A place to be on a Snowy Day

 

Leaving Traces

tracks in the snow
words in a story
language of what I have been
reflection of me
my story    

 

On my last day on the high plane of Western Wyoming, six weeks after the first day, I revisited the only serious mishap of the adventure.  You may recall my getting the jeep stuck in snow while attempting to retrace a hike of last August.  I got within five miles thinking the road would be cleared of snow at least enough for a four-wheel-drive jeep.  I was wrong.  

 

The good thing about it was that after a couple of hours of shoveling, a car came up behind me.  I heard it coming, and then saw it get stuck half a mile back down the road. I  walked back, and they walked up.  We met between our disable transportations.  We agreed that without cell phone service and the unlikely event of anyone coming before dark, we had better work together.  We pushed, shoveled, and broke off small branches to put under our tires.  In about two hours both vehicles were free and moving very slowly back down the road.  Only as we approached the better road did a tow truck come, based on a cell phone call where I could not hear anyone on the other end.  It was our cooperation that saved us; neither could have got pout alone. 

 You can still visit my blog post of that adventure at:   https://sharon-wind-river.blogspot.com/search?updated-max=2021-01-17T16:28:00-08:00&max-results=7 

Six weeks later, with much more snow on that road, I trudged up it again, leaving the jeep below, to see the place where I was stuck.  Only snowmobiles had been there, and at the place of getting stuck, there was no evidence of anyone having been stuck.  Even the location of the road was almost indistinguishable under drifted snow. 

 

Some places, a cornice had been driven up and over a hilltop by the wind.  Anyone coming up the other side of it would not know that the edge is really an overhang of soft snow, and falling into a heap of snow, or worse into an avalanche is very likely.  

 

The snow that builds up to make cornices is driven by wind from other places where rabbits can still dig through it to find food.  This one did not run away even stop its munching, apparently knowing that I was no threat.  

 

Other places, the snow is undisturbed by wind, lying smooth as a new canvas, where a tree paints a self-portrait.   

 

This high plane of western Wyoming, where it joins the slope of the Wind River Mountains, shapes its blanket of snow into sculptures of many kinds, where the resistance of trees to the wind is like tools of an artist, perhaps inspiring human artists by winds of time, weather and cold. 

 

From Pinedale, Wyoming, I drove west, stopping for the nights at places shown on a map that Michael Angerman has prepared.  See them at: Google Map for Winter 2021 

You can also see the map for the summer trip of 2020 at:  Michael's Map  

Rising above Western Idaho’s high plain of lava, 
this bulge of magma rose about half-a-billion years ago, 
like a bear emerging from hibernation, huge, but only 
threatening to the unprepared. 

  

My intention was to drive from Bend, Oregon, to Corvallis today, but a severe winter storm has caused me to wait it out.  This is how it looked in Bend this morning.  The twisty road over the Cascades is much worse.  

 

I wish to thank all of you who have read and followed this blog, and especially those who left comments.  I hope that a time not too far away will allow the in-person gatherings we once enjoyed.  In the mean time, adventure as you can, however you can.

 Love,
Sharon

 

Winter Carnival

 

. 

February is the dark month, the snowy month in the deep of winter, a time to look for outdoor cheer.  Carnival brings folks out to play in the snow or to watch while dogs, horses and skiers play.  They’ve done it here in Pinedale for so long that nobody has to ask when or where or what will happen.  It brings us to the social hall at the library, they say, or the party bar where beer flows whether you pay or not.  But this year is different.  I came in a bad year, and here’s what I found.   

 

 While the horse has to stay in a straight-line track,
the skier swings from side to side.

All the indoor gatherings are cancelled, and some of the outdoor events are shortened or spread out in various antisocial manners.  But one event was not reduced or cancelled in any way—the skijoring competition!  A lot of ranchers live around here and 240 of their teams signed up.  It took two full days to get them all through the skijoring course, where a skier is pulled by a horse and often the horse kicks up so much snow that the skier can’t see where he’s going. 

 

The horseman rides like a jockey, never looking back.  
His job is make good time.  
The skier follows on a rope
and has a lot of things to maneuver.

A team consists of a rider on a horse towing a person on skis.  The horse gallops on a straight track about 1,200 feet long.  The skier turns back and forth across the track navigating a series of gates, like slalom gates in downhill skiing, or like water skiing in summer.  The skier must grab five rings from poles while speeding past them.  The fastest time wins, and time is added for each gate missed and each ring not caught.  Girls do it too, and we shall see how they fared.  

 

Winter Carnival began with the colors—flags of nation and state carried by horsemen, and high schoolers singing the national anthem.  Everyone stood at attention and nobody took a knee.  We are in Wyoming.  

 

A  horse-and-rider start and a skier heads for the first gate
(the red stake to his right.)  If a horse can gallop
at forty miles an hour, a skier veering right to
make a gate is going at least fifty.

It was another dark day in Pinedale, about zero degrees, with falling snow and fog, making photography difficult.  Most of my pictures blurred with too-long exposure times for the fast action.  I did what I could, and nobody complained.  

 

Here the skier has veered far to his left to get around a gate.  Now he must jump off that mound at near right-angle to the direction the horse and rider are going, in order to catch a ring which is hanging from a pole. 

 

Here he comes to the ring, and it looks like he’s in good position to grab it.  See the ring already on his arm; it’s from a previous pole.  

 

Another contestant is about the catch a ring in the same place.  

 

This teen-age skier is the smoothest of them all.  She glides along at fifty miles an hour as if strolling along Pine Street on prom night.  

 

As she approached these two rings, she already has two on her arm and is in good position to get two more.  

 

She gets them both while in a hard lean to her left, thinking about that next gate and getting across the horse track.

 

Her father sees none of it.  He rides fast and smoothly keeping the horse on track.  I saw her give him a hug when it was over.  

 

Winter Carnival was not all cancelled for the tough people of Pinedale.  Anyone could enter the Cardboard Classic and slide down this hill with little ability or experience.  

 

Please see maps prepared by Michael Angerman showing the places the places I stayed.

Map for the summer trip of 2020:  Michael's Map 

Map for the winter trip of 2021:   Google Map for Winter 2021 

At the Races

 

 

“I wonder what sort of tale we have fallen into.”
The Two Towers  —  Tolkien
 

Hysterical about things
taken for granted
 
trying to learn
without acting stupid
 
closer to truth
snowy racing in Wyoming 

The sky was low and gray and snow was falling on their party.  Nobody mentioned it at the Vintage Snowmobile Races, but they did allowed the drivers to take a “familiarization lap” before gunning their engines into a blur of white where the track was hard to even see, much less race on.  A foreign photographer, unfamiliar with falling snow mixed with fog, wondered if she was on or off the racetrack while taking pictures for residents of warm place like Southern California.  

 

A little boy asked me why I’m carrying that ski pole.  “So I want fall down,” I said.  He looked away as folks do from someone undesired or stupid.  “Can I take your picture beside your sled?” I asked.  At least I knew that “sled” is their nickname for a vintage snowmobile.  At that, another boy wanted to be the picture also. 

 

The youngest of them is six, and the oldest in their category is about eight.  They line up with safety gear in case of a rollover, and a transponder so they can be tracked in case they stray off the racetrack. 

 Here he is on his sled, just old enough for kindergarten, and ready to idle up to the starting line.    

 

And here he is just after the start, running second behind the green sled.   

 

The green sled holds the lead as they speed out-of-sight, into the snow and the fog.  

 

The green sled takes the checkered flag.   

I didn’t get a picture of the champion in the green sled, but here is the second-place winner holding her trophy. 

 

An upcoming racer finds nothing strange going on here and will no doubt be driving a sled in just a few years.   

The youngsters operate smaller and slower sleds than adults.  This full-sized snowmobile is a vintage 1977 or earlier model, as required to enter the adult races. 

 

Adult racers blast off from the gate in of flurry of kicked-up snow that leaves slower drivers blinded and set back at least for the first lap.

 

They jockey for position going into the first turn, and I wonder if I’m far enough out of their path to avoid someone who goes off course. 

 

As they fly into a back curve in Lap 4, the yellow sled-driver is either looking at me or trying to cut in front of the driver to his right.

 

This dog is saving her energy for the sprint.  
I call this dog Joan.

Dog sled races are more vintage than old snowmobiles.  They look like more fun, in my opinion, and carry more sense and sensibility.  Dogs go slower, and mushers have only voice commands to guide them.  Also, the dog sleds start at three-minute intervals, avoiding a crowded and dangerous start.  Most of the dogs ignore all that and are just excited to know they will soon run their fastest.   

 

There’s a lot a howling, barking, and leaping as excited dogs get their spirits up long before the race starts. 

 

They have to be restrained or these rambunctious animals will take off before being given the “mush.” 

 

Once they’re off and running, devoted dogs give it all they have, tugging on the line, athletes in a sprint. 

 

As the race wears on, they cease most of their barking and howling, lower their heads, and settle into the serious business of just making it.  

 

It might have been a snowy and foggy day for the dogs and mushers, as it was for the snowmobile “sledders,” and maybe dogs don’t care about running through beautiful Wyoming on a sunny day.  But for me and the mushers, their spectacular course added great pleasure to this event.    

 

Please see maps prepared by Michael Angerman showing the places the places I stayed.

Map for the summer trip of 2020:  Michael's Map 

Map for the winter trip of 2021:   Google Map for Winter 2021