October Highs

By G. George Ostrom

About once every 15 years, the poet philosopher within my soul calls out for another try at describing the wonders of a Rocky Mountain autumn, mainly October. This year's somewhat weak attempt went in the wastebasket; however, one 2007 thought was written down and saved, "Autumn's glory is mother nature's apology for taking away the flowers."

Heavy high winds in the last week of the October just past, ended much of the local leaf displays, so without the needed inspiration around me, we are revisiting a report done eleven years ago-Late October 1986;

October is a special time for serious contemplation of nature's unlimited magnificence. It serves up the ultimate visual feast for those who would gorge on the most lavish and sumptuous colors of planet earth. "Autumn is God's gift of a touchable rainbow, so we may enter winter with uplifted spirits."

If you don't like that particular Ostrom appraisal of the fall equinox, then maybe you'd agree with an old fellow I met last week in Wyoming. He gazed in rapture across thousands of acres of red willow, rich green spruce, pines, and golden aspen, up a winding river toward

the towering purple Tetons, and quietly murmured, "Mighty purtty! Aint it?"

In years when I am unable to make a fall trip along the northern Rockies, I develop gnawing symptoms of mental and physical withdrawal. A few visits to Glacier can sooth the worst of it, but a complete cure is only achieved by also driving north to Jasper or south to the Grand Tetons. I am an Octoberholic.

This year's trip was south because the weathermen said that was our best bet for sunshine, so son Shannon and I headed toward West Yellowstone.

Because I so miserably failed to describe Glacier Park's unusual explosion of wild flowers this past summer, I am not fool enough to attempt a verbal accounting of the colorful vistas of this last four day trip. Only know that our journey included over a thousand miles along Montana's most famous rivers from the Swan, Blackfoot, and Clearwater to the Madison, Gallatin, Jefferson, and Missouri. Then in Wyoming there was the Firehole. Gibbon, Lewis, and Upper Snake, each one emblazoned with a riotous splendor of autumn colors, right from their banks to the snow capped peaks of the most distant tributaries.

Beautiful colors are not the only interesting thing on trips through an autumn paradise. Elk were still in fall mating rituals.

One big bull was raising cane near Old Faithful, bugling, tearing ground with his antlers, and chasing a coy acting female. We followed at a respectful distance with our telephoto cameras clicking. Finally the cow became more cooperative and some serious loving began at the edge of a large meadow. I was feeling a little embarrassed about our intrusion into the wapiti's bedroom when suddenly we heard loud cheering, whistling, and applause out of sight beyond a finger of timber. A group of young Park employees was preparing to play volley ball there, but they paused long enough for the boys to holler comments on the bull's performance and one female voice gave advice to the cow, "Make him pay you, FIRST."

There were a lot of big game hunters from all over the country rendezvousing at Jackson Hole and the local bars were getting a brisk play when we hit there Saturday evening. Shan and I checked into the

Antlers Motel and the woman at the desk noticed my reversible camouflage-hunter's orange vest, I had the camouflage side out and she suggested I keep it that way. Must have looked puzzled and she laughed, "Everybody in Jackson knows the story about a little lady from back east who went to the Sheriff's office to compliment him for making all the drunks wear those bright orange clothes."

Shan and I saw no grizzlies on this trip but did drive by Otter Creek. That is where the wildlife photographer from Great Falls had been killed and was being eaten by a female grizzly bear, but no one knew that until later in the week. It is a miracle that more people aren't maimed or killed by wild animals in our national parks. We saw a man charged by a big bull elk when he ran up to within 15 feet of the angry animal. For some reason the bull stopped just before hooking the screwball with lowered antlers.

The guy broke the world record for a hundred yard dash and came panting wild eyed up the bank where Shannon and I had our cameras set up. He sat down and gasped,"That damn thing tried ta killed me."

Asked him why he went so close to the bull and he said, "Ah had to. Don't have one a them telescopes fer my camera. "

There is beauty in October and … other things too.