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Tag: Cody

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Above Cody on the South Fork

One of the things I wish I had time to paint this week.

Last year Jane Chapin sent me a video of a ranch hand chasing a grizzly. “Get out of here, bear!” he kept shouting, moving fast along with his blue-heeler behind the scurrying bear. I assumed the man was on horseback, but today he told me he’d been on foot. He was doctoring an injured calf when the bear showed up. That took guts, but what else could he do?

This young man has the dapper mustache of a 19th century derring-do on a surprisingly young face. “Are the bears hibernating now?” I asked him.

“They never truly hibernate,” he told me. I guess that’s a myth they tell easterners to keep us visiting Yellowstone National Park in winter.

White out conditions above Cody, WY. Sometimes being a cowboy sounds romantic; other times it just seems like hard, cold work.

Monday night, he told me, a grizzly was nosing around the garage where two mule deer are dressed and hanging (he’s also gotten an elk this year). How did he know? “Grizzlies smell like really strong wet dog.”

Hunters in the Snow, not the Pieter Bruegel the Elder version.

Are brown bears and grizzly bears the same?

I always thought so, but apparently grizzlies are a subspecies of brown bears, which exist in temperate regions worldwide. But North American brown bear means grizzly.

I’m along the south fork of the Shoshone River for a few days before I head east again. Yesterday’s storm was the first snow I’ve encountered this season. It was a wild temperature swing from the heat of Sedona last weekend.

The temperature here at the ranch is always lower than it is in Cody proper. Last winter when I was here the temperatures dipped below -30° F. That week, I saw wolves loping across the meadow; this week, a coyote sped across the road in front of me. Down by the river yesterday, I surprised a golden eagle.

It was cold and damp and oh, so beautiful along the South Fork of the Shoshone River.

We took a slow, slippery drive up the South Fork of the Shoshone River looking for bighorn sheep. They’re always elusive, but it’s elk season and hunters have perhaps pushed them farther up the slopes. A string of mules waited patiently near the river.

As dusk began to fall and the snow continued to blow, three of Jane’s horses made a rather silly break toward the ranch road. The youngest, Roscoe, reminds me powerfully of my last horse, who could be sly. As Roscoe thundered up behind Jane, my heart was in my throat. At the last moment, she swung under the split rail fence.

This is a telephoto shot because Jimmy (the guy with the long ears) is way far away.

Sadly, I only saw Jane’s donkey (who is a middle-aged gentleman) from a distance. He’s hanging out by the river with new pals. “Jimmy, Jimmy Stewart!” I called vainly into the wind.

Yes, I am tempted to paint with every twist in the road, and my kit is right here. However, my time here is fleeting, and new experiences and friendship are both precious. I can always paint tomorrow.

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Old Wyoming Homestead

Old Wyoming Homestead, 9×12, oil on archival canvasboard, $696 unframed includes shipping and handling in continental US.

“I’m not painting out there,” Jane Chapin announced with finality. “If you want to, you can do it, but I am not joining you.”

I have form at dragging her out to paint in winter, but this trip I had no such plans. It dropped below 0° F last night here above Cody, WY, and predictions are for it to drop below -20° F by the weekend. That’s the kind of weather that freezes the hair inside your nostrils and causes spare parts to drop off.

I painted Old Wyoming Homestead, above, when Jane and her husband had just bought Bull Creek Ranch. It wasn’t until this visit that I realized that the structure is in fact a three-hole outhouse.

The territorial house, c. 1915.

The real territorial house, above, was built in 1915. When Jane and Roger bought the ranch, the territorial house was at a crossroads. Much more time weathering and it would collapse. They have spent the intervening years rebuilding it. They’ve made a few refinements, the most notable being electric lights. It still has a wood stove and no indoor plumbing.

“What are you planning on doing with it?” Roger was asked. He shrugged and said he didn’t know.

The old log barns are not doing as well.

Bull Creek, which runs behind the outhouse, is still a pass for grizzlies (who are hopefully sleeping in this wicked cold weather). There are still wolves here, and mountain lions, drawn by the mule deer, hares, and other easy prey. Domestic pets can’t roam or they’re supper.

Imagine living on this hillside on a cold autumn evening, the wind whistling down the pass. Your children need the privy, but you’re not sending them there alone. It’s no wonder that the outhouse has three holes; it was a family affair.

Note the toddler-sized potty chair on the right.

The territorial house has been my dream home since I first laid eyes on it. Roger and Jane are to be commended for stabilizing it for future generations. This is a part of our history that, once lost, can never be reclaimed.

The rest of this post will be photos of the surrounding landscape. Enjoy!

This is the original cabin. The territorial house was built in front of it.
The beautiful, spikey topography is tough going even on foot.
View across the outhouse and Bull Creek.
This is the root cellar; it’s intact and could be used tomorrow.

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