It is a voice that echoes off canyon walls, springs from the rush of rivers, thunders from the hooves of horses. It belongs to award-winner Mark Spragg, and it's as passionate and umcompromising as the wilderness in northwest Wyoming in which he was born: the largest block of unfenced wilderness in the lower forty-eight states. Where Rivers Change Direction is a memoir of childhood spent on the oldest dude ranch in Wyoming—with a family struggling against the elements and against themselves, and with the wry and wise cowboy who taught him life's most important lessons.
As the young Spragg undergoes the inexorable rites of passage that forge the heart and soul of man, he channels Peter Matthiessen and the novels of Ernest Hemingway in his truly unforgettable illuminations of the heartfelt yearnings, the unexpected wisdom, and the irrevocable truths that follow in his wake.
Mark Spragg is the award-winning author of the memoir Where Rivers Change Direction, winner of the 2000 Mountains & Plains Booksellers Award, and the novels The Fruit of the Stone, An Unfinished Life, and Bone Fire. His books have been translated into fifteen languages.
"Before I was able to support myself through my writing, I taught high school, built fences, wrangled horses, guided in the Rocky Mountains, worked on oil rigs, and shod horses to make a living. I found that while I prefer writing, I see all work as pretty much the same, and approach it with the same ethic -- come early, stay late, and focus on the details. When I'm working on the first draft of a book I'm almost a complete recluse."
"I walk for hours every day with my dog, Angus, on the prairie or in the forest. I try to notice what he notices."
"I also try to maintain a daily hour of yoga and meditation. It seems that the stories I like to tell are very shy about being heard, and it helps if I'm quiet."
I don't know why I've come awake. I listen for horses. I do not hear their bells, their steps on the frost-stiffened ground. I listen harder. I listen for a bear. I listen for the huffs, snorts, the coughing of a bear come into camp. There is only the deep silence of the night. I imagine a bear standing quietly by the side of my tent. A grizzly. Waiting. Aware of me. The thought of a bear thrills like a horror film escaped from its theater. My own murder stands vividly in my imagination. The dark night grinds down hard. I imagine a bear's small, dark eyes watering and intent in the cold air. I imagine a bear's nostrils flexing, breathing in my scent, its gut grumbling, whining for the taste of me. I think of a bear's teeth, its claws. I listen for the clicking of teeth. I think of the thick, dish-shaped skull—the brain inside that skull anxious for extra prehibernation calories. I pinch my chest, the back of an arm. My body seems soft as lard. I think of myself as food. I pull my woolen watch cap more tightly against my head—over my ears and eyes—and curl my face into the throat of my sleeping bag. I am wearing long underwear—top and bottom—and socks. My jeans and shirt are rolled against my feet at the bottom of the bag. I breathe in the warm, familiar scents of my body and stained clothing—a mixture of woodsmoke, leather, and horse. I think again of the thin canvas wall of the tent. It is black inside. It is black outside. If a hungry bear stands in that blackness the smell of me could draw it against the tent wall. I think of a grizzly's nose pressed against the tent. I think of its mouth watering, scrims of thinning drool sheeting from its black lips. I pull my knees into my chest and flex and imagine my body as unalterable as a knot of steel. I nearly laugh. I've become too old for bullshit fantasies of invincibility. I am now sixteen. I know that if a bear wants me for a meal it can open and spill me as effortlessly as an actual can of beans.
| Acknowledgments | ||
| In Praise of Horses | 1 | |
| My Sister's Boots | 23 | |
| Bones | 42 | |
| Wapiti School | 63 | |
| The Circusmaster | 85 | |
| A Boy's Work | 99 | |
| Greybull | 113 | |
| John and Jack | 131 | |
| Tommy Two | 150 | |
| Adopting Bear | 168 | |
| Wintering | 185 | |
| Wind | 208 | |
| Recoil | 221 | |
| A Ditch Burning | 239 |
Anonymous
Posted September 27, 2006
While reading Where Rivers Change Direction it returned me to the Wyoming that I lived in for 14 years.Mark Spragg's writing is right on the mark when it comes to the landscape and natural beauty of this great state. Having moved away from Wyoming I can return any time I want just by reading this book.
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Posted November 29, 2004
Spragg is an extremely gifted writer. He brings the truth to the writer's cliche of bringing the reader into the life of the story. I couldn't put this down. There is nothing particularly astonishing about this man's life, but the story is so well told, with emotion and insight to humanity that few writers can put to paper. A critic remarks that a teenager could not relate to Spragg's experiences and recommends this book for adults only. I couldn't disagree more. My 13 year old son absolutely loved this book and couldn't put it down.
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Posted August 20, 2002
I am not a professional reviewer but I am a Wyoming native. I love this book. If you read, read this book.
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Posted December 19, 2001
Downriver from the Wapiti Valley, the Shoshone wends it's way below the town where I grew up in the 50's. Mark Spragg's wonderful book took me 'home' to the everlasting wind and dust of the Wyoming landscape and the people it breeds. Spragg captures its uniqueness in language as beautiful and as sparce as the countryside itself. This book is a sensitive, often humorous, rendition of what it means to be a Westerner, and a terrific read!
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Posted February 5, 2000
Mark Spragg writes so clearly, honestly, and unaffectedly. A near kin to Wallace Stegner but without professorial angst. A western version of Wendell Berry but without a larger cause. Spragg shows Zen-like understanding of a life in rugged Wyoming settings. His humor is sparse and dry, and he offers deep secrets of his own heart while escaping the reader's attempt to own him as a kindred spirit. I haven't read a better book, or a better written book, in years.
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Overview
It is a voice that echoes off canyon walls, springs from the rush of rivers, thunders from the hooves of horses. It belongs to award-winner Mark Spragg, and it's as passionate and umcompromising as the wilderness in northwest Wyoming in which he was born: the largest block of unfenced wilderness in the lower forty-eight states. Where Rivers Change Direction is a memoir of childhood spent on the oldest dude ranch in Wyoming—with a family struggling against the elements and against themselves, and with the wry...