The Spanish called it the “Northern Mystery” - the unspeakably vast country north of the Sangre de Cristos, beyond the missions and the trails. They tried it, but soon turned back. It was too big, too empty, and too cold. The natives were fierce and the treasure too elusive. Father Escalante came up the Rio Verde – the Green River - as far as Marsh Creek in 1776. The old timers say that when Ashley and his men came down the river there were adobe buildings – clearly Spanish in design - near Brown’s Hole on the river. The Utes were vague when asked about it, but they were willing to say that some men came up the river from the south and spent one winter there. When asked what happened to them, they would say only that they died and no more. A mystery within the Mystery…
Maybe it’s the mystery that draws me to and connects me with the sagebrush country of the interior West. Maybe it’s the history. There have been Gassons abiding in the sagebrush sea for four generations, a long time for non-native people in a hard land. Our history is a blink of an eye compared to the Shoshone and Ute people who came before us, but it’s long enough to put down deep roots. Deep roots are needed to survive here. But for those four generations, we have been nourished and nurtured by the waters of the Green. The thin ribbon of emerald green that starts on the west flank of the Wind Rivers and winds through the willows and cottonwood bottoms and canyons to meet the Colorado far below us has been our lifeline.
But no one, no family can have a life by clinging to a lifeline. Most of our lives have played out, for better or worse, in the great wide open of southwestern Wyoming. For me, my father before me and his father before that we have been men of the sagebrush country. By foot, a-horseback and by pickup truck we learned to navigate the immensity of this country. Hot in the summer, cold in the winter and incessantly windy year-round, it is often unforgiving. But it is stunningly beautiful in every season and it touches my heart like no place on earth.
It’s antelope season in our country, and we’ll soon be out on some nameless two-track road, a little used shipping lane out on the sagebrush sea. We’ll be glassing and stalking and if we’re lucky we might even be killing an antelope or two. But mostly what we’ll be doing is teaching the next generation the importance of public land from horizon to horizon and their responsibility in caring for it. We’ll talk about the country, the people and the critters. We’ll watch the sun sink below the Wyoming Range and we’ll thank God that we had one more day of our history, one more chapter in the mystery of our country – the sagebrush country.
-Grandpa
Every summer, our whole family gets together to do something pretty cool. We fired this thing up last year, it was a huge hit, and we want to keep it going. We call it Camp Wapiti. The grandkids of the fam get together, with our very own Grandpa and Grandma at the helm, and spend a few days in the outdoors doing all sorts of things like fishing, shooting, and hiking. How cool is that, right? So, a few weeks ago, we did it again. We rented a little cabin up by Laramie Peak, and the whole family gathered up there.
The first day, after a breakfast of breakfast burritos, we hit the water on a little pond about a quarter mile away. The fishing was okay. We caught mainly eight inch rainbows with our biggest one being about ten. After that, it was time for me to give a little class to the young’uns about knot-tying! After that, they were all quite the square knot-masters. Lunch was next and then it was time to go
shooting! Everyone brought weaponry in one form or another, and we all got to shoot a .22. For two of the youngest, it was their first time ever shooting, so that was a pretty cool day. Grandma also had a go with my .22, and I’ll tell you what, she is so accurate that it is actually terrifying to watch her shoot. She robin-hooded it twice through the bulls-eye without skipping a beat. Those two antelope she’ll shoot this week won’t stand even the tiniest of chance. We decided never to make her mad with a gun, and moved on. The Apprentice gave a cool class about edible plants, then we headed back. A slight cool rain was starting, and The Apprentice and I thought it was a great time to hit the pond with fly-rods and dry flies. A cold, wet hour later, we were only semi-successful, a rainbow each, what would become breakfast the next day. That night we played charades and had s’mores. It was a great day at Camp Wapiti, we decided.
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| Trouble in the making |
The next day, we went on a “Critter Cruze,” waking up at 0500 to
drive around and look for elk, deer and antelope. We saw a few mule deer, a few antelope, and a possible elk all within a few miles of each other. The picture on the left here shows why it is not a good idea to lend the wheel to me and Apprentice. We have lovingly titled it, “Trouble in the Making.” After more Cruzing around, we came upon something spectacular. After coming to the top of a little hill, we saw this amazing sight of the Laramie Mountains, displayed below. It truly is a beautiful land we live in.
Camp Wapiti has showed me that we are free-range kids. Grandma and grandpa think so too, evidently. We have a blast every year, and it is a great bonding experience. It’s important that we teach the young guys to love the land, the critters in it, and He who made it.
-The Ranger
Last week Grandpa came up and we went on a long awaited fishing trip on a drift boat. We went with Grandpa’s friend Spencer, the owner of said boat. I learned that fishing on a boat is a lot different than bank fishing. I also learned that our river is an awesome place to hang out on!
Grandpa came up and immediately we went out. We stopped at the local gourmet gastropub for fishermen (AKA the Loaf ‘n Jug) just long enough to get sandwiches and Cokes, and then went out to meet up with Spencer. After loading up, we went to one of the many launch spots along the river.
After getting underway, I learned that there are a heck of a lot of differences between bank and boat fly fishing. Almost immediately I got a huge fish (ok, just 16-17 inches…I know a lot of you guys usually catch this size of fish but hey, I’m used to 9-inch brookies). Overestimating its size, I gave my rod my hardest tug to set the hook. In my haste, I broke the fly right off the leader.
Over the next several hours, Grandpa landed three or four fish. While I had that many on the line, I would always tug not enough, or just a little too much to set the hook. About noon, we stopped and ate lunch. Then back on the water we went, to continue fishing. We kept on getting fish on the line and I kept missing them. We figured out the reason why we keep fly fishing, at this point. You keep on thinking, “I’ll stop as soon as I make a better cast,” but every time it’s not quite what you wanted, so you keep on a’castin’. Honestly, though, I was having the time of my life. Just feeling the tug that the fish gives sends an adrenaline rush from my hat to my boots.
I loved fishing on the drift boat. Thanks, Spencer, for providing the means and the company to have an incredible day. Thanks, Grandpa, for coming up and fishing with me. And thanks, river, for the awesome time!
