“Only the mountain has lived long enough to listen objectively to the howl of a wolf.” — Aldo Leopold, Thinking Like a Mountain Soda Butte Creek rises on the slopes of the Absaroka Mountains just outside Yellowstone National Park. It wends its way south and west, past the towns of Cooke City and Silver Gate, into the Lamar Valley. Anyone interested in wildlife watching in North America is well-advised to visit the Lamar, tucked into the northeast corner of the Park. Also know

I’ve been on a bit of a Montana-themed reading bender of late: Ivan Doig’s This House of Sky, a whole slew of Jim Harrison’s short stories (Legends of the Fall, The Beast God Forgot to Invent, The Woman Lit by Fireflies, The Summer He Didn’t Die), and, as of last night, Norman Maclean’s A River Runs Through It.  As a general rule, I’m not one for forewords in books; I’m usually impatient to get to the work itself, and find myself rushing through the pages numbered i-ix hurrie

I love books. Spring, it would seem, is the season for reading. But as I considered that point, it got me thinking: It’s undeniably true that each year, when spring (or perhaps more accurately, spring break) rolls around, it’s time to pack up the beach towel, sunglasses, and a few good paperbacks. Before too long, summer’s heat sets in and I spread a blanket beneath the shade of a good tree and sprawl on my belly turning a hardcover’s pages. As the leaves begin to turn and th