calmly, waiting for us to come to a stumbling halt, before he uttered those fateful words. “You Shall Not Pass!” There was instant silence as we stopped and stared at each other. The silence grew, the tension mounted, and then the inevitable happened. Someone snickered. Oh man, that was something I think everyone would take back if they could. It was the new guy, a stringer we had hired at the last-minute from the Boise Sun-Times thinking a local would be helpful. He wasn’t.

Without moving a muscle Randalf looked at him, blinked once slowly and there was a dizzying flash of light, a soundless scream and where the luckless Boise guy had stood there was simply a pile of, well, in the old days they were known simply as buffalo chips or sometimes buffalo pies. The fact that the guys camera, an old Nikon D300 with a broken strap was sticking out the pile was the only indication that one of our own was gone. There was no more snickering, in fact you couldn’t find the trace of a smile anywhere. In fact you couldn’t find a trace of anyone anywhere, there was just this giant vacuum as those that were closest to old Boise teleported back to base camp. Some didn’t even stop there, they went straight on to Cody.

That left the leader of the expedition, a fearless soul who didn’t flinch, falter or flee in the face of adversity, to face Randalf alone. There was another long moment  and then another. “Any chance of getting a shot of the white buffalo?” “No” was the simple answer. “Any chance of me getting out this without being turned in to a meadow-muffin?” “Only if you leave this place and never return, now” was the reply. “What if I just step over here to the side and grab a quick shot before I go…” “You Shall Not pass !”

Unfortunately the expedition ended at this point. When our rescue team arrived on site there was no trace of our two original team members and they are presumed lost. We did recover two cameras and the Boise guys wristwatch but that was it. The Park rangers sensing a moment of weakness soon overcame our security and confiscated all of our property which they still maintained was illegal. We never got an accurate count of the money that was seized, they broke our bailing machine and everyone who had bought a T-shirt soon abandoned them in case they ran into Randalf.

All in all this was a complete disaster. We’re in the hole for a bundle, the Chinese want their money for the T-shirts and customs won’t release them because of a conflict with some obscure government regulation. This is a black-eye for The Institute and I have to say I’m worried about our solvency. And worst of all we don’t have a single image of the Great White buffalo. Not one. But I did hear that there is one in a park* just off I-94 near Jamestown, North Dakota. If that’s so then maybe there is a chance of salvaging something out of this. We’ll keep you posted.

* http://www.buffalomuseum.com/

Up Past Her Bedtime

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UpPastHerBedtime2644Black Bear Yellowstone                                               Click to enlarge

Well it happened again. Rosie, the queen of Mt. Washburn, well-known party bear and frequent mother, attended one too many parties and has been caught out in the open by an early winter snowfall.

The younger bears, who have no sense of propriety, invited her to one last bash up on the mountain where they feasted on white bark pine nuts until they collapsed in a heap, satiated and oblivious to the weather. Rosie, usually the image of some what dubious respectability, over-indulged and is now feeling the effects of her behavior.

Rosie knows better and she is beginning to see her lack of good sense has put her in a precarious position. She has to shake off the pine nut induced stupor and get busy finding that den she should already be in. She’s eaten enough for two bears and the twins she is carrying will be well provided for through the long cold winter.

Before we’re too hard on Rosie we need to realize that she has been a good mother and having a new set of kids every two years has taxed her to the limit. She is due to let off a little steam and as one of the most experienced bears in the park she won’t have any trouble ‘denning up’ and settling in for the winter. So before those who would cast the first Turkey leg, or in Rosie’s case the first bushel of pine nuts, begin to chastise her, remember the number of times you went back for seconds or thirds on the white meat and mashed potatoes and cut her some slack. Myself I’m still trying to walk off that 4 pounds of oyster dressing I ate. In fact I wonder if there’s any of that left. Go to go, the refrigerator’s calling.