To live at the foot of the Bighorn Mountains of Wyoming is to experience a magical boundary between two rich ecosystems. The visitor's eye is often fixed upon the snow-capped peaks; yet, longtime residents delight in the secret and subtle locales nestled between the mountains and the plains.
Clear Creek bursts out of the mountain wall into the plains on its journey to the Yellowstone River and, ultimately, the Missouri and Mississippi. Its water is life-giving in the parched prairies, especially at the end of summer. Thus, there is still another ecosystem - the riparian necklace of abundance. Come follow me on a short walk along Clear Creek in early October.
A deer trail leads off into the woods along Clear Creek. After an unusually wet summer, the understory grasses are still green while the tall grass has ripened into a blond carpet.
Although the landscape appears forested, trees are, in fact, rare in the High Plains. The cottonwood is a sentinel of water and the delight of the hot and weary traveler. Blue sky, the sun glinting off ripples, and the laughing splash of the water.
Would that I could add a sprig of sagebrush here. Hardly a weed - it is a survivor, often living more than a hundred years. Its distinctive aroma comes from oils that most livestock avoid, but antelope love.
Dinner will be late tonight. Very late. An old cast iron stove rusts in a slough. Most likely discarded from Fort McKinney more than a hundred years ago, it has seen many a lovely autumn day.
A stately cottonwood stands above the woods. Despite two early snows, the trees are still green. In fact, as one walks deeper into the forest, there is little indication of autumn's approach. Spring may come first to the meadows, but summer lingers in the woods.
As aspen grove still in summer garb, except for the trees felled by beaver. I looked without success for the beaver dam. Since Clear Creek has numerous irrigation diversions just downstream, I suspect that the beaver were trapped and relocated higher up.
But the beaver's handiwork is clearly to be seen. And they were here only recently. I wonder how they know which way the tree is going to fall?
Walking along the creek bank, the crashing of the stream drowns out all other sounds. As if there were any sounds of the city to begin with. It is quite a gift to be away from all the static and sirens of human civilization in a minute or two.
Clear Creek changed course a few years ago. It used to run in the channel to the right, but has created a new island and loops in from the south. At first I was startled and, perhaps, a little saddened. But then I realized that it has been doing this for thousands of years.
A majestic old cottonwood stands above the old creek bed. I have always loved this tree. It speaks - if a tree can speak - and I certainly believe it does. It has only a few more years left and then it will come crashing down during a storm - when fierce winds come rushing down the mountain.
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I —
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
Unlike Frost, I have taken both.
It is truly amazing to have such a rich deciduous forest in Wyoming. In the mountains, Ponderosa and Lodgepole predominate. In the plains, the occasional cottonwood serves notice of water. But here, here at the edge of the mountains and the plains is a forest.
Back to the meadow I come -
I love the endless vistas.
My trusty steed awaits.