Autumn in the Foothills

Autumn is a favorite time of year for me.  Growing up in Nebraska on the farm, I could always tell the arrival of fall by the gathering of fog over the various bodies of water cutting across countryside: the Missouri River, the Niobrara River, the Bazile Creek, and the Verdigre Creek.  The air had a certain quality of briskness that had not been evident a few days prior.  The fog gathered in billowing, rolling fuzzy white catepillars over each river and creek.  From the top of the hills west of the farmstead, I could see each hovering caterpillar as the colder air collided with the warmer temperature of the water.  Sometimes the air would cool to the point that the fog would stretch over the bluffs surrounding the rivers, enveloping the farmstead in the fog.  Other days the fog caterpillars would stick to the waterways, and I would descend into the low-lying clouds as I drove out of the hills into the town of Niobrara on my way to school in the morning.

It is many years since I spent an autumn in Niobrara, and I have not thought about fog caterpillars for quite some time.  I saw them again this morning on my run along the Foothills trial north of Bozeman.  They were not quite the same type of caterpillars as in Niobrara.  These were a little bit grayer, and they mainly stuck to the mountains east of town.  They seemed to be rolling up the east side of the Bridger Mountains, not quite making over the top to slide down to the trail.  I'm certain there is a logical explaination for this, but not one that I have immediatly available.  As I had my warm-up scramble on the steep trail leading to the college "M" (vandalized by red, yellow and green paint this morning--not quite sure of the significance of that), I debated bagging my run, and continuing the scramble up the ridge, so I could look down on the mass of clouds.  I ultimately decided against it.  The scramble made my arches burn, and I have no desire to agitate the bunion in my right foot more than is necessary.  My body responded well to the couple days of rest I gave it, and my stride felt smooth, almost springy, as I glided down the trail and through the foothills. 

By the time I made it back to my car, the caterpillars had evaporated, leaving behind small puffs of clouds that hoover over the Ridge the rest of the day.  Autumn is here, and I know that I will get to see the caterpillars a few more times before snow chases them away.