Martis Valley, California, a few miles north of Lake Tahoe and just below Donner Summit, is often significantly colder than the surrounding mountains and almost always colder than the valleys of western Nevada. It seemed as cold as ever on this April morning (2025) even though it was a few days into spring. This morning, the valley’s reputation as a ‘cold sink’ is deserved. But where’s the snow? Only patches peek out from the shade of the forest floor; it is already drier than I expected.
I had driven from Nevada to do some documentary photography for a National Register nomination highlighting a complex of traditional properties and archaeological sites along Martis Creek, a tributary of the Truckee River, which flows from Lake Tahoe to Pyramid Lake in western Nevada. I traveled against its flow on my short journey into the mountains. My problem, on this frozen morning, is that there are millions icy crystals reflecting the sunrise from every surface and seemingly hanging in the air. The bright highlights were impossible distractions from the necessary documentation. I would have to wait for some mid-morning warmth, at least.
To make use of the extra time, I started to scout for the requisite shots, but I was quickly distracted by the calls of a pack of coyotes. They were nearby, but in the woodlands that ring the open meadow of the valley bottom. I turned toward the forest, following a wide trail in the general direction of the melodic howling. The clustered trees favored me, as I soon caught a glimpse of a pair of yearling pups. Nipping and wrestling, they failed to notice me even though I was relatively close. They would tussle and then stop to sing and yelp. It was musical.
Soon, mom appeared behind the pair pushing them onward, into the forest toward a nearby meadow. Unlike the unaware pups, she caught sight of me immediately. We shared a long gaze, implying that it was fine to share the trail but not to follow her little pack.
I watched for a while, sticking to the trail to let them wander without watching me too closely. They were now quiet and got to business in the meadow, running among deep grass, sage, and willows as their hopeful hunt began.
As I lost sight of them, a Mountain Chickadee stopped by to see what all the ruckus had been about. By then the song-dogs had disappeared completely, and it was time for me to get to work.
Keep going.
Please respect the natural and cultural resources of our public lands.
Beautiful animals ❤️