Mountain Man Scramble

   

   The morning of our last day in camp we had Mountain Man Scramble for breakfast. This appears to be a recipe designed to avoid waste. As such it includes all the leftovers from five days of camping. George prepared an excellent meal that combined sausage, bacon, roast pork, cheese, eggs, mushrooms, green peppers, and onions. When served with a hot cup of Cowboy Coffee on a cool morning outdoors it is an unbeatable meal.

    This will be my last blog about my trip to Montana so I am going to serve up a Mountain Man Scramble of photos.

   

    If you make the drive 10,000 feet up to Sawtelle Peak you can see this FAA equipment.

    I thought it just cried out to be painted to resemble a soccer ball. But since the FAA is not known for humor it will never look like this.

   

    One afternoon the wranglers saddled up and rode the horses so that we could get some action photos.

    Keith splashed across the stream for us. Some of you may notice he is using a bit-less bridle.

    Even though it was his day off one of the mules insisted on joining us.

    Craig packs a manny so that our equipment can be loaded onto mules. This is hard work as each manny  weighs as much as 100 lbs. He has to wrap them snugly with rope, and tying the knots is an art.

Leaving our first camp.

Pack mules, like people, have personalities. This one is reluctant.

This one, mischievous.

Mule Deer on Main St,  Ennis, Montana

    This photo was taken in Nevada City. While there is a Zang's Beer brewed in Colorado, I suspect this building was not native to the ghost town. It was probably used in one of the many movies filmed there.  Little Big Man, Lonesome Dove, Missouri Breaks, and Thousand Pieces of Gold were all filmed in Nevada City.

     TheNevada City Music Hall houses the largest public collection of automated music machines in North America. Many are in working order. They are decorated with ornate carvings. Some are beautiful.

   

Some are just plain creepy.

    I almost forgot that the same thing that makes a good HDR photo also makes a good black and white photo. This shot originally perplexed me because the fence in the foreground was new and it clashed with the old train. I wanted to keep the photo because I loved the landscape in the background. Thank goodness I finally remembered to convert to black and white. With the color removed the fence is not so jarring to the senses.

One more black and white from the ghost town.

Ending with a bit of humor and a nod to the Talking Heads.

"You may ask yourself, 'How do I work this?'"

    I hope you will save the address to my blog so you can visit again. Next time you can see the photo that had the unusual effect of making Honey Bunny raise his voice to me :(

    And remember, if you click on any of the photos they should "grow" to full screen for you.

Ghost Town

    

    During my trip to Montana I was able to visit Nevada City, the site of a gold rush town from the 1860s. This was not the corny tourist attraction I feared. Rather it was a serious attempt by the Montana Heritage Commission to preserve buildings and history from that era.
    The town lent itself well to high dynamic range photography. HDR, in a nutshell, allows us to use software to bring out tones that we can't capture with "normal" photography. If the HDR software is used more aggressively it produces surreal photos like the top one.
    Photos that are "color-ie" or "textur-ie" work well in HDR, according to Ben Long. He teaches (on Lynda.com) that with HDR we make photos "crunchy." I can't think of any better way to describe it, so I am not going to argue with Mr. Long about his choice of words.
    These train cars are about as color-ie and textur-ie as it gets. I feel as if I could get a nice reddish-orange splinter just from looking at the photos.

    This house was built in 1873 by a rancher, gold miner and legislator named Stedman. Like many buildings in the town, it was moved to Nevada City from its original location by the state of Montana as part of the historical preservation effort.
    The trees are Cottonwood and have the most beautiful bark.

    One interesting story from Nevada City's history comes from a newspaper called the Montana Post. In 1864 the Post reported that three sisters with the last name of Canary were begging in the streets while their father gambled in the dance hall. The oldest sister was probably Martha Canary who grew up to be Calamity Jane.
    Calamity Jane was a fascinating person according to an article in Montana Outlaw by Hunter Rothwell. She could easily have an entire blog devoted to her story. Jane could ride, shoot, and drink whiskey by the age of thirteen. Three years after the newspaper reported her father's gambling escapades she was an orphan. With no one to care for her she tried her hand at a variety of jobs including stints as a dance-hall girl, ox team driver, army scout, and as a Pony Express rider.
    She also had many run-ins with the law. Drunk and disorderly conduct, shoplifting, and running through the streets naked while drunk were a few of her offenses.
    To be fair, Calamity Jane was also known for her kind heart. She helped many people and even volunteered to nurse small pox victims.
    Calamity Jane was so unique, even her boyfriend had a unique name, Arkansas Tom.

    Most of you probably already know this, but if you are viewing my blog on-line you can click on any of these photos to see them at full size.

Reflections

    Visiting Montana is like visiting another country. I say that as a compliment.
    The population density of my my home state is 196 inhabitants per square mile, which places us at 15th in the nation. In Montana the population density is 6.8 inhabitants per square mile, 48th in the nation. Or, to put it another way, there are 28 times as many people in a square mile here as compared to there.
    When you pick up my hometown paper and read the crime report you will see murders, rapes, and armed robberies. In the town of West Yellowstone, Montana you will read that "A camper reported that a bear was near them," and "Someone found a calico cat."
    Folks in West Yellowstone love to get out and enjoy their beautiful mountains. They especially enjoy camping. They enjoy it so much that they have a campground at their airport. One of our guides is so crazy about camping that as soon as he could shake himself loose from camping with us he was going to spend one week camping with his family in an area so remote it takes two days to get there.
    Speaking of the airport, it is so small there is only one airstrip for landing or taking off. While waiting for my flight out I counted my fellow passengers. They numbered 20 people and a dog.
    The TSA agents walk freely among the passengers in the airport's only waiting room. They make announcements in a friendly fashion unusual for members of their profession. "We'll start screening at ten past. Huckleberry jam and syrup are considered liquids and gels and must be transported as checked baggage, not as carry on." Upon this several passengers jumped up to return to the only check-in desk with their bags.
    The airport is only open from June through September. The rest of the year they are closed due to snow. This schedule is "approximate" according to their official web site. During the winter the airport is rented out to a company who tests snow and cold conditions on tires and other equipment.
    It snows a LOT in Montana. The beautiful meadow pictured above was covered in snow just two weeks before I arrived.........in July! Just over the state line at Sawtelle Peak, Idaho I saw a snow pole. These look  like a cross between a telephone pole and a large ruler. They are marked in feet so that one can tell how much snow is on the ground. The highest measurement on the pole? Eleven feet!
    I put together a little slide show with photos from my trip. You can see it on You Tube by clicking here.

Ridin' Mules

   

    In July I was fortunate enough to attend a photography workshop led by  John and Barb Gerlach. We spent six days in the mountains of Montana. Yellowstone Mountain Guides  provided the saddle horses, pack mules, wranglers, and a cook for our expedition of twelve people.
    All guests and the workshop leaders rode horses. The guide staff rode mules or horses according to personal preference. Tents, food, and personal belongings were packed in by seven mules.
    The mules can carry over 200 lbs apiece. Some mules work solely as pack mules and can't be ridden under saddle. Other mules can be ridden under saddle and these are called ridin' mules. Guides often argue about which ones are which.
    One night we discovered that we were short one horse due to a lost shoe. Well aware of the discussion among the guides as to which mules can or can't be ridden, I volunteered to ride a mule the following day if one was available. All agreed that Banjo was a ridin' mule and that after a day in the saddle on this mule I would never want to trail ride on a horse again.

Banjo

    The morning of the ride arrived cool and clear with low humidity. The camp cook informed me that the way to Banjo's heart was through his stomach and that I should feed him his favorite treat, Tree Top All Natural Fruit Snacks. I walked over to where he stood tied and tore open a package of the Gummi bear-like snacks.  At the sound of the wrapper he perked up his gigantic ears. He relished the bribe and I left him licking his lips, certain that he was now very fond of me.
    The ride began well. Banjo had a smooth comfortable walk and he picked his way carefully over rocks, logs, and creeks. This ride was a cakewalk for him compared to his usual job carrying heavy packs up steep mountains. I did notice that he constantly swished his tail, a behavior that I blamed on insects that must be badgering him.
    We reached a beautiful green mountain meadow after an hour's ride. We were to have our pictures taken one by one with the mountain as a backdrop. All the animals who weren't presently being photographed were allowed to relax and feast on the tender green grass. While waiting our turn I slipped my feet out of the stirrups to stretch my achy knees.
    The rodeo was on!
    Banjo realized almost immediately that I was in a vulnerable position without my feet in the stirrups. He stopped grazing and bucked once. I grabbed the saddle horn tightly with my right hand, suspecting that I was in trouble. He bucked a second time. My feet flew up in the air as if controlled by some maniacal puppeteer and I became totally convinced that I was in peril. He bucked a third time. I sensed several inches of air between the seat of my pants and the saddle. I became airborne. Banjo took just one more step to regain his balance and calmly put his head back down to resume eating.
    Fortunately for me I was not hurt. I hurled some choice expletives at Banjo at the top of my lungs. Remorseless, he bent his head to ask for a rub.
    At least we answered the question "Is Banjo a ridin' mule?" The answer is a resounding "NO!"

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