There is something to be said with living right next to the
airplane. From the moment I decide to hop in the plane
and go chase something in the air to actually being a few
hundred feet above the ground is usually a fifteen-minute
lapse in time. That is made possible because there is no
drive involved. Having lived in many places all over
the country where I had to drive to the airport, flying
became about good weather. It was simply a waste of
time to think I could capture a rainbow, fly in the rain,
above a fog layer, in the snow, or in any of a number of
combinations that I found possible in Alpine, because it
would be gone by the time I got in the air, or in my rabid
pursuit of menacing weather, I’d end up killing myself.
Alpine is at the convergence of three mountain ranges
(Snake, Caribou, and Salt River) and three river systems
(Snake, Greys, and Salt). Unlike the rest of Wyoming,
this part of the state is on the wet side of the Salt
River and Wyoming Ranges, affording a collision with
incoming weather systems from the Pacific. As moisture
crosses the Snake River Plain of Idaho and ascends the
Caribou Highlands, things start to get active.
I often liken the weather to a combination between the
Great Lakes of upstate New York, where I grew up,
and Summit County, Colorado where I lived for a while.
A fusion of moist, active, changing, vibrant, and yet
distinctly Western weather, I knew little of what to expect
until I arrived. All I knew was that temperatures were a
little warmer than Colorado, snowfall was about the same
as New York, and rainfall was the same as Breckenridge,
Colorado, averaging in the low 20s of inches per year.
I expected things to be dry, and they really were not.
When weather collides with mountains, it does very
interesting things. Clouds form in odd places, creating
textures that flow over and around terrain, producing
a visual juxtaposition where it is evident that sky and