We call him “Bus.” His real name is Walter. I guess I wouldn’t want to be called Walter either, but he didn’t give himself the nickname. It’s not because he’s the size of a bus either, because he’s not. He’s only 5’8” tall and very trim, about 155 lbs.
When we were kids, we used to take the bus to school. He missed it a lot because he used to like to sleep. His mother used to yell, “Walter, hurry! You’ll miss the bus!” His dad used to echo, “. . .bus!” from behind the newspaper. It just stuck.
Bus is an excellent hunter and fisherman. We spend as much time as we can in the great outdoors. He used to have an antique Old Town Canoe made of cedar and canvas with exposed ribs all held together with copper rivets. It’d been in the family since anyone could remember and when his dad died, he inherited it. The thing weighed a ton, but it was fun to paddle around. We used it to fish the lakes on the mesa in spring and summer, and we used to hunt ducks from it in the fall and winter.
Last October, we were hunting ducks near Delta and were sitting in the canoe behind a blind made of rushes and cattails on a farm pond. The day was sunny and warm, and there hadn’t been anything in the air since right after dawn. We each had two ducks but were hanging on for stragglers, bored stiff.
Along about 11:00 a.m., I offered Bus a cup of luke-warm coffee from my thermos. He didn’t really want it but took it so it would help him stay awake until lunch. I poured and held the cup out to him. As he stretched to reach it, his double 12-gauge started to slide off his lap. As he made a grab for it, the canoe wobbled, as canoes often do, and his finger must have slipped into the trigger guard. At the same moment, he yelped like he’d been stuck with a pin and jumped to his feet. Both barrels discharged and blew a hole right through the bottom of the boat! As if in slow motion, he slid forward, his legs going right through the gaping, splintered hole, and he ended up standing on the bottom of the pond in three feet of water with the canoe fastened around his waist like a bizarre belt!
Just then, he fumbled the shotgun and it flew over the gunwale and into the drink, and as I sat watching in amazement, he decided to go after it, throwing me and the rest of the equipment into the water!
He regained his footing, and as I bobbed up and regained mine, sputtering and gasping, I heard him say in a calm pseudo-southern drawl, “Well, Bill. What do you say we call it a day . . .?”
Bus took the canoe back home to his garage and made a bookshelf out of the good end and bought an aluminum john boat the next weekend. It’s not as aesthetically pleasing as the green cedar canoe, but it’s a whole lot more stable on the water.
Last Thursday, Bus called me and asked if he could propose to my little sister, Helen. Helen was widowed back about ten years ago, and has been living with me and my wife Katherine ever since. Dad died a long time ago, and I guess Bus felt he had to ask someone’s permission. They’ve been going out since last year, and they’re both in their forties, so it didn’t really make much sense to consult me. When I said as much, he let me know that sometimes things like marrying your best friend’s sister changed the character of a relationship enough to take the fun out of it, and he didn’t want that.
I was sincerely touched, but I didn’t pretend I had any right to speak for Helen. I told him I hoped he wouldn’t hold it against me if she said no, but I knew that wouldn’t happen. She’s been totally gaga over him for the last couple of years, and truth be told, she’s had a crush on him since we were kids, though I’d never tell him that.
Helen just came in flashing a medium-sized diamond and announced that she and Bus are getting married next June. Katherine and I are taking them out for a celebratory dinner right after Bus and I get back from our salmon snagging trip on Sunday. Maybe we’ll see you out there!
When I was sixteen, I discovered the girl next door. Little did I know she had already discovered me. One warm Saturday morning in June as I sat reading on the chaise lounge in my parent’s front courtyard, I heard the sound of shod hooves in the street outside. I got up to investigate, just in time to see a beautiful long-legged brunette clad only in a string bikini reigning her grey Arabian gelding to a stop in front of the house. As if taking an elbow to the solar plexus, I was suddenly deprived of oxygen. She was, in a word, gorgeous. She smiled coyly, and I could feel my jaw drop open and freeze. I wanted to say something, anything, but nothing would come out.
The horse knew what to do. He put his head down and began grazing, tearing huge chunks of turf out of the lawn. As I let myself out of the courtyard gate, my wits began to return. “Hi!” I managed weakly.
“Hi, yourself,” she returned.
“Wow, beautiful horse,” I said. It was true, but it instantly sounded lame. “What’s his name?”
I was obviously not paying any attention to the horse, so I don’t remember his name, even though she did tell me.
“I’m Cindy” she volunteered. “I live over there,” she said. She pointed vaguely to the end of the lane without breaking eye contact. She had the most beautiful eyes, full of mirth and energy. It made me smile just to look into her face. I couldn’t break away from those eyes, partly because of their lovely hazel color and partly because I didn’t want to be caught staring at her cleavage.
That was the beginning of a relationship that lasted through high school and into my first year of college. The girl knew how to make an impression, and I was impressed! Smitten was the word. As time went on and our relationship developed, we did all the normal things young lovers of our generation did. We went to the drive-in theatre on weekends and necked passionately. We hung out at the local hamburger stand and went to what we called “woodsies,” nothing more than an excuse to stand around a bonfire in the woods or a nearby pasture, listen to rock and roll and drink beer. We went to dances and sports events at school, and we went hiking in the foothills of the Rockies near home.
We had a favorite spot where we used to park, our own private “Lover’s Leap,” where we would go when it got late, but we didn’t want to go home. The view was breathtaking. With the lights of Denver spread out below our feet, we could see all the way to Kansas. We would sit and talk about what was going on at school, in our families, and in our social network. We also talked about the future. I was overly dour and sober, way too serious about the world, a worrier really. She was bright and funny, seeing the humor in everyday life. I gradually became aware of the likelihood of my becoming a draftee in the Vietnam War, and it bothered me. I just didn’t see myself as a killer, no matter what the reason.
I also became aware of the fact that, although a year older than she, I was outclassed in every way. She was brainy without being bookish, outgoing without being brash, sweet of heart and completely without malice, but possessed of a fierce determination which would ultimately lead her out of our western suburban milieu and into a career as a pediatrician and medical researcher with professional honors too numerous to mention.
I would simply go fishing.
Oh, I tried medical school, too. But the sad truth is that I was squeamish. The sight of blood made me sick. After two semesters spent nauseously observing open heart surgery, splenectomy, cancerous lungectomy, liver transplant, etc., I’d had enough. My academic advisor, Dr. Edmund Richards, said I was “too sympathetic” to become a surgeon, a statement I thought exceedingly odd at the time but have since come to see the wisdom. He recommended I “. . . get into something that will allow you to heal others without having to see their insides.” I chose writing. It’s the only thing I love doing as much as I love fishing.
Cindy and I went fishing together a time or two. Though not in love with the idea, she participated as gamely and vigorously as she did everything else. She handled bait without flinching, and ever the scientist, chose the correct fly based not on how pretty and colorful it was, but on it’s similarity to the naturals which were hatching at the moment. As sporting as she was, I could tell she didn’t really enjoy it all that much. But I adored spending time with her in the mountains I love so much. She loved spending time with me, enough to go fishing just because I liked it.
Ultimately, our relationship was destroyed by separation. She went to a different university than me, and our time together diminished to the point of no return. Although she made a valiant attempt to save the relationship, I felt I was holding her back, and eventually we parted for good. I was depressed for a long time after that. I use to awaken in the middle of the night to a recurring dream that she was riding her grey gelding away from me. In the dream, I called to her as loudly as I could, but she didn’t hear me and I was left behind. It always made me sad.
I found comfort though, in the soft, cool, spruce-scented air of the Rocky Mountains, fishing, hiking and camping until I forgot what civilization looked like. I never forgot what Cindy looked like. I can see her still, on that grey Arabian gelding, dressed in her hot pink bikini, riding into the wind, hair flowing, off to deliver a breached baby, or supervise a group of first year residents on rounds.
Oh, I can smile about it now, as long as I can still go fishing. Maybe I’ll see you out there!
CABIN FEVER: Fishing With Granddad By W. D. Preston
Granddad never wore waders. Though he was a fly fisherman par excellence, he never had much time or money for gadgetry. He was not into luxury of any kind. A plain-spoken and direct individual, he was by all accounts, naturally conservative, and the Great Depression just put a polish on it.
He had strong beliefs about how a man should behave in the outdoors, and he had the credentials to back them up. He’d been a logger and firefighter in the forests of Idaho and Montana as a youth. There he learned by experience how to survive in the woods with only a knife, a canteen, and a bottle of iodine tablets. By the time I came along he was well into his fifties, but he still wore his logger’s boots when we went fishing.
Back then we didn’t just hop in the car and go fishing for the day. A fishing trip was a multi-day extravaganza, camping included, and granddad always wore his logging boots. These were magical things that laced up the front and stretched clear up to his knees, with his pant legs tucked inside. They were made of thick, oiled leather that had a characteristic odor, like the inside of a freshly skinned hide. The thick rubber lugged soles left a characteristic track that made it easy to find him when we got separated along the stream side. With these things on, he could go anywhere, and we could tell how close he was by whether or not there were little mud balls in the dust he had walked through. If the mud balls were still wet, we were close; if they’d flattened out, we had some hiking to do!
Granddad always wore Pendleton wool shirts on these fishing trips no matter how hot it was. They were usually a bright plaid color, and he rolled up the sleeves to reveal the white cotton long handles beneath. On his head, a dark green Stormy Kromer wool hat, the kind that looks like a baseball cap with ear flaps that ties up over the bill. He said he liked it because it never blew off into the river.
Though from humble origins, Granddad put himself through college, becoming a chemist and entrepreneur. He was a pillar of the community in the small town where he lived, and a member of the Rotary Club. As such, he wore a suit and fedora around most of the time, and seeing him in his lumberjack outfit was a real treat.
He wore aviator glasses with sunglasses that clipped on. They were polarized so he could see the fish beneath the water. I got so used to seeing him with his glasses on that when he took them off to clean them, he looked like a whole new person. I remember thinking how solid and masculine he looked, and as a kid, I hoped I’d look that handsome when I grew up (without needing glasses, of course).
Granddad fished with a Granger cane fly rod. It was a good one, and the only one he owned. It had a Shakespeare fly reel that was silver in color, which even then looked like it had seen better days. The thing that impressed me about it was the handle made of real bone. You could see the pores and the veining in the knob ends if you looked close enough. It held a silk level (un-tapered) fly line, which was dull brownish-orange in color, and the leader was hand tied.
Granddad carried his flies in a single leather fly wallet, and he only needed one. It had felt pages inside that were filled with wet flies tied on snelled hooks, with grey wings made of duck feathers. They were works of art, with perfectly lacquered heads, some with olive bodies, and some with brown or yellow. He bought these flies from the local hardware store. They came on little cardboard stretchers that kept the leaders straight. He swam these flies through the holes behind boulders in the stream, expertly mending line this way or that, obviously having fun and making it look easy while catching lots of fish.
These were the days before catch-and-release. Granddad had a rule about which fish to keep and which to throw back. If they were longer than the handle of his fishing rod (about 13 inches, including the reel seat), they were keepers. Anything smaller went “back to Momma to grow up a little more.” Before we would strike out for the river i-n the morning, he would fill his wicker creel with fresh grass, instructing us that it kept the fish fresh. As the day progressed and he caught fish, he would stop, clean and rinse the fish in cold water, and replenish the grass. He only kept enough for that evening’s meal. It wasn’t until the last day before going home that he would keep the “legal limit,” enough to take some home for the rest of the family.
Even as child I could see the sense in this. It seems wrong to take more than you need. It always used to bother me when my father (The World’s Greatest Fisherman) used to take his limit on every outing, take the fish home in a cooler, and then freeze them. In a few months, Mom would take out their poor freezer burned carcasses and throw them away. Guess that’s why I’m such a believer in catch-and-release fishing today. No waste.
As children, my brothers and I were neither encouraged to fish nor prohibited from doing so. We were naturally curious about what the adult guys were doing. They looked like they were having fun, and we wanted some, too. So we begged to go along, and eventually to be taught how to fish. This was my dad’s responsibility, and he did it in a masterful way. He simply gave us the equipment and stood back, letting nature take its course. We imitated our forbearer’s actions, got frustrated, and asked for help. We were treated generously, kindly shown what to do, and sent on our way to practice. Eventually we became proficient.
Though he’s been dead now for over thirty years, I still remember all the fun we had when I was little, fishing with Granddad. When I catch a whiff of pipe tobacco or the smell of oiled leather, I imagine him casting over a riffle, and I remember and miss him.
When the temperature reaches 33 degrees Fahrenheit, snow and ice begin to melt. This is both the blessing and the curse of spring. As the weather warms in the high country the snow begins to melt and soon the streams swell with what resembles chocolate milk. The dedicated stream fisher must find a tail water section below a reservoir or take to the canoe or float tube for entertainment. Some folks that enjoy lower altitude flat land water features can amuse themselves with warm water lakes and ponds where bluegill, bass and occasionally “wipers” can be found. The high altitude lakes are starting to come to life, too, losing their glossy top coat of ice and assuming a wind-propelled set of white caps instead. I’ve never enjoyed fishing still waters much, so this weekend, I’m headed for another tail water stream where I can find some trout concentrated in a skinny, clear and rushing ribbon of gin.
This is the time when I get out the short 2-weight fly rod and size 18 flies and go to a small back-country irrigation reservoir where the brushy outflow below the rubble dam looks more like a spring creek than a river. There are brookies here, and browns as well, all wild fish with a temper. The average size is about 12 inches, but there is an occasional 16 to 20 inch fish lurking in the shadows waiting to make things interesting. On light tackle, these seem like lunkers and watching them take a dry fly can really brighten one’s day!
This place is located at the end of a jeep trail, way back in the hills away from any well-traveled road. This time of year, it’s muddy, with huge pot holes that threaten to swallow the pickup, and occasional stretches of un-melted snow. The inspector from the irrigation company, that owns this place, has been back here maybe once or twice this season and has found no reason to grade the road, so it’s pretty tough going. As I drive through the mud, I hit a submerged hole quite hard and am launched into the roof, hitting my head. The engine growls and the truck lurches free of the mud hole with a shudder. I pull out into a wide spot and get out.
The gate that restricts entrance to the dam is downstream about a quarter of a mile from the discharge, and nowhere near the stream, so some hiking will be necessary. Today the wind is blowing, but lightly, and in gusts. As the day warms up, the breeze may subside a little. It makes the casting easier.
As I sit on the tailgate of the truck putting on my waders, I remember the last time I was here. I brought my nephew who had just learned to tie flies. He was so charged with enthusiasm and anticipation, he could hardly contain himself! It was contagious. It brings a smile to my face to remember it. He was so happy and proud to have caught a fish on a fly of his own manufacture; he ran 500 yards through the brush whooping all the way that one would have thought he was getting chased by a bear. He joyously held out for my inspection the 10-inch brookie he had taken on the peacock caddis, tied the night before.
After being in the truck for two hours, it feels good to stretch the legs. As I head down the road to the stream, a shadow dashes across the road. I catch my breath, startled, and look up. Circling slowly above on a thermal is a turkey vulture. How can anything so ugly on the ground look so graceful in the air? I often dream of flying, and I imagine what this scene would look like from his vantage point.
The day is bright, the air cool, but not cold. The breeze has dyed, the air is still. A few yards further on, the overgrown path leaves the road and drops sharply to the streamside. As I approach the stream, my pulse quickens as I hear the sound of rushing water and smell the damp moss, even before I can see the water. The low brush is wet with dew and smells pungent as I walk through.
A broad pool opens to my left and as I approach, I notice the ring of a rise on the water, punctuated for just a second by the nose of a rising trout. My hands begin to shake with anticipation, and I can hardly get my rod rigged. In my haste, I miss threading the fly line through one of the guides and have to start over. I notice my leader is set for nymph fishing, and I have to change it to throw a dry. I tie on a size 16 parachute Adams, dress it with a little float ant, and move to the edge of the water.
As I stand by the stream, making ready to cast for the first time today, I feel the presence of my father who taught me to fish, now long departed. I feel the presence of my nephew who I have enjoyed so many such days with. I feel the presence of my brother who loves fishing as much as I do, but whom I haven’t seen or spoken to in over a year. I feel the presence of my son who used to go fishing with me and wade in the water, broadening my experience with his expressions of child-like wonder. I feel them all just at my elbow now, looking over my shoulder in eager anticipation.
There, in the stillness, I make my first cast. The line shoots straight and true. The leader turns over perfectly, and hesitates for just a moment before settling on the exact spot where a few moments before, the nose of the trout appeared. Just as the fly begins to gently move with the current it disappears from view, and I am tight to a diving trout! It’s going to be a good day!
As fall makes it way into the year I have noticed homes where people are piling up their firewood for winter. I’ve had conversations with some of those people and they tell me that they really like going up into the woods with their chain saws, trailers and axes and getting their own firewood. One friend rhapsodized about how satisfying it is to be warmed in the winter with the heat from a woodstove filled with wood they gathered, split and stacked themselves.
I was innocent like that once upon a time. In the past we would cut our own firewood for our wood stove. As fall would set in we would pick a weekend and get up early-early and load the truck with kids, wood cutting gear, coolers filled with food and drink for a long day way up in the mountains. I remember hooking up the trailer the pre-dawn quiet, while it was still dark and heading up to the mountains for a crisp fall day of firewood cutting. Just as the sun would be coming up we would be driving past Laramie and climbing toward the designated cutting areas in the mountains. The aspen would just be getting to their best golden yellow color and the air smelled cool and mountain sweet with fresh cut pine and moist earth. We would start out the day with our coats, gloves and hats on but soon the exertion and the Indian summer sunshine would gently coax them off. Sounds real special doesn’t it? Well that is only a tiny, almost imaginary part of the whole wood cutting ordeals we had. Let me tell you about some of our firewood gathering misadventures we survived.
First, my husband is a die hard do-it-yourselfer. It wasn’t enough we had to go gather our own firewood, we had and still have trailers he made himself. When Jim makes something he makes it to last and as a consequence his trailers weigh almost as much empty as others do when they are full.
On one particular trip we were up and on the move before dawn was even close to cracking. I have stated numerous times that I am NOT a morning person but I am a good wife (sort of) so I had the kids, bedding, food coolers, water coolers, coats, gloves, hats and puppy loaded. Jim and I usually have an invigorating pre-trip squabble about what constitutes early. Something we have never really agreed on. Jim thinks early is almost the day before while I think early is anything before lunch. Anyway, once we got that out of the way we hitched the big trailer to the truck. I need to tell you that if Godzilla ever got tired of stomping the streets of Tokyo he could hitch a ride on this trailer, it’s huge and as solid as a tugboat. Sorry I digress… by now we are rattling our way down Dell Range at about 3am when we hit a speed bump. We didn’t hit it fast but when you’re towing a trailer that big and empty it tends to bounce a lot. One of the kids looked out the side window and said,”Hey, where is our trailer going?” Good question. Despite the heavy chains and heavy duty hitch that big ol’ trailer came loose from the truck, took a sharp left, hit the curb, took out a fence and partially entered someone’s split level home. The quiet of the pre-dawn had been disrupted. That day we never really made it to the mountains. We were far too busy with a deeply shook up family, several police officers, and an incredulous insurance adjuster. On a lighter note I remember the mother saying that she would never again say, “Nothing in the world would make her get up early on her day off.”
Then there was the time that Jim was determined to get this one bunch of logs loosened from the pile they were in. He hooked his tow chain onto a big log in the pile and the other end to the rear of the pick up and told me to “gun it.” I gunned it and then just kept going. I looked up into the rearview mirror in time to see the soles of Jim’s feet gathering sunshine as the log I pulled loose and was now towing hit him in the back of the knees and sent him sailing. He is such a wonderfully long suffering man. By the time he picked himself up off the pine needles and unhooked the chain from the log he had only decided not to talk to me for awhile.
For me the trip that broke the camel’s back was the last year we went to cut firewood. Jim is never content with nice sized logs that you just need to cut into desirable lengths and stack. He liked the huge Paul Bunyon sized logs that could be split into at least half a dozen smaller chunks. Of course, he made his own two person log carrier so we could clamp onto these monsters and drag them to the trailer then wrestle them up onto it and then go and do it over and over again. This particular year winter was coming early so the mountain man decided we’d better get all the wood we could get on the trailer. At the end of an endless day we were loaded with too many cords of wood on a trailer that weighed a lot on it’s own, we came flying down out of those mountains with that overloaded trailer pushing us every mile of the way and swooshing around those hairpin turns. My legs were cramping from pushing on the floorboards on the passenger side and my eyeballs were drying out from staring bug-eyed out the windshield. I was convinced none of us would live to see Laramie. Jim was, of course, nonchalant and telling me he thought we would be able to stop if we had to. Thankfully, we were able to stop in Centennial and relieve some anxiety.
Today the wood gathering takes place at any store that has wood pellets the cheapest and Jim can buy as big and as many bags as he wants to but I still hesitate to ride along.
STORYTELLER: Don’t Muddy the Issue By Karen Mackey
As I am writing this article, we are having one of the wettest Junes I can remember in a very long time. Everyday there has been some amount of rain. A friend of mine on FaceBook said it looks more like Ireland around here than Wyoming, and I agree! One of my girlfriends and I took a day trip to Fort Collins the other day, and the prairie is looking gorgeous, all decked out in a robe of vivid green with accents of spring wildflowers. It doesn’t happen often around here, so appreciate it. You shouldn’t complain about the rain when you live in an area that is either going into a drought, in a drought, or trying to come out of a drought.
All this leads me to comment on a discussion (ok, diplomatic term for argument) my husband and I have during any wet season we have. We debate about which is worse; getting tuck in the mud or getting stuck in the snow. I know, the best thing is to not get stuck at all, but when you live down a long country road it is inevitable that you will spend some time mired in mud or stuck in snow. I drive with the belief that if you hit a snow drift fast enough, momentum will get you through. The problem is I am a poor judge of distance, if the snow drift is too long, momentum runs out before the snow does. All this to say that I have spent plenty of time stuck in snow drifts. On the other hand, when it comes to a big mud puddle I go very slowly because I don’t like driving around town looking like I have been dirt racing in Baja, CA, but going that slow has gotten me stuck in the mud about as often as I have been stuck in snow.
Personally, I prefer getting stuck in snow. It is a lot cleaner, and once you get dislodged it melts off by itself. I will admit that with the snow often comes a howling wind that makes seeing anything almost impossible, but once you get home, you can go indoors, make a hot chocolate and warm up. I know there is slush and mess with snow too, but nothing like spring or summer mud. Mud is ooey and gooey and does not go away by itself. When I get stuck in the mud I almost always fall down in it, and immerge looking like a gross ginger bread man. Then not only is my car a muddy mess, but I am too and then I have to get in my car and get the seats all muddy.
The messy part is bad enough, but I have very seldom fallen in the mud without at least one person to witness the assault to my dignity, and if any of those witnesses are family members there is the sound of hyena type laughter to grate along with the gravel in the mud. Even if you manage to keep your feet underneath you, when you are pushing a stuck vehicle the problem is the tires.They gets to spinning and flinging mud in all directions. So then what is the outcome? I knew you’d get it. Yup, you still get covered in mud. When you get stuck in the snow generally you are dressed for snow. Most often you are covered in a coat, gloves and boots, not so with mud. I suppose if you are lucky you may have a slicker and rain boots on, but honestly how many of you go out dressed like that around here when heavy rains are so few and far between? When I get stuck, I most often have on clothing that is a light fabric, light colors and white shoes, no boots. Close your eyes and imagine that outfit all mud speckled and the shoes ruined. I will concede the fact that at least the weather is warmer, usually, but when you have to go home and hose off with ice water from the garden hose before you can go in the house, you still have to dry off and warm up.
I am not complaining about the recent rains, and I am thankful we have not had the terrible hail and tornadoes other parts of the area have had. It has been great to not have to drag hoses around our place to keep everything at least alive, if not flourishing. It is a welcome change to see green everywhere (except my wallet). So I guess I will sum it up by saying every positive has its negative; every decent snow has its drifts, and every good rain has its mud puddles.
As if life isn’t hard enough, springtime in Wyoming hits and many of us foolishly believe we can behave like the rest of the country does at that time of the year. It has finally warmed up here in southern Wyoming and we get the silly notion that spring has indeed arrived. HAH! Just because it’s June you would think it would be a safe time to pull the camping and fishing gear out of the garage, basement, or trunk of the car that broke down at the end of last camping season. Oops, now the dirty secret is out… we’re rednecks, actually I‘m sort of brownish red.
It’s an easy trap to fall into, even after a lifetime here we get sucked in often. Summer is approaching and our family gets the itch to go fishing and camping. Of course we are planning on this being the first of many idyllic weekends of campfires, sleeping with the crickets nearby, and waking up to a cool crisp dawn… if you’re a Leaper. Remember last month we discussed the differences between Creepers and Leapers. My fellow Creepers enjoy sitting in a canvas chair, wrapped in a warm blanket, in the fresh air while gradually becoming semi-conscious and watching through blinking eyes as the energetic Leapers get our campfire and coffee ready for us.
Well, back to the first camping trip for the year. One year we were struck with the annual late spring-early summer amnesia. This is a local condition in which you forget last year’s disaster of a fishing/camping trip. We never fully remember or believe that the miserable weather we had last year at Memorial Day or even early June will repeat itself. That miserable cold, rain mixed with almost snow and gale force winds won’t happen this year, the weatherman said so!
One year we took off for a long weekend out of doors to enjoy ‘Why-Wait-Wyoming’ in late May early June. We loaded up the camper, kids and Great-Gramma and decided to go to Rob Roy and Lake Owen. We got up there finally and found snow drifts still blocking the road to the lake. Since my hubby is a guy that does not give up easily we drove around till we found a place to enter. We entered, then promptly got stuck in the mud…deeply. The only other people around were some easily entertained out-of-state campers. They must have considered a lone man stuck in the mud with three little girls, an elderly woman, a bossy wife and a camper part of the weekend viewing package because they reacted like a lounge room audience with their only contribution being stares and giggles. After superhuman struggles, Jim finally got the car and camper into a spot where the mud was only up to his ankles. He told me, “you get in the car and I’ll push, when I holler Go! step on it.” It worked really good too except for the fact that he neglected to tell me where to stop. Once I knew we were free of that sucking mud I didn’t stop until I hit pavement. By the time Jim finally walked the mile or two to where we were waiting he was too breathless to yell at me.
Having not had so much luck there we decided to go on to Lake Owen. I’m sure you will not be shocked to learn this didn’t go so well either. As we got up toward the lake we were pleasantly surprised to find the lake totally uninhabited, we were tickled to think we would have the whole area to ourselves. As we drove closer I noticed a house sort of down the valley from the lake and it showed no signs of life either. It had this big gazebo sort of enclosure that was totally covered in netting, and all their lawn furniture and toys were under the net covering. I was beginning to get a little uneasy feeling. It was beginning to look like one of those suspense thrillers where some alien plague eradicated all the people. The closer we got the dirtier our windows where getting and it wasn’t mud. Then we noticed the sound of a generator but could see no source of the noise. I was definitely getting a creepy feeling about the whole thing. I like camping solitude as much as the next person but this was too much. Finally we got up to the lake and just sat and looked at this cold grey lake, rocky out-croppings and more mosquitoes than I thought existed in the whole world! The lake may have been a pretty mountain blue but through the cloud bank of mosquitoes everything was gray. Our windows weren’t dirty, those were swarms of bloodsuckers! And the noise! It sounded like a whole campground of generators going. We decided if any of us stepped out of the car we would immediately get sucked dry and turn into a dried up mummy. We high-tailed it out, went down into Laramie and had a picnic there.
I don’t want to leave the wrong impression with any newcomers to the area. Wyoming does offer tons of camping and outdoor fun. I believe I am blessed to live here. Just except the fact that springtime here is defined different. Don’t expect too much from spring around here and life will be much easier.
POET'S BEAT: Finishing Strong By Timothy Lee Stark
Matthew 28:1-20
Running the race was always my joy.
My care free days when I was a boy.
Looking for reasons to joyfully run.
Whether for play or work under the sun.
Cherishing these moments during the runner’s high.
Pain transcending into joy as music came from the cry.
Each run ended with an explosion of glory.
And so it was during these days in my story.
Approaching the days when they retire old horses.
I’ve run in many places with it’s many courses.
The body is now falling apart as every mountain grows.
Finishing strong seems impossible with many foes.
These are now the days where Christ in me grows.
May his glory shine through my cracks in witness show.
Some day my body will come to it’s fi nal rest.
And Jesus will take my soul to reveal my spirit’s best.
Epiphany (Webster’s Definition): A revealing scene or moment. An illuminating discovery.
Many hours spent reading in delight.
Seeing people that I would never meet.
From their art, I felt the worth of their soul.
This gave me the cherished magazine smile.
Their smile fueled my smile in the night.
Soon their voice encouraged my timid voice.
And now, I had something to beautifully say.
Like an epiphany, the music burst and flowed.
Today we have technology in its virtual way.
Things of dreams can now come to life.
So is “Facebook” in a new found connection.
And these people I really do know,
as they share their beautiful magazine smiles.
Thank you Ann and Nancy Wilson for “Dreamboat Annie.”
I live alone out here in my little cottage
at the edge of the prairie –
alone – well, not completely..
there’s always the wind.
When I go outside he rushes up,
pushing me as though
I am needed somewhere urgently.
She tosses the tresses of the tress
like a wanton woman demanding attention.
In wild fits of pique,
she overturns garbage bins,
and throws papers and plastic
to cling to pasture fence line
She prods me swiftly up the street,
around corners, down alleys,
tugging at my clothes and hair,
leaving me in disarray and robbing me of speech.
Arriving home, I shut the door behind he
attempting to catch my breath.
She howls at being left outside.
She moans at the windows and doors
and sporadically rattles tem with a
fusillade of rapid bursts,
complaining at the unfairness of it.
She would like to come inside,
toss plates, glasses and napkins into the air,
clothes into confusion, fling towels, bedding to the ceiling,
and all about. Create havoc,
push me from room to room
until I sit crouched and trembling,
submissive in the corner.
DAY TRAVEL IN WYOMING: Ghost Tours of Laramie City
Celebrate the Halloween spirit early. Meet your friends either Oct. 16, 22-24 or 29-31 and search for ghosts on the Laramie Plains. The Wyoming Territorial Park Historic Association and the Wyoming Territorial Prison (WTP) State Historic Site in Laramie join together (aided by local volunteers) and offer you the chance to meet the ghosts for the ninth year.
The first brave tour starts at 7 pm each night. A new adventuresome group goes forth every half an hour. Six tours a night take their turn for the hour and a half long hair-raising experience.
Begin at the 1910 Horse Barn Theater. It sets the stage for the “haunting tales of Laramie’s past reenacted.” You must remind yourself these are, after all, only actors.
Next, find a comfortable spot outside on the flatbed’s hay bales, ride down the WTP Frontier Town Main Street and continue to historic downtown Laramie. You will encounter “Some of the community’s earliest and most notorious residents.”
End up in prison for the last tour event. Learn the prisoners’ stories - some never made it out alive. Flickering candlelight casts shadows on the WTP walls when you walk past the inmates’ barred cells and work areas. Take away an incarcerated glimpse of another time. You will experience the last existing structure unique to its kind in our Western country. The WTP served its duty from 1872-1903.
I’ve toured the facility many times over the years and even worked as a volunteer. New details still continue to catch my interest. Excavations bring more facts to light.
Ongoing restoration creates an authentic atmosphere through the historic buildings.
Imagine yourself in the processing room giving your personal data and standing in prison garb for an undisputable photographic record of your wrongdoing. You will not remain in your stark cell long - much work awaits your attention. Prison labor erected the 1875 Warden’s House. It now reflects Warden James Marsh and his family’s 1890-96 residence.
The prison’s original north wing housed the first 42 cells on three levels. The six foot by six foot by eight foot brick rooms make me feel claustrophobic. Sometimes the cell held two inmates! Of course, a little extra body heat may be just what was needed to combat the temperature only 10 degrees warmer than the brutal winter weather outside.
Take the wide stairs or elevator to the second floor Lawman and Outlaw Gallery. Check out “The Reel, Not Real Butch Cassidy” exhibit about the actual inmate Robert Leroy Parker.
The 1889 expansion added a dining room which also served as the chapel. I attended an impressive living history presentation in this room last summer. It evoked the memory of the first U.S. prison system woman chaplain, Dr. May Preston Slosson. Twelve other women spent time in the WTP, serving out their sentences for crimes ranging from theft to manslaughter.
The expansion also doubled the number of cells but reduced the size of the new cells to five foot by five foot by seven foot. You may view a restored prison bathroom where the prisoners took their “required” weekly bath. The male inmates performed the laundry and cooking duties while the women remained under lock and key.
To prepare them for life outside and to encourage lawful occupation, the residents learned to hand pour candles, repair shoes, braid horsehair, master taxidermy, bake bread, work leather and hand carve furniture. They also built the rust red Broom Factory where they labored to manufacture 720 brooms a day in 1900.
Although I haven’t participated in the present Guided Ghost Tours, let me tell you about my personal, private ghost tour through the prison. Years ago, before the State Park System took over management, fund-raising events took place in the actual prison. Other volunteers and I decorated the prison’s nooks and crannies.
Late November daylight faded early. Shadows danced along the stark walls and iron-barred doors. One by one others finished their tasks and said goodbye. Since I chaired the committee, I made one last check on the preparations. My footsteps rang through the silent corridors. I passed one grim-faced prisoner after another whose photos hung on the walls. No one answered my hellos. My voice echoed back. A tingle traveled up my arms and neck. My pace quickened in tune with my heartbeat. Did I imagine a cell door creaking and footsteps behind me? Did I really feel the air grow cold? Please, do enjoy your tour.
Call for your tickets beginning Oct. 1, they disappear fast. They cost $10 per person. Phone 307-745-6161 and reserve your Laramie City Ghost Tour. Take I-80 West over the summit from Cheyenne. Take exit 311, turn right at the traffic light onto Snowy Range Road, travel around the bend and left into the WTP parking lot. Visit the website for seasonal events.
DAY TRAVEL IN WYOMING: Under the Arch Ayres Natural Bridge By Mary Buckingham
The pounding river current crashes against a sandstone wall. The water bounces off the rock to continue its journey through tall grasses. This relentless onslaught over eons erodes a passage, forming a natural bridge.
A native people’s legend speaks to the land’s fierce potential. They believe an evil spirit lives below the arch. During a violent storm, several braves seek shelter though the King of Beasts may lurk nearby. A lightning bolt kills one young warrior. The rest flee to warn their chief of the beast’s flashing eyes and sharp teeth that grabbed the youth.
Travelers along the Oregon, Mormon Pioneer, and other trails following the North Platte River find the area by the natural bridge a safe haven from native people fearing the beast.
In 1812, Robert Stuart, a Returning Astorian,”ranks as the first of many to write journal entries describing the rugged beauty and restful haven surrounding the natural bridge.
In order to bolster his health, Matthew C. Field joins Scottish nobleman Sir William Drummond Stewart’s 1843 final western adventure. Field chronicles the “pleasure excursion” for the New Orleans Picayune. His July 13, 1843, entry reads, “Rode off in advance of the camp with Sir Wm to visit a remarkable gorge - a natural bridge…over a rapid torrent, the arch being regular as tho’ shaped by art…We called the water “Bridge Creek!”
Maryland’s Dr. Steadman Tilghman also joins Sir William’s trek and remarks, “…one of the greatest curiosities we saw…formed of an immense chasm, with rocky sides…through which flows a beautiful crystal stream.”
Tragedy strikes near the natural bridge area on July 18, 1843, when young Joel Hembree falls “off the wagon tung and both wheels run over him.” The youth’s father, mother, and sister mark his grave with a stone, chiseled by William Newby. Other emigrant groups pass the stone and record for the first time a death along the trail.
James Frazier Reed of the Donner Party notes in his 1846 diary that his group camps downstream of the natural bridge. He leaves the group as they continue toward California.
Brigham Young and the Pioneer Company camp near the natural bridge in 1847. One of the members remarks the stream runs “through a tunnel about 10 to 20 rods under the high rocky bluff.”
On Independence Day 1849, Cephas Arms travels with Michigan’s Fayette Rovers and writes a letter about a visit to natural bridge, which he incorporates in his gold rush journal, Long Road to California. “It is thrown over the river where we camped…a perfect arch…and the river rushes through a gorge…the whole forming one of the wildest scenes I ever beheld.”
Pioneer photographer, William Henry Jackson accompanies Dr. Ferdinand Vandeveer Hayden to the bridge in order to record the unique spot as part of the 1870 U. S. Geological Survey.
Bullwacker Alva W. Ayres purchases the property in the early 1880s for his freighter shipping business. The graceful natural bridge forms part of his ranchland. Alva dies in 1918 and his son and wife, Andrew Clements and Edna M. Ayres, donate the natural bridge and 15 acres to Converse County on May 22, 1920.
The back of a 1909 postcard carries the following ad, “See this---the longest span of any natural bridge in the world---while attending the State Fair at Douglas…”
Travel 11 miles west of Douglas on I-25, leave the 75 mile per hour rush at exit 151 Ayres Bridge and slow your pace. On the left, 2.4 miles from the exit, stands a State of Wyoming 1913 red stone Oregon Trail marker. Red cliffs rise above the road as you descend to the canyon floor. You’ll pass an early 1900s power house built by North Platte Irrigation on the left before you enter the peacefulness of the natural bridge area.
Stop and chat with Wendell Manning, park manager for the past nine years. Wendell will let you know that there are still Brown Trout in the stream for the avid fisherman and that the creek’s name, La Prele, means tall grasses in French.
From the bottom of the creek to the top of Ayres Bridge is 60 feet, and the span covers 110 to 120 feet. Explore the path that leads to the top of the arch or sit on one of the many benches along the creek and listen to the river rippling over the bed of rocks beneath the towering red cliffs.
Ayres Natural Bridge is open April 1 through October 31, 8am to 8pm There is no entrance fee. Overnight camping is allowed with written permission. Call 307-358-3532 for information. No pets allowed.
DAY TRAVEL IN WYOMING: Make it a Weekend in Saratoga By Gordon G. Horton
The economy might be forcing citizens to vacation closer to home, but there is a lot going on closer to home, then one might expect.
Saratoga has been a fun place to visit for a great many years. I can remember making the drive while in high school, when a few of us would hit the road for Saratoga and spend a few hours in the mineral hot springs. We would make a mad dash across the snow packed parking lot and dive into the pool. In those days there were no dressing rooms, so you undressed to your swim suit in the car and then ran barefoot to and from the pool.
This was a trek most of us would do in late spring or very early summer when the Snowy Range Hi-way would open up for the first time that year. It was not too unusual for snow to still be on the ground in the Platte Valley, and when you went over the top you could expect to see the high snow banks left over from the heavy winter snows.
The Snowy Range Road or Hi-way 130 from Laramie to the Upper Platte Valley, was designated the Second National Forest Scenic Byway in the U.S. Started in 1920, it took six years to complete and was named the “Great Skyroad.” This route is a popular recreation attraction with many picnic, camping and observation facilities.
When you drop into the pristine Platte Valley, you see a wilderness area with a view of the beautiful Sierra Madre Mountain Range on the other side.
The Platte Valley is surrounded by the Sierra Madre and Snowy Range mountains with the Upper North Platte River winding through the town of Saratoga. The Encampment River flows through the Riverside and feeds into the Platte River. Although I’m not much of a fisherman I understand these rivers boast some of the best fishing in the western United States for Blue Ribbon Trout.
The Saratoga Chamber of Commerce tells us that in the colder months, the Snowies are rated #3 for snowmobiling by SnoWest Magazine’s “Top 15 places to snowmobile in Wyoming.” Groomed trails for cross country skiers, snowshoers, and snowmobilers exceed 300 miles, and with an annual snowfall of over 200 inches, there is sure to be plenty of powder for everyone.
The Chamber also tells us that up here in the Upper North Platte Valley, the Old West is truly still alive and well. The low-key lives of ranchers and cowboys still ring true, and the people continue to hold dear their deep sense of Western history. They say that their version of a “traffic jam” is when the cattle are crossing the road on their way to a new pasture.
Not too far away in the Town of Encampment one can see remnants of a rich history dating back to the mining boom days of the 1880s. The Grand Encampment Museum is open from Memorial Day to Labor Day allowing one to relive much of this history with their exhibits, cabins, an old printing press, and even a two-story outhouse for winters with deep snow.
There is a host of resorts, motels and other places to stay; several very good restaurants; and a lot of activities during the summer months ahead.
July 17 -19 the Grand Encampment Cowboy Gathering/Living History Days are held. Families of all ages can come and enjoy an authentically historical weekend. Team Roping at the Lions Club Arena, Stick Horse Races, gunfighter shootouts, melodramas, and lots more are available for the whole family to enjoy.
Also starting that weekend is the Power at the Pavilion Interdenominational Musical gathering. Participants include local artists, groups and choirs. For more information about the event call (307) 326-5520.
Other summer events at Saratoga include:
July 24-25 Platte River Rodeo July 24-26 Sierra Muzzleloaders Mountain Man Rendezvous and Black Powder Shoot August 1-8 Carbon County Fair August 15 Steinley Cup-official State Microbrewery Competition and Chili Cook-off August 20-22 Wyoming Film Festival
If you would like more information on Saratoga or any upcoming events, please visit their website at: www.saratogachamber.info or call the Chamber of Commerce at 307 326-8855.
DAY TRAVEL IN WYOMING: Curt Gowdy State Park, Vedauwoo, Ames, and Lincoln Monuments By Mary Buckingham Maturi
A plethora of recreation and historic sites can be found up off Happy Jack Road (Highway 210) and Interstate 80—just a short ride away. Vintage postcards illustrate that Granite Springs (Curt Gowdy State Park), Sherman Hill’s granite canyon (Vedauwoo, pronounced ‘Vee-dah-voo’) and the Ames and Lincoln Monuments attracted visitors for decades.
A day of adventure awaits you. Take Happy Jack Road west twenty-four miles out of Cheyenne and climb 1,500 feet up to the Curt Gowdy State Park entrance. Turn south and drive under the new 3-D sign arching high over the road down to Granite Springs Reservoir. The park bears the name of Wyoming’s own and world-renown sportscaster.
Although established in 1971 as a state park, in an agreement between Cheyenne and the Boy Scouts, the towering rock formations provided an inviting resting area long ago to the Comanche, Crow, Pawnee and Shoshone Native Americans. In addition, Arapahoe, Cheyenne, Kiowa and Sioux were thought to encamp here.
Besides using one of the numerous campsites available, you may also try your skill at the archery range (bring your own bow and arrows) or launch your boat for a day of fishing. Using area maps, one can hike and discover secluded waterfalls, especially early in the season, and wildlife. There’s a minimal $4 entrance fee per vehicle or $10 per night for Wyoming residents. Call 877-996-7275 to reserve campgrounds.
The park encompasses both Granite and Crystal Reservoirs (connected by a dirt road to the east) and the 1920s stone Hynds Lodge with a nearby amphitheater. Drive west a short mile from the park entrance and turn north off Happy Jack Road to reach Hynds Lodge. Call 307-637-7946 to reserve the lodge (starting October 1 for the next season). The complex provides beds, a kitchen stocked with pots, pans and dishes, dining tables with chairs and recreational areas. During the first weekend of Cheyenne Frontier Days, the air is filled with Blue Grass music from the amphitheater.
My favorite times to visit are when the spring waterfalls flow and the fall golden Aspen tree leaves shimmer. Be sure to stop at the dam to overlook sites and capture the stunning views.
Explore further west off Happy Jack Road among the intriguing weather-shaped rock formations of Vedauwoo. Look north and spot “Seal,” a bit out of his natural environment, sitting on a flat rock past milepost #26. Turn south at the Veedauwoo signs and wind your way past more fanciful shapes. As always, be respectful of the surroundings and understand that the Native American regarded this area as a sacred place, the name reflecting this, meaning “earth-born spirits” in Arapahoe. Travel slowly on the washboard roads and revel in nature’s grandeur.
After leaving the wonders of Veedauwoo, proceed under I-80 and turn left onto the gravel Monument Road and travel two miles to the pyramid rising from the plains. In 1882, the Union Pacific Railroad Company built this monument to the memory of Oakes and Oliver Ames, who helped finance the construction of the first transcontinental railroad.
The rough-hewn sixty foot granite structure derives from stone quarried at “Reed Rock,” one-half mile west. Near the peaks of two sides, nine-foot high bas-relief sandstone medallions of the faces of the Ames brothers, bears the handiwork of noted sculptor Augustus Saint Gaudens. Union Pacific commissioned world-renown architect, Henry Hudson Richardson expended $65,000 to build the Ames Monument at the highest spot (8,247 feet) on the original Union Pacific route, near the town of Sherman.
Finish your day a few miles west at the highest point (8,640 feet) on Interstate I-80, where the Lincoln Monument commemorates another famous transcontinental route, the Lincoln Highway. Robert I. Russin designed and created the 1959 sculpture to celebrate the sesquicentennial of President Lincoln’s birth. A small stone 1938 monument sits at the base honoring Henry B. Joy, the driving force behind and first president of the Lincoln Highway Association.
Mary Buckingham Maturi is a fulltime freelance writer and co-author of seven books.
AT HOME ON THE RANGE: Provencal Beef Stew: Perfect for a Cool Fall Evening By Gordon G. Horton
As fall approaches and the brisk cool evenings of the season are the norm we know, it’s time for comfort food. This recipe from Provence, the sunny south of France, brings to the table a delightful simple stew with the best of the Mediterranean. The recipe relies on salt pork, which is cut from the belly or side of the hog, for flavor. It’s sold in most supermarkets but in case you have trouble finding it, try a little plain bacon.
Also in this recipe I use beef chuck as it’s the best choice for pot roasting, stewing, and braising, all basically the same technique, where meat is cooked in liquid over relatively low heat or in a moderate oven over a long period of time.
Ingredients 6 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil, plus more for drizzling 4 ounces fatty, skinless salt pork, cut into pieces about 1 ½ inches long, ¼ inch wide, and ¼ inch thick Kosher salt 3 pounds boneless beef chuck, cut into pieces about 3 inches long, 1 ½ inches wide, and 1 ½ inches thick 12 large cloves of garlic, 8 lightly crushed, 4 thinly sliced 2 large carrots, peeled and chopped 2 cups dry rose` or white wine 2 large sprigs fresh thyme, plus 1 teaspoon finely chopped thyme leaves for garnish Generous 1/8 teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg 2 whole cloves Two 1 by 2 inch strips orange zest, reserve the remaining orange One 15 ounce-can whole peeled tomatoes, drained and very coarsely chopped 1 cup small or medium mild black olives like Nicoise or Nyons 2 tablespoons finely chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley
In a large, heavy Dutch oven with a tight fitting lid, heat 3 tablespoons of the olive oil over medium heat and cook the salt pork, uncovered, until pale gold and crispy Using a slotted spoon, transfer to a small plate and set aside.
Salt the beef pieces generously on all sides.
Raise the heat under the pot to medium-high. Working in two batches, cook the beef until deeply browned all over, 10 to 12 minutes per batch, reducing the heat if it threatens to burn. Transfer the meat to a plate and set aside.
Pour off all but about 4 tablespoons of the fat and return the pot to medium-high heat. Cook the onion quarters until deeply browned on 1 side. Turn the onions (try to keep them in one piece) and brown for 3 minutes more. Add the crushed garlic cloves and the carrots and cook, stirring occasionally, until the garlic just begins to color. Add the wine and simmer for 2 minutes, scraping the bottom of the pot to loosen and browned bits, Add the water, thyme sprigs, nutmeg, salt pork, and ½ teaspoon salt. Stick a clove firmly into each piece of orange zest and add them to the casserole.
Return the meat and any accumulated juices to the casserole and bring to a bare simmer. Reduce the heat to very low, cover, and cook, maintaining a bare simmer, until the meat is somewhat tender but not yet fork-tender, about 3 hours.
Using a slotted spoon, transfer the meat to a plate. Gently pour the liquid and vegetables through a colander set over a bowl. Pick out the onion quarters, transfer them to the plate with the meat, and cover the meat and onions with aluminum foil. Press lightly on the vegetables in the colander to extract most of the liquid. Discard the solids. Let the strained liquid rest for about 10 minutes. Skim off the fat and set aside.
Meanwhile, wipe out the pot and add the remaining 3 tablespoons of olive oil. Place over the medium-low heat, add the sliced garlic, and cook until pale gold at the edges. Stir in the tomatoes and cook, stirring occasionally for 5 minutes.
Return the skimmed liquid and the meat and onions to the pot and stir gently. Taste the liquid: If you can’t detect the flavor of orange, stir in the juice of the reserved orange, a little bit at a time, until the flavor is just noticeable. If you can already taste an orange flavor, leave out the juice.
Return the stew to a bare simmer, cover and cook until the meat is very tender, 1 to 1 ½ hours longer. Remove from the heat and stir in the olives. If you have time, let the stew rest off the heat, uncovered, for 30 minutes. Reheat if necessary and divide among shallow serving bowls. Drizzle with a bit of olive oil and sprinkle with the chopped thyme and parsley. Serve immediately.
Wine Note: To go with our Provencal beef stew I tried a number of regional red wines and several were beautiful pairings with the dish but any number of medium rich wines from either the south of France or even California will do. California has several producers that have Provencal dishes in mind when they produce their wines but the main thing to remember is you need a smooth wine with some complexity, some fruitiness and look for a wine with alcohol levels below 13.5. I think a smooth Syrah, red blend should do well.
AT HOME ON THE RANGE: A Midsummer Night’s Dinner By Gordon G. Horton
A warm summer evening calls for cool elegance in the menu. This do-ahead dinner fills the bill perfectly. The salmon, which is poached in a spicy white wine, is fresh both in look and flavor. After a bath in Port, the peaches are both a sweet and refreshing way to top off the meal.
The importance of wine in the kitchen is illustrated in this menu. It’s a showcase in which you use wine to prepare the salmon and the peaches, and then are rewarded by the distinctive tastes of the ordinary flavors of the finished dishes. Use the same wine in the kitchen as you will serve with each course. Don’t, however, reach for a vintage Port. A ruby Port or the equivalent from Portugal or California is perfectly appropriate with this dinner.
The Menu Salmon Steaks
With parsley-dill sauce
Mustard Potato salad
Marinated green beans
Peaches in Port
Wines
Gewurtztraminer
Port
Salmon Steaks with Parsley-Dill Sauce
1 bottle Gewurztraminer
3 cups water
1 celery stalk, chopped
2 carrots, chopped
1 medium-size onion, chopped
10 parsley sprigs
4 dill sprigs
12 black peppercorns, crushed
1 teaspoon salt
8 medium-size salmon steaks cut 1 inch thick, at room temperature
Combine all the ingredients, except the salmon steaks, to make a court-bouillon. Bring the mixture to a boil, cover loosely, and simmer for 20 to 25 minutes. Strain over the salmon steaks in two skillets. Bring to a boil again, cover, and reduce the heat. Cook on top of the stove for 8 to 10 minutes. Remove from the heat, let cool in the poaching broth, and then transfer, still in the broth, to the refrigerator. Drain 30 minutes before serving time and let the salmon come to room temperature.
Note: You can also place the 8 steaks in a baking pan. When you have brought the broth back to a boil on top of the stove, transfer the pan to a preheated oven and cook the fish for 8 to 10 minutes.
Mustard Potato Salad
6 tablespoons olive oil
6 tablespoons white wine vinegar
1 ½ tablespoons Dijon mustard
2 tablespoons chopped fresh parsley
Salt and freshly ground pepper to taste
24 small new potatoes, peeled (about 3-3 ½ lbs)
Combine the oil, vinegar, mustard, parsley, and seasonings in a bowl. Blend well and set aside.
Steam or boil the potatoes until soft but still firm. Immediately cut them into slices or chunks and toss with the mustard sauce. Let cool at room temperature and then refrigerate after tasting for seasonings. Serve cool but not chilled
Marinated Green Beans
2 pounds green beans, ends trimmed
¼ cup olive oil
2 tablespoons white wine vinegar
Salt and freshly ground white pepper to taste
Boil the beans in salted water until crisp- tender. Drain. While still warm, toss the beans with the oil, vinegar, and salt and pepper. Refrigerate. Serve cool but not chilled.
Peaches and Port
½ cup Port
1 tablespoon lemon juice
2 tablespoons sugar
8 ripe peaches
1 cup whipping cream
2 tablespoons confectioner’s sugar
In a glass bowl stir together the Port, lemon juice, and sugar.
Dip each peach briefly in boiling water; then remove skin. Cut the peaches in slices into the bowl. Stir well, cover, and refrigerate for 2 to 6 hours. Remove the peaches from the refrigerator at least half an hour before serving.
Just before serving, whip the cream together with the confectioners sugar and fold in 2 tablespoons of the Port syrup. Spoon the peaches and a little syrup into dessert bowls or large stem glasses and top with dollops of whipped cream
AT HOME ON THE RANGE: Casual Sunday Dinner By Gordon G. Horton
Here is a happy ending to a lovely summer Sunday. Even if you are in the city, set your table with a country look anyway. Each course is light and simple, chic but premeditated to be very easy to prepare. Grilling the fish al fresco makes for a cool, refreshing evening, but both an indoor method is given to cover all bases.
Serving beef before fish is a turn-about that allows you to serve a red wine before the white wine. With the Carpaccio, a nice Gamay Beaujolais is light, yet distinctive, a match for the well seasoned green sauce. A white wine from France’s Rhone Valley will have all the character necessary to match the grilled fish and its sauce. Try a Tuscan Vin Santo to complete the multinational wine menu.
The Menu
Carpaccio and green sauce
Grilled red snapper with nicoise sauce
Endive with sweet mustard dressing
Coffee ice cream with ladyfingers
Serves six
Wines
Gamay Beaujolais
White Rhone
Vin Santo
Carpaccio with green sauce
Green sauce
2 cups Italian Parsley leaves
¾ cup olive oil
2 small cans flat anchovies, drained
One 3 ½ -ounce jar capers in vinegar, drained
3 garlic cloves
3 teaspoons Dijon Mustard
2 teaspoons red wine vinegar
1 teaspoon lemon juice
Tabasco sauce to taste
Have your butcher slice the beef as he would for scaloppini. Pound the slices between sheets of waxed paper until paper thin. Place a few drops of oil on individual plates, arrange the slices of beef on the plates, and top with a few more drops of oil. Keep covered with plastic wrap until ready to serve. Top with a dollop of green sauce and pass the remainder of the sauce in a small bowl.
Have the beef very cold when you pound it.
Grilled Red Snapper with Nicoise Sauce
Nicoise Sauce
1 large onion, minced
¼ cup olive oil
2 35 ounce cans Italian style plum tomatoes, coarsely chopped
½ cup small Provencal olives
2 tablespoons dry vermouth
2 large pieces orange peel, pit removed
1 teaspoon dried thyme
1 teaspoon dried rosemary
1 teaspoon dried oregano
1 teaspoon dried basil
Freshly ground black pepper to taste
Sauté the onion in the olive oil until it is transparent. Drain the tomatoes and combine with the onion. Add all the remaining ingredients and simmer for about 15 minutes. Set aside and reheat to serve.
Grilled Snapper
Six ½ pound snapper fillets, with skin on
2 tablespoons olive oil
Rub each fillet with 1 teaspoon of oil and lay them on a broiling pan. Broil for five to seven minutes with the pan on the lowest possible setting of the broiler. Do not turn. The top of the fillets should be barely flaky and the inside moist.
To serve, place the fillet on each plate and surround with Nicoise sauce.
Endive with sweet mustard dressing 2 tablespoons finely chopped shallots
2 tablespoons sweet German-style mustard, or to taste
¾ cup olive oil
1 egg yolk
Generous sprinkling of freshly ground black pepper
3 heads endive
Combine the shallots and mustard. Little by little, whisk in the oil and then the egg yolk. Add the pepper. On individual plates, arrange the endive leaves in a spoke pattern and spoon the dressing in the center.
Note: The dressing should be mustard-colored and smooth.
Coffee ice cream with ladyfingers
1 package ladyfingers
½ gallon of the best coffee ice cream
Instant coffee granules
Toast the ladyfingers in the broiler until slightly crunchy. Scoop the ice cream into dessert bowls or stemmed glasses and sprinkle one teaspoon of coffee granules over each serving. Serve with the ladyfingers.
A not too sweet golden wine is just the thing here in summer, but espresso is good with this unashamedly labor-free dessert.
DOWNTOWN ENTERTAINMENT: Cheyenne’s Premier Museums’ Attract Tourists, Visitors Alike By Christie DePoorter
The Cheyenne Depot Museum, housed in the Union Pacific Depot, is inviting tourists and area residents to come and visit downtown Cheyenne for a variety of events and activities during this year’s Cheyenne Frontier Days™. You can visit Cheyenne’s Visitor Center in the lobby of the Cheyenne Depot to pick up information on area attractions and downtown walking tours. Vendors will be selling jewelry, fine art, crafts, western wear, and much more in the lobby of the Cheyenne Depot. One of the Cheyenne’s premier gift shops is located in the Cheyenne Depot – the Cheyenne Depot Gift Shop, offering an amazing selection of gifts, railroad memorabilia, and souvenirs to remember your stay.
The Cheyenne Depot Museum will be hosting free concerts at the Cheyenne Depot Plaza on several nights of Cheyenne Frontier Days™. The Cheyenne Depot Steam Train Excursion begins on Sunday, July 19 at 8:00am, at the Cheyenne Depot Museum. Buses leave to transport attendees, to catch the train in Denver. The Steam Train Excursion leaves from Union Station in downtown Denver, and arrives back at the Cheyenne Depot around 5pm.
Don’t miss visiting one of Wyoming’s National Historic Landmarks – the Union Pacific Depot. Located in the middle of downtown Cheyenne, the Union Pacific Depot is a symbol of the deep connection between Cheyenne and the railroad. Built in 1886, the Union Pacific Depot is widely acknowledged to be one of the most beautiful railroad stations in North America. Designed in Richardsonian Romanesque style, and constructed from polychromatic sandstone quarried west of Fort Collins, Colorado, the three-story Depot is a major historical structure in the Rocky Mountain area. The 1929 Art Deco Lobby is a “must see!” One of Cheyenne’s visual highlights is the transcontinental railroad map from Omaha, Nebraska to Promontory Point, Utah, which is beautifully embedded in the floor of the Cheyenne Depot lobby.
Major renovations of the building occurred in 1922, when the structure was extended to its present 331ft. length, and again in 1929 when the interior was modernized to reflect the current art deco style. This is one of the most magnificent railroad depots built on the Union Pacific line. The building is just north of the main yard of Union Pacific, which is very active today with over 90 trains running a day. The UP Steam Shop is also located in the Cheyenne yard, and is the only active steam engine operation in the United States. The Steam Engines - No. 844, and the Challenger are stationed here.
The Cheyenne Depot Museum captures the rich history of southeastern Wyoming, from those that lived it. Our museum is based on three main themes: the establishment of Cheyenne; the role of Cheyenne and its people in the operation of the Union Pacific Railroad; and the history of the greatest remaining tangible evidence of this connection, the Union Pacific Depot building itself. The second floor exhibit – the Depot Baggage Attic – is a wonderful place for children and adults to explore a “touchable” museum. Visitors are invited to explore the artifacts, and explore the lives of some of the individuals who have passed through the Union Pacific Depot over time. Children of all ages are encouraged to try on period clothing and read of the memories of travelers from their diaries. Come and experience the romance of the railroad!
For more information about the museum or activities at the Cheyenne Depot, contact the Cheyenne Depot Museum at 307-632-3905 or stop in to Cheyenne’s Visitor Center in the Cheyenne Depot lobby.
DINING AND ENTERTAINMENT: Little America: Hathaways By Janet Egland
I have been to Little America a few times in the past and have always had a wonderful time, and was made to feel very special by the entire experience. My food has consistently been wonderful and the atmosphere luxurious, glamorous, sophisticated, and welcoming. All in all, I have counted Little America as one of my very favorites over the years. So, when it was suggested that I review the Sunday Offerings and Brunch at Hathaway’s Restaurant in Little America, I was absolutely delighted!
I called my dining partner and we squealed to each other on the phone in pure excitement. Our plans were made; we got gussied up and went to do a review that showed every sign of being the absolute highlight of my week. Just thinking about going to Hathaway’s in Little America is an exciting prospect, and we were properly excited!
We decided to plan our arrival for just about an hour after the Sunday Brunch began, thinking they would be really rolling and in the groove, so to speak, by then. We were right, they were all set up and the Brunch was in full swing. The offerings are delightful and some of the selections included; fresh fruit and berries, cold cereal, yogurt, breakfast pastries, a domestic cheese tray, smoked Salmon with condiments and bagels, Egg casserole, Eggs Benedict, French Toast with Candied Pecans, Mini Pancakes with Maple Syrup, Cheese blintz, Cottage Style Potatoes, Bacon, Sausage, an Omelet Station, and Honey glazed Ham. What a fabulous assortment, just the aroma alone is satisfying. Too bad we don’t have a scratch and sniff so you can share in the mouthwatering aroma.
When we presented ourselves at the door, the hostess asked if we preferred a booth or a table. We requested a booth and were promptly led to a table, when we again asked for a booth; we were then shown to a half booth and half table. My dining companion sat on the booth part and I was on the other side of the table with a big heavy chair. I kept attempting to adjust the chair with no luck; it was just a bit too far away from the table to be comfortable. My companion and I decided to not have the Brunch after all and ordered from the menu as the choices were equally tempting. She chose “The Sante Fe,” a breakfast Burrito filled with eggs, bacon, green chili, cheddar cheese, and green onion served with sour cream, salsa, breakfast potatoes, and choice of beverage. I choose “The Benedict,” an English muffin topped with poached eggs, Canadian bacon, and served with Hollandaise sauce, breakfast potatoes, and choice of beverage.
I need to go back a little to tell you about our server, she was delightful. She is a young Russian girl here working for awhile before she returns home. She was very sweet, very helpful, but very hard to understand. We did a lot of “excuse me’s” and “I beg your pardons.” It was a challenge, but a very fun challenge. All three of us were delighted when we got something across correctly. I ordered hot tea and my companion ordered coffee. The coffee was delicious, the tea was a mess. The small teapot had no lid, so a saucer was substituted, and as it was larger than the teapot it was difficult to pour a cup of tea without spilling on the table, myself, and some of the surrounding area. The tea was my favorite kind and piping hot, and once I managed to transfer it to the cup it was just fine.
When our food arrived it looked very appetizing, but I was surprised to see no garnish on the plate. However, in these tough times I imagine those garnishes are simply expensive garbage, as I don’t think many eat them, do they? My companions food was really good, an excellent portion and she enjoyed every single bite. I was not so lucky this time. My eggs were not set, my English muffin was soggy, and the Hollandaise sauce was cold. I suppose I could have sent it back, and I am positive it would have been redone and the result would have been wonderful, but I did not. Visiting a restaurant for a review is to judge the food, service, atmosphere, and overall experience on the first impression. So, that is what I am doing. I still adore Hathaway’s at Little America, and it is still in my top five restaurants. I will definitely go back, and so should you. The stellar reputation Hathaway’s at Little America enjoys is well deserved, and it remains one of the “special” places to celebrate anything from an ordinary Tuesday to an anniversary.
I give Hathaway’s at Little America a classy rating of 4 out of 5.
DINING AND ENTERTAINMENT: 2 Doors Down By Janet Egland
Downtown Cheyenne has a new eating establishment that is certainly a welcome addition. The owners of 2 Doors Down, Jerry and Sandy Inniss, also own the very popular Pizzeria Venti, which as it happens is just two doors down from their new venture, right on 17th between Central and Warren. 2 Doors Down offers Gourmet Burgers, Fries, Salads, Beer on tap, bottled and mixed drinks, and of course the regular assortment of soft drinks and tea. Even though they have been open just a short time, they appear to have worked out any kinks in their system.
While parking can occasionally be a bit of a challenge downtown we were able to find a space close to the restaurant, and only had to dodge a few raindrops getting inside. The crisp, fresh, red awning makes it easy to locate 2 Doors Down, and inside there is a surprising amount of open space, even with most of the tables occupied the restaurant it did not feel crowded. The inside has a sports feel with a touch of European style. Comfortable wooden chairs and tables fill the downstairs, while the upstairs is more lounge-like, with comfy sofas, big screen TVs, and a very casual atmosphere. 2 Doors Down is just different enough to be fun. When we arrived, we thought the music was too loud, but soon it was just background noise and we could visit comfortably. When you arrive, you order at the counter and are given a number. In a few minutes your food is brought by a pleasant server who provides good service with lots of smiles and good humor.
We ordered “The Magnificent” and the “Green Chili Burger.” Both were excellent; The Magnificent was served on Italian Bread with red onion, tomatoes, Swiss and American Cheese. It was named correctly. The burger was large, made with fresh ingredients and absolutely delicious. It was served with endless Steak Fries, and the Raspberry Ice Tea was a good choice with the burger. The Green Chili Burger was delicious, and served open faced with lots of cheese and green chili.
The prices are moderate and a great value for the money. You will feel comfortable taking your family, a date, or a group of friends. 2 Doors Down is a good place for a family dinner, a business lunch, or anything in between. We will definitely visit often and think you should do likewise.
They are open from 11am to 9pm Monday through Thursday, and open until 10 pm on Friday and Saturday; closed Sundays. We give 2 Doors Down a finger-licking rating of four out of five!
DINING AND ENTERTAINMENT: Cloud 9: Lift Your Spirits By Mary Buckingham
Maturi
The Cloud 9 Restaurant and Bar has re-opened inside the Cheyenne Airport at 300 East 8th Avenue. Visitors can choose one of the three dining areas…the front room to the left, with vintage local advertising laminated onto the tabletops, the lounge/bar area to the right, and straight down the corridor into the main dining room for the “best view in town.” The runway-facing rooms, with their walls of windows, give you front row seats for aviation action.
New owner, Cheyenne’s own Jay Hutchinson, explained to me the wide range of aircraft you can watch as you savor your meal. Every Cheyenne Frontier Days, the U. S. Air Force elite Flying Thunderbirds has performed daring maneuvers. Throughout the year, from the Wyoming National Guard Area across the way, you will spot C-130 aircrafts, F-18 Hornets and helicopters ranging from Blackhawks and Hueys to Apaches take off and land.
Other flying operations come and test their systems at our high altitude and carry out flight training exercises in the Wyoming winds. The Italian Air Force visited late last year, landing their Boeing 767 plane on the tarmac.
As a former United States Marine, Jay knows his aircraft. You will also benefit from Jay’s years of experience in the restaurant business. After his tour of duty serving our country, Jay began in the bar business at The “Old” Outlaw. From there he worked at the Hitching Post, where Paul Smith trained him in the restaurant business. Smith showed him the ropes and taught him how to develop a rapport with customers. Jay enriched his knowledge and skills opening Olive Garden restaurants around the country. Stints at Old Chicago and the Plains Hotel’s Capitol Grille added more experience.
Jay welcomes you to experience quality local dining rooted in rich Cheyenne history. He attracted a solid staff to back him. He offers top service in a relaxed, fun environment, emphasizing customer satisfaction. “You may walk in a stranger. You will leave as a friend,” exclaims Jay.
Jay wants to recreate the trademark quality dining and inviting atmosphere started in the 1950s version of Cloud 9. Back in the restaurant’s prime, the original owners developed a setting where locals wanted to gather. New color schemes invite you into a fresh, updated look. Jay’s menu contains family recipes featuring beef and buffalo--a steak house for locals.
You will receive value for your money. Cloud 9 strives to “provide classic American dining experience, featuring slow-roasted prime rib and a variety of All-American dishes.” Hours of operation are Mon-Sat 7a.m. to 9p.m. The bar is open from 7a.m.-2a.m. Sundays 9a.m.-2p.m. offer brunch only.
A full breakfast menu offers many variations of traditional items and some new creations. All dishes come with hash browns and choice of bread (English muffin, tortilla, toast or biscuit). Griddle items include Crepes, Hot Cakes and French Toast. Fresh Waffles come hot out of the iron.
Besides the old favorites of Benedicts or Biscuits and Gravy, try the Tower Burrito (two eggs, bacon, sausage, ham and hash browns wrapped tight and smothered in homemade green chili). Another selection is The Ono (Oh-No) of white rice, beef patty, one egg and brown gravy served in a bowl.
A variety of quick appetizers will tempt you at lunchtime—Mozzarella Sticks, Jalapeno Poppers, Fried Mushrooms, Fried Shrimp, Onion Rings, Fries, and even Rocky Mountain Oysters. This may be your first introduction to Piroshkies, a Ukrainian creation of deep-fried dough stuffed with savory fillings. I had a chance to sample the tasty wild rice and pork. Sometimes sweet varieties are offered.
“Jim Beam” makes for a mouth-watering sauce on drums or tenders and on the Honey BBQ Bacon Burger. The $100 Burger (half-pound), Patty Melt, Club Sandwich, Prime Rib (8 ounces on a Hoagie), The Cloud 9 Yodel and a Beef or Turkey Dip give you many lunch choices. Sometimes the soup of the day may be Borstch (beef, beets, red beans and carrots), worth a hearty sample with corn bread muffins. My chum vouches for the great taste. Jay’s special Green Chili is always available.
For the dinner hour, black and white linens grace the back dining area tables. I’m tempted by the Shrimp Cocktail of eight jumbo shrimp or the Crab Cakes, but Piroshkies start my meal off right. The fresh Baby Spinach Salad with bacon bits, tomatoes, red onions, Shitake mushrooms and homemade raspberry vinaigrette heads my choice. The main dinner entrees include warm corn bread muffins, soup or salad and a choice of baked potato, garlic mashed potatoes, French fries or wild rice.
Grilled Wild Alaskan Salmon represents the fresh fish offering. Apple brown gravy drizzles the French Cut Pork Tenderloin stuffed with dressing. The aromatic Cornish Game Hen comes stuffed with roasted pecans, wild rice and juicy apples. It lives up to the advertisement in every delicious bite.
Cloud 9 serves nine different platters of beef and buffalo. They range from Prime Rib, New York Strip, Filet Mignon to Chicken Fried Steak and Liver and Onions. A trio of Ribeye dishes (Buffalo, “Jim Beam” Honey BBQ and Delmonico) round out your choices. My husband raved about his “Jim Beam” Honey BBQ Ribs.
Archival photos throughout Cloud 9 offer a parade of ‘Who Was Who’ at the dawn of aviation. Seek out a closer look at ace airmail pilot, “Slim” Lewis, Amelia Earhart, Lindberg’s “Spirit of St. Louis,” World War I fighter ace and Medal of Honor recipient, Eddie Rickenbacker, and Wyoming’s Governor Nellie Tayloe Ross. Read the airport history from lobby displays. Explore the tall painted cowboy boot for the major U.S. airmail route and various types of planes that landed in Cheyenne.
Jay promises that an evening at Cloud 9 Restaurant and Bar will help lift your spirits. Come join your friends and meet new ones.
Close up photography, also called macro photography, is very useful for a variety of subjects. Flowers and insects are regular subjects for macro photography but getting close doesn’t have to stop there. I recently read an article by a gentleman who detailed how to make colorful abstract photos of bubbles. He set his camera up on a tripod with a macro lens attached and pointed it down to a piece of plexiglass suspended by two coffee cans. He poured a small amount of soapy water on top of the Plexiglas and placed multi-colored fabric underneath. By focusing on the bubbles, he was able to create beautiful abstract images that looked like they were painted.
Before the advent of scanners, photography was used for copying documents and old photographs. This required the ability to be close to the subject. The key to macro photography is being able to focus very close as well as magnify a subject. There is a variety of equipment available for macro work including specific lenses built for macro photography; bellows and extension tubes that fit between the camera and the lens, increasing the minimum focus and magnification of a normal lens and; and close up lenses that attach to the front of a normal lens.
For most people, special equipment like a dedicated macro lens is too expensive for occasional use. These lenses have the ability to give a life-size 1:1 ratio and some times even greater than life-size image. For the average photographer however, there are other options. If your camera has the ability to change lenses, there are a number of lenses available with a macro feature. Generally, this is a switch on the lens that allows you to focus closer and will give you a half or quarter life-size magnification.
If you normally use a compact digital camera, you’re in luck, too. Most compact digital cameras have a macro mode. This mode is usually identified on the camera’s mode dial or in the cameras menu with an icon of a flower. This mode will allow for close focusing and usually set the camera’s exposure so that you have the greatest depth of field (amount of the image that is in focus) and a fast enough shutter speed to avoid camera shake.
Close up photography presents its own set of problems. With the benefit of close focus, you also get the problem of a loss of depth of field. This means that only a small portion of your subject will be in focus. To compensate for this, you will need to shoot with a small aperture. Shooting with a small aperture, however, will cause you to set a slow shutter speed which can cause your photos to be blurry as a result of camera shake. If your camera is equipped with an anti-shake sensor, this will help. A tripod is also a good idea.
Another factor, in Wyoming at least, is the wind. Trying to get a close up of a flower on a windy day with your camera on a tripod can be very challenging. This type of photography can be very challenging and fun. Take your time and experiment with a variety of subjects from flowers and butterflies to abstract ideas. This may be a chance to show your creativity.
PHOTO TIPS: Film throughout the Years By Gary Gwin
On June 22, 2009, the local paper had a front page article about the death of Kodak’s Kodachrome film. The cause of death, according to the article, was the growing use of digital cameras. Digital has replaced film in many areas of photography over the last 10 years, but it was not the cause of death for Kodachrome.
If you are old enough, you may remember Paul Simon’s song about the virtues of Kodochrome film. He sang about having a Nikon camera and loving to shoot photographs, and sang “Mama don’t take my Kodachrome away.” When Mr. Simon wrote this song in 1973, Kodachrome was already 38 years old. Kodachrome was the first commercially successful color slide film for still cameras. It was also the film choice for most magazine photographers, especially those of National Geographic.
Kodachrome, however, was largely replaced by Fuji Velvia soon after its arrival in 1990. There are several reasons for this including the vibrant colors produced by Velvia, and the difficulty of having Kodachrome developed. Even in its heyday, Kodachrome had to be sent to Kodak or another specialty developer who processed Kodachrome. Other slide films, including Fuji Velvia, are E6 process films which can be processed by almost any photo lab, or at home if you choose.
Onto the larger issue, film has been replaced by digital photography in several areas. Newspaper photographers have been using digital cameras since the late ‘90s and the general public has been using primarily digital cameras for snapshots for the last five years. Other areas of photography are slower to change. Landscape photography is dominated by large-format film cameras and many travel photographers still use film depending on what part of the electricity-starved world they are traveling to.
In the July 2009 issue of Outdoor Photographer, the cover photo was taken on film, there are ads for Kodak’s newest film (Ektar 100), and Fuji Velvia film, and an article entitled “Sticking with Film.”
The point to this column is that both film and digital photography have their place. If you need photos right away or you want to e-mail photos to everyone you know, digital is the way to go. If you want more dynamic range in your photos and you can wait to see your results, use film.
In either case, you can have the advantages of both. I routinely have my film developed and scanned at the same time. This gives me slides or negatives that will last my lifetime as well as 16mp scan that I can use digitally. There are also a few companies that will take your digital images and turn them into slides, including www.colorslide.com.
In the end, it’s all photography; don’t be afraid to use which ever capture method you choose. There are plenty of options for digital photography and there are still plenty of options left for film.
Caption: These two photos represent the reason I like to use film. The colors on the flag are brilliant and the flag has a 3d effect. The fire is also highly saturated as well as the dark blue of the night sky above. You can get the same effect with digital, but it takes some work. These two shots are printed just as they came out of the camera. Both images shot with a Minolta XE 7 on Fuji Velvia slide film.
Summer in Wyoming means fishing, camping, hiking, biking and a number of other outdoor activities for a lot of people. I like to be in the outdoors and nine times out of 10, I have a camera with me.
Over the years I have had to adjust the type of equipment I bring when I am out participating in an outdoor activity. This is because I tend to be a little bit clumsy or scatterbrained with my equipment. Now I will say that the top pro models from most camera makers would make a considerable difference. The Canon EOS 1d Mark III, Nikon D3 and Sony A900, among others, are all made of metal and are sealed against moisture and dust. In short, they are made tough enough to withstand the rigors of professional photography. They can also be prohibitively expensive for amateurs and part-timers.
The cameras I use in my work are mid-range film and digital cameras that are not quite up to some of the abusive situations I put them through. Several years ago I took a fly-fishing trip to the South Platte river in Colorado. I had recently purchased a new Minolta Maxxum 570si and I brought it with me on the trip. Not thinking very clearly, I waded into the river to start fishing, complete with my new camera around my neck. When I inevitably slipped and fell head-long into the river, my camera went in first.
I jumped up, ran out of the river and began drying my camera off as fast as I could. When I felt it was dry, I turned it on. I looked at the LCD on top and it said “HELP.” I took this as a bad sign. My brother-in-law, an electrical engineer, who was fishing with me said “Whatever you do don’t turn it on.” He further instructed me to take the batteries out and let everything dry thoroughly. With the exception of turning it on, I followed his instructions and the camera still works just fine today.
After learning this lesson, I now only go in the water with a 1980’s Minolta XGM that I purchased on e-Bay for $20. These old cameras are available used for exceptional prices and are extraordinarily tough. Now, with this camera it was a canoe trip that I had a mishap. I had put the canoe in the water, took my seat and waited. My wife started to climb in and the canoe capsized. Again, into the water I went, camera first. This time however, the camera was just fine. The film on the other hand was not. My pictures came back with some nice special effects courtesy of Lake Owen.
My next equipment lesson was far more costly. I had purchased a new Minolta digital camera. Not the tough-as-nails pro model, but a beginner model. I didn’t want to spend a lot of money on my first digital, so I went with the cheapest model I could find. I was out on a hike and when I swung my backpack over my shoulder I realized the top of the pack was open. I heard a terrible thud about five feet behind me. Now I have a very expensive paper weight and a second, more expensive, digital camera.
So if you plan to take your camera out with you be careful. If you can’t be careful, buy an old, tough camera from the last century that can handle the bumps, falls and water (there are also a number of well-made waterproof film and digital cameras available new and used).
TV SPOT Catch the Around Cheyenne 60
second television advertisement.
2:08 PM August 12th, 2009 JUVENILE SYSTEM UPDATE: Part 2 of 3 Ronn Jeffrey, Municipal Court Judge, summarized the concept of the JPB as a multi-disciplinary group of people working together to plan a system for handling kids in the system...READ >>
2:54 PM July 8th, 2009 JUVENILE SYSTEM UPDATE: Part 1 of 3 After several discussions, the Laramie County Commissioners and Cheyenne City Council collaborated to approve the Laramie County Community Juvenile Services Joint Powers Board Agreement...READ >>
1:03 PM July 15th, 2009 AROUND CHEYENNE SURVEY Your opinion matters to us. Please take the time to fill out a brief survey and either mail or email it to us so that we may better serve you. TAKE >>
2:40 PM July 8th, 2009 ROTATING HEADER UPDATE You can now click on the rotating magazine cover images to open up the issues! Please note some of the past issues only contain the front cover.
3:11 PM June 12th, 2009 NEW WEBSITE Around Cheyenne has a new website! Please check back often as we continue to fill and update it with magazine content.
