Leslie Patten Books: Wild Places, Sacred Spaces

Getting to know my neighborhood at twilight

Posted on April 22, 2009 by Leslie

There’s a wonderful little forest next to my house. Its where seven springs emerge out of the limestone that feed the cabins around here. A trail leads through the woods to the meadows beyond. Even though these woods are not large, and are surrounded by cabins, its a bustling place. My Little Woods

Deer, turkeys, coyotes, moose (on the lower end its marshy with willows), black bear and sometimes grizzlies, and plenty of small mammals frequent the area. I’ve been trying to get to know my neighborhood, so I walk through the woods, exploring its smells and tracks, at least several times a week, mostly at dusk.

Last week I called a Great Horned Owl. We had a nice conversation, back and forth. He was roosting somewhere on the hillside, when a band of turkeys came noisily through the brush. Maybe he didn’t like them scaring his potential dinner every which way, because he burst through the trees and flew down to the lower ends of the forest. I did have to wonder if some of those turkeys’ young would be a nice meal for him this spring.

Several years ago, after the Point Reyes fires in California, the Park Service obtained money for Spotted Owl research. I was lucky enough to help in the three year study. My area was in a State Park with Redwoods and Douglas Fir, some of it old growth. The first season was about locating the owls. We learned to imitate their calls. Owls, I found out, don’t care how exact your call is. If I kind-of sounded like a spotted owl, they’d call back.

The next season we ‘moused’ the owls in order to find their nests and estimate the number of breeding pairs. We brought lab mice into the field. Since we already had an idea of the territory of the owls from the year before, we hiked to those areas, called in the owl, put the mouse on a stick and the male would take the mouse back to the female on the nest. The third year we counted mature chicks. The main predator of Spotted Owls is the Great Horned Owl–“The Lion of the Night”.

Helping with that study I learned a little about looking for owls. The best way to find an owl is to spot their droppings around the base of a tree. Droppings at base of trees indicate owl roosts I’ve looked for this before in those little woods and easily found the roosts of Great Horned Owls and their pellets. Pellets are not owl scat but the undigested parts of their food, regurgitated up in a large pellet. If you open the pellet up, the evidence of their meal(s) is right there in the form of bones and hair.

Tonight though I was in for a surprise. I was tooling around the woods at dusk like I do several times a week. I decided to follow a deer run under some brush when I spotted some droppings at the base of a snag. I bent down to get a closer look, and spooked a bird out from the top of the snag. The bird flew to a nearby tree. I felt there was something unusual about this bird so I told the dog lie down and I slowly crawled out from the low hanging branches and looked up. It took me a few minutes for my eyes to adjust to the dim light and understand what I was seeing, as at first the bird seemed like a large robin. It was a small owl, about 7 inches long, just as curious about me as I was about it. I adjusted my eyes I sat down on a log, watched and talked to the bird. I found a pellet beside the log, about 1/2 the size of a Great Horned pellet. After a long time, I crawled around and hung out with the bird from a closer and better angle. The owl wasn't afraid The owl wasn’t afraid at all. In fact, he reminded me of Spotted Owls. When we did our study, I was sworn to secrecy as to where the owls were located. Spotted Owls are so tame that they can easily be approached and because they are endangered, we were especially careful. This owl even started falling asleep while the dog and I sat there (Spotteds spend a lot of time sleeping too).

Hanging with that owl, I could see why there is a lore about them being ‘wise’. Looking in his eyes, so close, he had an intensely calming effect on me. Koda and I bade our goodbyes for the night and I went home to look up his name. The Northern Saw-Whet Owl. I know Screech Owls also live in those woods because I hear them frequently. But so does the ‘Lion of the Night’. Stay safe little owl.

Filed under: Owls | Tagged: Northern Saw-Whet, Owls | 3 Comments »

The Bobcat

Posted on April 20, 2009 by Leslie

It was a beautiful morning. I walked outside around 9:30 and threw the ball for Koda. A large cat-like animal appeared out from the marshy meadows and stood next to the fence line. Immediately I recognized it as a bobcat. JB had told me several days ago that he saw a bobcat in his fields across the road. I called the dog and sat down to watch the cat. He was beautiful. Much larger and more muscular than a big tomcat. Bobcat watching a ground squirrel

The bobcat sat in the sun for a few minutes when something caught his attention. I looked across the meadows and saw a ground squirrel sitting on his mound. The bobcat crouched low and made his way slowly in the squirrel’s direction. He ran along the fenceposts, stopping behind one for several minutes. He crossed a short span of meadow, then ran low along the side of the nearby house till he was directly in line with the ground squirrel. At a distance of about 15 feet from the rodent, the bobcat sat perfectly still, watching and waiting. Bobcat stalking amidst grass

By now the squirrel seemed to have caught wind that something was going on and was back in his hole. The cat waited patiently though. I’d been watching all this for at least 15 minutes. I went inside to use my scope for a better view and try to shoot a few pictures. Finally, the bobcat got bored and ran off to find an easier meal.

About 5 minutes after the cat left, I glanced out the window and saw the squirrel not just looking around from his hole, but on top of the nearby septic clean-out pipe. I might be anthropomorphising here, but that squirrel seemed to be gloating to me. Gloating ground squirrel

When I was in California, I belonged to a tracking club. We met once a month at Abbot’s Lagoon in Point Reyes. That beach had lots of activity–coyotes, mice, otters, deer, opossums, racoons–but the most reliable tracks were of a bobcat. The bobcat had an obvious route. He started out from somewhere in the thick brush and followed a track alongside the lagoon. There were latrines along the way and always kill sites. Seeing that that bobcat had a regular hunting route, I wondered if my Wyoming bobcat had one too, and if I had observed him on it. I have been investigating how to use ‘track plates’ and maybe I’ll try and make some.

Half hour later as I was driving my dirt road, I started thinking about how that bobcat lost his meal. I wondered what made him give up on the ground squirrel, just shy of it reappearing.

Without warning, a Unita ground squirrel ran across the road. I tried to veer but he was too slow and I was too fast. Getting out of my car, I pulled him off to the side of the road, maybe secretly hoping my bobcat would find him. I was still pretty close to home still and the thought that it was so easy for me to kill this squirrel and so difficult for the bobcat, haunted me. There was something awfully strange in this synchronicity. Bobcat print

Filed under: Tracking | Tagged: Bobcats, Tracking | 1 Comment »

Bluebunch wheatgrass and Junegrass

Posted on April 16, 2009 by Leslie

I have to do some reseeding where I put in a new septic last year. The previous owners had a ‘septic’ that was a large hole in the ground in the middle of the front yard. It was covered with dirt when I arrived with an upright stick marking the spot. That way you wouldn’t drive a vehicle over it. See the stick marking the box in the ground called a septic!

Before I purchased the house I had it inspected (trying to be good on my ‘due diligence’ and everything). I hired a contractor who did a home inspection. Besides his comment “Someone should never have had a hammer in his hands”, which fully described my place, he said he couldn’t find the entry point for the septic. There was no record of it being cleaned nor installed. Knowing full well someday I’d have to deal with that issue, I purchased the property regardless.

Last year when I came in April, I couldn’t help but notice a gigantic sinkhole at my front porch. It was the cavernous entrance to my septic, now fully exposed. We’d had plenty of water last spring and the ground finally just caved in around it. Basically, it had been a big wooden box with a concrete pipe running into it. The wood was gone but the pipe was still intact. The hole was about 6 feet deep and wide. I figured this was now an emergency before some kid fell into the hole. So I installed my new septic.

The new septic was a real one, with not just a tank but a leach field too, of course. All that digging last May left a bare spot that evolved into a mud zone. Of course I needed and wanted to reseed, but I wanted to do it ‘right’. For me that meant native grasses–native to this ecozone. New septic tank

Leach field. This will be a muddy area soon.

Most people around here either seed for horses or cattle, or they put in a fescue lawn and water all summer. I certainly wasn’t into watering. Not only is it wasteful if it’s not necessary for horses or livestock (water is precious in the west, even if it does come out of my spring year round), but it’s just so much work (oh, the mowing!). I’m not into that kind of work. And being a designer from the West, lawn is just not compatible. In fact, I could always tell where my clients came from by if they wanted a lawn on their property.

I’m not familiar with the native grasses in Wyoming, so I called up the forest service in Cody. The Forest Service referred me to another department that deals with conservation. They were very helpful, and gave me a list from a book of ‘low maintenance’ grasses used mostly on pasture land. These weren’t necessarily natives, and if they were,not necessarily native to my site.

I happened upon the Dead Indian Archaeological botanical site evaluation. It listed the plant communities nearby and the native plants associated with each one i.e. Sagebrush grassland or Open Grassland on shallow volcanic soil, etc. There were 9 plant communities just around the Dead Indian site. That site is fairly adjacent to my property, so I used that as a guide. The community where my septic lies is Open Grassland on limestone soil. The dominant grasses here are Bluebunch wheatgrass (Agropyron spicatum) Agropyron spicatum--state grass of Montana

and Prairie Junegrass (Koeleria cristata). June Grass- Koeleria cristata Fescues (Festuca spp.) are found around as well. So that’s what I’ve ordered.

Its a perfect time to seed. Its raining and snowing and sunny, sometimes all in one day. The ground is moist. New grass is starting to show. The seed needs about 40 degrees to germinate and I’ll seed twice the rate, then cover it with straw to foil the birds. Native grasses 'look'.

For all those who care, I highly recommend bunch grasses. For the West, they are our native perennial grasses, here for ions before the Europeans brought their cattle and with them came their annuals. These reseed rapidly and overtake the smaller bunch grasses. Because of Wyoming’s higher elevation, invasive annuals have not been as much of a problem as in other parts of the West. But one, Cheatgrass, has been seen to be evolving into places not seen before.

Filed under: Grasses | Tagged: Native grasses | 1 Comment »

My Kind of Wyoming

Posted on April 14, 2009 by Leslie

There is a rawness here. A kind of un-forgetting. Where forgetting can mean the difference between life and death. A brilliant clear day of 60 degrees can suddenly turn into a snowstorm at 20 below. The crackling of dry leaves can mean a grizzly and her cubs around the corner. Your car breaks down on a lonely dirt road where no one travels for days at a time.

Vulnerability is the tenure of existence. No amount of pretense or camouflage can make up for the visibility of that fundamental truth. The sharp edge of living with that awareness draws the psyche into deeper places. There is no hiding from the existential quandary of our aloneness. Changing Aspens after a October snowstorm

Elk in Geyser Basin, Yellowstone

Dawn in Yellowstone

In a state as large as 97,000 sq. miles in area but with only a little over 600,000 people, this is the unspoken understanding people live with day by day. You try and be prepared, but the truth is we are all dependent . Rugged independence may be what is imagined by those passing through, fueled by the cowboy Hollywood image; one has to live here to know the extent of actual interdependence.

You may not care for your neighbors’ politics or drinking problem, but he’ll sure as hell be there for you when you’re broke down on the road or lost in a snowstorm. A whole town will pitch in with a raffle or a fundraiser if you need medical care you can’t afford. Total strangers do the unheard-of to help one another. A young man from back east was lost in our area while hiking the cliffs. One of my neighbors looked for him for over two years until he finally gave up. A friend of mine risked his life to save a drowning stranger trapped on a frozen river, in an upturned truck, that he encountered while driving along a lonesome highway. Red River Canyon, Lander

The intense quiet and overwhelming geography make long gaps in a conversation comfortable, even necessary. It is as if the Human is subsumed by the largeness of the landscape. I stop to say hello to a neighbor. Standing in the dirt driveway by the fenced meadow, large cumulus clouds pass over. The sky turns brilliant colors as the day comes to a close. We pause to watch . There is a rightness to it, as if in church—here, we are in church. It is the Land. Big Horn Canyon

Thoughts are telegraphed rather than spoken. The land itself starts to breath you, in and out. The only forgetting is what comes with leaving behind the busyness, the necessities of ‘thinking to know’ and ‘needing to know’. The rhythm of the natural world is meditation, awareness, alertness. That seems to be the nature of consciousness for it is the key to survival. Buffalo in Lamar Valley

People here watch game. They read the weather by the movement of the deer or the seasonal shifts of the birds. They remember a year by the large population of Unita Ground Squirrels or the overwhelming plague of grasshoppers. Time is punctuated by rare sightings–of a wolf making a kill, a mountain lion stalking a deer, the buffalo skull found by the river. Wild Horse in Big Horns

The art of storytelling is alive, well, and resuscitated. There are stories of breaking horses, of rodeo riding, of guiding and ranching. The time the tourist at Yellowstone was trying to push a Grizzly into the back of his station wagon to ‘bring him home’. The 47″ trout caught ice fishing in ’62 down at New Fork Lakes. The 9 cords of wood “I tried to sell ’em cheap” with the house, but that fellow said “I’m putting in electric heat”, and then it got 30 below in Pinedale, the electricity went off, and he had to haul his whole family to a motel in town. Those are the abbreviated versions. The embellished keep you captive.

Gretel Ehrlich, in beautiful prose that reflects her love affair with Wyoming, eloquently expresses it:

“…there is true vulnerability in evidence here. Because these men work with animals, not machines or numbers, because they live outside in landscapes of torrential beauty, because they are confined to a place and a routine embellished with awesome variables, because calves die in the arms that pulled others into life, because they go to the mountains as if on a pilgrimage to find out what makes a herd of elk tick, their strength is also a softness, their toughness, a rare delicacy.” (The Solace of Open Spaces)

This is my kind of place. This is Wyoming. Backpacking in the Beartooths

Filed under: Practice of The Wild | Tagged: Greta Ehrlich, Sacred Sites, Wyoming, Yellowstone National Park | 3 Comments »

The wickiup

Posted on April 12, 2009 by Leslie

Last week my friend W__ and I hiked up almost to the ridgeline on the steep slopes across the river from my cabin. That entire hillside used to be owned by Doc Firor, the original owner of my cabin. Unfortunately, it had been sold after he died and divvied up into 6 acre parcels with cabins on it.

That is the south facing side and is basically granite, which means its mostly treeless down below and there’s very little water run-off. In fact, over these last 10 years of drought and climate change, many of the springs have dried up. We hiked almost to the ridgeline

W__ had been up there several years ago with a local and found some evidence of Sheepeater houses. “My friend pointed to some old logs and said ‘these are them’. I really had to use my imagination.”

The hike is tough and pretty much straight up. You climb through a series of level meadows followed by steep ascents. The first 2/3 consists of scattered limber pines and doug firs. W__ couldn’t remember exactly at what height he had seen the ruins, so we wound up climbing almost to the base of the cliffs. Several levels below the cliff-line is open forests with stunted trees. We were right below the cliffs

Most of the time we followed deer or elk trails. We would stop and inspect a level area, then move on to higher ground. At one point I spotted a tiny obsidian flake. I have no idea how I found it amidst all the duff and debris. We joked that the obsidian flake and the crow feather we found meant we were ‘hot on the trail’.

Pretty soon, after not encountering any sheepeater evidence, I forgot all about looking for ancient artifacts and enjoyed the forest. The rolling gurgle of Sandhill cranes in the distance, migrating in, spoke of winter breaking. The views were magnificent as we were about 2,000 feet above the valley. The view was magnificent After a lunch break we began heading back. We descended slightly down to a lower yet still forested level that we hadn’t inspected. Suddenly W__ spotted some old timber. In a flat clearing, butting up against the hillside, was a distinct squared off area constructed of ancient logs. Sheepeater hut

Another view

I looked around and noticed that behind me was access to the cliff areas, while in front was a complete view of the valley. Access to the cliffs behind

Site looks over the whole valley

A spring used to run nearby that’s now dry since the homeowners below diverted it for their own use. Several hundred yards directly east we encountered an opening to a gully that ran east/west. We walked along the top of the unusual drainage, now full of snow. It was long and wide, narrowing into a natural boxed trap. I could almost imagine the Sheepeaters driving Bighorn into the small canyon where they’d easily be trapped and killed. Probably this dwelling, I thought, was just a temporary shelter used in winter. The haul of the kill back down the valley to the Bugas-Holding site, not exactly nearby, must have been tough. The Sheepeaters used dogs with travois to do a lot of their carrying.

The one thing that made me uncertain was that all the pictures I’d ever seen in books had Sheepeater ‘houses’ as teepee style structures, with logs piled on top of logs. This was definitely a square structure.

When I returned I showed the photos to my old neighbor JB who grew up in the valley. He further cast doubt on the sheepeater theory as he thought the structure looked more like an old bear trap.

“There’s a tree in the middle with only one exit. They’d tie a horse as bait for the bear. I bet that’s what that is. The Indian houses were teepee log structures.”

Somehow I couldn’t imagine those old homesteaders climbing way up the mountain to bait a bear. “Heck”, I thought, “if I was going to bait a bear, I’d do it in the drainages down below where they usually hang out. And I wouldn’t have to trek way up here.” W__ thought it was all wrong. “No”, he said, “the logs are really old. That’s a sheepeater’s structure.

Several days later I decided to take another look. I found an easier route from the road. Although not as much climbing was involved because I started higher up, I had a lot more ground to cover. Taking another look at the structure, it had absolutely no exit. There were four complete sides. And the dead tree inside was too young compared to the timber used to construct the dwelling. Still I had no way of being certain. I don’t have the expertise and there’s always the unknown factors.

On my way down the hillside, I ran into some locals. The woman was from the University of Wyoming extension. They knew the area and knew of the wickiup.

“Several years ago that was discovered by one of the ranch hands doing some work on the stream. He called George Frison who came out and looked at it. Frison said it was the real thing–a Sheepeater dwelling. It used to be more intact, had more height to it. It’s deteriorated since we first saw it.”

I had to wonder how the structure had deteriorated so fast over the last 20 years compared to the fact that its probably at least 150 years old. These are special sites and need to be watched over. When the ’88 fires came through here, the forest service was cutting break lines. If it hadn’t been for one of the locals pointing out a sheeptrap to them, they would have cleared it completely.

Fire is destroying the evidence of these ancient peoples. There is a concerted effort going on to find and GPS as many of these sites as possible before they are destroyed. Interestingly, although fire will destroy wood structures, it also clears duff and can expose artifacts buried below. The Boulder Basin site is a perfect example. It had been explored since the 1970’s. Although sheep traps were evident, Archaeologists thought that the sites had been cleared and looted because little other cultural evidence was found. After the fires, the site was re-visited and hundreds of projectile points, bone fragments, stone implements, and other important artifacts were uncovered, some simply scattered above the burned ground.

These are Americas’ Acropolis, our Pyramids. They stir our imagination and resonant with the collective unconscious of humankind. I see these old timbers and dream the dream of what it might have been like to be living here so long ago; to be dependent on one’s community and the earth; to be a wanderer, a hunter-gatherer; to be so intimate with the natural world. These are important places, for us, for our children, for all mankind.

Filed under: Sheepeaters | Tagged: Bighorn Sheep, Native American Culture, Sheepeaters | Leave a comment »

Grizzly and mud

Posted on April 10, 2009 by Leslie

Well, the first bear was spotted the other day. I talked with the fellow who saw it. He was driving down to the old bridge, no longer in use, to go fishing. From the road above he saw the grizzly walking across the bridge. It’s now a forest service campsite, rarely used except by a few fisherman. I asked if he went fishing. “Nope, just turned right around.”

The odd thing is that I was down there twice that week and didn’t notice any bear sign, and there was plenty of snow and mud for tracks. Grizzly track

And even though we’re still getting snow, the nights aren’t too cold and some of days are actually warm. The bears will be coming out and be hungry, so I’m keeping watch and starting to carry bear spray. Grizzly tracks near fishing bridge

Today!

The good news is that its still so snowy and muddy that tracks will be obvious. The bad news is that it’s so muddy. Hiking in snow isn’t bad, but the mud here is unlike any I’ve ever seen. In Northern California where I gardened, I spent lots of time working with tight clay. I dug in it, I hiked in it, and I tracked lots of it indoors. But that clay soil doesn’t hold a candle to the Bentonite clay soil around here. Its because of all the volcanic ash that was once here. That’s how it forms.

Just a few steps and your boots weigh twice as much. If you’re walking on a hill, you’re likely to be sliding towards the creek or cliff. Your horses will slip in it. If you’re in your car on a muddy dirt road, soon you’ll be spinning out. That sticky mud won’t come off your soles easily and it dries into a cake.

Another interesting annoyance I’ve learned about this mud is that after its caked on my car from driving along the dirt roads here, and then freezes at night, my back doors won’t open. The mud kicks up onto the wheel well forming a large muddy frozen mass that cements my doors tightly shut. I’ve driven into Cody where it warms up during the day, parked my car, only to come back and find mud oozing off the wells into large pools on the parking lot.

Humans looked at this mud and said “we’ve gotta figure out a way to make money with it” and they did. Big Horn Basin is a major producer of bentonite, used as drilling mud for the oil and gas industry, but also, and maybe more important, as a main ingredient in kitty litter.

Knowing that it’s helping indoor cats certainly doesn’t make it more appealing to me. But I’ve decided that it can be personally useful. My Jeep is so muddy there’s no reason to clean it yet. Until things dry out around here, the car will just get dirty again in less than a day. But I don’t want to wash it anyways right now. With that cakey mud you can’t read my license plates. Now there’s a way it could actually come in handy. Muddy unreadable plates!

Filed under: Tracking | Tagged: Bears, Bentonite | 2 Comments »

The Hermitage

Posted on April 7, 2009 by Leslie

More fixing on my upper cabin, and with that comes hanging its name on a sign. I love that upper cabin. It has no water, no outhouse, and as of now, no heat. I love this little cabin! It has a dangerous oil barrel for a stove sitting directly on the wood floor with single-wall stove piping. Original wood stove and grimmy floor I’m about to change that part. I bought a used tiny Jotul and the seller threw in a whole bunch of double and triple wall pipe. Problem now is that the steep rough dirt road to the cabin is full of snow. So I’ll be waiting a few more weeks to get it up there.

The great thing about that cabin is how secluded it is; how primitive it is. Its where the forest sings its most intimate songs because nobody’s around to hear them. View from side. The forest sings.

When I first looked at this property, for all of 1/2 hour, the realtor showed me the upper cabin and told me it was built originally as a hunting cabin because the elk passed through there. Its true the elk are up there in the winter. But it wasn’t true that it was built for hunting. The previous owners simply used it to store junk. It wasn’t until 2 summers ago that I found out its true origin.

The original owner of my cabin, Doc Firor, began coming up here as a ‘dude’ to the ranch across the street. In fact, many of the long time residents started coming here to Ali Ritterbrown’s dude ranch. That was in the 30’s, when the main road was dirt.

Doc Firor was the head surgeon at Johns Hopkins in Maryland. After coming to the dude ranch a few times and falling in love with the mountains, he bought this property, which at that time was several hundred acres. There were no buildings on the property yet, and although he’d stay at the ranch when he came out, he wanted a retreat getaway. So he built the one room cabin in 1957, several years before he built the larger cabin, and he’d retreat there in the afternoons, away from the dudes.

When I finally closed escrow on my property it was December. I stayed in the main house a few nights. It was the first time I’d been here for more than an hour. I had planned to stay a week, but that was cut short to 2 days because of a family emergency. Lucky for me too, because I didn’t realize how un-winterized the place was. The water pump didn’t work so I had no hot water, and barely any cold. All the windows were single-paned and leaky. The propane heater didn’t work and the house never got above 50 degrees even with the wood stove. It was –10 degrees outside. I slept on a mousey couch by the fireplace.

The previous owners who’d lived here since the 80’s had left all their stuff—part of the deal when you buy a cabin in the sticks. You could feel they’d had wonderful, memorable times here, full of family and friends on summer vacations. In going through what was left, I found photos, stories, board games, an ice cream maker, an inflatable raft, fishing gear, books on mule care, an outdoor BBQ, and a fire pit under the stars. All expressions of good times and warmth.

But the original owners’, the Firor’s, I knew nothing about. That first night on the creaky couch I had a powerful dream with religious symbols of the Pope and a grizzled graying man praying fervently. I awoke a bit perplexed. I am not religious and the dream, although powerful, had little meaning to me. But it soon became quite clear when that afternoon my neighbors invited me over and told me about their friend, Doc Firor, and what a religious man he had been. He spent a lot of time in the upper cabin, studying the Bible, my neighbors said. At times he even gave the sermon at the Sunday church gatherings. The first night at my new cabin was a kind of ‘visitation’ from the ethereal leftovers of Doc Firor’s presence. 'Doc' & Mrs.

When I came back in the spring of that year, I found myself spending many afternoons at the upper cabin, taking my computer up there and writing. I had to agree with ‘ole Doc—-it’s a special spot. I decided to restore its’ spirit and began by cleaning out the junk left by the previous owners. I filled several pick-up loads with old siding, pipe, junky furniture, you name it. I rented a sander and a generator and restored the wood floor, which was full of sticky residues. I found a forest service bunk bed for guests to sleep in. Now I’m looking for book cases, and soon I’ll replace the stove and install a proper fireproof floorboard under it. But I still didn’t know Doc Firor’s complete story until his son, Tom, now in his 70’s, paid me an unexpected visit from his Vermont home two summers ago. My refinished floors and new rug

I am not religious nor raised Christian. But I do have a background and interest in spirituality and am well-read in most religious traditions. Many years ago I had a special interest in a very famous and well-known Indian spiritual teacher named Ramana Maharshi. He lived in South India during the first half of the 20th century. I particularly remember being very influenced by a book of reminiscences written by Arthur Osborne. He related his impressions of Ramana and the life at the Ashram when he was there in the 1930’s. Anyone traveling to South India in the 1930’s would surely have heard of the great teacher, Ramana Maharshi, as he was well-known and quite revered. Classic photo of the great sage, Ramana Maharshi

Tom told me his father and mother walked every day to the upper cabin. His dad called it his ‘ashram’. I asked Tom where his father heard that Indian term. After all, Firor was a devout Christian, not a Hindu. Tom told me his father was a missionary doctor for a year in South India in 1936. That his time there was very important to him and shaped him a lot. He took from it the word ‘ashram’, which means a place of spiritual retreat, a hermitage traditionally in the forest.

I couldn’t imagine Doc Firor living in South India in 1936, a relatively sparsely populated region of India, and not going to Tiruvannamalai to see the great Master. By 1936 the world was beginning to hear about Ramana. Already by then some very famous people had come to see him. It was a strange and unexpected connection that I had with this particular property and its history.

A little side piece to this is that one day the neighbors who bought the Ritterbrowns Dude Ranch came over. They asked me about my upper cabin and how it was doing. They already knew the story. “We have our own Ashram, you know”, they told me. “It’s a little cabin up in the back of our property with a library.” Apparently, the Doc had popularized the Hindu word around here.

This winter I found a nice piece of wood from the forest and began burning a sign. Its simple, but a way to honor Doc Warfield Firor’s relationship with this place, as well as my own. I’ll be hanging it at the door of the small cabin as soon as the snows melt a bit. New sign

Filed under: Practice of The Wild | Tagged: Homesteading, Ramana Maharshi | 2 Comments »

The First Peoples here

Posted on April 4, 2009 by Leslie

Greater Yellowstone Ecosystem has two premier archaeological sites, both on the eastern side. One is Mummy Cave located between Cody and Yellowstone; the other is Dead Indian Campground, located along Chief Joseph Scenic Highway north of Cody. Mummy Cave is a well-preserved site showing evidence up to 9000 years old. It is well-known and much talked about.

On the other hand, Dead Indian site is difficult to find much information about. The site butts up against the road, near the Dead Indian Campground. It was discovered when someone noticed bones and artifacts slumping into the creek and a dig was lead by George Frison of The University of Wyoming beginning in 1969 and continuing through 1971. According to Frison’s Survival by Hunting, the Dead Indian site is around 4000 years old and probably a large winter campsite.

Another premier site nearby is the Bugas-Holding site. The area is meadow, aspens, and next to the creek. This site also was a large winter campsite where both Bighorn Sheep and Buffalo were taken.

In order to find out more about the Dead Indian site, I went to the Cody library and was lucky enough that they had a copy of the Wyoming Archaeologist from the 70’s when the site was excavated. The local chapter had done the dig with help from Frison. The frayed paperbound copy was the technical report of the findings.

Walking around the site now, my untrained eye would never know there had been a dig. The teepee rings are no longer visible. The only evidence I saw was a single small 1/8″ size obsidian chip. The area though, is a perfect campsite. It has a fairly large and flat meadow right near the creek. It is east enough of the Absarokas that the snow accumulation is less than farther up Dead Indian drainage. It is protected from wind and has areas for lookouts. And it is along a major route through the Park and into the desert below.

In the dig they found antlers of mule deer laid out in ceremonial fashion. A skeleton of a small child was uncovered. Over 500 projectile points and hundreds of stone tools were unearthed. It seems that mostly what these people killed and ate were mule deer and mountain sheep. Even though they lived here during the winter, few elk were uncovered which suggests the populations of large mammals was very different then. George Frison thinks hunting was done singly or in a group, rather than using large scale trapping.

Just around the corner over at Bugas-Holding, mostly Buffalo and sheep were found. The sheep were probably taken in traps right near the site. The site is on private property but a short jaunt over the hills and there are numerous sheep traps, close enough to bring back kill to the campground. An easy walk above the site and you can view the entire valley, east to west; a perfect place for a lookout. Looking up the valley from the site Large obsidian flaking sites are around these hillsides. It seems that this site was later than the Dead Indian and they did use large scale trapping.

George Frison wonders, and so do I, why these peoples would overwinter in and around 7,000′, when they could have easily gone down to the Big Horn Basin at around 5000′ where there is less snow cover. He suggests the abundance of winter hunting. You also have to wonder if the climate was different then as well. The creek in winter As I find out more about what went on in this area east of Yellowstone, I’ll let you know. To imagine this was a major route through the Park, and a large scale occupation area–well, its very quiet here now. Few people live here year round; most choose to live in the lower elevations nearby. People hunt here now, but the people who hunted here in the past also did ceremony to their prey. When I happen to find a small piece of evidence, like a sheep trap or a piece of obsidian, there is a bit of wonder and mystery about it–and sadness. Some principal piece that went on here for thousands of years is gone forever.

Filed under: Native Americans | Tagged: Elk, Native American Culture, Sheepeaters | 2 Comments »

Tracks I need help with

Posted on April 3, 2009 by Leslie

We went down to the river yesterday, exploring, and came across these tracks. They ended in some sand by the creek, so I backtracked them, through the snow, to where the tracks jumped across the river by way of two large boulders. I suspected they might be fox, but wasn’t sure. They seemed too small for a coyote. They don’t have that classic elongated shape of dog/coyote. The front track was 3″x 2 1/2″; while the back track was 2″x 1 1/2″. The stride was about 11″. I’m not very familiar with fox tracks, but when I looked them up in Elbrochs Tracking book, they seemed to have the classic roundness of a fox, the ‘H’ in the center where they’d be more fur, and the flat line on the metacarpal pad. So, all you trackers out there with more thoughts on these, let me know.

With Koda's tennis ball for size

Flat line at metacarpal pad

Full set

Fox?

Hopped two boulders across river

And just to keep things rolling, here’s another set of questionable tracks, ones that I can’t find in Elbroch at all. I’ve seen these a few times. They are very small, smaller than squirrels and so they must be something like a vole. Got any ideas? Tiny perfect tracks

Filed under: Tracking | Tagged: Tracking | 3 Comments »

The Elk and the Artemisia

Posted on April 2, 2009 by Leslie

I’ve been watching the elk for weeks around here. Not like the college kids doing the study though. They get up and out the door at dawn (when its frigid outside), locate the collared elks they need to watch that day, set up their tripods and scopes. and observe each elk for 15 minutes. They carry a digital voice recorder and make verbal notes–now they’re eating, now they’re sitting, now they’re chewing, etc. They’ve really gotten to know their elks. They call them by number, tell me if they’re too up country that day to observe, or that some have already gone back towards Yellowstone.

The study, as far as I understand it, is to try and determine what’s causing the low birth rates in the Sunlight elk herd–whether it be dietary, predators, or other factors. The interns in my valley are the ‘back country’ team. They told me they’ve even seen the elk gnawing on antlers and bones.

I have been wondering about their diet for a while. The sagebrush on the flats are browsed to crew-cut height. crew-cut Big Sagebrush

Not browsed Artemisia Apparently Big sagebrush (Artemisia tridentata) is an important food in the winter. The guys think they eat the Sage when the snow cover is high because the Artemisias are taller. As the new grasses emerge, they migrate elevationally, eating the new growth. The sage, though, provides protein that the grasses don’t.

I was curious about the deer and the elk and how much their diets overlap. I see them grazing together a lot. Elk with deer In biology there’s a fancy term called ‘resource partitioning’, which basically means that the deer and elk just couldn’t be competing for the same foods in the same area or there wouldn’t be enough food. Yet I watch the deer nibble the sage and eat new grasses as well. But according to studies, grasses comprise 75% of an elks’ diet, whereas only about 25% of a mule deers. The guys were telling me that the elk get first choice from their observations.

Last year they did an aerial count and came up with around 1400 elk overwintering in the valley. A forest service ranger told me that was carrying capacity.

Almost every hike I take I scare elk out of the trees at some point. The funny thing is that I can be over 500 yards away, and they still scatter. My neighbor says they weren’t always that skittish. He says before the wolves you could approach them fairly closely. The deer here still can be trained to eat out of your hand.

But since I’ve lived here, the elk are sensitive to any slight movements. Last week I saw a herd high up on a rocky slope. They watched me for a brief few moments, decided I was a threat, then took off. Minutes later I came to a prominence that looked out over a treeless meadow. From all sides came elk, over 150. They gathered into a large herd and began moving like a flock of birds, turning and swaying this way and that, splitting up then coming back together. Elk beginning to gather