What A Day!

What a place! Back on roads I know by heart, driving through the scenery of my subconscious, looking at mountains that feel like they are cut out of paper, and today it was my current playground. After a magical kayak ride with my nieces and sister (google Oxbow and Ansel Adams), I headed back to Rockefeller Gateway like a magnet drawn to a block of steel. Before I really realized where I was going, I was wading across a creek and heading to Huckleberry Springs. If I had to make a list, it would be one of my five favorite places I have ever been a part of. Water is heated by geothermals and forms pools in the elbow of a river. The log in the center of the photo is far edge of nature's hot tub. (FYI: click on the image for a better view)


In my memory, this was a full moon wintertime treat. But the curves of the creek are the same in the setting sun or moonlight, grass or under feet of snow, and I soaked in every moment. Then on the ride home I was greeted by another friend, the full moon. Rigging up an impromptu tripod with a ladder and a box of brake pads, I laughed at myself as I shivered in forty five degree weather between the long exposure shutter clicks. Some things change, but beauty doesn't.



-jb.

Mount Taylor

As stated previously, I had my eye on a peak. Above the tree line, round with a long expanse of ridge, it had all the makings of a perfect photo spot. Problem was, I didn't plan to head up it. I planned on taking the dogs to the top of a false peak above the home in which I am staying. So I grabbed the water bag, the camera out of habit, whistled for the dogs and hit the trail. In retrospect, whenever you head into the backcountry, bringing a cell phone or GPS and a map is a good idea. Both I left on my bed. When I arrive at the top of the false peak (see the blog post from ) I saw another peak just above. Merrily I headed up, noting the trail was getting thinner. Upon reaching it, there was the true peak of Mount Taylor, basking in the high altitude sunshine. Feeling good and with two happy dogs by my side, I reasoned that the trail was becoming more defined and whatever I planned on doing could wait. Down I went to begin another ascent. After losing the trail I found it again and began a serpentine climb to the true summit. When the trail finally ended, faced with either pushing on or heading home, I opted for the former. Noting my surroundings carefully, I began a somewhat arduous bushwhack up. But I knew the peak would be worth it. Every opening in the trees revealed parts of the valley floor distant and clear. So I made it, and photographed it from every angle, corner, peak and dale, even trying to climb a tree only to be repelled by ferocious tree ants. Then, hungry, slightly sore, and ready to be heading down, the bad decision was made. There were three false peaks to choose from. Based on my landmarks and what i had seen the day prior, I choose #2 and decided on new markers to make a straight line descent to it. Ooops. But after a seriously fun descent, finding the trail I used to find my way up only to lose it again, I found myself eventually on the wrong/right ridge. When you are lost, you are lost. I was smart enough to know this, so knowing that heading downhill and and following the water flow, eventually you come across a road. After shimmying through barb wire, running into a herd of cattle (FYI, I'm knee deep in manure), and stealthily creeping by cattlemen repairing fences in a state where messing with cattle is punishable by hanging, I found the road to take me home. Only bad news was that I was two thousand feet below said food shelter and hot shower, and a three mile hike back up it was an lamentable end to an otherwise fine day. In the end though, I would have done nothing different (except maybe bring the map and GPS) because look at the photo I got!


-jb.

The High Steppe

Today was amazing, but I am so sore it hurts to think. So I will save for tomorrow tales of caustic cows and finding my way home, and instead show you what my computer has managed to crunch together while the photos from today are downloading.




This if from western Nebraska. Note the dumb luck on the train running under the bridge on the far right.



A cameo from my dog, and the mountains outside of Laramie, WY.



And the rosy glow of forest fires at sunset (here's to you, Cynthia) over the Gros Ventre Range, also the closest place to Jackson to still feel kinda far away.

-jb.

Yes, This Is An Odd Country

Today I spent a day deep in the backcountry of Bridger-Teton National Forest. But not as deep as I thought, because out in this myriad of bushwacking to find where trails actually end (apparently, often nowhere), I came around a curve to find this:


Now this is why this is an odd country. Somebody or some persons had to try really friggin hard to dump this fridge. Out in the middle of nowwhere. Then, either the person or persons who did it, or somebody else later, went to the trouble of hiking out the plastic skeleton hand to add the punch line. God bless America!


And while today was a dud for photgragphs despite the miles logged, I have a pretty good idea of where to head tomorrow!


-jb.

Arrived...

...in Jackson and it is so nice to be back. The air is thin and dry, the nights cool and crisp, Aspen tree leaves rustling is the loudest noise by far, and the views are expansive and spectacular. Speaking of, this is the view that greets me when I wake up.


I know there is a painting here, if not several. It depends on how many forest fires are burning an the clarity of light at different times of the day. Best of all, I can go hiking out the back door into national forest. I followed a single track today to the peak of a neighboring mountain. The red arrow points to home where I am lucky enough to be staying.


-jb.

The First Leg

9 states, three time zones, 1,740 miles, never letting the car completely cool off, and twenty nine hours later, I broke a few long standing personal records. All with a drooling sneezing pup as my co-pilot sleeping on my leg and occasionally kicking the car out of gear. But seeing that I pushed back the start of my summer psuedo vacation by a week to paint a couple hundred cacti and thousands of bushes, I needed to make up some lost time. So I drove as fast as I dared to push my ageing subaru (which a lot of the time was less than the posted speed limit to the chagrin of many a trucker), and reasoned life is too short for sleep. So out of my studio and into this big, weird country (more on that later) this blog will stay as untimely and quixotic as ever, and sooner or later I will tie it back into the art. Bear with me, there is a point. But it will not be made tonight. Tonight I sleep under the blue dot, which Tom Bodette graciously left on for me. Wish I packed sheets. Tomorrow, 420 more miraculous miles, and I am going to Jackson!


-jb.

Growing Cactuses

There are these cactuses that grow in the Arizona desert which are incredibly impressive. Mostly because they can be as tall as a two story building, yet on average they only grow between 1-2" per year. Luckily, I can paint them in slightly less time.


The first step is to literally carve out a space for each using a straight edge razor. I try to put in as many as possible, because in the process one or two will be lost.


Once I have a marked spot for each, I paint the foreground in, once again cutting in each cactus when the foreground seeps over their edges.


Then I let the foreground completely dry over two days, and with a very small brush (but not too small or it does not hold an edge) paint in each individual cactus, trying to be faithful to each different light and highlights. And here is the (almost) finished product!


-jb.