Friday Afternoon on the Northern Range of Yellowstone

Last Friday, after finishing the work for the week, I decided to head to the Lamar Valley to relax and see what presented itself for photography. While I love heading to the geyser basins, taking time to just be outside in the wide-open spaces renews me and lets me slide into that feeling of ease. No matter what the rest of the world brings, I hang onto these moments – keeping them sharp in my memory with words and photos that make up my field journal entries.

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Field Journal Entry for 26 June 2020:

I wish I could bottle up the scent of the area here at Slough Creek and send it to you. The hot sun released that scent today from the grasses, wildflowers, and sage. I wish I could share with you the views of the wide-open spaces and soaring peaks I drove through this afternoon to get here. It’s been a glorious afternoon drive.

I’m sitting here next to a pullout along the dirt road leading to Slough Creek campground. Occasional cars pass by, looking to see if I’ve spotted any wildlife, but quickly move on when they see me typing. A Unita Ground Squirrel stands like a cousin to the meerkats on a high mound, keeping watch. Birds are singing that I don’t know by their song…yet. Three red-tailed hawks soar around a nearby hill – a family group, I suppose parents with a youngster learning to carve its way through the breeze. While I just sit here soaking up the view and the sunshine, I hear a pair of Sandhill Cranes in the distance. Focusing on this moment allows me to fully relax.

After work was done in the early afternoon, I decided to head to the Lamar Valley – my first visit this year. I spent about an hour wandering in the sagebrush around the gate to the campground, doing a casual inventory of flowers blooming. Summer is suddenly in full swing even though another storm is on the way in a couple of days.

The chokecherry bushes are on their last flowers and starting to make fruit. Wild Geraniums are the most numerous flowers easily seen among a few lupines that are blooming. A type of cinquefoil (Sticky cinquefoil) and sulfur buckwheat are blooming as well. Pussytoes are in full bloom while the Rosy pussytoes are not far behind, but still nodding their heads, not quite ready to show themselves off. Prairie Smoke is going to seed – some are just ready to start opening their tuftula type heads. I spot some Jacob’s Ladder in bloom and imagine that it’s blooming the same over by Sedge Bay. The bright yellow stars of Stone Crop dance on sturdy stems, a type of sedum are at their peak. I delight in making portraits of some of these beauties. Glad to have others around as I’m sure that to wildlife, I look like a wounded animal – kneeling down to get on eye level, then walking a short way and repeating the motions. I find I am more aware in grizzly country that I need to watch my own back, but having others around is welcome.

Driving a little way west, I spot a herd of bison cows with calves moving toward the road – conveniently next to a pullout. The older calves are not quite so red any more – gaining a darker color as the summer comes on. Brown-headed cowbirds hitch rides. Many people don’t care for cowbirds as they leave their eggs at other nests to let the occupant figure out how to raise the odd chick. They do this because their home is always on the move. They are adventurers – those that need to be on the go – out and about. Wanderers. Cohorts of the bison, they benefit from the insects the bison kick up as they walk. They ride the bison like kings of the road. These little badasses just make me smile. They don’t fit the norm of the bird world. They are entirely comfortable that way—lessons in living an unusual life.

I, too, feel that need to wander – and contemplate how exactly I want to do that more. But for now, the sun is sinking lower in the sky, reminding me that I’m not quite there yet. There’s just enough time to make it home before dark. So, I need to bid farewell to this quiet respite from my week. I put my shoes back on my feet that have luxuriated in the warmth of the sun. And I close my car door on the light breeze that kept the mosquitoes at bay and look forward to watching the light shift to dusk as I head back.

I wish I could bottle up this moment of peace to pour over and into you. The best I can do, though, is to soak it up and send it out to reach you where you are right now.

Be Outside • Take Notes