February 3, 2012 - Posted by dudzikfarris - 0 Comments
A car drove past us slowly and paused for a moment to gawk. “Yep, we must look pretty strange.”
“Why’s that?” Joe asked as he licked cheese off the back of his soupspoon.
“Because we are parked next to a 3 day old, stinking, half gnawed on elk carcass while eating broccoli cheddar soup like this is a normal thing.” The most interesting part of it all was that I hadn’t even noticed the peculiarity of our situation until we were gawked at. This is not what I normally do on a daily basis, nor should any stable individual. But, this is what we do out here. Dead animals are exciting out here because they draw large predators such as wolves, bears, coyotes, foxes and bobcats as well as many kinds of birds including eagles, hawks and magpies, and of course photographers. The general rule is: if you find a dead animal (a.k.a. a kill), you will find other interesting animals to photograph. Dead animals are so exciting that word of them and their location often spreads through the park like wildfire. That’s not a polite analogy, but it is correct.
Joe had seen a post about this particular deceased elk and its location earlier that morning on one of the many Yellowstone forums he follows. Like a local TMZ, the forums act as a daily gossip tabloid relaying most of the notable animal interactions that occur in the park. A post might say, “Yeah, I got this picture of Buck Elk stuck on a ledge surround by a wolf pack trying to leave the hot spot, Lamar Valley. He’s wearing two magpies and blue and white are not his colors!” Okay, so it’s not that bad, but not too far off. I digress.
Having read about this elk laying dead 30 feet from the road, like the handful of coyotes and magpies that followed its scent, we too found ourselves perched near it, eating. In hopes of seeing something more exciting then the little coyote we’d spooked off of it when we’d arrived, we waited near its side. We both said a prayer. I prayed that it the animal did not suffer much during its death. Joe prayed that a wolf or bobcat would slink down the mountain right toward the carcass and his camera lens. Another photographer friend of ours, who’d also recently heard about the kill, told us that a car had hit the elk. That meant that wolves might not know of the free buffet yet. We waited for four hours; ultimately, the night won out and snuffed out the sun before we’d seen anything more interesting then the spooky coyote. For several days we’d stop by and check to see if there were any animals of interest on the disappearing carcass. There never were.
This was one isolated incident. Throughout our visits we’ve witnessed many singular deceased animals. None have really moved me (until recently). It comes from the people that we’re surrounded by, I suppose. Everyone views it as an opportunity, including some new friends that Joe and I made during this trip.
Ivo and Oliver, a pair of German filmmakers, just arrived to the park a couple of weeks ago. They will be living here off and on for the next two and a half years, working on a documentary covering the wildlife in Yellowstone Nation Park for National Geographic. The eight part series on wildlife in America’s National Parks is expected to rival the BBC’s Planet Earth series. A large part of their success, therefore, relies on them capturing a wolf pack doing something interesting such as taking down an animal.
About a week ago a few wolf pups, led by a yearling from the Lamar Canyon Pack, had trapped a young elk buck on a cliff. Joe, Ivo and I peered through our binoculars watching as the buck stood helpless on the cliff, occasionally crying out for its herd, or God, or who knows. It was sad but at the same time a little exciting. The wolves were too young and inexperienced to know how to take down the buck alone. At one point, the buck tried to make a break for it. He tucked his head, lowered his small antlers toward the wolves and tried to run. He escaped a few feet away from the cliff before the young wolves began nipping his sides and legs. The buck kicked, lashing out in defense. The wolves jumped up and the buck retreated to the cliff again. I couldn’t help myself. “I don’t really want to see him die,” I blurted out.
“Oh, I do!” Ivo responded eagerly with a smile. It threw me off guard for a moment and made me consider a cultural difference, but then I realized how much weight lay upon him filming an animal die. If Oliver and he don’t capture it, they won’t have a National Geographic film as much as they’ll have the next Disney family-friendly movie about some animals living happy, carefree lives in a national park.
Thickening the plot, a much larger, older buck joined the young buck on the cliff. Nobody saw how or when it happened or if the young wolves had chased him there. They were both trapped. Indeed, it was perplexing. Joe’s explanation: “Well, they’re not on the bottom of the food chain for no reason.” Eventually, the sun set before anyone could see the two dumb bucks escape, fully intact.
There is one very fresh incident that has kept me awake at night. Exactly two days ago somebody slammed through a herd of bison while speeding through Lamar Valley before sunrise. Their careless act left one calf terribly and unnaturally injured. She laid about a hundred yards from the road on a pile of bloody snow fighting for her life. No one noticed her for several hours because her entire herd stood over her, concealing the little calf from predators. Ultimately, they gave up hope of her surviving and left her for the wolves deeming her too much of a risk to the rest of the herd. We were among the first few people to take notice of her.
Over the next thirty-six hours, or so, we, along with our other photographer friends, drove past to check on her, not sure what to do. We witnessed her get up and then collapse several times. A hopeful story of a similar situation from this past summer began circulating. Another calf, also after being hit by a car, lay injured and defenseless in the middle of bear country for two months. Miraculously, one day, it stood up and returned to its herd as if nothing had happened. I wish I could say the same of this little calf.
Yesterday evening, just before sunset, coyotes began closing in on the still living bison. People stopped their cars in the middle of the road and pulled out their large cameras and waited. Hoping for a different response, Joe stopped the car to ask what they were looking at. “Oh, we’re waiting for this bison to die in the field,” one honest photographer replied. Almost offended, Joe quickly said, “Yeah, she’s been there for a couple of days” and sped off. I wasn’t too surprised by off-put Joe’s reaction. Although we’d seen half eaten remains of many animals, stood by, even sat by them for several hours (and ate) hoping for a rare wolf or bobcat to approach, this time it was deeply different. We knew what to expect, but hoped for a miracle.
We left the valley just as the calf’s mother reappeared, chasing off the coyotes. She began licking her baby’s face. She nudged her calf and in a kind of mourning ceremony began waving her head back and forth over it’s body. By this morning all that was left was a blood-soaked spot in the snow, a piece of a ribcage two hundred yards from the where the calf had been, and some magpies and ravens – or so we’ve been told.
This is the first day out of all of our winter trips that we’ve entered the park but not gone to Lamar Valley. To be honest neither of us even discussed driving there or why we hadn’t. I know it’s because of the calf. We don’t want a reminder of what had happened to this poor calf. “Oh well, that’s nature” our fellow photographer friend, Barrett said trying to rationalize the incredibly sad situation for me.
We’re not naïve. We knew what to expect. The aftermath is what we usually hope for while we’re here so that we may have the opportunity to see more animals. It is nature. It is the circle of life. One of the two coyotes, which we were told fed on the remains of the calf, is expected to be carrying pups as she has recently found a mate. Life goes on. We will return to the park another day to continue to learn from the animals, photograph them and carry their stories with us.
February 2, 2012 - Posted by dudzikfarris - 1 Comment
“Uninspired.” That’s what I told Joe when he asked why I hadn’t started writing my blog for this trip. It had already been two full weeks since we’d left home. We’d already spent two days in the majestic Badlands, bought “kitch” and books from our favorite stores in Wall Drug, visited the cafe for the most amazing doughnuts in the world (two mornings in a row), and ate awesome bar pizza at The Badlands Bar (two nights in a row). We’d swept past the Black Hills and spent an hour or so visiting Devils Tower and watched the Prairie Dogs that live at the base of it play and chirp and jump. We’d already moved into our rental house in Gardiner and spent nearly two weeks living like locals who work in Yellowstone National Park by day. Why did I feel so uninspired? I’d always found these trips to be inspiring in the past. I was almost angry with myself having the apathetic feeling. The reason surfaced after two phone conversations I’d had with my mother.
In the first conversation, upon her asking, I’d explained all that I did to get us out the door in the morning and prepared for the day. It is a complete contrast to how our trips used to go. During our early trips to Yellowstone we’d stay at a hotel and so were forced to eat out every night. For breakfast, we’d use the hotel’s pre-heated hot water that was located conveniently by the front door to make instant oatmeal in our thermoses. We’d pack a cooler to make sandwiches for lunch. Our trips were short, more carefree but still intense. We’d (I’d) endure getting up well before sunrise and spend all possible daylight hours sitting in the truck exploring the same 52 mile stretch of road flanked by white snow searching for animals and landscape shots. (Well, we still do this the same way as every year before.) This would last, at most, 10 days. This year, however, we are here for a full month and because we are in a rental house, I am now the hotel manager, cleaning staff, laundry service, and private chef. The evening chores seem never ending because I generally only have a few hours get everything done. Nightly, I’m reminded that this is not a vacation but a working trip. My mother heard the slight exhaustion in my voice asked, “Are you able to relax at all?” I reflected for a moment. “No. Not really.”
You may be wondering where Joe is while I am busy “keeping house”. Many of you who know Joe appreciate that he is almost an OCD clean freak and not at all opposed to doing chores – with the exception of cooking. Well, he sits at the desk he created from the end of the dinner table and rifles through his photos from the day, picking and choosing and occasionally asking me what I “think of this one or that one”. With this trip, I am earning my self-described title of “the photographer’s wife”. The other day, I hung back at the house and let Joe go ahead into the park without me. It was the second time in the past 5 years we’ve been coming here together that I have done that. I turned on the TV, made a nice cup (as apposed to a nice thermos) of hot tea, and cleaned the entire house. I was happy to be out of the truck for a few hours, moving around, listening to ABC daytime in the background, and taking my time cleaning and mopping the house. I began humming and realized the tune, Happy to Keep His Dinner Warm from “How to Succeed in Business”. IKK!!! “Are you kidding me?” asked myself with the realization. That’s NOT me… well, not usually. I reminded myself that I am being a good partner.
The second revealing conversation I had with my mother took place yesterday. She was trying to get caught up on my week, since it had been nearly a week since we’d spoken. She had seen the steady flow of photos on Facebook that Joe has been posting of the many different animals we’ve seen during this trip. It made her asked if the animals had been more active this year. I started explaining what was going on in the park in short sentences and before I knew it the floodgates had opened. I spent nearly an hour entertaining her with stories from our trip; talking her through most of the state of Illinois as she drove from Cincinnati toward St. Louis. By the time we hung up, my throat was dry and a little sore from talking so much. The inspiration to write about our trip came back again.
I am still a little perplexed and angry with myself for having such an “uninspired” and apathetic feeling. Please don’t get me wrong, I am EXTREMELY grateful to be out here. This park is magical. I think I just needed to get used to a new routine. When that was broken up with a day of relaxing and cleaning the house, my mind seemed to open up and unwind. I’m ready to put my stories down.
One of many Wall Drug signs in South Dakota
February 17, 2011 - Posted by dudzikfarris - 2 Comments
First Badlands Sunset from my camera
I sat in the truck watching over Joe as he hurried about in the cold wind setting up cameras (that’s right cameraS – three to be exact) to attempt to capture the final sunset of our trip. We’d made it to Wall, SD in time to check into our modest hotel and head into the Badlands National Park. After briefly scanning the two vantage points that Joe had in mind to shoot this sunset from, we’d settled back at the first. It was a double terraced lookout with a parking lot on the high terrace and a small hiking trail on the lower. He wanted this picture to turn out perfectly. With this trip being quieter then others he really wanted to end our three week adventure on a high note.
I can honestly say that until this evening I didn’t think that highly of The Badlands National Park. I’d had the opportunity to visit it briefly 4 times before. It certainly has is own beauty, mystery, and uniqueness. But this area of our country wasn’t named The Badlands for no reason. Sure it has its vast canyons and caverns painted every dusty color of the rainbow, but its nothing compared to The Grand Canyon not as colorful as Arches National Park. Sure it has its own collection of native wild animals, but not even close to the collection of animals that Yellowstone National Park has. For me, however, this particular night would set The Badlands National Park high above all of the other national parks I’ve been to. This night would provide one the most amazing experiences of my life.
Much of this trip I’d spent in the truck – at times bitterly. Joe and I has a system worked when we were in Yellowstone that if we saw some sort of photographic opportunity/commotion going on, Joe would throw on the hazard lights, place the truck in park and as I switched to the driver’s seat, he’d grab his cameras and tripods and hurry to the action. Usually this would happen with nija-like speed as to not hold up traffic. I’d then speed off, dodging cars parked haphazardly in the middle of the road, other photographers, and gapers to find a suitable parking spot out of the way. We’d communicate to each other via our walkies so I’d know when to pick him up or what gear or outerwear to bring him when he’d realized he’d left it in the truck. A couple photographers joked that I should ask for a raise for such a service and asked how they could get their wives to do the same for them. What I’ve discovered from our new “system” is that I ended up missing a LOT of the wildlife in action – but found the Oprah station on the truck’s satellite radio. (Its not really my thing but it provided a break from music.) In any event, this evening I decided to leave the warm truck, hike down to join my husband on the natural terrace blow, and brave the winds and chilly evening air to watch the sunset in person.
Joe moved hurriedly between the three camera’s he’d set up – one digitally taking a time-lapse of the event, one shooting 6×17 panoramic shots, and one shooting regular digital stills. In the middle of it all I selfishly asked that Joe try and shoot just one photo of us so we’d have a record that we’d been on this trip together. He obliged taking a brief moment to switch a camera around and snap off a couple shots of us.
The sun began to fall slowly on the horizon painting the distant evening clouds and slip into another continent’s morning. As Joe managed his cameras, I took a little walk away from his side out onto a dusty, rocky wall of a nearby crevasse. I noticed to my right the herd of big horn sheep we’d passed while driving into the park that evening was moving down to our less windy lower terrace and swallowing their last bits of straw-like grass as they settled in for the evening. It occurred to me that without wolves or mountain lions they must have no major predators in this park. They felt safe there sleeping in the open, 20 yards away from us, the only humans in the park. I looked straight off in the distance at a few large boulders that quickly turned into bison before my eyes – a trick the boulders and bison often play on me while in Yellowstone. The few loan bison were scattered about, grazing on the dead winter’s grass atop other crevasse walls. I thought of the Native Americans who once stood there in the same spot watching and hunting the bison – their main source of nutrients and survival. The bison provided so much for them and once stormed this land. Now, after they were nearly obliterated almost 200 years ago, only a few wild herds remain. At that moment, I couldn’t help but notice the wind. It began to howl through the canyons growing in intensity of force and sound. I looked again over my right shoulder to check and see if the big horn sheep were still near us. As in prayer they’d all laid down and turned their heads toward the sun soaking in the last warm light it would give for the day. The wind grew louder and stronger as if carrying a voice on it. I swore I heard a voice on the wind. When I asked Joe if he’d heard it, he had. It was a sound like a wolf’s howl but not as melodic. It was the long drawn out call of an owl. Its voice echoed through the vastness of the plains carried by the wind. To the east a distant pack of coyotes joined in with their short cries and yelps and were answered by a pack of coyotes to the west. I sat down on the dusty cliff. For more than twenty minutes the animals of the park honored the sun and sang to the moon. The beauty was so great, I was moved to tears.
I have no real enlightened ribbon to wrap this post up with, just gratitude. What a privilege to experience such a beautiful song and moment in time. For however beautiful the sunset was that evening the song it was set to burned it into our hearts.
Moon Set
- I will post one of the photos Joe took of that sunset once he gets them scanned.
February 8, 2011 - Posted by dudzikfarris - 2 Comments
Tension
The tension was extremely thick in the car, mirrored by the incredibly dense snowfall outside our truck. We both sat up on the edge of our seats as our truck crept forward in the snow packed road searching through the trees and snow banks, down to the riverbed and up the foothill of the mountain to our left. The falling snow and the five-foot high snow banks that flanked the road limited our visibility. We swept the same two-mile stretch of road back and forth for nearly an hour and a half. Voices of the wolf-watchers echoed on our scanner as they described her coloring, size, age, and that she was collared. Twice within seconds, she’d evaded us. A young pup from the Lamar Canyon pack was seen twice literally on the road. She called out for her family with long howls as she searched for them near the place they had brought down a kill the night before. I wish I could say that Joe got the perfect portrait of her or that we even saw her this time. We’d teamed up with our neighbors from our duplex rental house. We threw them a walkie-talkie in hopes that if one of us spotted her they would let the other one know where she was and what she was doing. They are a husband and wife amateur photography team from Tennessee who spend about a month here this time of year, every year. Like us, they were on the hunt for the perfect wolf shot. The main difference is that they had already seen this wolf this morning.
Joe and I had seen a lone female collared wolf the day before trekking through the four-feet deep snow on a hillside in Lamar Valley. She’d traveled so slowly but labored that she was panting hard even in the 2º weather. Still too far away for a nice photograph, she tired out and took a four plus hour nap on a jetting side of a hill. Word had it that she may have been the lone wolf involved in a violent territory fight with the Lamar Canyon pack, evidenced by the dark fur and blood left on the road, the night before. This wolf was so far away though able to been seen by the naked eye, that not even the registered wolf watchers with their $5000 scopes could tell if she was injured. They could tell her identity, though #792. She is a true loner with no pack of her own and therefore no territory or way to hunt the big game needed to easily sustain an eighty-pound animal. Until this trip, we didn’t realize how lucky we were to see wolves so close to the road last year.
Last year we were entertained and delighted by the Silver Pack. They told a story good enough to get even the worst Soap Opera writer an Emmy – and within plain sight of the general public.
All in all, this trip has felt slow going. It has certainly been a little more relaxing then others mainly due to the fact that we don’t have to go out for dinner every night. Like usual I find myself urging Joe to find a photographic opportunity. This is also our first winter trip out here where I feel we are truly experiencing a Montana winter. Years past brought us 30º to 40º temperatures with either completely overcast skies or a slight mixture. There is more snow this year with an influx of weather from torturously cold but clear to blustery and blizzard-like. It has certainly added a bit of drama to this trip. We have seen the most beautiful sunrises and even amazing mid-day shifts in the clouds and sun.
If only I could go back last year to talk to Joe, I feel I could ease Joe’s frustration. All he wanted was a good shot of a fox and a few frame-able landscape shots. All he’d asked for in the five trips we’d taken previously was to see a moose. He didn’t even need a nice photograph of one; he just wanted to see one to know that they existed. Nearly all of his requests and dreams have come true, so far on this trip. As an added bonus we got to watch the Otters play, fish, eat, and tease the group of photographers that had hike out a half mile through deep snow and ice and stood with their cameras at the ready waiting for their next clown-like set of antics. Joe got some great photos of them. But still, there is frustration in this trip. Because of the deep snow accumulation this winter the animals are hard come by. They are having a really hard time just trying to survive. Also, many of the photographers that we’d bonded with last year while standing on the sides of the road watching the wolves for days have not made the trip out this year. Maybe they know better then we do. In all honesty, we’ve had many days that have been extremely un-lucrative photo wise.
We still have four full days left in the park. (I keep a count of the days we have left at the ready so I can remind Joe that there are still plenty of opportunities for an even better shot then the one he got the day before.) There is tension though. Why does it feel like we only just miss the great shots that others have gotten. Now that we’ve seen a moose, Joe is on the hunt for a nice shot of one, even if their antlers have already fallen off. Also, now that we’ve seen a wolf on this trip, he’s after the coveted portrait of one. I hope this trip fills out his check list. If not, I hope that next year I will be able to say, “if only I could go back last year, to talk to Joe”.
Joe in a Field
Sleeping Moose
Snow Dusted Trees
February 4, 2011 - Posted by dudzikfarris - 0 Comments
Its -17º at the present time and this is a little warm compared to what it has been the past 3 days. “We’re the only ones out here.” I said to Joe in amazement as we peered around us trying to absorb the arcticly frozen and silent world. “Are we crazy or something?” Ah, and there it was, that familiar question I often find myself posing when we are out here. I realized I’d actually said it out loud this time instead of internalizing it. It was a little after 8:00 A.M. and the external temperature gauge on the truck read -30º. When I’d said we were the only ones “out here” I meant we were literally the only warm blooded creatures I could see in the expanse that is Lamar Valley. Even the animals knew better then to leave their dens, their snow piled beds in the trees, their small plots of prime real estate next to Yellowstone’s famed steam vents. Animals are rational and only move when necessary, especially in the winter. When nearly nothing can draw them out of their warm hiding spots in temperatures so low, what on earth pulled us out of our bed in this treacherous weather? Opportunity. To be more specific, the opportunity for Joe to get his “photo of the day” – a new goal he has for this trip.
Yesterday, however, there was little opportunity to photograph or even see much of anything except the steam rising off of our bodies threw our coats. When we were loading up our car at 6:30 in the morning our breath literally vaporized before it even left our mouths and the corners of our eyes stuck together where little ice cycles had formed on our eyelashes. We weighed our options for the day. How could we make the best of this situation? This is the kind of weather that can do real bodily harm and even kill people in a matter of minutes. Yeah, this time I think we were at the edge to crazy town, population 2. It was way too cold to go skiing. The sky was piercingly blue and empty. The sun shone so brightly on the neon white snow that it was almost painful to look around even with our sunglasses on. The sun cast harsh shadows that were becoming less interesting as it rose higher in the sky. The weather forecast called for clear skies and frigid temperatures all day. Logic told me the animals weren’t going to be stirring around any time soon – wish logic had been awake when we decided to get out of bed that morning. At that point we realized there wasn’t much we could do with the day. We turned the truck around to headed back to our house in Gardiner.
This week has been far from a total loss. The previous day we’d stood in the same valley for hours photographing and watching a little red fox dance about and deftly drive head first into the four feet deep snow hunting for breakfast. We’d watched a young golden eagle observe the grounds around it from a high tree and seen a bald eagle take to flight, soaring high above the valley floor in search of its next meal. We’d run across numerous coyotes and heard the wolves sing their haunting song to each other from across the mountain ranges. We’d also already done an “easy” 5 mile round trip ski trail scaling and descending a 300 foot incline. It was exciting though we didn’t see much aside for the trees that lined the trail and a few human families along our way to the summit. As we know, quiet days happen. I’d still wanted Joe to achieve something out of this excessively cold day.
Joe had been talking about trying do to more star photography for a while but complained that much of the United States has too much light pollution, especially where we live – just west of Chicago. The best places to try it are in Africa, which he had, and the southwest. I thought about it for a bit and tried to encourage him to at least try to take a shot or two of the stars while we were out here even if there was light pollution. It had to be less then what we deal with back home. In my opinion that evening would potentially make for the perfect setting. There was going to be no moon that night to outshine the stars, hardly any wind to potentially shake the camera during a long shutter, and as we already knew, no clouds. The only drawback was the pending temperature of the evening: -40º. After much deliberation, I’d convinced Joe to at least try for it – we had good cold weather clothes with us.
We went back to the house to regroup for a couple of hours. I made some soup to take with us in our Thermoses for dinner. Joe read up a little on the requirements for star photography and we called our parents to check in. Soon it was 3:00 pm. We slowly loaded back up in the truck, mainly because we were in no hurry but also because we both bundled up so much that the added bulk constricted our every move. Like the little brother in A Christmas Story, I could hardly put my arms down. As if he knew what we were up to, the good-natured Park Ranger at the entrance gate seemed to warn us of the pending extreme low temperatures expected that evening. To no avail, we did one more sweep on the only opened road in the park looking for something worth photographing. We settled on a pullout spot near the west end of Lamar Valley as the base for our “star shot”. We ate our soup and watched the sun set, changing the flat white earth to a cool majestic purple and then to a violet. The stars however seems to be absent that evening. “There’s just too much light pollution, even here,” Joe stated with light disappointment. “Lets go.” My heart sank a bit. At the very least, I’d hoped to see some stars under the open western sky. We began our hour’s drive back to Gardiner. The sky still had a tint of indigo blue to the west, the direction we were heading. Even though we were already heading back, I didn’t want to give up that easily. Maybe it had still been too light out to see anything before. I shoved my face against the frozen window and looked up to see if I could spot a single twinkle in the sky. One, two, ten, forty, a thousand plus stars began to appear out of the blackness behind us. I knew I could get him to try for his shot!
“Pull over at the next pull out,” I requested. Joe did. This placed us in a large rocky valley surrounded by saplings and twenty-year old skeletons of forest fire burnt trees facing the Absaroka Moutain range. “Can we just sit here for ten minutes while the last glow in the sky disappears? I just want to see if we can see any stars.” I already knew that we could. I handed Joe half of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich to eat while we passed the time allowing the final glow of the evening to burn out. After he finished eating, he poked his head out the door and gasped with amazement. “This might work after all.” He began suiting up to sit out in the terrifically cold air. I did the same. I was set on seeing as many stars as I could. Within minutes we were outside bundled up to the point that only our eyelids were exposed. I jumped up on the bed of the truck and invited Joe to join me. As the camera’s shutter remained open capturing this natural wonder, we sat there in the winter’s silence taking in the velvety black sky pinned up by a million sparkling diamonds. I wondered if the animals bedded down in the park were looking up to watch the stars shimmer and dance across the sky. We sat out there enough to loose track of time, but not enough to not feel the effects of the cold. It had been a little more then eleven minutes and my eyes were starting to burn.
Unfortunately as life will have it, the shot did not turn out. Apparently in order to capture stars correctly, you only need to have the shutter open for a little over a minute – that is unless you are trying to get smudgy streaks out of them (smile). So, for our picture of the day, we took away only what we can remember. Funny thing is, I can’t remember the feeling of cold, but I can remember the feeling of holding my husband’s hand through pillow thick mittens and looking up together at one of the most overwhelming and amazing sights I have ever seen.
Sunset On a Cloudless Night
Joe, frosted over
One of Joe’s Fox Shot
January 30, 2011 - Posted by dudzikfarris - 1 Comment
There have only been two other times in my life when the GPS has said that in my presence. As fun as that was too look at, that distance was neither the entire length of our trip nor was it the amount of miles we had left until we reached our final destination. It was just the distance until our next turn.
So, what am I up to? “Where are you?” you may wonder. Its late January, so I’ll give you one guess as to where I am sitting. No, not at a desk. Good try – kind of. I’m sitting in the passenger seat of our Chevy Silverado in Yellowstone National Park. Yes, the sun is up and smiling; casting long shadows from trees and divots in the glittery snow. And yes, I hope you’ve surmised by now that we bravely drove out here. Much like the frontiersmen, pioneers and settles that proceeded us nearly 200 + years ago, we prepared for the worst, loaded our wheels up with the bare essentials needed for survival – yes survival, it is that dramatic – and headed west.
I will admit that after hearing of the people stranded in their snowdrift-paralyzed cars for upwards of 3 days in Minnesota earlier this winter, I was a smidge apprehensive to drive across the north Midwestern plains in the dead middle of winter. It occurred to me afterwards that when I was telling the cashier at Trader Joe’s about my pending winter road trip with my husband, it was more for my own consolation then his that I explained to him in much detail about all of the winter camping gear, MREs, and snow trekking equipment we would be traveling with. Hey, I heard what happened with the Donner Party and I’m about to become the 21st century version of that little mishap.
In any event, our journey westward this winter was proceeded by unusually warm temperatures. The roads were calm and the journey was pleasantly eventful with only the most relaxing memories. Well, there was a 4 hour stretch of South Dakota that took us 6 hours to get through due to icy roads, vehicles in front of us spinning out and minor snowdrifts. All things considered, we were extremely lucky. We padded our schedule well and even arrived in Gardiner, MT (the city just north of Yellowstone National Park) a day ahead of schedule. On our way out here we stopped at the Corn Palace in Mitchell, SD, since Joe had never been there – he was sorely disappointed. We stayed a short night in Wall, SD, watched a crisp and gorgeous sunrise spread over The Badlands, ate an extra heavy American breakfast at Wall Drug, visited the Minuteman Missile NHS, were abused by strong and biting winds that dared us to stay and witness a breathtaking sunset, spent a little over 24 hours exploring Deadwood, SD, hung out in Bozeman, MT for a day– one of our favorite cities, and then finally checked into our rental house in Gardiner last night.
We were up at 6am this morning. We were packed and in the car by 6:45 – I had a slow morning. The sun is extremely bright and the sky clear and blue. Ah, and there it was… the first clicks from Joe’s shutter of the day. And so ends this chapter and begins the next. Who knows what this visit to Yellowstone has in store for us.
December 4, 2010 - Posted by dudzikfarris - 0 Comments
I’d thought it had been a while since I’ve had much of anything to write about. This time of the year my work is slow and due to the forced downtime I find myself more reflective that usual. The temperature drops and I sit inside our house staring outside our picture window waiting for rain or snow or anything of excitement. I begin to daydream and discover my own thoughts on the past year. A few years ago, I felt the need to write about it. So I began my annual Christmas letter. I generally send it out to my estranged family and friends as a sad attempt to keep in touch. Facebook, I’m discovering, is replacing the need to send such a letter. I, however, still have the need to reflect. So, I think they’ll be a couple more posts on my blog in the coming weeks.
Aside from our amazing trip in February, Joe and I really haven’t had our usual photographic opportunities this year. A slow economy will do that. It’s a little frustrating though. Someone like Joe, with the talent he has, should find inspiration just looking out the same picture window I do. Alas, he is a gizmo geek and bought a new toy this year. I fear my husband has another mistress and her name… is iPad. I bring her up because often, the time I think he should be spending staring though a camera lens, he spent staring into her glowing, glossy face as she looked up to him spilling her warm light on his equally glossy eyes. I hope you can sense the laughter in my writing. Because I’m laughing as I write this. Oh, my. It is all true.
It wasn’t just her that took him away. So many times this past summer I’d ask Joe if he wanted to grab his camera and go for a hike at one of our local forest preserves. He’d lift his head away from iPad and usually reply with either, “Its too hot to hike today” (which was true as it was an excessively hot, humid, and mosquito infested summer), or I’d get, “Nah, I don’t want to go today. There’s nothing around here to photograph.” Now, while this past year in one conversation I had with a stranger who was looking to move back to her home state of Virginia, I’d realized how horribly landlocked, mountainless, and beachless my entire Midwest resident’s life has been, I still don’t think its all that bad here. On the other hand, the more Joe sees of our country, the more trapped he feels by the lack of natural beauty. We truly are at least a 6 to 12 hour drive from the closest national park, natural waterway, mountain or ocean. I can kind of sympathize with his lack of natural stimulus.
Toward the end of summer, my frustration at failed attempts to place his attention toward our local outdoors got the best of me. I decided to try to become my husband’s muse. I’m not sure if I’d revealed this to you yet, but I am actress. And being so, I need head shots and comp cards and other pictorial marketing tools. I leveraged his ability to take photos against our lack of funds to get new shots done by a head shot specific photographer. I explained that on my comp card I needed an athletic shot. I don’t feel like an athlete, but considering I run, like to hike, ride hunter/jumper horses, cross country ski weekly in the winter, and work out at least 4 days a week, I guess I’m a little athletic. At least, with the right photographer, I’m in shape enough to look athletic in a photo! And that’s the shot I was missing from my portfolio.
When the temperature finally dropped enough to make for a comfortable evening, I did my hair and makeup, showed Joe a few shots from a healthy lifestyle magazine that I favored, and squeezed into some cotton-spandex blend “workout” clothing. We drove to our closest forest preserve (a place Joe had in mind) and we took to the jogging path. I felt like such a nerd posing, mugging and flexing for the camera as cyclist buzzed around us and joggers glanced as they past. But I noticed for the first time in a while that Joe was focused and smiling. The way I’ve found myself doing as I’m in that place of Zen, deftly kicking a racing horse over a series of jumps. Its a place where you don’t hear anything. You almost don’t feel anything but antithetically you feel everything with a complete calm. Your whole focus is at what’s directly in front of you. Joe was there. In the middle of it all, Joe even shot off a few shots of the red orange sunset lowing over behind some distant trees.
Its strange because I’m rarely the object in front of Joe’s camera. At least that is when he’s taking it seriously:
when’s he’s into the Zen of it. Often when the camera’s aimed at me, I’m protesting that I don’t have on any makeup or my hair is a mess or “dear God, please don’t get me from that horrid angle”. This time though, as I wittingly brought him into some semblance of nature, I got to be it. I got to be the beautiful thing in his foreground – his focus, his muse, the place of his zen.
February 19, 2010 - Posted by dudzikfarris - 1 Comment
It was certainly an interesting trip. In a good and a bad way, Joe and I joke about this trip seeming more like a day on one of our commercial sets then our usual photography trips. We had long moments of pause waiting for the next big thing to happen and keep us motivated. At times it seemed like it was perhaps going to be a waist of a trip. We had conversations at dinner where in his frustration Joe confessed that it may be time to move on past Yellowstone. People who know him understand that his obsession with the park is great, so this was almost like him saying he was ready to end a serious relationship. But, the main reason was that as far as photographers go, the winter attracts only the hardcore. They bring the gear it requires to properly capture the moments. They all have a mutual respect for one another and the connection that comes from witnessing some of natures rarest moments together.
One of my favorite stories I’ve left out from my blog up until this point happened our last full day in the park. Early we went out to Lamar Valley to try one more time to capture that “perfect” wolf shot. We waited next to the road for a couple of hours until another photographer came and stood next to us to get the scoop on what we’d seen so far. He told us how he had just come from a spot where a couple of foxes and a coyote were eating off of some roadkill that had been drug up on a hill. (As a photographer in a national park this is the kind of information that gets your heart going!) Joe and I decided to pack up our things – his camera, tripod and lens – and head to the spot the other photographer described. Joe’s been dying for a photograph of a fox for years. It turns out the location the other photographer directed us to was near the spot we had sighted the cute little red fox days earlier.
As we arrived to the location we saw a few of our new photographer friends already staked out along the road side chit-chatting and exchanging stories of great photos they’d gotten. One of them, Tim DePuydt, was holding a container and eating something. He saw up and rushed up to our car exclaiming, “You’d missed it! Man, did you guys miss it! Wow! What a morning! Two foxes and a coyote all eating off of the same carcass at the same time. There’s not much left now, just some skin and a magpie picking away at it.” I could feel Joe’s heart start to fall. ”Well,” I asked Tim hopeful, “do you think they’ll be back?”
“At some point, sure. The foxes have tucked meat away all over the hillside here. They kept running up to the carcass, grabbing a chunk of meat then running back to bury it in the snow. Normally, they’d bury in the dirt, but being as the ground’s frozen they just piled it under the snow. The coyote got the entire ribcage off of the fawn carcass and ran off down the road with it. Man, what a great photo that made!” He must have seen the feeling of loss Joe had and backtracked at little. ”Oh yeah, they’ll be back to eat… probably in a couple of hours. Park your car here and get your camera out. Do you want some fruit cake?”
Seriously, Tim is one of the nicest people Joe and I have ever met on many trips. Turns out Tim and his wife make the BEST fruit cake I’ve ever had. It takes them weeks to make it from scratch – starting from drying the fruit.
As we stood by the side of the road, this time getting warmed by the bright sun, waves of photographers (or that is people with cameras) would come, pull in, set up, wait for a while, then leave. Just about the time there were only 10 or so of us left, a hurried, intense whisper came from the line of photographers. ”Look, a bobcat!” Followed by more hushed and hurried whispers, “Oh my God! A BOBCAT!”
“It is a bobcat!”
“Sush! Everyone be quiet!”
“You be quiet! You’ll scare him off!”
“Just shut your mouth. Now!”
“Oh my goodness, this is the most exiting thing I’ve ever seen!”
“I’m shaking! I’m literally shaking in my boots this is so exciting!” whispered Krysten Westlake, one of the rare female photographers we’d seen on this trip who happened to be standing right next to me.
Just then all of the photographers poised and readied themselves by their cameras as if they were waiting for the great blasting sound of a gun at the beginning of an olympic race. Joe ripped his second camera body with its heavy 200mm-400mm lens off of his neck and flung it on to mine like I was a coat-rack. With a rushed, “Here hold these!” two hands thrusted toward me bearing various loose camera accessories. I grabbed them just as the photographing frenzy began. Joe jumped behind his already tripod mounted camera with its 600mm lense. Thousands of clicks shot off as the young bobcat came slinking down the hill, following his nose to what have been a very welcome scent.
The bobcat is an incredibly rare animal to see in Yellowstone. I was told that there are estimated to be only about 30 of them in the entire park. The photographer who first spotted him is one of the official park photographers and although he’d been photographing the park for nearly 25 year, this was the first time he was laying eyes on one.
The bobcat came slinking down the hill toward us stopping every so often to lick some blood here, sniff a depression in the snow there and glance up at us checking our distance. As the elusive creature grew closer and closer to us, I realized that I may not be the best at taking pictures, but this was something really exciting to see and I did have a very nice, heavy, useful camera hanging around my neck. I knew enough about photography to check out the camera settings: focus- set to auto, ISO – set to 400. I was ready to go. I shoved the camera accessories I was holding into my pockets, arranged my body in the most front heavy weight baring position I could find, heaved the camera up to my face, braced my left arm against my torso making a human tripod, raised my right hand to the camera and began clicking away. Nearly 15 minutes later, I was physically spent, but I had successfully taken nearly 200 photos – 150 were useable. The little bobcat followed the scent path so close to us that the photographers with 600mm lens could no longer fit him in their frame. He paused only for a moment and then soon retreated to the carcass and sat down for a bobcat’s Thanksgiving-style gorging feast.
We joked about how much money in photography gear showed up as the crowd grew and grew in an attempt to capture the little bobcat as the afternoon wore on. Eventually the rangers showed up, moving some people along. Our SUV got trapped behind the other vehicles that showed up. But we sat and watched. A few hours after the little bobcat made its first appearance, the sun went down and everyone lost the light required to take any decent photo.
Slowly people pulled away. New friends exchanged business cards and hugged as they parted ways, grateful to share the experience together of seeing such a rare and beautiful animal in its natural habitat. Others left frustrated that they arrived too late to get a photo. And as we pulled away from the location, the bobcat still gorging himself, I couldn’t help but notice that Joe was beaming. After days spent stalking the transitory wolves, several early morning hunts with barely a sunrise shot to show for it, afternoons waiting for foxes or anything more than a coyote to appear, I hoped that this was the event that did it. ”Was it worth it?” I asked, sure of the answer.
“Yes, this totally made the trip.”
One of my great photos of the bobcat
Nikon buddies Joe and Kristen Westlake pose by their cameras
February 7, 2010 - Posted by dudzikfarris - 0 Comments
Photographers lined up to shoot… insane
Up again today at 5:30. Oh, the life of a photographer’s wife. Yesterday we spent the entire day with the exception of a lovely two-hour ski excursion watching a pack of wolves with 6-8 other photographers. The one thing that all of the male photographers commented on, was how nice it was that I was standing out there with my husband, helping him follow the wolves, and driving him to the nearest restroom when he needed it. Most of their wives opted to stay home for this trip or were still at the hotel asleep. Certainly not standing outside on the side of the road in 3 feet of snow and 20 degree weather for 10 hours watching and waiting for some distantly howling wolves to appear. This got me to thinking. Am I crazy?
When most people go on winter vacations with their spouse, they head to Mexico, the Bahamas or anywhere warm. Why don’t I insist upon this sort of relaxation? It certainly sounds nice. Well, I’m discovering that I am quite adventurous. This past year when we went to St. Croix for our honeymoon, I insisted that we get off of the beach and get in the water to go snorkeling. I couldn’t handle just sitting and not exploring – warm weather or cold. I think I’m the kind of person that actually enjoys this sort of vacation. I like being active and slightly adventurous and I’m glad I’ve got a husband who feels similarly. Now, allow me to clarify. Did I enjoy all 10 hours of watching the wolves on and off through a pair of cheap, hand-me-down binoculars? No. But it was doing something different. I can lie in bed and sleep till noon any day I’d like. For me, it’s not a normal thing to watch the story of 5 wolves play out before me (and what an interesting story theirs’ is turning out to be).
This recent realization all came about from a conversation I had with another newly-wed at our hotel’s bar last night. This particular couple is celebrating their one-year anniversary today! They got married in Yellowstone last year. They are drawn to the park for both similar and completely different reasons than we are. They utilize all of the relaxation and rejuvenation that the park offers. If you allow it, the park can cleanse you like a long hot shower.
The wife of the couple asked what our typical day here was like, after learning that Joe is here to do photography. I explained that we wake up at 5:30, are in the car with our instant oatmeal filled Thermoses no later than 6:15, drive through the park looking for animals or the perfect sunrise shot until 7-7:20. On this particular trip we’ve been focusing on the wolves (a first for us). Normally if we seen them, great! If not, we move on in search of other shots. We’ll stay out until about noon, pulling over when we see something interesting or at least to stop and make some sandwiches for lunch (this trip its been PB&J). Then we’ll either hike or ski/snowshoe a trail for a couple hours – always, Joe has at least one camera and a 40-60 pound pack he carries with various camera accessories and lenses. I carry the 15-20 pound daypack with water, snacks and other emergency gear. At times I’ve been known to carry a tripod or lens as well. Then we drive around the park again, looking for more animals/interesting shots until the sun sets. Then we’ll head to our room to wash up for dinner. We eat at the restaurant, then move to the bar to write our blogs, download photos and compare stories and sightings with other visitors or park employees. We’re usually in bed by 10. Then up at 5:30 to do it all over again.
Upon hearing this routine, she first looked at us in slight shock. They had nothing to do until 9 am and that was just breakfast. That’s when it crossed my mind again – I must be crazy. I thought about it for a moment. Then I explained to her, “Yeah, the long days do wear on us and getting up early does stink, but there is something so unique about the park early in the morning.” I recommended that she and her husband get up before sunrise at least once this trip to experience it. I went on to explain, “All of the animals are just waking up as well. They’re hunting for breakfast and playing. They’re usually easily visible in the mornings from the sides of the road and since there are so few people up and around yet, you get to feel as though the park is yours.” When we’re up that early, we get the honor of witnessing the quiet sunrise that often flashes the sky high above the surrounding mountains with the most brilliant shades of purples, pinks, oranges, and yellows. And just as the bright orange sun immerges from behind an often snow peaked mountain shedding clear streams of light on the valleys around it, I often realize in that moment that we are the only one to see it. Us and the animals that live here.
It’s the hope of a beautiful sunrise that gets me up at 5:30. Receiving those moments. Capturing them in my mind while my husband captures them on film. In one conversation with a new friend I met at a bar I answered my own question. I’m not crazy. I’m just a little adventurous.
I understand that this posting is a little more reflexive than normal, but this one is for all of the other photographers’ wives who choose to stand by, holding lenses, rolls of films, carrying tripods, driving back and forth with your husband on the other end of a radio guiding him to the next great shot. It’s for those of us who proudly display our husbands’ hard-earned photographs on the walls of our living rooms, bathrooms, bedrooms, etc. Because just as much as those photos our husbands’ masterpieces, we know they’re also the product of a loving, supportive, adventurous wife.
Me leading on a cross country ski trail
Now you see why we need an SUV
Joe and I leaving Yellowstone National Park
February 4, 2010 - Posted by dudzikfarris - 2 Comments
Joe, I and his photo pack on the Bannock Ski/Snowshoe trail
Being out here, doing what we’ve been doing… we’ve realized its like doing a puzzle. If you’ve ever done a large jigsaw puzzle you’ll know what I’m talking about otherwise, I’ll take you through it.
First you go looking for the puzzle you feel connected too and motivated by. Its most likely based on the picture your puzzle promises to make. For us it’s like picking the location of our next photo adventure.
You sit down with your puzzle, pouring the pieces out on the table and begin arranging them, flipping them face up, bright ones here, darker ones there. You pull out the corner and outside pieces, the obvious way to start. That’s like us booking our trip, making arrangements, packing and preparing for it – getting excited for it. Then comes the challenging part of the puzzle, building the insides. For us this is the trip itself.
At first you find a couple of pieces that fit together, so you get excited and keep searching. That’s the honeymoon phase or the first day or two. For us, its finding the first few animals we see. Its taking-in our chosen location. Seeing the splendor of it all. Allowing it to affect us. It gets us motivated to wake up early, get out there before the crowd, stay out past sunset, and search, search, search for animals. Every once in a while, however, comes that moment of pause… that moment where you’ve already matched a few piece together but then, you just can’t find the next piece or any piece that fits. You look and you look. You sit there for 10, 15, 20 minutes looking for that next piece. Ugh! You’ve decided, its too hard. This puzzle was not for you. Its become tedious and its turning unenjoyable. You decide to give up. As you stand up, ready to walk away, your eye catches a possible matching piece that you didn’t notice before. Ah-ha! It fits with the piece you’ve been holding. You sit back down and decide to keep going.
For us, that was the red fox we saw yesterday, trailing up a hill before sunrise. It was small and cute, running a few feet up the hill he was on before stopping and turning around to see if we were still watching and then running up a feet more. It kept doing this, stopping and looking over its back posing picture-perfectly, until it made it up the hill. Fortunately it was enough to get us excited about the day to see what all we’d find! Unfortunately, it was too dark to get a picture. At seeing the red fox on the hill next to us, Joe slammed on the brakes, rolled down his window and swung his camera with its foot long 200-400 mm lens through the SUV and out the window. It was too dark to get a focus on the small animal. We had to sit and take a mental picture of our little early morning fox. Turning and looking, its little red with white tipped fluffy tail wisping behind it. Its slanted, sly yellow eyes peering at us. Its red pointed ears with black tips listening for our next move. The excitement in our hearts as to seeing this animal in its true and natural habitat. It was our shared moment. It kept us going.
It was the rare wolverine tracks we found, incredibly fresh in the snow, bounding across our ski path in the quiet woods. It was the fresh wolf tracts we found, inches from our car (see 2/2 posting). It was the huge bull bison we saw standing by the side of the road swinging its head back and forth in the snow like a broom, scrounging up some dead grass to graze on: the meager meal of a herbivore in dead winter. He lifted his head for a moment to look at us, revealing his perfectly snow dusted face and beard. Luckily, we had a matching piece in hand. Joe had his camera out, patiently waiting for that moment, hoping it would be all that it promised to be.
We’ve had plenty of moments of near defeat – moments of nearly wanting to pack up, put our puzzle back in its box and move on. We had been waiting and waiting by the area that people had seen the wolf pack (who’s tracks we’d found) for a little over an hour. We decided to move on a little and drive down the road to try our cross-country ski/snowshoeing skills on an easy rated trail. Upon returning to our wolf stakeout spot a few hours later, we’d learned of four wolves that had walked down the road in plane sight of everyone around. It was yesterday when we watched the same wolves for an hour and a half feast upon the kill they had brought down earlier in the morning, but were too far away for any sort of picture or view with the naked eye. It was learning how moments after we left the kill sight to go find a restroom, helicopters and planes swarmed upon the sight tranquilizing and moving the wolves to breakup the two packs that were feeding there. Apparently they all began howling at the helicopter (as did the nearby stalking coyotes) and the bison were spooked into a stampede straight toward a distant lone cross country skier! All was well in the end – but all we could do was hear about the excitement. A moment of frustration and pause.
For now, we’re not giving up yet. We’ll keep looking for our next matching piece.
What we’ve begun to realized is that our puzzle may not end up looking like the picture we’d hoped to make. There’s a chance we might not get to finish the puzzle at all. In the end, we’re finding that its not about fitting the pieces together at all. Its about the adventure of trying to put the puzzle together, together. I suppose its more than an analogy for this and all photography trips. Its also an analogy for life.
Wolverine Tracks on the Bannock Ski/Snowshoe Trail
Yesterday’s Sunset
