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2nd Place, Adult Writing Division: A Remembrance Always on the Horizon by Curtis Mays
I have lived in the Wood River Valley for several years. I love to see the Pioneer Mountains and play in them. In this short essay, I refer to the first, most memorable time I saw the Pioneer Mountains, and how I am always pulled to remember that first sighting upon each Pioneer viewing since. CM
A Remembrance Always on the Horizon
by Curtis Mays
I had just finished laying a successful roll cast out onto the flat water above the bending beaver dam. I wanted to keep my eye on my fly, but something caught my peripheral mind, a thought, no - a feeling, the type you feel when someone's looking at you from somewhere. I turned my head. There was no one in sight. Perhaps a bear. Maybe a squirrel. I scanned trees behind me to find nothing. Then a glance to the horizon. There it was. A noble pointy peak wearing a snow cap. What had been a moment of anxiety turned to a moment of blanket-warm security. For above the bubbly Trail Creek bower in which I was balancing upon the angling bank stood, in majestic wind-swept granite, a Pioneer watching down over me. The little caddis fly bumped into the woven-stick dam. I cared not, for a contentment came over me...as it has so many times as I meander up and around the greater Wood River Valley.
It was probably around 9:15 on a chilly March morning in 1992. I had just slid away from the top of a ski lift on Bald Mountain. I had wanted to ski Sun Valley for years. I finally made it. My ski buddies were tightening their boots and putting their gloved hands through their pole straps. They pushed away, heading for Upper Warm Springs, their favorite first run. They were eager to show this Utahan what real skiing was all about.
They turned and gestured for me to follow. Follow I did...for about four seconds. I was sliding slowly upon their lead, when a weird and halting tug stopped me in my tracks.
I halted as my gaze took me up to see the Boulder Mountains. The tug continued and my head turned to the east. What I then saw was amazing. There, below the morning sun, were the most beautiful mountains I had ever seen. It was as if they stood watch over Sun Valley and the Big Wood River. They told the sun that it could shine to the west upon the Smoky Mountains and Baldy, the Princess of the Valley. They told the clouds how high they could fly. They gave the wind its direction and speed limits. Those magnificent protuberances are the Pioneer Mountains. They are the guardians to all that can see or feel their presence. It for me was a moment of epiphany. I had come to have an audience with the mountains to the east. My fellow skiers quickly dropped over into Warm Springs Face. That was the last I saw of them for two hours. Though it was brisk and blowy, a morning of high teen temps, I stood there and took in the graphic three dimension horizon as it seemed to loom in quiet awareness to the east.
Many a day and night had I spent over the previous five decades amidst the splendor of different mountain ranges. Many happy hours kicking steps in the Wind Rivers and the White Mountains. Many anxious hours slapping mosquitoes in the Uintas. Many face-shot hours trying not to inhale snow in the Wasatch. Mountains had become a buttress to my story of self. But, as I stood that March morning, I felt a tug of beauty, a form of spiritual intelligence pulling at me from those spiky peaks reflecting the eastern sun.
It was as if they shouted out, "You've found us. You are safe here. Now stay with us."
And that I did.
I kept that message to myself for many a year. I came back year after year to ski in the shadow of the Pioneers. My vacations were built around the theme of seeing the Pioneers. My travelling and retiring plans were now being sculpted from that block of memory from that chilly March morning in nineteen ninety-two. Those plans are now manifesting. I find myself living up the East Fork of the Big Wood River, just a few rugged minutes from the trailhead to the alluring Pioneers.
The strange comforting that comes when I spy those peaks is not just the feeling I get as I gaze up or over to those special pistes, it is the game they play with me. It's like a kid's game, a game of hide-and-seek...game of surprise. I climb through the foothills to gain a view of The Hyndman Peaks. And when I finally get to that point, I can yell out, "At last, I see you. I told you I would be here, and I am." Old Hyndman Peak and his brother Cobb Peak, smile and send this message in the wind, "Welcome, once again. You are safe here. We're glad you made it." I feel at ease. The other facet of the game is one of surprise, a game that the Pioneers play on me when I'm not aware of what they are up to. They know when best to play their game. They wait until I am concentrating on another aspect of this mountain life, an aspect that finds me fishing, walking my dog, looking at the stars, mountain biking, skiing, shoveling snow, driving to Bellevue, or dipping my toes in a cold mountain lake. I find myself mesmerized by the flora and fauna around my bobbing head, enjoying to the depths the occasion before me, when a largely quiet but strong tug shakes my focus, making me turn my head to the east. "Here we are." they murmur through their channels of nature. "We got you this time, and we will get you again. You are safe here. You are in our realm."
Every time I see the Pioneers, whether it be a sighting sought by me, or an ambush from those playful pistes, I am immediately taken back to the first time I saw those personal and perpetual friends and guardians. I can't forget that cold dry March morning, and I don't want to. That morning when my thoughts were shallowly grasping at ways to thaw my moustache. Those thoughts were thawed and dissolved but quick with that first emotionally shaking pull from my now dear and sometimes surprising friends - The Pioneers.
2nd Place, Student Writing Division: I Saw a Flock of Moosen by Michael Flolo
The moose is the largest member of the deer family. Its scientific name is Alces alces.This morning was normal, or so I thought. I was just going down the road in my car. My mind is as clear as a newly washed window. I’m happy as can be, nothing but good vibes in my mind today. The snow parachuting down from the clouds, my music is Inhale Deep by Macklemore (maalk-a-more), a nice song that makes you think. I stop and think life is good today. No trouble at school, no homework, no test. My sisters are sitting in the back seat getting their final preparations to go to school at Hailey Elementary. I get choked by the fumes of my sister’s hair spray; my dad’s coffee kind of drowns the smell out. My dad is in the seat next to me on the passenger side. I drive nice and slow because the roads are icy and our car doesn’t do that well on ice. It’s like swimming in concrete. I look over and can’t believe what I see. I stopped the car, closed my eyes as if in a dream, then I opened them to look again. But no, it was real. This is a once in a lifetime moment to witness right in the middle of town, but not so rare in our little town of Hailey, Idaho. It is such a magical place full of wildlife. Plus, we have the beauty of the Sawtooth Mountains. There in front of me is an amazing figure. I am in awe. In the community garden or hope garden where the old sheriff’s office used to be, there are two moose standing there, eating the berries off the tree. I’m amazed, this is the first moose I’ve ever seen in my life, and it is so big. The hair that keeps it warm is almost black and is as thick as a bear’s coat. It’s a dream. There is no way this mysterious brown-furred, big-eared creature is right in front of me in the heart of town. An amazing animal as big as our Subaru. This majestic animal freezes and looks right into my eyes and for a slight second, I feel sorry for them. How could I do this? Sitting in a nice warm car, my house taking up its space in the valley, big buildings and homes just taking up what was once a meadow a big grazing field for all wildlife. Around the whole area, it is dead silent. No sound, not even from my once screaming sisters in the back. My dad talking in the front, the music, it all seemed to hit pause, silence. Even my own breath I struggled to hear. And I realize at that moment, the world may be ugly and mean. A cop circled the moose. It sort of ruined the moment. The moose stood under the frosty tree with snow falling. They plucked the dried berries off of the dry, almost naked limbs. The cop sirens screamed. It scared the moose away and stressed them out. If he wouldn’t have done that, they could have eaten in peace. It’s the most amazing place in the whole galaxy. A moose standing right outside the court house, in the center of town.
We shouldn’t be afraid to get out and live life. Go skiing in the back country. Witness the beauty of the Wood River Valley first hand. There is little chance to have a moment like the one I had. It changed the way I thought about moose, even nature itself. I used to think moose were big and mean and they would hurt you if you get too close. What a dumb thought, nature is cruel and dangerous but it is also beautiful and peaceful calm in places that we don’t even know.
I want to find peace with Mother Nature, not pump her dry of oil or start wars over her. She is our one and only planet. We should take care of her, not run her away with a blazing siren.
Enjoy the real beauty of our valley, plus other places all over the world and all cherish what the world has given us and find peace.
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