2018 in retrospect, Part I

Each year I put together a dozen or so photos that describe the year past. This year I have an extra year’s worth of photos from Svalbard so I am presenting them in two parts. I hope you enjoy them.

Part I

The year stateside.

Oregon, flowers, wildflower
Arrowleaf balsamroot
Oregon, Rattlesnake Canyon, Owyhee, eastern Oregon, Oregon desert trail, ONDA
Rattlesnake Canyon
Owyhee, storm,Oregon, Rattlesnake Canyon, Owyhee, eastern Oregon, Oregon desert trail, ONDA
Owyhee storm
Painted Hills, Owyhee, storm,Oregon, Rattlesnake Canyon, Owyhee, eastern Oregon, Oregon desert trail, ONDA, central Oregon, paleontology
Painted Hills
Painted Hills, Owyhee, storm,Oregon, Rattlesnake Canyon, Owyhee, eastern Oregon, Oregon desert trail, ONDA, central Oregon, paleontology
Painted Hills 2
Painted Hills, Owyhee, storm,Oregon, Rattlesnake Canyon, Owyhee, eastern Oregon, Oregon desert trail, ONDA, central Oregon, paleontology, bobcat
Bob
Painted Hills, Owyhee, storm,Oregon, Rattlesnake Canyon, Owyhee, eastern Oregon, Oregon desert trail, ONDA, central Oregon, paleontology
Cat
Painted Hills, Owyhee, storm,Oregon, Rattlesnake Canyon, Owyhee, eastern Oregon, Oregon desert trail, ONDA, central Oregon, paleontology, Crater Lake
Crater Lake and Wizard Island
Crater Lake and Wizard Island, Ashland, smoke, smoke season, sunset
Smoke Sunset

I took this photo: I just need a little space

space

The Imnaha River Valley, Oregon

It’s not you. It’s me. Honest.

There are places in the world that are still spaces. Sparsely populated, difficult to get to, sometimes dangerous, always rewarding.

I took this photo of a space that I hope never becomes a place.

I took this photo: Yoga fashion

Thief Valley Reservoir yoga Warrior

Warrior II fashion: snow pants, Sorels, and a hard hat.

The US yoga industry has exploded in recent years: hot yoga, power yoga, radiant flow, restorative, aerial, zen bootcamp (huh?). As the yoga possibilities have expanded, so too have the clothing opportunities. From its perhaps simplistic origins to a $27 billion industry in 5000 short years. No, wait. That should be 4990 years of yoga and 10 years of booming industry.

Being outdoors all day, in one place, in the cold requires warm clothing, a massive quantity of fuel to stay warm (hot chocolate with heavy cream and butter, please), and enough movement to create heat without sweating.

Enter yoga.

Over the years, the fashionable yoga set has moved away from the simple, but ever elegant, loin cloth.  Today’s yoga togs (such a good word too often unused) are something to behold. Strappy tops that require a Ph.D. and schematics to put on properly rule the current scene. Leggings of all lengths and body-hugging forms are standard. Fabulous colors, incredible patterns, material cutouts, and built-in multi-layers compete across the studio for attention.

Enter Tamara.

The common comment that my fashion sense elicits is that I always look put together. To me, this implies that each of my body parts is in its proper place and covered with the appropriate and corresponding clothing items. That seems the least (and apparently the most) I can do in the realm of fashion. So be it.

Ski pants, insulated boots, gaiters, a down coat, binoculars (with harness), and a hard hat seem well beyond the height of yoga fashion. I took this photo for the seeming incongruity of the activity and my clothing. I only have a Master’s degree; I couldn’t get into the strappy things.

 

I took this photo: Pueblos Cowboy and His Horse

horse and riders moving cows out of the Pueblo Mountains

A small boy on a big horse moving cows in the Pueblo Mountains

Three riders moved slowly across the landscape, deliberately but unhurriedly they paralleled my path in the opposite direction. I watched the horses with some envy as I continued on foot.

It was July in the Pueblo Mountains. It was hot. I had been walking since dawn; it was midday now. I was out of water, out of food, and out of patience with the shadeless glare of sun-soaked sagebrush.

From a long way off I could see the horse. Even from a distance, I could tell it was a big horse. The rider was just a red dot. Eventually, the red dot became a person, a boy. He rode a few loops, lazy figure eights. He backed up the horse, made it stand and side step. Then he just sat and watched me approach.

“Where’s your horse?” the boy asked with unaffected curiosity and genuine concern.

“I don’t have one.”

“How far did you walk?”

“I don’t know. Several miles. I started at sunrise.”

“That’s a long time without a horse.”

“Yes.” We stood a minute, he on his horse, me looking at the ground. Then, diverting him from my obvious failing, “That’s a big horse.”

“I know. 17 hands. My dad told me I had to grow enough to get on him by myself before I could ride him. I’m only 7. I can’t grow that fast.”

“But you’re riding him.”

“Yup. I told my dad he better build me a ladder.”

“Did he?”

“Yup.”

“I saw three riders earlier. Was your dad one of them?”

“Yup. And my mom and sister. They said I wasn’t big enough to muster so I had to sit here and wait for them to push the cows to me. Then I can circle and ride them down the hill. We’re moving them to water.”

“You’re not big enough to muster but you’re big enough to sit this giant horse out here by yourself for however many hours it takes for them to come back?”

“I know. That’s what I said. But I lost that argument. If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t have anything to do.”

“You need a book.”

“I know.”

I had miles yet to cover and parted company. He sat his horse and watched me walk on.

Later in the afternoon, I watched from a slope above as the cows came, moving ahead of the three riders. The boy rode to meet them, swinging far to one side of the cows and then falling in with the other riders. He waved as he passed below me. And I took this photo of him, his mom and sister, the dust, and the cows, a scene of the west.

 

 

The Road not Taken Enough