Hippity Hoppity - Where's the Wapati?

The third week of November in Utah is supposed to be cold. The ski resorts are supposed to be open on Thanksgiving. The mercury should dip well below freezing every morning. Not this year. When we landed in Salt Lake, the surrounding mountains rose majestically in the distance, but the tops were brown, not snowy white. After spending Friday working virtually in Salt Lake we headed toward those mountains - up to 7,000 feet, about 100 miles from the city. On the way to the cabin we saw a figure crouched in the dark, on the side of the road. We backed up and opened the door for a lonely, friendly Border Collie. The Vilvens seem to gain dogs by fate, and this one was fated to become a part of the family.

Deer munched happily in the fields around the cabin, basking in the sunshine and apparently aware that deer season was over. Big bucks bounded after the does - big bucks that had been mysteriously absent during the deer hunt. We headed to the lowlands, where the large herds of elk had resided the year before, confident that we’d get an elk on opening day. We followed our normal routine – one gun going in on the bottom side of the ridge, the other driving around to the top in case the herd broke for the fence line. It was a good plan – except the elk weren’t there.

Blaming the hot, dry fall, we left the winter range after walking a few potholes which were devoid of fresh sign. After lunch we hopped on the four-wheelers and ascended the mountain over McDonnell basin. Once again, deer peered out from amongst the aspen, which towered like fence-posts against the watery, blue sky. Cruising comfortably along the dirt roads, we realized this hunt might not be over as quickly as we suspected. Not even a flake of snow was present, even at the top, where does and fawns indicated that the animals had not moved down for the winter.

On the way back, we finally caught a glimpse of a small herd of elk through the naked, white trunks. They trotted through the trees, two-hundred yards into the grove. We followed them on the four-wheeler, but were unable to get a descent shot, so went home empty-handed.

Sunday and Monday proved equally futile. Monday Salt Lake had a record high of 72 degrees – which translated to a balmy 65 degrees up in the mountain. The deer filled the fields like rabbits, but the elk remained elusive. We scoured the sagebrush in the trucks, tramped through cedar-filled ridges, and buzzed around on the four-wheeler. We saw does, fawns, bucks, cotton-tails, golden eagles, moose, and grouse. But only signs of elk. It is pretty bad when the highlight of your day is stumbling upon fresh elk pee.

Finally, on Tuesday, we got a break. The temperature dropped to 8 degrees in the morning. No moisture meant no snow, but we hoped the drop in barometric pressure would convince the elk that winter was finally here. Before checking out a new place, we hit up our normal haunt in the lowlands and hit the jackpot. The local herd of elk was there, hiding in the cedars. Scouring the flats as the sun rose, we finally saw them. Jon drove them straight towards Kim, who got some shots off. Startled, the elk headed for the ridgetop. We raced along the rutted, dirt road – the Jeep rattling and clanking as we went – and kicked it into reverse to catch the nine cows just as they crested the hill, panting from the sprint.

With our two tags filled, Kim was able to set off for Kansas in time to spend Thankgiving there. Kelly’s mom came out from California, knowing only that a “surprise” was waiting for her in the form of a cowdog. The last few days were crisp, with highs close to freezing – much more normal. Kelly ran around to catch some last pictures, although the cold had forced many of the animals to bed-down until late in the morning. After a pleasant hike through the aspens she spotted a young, bull moose. Apparently moose do not like having their pictures taken. He chased us down the road, through the yellow gate, across the half-frozen creek – straight back to the car. Hopefully a few of the pictures will turn out after all that effort.

The ski resorts were frantically making snow as we passed on the way back to Salt Lake. We left the cold but clear, dry air of the Salt Lake valley for the welcome humidity in overcast Seattle.

Los Papas

After a few days of lazing about the cabin it was time for a little action. The Tractor Tavern had just what we needed – the Cherry Poppin’ Daddies. We got there plenty early, but had to return to the car when we ended up being 3 dollars short of the admission price. The guys at the door were incredulous when we showed up with a handful of change to cover the rest of the cover, but still sold us the last two tickets.

The floor was so crowded that dancing was pretty much impossible, although some of the more intoxicated onlookers tried their best. Watching the keyboardist was worth the price of admission – and seeing the band live really added to the music.

Rodrigo y Gabriella

Spontaneity can be a lot more fun than planning out an event, as we found out on Halloween this year. Instead of trick-or-treating we rushed from Kelly’s class up to the Paramount in Seattle where Rodrigo y Gabriella were playing. A mix of acoustic flamenco and heavy metal, this Mexican-Irish pair have a unique sound whether they are playing their own songs or a Pink Floyd cover. As much fun as the music is watching them play – their hands moving so fast even the video cameras couldn’t keep up. One problem with spontaneity is the possibility that, in the last-minute rush to get tickets and a spot on the floor, you might forget where your car is…

Lock, Yacht & Salmon?

Hoping to catch a concert in the park one sunny afternoon, we drove up to Ballard to the Crittenden Locks. This turned out to be a pretty fascinating place, even though one of the dock workers told us there wasn’t a concert that day. When boats transition from the freshwater of the sound to the salt water they must pass through the locks to avoid mixing the two types of water. A beautiful day draws quite a number and variety of boats, from million-dollar yachts to single-person ocean kayaks. Workers guide the boats into the locks based on size where they wait for water to either fill or drain, depending on which direction they are going. People are not the only one traversing the waters. Salmon struggle along in the strong current, their efforts visible from the many underwater viewing windows.