I see trouble on the way.
After a break from going for a ride along to the woods, the girls got to go yesterday. Up in the mountains of Western Shasta County, Blitz and Teka were in dog heaven.
Blitz would prefer to ride up front.
Western Shasta area.
Blitz loves the snow.
Blitz enjoys a fine piece of wood.
Blitz
Teka Playing in the snow
Blitz and Teka having a romp in the snow.
It’s a race.
The girls are loaded up and ready to roll.
View to the West of the Trinity Alps.
The perfect end to a perfect day. A fiery Shasta sunset.
Don’t go walking in those spooky old woods alone.
The Lazy Wolverine
I’m getting to know wolverines on an artistic basis.
The trees are ablaze.
A male Common Golden-eye visits our pond.
Our constant guest the American Coot.
Striking a pose.
Some folks are very photogenic and some, not so much. Some days are very photogenic and some days, not so much. This was one of those good days. I love a good day. I try to have a lot of them.
Like sentinels in the wind, the big turbines peer through a window in the clouds.
Magee Peak is a sleeping volcano.
The mother oak looks down at the young pines gathered about her.
Magee Peak in the distance.
With Burney Mountain in the background, Nellie strikes a lovely pose. She is one of my favorite models. Nellie is very co-operative and will work for dog biscuits.
The Mountain Bike
When I travel through the forest I am occasionally treated to some art in the forest. We all recognize the scenic vistas, beautiful wildlife and natural wonders. When I think of art in the forest I tend to think of things that are unexpected and a little unorthodox. Art in the forest is sometimes intend and sometimes random. Sometimes it has meaning and sometimes it is just weird. Sometimes it is created by people and sometimes it is natural. It is always interesting and often results in an “ah hah” moment.
This picture I titled “The Mountain Bike.” While driving down a mountain road I chanced upon this little bicycle perched on a stump. I don’t know how it got there, who put it there, or to whom it belonged. It was just there making it’s quiet statement.
THE FORESTER ARTIST 