What's cookin' for Sunday brunch?

Tomorrow morning I'm going to try to do two colors in one pass. Oooooooooooh.

Don't forget your jammies and slippers.

The weather is supposed to be ridiculously nice again tomorrow, so my plan* is to get up reasonably early and have this pass finished by mid-morning so we can get out and enjoy the sunshine. (You know how plans sometimes go.)

Yesterday was (probably) our last day to help with the bighorn sheep project this winter. No more hay in our pockets and apple mash in our shoe treads until next year. (sigh) Personally I think the DM looks relieved to be finished, but he assures me he enjoyed the adventure.

Feeling sheepish?

The last week seems to have dissolved in a blur of not-much-ness. After our victorious CBC, followed immediately by a huge party with 50 or 60 of our closest friends, I went in to serious Slug Mode. For a few days I've been wrestling with a little bit of a cold. It has never gotten the upper hand, but neither has it given up and gone slinking back to the morass of germs whence it came. Still, it's been a good excuse to sit on the sofa reading mystery novels and watching Star Trek reruns.

Christmas Eve we had a lovely dinner out with friends, and Christmas Day we spent bundled up in the house making such a feast for two that we have leftovers to tide us for at least a week.

Oh, yeah. We're slowing-moving non-vertebrates, alright.

It's a good thing I had our penance for this time-squandering and caloric indulgence all lined up.


Each winter the local Division of Wildlife baits bighorn sheep in order to administer lungworm meds. Alfalfa hay and apple mash are put out each day... think holiday cookies for sheep. Once a goodly number of sheep are coming in to the site, meds are added to the apple mash and voila! Everyone gets dosed without the stress of trapping or darting.

We're fortunate here in our area, because volunteers are allowed to help with this daily "chore," and I've been able to participate in the project for several years. This year I was really excited to be able to bring the DM along A) to have the experience and b) to help.

Yesterday was our first scheduled day to bait, so of course when I got up it was snowing and blowing and miserable. It's a 25-mile drive up the valley to get the truck, the hay, and the apple mash... so just GETTING to the site might prove challenging. (sigh) Not precisely what I had in mind for the DM's first bighorn adventure, but whaterya gonna do?

The weather stayed, in the DM's words, "funky" all morning. A little ice, a little snow, a lot of wind. In places we were driving through 18 inches of untrammeled snow, and twice I got us nearly stuck. A little digging, a little swearing, a little calculated effort and we made it back out to the main road. Whew!

But, hey.. it was worth it. I was delighted to see 14 lambs among the 46 sheep that came in to the Chalk Creek site, and 2 more among the 18 sheep at Cottonwood. It's still pretty early in the season, so probably more sheep will come down in the next few weeks. I've got my eyes peeled for one in particular: a young ewe I helped tag two seasons ago. Could be she's gone off to new territory, could be she's gone off to the great sheep herd in the sky.. but could be she'll stop by for a bit of nostalgic apple mash tippling and we'll get to catch up on the news.

One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Elev.... dangit.
One, Two, Three...

Pardon me, but do you have any Grey Poupon?

Wrestling to understand

Earlier this week I interacted with bighorn sheep in a new way.

It's been 15 years or so since Red 42, Yellow 9, and their compatriots were tagged and collared. As always, the information gathered has created more questions, and state wildlife biologists decided it was time to facilitate the collection of more data. We have had a good, diverse group of sheep coming in to a local site (Red 42's old stomping grounds) this winter, so on Monday the troops were gathered for the mammal equivalent of catch and release.

This shot is from the first intense moments of the trapping. (Thanks, Jeff K.) The net has been dropped, and probably 50 volunteers have raced to get the sheep blindfolded (to help them stay calm) and into safe positions so they can be carefully extracted, processed, and released. In a very busy hour, veterinarians, biologists, and "hangers-on" like me (pun intended) were able to tag and collar 38 sheep-- lambs, ewes, and rams. Some ewes got radio collars. All sheep had blood, fecal, and saliva samples taken. They were given antibiotics and vaccinated against lung worm... and turned back loose to roam the hills.

The yearling ewe with me has a new identity about which she certainly cares not at all, but one which will hopefully help us to understand a little bit more about the secret lives of her tribe: Where do they go? How do the groups interact with each other? How do they use the high country along the Continental Divide? We'll learn about how they are coping with lung worm, what strains of bacteria they are tolerating, and if Red 42 is any example, even a little bit about their longevity.

Just for the record.... she's Green 64. And you can be sure my sketchbook and I will be looking out for her, silently saluting her contribution to human curiosity, and wishing her green grass and healthy lambs in the seasons ahead.

Closet Archaeology

The one good thing about moving is that some things that were lost are found.

A few weeks ago I mentioned bighorn sheep Red 42, the former Grande Dame of Cottonwood Canyon. The first year I helped with the sheep project I made a little sketch of her, but the sketchbook in which that entry was recorded disappeared when my bag was stolen in Denver later that season.

Sometimes I use copies of sketchbook pages as stationery for letter writing. I was fairly certain Red 42 had gone on such a journey, but any extra copies I might have made were lost to time and a capricious filing system.

She turned up this week in a folder, in a box, in the closet, under another box, below stored artwork waiting for an exhibition opportunity. Not the original, just a copy.. but it was nice to see her again and to read my notes about her.

I'm mostly settled in my new space. The success in recovering the sketch of Red 42 makes me wish I had more time to sort through some of the other boxes in the closet, but any lost treasures they hold will have to wait, since I seem to have created some new artifacts with this move! Some things I could locate only last week have vanished into as-yet-undiscovered locations. Whether anything crucial has gone AWOL will likely be revealed as I settle back into a work rhythm in the next few days. In the meantime, has anyone seen where I put my car keys?

Sheep shaped

It's the season for bad sheep puns.

During the winter I help local wildlife managers by "baiting" bighorn sheep herds. Our wild sheep fight a constant battle against lung worm, so for several weeks in January and February a cadre of volunteers hauls hay and apple pulp to several sites in area. When we have a good number of sheep coming in to the site, we lace the food with medication. It's less stressful than darting or trapping... for everyone.

I often try to sketch while waiting for the sheep to finish their meal... but I don't usually get more than snippets on paper: an ear, a head, a leg. Too much activity among my subjects. But, as usual, the watching can be its own reward. The lambs can be tentative at first, but once they feel comfortable they command their own space at the table. (Bad sheep pun #1: "Let's call that little pushy one Lambo.") Frequently there are minor squabbles among the adults. Sometimes just a shove, sometimes a half-hearted chase. When disagreements get serious the ewes will butt heads, just as the rams will.

I have a few favorites, of course. There's a big ram at one site who isn't the least bit intimidated by my presence, although he has given ME pause a time or two. And there was Red 42.

Not many of the sheep in these herds are tagged. When I first saw her, Red 42 wore a collar she had received almost 12 years before. Her pale coat was nearly white. She moved slowly, but deliberately, and the rest of her group gave her space at meal time. Her stately pace and her subtle distance from the rest of the herd made her a more cooperative drawing subject, and I felt a certain fondness for her scrappy "survivorhood".

Last year she never turned up at the bait site, and so far this year she is absent as well. I can only assume that her remains are somewhere up the cliff, and although I'm sure she never took much notice of me, I am glad I made note of her.

This year the Grand Dame is Yellow 9. She received her collar the same year as Red 42, which means that this year she is at least 16 years old. I don't know much about her yet, but I'll be watching, and learning. And hoping she'll hold still for my pencil.