Conquer

Like an ancient spirit, Devil's Tower stood far across the plane quiet but strong in its declaration that it was here first.  Before the ancestors of any of us, human, antelope, or wolf walked across the plains in search of a living, the tower was there. Native American cultures such as Arapaho, Crow, Kiowa, Lakota, Cheyenne and Shoshone trace their origins to the rock.  Names like "Bear's Tipi," "Bear's Lodge," "Tree Rock," "Aloft on a Rock," are all given to the tower.  The Lakota Sioux have several similar names but for obvious reasons, also call it, "Penis Rock."
Each of these tribes trace its origins to the rock which rises 1267 feet above the Belle Fourche River in Wyoming.  It was already a sacred monument long before President Theodore Roosevelt declared it America's first National Monument in 1906.
Humans have tried to conquer the tower much as we have tried to conquer much of nature.  We see towering mountains as a challenge.  Even the most uninviting environments. . . . ..

 . . .have become home to someone.

We saw the Great Plains . . . loaded our wagons . . . hitched our oxen and set off, accumulating settlements as we went.

Log houses went up quickly and easily when trees were plentiful

Whole communities were built with styles that changed as new settlers moved in bringing new technologies.

Where there were no trees, the sod, itself was cut into blocks to build dark, yet warm sod homes. Winters were hard and long.  Little light or snow entered the home.

Wherever we settled, we changed our surroundings . . . squaring up trees to give us flat walls. . . 

Building tanks to hold water pulled out of the ground.
We have continued to change the landscape in our effort to live, whether it is by building windmills to give us much needed water,

Or digging into the earth for minerals and other resources to make our lives easier

Like ants, we change our world, one tiny piece at a time.  

Someday generations of humans will be no more. Our descendants, like our ancestors will return to carbon. 

 I don't know when that will be but I wonder will some of the rocks remain . . . standing erect, waiting to see what will go by next.

Big Horn Mountains

A slight drizzle fell over the quiet rodeo town of Ten Sleep, Wyoming, a town whose population is just over 300.Ten Sleep's name came from the fact that this Indian rest stop was ten day's travel, or ten sleeps, from Fort Laramie, or Yellowstone Park or the Stillwater River in Montana.  We ate pastry for breakfast while drinking hot cocoa and chai latte, while we wondered what drew people here.  Jeff looked at a real estate brochure and noted that prices for old, small homes were very pricy.  We wondered what the draw was. 

Land close to town was dry, brown and rocky. Sage seemed to be the main crop.

But, driving away from town, the earth turned red then quickly lifted to hills. . .

 Green spotted cliffs indicated that we were entering the Ten Sleep Canyon.

Water cuts through the Big Horn Mountains coming from the Powder River Pass into the valley.

Today, the road was pleasingly lonely. It was the middle of the week and foggy along the sixty-mile road to Buffalo Wyoming.

Big Horn sheep were on our minds as we viewed the cliffs but big horns were well hidden today.

Autumn had come to mountain meadows, bringing dark green to the pines and burnt sienna to the grassland. Fog blurred the line between horizon and sky.

We drove into the clouds as we crossed the pass on Route 16 from Ten Sleep to Buffalo Wyoming.

Snow remaining from last spring had already seen some addition and would soon be covered by several feet of fresh accumulation.

This was snowmobile country.  The large treeless meadows would soon be perfect for warmly dressed winter recreationists. (Seems like a good word to me.)

There were trails and signs to trails at every bend in the road.  There was a snowmobile path alongside the road.

For now, though we were almost alone.  We saw very few other cars.

Some ranches in the area cater to horse and snowmobile trail riding.

As quickly as it climbed into the Big Horn Mountains, the road descended to the flatlands . . .

. . .taking us with it.

Changes

The Ohio River Valley is my current home.  It is a land of rolling green hills, trees, corn, soy beans and wheat fields.  I grew up in southern West Virginia, an area of steep hills, mountains and hollows or “hollers.”  While the two areas are different in the size of the hills and and the size of the farms, They are alike in that both areas are green.  All of West Virginia is green, even over five thousand feet where trees become stunted and vegetation is more heath than anything else. Even here, we can see trees.  In fact, there is no place in West Virginia where you can stand and not see a tree, other than perhaps one of Don Blankenship’s strip mines.  

If you drive the entire northeastern United States, there is little variation in the landscape.  Some places are flatter than other, some have more evergreens than deciduous trees, some have views of the ocean, but in general, the landscape is similar from place to place changes usually being gradual.

Unlike the Appalachian and other northeastern areas, the landscape of the western United States is likely to change in a few seconds time.  Driving over the ridge of a hill may find you in a desert or with a sudden view of flat grasslands.  A rolling hillside may instantly turn into a steep canyon becoming deeper with each foot.

I never grew used to these sudden changes in scenery.  Driving along back roads, the two-lane highways that used to be main arteries of travel, we drove into the canyons and over steep mountains where weather changed as quickly as a young woman’s mood.

One such place was along the Chief Joseph Scenic Highway in the Bear Tooth Recreational Area. As we started up the mountain we drove by the entrance to several recreational ranches that looked liked the kind of place people go for “dude ranch” experiences. 

 The land was gentle the small river looked inviting. Far off we could see a cloud.  I thought it looked like smoke from a fire. 

 At this point there should have been dramatic music indicating “foreshadowing” in a melodrama.  Scenery quickly changed as we began climbing.  With each reversal on the curvy road, the smoke grew closer. 

We were worried that the road would be closed from a forest fire. We drew nearer and nearer as  the cloud loomed larger.

Soon it was right over our head and we realized that it was not smoke an actual cloud.  

The temperature started dropping as we entered the cloud that then turned to a thick fog coating our windshield with water droplets.  

The wind buffet our vehicle and blew the fog up the steep hill before us.  As we continued to climb we began to worry about snow.

This was open range.  I hoped that there would’t be any cattle on the road. 

Finally, when we could go no higher, we crested the ridge then started descending until the cloud was once again above us.  At the bottom where a bridge crossed the river, we pulled into an overlook to fix a couple sandwiches and rest before starting back up the next mountain.  

The cloud hovered ominously close, overhead.

We drove up into the fog but not before we caught some beautiful views and a sight of the road ahead winding back and forth as it gained altitude then dissappeared into the sky. If you look closely at the picture below you will see the road at four different levels as it snakes up the mountain.

I held the camera out the window and wildly clicked away, even as, within the car, I cringed at the sight.  

If you are fearless, click on the images to enlarge your view.

Back into the fog we entered, losing sight of the valley below.  Considered by many to be the most beautiful road in the United States, Chief Joseph Scenic Highway only showed us white at this point.

Slight breaks in the fog teased us with hints of what we were missing.

After crossing the ridge, we left the fog behind as quickly as we had entered it.  The landscape changed from lush mountain meadows and forest to scrubby grasslands walled in by red sandy cliffs.

Cattle and antelope shared the field as each browsed on sage or grass.

At the bottom of the mountain, we turned right as the land flattened out . . .

. . . and the sky opened up to direct us through Wyoming.