If I’d had a pipe and an Irish setter, we could have been in a Norman Rockwell painting. Puffy white clouds floated in a bluebird sky above vibrant green sage and the rolling red-dirt prairie. A man, at ease with the world and confident in his forthcoming conquest, strides forth, a shotgun cradled across, Read More
It’s been a good year. The cold damp soaking my thighs and the tang of wet sage are evidence. Water is life wherever you go, but the connection is hard to miss on the high desert prairie. The whole palette brightens and shifts toward green. In July, much of Wyoming looked like Ireland., Read More
There’s a difference between the smell of an animal and the smell of an animal on you. Pronghorn antelope have a goaty, musky, virile stink. When a whiff wafts from an arroyo or the matted secrecy of a day bed, it’ll twist your neck and curl your nose. In such chance encounters the smell, Read More