Artist's Journal

Wild Horses of South Steens

America's wild mustangs are our symbol of FREEDOM, SPIRIT, STRENGTH, and INDIVIDUALITY, as well as our historical heritage

Sparring Stallions

Steens, 2005

This was a much cooler trip than we usually experience out in eastern Oregon. In fact on some occasions, it was misting in our high desert, but it was a nice change and we were glad for it. We dug for sunstones the first day, and had a grand time sharing gut-busting stories with the miners, and were fed rather well, best of all we got to play in the dirt and rocks.

After our late dinner cookout, we settled into our camping chairs and stared up into the clear desert sky. There was a crescent moon that set an hour of so after sunset with planet Jupiter in tow. My toddler could tell you which of the objects in the sky were stars and which were planets. The starry sky was remarkable, the kind of sky that you can't keep from staring at in awe and wonder. This was the first time in my life that I sat looking up at the night sky and actually felt like I was sitting on a ball of dirt out in space. The stars were so bright and numerous. Some were brighter then others, and some were bigger or smaller than others. It truly felt as though I was looking at the sky multi-dimensionally, instead of a single dimension like a picture, for instance. There was no "peyote", or any other spirits of influence. I've gazed at many incredible night skies in the past, but perhaps because the thought of infinite space is so hard to comprehend, it is too easy to view it as flat "picture". But this night, there was no mistaking that we were riding atop a big ball of dirt and hurling through infinite space and time.

The Milky Way was so bright; it shined on the sage and lit up the vast desert. The only thing missing that night, were the evening songbirds who typically sing all night after a very hot day. We were out there later in the year, and missed hearing their beautiful songs as they sit atop the sagebrush, distinguishing their territory from other "gentleman" birds, while diligently trying to lure the ladies with their haunting melodies. This night, the silence was deafening, but we still did hear coyotes in the far reaches of the desert plane. They were so far away, however, that we could only hear them if we quit breathing for a moment and turned our heads just so.

The next morning after a hearty breakfast of "everything-I-could-find-in-the-kitchen", cooked over the open fire, we headed to Steens Mountain and camped near the top at Fish Lake. With much detail aside, we drove toward the summit beyond Fish Lake and stood overlooking Kiger Gorge, the giant U-shaped glacial carved valley on the 30 mile long mountain, that is home of the geologically isolated mustangs known as the Kigers. After overlooking the valley some 3,000 feet below, and brazing a cold hard wind, we headed higher, where clouds happened to be skimming the summit. Our son was thrilled when he was able to literally touch the clouds, which moving over our heads very quickly. He still tells people about it to this day, and those he tells it to, look entertained and confused at the same time. I just laugh and then feel compelled to explain.

Fish Lake was teaming with small rainbow trout. At dusk, there were many of these small fish jumping out of water catching low-flying damsels and mosquitoes for their late evening supper, the various tones of the 'kerplunks' sounded musical and soothing and this occurred the whole area of the lake - near and far. We listened to their interesting music while we prepared our dinner. As we sat by the fire, a lone mule deer came to investigate behind us of about 7 feet, a rather large and healthy doe. What a thrill for our little boy! We enjoyed our supper of steak, wild rice and sautéed mushrooms, and dutch-oven cornbread with pre-cooked bacon pieces and cheddar. Our dessert? Drinking in the pungent smells of the sage, hearing the splashes on the lake's surface, and the mild wind rustling the Quaking Aspen leaves, and watching the dusk fade to a partly starry night.

The next day was overcast and somewhat cool, a nice break from the usual searing heat. As we drove, I was immersed in conversation; so much so that my husband had to remind me we were approaching the vicinity of our beloved mustangs. It caught my attention, but thought… "Oh, but how likely to see them this easy and quickly off the road!". Not a minute passed when I saw three, and exclaimed my excitement, jutting my arm across his chest as I pointed them out. I exclaimed without holding anything back, so much so that Rick almost drove off the road! We stopped our vehicle and watched in amazement 3 young bachelor stallions playing, chasing, and sparring. One palomino, one medium bay, and a dark chestnut played in the cool of the mist. The palomino was larger, and appeared somewhat older than the other two by body maturity and steady demeanor. He was a bit weary of us and watchful, while the two younger stallions, though stopping momentarily to assess us, went right back to having a vivacious ball.

They took turns chasing one another, but always returned to where the palomino was "stationed". They reared at each other, threw front legs over the back of the other, and then had a fabulous game of biting at eachother's legs, bringing the other to the ground (both front and back ends to protect their own appendages). These were young bachelor stallions, run out of the herd by the main stallion, so they were older than two year olds. Their soon-to-be missions in life, will be to steal mares and begin bands of their own. But for now, they had a magnificent and innocent time sparring~ clearly playing, but more importantly, testing their own strength, should some day the need arise. Once the handsome palomino became accustomed to our vehicle's presence, he once in a while joined the others running around, but still watchful. We chose not to get out of the vehicle as they were less concerned about the big "metal box", then had we gotten out. Their behaviors would have changed, if not disappeared in the vast hills of sage. We got them on videotape, and some far away stills.

Their mock battles and play took them farther and farther up the flank of the mountain, so we continued our own journey to scout for the larger herd which should be nearby, based on these three youngsters. We turned off on the Steens loop road just a mile or two further. We drove a couple miles when the mustang radar of my peripheral vision, picked up a band of about twenty to our north. These horses were on a farther hill, but we got out and walked to the edge of the closest hill to see if we can see another part of the herd in the small valley below, where they tend to rest. We walked between the wet sagebrush where our shoes, socks, and pants were all saturated- but that was the last thing on my mind. I kept my eye open for mustang mane-hairs to use in drawings of wild horses. We got to the edge, but there were no horses below as we had hoped, just across on the other hill, too far to recognize distinguishable markings. But even as far as they were, it was so quiet, and along with the nearby hills (which created something similar to an amphitheater) we could still hear a couple mares squealing, either establishing or re-establishing their placement in the herd with another ("the pecking order"). That, or putting an interested stallion in his place.

When mares are near, but not in estrus, and are approached by the stallion recognizing the olfactory signals, the mares will typically squeal and strike the front legs towards him indicating they are not ready for his offer. A few days to a week later, the mare will then usually accept the stallion's advances. Even as far as they were, I was thrilled to see the herd again. They were about a hill away from the three bachelors, or roughly ¾ of a mile away, for those of us accustomed to judging distance in miles. After I was satisfied filling my sight of these horses, and breathing their same air, we continued our way to their local watering hole where I searched for more horsehair.This week-long trip was much too quick, but we were able to experience so many wonders of nature. Besides the horses, we were fortunate to see two different herds of antelope, one of which had young; a great horned owl sitting on a window sill of an old weathered and sagging barn from days-gone-by; coyotes, red-tail hawks, golden eagles, and a two barred owls who circled over our heads a couple times to get a closer look at us, before we headed for home. But it's the horses, their social dynamics, and their wild flying manes that are forever burned in my memory.

Zones of Tolerance: Wild Horses of the Playa

Besides searching for and observing the wild horses on Steens, another pleasure of ours when in the area is playing on the 10 mile long playa flat on the east side of the mountain, also known as the Alvord Desert. However, on this day, we didn't know the dried lakebed would lead us to a different herd of mustangs, a herd we'd never seen before. The playa flat is a stark white, parched and powdery alkali area- the remaining sign of what once was a shallow lake. It is roughly 10 miles north and south running parallel near the flank of the mountain, and runs about 5 miles east and west. It's spectacular sitting up on top of the mile high mountain from the desert floor, witnessing the full moon rise over Sheephead mountains to the east and then shining on the white of the Alvord Desert below. Mere words cannot accurately describe the incredible and stunning sight. The high desert of SE Oregon is one of the last frontiers in Oregon, with the lowest amount of human population, and little if any regulations. You won't see signs prohibiting your sense of adventure; it's a wonderful place for the wild little renegade in your playful Soul.

Rick and I enjoy taking a dip in the hot springs that well up from Steens. Steens Mountain is a 30 mile long fault block caused by volcanic uplift. From melting ice fields up high and volcanic thermal activities below, a beautiful hot spring is a result. The hot spring then spills its fiery liquid over the surface and becomes a stream of sulfur smelling water, meandering its way to the dried-up lakebed to a flood plane and then dissipating into the parched land. The spring water is too hot to touch, but interestingly some very long hair-like algae of different colors flourishes within it. Far enough away from the spring, a hot bath area was constructed. A little concrete outdoor pool, large enough for two people comfortably, up to 4 for close quarters, exists with vast views of the wide-open desert on one side and the enormous mountain on the other. There is also a sheltered sitting pool, the size of a hot tub (for those of us who exercise modesty for the most part) and is constructed with aluminum flashing ~ not without the artistry of bullet holes… convenient to use as lookout peepholes to scan the area for intruders. To sit in the hot water, naturally emitted from this large mountain, overlooking the vast Alvord Desert while drinking in the wildness and the pungent smells of the desert, is food for the Soul. There you feel part of the mountain. When you get out of the hot mineral water, you feel refreshed and relaxed all at the same time, not to mention as red as a blushing lobster. This tub is also known as the local wranglers' bathhouse.

After our bath and knocking off some dust-poundage, we drove our pickup across the alkali desert powder. A surreal experience it is, to be in the middle of the 10 mile long stretch of white powdery ground. The ground gets so parched it has cracks all over of about an inch wide and from all different angles. One solid section, on the average is about 6-8 inches in diameter. With no one around and nothing to crash into for miles, we've had tons of fun driving with our eyes closed or setting the truck in gear and letting it drive itself as we ran after it, and jumped on top of it as it was slowly rolling along. Of course, never try this at home, or near anything you can mow over! This place offers another incredible perspective, and that's to be out in the middle of this lakebed at night during a full moon-in the flats with nothing around you for miles, wearing what you choose! With the white playa surface and the light of the moon, it almost looks like day with a night sky!

We continued our trek and headed east to where there seemingly is not much but the dusty playa's edge, which has only little islands of bunchgrasses, until you travel out further where it turns into the well-known sea of sage and yellow Rabbit brush. On the surface we found some curious small pebbles (some a half inch in diameter), which were hollow and float in water. We came across a set of hoof prints… no sign of horseshoes anywhere. Initially, I didn't think much of it, other than free-ranging ranch horses, or someone had ridden out there. But why there, out literally in "no man's land"? So while my husband scanned the ground for mineral and other rock treasures, I followed these horse tracks up toward the sagebrush. The higher up I went the more pronounced the trail, with many more horse tracks and horse apples, and soon stallion piles. By this time, the "little horse trail", was obviously a major horse-highway! Apparently they traveled a regular well-used path, at it largest was approximately 8' across. Coming down over the sage lands, when they got to the playa flats, they apparently fanned out. But why? Why would wild horses- or any living creature come out here, this no man's land, with no shade, or shelter, or water? I still don't know for certain, but believe most likely, for the salt and mineral composition of the playa bed.

Farther up as we drove out of the playa and onto a single lane gravel rutted road, we came across a small band of wild horses. It appeared there were six mares of various ages and one stallion. I wasn't sure, considering the topography of the area, if this was one small band of a larger herd that split off temporarily for foraging purposes, or if this were a successful bachelor stallion that has been quite good at stealing mares. This is where my hunch chose to take residence. It most likely was a relatively newly established band within the year, as there were no foals with these mares…. yet. In my years of observing wild horses, I'm still fascinated today with herd dynamics and social structures that dispell the myth and folklore about "a wild stallion leading his band of mares to safety". I have found that it is usually the matriarch, the lead mare, who chooses when to go to the local drinking hole; move to other grazing grounds; or where to run when there is real or perceived danger. The stallion often runs the flank or rear of the herd, usually placing himself between his herd and the intruder, whether it be another stallion, human, or other predatory animal.

Within this band on the east side of the Alvord desert, there was one rather stocky stallion, a stout mahogany bay, all neck and long dark and knotted mane. We got out of our truck and eased our way towards the band with cameras in hand, daring to see how close we could get to these magnificent horses. The stallion whipped around with tangled mane flying with the motion of his head, as he turned to face us, snorting loudly 3 times, so loudly and suddenly it startled us. The mares quickly lifted their heads and shifted their positions nervously without taking an eye off of us. One big chestnut mare with much authority and equal grace and power, wielded around and galloped to a safer distance with others following suite, and again faced us trying to detect what we were by trying to catch our scent. This whole time, the stout young stallion stood his ground and stayed between his herd and us, but trotted side to side with both his head and tail elevated. He too was trying to catch our scent, however, the breeze was in our favor. His high tail carriage was a sign to his mares of the potential danger, and his arched neck and elevated head turning at different angles was to get a better view of us, as well as an attempt to detect our scent. He snorted several more times, and at one point with determined demeanor and arched neck, trotted a few steps towards us. My husband and I looked at each other and I'm sure I heard myself gulp, as we were a ways from our vehicle, as where there was no trees or boulders to jump onto to get out of his way. But the better of me "slapped myself silly" and back to what I know about horse behavior, and reminded myself that they on occasion, will posture to test intruders. But they will always preserve themselves first and usually flee, before taking a chance that they lose (flight usually wins over fight, unless it's another stallion interested in his mares or they're backed into a corner and scared for their life). Had he flattened his ears and charged at us, I'm sure I would have probably scrambled onto my husband's shoulders! We stood our ground, and I raised my arms in the air to make myself look bigger, and the stud decided my 5'2" stature plus waving arms was too much and wheeled around and followed his mares and stayed at their back, stopping every once in a while to re-assess us and the situation. Afterwards, I was in awe to see that he was trying to get us to 'show our cards'. Soon after, all we saw was a dust trail where the horses were.

Besides deep and complicated social structures, horse herds have very effective safety measures. Safety measures such as warning behaviors of each horse for the herd to recognize and respond to, as well as for the intruder to be aware of. They also have built-in zones of tolerance for safety, in terms of proximity to the herd…. all in the name of herd preservation. I observed a "zone of tolerance" with my own "band" of four at home. I have my rope horse gelding "Gus" who has labeled himself as "herd stallion". I have a mare who foaled "Storm", and a newly broke big bruiser of a gelding named "Henry" aka Hudini. I watch in amazement as the mare kept both geldings at a safe distance from Storm...... gracefully whirling around that fragile new colt, teeth bared, charging the geldings, never bumping into her newborn. That was the inner circle. From there, Gus, "the wanna-be stallion" didn't allow my other gelding within his "safety zone" of the mare and colt, or the outer circle. If Henry got too close to "his mare and colt", Gus would charge him and move him to a preferable distance. And then of course Henry kept the dogs and cats at bay, outside his own circle of tolerance outside of the lead gelding's, and so on in. When long-horns moved near the area (across a fence though about ¼ mile away, both geldings joined forces, and spent much time between the cattle and the mare and foal, and always facing the long-horns, until they got bored and used to their distant presence. Though not as structured within the wild herd itself, but there is a obvious boundary, or circle the stallion will allow between he and the 'intruder', before the inner circle of his mares and foals.

There are miles of fenceless deserts and no telephone poles…. nothing but natural ecosystems and room to breath. And still people ask, "You're going to the desert for your vacation… why?" If they only knew….

For the plight of the mustang: The longer I view and witness the deep tight-knit social structures of both wild and domestic horses, the more I am aware of how important it is to preserve them as "families" as much as possible. With domestic horses, there is a financial precedence that intercepts that concept, unfortunately. However, there is an opportunity to play a part in preserving the wild horse herds and their intense social structures, through in-the-wild management which, besides keeping thousands of horses from being frightened, removed from their families, and trucked thousands of miles, would also save millions of tax-dollars. For more information about the plight of the wild horses, and re-establishing the protection of the 1971 Wild Horse and Burro Act, please go to www.wildhorsepreservation.com. Other worthy organizations I also donate proceeds of my artwork to are www.returntofreedom.com and www.wildhorsesanctuary.com. If you want to help these incredible horses, please look into these well researched and wonderful organizations protecting our mustangs.

Like Dust-Devils~ Sometimes you see them, sometimes you don't….

Every year, my husband and I travel to the high desert sage plains of southeast Oregon. Rick, my husband, takes the pictures, and I attempt to capture the unforgettable beauty of our region's wildlife, such as the mustangs. On the south side of the Steens Mountain range, we are familiar with the various areas the wild horses frequent. We track a particular herd, keeping track of what mares had what new foal; what foal had grown up and had what new grand-foal; what stallion is the current 'top dog'; what young bachelor stallions have been displaced by being driven out of the herd to join other bachelor bands; and as often the story is told by the unforgiving desolate lands - what horse did not survive the last brutal winter. The largest size we observed that it gets is roughly 60-70 horses, but they break down to roughly 2, sometimes 3 smaller bands of 20 to 30 animals, depending on the time of year and the forage. The one main herd is usually tucked down in a small valley surrounded by rolling hills of sagebrush, but one would never know the horses were there. In fact, the vast expanse of sage makes it look as though it was one continuous flat sea of sagebrush, seemingly no valleys- a visual illusion.

We happened to first discover the heard in 1994, just by chance as we were driving on a gravel road in SE Oregon. I noticed a large amount of 'horse sign' on the road, and then around the next bend a herd of horses of various colors crossed right in front of us, I thought I was daydreaming, or in desperate need of water! We watched until they disappeared down the other side of one of those disappearing hills of sagebrush. Since then every year we take our hike and look for them in roughly the same place. This particular herd has a higher number of paints, but there are also buckskin, chestnuts, and some blacks (one black mare, as black as night, seems to be always in foal).

On a hot and dry day in May, the temperature was somewhere in the 90's, Rick and I made the trek from our truck over the sagebrush to the juniper ridge that overlooked this secret valley. We were careful not to make too much sound, though once in a while we would hear the sagebrush rub against our jeans, or clumsily trip over a protruding lava rock when not paying attention to where we placed our feet. One of my joys when in this arid country is hearing occasional fast approaching dust devils, that, for a brief moment cool our hot skin, but continue past us and off to no particular destination. We slowly and quietly made our way to the rimrock edge, getting closer to the ground as we neared the overhang towards the shade of some small juniper trees that were our cover to observe the horses below. We bellied our way over the jagged rocks and boulders covered with various colors of lichen, so excited that we forgot to maintain careful watch for rattlers, but luckily there were non...... at least that we couldn't see.

The main stallion is a big, muscular stud horse that looks similar to Clydesdale (in stature and coloring), we've seen there for years. This particular year he was rivaled by a small paint stud (similar to a muted strawberry roan with splotches), not an exceptional animal, however quite mean and feisty, and very active within the herd. He kept busy moving parts of the herd around with seemingly no particular goal in mind, much like a dust devil, apparently just exercising his perceived authority. He would snake his neck and disturb resting mares with their sleepy foals in the heat of the mid day sun. This really through off the myth, that we've all heard throughout our lives, that a herd has only on stallion.

The main stallion, interestingly enough seemed quite tolerant of the roan, probably bored of his persistent presence. We watched in awe and surprise as the two studs were grazing near eachother, slowly getting closer to one another until they were nose to nose, sniffing and then huffing, when all of a sudden they each rose up on their hind legs followed by a body slam - full frontals! Rick and I could hear the thud as their bodies hit - and then it was over as suddenly as it had begun. We got the body slam on both video tape and one blurry still picture. The big calm stallion went back to minding his own business, grazing, and the little paint went on with his business of harassment. What a thrill to watch that right in front of us just down off a ridge! I was surprised to see more than one stallion in this herd. I suspect the little strawberry roan was a very tenacious bachelor stallion -interested but unsuccessful in stealing any of the mares. He has probably been run out by the main stallion so many times, but has always returned, that he's become a "regular" in the herd. When he went about disturbing different sections of the herd, the horses would respond by by trotting or briefly cantering away from him and then calmly and undaunted resume their previous activity of either resting or grazing on the native bunchgrasses. Clearly, this has been an ongoing and predictable behavior/routine to the herd that didn't take him too seriously.

The Lone Copper Stallion

This last year, we couldn't find the herd and figured that maybe being a different time of year, in the heat of the summer, the band had moved up higher on the mountain. But I was determined to find where the horses relocated themselves, so we drove the lonely back roads and I scanned the road and area for signs of horses. Higher up the mountain, we found a new area of concentrated piles of sign, some relatively fresh. Of course I was excited, just knowing the horses were in the area, even though they may be miles away- but just knowing their relative location was a relief to me. Sitting there on the gravel road, the horses' cross-road, I looked on one side to the south and saw miles of open sagebrush, disappearing hills, and a juniper canyon. Looking to the north, was the same thing, only miles of rolling hills meandering uphill. I was almost 4 months pregnant at the time and instinct decided to hike north, up this old rutted road that was not suitable for even a 4-wheel drive pickup- too many protruding jagged rocks, that we decided being out in the middle of nowhere, did not want to risk popping a tire or two.

So, with a waterbottle each and an apple to share between the two of us, we started on our 3 mile hike up this hot and lonely hill of sagebrush.Blue skies and heat stand out in my mind, as does the long-winded, continuous chirp of summer crickets. We passed horse piles here and there, and as we made our way north up the hill, the piles came up more frequently. Jackpot! I excitedly exclaimed, as my husband looked at me as though I had lost my mind for getting so excited over horse piles. Occasionally we came across huge mountains of stallion piles, used as regular 'sign' of their kingly presence and authority in the area. One of which I stood on the top of and towered over my husband. Again, I got the look.

Along the way we passed a couple horned lizards that were well camouflaged to their habit. I felt sorry for them in the heat so I offered one of them water, curious to watch the reaction, but he snubbed my offering and darted away. We watched as the previously clear sky had begun developing a fast growing cloud, almost straight above our heads! Each time we looked at it, it was that much bigger and it eventually grew into a huge thunderhead. We kept going around the next bend, up the next hill, and saying "okay, we'll go to that next crest", and when we got to it, we did that again and again. It wasn't one hill as we saw from our truck at the base, but an unending series of many hills. We never spotted a herd of horses as the area was too vast, and there were juniper in a river valley on our right that ran parallel to the road/trail that we were on, the horses may have been there, but we would never have known it. BUT, a little farther up, we finally spotted a solitary horse- one lone horse in the far distance, just standing there basking in the afternoon sun. The mustang was a gorgeous glossy copper colored horse, an outstanding animal, and through our binoculars I could see the long mane showing under the neck hanging from the otherside. This horse was maybe about a quarter mile away from us to our left (west), with the various hills and valleys, the rest of the herd was undoubtedly in the vicinity, but where? It would have been another half day of searching. This trip I was satisfied just finding this one mustang and the herds' new territory.

This was an unplanned detour of our last day in southeast Oregon, so we couldn't spend too much time searching without a certain outcome. We were also a little concerned about the impending thunderstorm to continue the search. But I was very pleased that the horses relocated to a much more pristine area, with a beautiful river valley, canyons, and juniper trees for shade and protection. We'll go back up there and hike in and camp, utilizing more than just a half day to find them. The 3 mile hike back down to the truck felt much longer, even though it was all downhill. The jagged rocks were more difficult to maneuver along with the loose sand below foot, and being pregnant, I was that much more careful, often times holding my belly so it would shake, rattle, or roll over the uneven ground. It was a little unnerving when we were still so far from the truck that we couldn't even see it, yet the storm grew larger, darker and ominous right over head now and more insistent as the winds from it began to blow.

Often times it feels disappointing to not find the wild horses, but I guess that's what it is to be a wild - not predictable. In a way, sometimes not finding them actually confirms the satisfaction that they indeed are wild and free to roam in open country were there are no fences, and the winds blow where they will.

The Winds Blow Where They Will

We struck off on our trip on late morning for Southeast Oregon. We made it to the east side of the Steens in only six and a half hours, but we were hauling and were accompanied by a friendly tail wind.Not having air-conditioning and being well into the 90's, we would often shift around in our seats to allow for air-circulation to our perspiring skin. It was interesting to see that even the ravens, sitting on the old weathered fence-posts, appeared to be panting. We were treated to many beautiful sights in the open wild country; from mesas, to lichen painted rim rock, canyons, numerous ancient riverbeds that flowed over 10,000 years ago, and intense blue skies as far as the eye can see.

The wildlife was also very plentiful. High up on an old telephone pole sat two black ravens. One lovingly preened the other who eagerly ruffled her feathers and cocked her head to the side for easier grooming access by her mate. There were numerous hawks, gold eagles, doves, and quail, chuckers, ground squirrels, mule deer, antelope, and coyotes. In the shadow of the mountain at sunset, dusk settled in.

Driving south on the dirt road at the base of the Steens range on the east side, rounding a bend, we were surprised by a small herd of mule deer. They were all does, and two young ones born this year, anxiously stood still near the dirt road and stared at our vehicle rolling to a stop. A couple of them chose the perceived safety on the opposite side of the fence, and from a standstill, leaped effortlessly and gracefully over the barbwire and juniper.

Happy by the sighting, we continued our trek and settled contentedly in our seats discussing what we observed, when around the next bend a half mile or so, we were surprised by a larger herd of a dozen or so muley bucks crossing the road 10 to 20 feet in front of us. They all appeared to be young, as their antlers predominantly sported two forks, suggesting they ranged from two to three years of age. They appeared to be 'casually startled' by our vehicle's presence and continued their own trip toward the mountain; once in a while individuals would stop momentarily to assess our intentions. With it being deer season, I silently urged their retreat, before a vehicle I spotted a quarter-mile behind us made it's approach. They disappeared into the high sagebrush and into the mountain's cool and shadowy cover.We arrived at our first destination, Mann Lake at near dark.

We quickly and silently set up camp, like a well-practiced team. A wide variety of waterfowl made their presence be known on the lake's shimmering surface by busily making all kinds of sounds- chatters, honks, twitters, and much excitable fluttering and splashing. There were intermittent gusts of warm wind, and having heard about a change in the weather forecast before we left the valley, we were aware that it made it likely for a potentially severe storm in the southeast, so we got the tent stakes, and a couple rocks from a nearby fire ring, to pound them in with. When we reached toward the ring, we both noticed a not well organized but dense web and observed the black widow arachnid within by flashlight. We let it be, as it's been there long before we got there, and we were aware that there are many, many other poisonous spiders in the area anyway, this one was just unfortunate that someone had happened to come across it. It was far enough from where we were so we just left it alone, though we did capture it on film. We sat in our 2-person chair, and watched the full moon rise above the old eroded domed mountains to the east. Before it's rise, we observed the stars and their brilliance, which also reflected in the water. Coyotes sang their lullaby as we drifted off to sleep ………

The next morning, we got up before sunrise and watched the setting of the moon over mountain. The coyotes woke us up and Rick and I laughed as we heard the last howl…. a little coyote pup trying his hardest to imitate the adults, what a finally! The waterfowl busily greeting the new day, as Rick set up his fishing line to try his luck at the native land-locked lahonton trout. Before he left he put on the water for coffee, and I brought him a cup of hair-curling brew, while he stood on the water's edge throwing in his line. As I approached, he caught a small one, and released it. A little later, what we thought was a snag on a submerged log, turned out to be a fish at least 24 inches long that refused to budge. As he was finally reeled it in closer, he took one look at Rick, slapped the surface of the water with his tail and broke the 4-pound test line. Rick walked out of the water, speechless. By late morning, we made a hearty breakfast, designed to stick with us until dinner. We attempted to escape the sun's laser heat by sitting alongside the truck, which offered very little shade, with the sun high above, an hour short of its peak. No trees in this part of the desert.

We broke camp and looked forward to the air movement in the truck that would provide some relief, as would the higher elevation near the summit of Steens at Fish Lake- our next destination. We made our way along the flank of the breath-taking mountain with its many rugged canyons, and the numerous and extreme peeks and valleys. The Alvord desert to the east reflected the noon sun with all it's beautiful white playa flats (old 10 mile dried lakebed), contrasting greatly with the deep blue skies. The sage was pungent and sweet, and along the dirt road, grew the annual wild sunflowers for most of the stretch of the 30-mile fault-block. We rounded the southern most tip of the mountain and stopped at a road cut looking for leaf fossils of what used to be the edge of an old lake bottom, made of striated sediment. THE BLITZEN HERD: We regularly enjoy visiting a ghost town on the west side of the mountain, or Catlow Valley called Blitzen (a German term for lightning). We often soak our hot desert feet in the Blitzen river that's known to the locals for it's good-sized trout, either just before or just after our visit to the ghost town…. A relief to our overworked, hot and tired pups. The cool mountain river runs down the west flank of Steens, and meanders it's way down through the pungent juniper forest to Catlow Valley.

Just outside that area, we were fortunate enough to spot a small band of mustangs, one stallion which stands out in my mind~ a very hardy, beautiful and striking black and white paint. This band was the lowest/farthest from the mountain that I have seen before. And although I was sure they were mustangs, I couldn't get out of my head how beautiful this mustang was, with such correct and amazing conformation, that I began to doubt myself, and wondered if they were ranchers free-ranging horses. Later, through Oregon BLM office, I found out that they were indeed mustangs, and in fact I found a picture of the black and white, courtesy of BLM photographers. I'm not great at describing distance, but I believe we were about and eighth of a mile from him and this herd. His image is burned is forever burned in my memory.

I stood there with mouth opened and amazed having seen this incredible horse. As the horses disappeared in the sea of sage and hills, and as I staired at the fading dust, I came to my senses as I suddenly felt alone. Rick had walked into the Blitzen ghost town.... I apparently lost all track of time. When I caught up with him, we walked silently on the thick fine dust among the old weathered buildings, some of them toppled, and some of them sitting at a diagonal, their odd angles look greater each year. We are always sure that by the next time they will succumb to gravity. Some of the buildings are hearty and upright. Up in the rafters of one which stood angled at a diagonal, was a raven nest with what looked like an antelope leg bone, and two young ravens looking back curiously at us from their home as though they've never seen humans before. You can hear the fence hinges creak, the moderate wind make it's various hums and whistles through house windows/shutters, and spaces between old weathered wood-siding, fences, and various holes found most everywhere.

One of the buildings standing was a two story house, and while Rick looked at arrowhead chips outside, I slowly ascended the steps to the second floor of an apparently prominent family home for that time and that place. With each step, I could hear the steps and the old house groan and creak, and the house shift somewhat to my weight. The wallpaper was of pretty blue flowers, and much of it was gone. I also found pieces of their dinnerware which also had delicate wildflowers. A once beautiful home, now home to swallows, ravens, mice, probably rats, and scorpions, and the occasional dung beetle.

It was exhilarating hearing the lonely sounds, such as the howling wind gusts, and feeling alone but not quite. I enjoyed envisioning in my mind the kind of hustle and bustle, and life that went on out there, the sight they saw out of the window I sat, probably as I saw it, the many stories…. most of which lost forever. I sat in the window frame (and again the house shifted… or sighed), of the upper story, dangling my feet out as I listened to the wind blow through the open windows. I could also hear the winds rustling the golden dried prairie bunch grasses. I watched a gold eagle soar overhead, casting it's shadow on the sun-parched ground. I was startled to hear my name when Rick was looking for me. It was interesting that I felt compelled to reply in a whisper. I am sure I heard the old house give a 'sigh of relief' when I stepped off it's steps onto the main floor.

We seemed to come back to 'present day', once we sat down in our pickup. We drove north to French Glen, where we replenished our water and ice and topped off the gas tank. We noticed a greater amount of tourists here this year. Shrugging it off momentarily, we made our way up the Steens from the west side. Dismayed, we passed several mini 'tour' vans with people in their clean pressed shirts and straw hats, peering out their windows, as though this was the first time out of civilization. Pushing what we've been fearing for the last 15 years, out of our minds, we reached Fish Lake early evening and again quickly set up camp. Rick was anxious to head farther up the mountain to take pictures with the sun lower in the horizon for optimum light/shadow contrasts. So we chose to do that, and have a late dinner. We drove up the wash-boardy road looking out for photo opportunities. We found an endless supply that satisfied Rick's keen eye. We spotted a small herd of antelope near the Little Blitzen Gorge, though they were too far for a good picture and they blended into the barren brown landscape. We made our way around and above the Little Blitzen Gorge, and waited as we watched for the sun to set. We weren't sure that it was going to be picture worthy, as the colors still looked muted at the moment.

We waited a little longer, breathing in the updraft of the cooling wind from the deep gorge, and observed this immense glacial valley while we waited. To our left, clinging on the north side, was a glacier, caught in a circ and from beneath it ran it's melted glacier water which turned into a stream that, even in that distance, we could hear it bubbling between wind gusts. It made it's way down to the valley floor 700-800 feet or more below. From there it meandered and coursed its way, as a snake would, the rest of the length of this U-shaped valley (one of many on the Steens). Then …… before us, unfolded the sunset we waited for… we were stunned at the intense red and amber colors it displayed (to view, go to Rick Spaziani Photography ).

Next on our agenda was the top of the mountain to take pictures of the rising moon. Here, the winds blew fierce, and I donned on my long-johns and sweats, and multiple layers of sweatshirts. Rick, concerned that the wind would cause the camera to shake, found shelter among the rim-rock, below the summit. Together we sat soaking in the view of the desert one vertical mile below. We knew the moon would rise a half-hour later from yesterday, so we settled in the rim rock after the camera was set on the tripod. In the twilight, just before total darkness, we could see the dry and white Alvord alkali lakebed below. As our eyes adjusted to the dark, we scanned the horizon for the approaching moon's edge to begin to show, beyond Sheep Head Mountains. As the full moon rose, it was so exhilarating watching it and feeling the updraft of the fierce winds blowing up the mountain from the desert heated during the day below.

The giant moon was so magnificent; that I was sure the symphony I heard was not playing in my head! As it rose higher, it illuminated the shear cliffs, rimrock ridges, and giant boulders bigger than most houses. The only places not touched by the bright moonlight were the steepest deepest valleys below. We spent much of the evening there, touched by the glory and splendor of this great place, what we call our second home. Heavy eyes and cold bones finally overtook us, so we left and headed back to camp to make a late supper. For supper we shared Top Ramon noodles, a roast I pre-cooked at home (warmed it in tinfoil), with sourdough rolls. We called it a night.

We awoke at sunrise, and while we were talking in the tent, I heard a 'thump…. thump…. thump' outside, and quickly looked out the tent window. A small herd of muleys, both bucks and does, were hopping over the sage, making their way down a valley just outside of our camp. After eye-popping coffee and breakfast, we broke camp and headed back up the road and around the loop heading down to our favorite waterfall, but not without stopping and overlooking the desert once again, sitting perched atop the massive mountain. Not far from the top, we were fortunate enough to watch a badger, most certainly looking grumpy and annoyed with us, but went on busily digging and when he wasn't digging he was waddling off to dig somewhere else. He wasn't too far from us, maybe 15 to 20 feet off the road was as close as he allowed us to get… or we wanted to get, to this elusive little tough guy with an attitude.

The waterfall is a quarter mile hike down from the road to the flat top of the gorge, where a creek runs the middle of it. We followed the creek down to where it tumbles over the rim rock with a little cave just below. With new film loaded in the camera, Rick took what looked like will be fantastic pictures of glacier scoured and wind blasted rim rock. With my 38 in my pack, ready to go, I took the lead route over the boulders to be assured there was no dangerous critter in the cave behind the waterfall. With it all clear, we made our way down these massive boulders and inspected the cave's soft dry dirt for signs of activity since last year, which appeared to not be any. The water pours down on top of a jagged smaller boulder, and where the water splashes on the ground, grows a two-foot section of tender green vegetation. Earlier in the year, there are also wildflowers growing there… I think were trillium. After three days of not showering, Rick took the brave lead and bathed under the ice cold water. I gathered up my will and also washed under later. What an exhilarating shower!! It was VERY cold!!!! We used no soap, just stood under it. The cave provided shelter from the wind outside, and a little of the sun shined part way into the cave to dry us off. When we emerged we were completely dry.

On the way back to the car, just above the fall, I found two golden aspen leaves, but there were no aspen where we were. They blew up from a stand of trees at the bottom of the gorge close to, or about, a thousand feet below. Knowing they glided on the thermal uplift that sent them up the canyon, I took them home.

We proceeded down the mountain, and to my thrill, came upon a cattle drive heading the herd down the mountain to holding pens. However, my thrill was mixed with sadness, as one of the ranch hands riding his horse alongside our truck, explained that we were witnessing the last cattle drive off the mountain due to the government buying out ranchers or trading for more, but less, pristine acreage off the mountain (they are turning it into a national park). We asked if they had a choice, and he said no. The government basically wrote Mr. Clemens a check, forcing them out by the claim of a eminent domain. The cowboy was friendly and spoke of this calmly but certainly full of emotion. This was the Clemens Ranch, well known ranchers in the area that I've read about in several different publications. Rex Clemens purchased the ranch from the Riddle brothers over 50 years ago (the Riddle brothers were notorious because of stealing/ controlling the water rights in the area).

It was sad listening to the cowboy, and Rick and I both had very mixed emotions about what's right. We're glad the mountain will be protected, but at what cost? We've been seeing it already with the vanloads of 'tourons'. Along with that will be buses, hotels, pavement, signs, guardrails, and restrooms….. all taking away from the rich ruggedness and harsh beauty of this land, a sheltered place that is the last frontier in Oregon. Along with all the 'civilized comforts' and the public attention (thanks to 'government protection') will be more gawking people, noise, and trash, worn out trails. And what about the ranch that's been long established here for generations? Rick and I slowly picked our way through the cattle as we continued down the dusty road, and with long faces, said our goodbye to the mountain.

KIGER MUSTANGS: We went out to the Diamond Craters on the north side of the Steens, and our smile quickly returned after we spotted some Kiger mustangs. These are believed to be the original mustangs the Spanish rode. They are typically buckskin with a dorsal stripe on the back. There are also some dun and grulla horses in this particular herd as well. They've been separated naturally from the other mustangs by the canyons, so the Kigers are true and not diluted by other horses. BLM manages these as well as the other mustangs in the Burns district of Oregon, and has created additional barriers to assure that they would not interbreed to maintain the Spanish line. There is one legendary Kiger stallion known as Mesteno. An incredible animal with a coal-black mane that touches his forelegs, a forelock that nearly touched his nose, and a tail that swept the ground. BLM is certain he's passed on, but like Elvis, there are still admirers who report they've seen him. Well, we didn't see him, but we spotted the Kigers, and though they were a half mile if not more away, spotted us immediately as well. They were so far away, they looked little in the vast distance, but close enough were we could see most of them quickly lift their heads in our direction, and like the wind, were gone leaving only a trail of dust. It doesn't sound like much, but it was very satisfying seeing these horses, even if they were far away.

After getting more ice in French glen and topping off our gas…. and passing by more of the 'tourons', asking endless questions regarding the landscape and geology, and if we've "spotted the wild horses", with glossy brochures in hand about the local flora, geology and wild horses. From here we we bid farewell to our high desert home, and began our two hour trek west, over a very long and bumpy, barely maintained road up and over Hart Mountain Antelope Refuge down to Rabbit Hills to meet up with a couple of friends to dig for sunstones (the state of Oregon gemstone, relatively rare to the rest of the world) for the last leg of our trip. The stones look much like broken car glass in the rough, but when cut are brilliant gems that are set into jewelry. They are called sunstones, because you should be facing the sun when looking for them on the ground from them to reflect in your eye. We were there two days and we had a lot of fun. We arrived about 7pm and stopped by DustDevil to say hello. The four of us were invited over for steaks, so we again quickly set up camp and headed over (Susan and I rode in the back of my truck, while the boys sat in the cab…. Probably with the heater on and windows up, such girls!). We had a nice dinner laughing and swapping entertaining stories. We hit the hay soon after that, but not without admiring the stars in the night sky. The coyotes again sang their ballads. The moon came out later, covered by intermittent clouds.

We got up the next morning and had a quick breakfast and headed to dig for stones. We found quite a few good ones, but one in particular was a red schiller. Ol' Don and Terry are two of three partners that own the sunstone mine, DustDevil. They are a funny pair, with captivating and gut-busting stories. They'll often have great cookouts with many interesting guests, often from many parts of our globe. While swapping tales, right by the driveway of DustDevil was a lone coyote. Makes a person wonder what's wrong with him to be there by himself…. Interested in us. Though delighted with his presence, I was also aware that this was odd behavior and kept my eye open for a foamy mouth (in jest). Don and Terry said that he's been coming by every once in a while and that he's a young animal, perhaps a year or two and that he may have been run out of the pack. He apparently liked their scraps, and befriended a female blue heeler named Purple. He looked healthy enough, and lucky for him they like him around there.

All of a sudden, what sounded like a train approaching, all knowing very well what it was, was a fast approaching dust-devil! I turned to look in it's direction, and this one was especially large with fast winds, unlike the many gently meandering ones I've described before. This one had a mission… with dust, debris and pieces of sagebrush it was headed straight for the mines canopy/sitting area to get out of the sun. Everyone ran to the canopy and had to help hold it and loose items down. I didn't get there in time, and could only turn away from it and cover my eyes. I could feel sand hitting my exposed skin, and it stung where I had a sunburn. One needn't ask how the mine's name came about.

Since morning while digging, we had been watching storm cells building high in the stratosphere. Of course, Rick and my excitement built right up with them, as we are also wanna-be storm chasers. They were immense, they were all around but non were right overhead… good thing, since often we were the tallest thing in the area. One big one, just to our west built in the same area since mid morning and it reached it's peak at about 5:30. Another big one was perched over the whole 30-mile length of the Steens in the distance to our east, that one was quite impressive. About an hour before, Rick had dowsed his and my shirts with cold water from our iced water supply to help curb the heat, and before we were dry, the cloud covered the sun and a cold wind blew as the rain from the dark cloud fell, essentially pushing the cold air down and out (downdraft). It got mighty cold. Others were ready to go. I went to the truck and pulled out a bunch of our sweatshirts for the four of us and dug some more. Finally, they talked Rick into returning to camp (not without a threat of restraint).

Back at camp, the light show began. And a light show it was! The closest lightning came was about 7 miles. Those were the cloud crackling, air-searing loud thunder boomers. Mostly we heard the thunder roll in the distance. Rick took some great pictures. At one point while I sat with hi,; he caught one that I believe had 8 legs to it. For dinner I made rib-eye steak with spinach noodles, canned asparagus, red wine, and sourdough rolls for the four of us. We ate dinner in our friends' tent, as it was too windy by this time to enjoy it outside. Afterwards, while the others organized their equipment, Rick and I enjoyed the storm that stayed suspended in one spot just north, which was also occurring simultaneously with another glorious sunset…. These pictures should be magnificent. An hour after sunset, the storm cell nearest us died down and the wind stopped. Our friends went to bed early, so Rick and I sat outside and watched the distant remaining lightening above Steens and Burns. The Steens are known to make their own weather systems, and have thunderstorms even when there are none, anywhere else. The lightening kept up well into the night, about 10pm. During the distant lightening, Rick and I enjoyed the night air and the stars by walking out into the sagebrush. When we returned, the moon began to rise with still some lightening flashing on that same horizon. We went to bed soon after.

The coyotes sang frequently each morning and each night that we were there in Rabbit Hills.We heard the coyotes so often that we've been able to distinguish a couple of them. One sounds like an excitable child and the other sounds like a foghorn with a soar throat. These we remember from times past. The one that sounds like a raspy foghorn rarely gets answered by other coyotes. He howls at least six times before he gets a reply, and that may have even been a coincidence. Maybe that's the banished one that frequents DustDevil.

Survival~ The cycle of Life of an Unforgiving Land

Sometimes life seems so unjust. I know how I felt when I went on one of my wild horse observing trips. I couldn't locate the herd, but I found one filly, alone and to fend for herself in a terribly weakened state.

She appeared to be a two year old. She didn't notice me sneaking up on her, until I was only 15-20 feet away (before I realized the problem, I was pretty proud of myself for being able to approach a wild mustang~ undetected, low-heading it around and inbetween boulders, sagebrush and juniper). With pain in my heart, I saw large wild frightened eyes, and nostrils flared, she attempted to get away from me on very weak and wobbly knees. She was painfully thin with a bloated belly, and though it was a hot September, still had patches of winter coat. The upcoming harsh winter on the Steens will be her ultimate fate… if the sickness, or the coyotes didn't get her first. I quickly backed off when I discovered how bad off she was. It sickened my heart~ painfully aware of her terminal illness, loneliness, abandonment…but most regretfully, the immediate terror my curious presence inflicted.

When I returned to my vehicle, my immediate reaction was to contact a local authority to notify them of this filly. However, after giving it some strained thought, I decided against it as this IS a part of nature-- 'survival of the fittest'. But more importantly, why would I want some humans barging in and "man-handling" her, causing her more terror in her fatal end? The high desert was her home, and that is where she will remain.... a part of the desert, taken by how nature decides, not "self-important" man .

Saddened and with a heavy heart, but with a new height of understanding, I drove off. On my left, up on a southern ridge, I spotted the silhouettes of 40 wild horses, along with this years newest additions. The cycle of life continues...........