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Finding her inner photographer
By MARY MACKENZIE
© St. Petersburg Times,
I began a self-examination by searching the Internet, filling out aptitude and interest quizzes. I already was attracted to nature photography, so in February 2000, I applied online to the Grand Teton Lodge Co. in Jackson Hole, Wyo., an area known as a photographer's heaven. I was interviewed and hired to work in what turned out to be a high-end, Western-flavored shop in Grand Teton National Park. I gave notice to the insurance company. Now all I had to do was to get there. I own a small car and was headed for a five-month trip. I had to have dressy clothes for work and hiking clothes for my photography. In addition to all my photography gear, I had to bring linens, laundry supplies, prescriptions and personal items, as there was no town within 40 miles of the Lodge. UPS to the rescue. On May 7, 2000, I arrived at the park and the Jackson Lake Lodge. The natural beauty was overwhelming, and I saw antelope several times and once a bear. I had to stop repeatedly to photograph the snow scenes. I was creating Christmas cards. I checked in at the lodge and was assigned to "Geritol Hall" -- everyone older than 50, they told me. Good. No wild parties at night. We were one of the two adults-only dormitories in the employee town with a population of 500. Each dorm had one shower-bathroom for the men and one for the women. There were up to 80 workers in each dorm. I started my first-ever retail job in the lodge's basement, tagging merchandise. I stabbed myself under the fingernails several times learning to use the tag gun's needle. No pity given, none expected. New friends were from everywhere -- Eastern European college students, Mexican workers, U.S. college students. There were also many retired couples, who lived in their RVs. This type of seasonal work was their life. In fact, many of the single women I met had also been doing this work for years. Some came back to the same place year after year, and some went on to a different park each year. I wanted to be a part of this society, but only on a part-time basis. Home and family are too important to me.
The second morning we were greeted by fresh snow. As I was cleaning off my car, a moose walked by. Unfortunately, my camera was still buried in the trunk. It wasn't stored there after that. May 11: Embarrassment! It is hard to maintain any dignity when, having taken a shower, you approach some guy coming from the other direction and you clumsily drop your armful of underwear in front of him. May 14, Mother's Day: We had a beautiful brunch that morning. I was homesick and appreciated the efforts to make us feel welcome. This was my first day off, so I hit the road for Jackson Hole. It is only 40 miles away, but it took me about three hours to get there. There were the buffalo herds and the abandoned but historic Cunningham Ranch, complete with a gray wolf, to photograph. There were the snow-clad Tetons, surrounded by a few clouds and often reflected in the water at the base of the mountains. The road through this valley is about 7,000 feet above sea level, so sometimes I could see clouds at what appeared to be eye level. I enjoyed Jackson, which had a new Kmart and a Starbucks in an Albertson's. It turns out I did not have to ship five months' worth of personal items after all. I had a new roommate when I returned. She was from Florida and free as a bird. No home, just travel and work when necessary. She was also a nonstop talker. I just kept saying "umm" now and then. May 20, another day off: I drove about 25 miles to Yellowstone in heavy ground fog. It made everything look so pretty, and the park itself was also covered with snow. I picked Old Faithful and the Madison Crossing areas to visit. Old Faithful performed right on time; it was spectacular but not easy to photograph the rapidly moving steam. I drove on to Madison Crossing with the understanding many animals live there. The buffalo would walk right up to the car, passing me by inches. I did not even breathe when they did that. A week later I took a bus tour of Yellowstone. All tours are free to employees on a space-available basis. Entrance to Yellowstone is also free.
I set off for Geyser Hill and stopped to photograph a grazing elk. When I stood up, I saw her friends and they saw me. They didn't seem amiable, so I retreated. Spring arrived, with highs in the 80s and lows in the 40s. It got more beautiful every day. The aspens budded and greened; lupine and poppies bloomed in the meadows. I photographed an old abandoned Mormon cabin at sunset, with the Tetons in the background. To my delight, a buffalo wandered between me and the house. June 8: Continuing my photo expeditions, I went to the Church of the Transfiguration, a tiny log chapel with rough-hewn seats. Always open, it is a favorite of photographers because the view of the Tetons is stunning through the church window. On the way back I found a winding, narrow, back-country road, and down it, a rushing stream to photograph. One mile later I came upon a female moose wading in a tiny creek. I caused a "moose jam" by setting up my camera on its tripod. Folks kept stopping, snapping shots and even letting their children out of the cars to "get a good look at the moose." Soon I found a bull moose with a rack of 12-inch antlers. I also saw a new moose mom with her baby, near the lodge entrance. June 11: The buffalo were roaming, the deer and the antelope playing and the skies were not cloudy all day. I saw a "horse whisperer," riding her horse at a canter alongside a wild horse in the first attempts to gentle the untrained one. The aspen were now fluttering outside my dorm window, beautiful to hear and to watch. Coyotes were howling over by the stables. June 18: The weather was as promised . . . unpredictable. I never knew what to wear. One week after the aspen quaked, noted above, the thermometer plunged, and so did my window. I had to wait until my roommate started snoring to close it. My roommate loved the cold weather and was constantly out hiking. June 25: Road trip. My friend and co-worker Polly and I had a great time in Bozeman, Mont., most of it at a Wal-Mart, Indian jewelry stores and resale shops. We spent the night at a motel, taking turns with loooong bubble baths, watching CNN and turning on the air conditioner. Quite a treat after two months of primitive living in our dorms. Our employee lodgings were like Army barracks of the '50s, which is when the dorms were built. We all worked different shifts, and it was quite noisy at times; the walls were paper thin. I could hear the man in the next room snoring and coughing occasionally. Our heads were only about 6 inches apart, and yet I did not even know his name. We had constant surprises from visiting moose. Wildlife encounters were my main source of entertainment: We had no TV, the daily newspapers were $1.50 and the radio signals feeble because of the surrounding mountains. I could listen to National Public Radio but was continually amazed that out there instead of classical music on NPR, we got country and western, rock, bluegrass and talk shows. July: A group of lodge guests went on the regularly scheduled river float down the Snake River to a barbecue lunch. The chef was waiting at the picnic spot when a black bear approached. By the time the forest rangers arrived, the bear had gotten up on a table and eaten the hot dogs and was eyeing the buns. The group radioed the rafters, and they were brought ashore upstream. They never saw the bear. Bugs were everywhere. I heard them in the ceiling and in the walls. I never saw them, but they were busy day and night. Grace, the employee-village manager, loved to snack. She always kept cinnamon buns in her office. A whistle pig came in one evening and ate a cheeseburger and fries. A whistle pig is a sort of squirrel that lives in the ground. They look like squirrels but have short hair on their tails which makes them look suspiciously like rats Grace thought that the burger-eating critter, while quite funny, was not welcome. She had a carpenter install a door sweep to keep the critters out. The carpenter had no sooner left when Grace went for her cinnamon buns. Guess what popped out of the bag? One night a lightning storm rolled in over the Tetons with sounds such as I have never heard. Turns out it was the thunder echoing against the granite mountains over and over. Better than Florida, as far as the noise goes. July 27: I returned from two days at Yellowstone. My goal was the Lamar Valley, said to have lots of grizzlies and wolves. It certainly had a lot of fly fishermen along the Yellowstone River. One fisherman quit at about 7 p.m. and came up to the road. He drove away and never saw the grizzly that came down from the woods just behind him and promptly started fishing in the same area. I spent the night at the Theodore Roosevelt Lodge, so primitive and restful. The big verandah was lined with rocking chairs; folks just sat there to rock and mellow out. The cabins were small and had little woodburning stoves. The sound of slamming screen doors was somehow nostalgic and comforting. Serene.
August: The bull moose were back, sleek and sporting large racks of antlers. When I got to a favorite spot, there was just one moose, standing in the pond eating lily pads. He would come up for air, water cascading from his mouth. He tolerated my camera and me for about 10 minutes, then gave me "the look," which I interpreted to mean, "If I hear that camera click one more time I am going to charge over there and destroy it." About then I noticed a silver-haired man sitting, not 20 yards from the moose. He said he was out of film and asked if I had any extra. I gave him some, and he told me that before I had arrived, there had been nine moose at one time. He was almost in tears of joy. Late one evening I drove out to an area named Antelope Flats but found more than 100 buffalo. They had grown sleek, and they were very active, grunting, head-butting, charging and hurrying backward while being charged. Every now and then a group of about 50 would gallop across the dry sagebrush, kicking up dust, just like in old cowboy movies. Aug. 25: Forest fires were everywhere, glowing red. Every few minutes a fire would reach a pine tree and turn it into a torch, the flames shooting up it like a Roman candle. Then there would be nothing left. No tree, no flames. September: Bears are everywhere, even around the guest cottages. Their mountain forage areas were burned, and they must eat in order to hibernate. Sept. 6: Employees got a free breakfast and scenic cruise on Jackson Lake. It was bitter cold out there on Elk Island. The "cowboy coffee" was hot and grainy -- perfect. Lucy, the local pet deer, was waiting for us, for the salt we leave for her and for handouts. I burned up a roll of film on her and some snapshots of Maria, my new roommate. Then it snowed. Sept. 16: The aspen were at their peak as I left for home, via the most scenic route I could plan. In South Dakota I saw impressive Mount Rushmore and, a few miles away, the Crazy Horse Monument. It was massive. I crossed the Badlands of South Dakota, a land of endlessness: the trains, the grasslands, the roads. I crossed the Bighorn Mountains. The descent presented a great view. I found myself singing America the Beautiful. Florida finally arrived in a blur of love bugs. I was home by late September. Mary MacKenzie, who lives in St. Petersburg, leaves soon for a summer job in Yellowstone National Park.
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