Pinedale Winter

 

 Pine Street, the main street of Pinedale,
after the first real snowstorm since
my arrival two weeks ago

 

Heart and Soul Café, where “everybody knows your name,” or some of them do.  Margaret said she missed me and wondered what happened, referring to my many visits there last August.  And Lynn at the counter said she recognized me, with my mask on, and wondered where I had been.  “I’m happy that winter has finally arrived,” I said.  “This isn’t winter,” said Lynn.  

 

I have been the only guest here at the motel.  My jeep waits at the back door where I go in and out, its electric connection to the engine heater keeping it ready to start at any temperature, hopefully.

 

I go out and start it on cold mornings, scrape ice off its windshield or sweep snow off, unplug it, then go back inside for ten minutes or more before driving. 

 

Ice hangs from almost everything on the jeep’s bottom side, some of it dirty from sand and salt on the roads, some clean from a night at the motel 

 

Pillars of ice hang from the motel roof like stalactites.  They sometimes fall like spears in the wind or if it warms up too much or too long. 

 

The end window gives me a view to the Wind River Mountains   

 

No, the building is not leaning, the icicles are.  Tentacles of creatures on the roof try to get me by coming through my window.  They lurk until the wind blows, then creep over and under the eve and peer inside. 

 

I look out and see their devious plot, and just when I’m about to scream, they change direction and head earthward.  

 

I placed a thermometer on a tripod outside my window so I can know the temperature how to dress.  Only once has the wind blown it over, and more than once snow has covered it.  It is on the back side if the motel where nobody removes snow.  

It takes the putting on of high-top boots to trudge out there.  But I can usually get the temperature while snug inside.  

 

Fremont Lake, where I showed you visions inside the ice and talked with a friendly ice fisherman a few days ago, is now under a blanket of white.  I cannot see the ice I am walking on, and assume it is still there.  The symphony of cracking sounds is mostly gone, and the mystique of walking on water is replaced with a walk on what seems like a meadow. 

 

 

Rest in peace—mule deer beside the road.

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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   

Walking on Water

 

 

Pinedale art hug - Mural on the side of an ordinary building - More art hugs follow:

 

Wind River Mountains, so snowy and distant, I wonder if I can ever reach them before spring.  Between me and them, Fremont Lake in the foothills is reachable and even walkable.  Looking like liquid with patches of white floating on its surface, most people do not venture out.     

 

Far from the shore, I see a tiny box.  It appears of human making, either by having escaped from shore and becoming locked in ice, or having been slid so far out there after the ice formed.  Too thin to walk on was my first impression, so black in color it looks almost liquid.  I had asked before coming here how thick the ice is, and was told it’s about eight inches, strong enough to walk on. And so I ventured out.  

 

Tentatively at first, held up by rigid water, I crept away from the solid shore.  So clear was the ice that I could see through it and judge its thickness.  Black ice, very slippery, like window glass, it’s blackness acquired from the deep water below, as black ice on pavement gets its color from the road below.  Cracks all around me and the sounds of cracks as they form, a symphony of musical notes.  I was in a concert hall with both visual impressions and musical accompaniment.  Deep sounds reverberating from far out on the lake, treble notes from cracking close at hand, and percussion from an occasional crack that I could see happening on stage.  

 

I felt levitated as if only air were below me, looking down into clear water and not sinking.  Within the ice I saw the full depth of the cracks, verifying its thickness of about eight inches.  All through the ice, what appeared to be bubbles of air vertical columns, as if the lake was once boiling, then suddenly froze, capturing columns of rising bubbles.  

 

I knelt down and peered into the icy depth.  A three-dimensional scene revealed itself, an artform of cracks and bubbles fixed in time, like something ancient, like fossils, animated, as if creatures had been killed in an ancient flood and only now revealed in stereo pairs of photographs viewed one by each eye.    

 

These holes could only have been bored with the auger of an ice fisherman. And now that I was far out on the lake, the thing on the ice that I had walked on water for about half a mile to see, was looking like a tent that fishermen sometimes erect for protection from the wind. 

 

The object of my walk was now clearly of human doing, and when I saw the movement of someone near it, I called out, “Hello, do you mind if I come closer?” wondering if the ice was thick enough to support two people close together.  He said it would be okay.  

 I approached a rugged-looking man, who smiled and seemed to like my admiration of his set-up and of his courage on being the only one, and not so young, out on the lake today.

 He had bored two hoes in the ice, one for his ten-pound-test fishing line and the other for his sonar.  The little device told him that the water is 76 feet deep and its temperature 22 degrees Fahrenheit.  If there had been any fish within fifty feet, it would have shown them, he said.  “Í guess you don’t expect anyone to bother you way out here” I said.  

 

“I don’t mind,” and he seemed to mean it.  “I pull my gear on that sled and use my new electric auger, have spikes on boots to keep from falling.”  Noticing the spikes on my boots, he said, “We have to be careful as we get old.”  I half resented the comment, but couldn’t keep from enjoying his warm welcome into his cold and friendly camp.  We talked of past adventures and future plans and of being more daring or laughably crazy than most. 

As I was leaving, a hundred yards away, he hollered out to me with a six-inch trout hanging from his line.  I let out a cheer and hope to see him again. 

 

Within the ice, artistic forms appear
stimulants for poets and painters
fishers of men
adventurers of many kinds

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  

Wyoming Winter Wind

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Today, I will let pictures do most of the writing, while I ramble a bit.  Try to read between their lines to find a constant wind with gusts that raise clouds of fallen snow, and high above us lowlanders, the Wind River Mountains standing silent, watching over valley creatures as they try to stay warm. 

 

As I approached Pinedale, Wyoming, last Tuesday, the appearance of a country I was to inhabit rose in the distance from last August, but not the snow, not the heater full-on in the jeep. 

 "I feel affinity towards anything wintry." – Bon Callahan  

 

What words ran through the ancient native’s mind when he stared at this mountain?  His view is still my view, my feet where his stood. 

 

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it serves my nose
keeps it from freezing
face mask
 
winter wind
breath of the mountains

 

When I walked into the store where you go to check into the motel, I recognized Tasha, one of the owners.  She took time to talk with me and seemed calm compared to how she was in summer.  My comfort seemed a matter of real solicitude for her.

  

I guess there are half as many people now, and even the cleaning lady, who was hard to deal with in summer, took time to ask how I was doing. 

When I went back to Tasha with a burned-out light bulb, she fetched me a new one with a smile and an apology.  Not always so in summer.  I think you get the idea.  Tourists come in summer and sometimes they are not considerate.  It rubs off on the locals.  Winter changes all that.  There is a nearby ski area, but it’s not doing much business.

 

I am now ensconced in a comfortable room.  Some old snow all around, but much milder than normal, they say.  By placing around me my books and other possessions, I have formed for myself a home. 

 

From my window looking out on the snowy flatland, and beyond it to some fine bold hills.  Beyond them, I see the Wind River Mountains, which I came here in August to admire and become involved with.  I cannot see them to full advantage from here.  I tried once to enter them, but got my jeep stuck in deep snow.   

  

“I remember the designs of ice on the windows, back in my midwest era, and ice lining leftover leaves on trees, which make a high-pitched chime when the wind picks up.  Record that, too, please.” —Liz  Goetz

 “I can tell by your email that you are already happier and more excited about life.  It's amazing how the tone of the email resonates differently.  This makes me happy.” —a friend 

 

"How beautiful the world was
when one looked at it without searching,
just looked, simply and innocently."
       -Herman Hesse

 I think we can still do that: look on the world without excess complication, simply and innocently, not trying to understand too much.  

 

More mellow, serene, quiet, is how I describe it here, compared to Southern California.

 I pity the fears that prevent some of us from sharing such delightful sensations.

  

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 

 

 

A Day Not Stolen

 

The sky was low and gray this morning and snow was in the offing.  I headed out anyway, hoping to hike a few miles on a trail I hiked last August.  On this first winter venture into the Wind River Mountains I would see how things change between August and January. 

I am by no means deficient in a taste for natural places in all their seasons, but I am deficient in improving upon them with art.  Photography fills the gap for me with attempts, not at realism, and certainly not impressionism, but at lure—to seduce you into my little world by displaying things not seen by most visitors, because they don’t go there.  

“Leave it as it is.  People can only mar it” said Teddy Roosevelt, speaking of the Grand Canyon.  May I simply leave it alone and not mar it.  

So with summertime memories of wildflowers and green clothing on ancient rock, I headed out to see what winter brings.  But I never got there!   

The road to Elkhart Park Trailhead was deep in snow, and I got stuck.  Four-wheel-drive and winter tires will take you anywhere, right?  I walked a mile to find a place where my cell phone worked, and called AAA.  They said their tow trucks can’t get there.  I walked back to the jeep and started digging with my small shovel, and after an hour’s work, was able to back down the road.  I had given up on getting to the trailhead.  After a quarter mile I was stuck again.  I realized that there was only one place on this paved road, covered with two feet of snow, that I could back down it, and that was in the tracks of other vehicles. 

       

Finally, after thinking I was the only person up here, I met a car driving up, but it was stuck in the middle of the road, and a man was shoveling snow.  I went to him and wife with my shovel, where it felt good not to be alone. There were no arguments; we realized that together was the only way we would all get out of this situation.  We got the car unstuck, and he started backing down the road, but got immediately stuck again.  We got them unstuck three times before he was in the tracks of former vehicles and backing slowly down the road to a place where we could turn around.  

And then we saw the tow truck coming up the road.  He said that AAA had called him because someone was stuck up here, and he came even though he is not with AAA and could expect no payment.  We gave him some money anyway, even though we thought we could get down without his help.

The tow truck driver tried to turn around.  Here he is stuck in the ditch trying.  I had to ask the obvious question, “Would you like me to call AAA?”  We all laughed at our silly situation.  They used the towing winch tied to a tree to pull themselves out of the ditch.  A tow truck towing itself. 

It was afternoon before I got back on a road that was snow-covered, but not so deep, and I decided not to let the day be stolen.  I put on snow shoes and plodded slowly into the woods.  Just a few pictures here show the kind of country I might explore on this long stay in a mountain winter.  

 

Wyoming Winter

 

Welcome to continuation of the same blog from last summer, returning to the same area in winter.  All the summer posts are still here; just scroll down to see them.  This picture shows the blog header from last summer, now replaced with the above winter header.  And the journey continues.  

 

Pole Creek Trail from Elkhart Trailhead, August 2020.  
I hope to join it soon, both in winter attire.

Months have passed since those summer hikes in the Wind River Mountains. I have been living on a great piedmont that slopes from the San Gabriel Mountains of Southern California to the seacoast.  Time where a dream of winter returns to where I was.    

 

Slide Lake Trail from Green River Lakes Trailhead, August 2020

In the final days of preparation I invite you to trip again like we did last summer.  And if you did not join then, join now.  These blog encounters act in substitute for the live presentations of other ventures, in the way zoom sits in for togetherness.  Lets make the best of it with comments back and forth here on the blog or with email. 

 

Diamond  Lake from Big Sandy Trailhead, August 2020

I learn a lot about California by leaving it, by getting out of the cage I have chosen as home, living frugally to support difficult trips.  The word “difficult” defines what travel is to me—seldom visited places, encountered with physical effort.  To feel that I have arrived on home ground in foreign territory.  

 

 

Sunrise east of Boulder, Wyoming, August 2020

Half the fun is planning and anticipation, which sometimes exceeds realization.  This winter venture has been planning itself for months.  Now it’s time to put myself in the plan and see how it fits into the snowy mountains above Pinedale, Wyoming.  I don’t want to waste all that planning.     

Home again.  Winter this time

The idea is to arrive at the same little motel, in the same little town on the southeast side of the Wind River Mountains where I stayed for the month of August and to go every day into the wild.  Let’s go together, like we did last summer.     

 

 

Afterglow

 

Standin' on the corner in Winslow, Arizona, on the way to New Mexico

 

We had a near-wilderness setting for two outdoor presentations in New Mexico.  I felt almost as if we were sitting beside a glacier-carved lake high in the Wind River Mountains presenting a wilderness experience while being in one.  Wild turkeys and mule deer often visit this place, and the night sky was almost as full of stars as it was at Diamond Lake in the presentation.  

 

Mule deer visit here with their long ears and friendly eyes 

Two of us hiked into Holy Ghost Creek where, due to high elevation, aspen trees were already displaying their yellow autumn beauty.  

 

Aspen Leaves in Fall  

Aspen Leaves in Fall  
They applaud
with trembling hands
perhaps with a bit of fear
their lives nearly done
 

beauty is not theirs alone
but comes with sunlight
maker with made
 
I wait as clouds move
to cast a sunbeam
on waiting trees
 
they awaken
with unearned brilliance
among unlit peers   
 
not achieving
enlightenment
on their own   

Michael Angerman has prepared a map for this afterglow trip at Google Map Link Pecos Trip Autumn 2020   

 His map for the Wind River Mountains  trip is at  Michael's Map