Winter here in the West has not been, by a skier’s standards, the finest. But nonetheless, we’ve found cold and snow, sporadically, with effort, and with great bouts of spring-time warmth in between. In a forest service cabin, on the mountainside, in the depths of Cooke City. It’s been a winter of mourning for a hound dog that kept pace by my side for fifteen years, and so I must say that everything in this landscape feels slightly off, tainted with grief–both mine and others.
Finding a tiny powder window in Hyalite.
But this is life, and mountains, and climate change. And you carry on, and you look for the glimmers.
Don’t you drink Outdoor Vino at the trailhead after a day of backcountry skiing?
Five wolves running the ridgeline in Yellowstone.
A coyote in Yellowstone.
You stare at photos as if they might be all that’s left, but the truth is they’re just a metaphor for what stirs your heart.
Rest in peace, dear Tucker.
Snow raging in the high country today, with high avalanche danger. Down in the valley, rain prevails. But dog sitting for a border collie is a good motivator for a walk, hood cinched tight.
Rupert, wet and wind blown.
Walking along the river. #olddogs #fall #missoula
I wasn’t sure we’d see this one, so we celebrated a sweet, long life with a 14th birthday party for the old lion hound. This was the scene at the end of the night after elk steak, treats, bones, howling, and friends. Party hound. (He was veritably hung over the following morning.)
When the hunter returns with a grouse, he brings a wing for the old hound dog. Found: happy dog hiding in the bedroom with his prize.
Borrowed a young dog, ran some mountain trails. Fixed a burned-out brain.
How you know when elk hunting season is just around the corner. Howling for da bulls.
“What? You’re cold? I’m toasty warm in your sleeping bag.” #dogs #dogswhostealsleepingbags#spoiled #camping #montana
Spontaneous #roadtrip camping #olddog style with tucker. #montana #river
Missed this guy. #reunited #olddogs