Posted on 1 Comment

The Trout Collection: Fly Fishing and the Waters of My Youth

As a little girl, summertime brought my family to the Absaroka-Beartooth Wilderness of Montana, where the primary pastime was fly fishing. Still today, the memories remain etched in my mind. I would sit on the rocky bank of the river, watching my father work his way upstream. He elegantly whisked his fly rod back and forth, the line barely grazing the top of the fast-flowing water. If he got lucky, an unknowing rainbow trout would mistake his fly for dinner and take a bite.

My dad famously advised anyone learning to fly fish to “pretend you’re holding a whiskey bottle under your arm. Work your rod back and forth while pretending to hold this bottle.” Now if you knew my father, you’d know him as a borderline teetotaler, not wont to indulge in the beverage. Thus he probably never actually owned said whiskey bottle, making his advice all the more humorous.

Golden Trout

Fly fishing stories and lore intertwined into the fabric of my upbringing. I remember hearing of a handful of high mountain lakes, accessible only by off-trail hiking, that were full of large golden trout. These elusive beauties were always deemed to be the ultimate capstone of trout. As you probably can imagine, these trout remained unreachable and thus safe from our fishing rods simply because we could never get our heads around bushwhacking over mountains to reach them.

Yellowstone Cutthroat Trout

Just a tad closer to our flies and tippets were the yellowstone cutthroat trout. This beautiful trout is distinctive for the bright pink splash of color around its gills and down along its sides. Even though they are considered native to the Yellowstone Park watershed, they historically and naturally migrated across the continental divide from the Pacific drainage into the Atlantic drainage, specifically the Yellowstone Park area.

Only very occasionally has a cutthroat been caught by a member of my family. When we stumble upon these beauties, we immediately release them back into the waters from which they came. Since we’re usually fishing in Montana rivers or streams, per that state’s regulations, we can’t keep them anyway. With such careful management as is happening in the states whether they’re found, these gorgeous fish will continue to flourish and multiply.

Arctic Grayling

One of the most captivating trout designs I’ve painted has to be the arctic grayling. Their too-big-for-their-body dorsal fin gives them a comical air. Then their thin stripe of pink along the edge of the fin is the perfect finishing touch, not unlike a hint of lipstick elevating your look from “everyday” to “evening wear”. Their little splashes of pink and random black dots remind me of a toddler playing with forbidden make-up.

The arctic grayling, while relatively common in Alaska, is quite scarce in the lower 48 states, found only in a handful of high mountain lakes in Montana. Because of this, I’m sad to say I’ve never seen one of these in person.

Rainbow Trout

Ah, the rainbow trout! Possibly the most caught and most talked about type of trout in my fly fishing circle. Every time I see the gorgeous rainbow stripes running down the sides of these trout, I remember again how special these fish are. This beauty graces our eyes for only a few minutes, as I run with the catch-and-release type of fishermen. Thus, these beauties always quickly return back to the waters from whence they came. However short and sweet our encounters, they never fail to delight.

Brook Trout

It would seem that brook trout have a bit of an identity crisis. If you live in the eastern United States, where they are under stress, you adore this fish. However, those of us in the mountainous western states don’t have quite so much appreciation. That’s because the brook trout’s ability to flourish is causing populations of native trout to decrease. No matter your level of affection, you can’t help but admit they sport a captivating pattern of yellow and red splotches on their sides. Their squiggly spots made them quite enjoyable for me to paint.

Brown Trout

Finally the brown trout, the most spotted of all the trout I painted. I love the coloring of this beauty, with its buttery tan lower abdomen that morphs into brown higher up on the body. Brown trout originated in Europe and were transplanted to the United States in the 1880s. These behemoths run an average length of 12 to 20 inches. Although they can be found in tributaries, they prefer to hang out in bigger waters. They are wily and can be elusive, making them “the one to catch” for many anglers.

The Trout Art Collection

It was pure joy to paint this trout series. Not only do the trout themselves hold a sacred place in heart, but their habitats do as well. Some of my favorite places in the world are the clear waters of the rivers and lakes they call home. The sound of the rushing stream, the smell of lodgepole pine, the flicker of a trout flipping its tail fin above the water during the evening rise…This is where my soul lingered as I painted these beauties. And like a mantra echoing in the recesses of my soul, I heard the voice of my father saying, “Now don’t drop that whiskey bottle!”

Posted on Leave a comment

The Story Behind the Mountain Wildflower Collection

Wildflowers of My Life

Mountain wildflowers have been part of the formative memories in my life. Not only did they proliferate on the dry mountainside of our Colorado home, but they have been ubiquitous on our mountain hikes and backpacking trips. Whether it was Montana, Wyoming, Colorado, or New Mexico, the native flowers that have been a part of my life are both tenacious and beautiful.

The Blue Hue of Lupines

Wild lupines transport me back to Montana, when in the early summer, cerulean violet lupine flowers begin to cover the mountain valleys. They form a luscious carpet. The meadows surrounding my family’s cabins take on a blue hue as all these iconic flowers come into bloom. 

Many years ago, my dear aunt Joyce even named her cabin after them, Lupine Lodge. When I think back on lupines, I remember all the summers spent in Montana from the time I was a young girl to now. 

The Bitter Chokecherries of My Youth

It is somewhat of an oxymoron to pick a fruit as bitter and poisonous as the chokecherry only to cook it into something as delectable as chokecherry jam.

I first encountered chokecherries in the days of my foolish youth, when my parents, siblings, and I would stop along the road and pick the Montana berries. We would fill ice cream buckets and then haul them back to the log cabin nestled in the backwoods of the Absaroka Beartooth mountain range. There we would begin the long process of transforming these bitter berries into luscious jams and syrups. 

Backpacking with Thimbleberries 

Likewise, thimbleberries have been part of many a mountain hike. The day typically goes like this: we’re walking along the trail, maybe having just crossed a hot sunny rockslide. We progress into a shaded area, and there’s a small mountain stream that runs next to the path. 

Billowing among the undergrowth are thimbleberry bushes. Of course, we stop, nibble on some for a few minutes, take a big swig of water from our bottles, then start moving again. This scenario could repeat itself over and over depending on how much of a hurry we’re in. 

Thimbleberries to me represent a refreshing pause for a fatigued body. They are a fresh respite to a hot day and a touch of nourishment to our increasingly hungry stomachs. 

Beauty on the Edge of a Mountain

Our house sat just back from the edge of the steep Rocky Mountain foothills of Colorado. The hills were stony with clusters of scrub oak and prairie grasses. Cacti poked their thorny faces out from the rocky soil, just asking you to step on them. 

As I made my way down to the valley below, I couldn’t help but marvel at how so many varieties of wildflowers seemingly thrived in such harsh and adverse conditions. The soil was very poor, and the hillside faced southwest, so it got a beating from the afternoon sun. What moisture did come either evaporated off or ran down the incline. 

Indian Paintbrush

In this unwelcoming xeriscape, wildflowers dotted the hillside, cheerfully beaming their colorful faces. Darling little burgundy Mexican hats, Indian paintbrush, ruby colored penstemon, yellow potentilla, and rudbeckia scattered across the dry slope. 

These wild beauties have adapted to the conditions of their environment. Many of them have long roots that drill down to the moisture and nutrients that are deep below the surface. Indian paintbrush thrive despite the conditions. Being a hemiparasite, this flower piggybacks off the surrounding grasses. They attach themselves to the roots of nearby grasses, which are already burrowed deep in the soil.  

A Flower’s Inspiration 

Is the Indian paintbrush’s stamina and unexpected beauty a metaphor for life? When one fights hard for something, the result becomes particularly striking. Over time, these flowers have figured out not only how to grow, but they’ve learned how to flourish in adverse situations. In fact, for these flowers, their environment isn’t adverse; it’s the norm.

Joy from Wildflowers and Berries

I find wildflowers to be inspiring. When I am huffing and puffing up a mountainside, I look over the steep slopes or high mountain meadows, and I see spectacular beauty in the wildest environments. How can I not breathe easier in their delicate elegance? 

My eyes light up when I see wildflowers in bloom against the stark and vast background they call home. Then the wild berries come as a rare gift in the wilderness when tasted on the edge of a remote trail.

As I sit here, painting within the bleak January landscape, I wait for next summer. I hope my family’s trips into the mountains coincide with the bloom times of our favorite flowers or the ripening of our favorite mountain fruits. 

Until then I draw them, and I paint them, and I offer them for you to enjoy on art prints and cards as well. This is so you can dream along with me. We can wait together for warmer days, for summer mountain wildflowers, for buckets full of chokecherries, for bushes alongside high mountain trails that offer up what little they have so that the fleeting visitor might be refreshed.