One More For The Road

If there was only some way to alert drivers that trains are coming. Like lights, sound, maybe barriers???

One more for 4 29 24

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<title>One More For The Road: Monday, April 29, 2024 | Cowboy State Daily</title>

If there was only some way to alert drivers that trains are coming. Like lights, sound, maybe barriers....

One More For The Road: Monday, April 29, 2024

 If there was only some way to alert drivers that trains are coming. Like lights, sound, maybe barriers???

Headshot of Cowboy State Daily's Feature Reporter, Andrew Rossi.

Andrew Rossi

Outdoors

Two hikers on a multi-day excursion in Teton County were helicoptered out of the mountain range by Teton County Search and Rescue after becoming dangerously dehydrated in the snow-covered mountains.

Around 1 p.m. Monday, Teton County Search & Rescue (TCSAR) received an emergency alert for two backpackers in distress on the Death Canyon Shelf, a plateau on the Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park. Two men, ages 20 and 22, were suffering from intense gastrointestinal issues.

“Both had excessive vomiting and didn't feel like they were going to be able to get out,” Anthony Stevens, TCSAR’s chief advisor, told Cowboy State Daily. “They were unable to maintain hydration or food.”

The group of four hikers from Iowa told TCSAR volunteers via cellphone that they’d try to hike out of the mountains. After an hour, the two afflicted men were unable to continue.

TCSAR sent a helicopter to pick up the two men at Hurricane Pass, a mountain pass in the Alaska Basin within the Teton Range. They were flown to the TCSAR headquarters in Jackson but didn’t needed to be hospitalized.

“We gave them some Zofran to help control the vomiting,” Stevens said. “After they got to sit tight and recuperate a bit, we gave them some food and water, and they were able to get a ride back to their vehicle.”

The other two hikers in the group were able to hike out of the mountains and reunite with their peers.

“Last I heard from them, everybody was doing better, they’d gotten a meal in them, and they were starting to hydrate,” Stevens said.

[{"type":"text","text":"Not A Drop To Drink"}]

Death Canyon Shelf is a section of the 40-mile Teton Crest Trail. Stevens said the four-person group was on the second day of a multi-day excursion.

TCSAR routinely rescues people who’ve been seriously injured in Teton County’s backcountry. This incident was a little different.

“My guess is that they were dehydrated to the point that they couldn't hold down any fluids or food,” Stevens said. “It sounded like they weren't prepared to hit as much snow as they did in the high country when they were coming into Alaska Basin.”

According to Stevens, the group had expected to collect water on the trail. When they got up there, there was more snow than they anticipated, and the effort to get through exacerbated their dehydration.

The hikers seemed aware of their circumstances. Stevens said that at one point, they resorted to boiling snow to get drinking water.

“It sounded like they didn't have enough water between the four of them to maintain hydration,” he said. “They boiled what they could, but it wasn’t enough to maintain them for the amount of time they were traveling that day.”

If that seems unlikely, the National Weather Service says 1 inch of liquid water is equal to 12 inches of snow. You'd need a lot of boiled snow to sufficiently hydrated one person, let alone four hikers on a high-elevation hike.

That’s why the two rescued hikers didn’t need to be hospitalized once they reached Jackson. Once they stopped vomiting and started to rehydrate, they recovered.

Stevens asked whether their condition was related to high altitude, since Alaska Basin is above 10,000 feet. The hikers told him it wasn’t.

“They’re from Iowa, but they said they had all been at altitude before,” he said. “They just hit a lot of snow and did a lot of post-holing, and that’s exhausting. They definitely struggled up there.”

[{"type":"text","text":"Simple Swoop And Scoop"}]

Stevens said this incident wasn’t due to lack of experience or preparedness on the hikers’ behalf. They were prepared for an intense, high-altitude backcountry hike.

“I don’t know what they did for trip-planning or prep, but they definitely had had the gear to be out there for a couple of nights,” he said.

Despite the overall below-average snowpack across Wyoming, areas above 9,500 feet still have significant snow accumulation. Even in late May, TCSAR encourages hikers in the Tetons to bring ice axes and crampons in case they encounter impassable snowbanks.

In this case, the moral of the story is to bring enough water for a multi-day, high-energy excursion. Finding drinkable water in the mountains is a reliable workaround, but not always an option.

For TCSAR, the entire mission took four hours. It was what Stevens called a simple “swoop and scoop.”

“It was just a couple of kids unable to maintain hydration who didn’t think they were going to get out,” he said. “They didn’t expect to encounter as much snow as they did.”

Teton rescue 5 26 26

<title>Hikers Rescued From Death Canyon Shelf In Grand Teton National Park | Cowboy State Daily</title>

Two hikers on a multi-day excursion were helicoptered to safety by Teton County Search and Rescue after becoming ill on Monday. “It sounded like they weren't prepared to hit as much snow as they did in the high country," one rescuer told Cowboy State Daily.

Hikers Rescued From Death Canyon Shelf In Grand Teton National Park

Headshot of Cowboy State Daily's managing editor, Greg Johnson.

Greg Johnson

Crime & Courts

Public Safety

CHEYENNE — The fire was so intense, Paul and Alexandra Trujillo said it felt like they were standing in front of a blazing campfire.

They were instead in Paul’s truck on Del Range Boulevard just behind Sam’s Club in north Cheyenne watching from the road as a huge apartment complex under construction burned Tuesday afternoon.

In the next 15-20 minutes, Paul and his daughter were mesmerized by the intensity and ferocity of a fire that consumed the building, a garage next to it and sparked a grass fire.

“We literally watched it from the beginning,” Paul told Cowboy State Daily. “It was 15-20 minutes from start to collapse. It spread to the garage in between the two buildings, and it also started a grass fire.

[{"type":"text","text":"“That whole area, just stay away.”"}]

Paul said the in-progress apartment building is in the Ridgeview Apartments located at 2025 E. Carlson St. just off Converse Avenue between Sam’s Club to the south and Storey Boulevard to the north.

While he saw a window open from the inside in the apartment building next to the one that burned, Paul wasn’t sure if it was finished and occupied yet.

What he was sure about is that the fire burned incredibly fast and incredibly hot.

“Oh my gosh, we were back by Sam’s Club and you could feel the heat like you were standing in front of a campfire,” he said.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"bold"}],"text":"A Window Opens"}]

“I was worried, because there are two sets of apartments there that they’re building,” Paul added. “We did see a window open, and when you see a window opening and that fire’s going on, I was worried somebody might be in there.”

He didn’t see anyone come out, “But we did hear some explosions coming from the building,” Paul said. “And the first thing we saw was the (construction) crews running around with their yellow vests on.”

Paul said he and Alexandra watched as firefighting crews started to arrive and search for fire hydrants to hook up to. But from what he saw, he didn’t observe any hydrants and watched as they fought with water from a ladder truck and a couple of pumper trucks.

Because the fire had spread so quickly throughout the unfinished building, it appeared firefighters were concentrating on nearby structures to keep the fire from spreading, Paul said.

“They were just trying to keep the fire from spreading, because that building was a total loss,” he said. “They were putting water on the other unit, and the garage, but the garage burned anyway.

[{"type":"text","text":"“I couldn’t believe how fast it spread.”"}]

Along with a heavy response from Cheyenne Fire Rescue and other agencies, the Tuesday afternoon fire also wreaked havoc with traffic in Wyoming’s capital city.

Cheyenne police and Laramie County Sheriff’s Office deputies directed traffic away from the area of the fire response, which also is one of the busiest sections of the city. That caused massive traffic backups around the Frontier Mall south to Pershing Boulevard.

“Road closures are in place … please avoid the area while crews work to contain the fire,” the Cheyenne Police Department in advised a statement about the response. The agency later added that the roads had reopened.

The firefighting effort was still ongoing at the time this story was published.

This is a developing story and will be updated as more information is available.

Cheyenne fire 5 26 26

<title>"Total Loss": Witness Says Fire Ripped Through Cheyenne Apartment Building In Minutes | Cowboy State Daily</title>

A fire tore through an under-construction apartment in north Cheyenne on Tuesday, burning so hot and intense it was “a total loss” in minutes, a witness said. “You could feel the heat like you were standing in front of a campfire,” he said.

"Total Loss": Witness Says Fire Ripped Through Cheyenne Apartment Building In Minutes

Leah Veress

[{"type":"text","text":"“Leah, get up. The horses got out.”"}]

I burrowed my head deeper into my sleeping bag against the cold, feigning sleep. Outside my synthetic-filled cocoon, my tentmate was shuffling around, unzipping her sleeping bag.

In the distance, a creek was roaring, and horses were whinnying, and dull bells were ringing.

“You put the bells on the mares,” Matt, a contractor who grew up locally, explained to me the previous day. “They’re the trouble makers. If they get out, the rest will follow.”

[{"type":"text","text":"Like a queen bee, I had thought."}]

Suddenly, I was fully awake. Shit, the horses got out! Deep in the Absaroka-Beartooth Wilderness, dozens of miles from the nearest road, two days into a five-day trip, the horses and mules were our only way to pack out our camp.

I threw open my sleeping bag, pulled on my jeans, grabbed my headlamp and bear spray, and crawled out of the tent.

Despite the darkness, camp was alive with motion. Tent doors flew open, riding clothes were thrown over sleepwear, and saddles were slung on the remaining horses. I clicked my headlamp to the highest setting, blinking hard to adjust my eyes to the low light and shake the sleep from my mind.

Two horses and two mules came into view, tethered to trees by their lead ropes. That left eight animals missing. Lights scanned like spotlights as horses whinnied and the mules brayed, casting an eerie, wail-like sound into the darkness.

As Matt and Antonio, a seasonal outdoors worker, mounted their horses to track the escaped equestrians, the outfitter turned to me.

[{"type":"text","text":"“Stay here and watch the animals in case any trouble comes.”"}]

Two days earlier, our posse of five mules, seven horses, an outfitter, two contractors, a nurse, an outdoorsman, and a reporter embarked on an extended weekend pack trip.

New to horseback riding, having taken a multi-year hiatus from the backcountry, and largely unfamiliar with my companions, I was immediately overwhelmed with a deep appreciation for their company, keen to learn as much as I could.

Most members of the group had worked for the outfitter at one point, spending a summer taking dude rides or a fall guiding hunts in the Absaroka-Beartooth. Cumulatively, they had more than a century of experience. With no dudes on this particular trip, they were afforded a unique opportunity to let loose, exchanging banter and stories freely.

Food packed into Yeti coolers and Milwaukee Packouts, tents and personal items loaded onto mules, horses saddled, bridled, and ready to go, we set out on the 20-mile ride into camp around 11 a.m., three hours after our target departure time.

“I hope you all brought headlamps,” Hazel, a life-long outdoorswoman and practicing nurse, joked.

As the miles wore on, I got to know Cherokee, the 10-year-old paint I was riding.

The cadence of her stride set the pace of my day. As we passed lakes and paralleled streams, the reflection of the sunlight glimmered with every step she took.

I watched as her ears twitched and tail swooshed, shooing away early-season mosquitoes. I noticed the way her sides flared out as we rode up ridges, and the snorts she released to clear the dry, dusty air from her nostrils.

I sneezed in tandem. I learned to anticipate the way she leapt over streams, favoring dry land for the muddy trail most of the other animals trudged through.

As we rode in, the outfitter narrated, sharing personal and historical anecdotes about the route. He had been riding in these mountains twice as long as I had been alive. His stories chronicled the time Teddy Roosevelt spent in the wilderness, the history of resource extraction in the area, and childhood stories that echoed with the ring of universal human experience.

He led a string of five mules with one hand, and the reins of his paint gelding Cabaret and a Coors Banquet in the other. Every time the string would stall, he’d kick up Cabaret.

“I’m not even upset about the mules stopping,” he said. “I’m just pissed it’s spilling my beer.”

Packed in the panniers were three boxes of wine, and two 30-packs of Coors.

Matt rode ahead of the group, scouting the path where the trail fell out. When my borrowed Stetson hat blew off my head for the umpteenth time, and I started rolling my saddle getting back on after retrieving it, he looped back, ensuring everything was OK. He rode this way the whole trip, scouting and keeping everyone together, offering me horsemanship tips over the five days.

By the time we arrived at camp, nestled between a mountain ridge and a swollen creek, the sun had started to descend, and the air temperature fell.

As we dismounted and started to untack the stock, the outfitter walked over to me, his back bent permanently 10 degrees forward from a lifetime of riding, and showed me how to take off the bridal, the cinch, and the breast collar, hands on autopilot from decades of repetition.

“Always unbuckle from the left,” he said, looping and tying the cinch strap like a necktie. “And put your saddle blanket upside down on top of the saddle so it can air out.”

I nodded, making mental notes I later translated to my journal. In this same way, I learned how to tie the quick-release knot necessary to tether her lead rope to a tree (always at neck height or higher), and how to bridle and saddle Cherokee.

Any time I faltered, someone was there to help, offering demonstrations and heuristics.

Once the horses were brushed, untacked, and put to pasture behind an electric fence, camp was erected, illuminated by our headlamps.

Orange, yellow, and green tents stood in the conifer forest like presents under a Christmas tree, packed close enough together to provide perceived protection in grizzly country, but spread apart far enough to create a semblance of privacy.

By the time I crawled into my sleeping bag, the day had stretched over 18 hours. Stomach full of chili reheated over a camp fire, legs and back sore from riding, and my heart happy to be in the backcountry with good company, I drifted off to sleep.

Over the next three days, we cooked all of our meals over an open fire: Corn, potatoes, steak, eggs, hot dogs, pasta, Jiffy Pop. Blue and white enamel cookware was charred black by the soot and washed with murky water retrieved from the creek.

By day three, we had built a second ring. One for talking around, one for cooking over.

[{"type":"text","text":"“Less pressure on the chefs,” the outfitter said."}]

Stumps, cut from felled trees with hatchets, rocks, and a single REI pop-up chair surrounded the talking ring, each a chamber for smoke roulette.

As conversation drifted from shared memories to political beliefs and everything in between, laughter permeated the air, infectious and heavy. Hours passed this way, with the campfire burning steadily, fueled by a seemingly never-ending pile of deadfall, blanketing our dust-covered clothes in a comforting aroma of smoke.

As the week lumbered on, we trekked to nearby lakes, waterfalls, and ridgelines, riding single file, weaving through the landscape like a condensed centipede.

With no cell service and limited charging opportunities, our phones transformed from universal tools into cameras and jukeboxes. Temporarily entirely relieved of the worries and responsibilities a tower connection carried, I contentedly diverted my attention to the people, animals, and space immediately around me.

As we explored the mountains, valleys, meadows, and waterways, I found myself overwhelmed by gratitude. Gratitude for the head on my shoulders and the earth beneath my feet. Gratitude for the people around me, their humor, banter, and willingness to share their wilderness experience and expertise with me.

On day three, we rode to an alpine lake, dipping into willow-blanketed meadows full of bear claw-marked trees, before climbing to snow-covered lodgepole stands. For lunch, we ate sandwiches: PB&J, bologna, turkey, Velveeta, and drank filtered river water.

I watched as Larry, who had moved to Montana from New Hampshire a decade ago and never looked back, and the outfitter fished for cutthroat, one brandishing a spin rod and the other a fly rod.

“I’ve caught eight,” Larry touted, less than a minute after hitting the water.

“That’s OK, pal,” the outfitter called back, holding his spin rod. “One of these days we’ll teach you to count.”

As they fished, Hazel and Antonio read, lazily sprawling out on dried grass.

“I hope there aren’t ticks up here,” Hazel said, resting her book on her lap, pages spread, spine up.

[{"type":"text","text":"“Don’t say that word,” said Antonio, half-joking."}]

[{"type":"text","text":"“Tick, tick, tick,” she taunted."}]

I laughed and rested my back against a felled tree, settling my weight into the dirt below. As ants crawled up my arms, I watched them, making no motion to swat them away. I pulled open my journal and started to sketch the lake.

My pen traced the contours of the landscape, filling the page with ink. I reveled in the warmth the unobscured sunshine cast on my face. Closing the book, I tilted my face upward, and drifted off to sleep.

Despite cold evening temperatures, late nights, and early mornings, the trip brought some of the best rest I had experienced in months. Between being lulled to sleep by the steady roaring of the creek, eating hearty, fire-cooked meals, drinking fresh water, and filling fleeting moments with laughter, this experience felt like a turning point.

[{"type":"text","text":"Exactly the direction I was pivoting toward, I still don’t know."}]

Before this trip, I had spent fewer than 10 cumulative hours on horseback. It had been years since I had been in the backcountry, and even longer since I had felt this level of adoration for the wilderness. Here, I was surrounded by people who made the outdoors their life, and stock that knew these mountains like the back of their hooves.

In this company, in a camp surrounded by sage, pines, glacier lilies, shooting stars, bears, deer, bison and wolves, I found comfort. It was their confidence, good nature, and competence in the backcountry that kept me calm as I stood watch in camp after the horses broke down the electric fence and disappeared into the night.

Nestled next to a Douglas fir tree, keeping a careful eye on the four remaining animals, I watched as the sky slowly turned forget-me-not-blue against the gray mountain ridges and valleys.

Beside me, I heard a snap. I jerked my head up, my headlamp catching the eyeshine of Wrangler, a 12-year-old bay quarterhorse. As her head lurched toward me, I groped at the air, missing her lead. She beelined down the trail, and across the creek, following the other escapees to a meadow that lay beyond.

[{"type":"text","text":"The outfitter’s words echoed in my head."}]

Resigned to my watchpost, I waited. The symphony of chaos continued around me, swirling like a storm cloud. Horses and mules snorted, pawing the ground anxiously as the creek our camp shouldered roared, angry and swollen with spring rainfall and runoff.

Slowly, color returned to the earth as first light careened down the ridgeline into camp. As I flicked off my headlamp, the faint ring of bells returned, followed by the clomping of hooves against dirt and rock.

[{"type":"text","text":"“We got ‘em,” said Matt, leading a string of mules."}]

I checked my watch. 5:36 a.m. Just like that, it was all over, less than 40 minutes after it began.

“We should let them loose to graze,” the outfitter joked, signifying that the danger had passed.

For the remainder of the trip, the livestock were tied up at night. In this way, I learned that horses sleep standing up.

“If they’re confident they’re safe, they’ll sleep lying down,” Larry told me. “They’re prey animals, and they always want to be ready to run.”

He kept his horses in a corral on his property. He said it took them months to feel comfortable enough to sleep laying down.

By the time we rode out on the final day, the coolers and packouts were lighter. Clothes were saturated with dust, grease and smoke. Animals were well-grazed on native grasses that blanketed the meadow serving as their temporary pasture.

Anticipation for the trip’s commencement rested heavy on everyone’s chests.

The ride out took more than 10 hours, culminating in a steep climb back to the outfitters. Tired, sweaty, and hungry, we untacked the animals, moved them to the corral, unpacked the mules, loaded our cars, hugged goodbye, and dispersed, like ashes in a campfire pit.

[{"type":"text","text":"The names of the horses have been changed to protect their identity."}]

Horses 1 5 26 26

<title>'Tonight The Horses Sleep Standing Up': Lessons From Five Nights In The Absaroka-Beartooth… | Cowboy State Daily</title>

Suddenly, I was fully awake. The horses got out! Deep in the Absaroka-Beartooth Wilderness, dozens of miles from the nearest road, two days into a five-day trip, the horses and mules were our only way to pack out our camp.

'Tonight The Horses Sleep Standing Up': Lessons From Five Nights In The Absaroka-Beartooth Wilderness

Heinz mark

Mark Heinz

Wildlife

At roughly 2.5 years old, a female grizzly called Miracle is at the age where most bears are just striking out on their own.

After losing both of her siblings to a male grizzly’s attack last spring and then splitting from her mother at an unusually tender age, Miracle has been on her own for nearly a year.

She was spotted Sunday in Grand Teton National Park, passing through the same spot in the Colter Bay area where she’d been seen almost a year to day prior.

It’s one of a few appearances that Miracle has made so far this spring, and she appears to be in good health, wildlife photographer Marcela Herdova told Cowboy State Daily.

“She survived the winter all on her own which is really great,” Herdova said.

Hanging out near Colter Bay Village might have been what initially brought trouble to Miracle, her siblings and their famous mother, Grizzly 1063.

But on Sunday, Miracle didn’t seem to have in any interest in hanging out around Colter Bay; she was apparently using it as a shortcut between wooded areas, Herdova said.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"}],"text":"2025 Controversy"}]

Last spring, park officials hazed Grizzly 1063 and her three yearling cubs, trying to get them away from the settled Colter Bay area.

In mid-May, two of the three cubs were killed and partly cannibalized by a male bear, the National Park Service (NPS) reported. 

Some claimed that the hazing separated 1063 and her cubs, making the cubs more vulnerable and contributing to their deaths. 

The NPS reported there was no evidence that the hazing had separated the bears prior to the cubs’ deaths.

The last yearling initially went missing but was spotted back with Grizzly 1063 a few days later. That surviving yearling came to be called Miracle by admirers.

After a brief reunion, Miracle and Grizzly 1063 split again, apparently for good.

Miracle returned to the Colter Bay area, and in July 

 by wildlife officers and released in a remote area.

Bear experts at the time gave her a reasonably good chance of surviving the winter. It’s unusual for grizzlies to separate from their mothers as yearlings – that usually doesn’t happen until the cubs are at least 2-years-old.

But it isn’t unheard of for grizzly yearlings to make it on their own, biologists noted.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"}],"text":"Coming Full Circle"}]

With Miracle looking robust and full of energy this spring, odds are that she’s learned what she needs to know to continue making it on her own, Herdova said.

And Miracle apparently knows better than to hang out in settled areas, she added.

Herdova caught a brief video clip of Miracle moving through the Coulter Bay area at a brisk pace, apparently showing no interest in stopping to check things out.

As for why Miracle and Grizzly 1063 separated last year, Herdova speculated that it might have been because a male bear was trying to mate with 1063.

So, 1063 might have driven Miracle off partly to pursue a new mating opportunity and partly to keep the yearling safe, she said.

Male grizzlies will sometimes kill cubs in hopes of mating with the mother bear.

And that scenario might add up, because this Spring Grizzly 1063 has a litter of the COYs (cubs of the year), Herdova said.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"}],"text":"Following Patterns"}]

Grizzly researcher Lana Ciarniello of British Columbia, Canada, told Cowboy State Daily told Cowboy State Daily that it’s difficult to surmise exactly what happened with Miracle.

There are some instances of mother grizzlies splitting from yearlings, in order to mate again, she said.

One female grizzly she’s observed in Canada follows that pattern of running younger cubs off, then mating, Ciarniello said.

Most cubs split from the mothers between age 2 and 3, she added.

And in some rare instances, cubs might stay with their mothers until age 5, she added.

As for Miracle high-tailing it along the same route that she was seen almost exactly a year earlier, that tracks with typical bear behavior, she said.

Bears establish regular “travel corridors” so it might make sense for quick dash through Colter Bay to become part of Miracle’s travel route, Ciarniello said.

“They don’t just walk randomly through the landscape,” she said.

Ciarniello noted that female grizzlies usually have smaller ranges and more predictable routes than males.

“Males need to encompass much larger ranges, looking for multiple females to mate with,” she said.

“And his route is going to be less predictable, because it’s determined by finding a female in heat,” she added.

Miracle the bear 5 26 26

<title>Hooray! Miracle The Young Grizzly Survives Winter, Shows Up At Colter Bay | Cowboy State Daily</title>

After losing both of her siblings to a male grizzly’s attack last spring and then splitting from her mother at an unusually tender age, the young grizzly named Miracle survived winter on her own and showed up at Colter Bay on Sunday.

Hooray! Miracle The Young Grizzly Survives Winter, Shows Up At Colter Bay

Wyoming Life

Around Wyoming

After one of the worst winters on record in Wyoming, a popular weather forecasting website is predicting a wetter-than-usual summer, but meteorologist Don Day is skeptical and warns against counting on the prediction to come through.

 put out by OpenSnow includes a map showing a promising prognosis of above-normal rainfall across the entire state of Wyoming, and most of Idaho, Nevada, Utah, and Colorado.

The area projected to get “above normal precipitation” is outlined on the map with a giant green blob that resembles a cashew.

Cowboy State Daily meteorologist Don Day saw OpenSnow’s assessment and map, and a quote immediately flooded into his mind.

“A meteorologist friend came up with the expression, ‘Beware of the green blob,’” he said. “You have to be very careful when it comes to green blobs.”

Wyoming meteorologist Don Day is skeptical about a popular weather forecasting website’s prediction of a wetter-than-normal summer. “Beware the green blob,” he says about the forecast map and and a hopeful, giant green shape covering Wyoming.

One More For The Road: Monday, April 29, 2024

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