21 January 2013


There are these forms I like to watch.
There are these shapes that talk to me.

A random but appropriate playlist that landed in my ears while skiing in mid-winter splendor.



And you could come and join me on my cloud.



I like forms and forms like me.
The more you look the more you see.

11 January 2013

And the Surrounding Mountains

A few views from some recent outings.

A little less than half of the Lost River Range with Bad Rock Peak (11,953 ft) on the far left with Mount Church (12,200 ft) just to the right. Donaldson Peak (12,023 ft) is south of Mount Church with Mount Breitenbach (12,140 ft) on the far right.

The north side of Blizzard Mountain (9,313 ft) at the southern end of the Pioneer Mountains with the Iron Mine and Lake Creek drainages spilling toward the headwaters of the Fish Creek.

Eer peak (10,744 ft) is located just south of its hidden companion peak, Pion. Pion and Eer, as in Pioneer, as in Pioneer Mountains, get it? Named, apparently, by Thomas Bannon, as USGS surveyor from 1912-1915. This peak is one of several that divide the eastern drainage of Antelope Creek that feeds the Big Lost River and the western drainage of Muldoon Creek that feeds the Little Wood River.

Good skiing here, there, and everywhere. Mountains.

07 January 2013

The Underground Velvet

Lately I've been obsessed with bands that are obsessed with The Velvet Underground. I can't account for this. Somewhere in these humble electronic pages I've written about listening to music that seems out of place with the environment and how I enjoy that feeling. These are probably self-indulgent feelings and I accept that. But it's true; I love driving through the dumpy little town where I live, passing the one and only sad sack bar in town, the Sport Shop, listening to the Crystal Stilts. Or skiing all alone, listening to my headphones, stirring a (rare) moose out of the creek bottoms.

I admit it makes me feel cool. I feel cool knowing that I might be the only person in this dinky town of 600-ish that has heard of a band called The Velvet Underground. Cool like The Velvet Underground cool. Cool like I've been up for six days drinking champagne and snorting cocaine with models. Cool like I've just spent the night with ten whores in a penthouse overlooking Bangkok. Cool like I live in Paris and wear a silk scarf while eating bone marrow for breakfast. Cool like this short film.

In fact, I'm not all that cool. I live in Carey, Idaho surrounded by mud and Mormons. Instead of all night beanbag love-ins I chase moose out of willow thickets and sing praises to the rocks and sky above endless rolls of snow. Andy Warhol never had it so good.


02 January 2013

My Secret Country

Early season skiing in Idaho--early, as in before Christmas--is not often good. This year it's good. The extended autumn, the warmer than average November temperatures, the deluge of rain the first couple weeks of December, created a rain-snow line that looked more like the Andes than the Rocky Mountains. Up to four feet of snow dumped in the high country while the valley floors remained clear. This is good news to me and it will continue to be good news until the next series of storms fill up the valley floors and force me to move to paved roads to access my series of secret spots. Until then the trusty Subaru and a set of chains take me wherever I need to go.

Somewhere up there.


Somewhere farther away.

Somewhere between desert and sky.

Between white and blue and touches of green.

As high as two skis will take you up.

As far as two skis will take you down.

Api? Oui, api.

This is my country, this is my mind.
Imagine that all of your sorrows
have left you behind.