Snow in September
For the last week false weather reports flooded the airwaves promising 8 inches of snow for Carbon County. Most of the staff hailing from the southeast coast waited in anticipation for the bleak and unpredictable snowstorms Wyoming is famous for. Every morning over a period of five days I set my alarm for 5:30 only to open my blinds and find frost, but no snow. Finally, on Monday a cold front pushed through Colorado, spilling over the border and into the southern section of the state.
I shot out of bed at 6:00 and ran to Patrick Shehey’s room, a fellow fly fishing guide. We had been trying unsuccessfully for about a month to collaborate on an image of him fishing in the river. Due to fickle weather patterns and poor light I was never able to get the right shot. So when I knocked on his door at 6:00 am and told him to crawl from under his warm blanket and dress to get wet, he was a little reluctant. Eventually, after pleading and mimicking the menacing sound of an alarm clock, he finally obliged. An avid angler, Patrick guides professionally in Connecticut. He has entered plenty of fishing competitions and throws one of the most beautiful loops I’ve ever seen.
On our way out to the river, we stopped by the Sunday Left pasture and watched the wranglers jingle in the horses. The sound of soft powder creaking beneath 400 hooves followed by the piercing cries of cowboys echoed across the ranch.
After the horses were gathered in the catch pin Patrick and I headed for the North Platte and parked along a beautiful stretch of scattered boulders. We spent 30 minutes fishing and photographing until the bitter air and freezing water got the best of us. Unable to move my fingers enough to trigger the shutter, we called it a morning and headed back to the Fish Shack. Even though we only clocked in a half an hour, that morning on the river ranks in one of my top five fishing adventures.
Angler’s Paradise
Ten o’clock, two o’clock, ten o’clock, two o’clock, the rod flexes sending the fly soaring through the air while neon line loads the next 10 feet. Golden light dapples on the water’s surface and a trico hatch emerges from the river. Thousands of insects spin helplessly back toward The North Platte and into the mouths of rising fish. The angler adjusts and ties on a new a fly. Targeting the feeding frenzy he lays his line just left of the riffle. A cutter cadis lands softly on the water, the 6x tippet invisible to the fish below. The angler points downstream and with the flick of a wrist mends the line back toward the rock, correcting for the fast drift and buying his presentation another three seconds. As the line unfurls, his free hand steadily strips in the slack until a wild brown trout breeches to swallow the fly. In a split second he raises his rod and tightens the line. With the hook set on the jawbone, the fish takes off downstream in zig zag patterns. The reel spins, zinging line and sparks of water from the cork handle. With the rod held high and keeping the line taught, the angler starts running, splashing through the water, dodging slippery rocks and avoiding deep holes. His focus never leaves the fish and after 15 minutes of cunning resistance the tired trout idles into the net. This scene will replay itself over and over again every day on the ranch throughout its 13 miles of private stream and river.
The international popularity of fly-fishing seems inevitable. A sport that demands such physical, mental, and emotional immersion into the natural world often lands fisherman in some of the most scenic and pristine areas of the globe. For many, catching fish is merely a bonus.
Riding Lessons
We all had fantasies of riding horses and shooting bad guys when we were kids, especially if you were in my family. Watching Zorro or Clint ride through a mob of villains while exacting perfect aim with a three-foot rifle looked so appealing, so natural and effortless. After sitting through the whole Lonesome Dove series, I left with the feeling that riding a horse was as comfortable as the carrousels at the county fair and that any wild stallion could be tamed if you just combed his mane while looking gently into its eyes.
I later found out, the hard way of course that I was no horse whisperer. One of my first experiences on a horse was in Costa Rica and I’m not sure if you could call it a horse by American standards. Maybe it was a pony, or rather, a donkey. I’m not sure exactly, but I was extremely disappointed to find out that I was neither Zorro nor Mr. Eastwood when atop a saddle. I bounced uncontrollably and clenched the horn with a death grip just like a toddler riding a large dog. After my humbling ride, I took a long hiatus from the professional circuit until arriving in Ecuador in 2005. While traveling along the Ruta del Sol on the Pacific Coast my friends and I rented horses to ride through one of the tropical forests. Of course I stepped up as the experienced rider believing, really believing I had some residual talent left over from my days of television-osmosis-training. Not twenty minutes into the ride my horse busted into a cantor while I desperately pulled at the reins, bobbing and weaving through the trees. Terrified he was running a decapitation route specially designed for gringo tourists, I bailed. And it wasn’t like I jumped off the horse with some heroic calculation, oh no, once again I held onto the trusty Oh Shit Bar, ie: the horn, and dangled my legs off one side until I couldn’t hold on any longer. I tumbled with camera gear and tripod still clinging to my back.
So after another long break from the PBR, I was ready to get back to the basics by 2009. This time I had no trouble signing up under the “beginner” section of the roster at the A Bar A.
The following photos were taken in awe of the wranglers and their ability to do what I could never do: stay on the saddle.
Often before the sun rises, wranglers ride out for the cinematic morning “jingle,” guiding more than one hundred horses in from their evening pasture. With bells ringing and lariats whipping through the air, a stampede of hooves and muscle explodes down the single track. Like runaway trains, the horses rip through the clouds of dust, nostrils flaring and huffing to combat the stinging particles stirred before them. Grains of sand dance like popcorn, gophers retreat underground, and the earth trembles as the half-ton herbivores barrel across the sagebrush. Wranglers lead the pack, perfectly poised on their horses at incredible speeds, shouting out to rebellious strays until safely reaching the corral.
Creative Lights
I left the ranch last year a little disappointed for not capitalizing on certain opportunities. Failure, in some cases, can be a great catalyst for action. Luckily, I gave my self-loathing a break by coming out for a second summer.
One of the famous hikes on the ranch property leads up a steep and craggy trail to a peninsular outcropping where a 14-foot wooden cross looks out over the North Platte River and Medicine Bow National Forest. High and away from the lights of the ranch, it serves as a favorite destination for adventurous stargazers. The image I imagined was a long exposure of the Wyoming night sky around the time of a quarter moon. The moon would serve as ambient light to render detail in the rocks and background. With my GPS pointed North, I could get a clear reading on the position of Polaris. Over an hour and a half during the exposure, the earth slowly spun creating an effect of swirling constellations.
About ten years ago, the ranch contracted a craftsman from New Mexico to build a traditional chuckwagon. The covered wagons were used back in the late 1800s as the preferred method for travel across long distances, especially in the west. I wanted to create an image that paid homage to the brave and hopeful souls that wondered through these rough and endless expanses. On a clear night, just before sunset I headed up to Slim’s Draw with one of my photography students. We positioned the chuckwagon to line a series of pines looking off into the western skyline. With two strobes and two cowboy hats we climbed into the chuckwagon and set my camera on a wireless trigger system. While the camera exposed the image we popped two flashes directly behind our heads to project our silhouettes on the canvas. We tried this several times before adjusting our positions to create the father and son look that you see now.
Camping in the backcountry of the ranch is always an adventure. From mountain lions to bears, to curious cows that wonder in from the hillsides, you never know what tracks you’re going to find surrounding your tent in the morning. The nighttime is especially beautiful when the firewood is dry and the cloud cover is at a minimum. I always enjoy taking pictures of my favorite campsites and this one in particular, alongside the slow trickle of South Mullen Creek, ranks in my top ten. To make this photo, I lit the inside of the tent with a high-powered flashlight and then doused the fire with water to send a plume of smoke into the sky. Then, during a 30-second exposure I painted each lodgepole pine with another flashlight.
Here, with two of my favorite students Lucie Coleman and Willis McCrickard, we gave a quick shout-out to the A Bar A Ranch using logs we lit on fire. Fun!
Mass on the Mountain
Every year the Guyol family, comprising of nearly 20 people, visits the ranch to celebrate a long-standing tradition of horseback riding and fly-fishing. A devout group, they even bring their pastor, Father Ralph Wright.
Their annual customs range anywhere from interfamily soccer games to horseshoe tournaments, but their most colorful and bonding tradition is a sunrise mass high atop a mountain.
Since there no roads lead to the summit each family member helps to haul a makeshift alter, the challis, bibles, wine, and bread to the rocky top. Gaining over 700 feet of elevation, the Cross-, as it’s known, is no easy hike, especially in the pre-dawn Wyoming climate. Regardless, every year a spry 73-year-old Father Ralph hustles up the mountain followed by his loyal disciples.
Just before he blesses the wine, the sun crests the eastern range. I may not be Catholic or part of the Guyol brigade, but it’s hard not to feel some sense of belonging amidst so much passion. It’s a beautiful scene and I feel fortunate to be part of their intimate ritual.
4th of July
What else could be more patriotic than celebrating America’s independence on a ranch in the Cowboy State?
One thing is for certain: A Bar A knows how to throw down. Over 400 people attend the celebration, 200 of which come from the neighboring towns (more like villages), to eat, drink, and watch some explosions in the sky.
Sparklers by the hundreds are handed out with children running and dancing behind them.
Children of all ages.
4th of July, especially here, holds a sort of timelessness; maybe it’s the cowboy hats or maybe it’s the subtle smell of horse manure wafting in from the corral. Regardless, nothing epitomizes the spirit of the wild west as accurately as the ranching culture. Viewed by some as the most productive and effective stewards of land conservation, cowboys and ranchers dedicate their lives to learning the natural rhythms and idiosyncrasies of their land.
Although techniques and equipment have evolved since the 19th century, most of the traditional values and practices attributed to the cowboy still remain. Their persistence and enduring resolve, regardless of the technologically driven world on the periphery, adhere them to an ancient code of ethics. They remain forever idolized as an American icon of freedom and independence.
Wild Life
Wyoming is huge. Huge, as in massive. Florida is huge too, but to put things in perspective, Florida is 66,000 square miles while Wyoming is 98,000 square miles. If you’re not surprised yet, then check this out: from the last census taken, Florida has 18,000,000 people. Wyoming on the other hand is just below 550,000.
I think my favorite thing about the Cowboy State is the space; the romantic, healthy kind of space: rivers, mountains, streams, rocky outcroppings, sagebrush, aspen groves and fields of wildflowers. This is not to say that Florida doesn’t have beautiful, natural areas. To set the record straight I am completely infatuated with my flat homeland, but with the presence of so much unoccupied land Wyoming exudes the essence of uninhibited, untamed wildness.
Over the past three days I’ve been blown away by the array of wildlife here on the ranch. The A Bar A could even be considered a wildlife sanctuary as it’s managed with a conservationist’s mentality, lending itself to close encounters.
Saturday, I went hiking with two of my teens from the program and we came across a herd of five big horn sheep. Resting under the shade of a ponderosa pine, they casually gathered when we approached. The light was poor for photographing but I finally managed to get a portrait of the famed uni-horned sheep.
On the way back, a male blue grouse strutted and cooed in search of a mate.
That evening while fishing on the river, I looked to my right and only fifteen feet away a family of beavers was sharing a leafy branch. Unfortunately, my camera was elsewhere.
The next morning on the way to breakfast I spotted a female moose and her two calves resting in the willows. The male, not too far away, approached slowly and I moved cautiously for cover. Moose can be extremely dangerous when they feel threatened or challenged, especially when the young are involved, but I felt safe behind the buck-rail that bordered the river. This was my first encounter with a moose and I couldn’t get over how weird she looked. Somewhere mixed between a giraffe, horse, and cow, moose appear as though they wound up on the wrong-end of some twisted science experiment. They’re beautiful though, in a funny way.
Later on in the afternoon while taking pictures of the kids playing in the pool, I heard loud screams coming from the golf course. Looking up, I noticed a small black bear lumbering towards the ranch road. Quickly, I set off on a dead sprint to head the bear off and get a candid photo amidst the sagebrush. Generally, black bears are far less-aggressive and smaller in size than brown or grizzly bears, so I felt comfortable pursuing the animal. Not too long into my endeavor, however, I heard the manager yelling at me to come back. Unfortunately, despite several more encounters, this would be the only photo I made of our friend the bear.
Mile High Cookout
Named after a mysterious cowboy who lived and died amidst the gnarled ponderosa pines and coarse sagebrush, Slim’s Draw leads to the top of one of the highest mountains on the ranch property. Every Friday night the ranch hosts a cookout for guests and invited staff members. Bathed in Wyoming’s special brand of late afternoon light, Slim’s Draw offers a spectacular lookout on the North Platte Valley.
For the city slickers and east-coasters, their childhood love affairs of western freedom and wildness are consummated here. Cottonwood crackles in a burn pit, horses stir in the corral, folk songs dance off the frets of an acoustic guitar, and the smell of grilled meats and beans weighs heavy on the wind.
In celebratory fashion, children are escorted up the winding road in a restored fire engine from the 1950’s – its bright red frame glowing against thunderous skies in the distance.
As the sun dances over the mountains on the horizon, a few rays ignite the rain clouds in a fiery orange.
With full bellies and shuffling boots, the crowd disperses and heads for the catch pin to saddle up before the two-hour ride home.
In the distance, familiar silhouettes briefly crest the ridge as the last light of dusk gives way to the night.
Wyoming Skies
Leaving South Carolina early on Thursday morning, I set out for Encampment, Wyoming to begin a second summer working with the A Bar A Ranch. After 1,970 miles of mosaic bug splatters on my windshield, 7 fill-ups at the gas pump, and a miserably desolate drive across Kansas and Nebraska, I rolled into Encampment on Saturday afternoon.
This year, my job title is a little more specific as photographer, teen counselor, and fishing guide. Luckily for me, I have the flexibility of making my own schedule and most of my job consists of a daily improvise to entertain the guests. I have taken a loose definition of “entertain” to suite my style of fun – particularly camping, hiking, photographing, fishing, and exploring backcounry sections of the ranch. As long as the teenagers are happy, I’m doing my job. At the end of each week, I present a slideshow to the guests specifically focused on their stay and experiences.
One of my goals last year was to publish a coffee table book to highlight the rich history, the wildlife, the vast landscapes, and the eco-friendly management of the A Bar A Ranch. By the end of March 2009 the book was ready for print, complete with 120 pages and over 150 images. You can purchase a copy of the book or preview some of its pages on www.Blurb.com.
In many ways after such a long publication process and a full portfolio from last year, I feel satiated and contented to the point where I see my creativity stagnating.
The test this year will be to see if I can push past the pride of a job-well-done and convince myself there are more images to be had.
Mac Stone Photography 