Brave Flier, Yellowstone National Park
The past few weeks have brought more than their fair share of computer failures (in all reality, one had simply been a matter of time) and, now that things are back up and running, I can appreciate the good that came from the late nights sweating over my wounded technology.
I re-discovered old images. As in almost a thousand old images. Many of them are frighteningly basic, as they were shot with my trusty old point-and-shoot, but it’s been interesting to see how my photography has grown.
This is one of my favorites. Readers of Chi Wulff will have gotten a sneak preview (in sepia!) last week, but I had to share it on here as well. Chi Wulff Mark and I had spent a hot summer day fishing the Firehole in Yellowstone. Heading in, we spied a puff of smoke, not at all unusual for Montana / Wyoming in the middle of a hot, dry summer. Forest fires are part of the game.
By the time it heated up and we headed off the river, that little puff of smoke had grown.
Considerably.
I distinctly remember looking in the rear-view mirror in the Hayden Valley, seeing the smoke plume gaining steam, and having the debate of whether or not to turn back.
I’m so glad we did.
When fires run like this, the Park Service has their hands full. Locals, it seems, can get away with somethings tourists just can’t. We zipped back towards the fire (I almost got my first speeding ticket, but got away with a disapproving finger shake my way) and tucked into a pull-in on the Madison River. By that time to fire had exploded.
Summer in the West. Days like this are partly where the name “Fire Girl” came from.
Tags: Scenes
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