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Our Land Images

Sharing my photos, stories and opinions as I explore the 635 million acres of Public Land that we all own. I love all of nature, but especially Wild Horses.

We took our 7 year of nephew camping a few years ago. The camp host told us we got the best campsite because "in the mornings sometimes the elk or wild horses will come visit." The next morning I was firing up the grill to make pancakes when my nephew came around the corner with his plastic bow and arrow and whispered, "Aunt B I think the elk are here!"

I grabbed my camera with it's brand new wildlife lens and went around the trailer to find....wild horses! I was hooked, and have photographing them ever since. My nephew has glasses but he still doesn't wear them. I hope you find something you like, and if you've seen a photograph you'd like on a product send me a message and I'll try to accommodate you. My current rigs are a Sony a7rV with a Tamron 150-500 lens and a Sony a7riii with a Tamron F2-2.8 35-150 lens. I have a Tamron F2.8 17-28 that I'm hanging on to but if you read this far and are interested in a Tamron f 2.9 70-180 I have one I'll sell. (Changing lenses in horse dust is not fun so I bought a very spendy lens that covers the whole range).

11/01/2026

Clothes make the man. Naked people have little or no influence on society.

Mark Twain

(When a Herd Management Area covers nearly a million acres, finding a particular wild horse can take some doing.

I'd been looking for the old band of Bobby, the legendary black curly stallion. Back in February, his longtime lieutenant Sherman was keeping company with Bobby's mares, but then the whole bunch seemed to vanish. When young Zehavi turned up in another band, I began to worry about what had become of Sherman and the rest of the ladies.

Heck, I'd even found Bobby himself back in May, enjoying some nice soft grass that was easier on his 30-year-old teeth, but there was still no sign of his old family.

Some folks might say Sherman took Bobby's mares, but I wasn't there to see what happened. Neither stallion appeared to have been beaten up, and after three decades of living wild in Salt Wells Creek, I prefer to think Bobby decided he'd earned his retirement and left the family in the care of his old lieutenant.

Late one afternoon I spotted a bunch of pretty palominos coming out of Maggie Springs, accompanied by a stallion who looked almost black from a distance.

After negotiating the usual two-track Jenga to get close enough for a better look, I discovered that Sherman had decided to go as Bobby for Halloween.

I was delighted to find him and the ladies looking well, although I couldn't help being a little disappointed that Sherman had chosen to celebrate our reunion wearing most of the mud from Maggie Springs.

Fortunately, I found him again the following afternoon, having abandoned his Halloween costume and returned to being the handsome sorrel stallion I remembered.

It's good to know Sherman and the ladies are still out there together, and that Bobby is enjoying a quieter life. After thirty years on the range, I reckon the old fellow has earned the right to spend his days eating soft grass without worrying about the youngsters.)

10/31/2026

It is a wise child that knows its own father, and an unusual one that unreservedly approves of him.

Mark Twain

(I was making my way up a two-track in Salt Wells Creek, with horses on both sides of the road, when Jack of Hearts suddenly darted across in front of John Lee Pettimore.

He'd spotted a young curly stallion on the other side and had some business to discuss. The young fellow turned out to be his own son, Ace of Hearts.

There was snorting, squealing, some vigorous pawing at the ground, and an impressive display of flying curls. The whole thing happened so quickly that I barely managed to get stopped, and shot the entire encounter through the windshield.

And just when I thought things might get interesting, Jack turned around and left as quickly as he'd arrived.

I'm not entirely sure what father and son had to say to one another, but neither seemed particularly interested in a lengthy conversation.

Family reunions can be awkward, even in Salt Wells Creek.)

10/30/2026

It were not best that we should all think alike; it is difference of opinion that makes horse-races.

Mark Twain

(Tansy is one of the most magnificent mares in Salt Wells Creek, a curly sorrel with one of the most unusual pinto patterns I've ever seen. Most of her white is concentrated on her left flank, and I suspect that when she was in line to get her chrome painted on, Tansy decided she'd had quite enough of standing around and wandered off.

She's one of Pache's daughters, from a large, mostly sorrel band that has been together for years. This spring Denali turned up with Tansy and JoJo in tow, and while JoJo eventually moved on, Tansy seems to have decided Denali was worth sticking around for.

When I first saw them together, Tansy's little sorrel filly was still very young, so I'm guessing Denali is a good candidate for the father of next year's foal. Both Tansy and Denali have some pretty spectacular pinto markings, although of different varieties, so I'm already curious about what that combination might produce.

For now, though, Tansy has her hands full with a shy little girl who seems to think the safest place in Wyoming is directly behind her mother. Every time I tried to get a good look at her, she'd peek around Tansy as though she was considering whether I was worth the trouble.

It's fall in Wyoming, which means the cattle are being gathered and moved off their summer range. Over the weekend, the commotion sent more than a hundred horses running across the basin. Tansy wasn't at the front when they started, but somewhere along the way she made her way through that enormous pack until she was leading the whole outfit.

I've always admired Tansy for her looks, but apparently I've been overlooking her athletic abilities. Who knew she was so fast?)

10/29/2026

Conservation is a great moral issue, for it involves the patriotic duty of insuring the safety and continuance of the nation.

Theodore Roosevelt

(Scenes from Little Colorado, where I spent some time last week with the wild horses roaming this beautiful corner of Wyoming's Red Desert.

If you followed my White Mountain post, you've heard this story before. In January 2022, BLM finished its massive Rock Springs helicopter gather, capturing more than 4,100 horses across five herd management areas. About 3,500 never returned to the range.

Afterward, BLM estimated just 69 horses remained in Little Colorado, exactly its low Appropriate Management Level (AML). This was the moment to begin the ongoing fertility control the agency keeps promising.

Congress has repeatedly called for greater use of fertility control, and BLM keeps telling us it will increase treatments as herds approach AML. But once a herd actually gets there, the conversation goes quiet. A few mares were treated before release; I can find no subsequent fertility-control operations scheduled for Little Colorado.

Perhaps the idea is to wait until every wild horse herd in America is at AML. But that's never going to work. Horses don't stop reproducing while BLM works its way through the other herds. You have to maintain the populations you've already reduced, not wait until every herd reaches its target.

BLM's estimate for Little Colorado is now 496, nearly five times its upper AML of 100. Horses move between neighboring HMAs, so that increase isn't simply a birth count.

And what a disservice to these horses. We allow populations to grow knowing many horses will eventually face helicopters, capture, and captivity. Taxpayers fund roundup after roundup, then years of feeding and caring for removed horses, while the cycle repeats.

Roosevelt was right: conservation is a moral issue. There's little moral about a system that fails the horses and wastes public money. But helicopters, capture contracts, and holding facilities are paid for. The cycle may fail the horses and taxpayers, yet it keeps generating revenue for those contracted to carry it out.)

10/28/2026

Women peak at forty and men at nineteen.

K.T. Oslin

(Can a middle-aged mare turn into a cougar? It seems so.

I was thrilled to run into my old buddy Diamondback a couple of weeks ago in the southern part of Salt Wells Creek. He was looking as handsome as ever, accompanied by his gorgeous sorrel mare Castilleja and her foal Rabbitbrush. But imagine my surprise when I realized he'd added another lady to his entourage.

Butterscotch?

For years, Butterscotch was the respectable lead mare of Dusty's band, raising their two lovely cremello c**ts, Halo and Cotton. Then this spring she took up with young Livingston, and now she's turned up with Diamondback. Through it all, Halo and Cotton have been tagging along while their mother floozes her way through The Creek.

I'm beginning to wonder whether there's some particularly potent loco w**d growing out there that I haven't noticed.

Diamondback certainly isn't complaining. He has Castilleja, little Rabbitbrush, and now a blonde with a rather interesting romantic history. And Butterscotch looks perfectly comfortable with her new circumstances.

After years of being a respectable lead mare, maybe she's decided it's time to enjoy herself. But if this keeps up, I'm going to need a flowchart to keep track of her boyfriends.)

10/27/2026

The moment in between what you once were, and who you are now becoming, is where the dance of life really takes place.

Barbara De Angelis

(Hardy is a 2024 c**t out of Utah and Dolly, and the first time I saw him I knew he was going to be fabulous. In May he wasn’t quite there yet. He was running with some bachelor stallions and after miles of two track I finally found a place where I could photograph him, but I was below him, the angles were bad and Hardy was still in that awkward caterpillar stage where you can see what is coming without quite having the butterfly yet.

In August I was on Mellor when I saw this gorgeous sorrel bachelor and wondered how I had managed not to notice him before. Then he turned his head, the sun caught that blue eye, and I realized it was Hardy. Four big white socks, the little white spot on the left side of his chin, and somehow that straight little spring haircut had turned into flowing locks.

Apparently sometime between May and August, Q***r Eye for the Bachelor Stallion came through the Creek unbeknownst to me, and Hardy was the star. They worked on the hair, taught him to keep his socks clean, and gave him a crash course in posing for horse photographers.

I once got a camera back from my niece and nephew, who were about five and ten at the time, and discovered nearly two hours of video. My niece did almost all of the talking, periodically cutting over to my nephew, whose only real job seemed to be looking into the camera and saying, “don’t forget to like and follow.” They had obviously marinated in YouTube.

By the end of my afternoon with Hardy, I was pretty sure he had studied the same curriculum. He practically told me to make sure everyone liked and followed for more Hardy content.

Hardy is growing up and getting fabulous. My niece, who once marinated in YouTube and narrated two hours of camera footage like a tiny influencer, is a senior in high school now and getting ready for her last homecoming dance.)

10/26/2026

Knowing trees, I understand the meaning of patience. Knowing grass, I can appreciate persistence.

Hal Borland

(For more than two years, this young stallion has been do***ng a large, long-established band of sorrels, and I honestly wasn't sure whether to admire his persistence or question his judgment.

Meet Quicksilver, also known as Aurelius, a silver palomino with a big grease spot, a growing collection of scars, and apparently no intention of giving up.

The band he's been following is mostly unnamed, except for the lead mare, Pache, who is the dam of Cochise and Tansy. For a long time I hoped Quicksilver might eventually have a shot with Tansy, but earlier this year she took off with Denali. Apparently Quicksilver and I were both disappointed.

After all this time I expected more drama, but when I spent several mornings with him this fall, there really wasn't any. His wounds were healing, his spirits seemed good, and there was no obvious conflict between him and the older band stallion.

In fact, after more than two years of do***ng this band, Quicksilver seems to have negotiated something of a détente. The older fellow was spending his time with the older mares, while Quicksilver appeared to have taken responsibility for the younger ones. Whether he's graduated from lieutenant to something resembling a co-manager remains to be seen, but the arrangement seemed to suit everybody.

I don't know whether this truce will last five minutes or five months, and I'm certainly not ready to declare Quicksilver victorious. But he's still there, still interested, and apparently enjoying life despite everything he's been through.

Sometimes persistence doesn't result in a dramatic victory. Sometimes it just gets you a place in the band, where you can finally stop fighting long enough to enjoy being a horse.)

10/25/2026

Wherever you are - be all there.

Jim Elliot

(Rune is a 2024 c**t out of Apache and Mescalero, and somehow I never posted his baby pictures even though he was an exceptionally cute foal.
These were taken back in the old days when we still had the Airstream. A lot of people stay in town when they visit Salt Wells Creek, but I’ve always preferred camping right there in the Creek. I want to be there for sunrise and sunset, and for the odd horses that wander past camp when I’m doing something else. That morning I was washing dishes when I saw Apache’s band headed north, so the dishes waited while I grabbed my camera and hiked out after them.

Rune was tiny, flashy and already carrying that jagged blaze that looks more like a symbol than an ordinary marking. Despite all those cute little pinto markings, he somehow made it well into his yearling year without a name. My dear friend and fellow adventurer wanderlust, who is always a blast to photograph with, finally fixed that and named him Rune. I’m pretty sure the name came from that blaze, which suits him because a rune is a symbol or mark with meaning.

The later pictures are from fall of 2025 and spring of 2026. He’s still in his natal band and still a minimally marked pinto, but his color is changing. He started out looking blackish and now seems to be graying or roaning out, although neither Apache nor Mescalero is gray or roan, so I’m interested to see where he ends up.

When you come home with five thousand photographs it’s surprisingly easy for some really good ones to get buried, especially at Salt Wells Creek where there’s always another horse, another color or another marking demanding your attention.

Better late than never. Rune finally got his name, and almost two years later his baby pictures are finally getting their turn. Make sure you scroll all the way over to that 2 year old photo, he's going to be something!)

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