First winter storm of season.
Snow level at 7,000 feet.
Heavy rain in the valley.
Deep snow on the mountains.
Every few feet of elevation
Changes texture of rain to sleet
To snowflakes small and large
Heavy-laden wet and sticky.
Black-capped chickadees at feeders.
How economics affects the weather:
A clear cool winter's day
Disappointingly gloomy and sullen
Clouded over with worry
Dreading holiday expenditures
And the impending fiscal cliff
Unable to taste the sweetness in woodsmoke
Or appreciate a child's anticipation
Of a magic you no longer believe.
Pastel pre-dawn skies at 7:30am.
Breath fog rising in the chilled air.
A swiftly passing cloud of pine siskins.
Obnoxious dinosaur trucks unapologetically idle away on fossil fuels
While the occupants wonder at weird weather.
Frosty night beneath clear skies.
High thin clouds on a cool Monday morning.
Fewer visitors now but the mountain is open on River Run and Nordic skiing at Galena Lodge is great.
This is one of those still days
When everything seems motionless
Or in slow motion
And there's a feeling
It may stay this way forever.
Of all the days in all the seasons
It is the unseasonable we remember best.
See how the moon is waxing.
Thanksgiving vacationers waning.
Baldy had powder on top
Ice in its midsection
And rocks at bottom.
Clear skies this evening
Dawn breaks over West Ketchum at 8:24.
Wet and remarkably mild,
No frost overnight.
Snow level above 7000.
Joggers and dog walkers and bicyclists on the path where Nordic skiers might have been.
Low lying clouds mingle with and partially obscure the mountains.
The air is sweet with wet pine.
Geese flying overhead.
See how the snow is illuminated through breaks in the clouds!
A calm cold dark winter night.
Perfect for sleep and snow-making.
Overcast today with snow from North Fork north.
Visiting families cluster in and around eateries.
Nutcrackers and magpies cluster at the feeders.
Crisp and clear Thanksgiving Day
Ski season begins on River Run.
Magpies rule the roosts.
Visitors flock to coffee shops.
Lines now where there were no lines
Just a few days ago.
Faces searching for recognition.
Feels like early spring.
Rain and breezes from the south.
Trails too muddy for bikes or hikes.
Snow too thin and slushy to ski or shoe.
This is a day made for bowling
Or brisk walks between showers
First light at seven
Beneath a warming blanket of clouds.
Snow has retreated from the valley floor
But small patches of ice
Remain from yesterday's thaw
Slick enough to topple a young man
Dashing down a sidewalk.
Small birds chirping excitedly
About the snow that's coming
Later today and through Thanksgiving.
Man-made snow mingles
With the fallen snow
At the edges of late autumn
And early winter.
There are magpies and nutcrackers
And intrepid skiers
Who make a long climb up
For an all-too-brief return.
Collected here
Are the notes and observations
Of an outrider
A scout
Whose self-appointed mission
Is to patrol his surroundings
Which happen to be an exceptionally
Unspoiled pocket of public lands
And private claims
Where the folds of history
And the currents of entropy
Have carved out
A unique place in space and time
Light snow beneath low-lying clouds
Deep enough for tracks.
Squirrel chattering in pines
Magpie squawking.
Otherwise still and quiet
A kind of sleeping
With eyes half-open.
The snow in the wood by the river
Has been worn clear by the traffic
Of deer or elk or fishermen
Or some walkers and their dogs.
More than a few have passed this way
But none are to be seen this afternoon.
Shoe line over Board Bin
On a frosty Sunday morning
Clear and quite cold.
A few sparrow flit through the poplars
Next to the post office
As a well-bundled bicyclist rides by.
Men in hunting garb
Shuffle into the coffee shop.
Mostly men at Java early on.
Fireplace popping and crackling.
Deep cold moving in from north
With dry air and clear skies.
Wood burning season now,
But what logs to burn?
"Logs to Burn! Logs to Burn!"
"Everyone needs logs to burn!"
Hear the woodman sell his wares.
What trees they come from, no one cares.
Ah! But here's a word to make you wise,
When you hear the woodman's cries.
Never heed his usual tale
That he has good logs for sale,
But read these lines and really learn
The proper kind of logs to burn:
Frosty morning following the front
That fell a few inches of snow
On the higher slopes
And a thin coating on the valley floor.
This snow cover won't survive
The warm November days to come
But the base of the winter snowpack
Is set in higher elevations.
Snow-making guns roaring
Up River Run.