Gazer

Monday December 8 2014

Dudley left the herd and headed up the pasture to gaze at the Owyhee winter sunset. Of course, the handsome horse may have had an ulterior motive, as he had no trouble posing and enhancing the scenery.

On Fire

Sunday January 8 2011

I've been doing some mighty whining about the weather, seeing as we have not had a FLAKE of snow down here below the mountains, ALL WINTER, but, when you get a fiery Owyhee sunset like this once in a while, it makes it bearable.

It Was a Good Day

Thursday January 14 2010

From orange sunrise to artist's sunset, it was a pretty awesome 'winter' day in Owyhee - which is saying something, coming from someone who craves MORE SNOW. (Another way of describing today might be "ridiculously mild.") Temperatures in the (gasp) 30's, sunshine warm, air sharp and clear, breeze minimal, horses enthusiastic.

Jose and Suz had a nice ride together, and Kazam performed admirably well on his own (an update on him a bit later). Nothing like a couple of good rides to make you feel satisfied.

The sunset was one that actually punched you in the stomach, snatched your breath away when you first saw it. A screech owl hooted his approval in a cottonwood by the creek as Nature's fireworks framed Jose and the Owyhee mountains in a fitting farewell to the day.

It was just a marvelous day all around.

Silence is Not Golden

Wednesday November 4 2009

"Do you ever get tired of the quiet out here?" a city guy asked me yesterday. I had to look slant-eyed at him to determine if he was joking. (He wasn't.)

No, I never get tired of this amazing quiet. I've lived and worked in the city; I've lived and worked in the wilderness, in the forests and the deserts. For how vast and endless the mountains and the deserts are, the amazing thing is how quiet they can be. It's something most people notice out here.

Sometimes when I ride, if my horse's speed matches the breeze, the only thing I hear is hoofbeats in the sand. Nothing else. Sometimes when I hike it's only my footsteps (or my heavy breathing) I hear. I stop moving, and the silence is - huge. The presence of this big open desert - and the mountains and forests - speaks its own silent language.

Especially at night, when the wind stops and the birds and coyotes are sleeping - the quiet is awesome. You hear nothing - and everything.

If I could paint a picture of the majestic, charged, imposing, colorful silence here in Owyhee, it would look something like this up top.

(Or this).

Desert Storm

Saturday August 29 2009

Evening: a storm comes to the desert. Heavy blue clouds over the northwest flats. Thunder rumbles. A gray veil descends over the Owyhee mountains - rain is falling, working its way down Pickett Creek. Sun rays pierce the clouds, tinting them gold to the west and an eye-aching steel blue to the north.

The lightning flashes, so bright it eclipses the golden light. The thunder booms. I'm out walking in it. It's too beautiful not to. I'm not afraid this time... but then I'm not riding a horse in it, and I am sticking to the drainage, not up on the flats.

The rain arrives from up the canyon. Gentle at first, then big desert drops. It kicks up millions of miniature dust storms. It wets, then quickly soaks my hair, my shoulders, runs down my back, pours down my face. The rain releases the sharp incense of the desert - the sage, the rabbit brush, greasewood, the sand.

Lightning whirls in the sky, a bolt making a circle above the northwest bluffs. Two circles. Thunder chases the bolts around. I stare transfixed, pelted by rain, dripping now, like the desert. I'm part of the desert, looking skyward, soaking up the rain.

The heavy rain keeps on moving down Bates Creek, cleansing everything in its wake, taking the lightning storm with it. It finishes up with little sprinkles, just like it started.


The storm leaves in its wake the fiery sunset, storm clouds and rainbow: the visual orchestral finale of another Owyhee summer storm.