Crazier'n a Pet Coon

      Anyone who’s ever driven the lonely secondary highways and county roads of the sagebrush sea knows the Code of the West as it applies to found objects. If you find a tow strap or a crescent wrench lying in the middle of the road, it’s yours. There’s no point in trying to track down the owner. He or she might not have passed this way for weeks. They may never pass this way again. It’s yours – finders keepers. So it is with certain colorful turns of phrases, often comparative in nature, that you run into in the same western country.

      I was reminded of that recently when I was speaking to a group of folks in Rhode Island and I mentioned that there were a lot of micro-breweries in Colorado. But I didn’t say it that way precisely. I said, “You can’t swing a dead cat there and not hit a craft brewer.” There was a general chuckle and I realized that many of those good people had not heard that turn of phrase before. When someone asked me about it later, I said that I just picked it up somewhere. Like objects you find laying in the road, these metaphors and similes just seem to be part of life here in Wyoming.
Let me provide a few, with their generally accepted translations:

“Hotter’n a two-dollar pistol” – very hot
“Uglier’n nine miles of muddy road” – very ugly
“He looked like a heifer in a lightning storm” – he seemed startled
“They were like two badgers in a sack” – they couldn’t get along
“Wound up tighter’n an eight-day clock” – very anxious

       Some of these I’ve picked up like hay ropes and socket sets along the road of a life spent in Wyoming. But many of them I learned at an early age from my father and his sister. Both had colorful vocabularies, and both were bold in using them. I remember my dad remarking that a certain lady in our hometown, when viewed from the rear, “looked like two cub bears in a sack”. Aunt Carol, whenever someone appeared pale, would note that “His face looked like two sheep turds floating in a bowl of milk” or if it was raining hard, it was “raining like a cow peeing on a flat rock”. 

-Grandpa

The Ranger:

     

Grandpa has a lot of rather

interesting phrases. I’ve learned most of them over the years, and I still use some of them frequently. Most of them apply to things about living in Wyoming, and most of them have an ‘n or two. Here’s a couple of the ones mentioned above as well as a few more I've learned over the years, with my thoughts on them:

“Hotter’n a two-dollar pistol” – Can you get one at the dollar store?
“Uglier’n nine miles of muddy road” – That’s why we have four wheel drive right?
“He looked like a heifer in a lightning storm” – Have you ever seen a cow in a Wyoming monsoon?
“They were like two badgers in a sack” – Isn’t that animal abuse?
“Wound up tighter’n an eight-day clock” – It’s like that Beatles song, Eight Days a Week
“prettier’n a spotted colt” – We have a couple VERY pretty horses here in Wyoming
“busier’n a one-legged man in a kicking contest” – I guess it would be pretty hard
“colder’n a well diggers butt” – Actually, I happen to know that’s not QUITE the original way of saying it :)
“squealed like a pig under a gate” – What? We don’t even raise pigs?!
“howled like a cut cat” – Do cut cats howl? I haven’t seen one yet.
“crazier’n a pet coon” – Who even has a pet raccoon??

       So there we go. Try to imagine, if you will, some of these in real life. Or just don’t. It’s better that way. Most of these phrases have been edited slightly, because I think some kids are reading this hopefully. My great-grandpa and his sister were interesting, colorful people, to say the least.

-The Ranger

Mosquita-pocalypse

       A few weeks ago, I was at Grandma and Grandpa’s house and saw in the newspaper that it has been the fourth-wettest winter in Wyoming history. Then this past week, I attended a summer camp near Jackson Hole. We learned about many things focused around renewable energy. Beyond the awesomeness of the camp, one thing really stood out. The wetness caused a “mosquitoes apocalypse!” It got me thinking: “What do mosquitoes do in their lifetime BESIDES EATING 13 YEAR OLD BOYS?” Because honestly? It felt like the entire population of mosquitoes in the Rocky Mountains descended on our camp for an entire week.

      Mosquito eggs are scattered in stagnant water and mud. Once the eggs develop for a bit, they can stay alive for months in what is essentially a coma. Once the little monsters hatch, they grow and feed on algae and microbes. Then they go through metamorphosis and emerge as adults. They will lay eggs and live about two weeks, and then will be eaten by bats, birds, and fish. They also will ambush you on nice hikes.
      Their favorite ambush tactic is to wait while a group of kids comes around the backside of Wolf Hill. Then they come, and about 100 of them gather on your hat. I think the motive behind this is to hold you down while the other million or so swarm you. They force you to bushwhack (actually it's more like parkour with a backpack on in heavily wooded areas) down the ridge, while swatting yourself with anything bigger and harder than your hand.
       In short, mosquitoes are diabolical creatures that are necessary evils. They will eat you faster than I eat anything during elk season; they are most likely the cause of every sprained ankle ever sustained on a hike. But, they also are a major source of food for lots of different species. And if this holds true, then the fish I catch this summer are going to be the size of my Golden Retriever. So I probably wouldn’t be able to go fishing without them, but if I did, it would be a heck of a lot more pleasant!

-The Apprentice

I'm a Wyomingite

       In a small state in Midwestern United States, a herd of wild animals roam freely. They’re an odd bunch, they spend a lot of time outdoors, and many of them wear cowboy hats. There’s about 600 thousand of them, and they all get along rather peacefully. They call themselves “Wyomingites,” and I’m happy to be one of them. Most of all, I’m proud of my state.       

    There’s a lot to be proud of, too. Vast prairie without a sign of civilization for miles and miles. The Tetons, rocky spires shooting up from the ground against a fierce blue Wyoming sky. Yellowstone, the thundering of hundreds of hooves of buffalo like a thousand drums, geysers erupting on all sides. Tranquil streams, with brookies jumping and wildflowers on all fronts. Steamy forest ground, pine trees shooting up hundreds of feet in the air after a recent rainstorm high in the Wind Rivers. Miles of scorching red desert in south-central Wyoming. My favorite, a small, one-room log cabin, nestled in some trees in the Southwestern Wind River Range, a curl of smoke issuing from the chimney. Wyoming has it all, whether you’re a hunter, angler, hiker, explorer, or a combination of them all.

What does it mean to be a Wyomingite? What makes us special? I think it’s a respect of the land and the critters on it. Every single person of our sparse 600K population lives within only a few minutes of wild, untamed land and drop-dead gorgeous views on all fronts. The problem is, these things are disappearing – fast. Miles of open prairie are being replaced by nasty drilling rigs and barbed wire. We had better do something about it, or risk losing our livelihood, everything. To be a Wyomingite is to develop a deep love for the outdoors and everything that roams it. With those taken away, we are nothing. 

-The Ranger

Thanks, Clean Water Act!

      In 1997, we moved to a small town in central Maryland. No more unlikely pilgrims ever came to Keedysville, MD. It was the smallest town any of us had ever lived in – population about 500. But there were a ton of things that we loved about it. Like lightning bugs going off like tiny little flares in the backyard every evening. Like the smell of green and growing things all around you. Like the history of the United States literally right outside your door. Like the Potomac River.

      The locals say that before the Clean Water Act in 1972, the Potomac near Keedysville was pretty much just an open sewer. Industrial waste, municipal waste and pretty much every kind of filth you can imagine (and some you probably cannot) flowed into it from a thousand sources. If you had told someone you wanted to fish the Potomac, they would have thought you were crazy. There weren’t many fish in it anyway. But then, a miracle began to happen.

    The cities and businesses had to clean up their act – literally. And the more they did, the cleaner the river became. In a time when it seems that everyone is concerned about government over-regulation, it seems weird to say it but the big, bad government did something right - very right. Business didn’t do it – they squealed like a pig under a gate. Municipalities had to be dragged kicking and screaming into compliance. But slowly, grudgingly they did it. And the river changed.
      By 1997, the Potomac was a different river. You could catch catfish – big catfish – in the river. You could canoe or kayak in the river – and lots of people did. You could even catch smallmouth bass in the river. But I never did. I was busy. I had to work. I had to catch a plane. In three years of living and working on the very banks of this great river, I never fished it once. What was I thinking?
      Eighteen years later, I was fishing that same river. The guy at the fly shop recommended some big, gaudy weighted streamers and a couple of foam poppers for topwater. I started with something simple – an olive woolly bugger, just to see if that would work. I’d never fished for smallmouth, so I had to start somewhere…
     Put it on the edge of the riffles… strip slowly…once…twice…BAM! Holy smokes! WOW! It’s jumping! It’s running! It’s nuts! When I finally brought him to hand, I found a smallmouth about 10 or 11 inches long. Not a giant, by any means, but talk about punching above your weight! That was awesome. Let him go gently…OK, a little farther up this time…just shy of the riffle…strip once…BAM! Again, the bantamweight champion of the universe nails my fly. And again, it fights like a fish three times its size. It was amazing. And it was amazing time after time after time.

     I don’t know how many fish I caught on the Potomac that day. A lot. None of them were over 14” long, but they fought like crazy every time. I had a fantastic day. I laughed and hooted and hollered and had the time of my life. All because we, the people of the United States of America were willing to exercise some measure of control over ourselves and quit dumping nasty stuff into one of America’s greatest rivers. Now, an old man from Wyoming can catch his first smallmouth bass there. A kid from Wyoming can catch his first shad there – if he can master the strip set. But maybe more importantly, a kid from Arlington, VA or Frederick, MD or Washington, DC can have the time of his or her life on their very own home water. Thanks, Clean Water Act. Ya done good.

-Grandpa

Wapiti

       Throughout the course of this blog, we have mentioned elk several times. They are our biggest source of wild game during the course of the year. Most of our family have mounts or pictures of elk in their houses (Or mounts AND pictures…because why choose one or the other, when you can decorate with both?).
       They are a special source of family bonding - whether it be on the hunt, over the table as we clean up the meat, or as we eat it (definitely a favorite part). They are amazing creatures that lead amazing lives!    

     Cervus elaphus, or the elk, has several sub-species. Here in Wyoming, we have the Rocky Mountain Elk. They range in just about every western state, and in Canada from Ontario to its West Coast. They have the biggest antlers of any elk sub-species. Full-grown bulls weigh about 700 pounds and are 5 feet tall at the shoulder. Cows grow to around 500 pounds and are 4-½ ft. from ground to shoulder.
         Calves are born in late May and early June. They start at around 30 pounds, regardless of gender, and have little white spots (They are so cute, the yuppie girls of the world would be on them like duck on a June bug). After around two weeks, the momma cow will take her young back to the herd of calves, cows, and yearling bulls (the older bulls live alone or in small bachelor groups). A bull will reach his prime around eight years old, this when he has the best chance in the Rut.
       We as hunters often talk about the Rut. It is mating season, and it is when the elk are the most excited. Bulls try attracting females by showing their bodies, antlers and emitting a very strong and musky smell (a welcome smell when we hunters catch a whiff after hiking 12 miles in a day). Sometimes (but very rarely), bulls will fight and lock horns over a cow. They do this so rarely because it costs enormous amounts of energy (you try pushing back a 700 pound animal made of pure muscle with your head), and often injures the contestants. But if the bull tries and perseveres, they get a bunch of lovely girlfriends.
       Elk are pretty darn cool! They live in some the harshest terrain in the world. They are magnificent animals. They are special to my family and many others. In short, they are awesome!!!

-The Apprentice

Sources
“Elk” National Park Service

“Elk Facts” Rocky Mountain Elk Foundation
 Me

Sturnella neglecta

          As a Wyomingite, you sort of develop a deep love for anything related to the state. Whenever I’m out anywhere and I see good ol’ Steamboat, a buffalo, or an Indian paintbrush, I immediately think of Wyoming. The one that really truly has it for me, however, is the meadowlark. Yellow-bellied and with a V upon its neck, the mere sighting of a meadowlark is the coolest thing. Its clear, loud voice ringing out over a field on a glorious day with a deep blue sky brings a smile to my face and a feeling of happiness to be a Wyomingite. They stand for beauty, grace, and everything that this state believes in!

      The Western Meadowlark, or Sturnella neglecta, is an icterid bird, meaning one that lives in North or South America. They are rather small, only about 8 and a half inches long. Adults have a yellow chest and belly, with a distinctive V on their necks. Their backs are usually brown and spotted, sometimes with black streaks. Baby meadowlarks are ugly, developing their color weeks after they’re born. They spend most of their life in grasslands, prairies, or abandoned fields across western and central North America. In the winter, a great migration occurs, because interestingly, meadowlarks don’t do too well in -30° temperatures with winds blowing at approximately 5.3 billion mph and a blizzard, like the winters we get here. These guys fly hundreds of miles across the country to their winter homes in northern Mexico, but return in the spring.
         Meadowlarks are more than just a state bird. They are a symbol of everything Wyoming believes in, including defiance, grandeur, and beauty. When you look at one, you can see Wyoming, miles and miles of open plain…

-The Ranger