Mountain Days

Big Sky, Montana

 Final Big Sky twilight.  Walking the upper meadow at twilight is always so meditative, I never thought mountains could provide the same peace as the ocean, I was wrong.  Big skies can do just that.

Final Big Sky twilight.  Walking the upper meadow at twilight is always so meditative, I never thought mountains could provide the same peace as the ocean, I was wrong.  Big skies can do just that.

 The flowers in Beehive Basin greeted us in full bloom, even under the smoke filled skies from wildfires in Idaho and absolutely scorching heat of full on high desert summer heat.  This place is one of natures great cathedral, truly sacred.  I cannot help feel awe here and reflect in the mountain lake.  Bear Basin next year.

The flowers in Beehive Basin greeted us in full bloom, even under the smoke filled skies from wildfires in Idaho and absolutely scorching heat of full on high desert summer heat.  This place is one of natures great cathedral, truly sacred.  I cannot help feel awe here and reflect in the mountain lake.  Bear Basin next year.

 Paradise Valley perfection, I think all of us dreamers imagine living in these tiny shacks when we see them, but I admit, while I do love Montana's -30 winters, out here the wind would be brisk.

Paradise Valley perfection, I think all of us dreamers imagine living in these tiny shacks when we see them, but I admit, while I do love Montana's -30 winters, out here the wind would be brisk.

(All images in my stories are my own, unless specifically noted.  If you would like to reproduce them elsewhere please contact me directly.)

Big Sky daze

I never have particularly good film or shots of skiing as I simply am engrossed in, well skiing.  The silence, beauty, physicality, challenges to overcome, thrills and camaraderie.  Skiing to me is a sort of coming home, and skiing in Montana is the best sort.  This is a poor mans homage to that but a bit of fun at least.

The lunch yurt in the back off of Shedhorn is always a lovely break and I was thrilled have a healthy enough year to start getting into the Headwaters in Moonlight.  Daunting and awesome!

Horsing Around at Lone Mountain Ranch

I adore these guys, they are massive 2000 pound goofballs from tug of war, to bunny hops and trying to mouth everything in sight, they are such show offs and fun to chill with.  I love heading to Lone Mountain Ranch to hang with these gorgeous boys.

http://www.lonemountainranch.com/food-wine/sleigh-ride-dinner/

"I'm a trained professional, lady, I can hold this cute as long as it takes until you get the shot."

Skijoring Bozeman

Not for the faint of heart the Duckworth Montana Classic run by the Gallatin Valley Skijoring Association in Bozeman on Saturday was an awesome festival of horses, cowboys and cowgirl, nutty ex ski racers, dogs, fun, stupidity, speed, beer, fun and friends.  I was in heaven!

Each categories the riders and skiers got faster and bolder with the Pro racers competing for big money.  The horses flew by at a full on gallop, rider pushing them faster, as their skier slalomed through gates, over three significant jumps-landing on teeth jarring flats, while grabbing the three rings - any faults caused an addition of 5 seconds to the teams finishing time.  In true ski racer form (and rodeo style, I imagine, I have less experience in this area) after the teams showed their serious skills down the track, they then showed their party skills on the return, juggling beers in the saddle or while ski skating or being towed.  And yes, Montanans' included, we were pretty damned impressed.

I mean really, what could be more perfect than a combination of all the best things in life - skiing, horses, Montana, snow, friends and a bit of alcohol on a gorgeous winter saturday afternoon. 

Thursday Throwback-Buffalo Ridge

I bowled the ball, bocce style, for my slightly myopic dog across the dirt lot of the only store in Buffalo Ridge, South Dakota.  The pumps of the defunct gas station were so bleached out they looked like they hadn’t been used in 50 years, and there was not a human in sight.  It was early October but the 40 mile an hour wind whipped up the 34’ air to a cutting chill that made memories of surfing on a perfect New England Indian summer afternoon a few days earlier seem like a figment of my imagination.

I had my doubts about trying to cross the vastness of South Dakota, which seemed as uncharted and mysterious as a vast body of water, in the rising darkness, on half a tank of gas.

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