NEBRASKAland Magazine is dedicated to outstanding photography and informative writing with an engaging mix of articles and photos highlighting Nebraska’s outdoor activities, parklands, wildlife, history and people.
Issue link: http://mag.outdoornebraska.gov/i/315021
54 NEBRASKAland • JUNE 2014 JUNE 2014 • NEBRASKAland 55 T he prairie wildflowers have arrived abundant in the season at the Niobrara Valley Preserve and appear as quiet as the burnt pines overlooking the river below. I am fresh off a river float – a scenic scout in preparation to instruct a kayaking course for the Nebraska Master Naturalist program in the morning. As I unpack my gear, Gerry Steinauer, botanist for the Nebraska Game and Parks Commission, walks by and invites me for an impromptu hike through the east bison pasture with a small group of naturalists. The urge to grab my camera overwhelms me but I make haste and reach for my notebook instead. As we walk the sandy slope to the meandering prairie bordering the Niobrara River, he begins to photograph wildflowers in various angles and poses. Clouds bunch in an evening sky as golden as the tops of the hoary puccoon in bloom that he kneels before, camera in hand. He steps through a buffalo wallow and continues to search for picturesque blossoms in the impeccable light of the waning day. "What's that?" I cut through the Sandhills solitude, seeking his botany expertise. "An aster," he says nonchalantly. "But I call it 'old plainsman.'" He stops to brush away the dried grass stems obstructing his camera view. "Searching for a calendar girl?" I jest, studying the patch of prairie he has chosen for his composition. "I just like how the blue and yellow of the flowers look, growing together," he says, gazing through the glass. Crickets chatter softly as the sunset continues to unfold. I scribble a few notes and quotes as we hike higher up the hill, amid the yucca and larkspur and prickly poppy "... and that?" I implore. "Six-weeks fescue," Steinauer says as he picks up his gear and walks a few steps forward, "It takes five weeks to bloom," he jokes. "This is way easier than carrying around a field guide," I say, scanning the prairie for other unknowns. He is concentrating on capturing the brilliant expanse of colored cloud layers converging with the prairie before us. "Look! Pronghorn!" he points. Spotted, they come to a sudden halt. Steinauer shuffles his camera, adjusts his view and focuses in. A breeze nods the grasses. "Don't move, animals," he whispers. They snort and wheeze, as if to scoff at us. Then, just as suddenly, they startle and flee. "No, don't go," I say aloud. "C'mere kitties!" I cry out, and they pause. From my seat of grass, I continue calling, "Here kitty kitties!" They turn and trot toward us, then stop and pose. The other naturalists have silently gathered nearby, all with cameras fixed, zooming in on the moment. We sit together on the hill and stare out unto the prairie, until the curious pronghorn startle and scatter. Eventually, we all wander on. I am the last to leave, as I slow my pace and look back until the stately creatures have vanished, as the sun has, entirely from sight. I should have grabbed the camera. Amy Kucera, Associate Editor June 21, 2013 Calling Pronghorn That day, someone with a camera took this photo of Amy jumping into the Norden Chute. PHOTO BY RANDY RUPERT