Cold mornings are sometimes hard to get up for. It’s just too easy to stay indoors. For me, Dec. 12 was not one of those days.

There’s a new initiative in Wyoming that’s changing the face of wildlife conservation funding, and it’s already seen huge success in its first year.

When I was working with a Kenyan outdoor instructor in Wyoming’s Wind River Range a couple of decades ago, he surprised me one day by saying, “Hiking here feels like a walk in the park.”

An old river-running motto says, “Old boaters never die, they just get a little dinghy.” And some never lose their passion for keeping rivers wild.

For the past few weeks, dozens of turkey vultures have been circling on thermals over my house in Oregon, preparing to soar away south into California. Not long ago, I saw a late monarch butterfly passing high overhead, its orange wings incandescent against the blue sky.

Elouise Cobell Day will be celebrated on Nov. 5 in Montana, but many people in the West may not recognize her name.

I’ve been lucky to serve the town of Page as mayor for a decade, which means that I’ve had my fair share of interactions and relationships with different elected officials. I’m no stranger to the distance that can often grow between local and federal leaders – too many politicians leave Arizona’s smaller towns behind.

Every state in the West has some type of law declaring that its waters belong to the public. But what this means is disputed, and several state supreme courts have had to decide cases that pit streamside landowners against paddlers and anglers.

It’s a common story: Candace McNatt of Durango, in southern Colorado, kept losing bidding wars to buy a house. She finally settled on a tiny home of just 350 square feet.

The story of a Montana woman who recently killed and skinned a domestic dog, then proudly posted photos on her social media pages, has sparked a flood of public outrage.

Imagine you were part owner of a nice piece of rural land, maybe with a trout stream running through it. But your neighbors won’t let you in. You don’t have to imagine, because access to far too much public land is legally blocked by private property owners, causing headaches throughout the West.

They are icons of America’s past, symbols of our pioneering spirit. Eyes flashing, nostrils flaring, tails obscured by a cloud of dust, they tear across the landscape. I am, of course, referring to feral hogs.

I live in a rural county heavily dependent on ranching and agriculture, and though I often hear people talk about threats from large predators like bears or lions, I never hear complaints about wild horses living on our public lands.

Did you know there are 30 National Scenic and Historic Trails across the country, and Page is fortunate to be situated near two of them?

The first time I saw an electric bike – better known as an ebike – I was struggling up a hill. Suddenly, a silver-haired man came whizzing by in regular city clothes. I felt a wave of envy as he left me in the dust.

Just about every video game, young adult novel and buzzworthy streaming series agree that we need to prepare for a post-apocalyptic world. Up ahead, around a sharp curve or off a cliff, it is waiting – the Apocalypse.

It seemed inevitable that the dwindling Colorado River would be divvied up by the federal Bureau of Reclamation. On June 14, BuRec gave the seven states in the Colorado River compact just 60 days to find a way to cut their total water usage by up to 4 million acre-feet. No plans emerged.

I have long been known to have pet peeves about the debris hikers drop along trails, but one piece of litter has become more annoying: the ubiquitous facial tissue.

The Colorado River is revealing its secrets. For decades a World War II landing craft lay submerged 200 feet beneath Lake Mead’s surface – but now it’s beached, rusting in the sun. It’s become an unsettling marker of just how vulnerable the river is and how parched the Intermountain West has become.

The seven Colorado River states – Arizona, California, Colorado, New Mexico, Nevada, Utah and Wyoming – face a daunting mid-August deadline. The federal government has asked them to come up with a plan to reduce their combined water usage from the Colorado River by up to 4 million acre-feet in 2023.