My nose is bleeding constantly, and it is getting harder to suck in oxygen through the scabs constantly forming in my nostrils. Now that I've grabbed your attention, or more likely scared you off, let me begin my introductory telling of the unforgiving but breathtaking place that is northeastern Wyoming.
The first thing that I noticed about Lovell, Wyoming, is that there is little to no moisture in the air. My skin has begun to resemble the course sediment that makes up the landscape. The sun has lightly toasted me, adding to this weathered effect. But I love it. The austerity and harshness of this land makes me yearn to learn its ways. I want to be weathered like the crude mountains, resilient like the small vibrant wildflowers - and learn how they stay so bright when constantly battered by sandy winds and scorched by the hot sun. Throughout my life I have always been drawn to lush forests, dense with trees, and rich with the wet scent of plant life. Here is the opposite of that. I don't smell anything in the air, and not because of the bloody state of my nose. The wind is too strong to allow the plants' scent to linger, and the air is too thin to even carry any evidence of them anyways. Here, the nose is forgotten while the eyes rest on the ever-changing horizon, and the ears fluctuate from listening to the howling wind or ambiguous creatures that fill every space of the landscape.
Scattered amidst Bighorn Canyon, there are remnants of the Crow tribe, before we took the land and moved them North. I thought before coming here that I would be able to feel their presence in the slopes of the hills, and the bend of the river. The tipi rings and buffalo jumps are evidence of their inhabitance, but the land does not seem to hold onto the voices of man. Paved roads and laminated signs mark the change of time and inhabitance, but it is man that once settled here and it is the same man that now walks the land. I once romanticized the past, and mourned the changing of ownership of this sacred space. That is man's first mistake - To think that the land belongs to you. As I look out at a landscape so severe, and feel the wildly strong winds that seem to blow through to my bones, I am in awe of any man for ever thinking, past and present, that this place could ever belong to them. This place is untamable, and belongs to no one but itself. Bighorn sheep scale steep canyon walls, rattlesnakes find shelter in rocky crevices, sagebrush nestles into dry soil, man becomes refreshed and ignited by rugged beauty, but this place is not able to be claimed as one's own, it would be impossible. It would be like trying to capture the moon with your hands.
I can have one foot in Montana if I choose, and one foot in Wyoming. The novelty of the idea was thrilling while hiking the State Line Trail. After carefully inspecting the rocks on either side, it can be determined that there is little to no disparity on either side at this very spot, but still I stood, straddling imaginary differences. I feel at peace in this place, and I think it is because when I look out at this land, I feel a power greater than my own, and greater than my species as a whole. Sometimes the power of humanity becomes overwhelming because we have worked so hard at erasing any competitors. Competitors being rivers that flow too aggressively (dams), wolves that bare their teeth (extirpation), or woods that seem too deep and mysterious (cities). Not all actions are out of fear, as many result from greed and growth, but it brings me great comfort to rest my eyes on places in the natural world that refuse to bend to humans' touch, and instead fight back. Humbling oneself to the natural world is not a weakness, it is a strength - for when in alliance with strong forces instead of fighting them, you too become stronger.
As my nose bleeds, I smile a bit, knowing that I am becoming weathered like the landscape that I am in constant awe of.
