Occupation of Independence

I couldn't recognize the howls yesterday. Wolves?  But they were too high in pitch. The cows grazing nearby appeared unconcerned. These days I seem to go to You Tube when I want quick information on something, rather than Wikipedia. I wanted to hear sounds of coyotes and wolves, rather than move my eyeballs over a pile of verbiage, or worse yet, jargon. The You Tube recordings of coyotes did sound similar to what I heard here. It was howl-like rather than the high pitched yipping that I am used to. Do Wyoming or northern coyotes sound different than the scrawny coyotes of the Southwest?  Northern coyotes seems less famished and bushier than those of the southwest, but would they sound different? I don't get it.

What is the history of this forest/sagebrush boundary that I'm camping in? There was a fire semi-recently. I can hear the chainsaws of local firewood gatherers a couple times per week.  For some reason, burned forests don't scare me off. For one thing, the breeze blows through them better than for a normal tangled forest. And the view opens up. I wouldn't even say burned forests are ugly. There are lots of fuchsia flowers between the burned spars. Rather pretty.  It is true that my road would never make it onto "America's Top Ten Wildflower Auto Tour" package deals. Maybe that is why one field worker drives by per day, instead of heavy traffic from Jeep Wranglers and RAZR side-by-sides. So what do I do: just gawk at the fuchsia flowers for three minutes and then leave? That sounds too easy. Maybe the local forest has something better to offer than eye candy -- such as drama. Forest fires are no joke. I camped right across the road from one once. It was right o

Yesterday I enjoyed running across a large herd of antelope at the same time as a herd of black cows. And they say cows are stupid! At least cows make plenty of noise for communicating with their fellow herd-persons. As far as I can tell, antelope are mute. And cows make trails useful for human walking. The pasture was relatively free of sagebrush. The grass was green and lush. Imagine that -- something that was actually green!  It was good to be walking again. The terrain and road situation just didn't lend themselves to mountain biking. The edge of the ridgeline extended for miles. It was blessed with a merciful breeze, so no insects were noticeable. It might sound perverse but I rather liked the haze from distant forest fires. It moderated the sun, ordinarily my arch-enemy.   It was satisfying to adapt to the land: to take it for what it is and make the best of it. After all, what is the point of traveling if you drag yourself and your sacred preferences around with you?  ______

This morning inaccuracies in my map confused the bike ride but I rather enjoyed it, anyway. After all, perfect information would destroy the process of exploring by reducing it to mere consumption. It will necessary to walk to the top of the ridge -- maybe that is a good thing since I try to bike everywhere. The camera doesn't do too badly at capturing the glorious nature of this ridge. But they have their limits: cameras thrive on verticalities and that is not what is admirable about this terrain. The uppermost mile of this ridge brought gradual changes in its personality. The ridge morphed into a proud headland, defying the western wind as it stood steadfast in Wyoming's sky-sea. It could only be experienced through the skin or through the pressure between the feet and a pedal. So noble and grand! This must be what a sailor experiences on the bow of his ship.