Every winter my brother Tom goes to a muzzleloader shoot in central Oregon, where he camps out in a large tent, dons his feathered hat and buckskin leggings and fringed jacket, and shoots his black powder rifle at targets tucked away in the junipers and sagebrush. He usually calls me in Idaho after he returns […]
Louise Wagenknecht
Posted inJune 9, 2003: How we see the West
A ‘nature girl’ remembers a dying lumber town
I never got over Hilt. It is as real to me now, when it no longer exists, as it was when I was 3 years old, or 6, or 12. I see it, sometimes, with an aching intensity that will not go away, so that the little valley beside Cottonwood Creek comes back to me […]
Posted inMay 7, 2001: Back into the woods
The year it rained money
In early September last year, I threw my lower back out. I drove to my job in Salmon, Idaho, but by noon I could hardly stand. I scooted myself to the office lobby on a wheeled chair, then hobbled as far as the sidewalk before my legs buckled. I lay panting on the cool concrete, […]
Posted inApril 10, 2000: Beyond the Revolution
Guess who’s not Gaelic
Dear HCN, Lisa Jones’ profile of Jim Catron describes quite accurately the philosophy and attitudes of one of several British cultures that reached what is now the United States during the 17th and 18th centuries (HCN, 3/13/00: The last Celtic warlord lives in New Mexico). But the one thing that Jim Catron’s culture is not […]
Posted inMay 10, 1999: My beautiful ranchette
Spinning back the bison
The trouble with being a handspinner is that people are always giving me bags of fiber: a plastic bag full of hair from their ever-shedding malemute; a paper sack containing coarse waxy hanks of hair from a pet Angora goat. I never turn them down. Most handspinners are hoarders by nature; we go to fiber […]
Posted inMarch 29, 1999: Wheeling and dealing
An abnormal hunter responds
Dear HCN, The last time I heard a spiel like Marc Gaede’s letter, a male forester was telling me that women shouldn’t be foresters because the cave MAN went out and clubbed the mammoths (HCN, 3/1/99). Give me a break. Gaede chooses to define “hunting” only as the tracking and killing of large animals by […]
Posted inMarch 16, 1998: Olympic onslaught: Salt Lake City braces for the winter games
Dressed for success
I can count on the fingers of one hand the new clothes I’ve bought in the past five years: insulated coveralls, underwear, felt liners for my snow boots, gloves. All the rest came from yard sales and the kind of thrift shops where you walk past the eight-track tapes and mismatched plastic plates on your […]
Posted inOctober 27, 1997: Deconstructing the age of dams
Grizzlies and the male animal
The crowd of several hundred area residents who gathered in a school auditorium in Salmon, Idaho, recently was almost totally united in its opposition to the proposal. No one wanted the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service to introduce some 25 subadult grizzly bears into the Selway-Bitterroot Wilderness on the Idaho-Montana border over a several year […]
Posted inSeptember 15, 1997: Yellowstone at 125: The park as a sovereign state
Keep America green: Hire an illegal alien
From 1975 to 1987, I inspected tree planting in the Klamath National Forest on the Oregon-California border. So I had to laugh a while ago at a quote in a newspaper story about illegal aliens apprehended while planting trees in the Boise National Forest here in Idaho. “The Forest Service does not knowingly hire contractors […]
Posted inApril 15, 1996: Raising a ranch from the dead
Dance with a cow, and the cow will lead
In 1985, in mid-career, I went back to college. I wanted to be a range conservationist. At the time, I thought I was the only student who wanted to study range management so I could later have an excuse to chase cows on government time. Silly me. Even at granola-crunching, holistically groovy Humboldt State in […]
Posted inMarch 6, 1995: The fires next time
Pride and Glory of firefighting is hard to resist
The southwest winds brought waves of red smoke streaming into the valley from the fires near Boise and McCall every day last summer. A helicopter would come in overhead, and I’d hear the almost subsonic whump-whump-whump that meant a big craft. The smoke and the morning air and the noise took me back to a […]