In the ghost town of Gothic, Colorado, only a few miles from the bustle of Crested Butte, is the Rocky Mountain Biological Laboratory (RMBL). Sitting at an altitude of 9,500 feet (2,900 meters), the once silver boomtown of the late 19th Century became a high alpine research station. Officially founded in 1929, it is nearing its centennial, and has been a cornerstone in its research of climate change in the Rocky Mountains.

Gothic Mountain, named for its cathedral-like appearance—its ribbed cliff face and angles that draw the eyes upward—dominates the view from the research station. In spring and summer, waterfalls roar down from snowmelt high on its buttressed peak. Mountain meadows teem with wildflowers as far as the eye can see. Marmots are the dominant animal resident in town with their own road signs and bumper stickers. But one summer, in 2019, a new animal family moved in: a fox and her young.

In spring, also known as mud season, with the aspens bare and large snow piles tucked in the forest, I heard an otherworldly scream come from the trees. When I turned, I saw her—a vixen, her coat still thick from winter, watching me with a wary gaze. She crouched almost like a feline and continued her cries, sharp and insistent, warning me to stay away.

In late June, the century plants blossomed and insects cast the valley in a constant thrum of sound. The vixen now had a litter of kits with her. They emerged from the forest and basked in the sun between two worn paths in the heart of RMBL. I watched the kits chase, tumble, and scatter, circling back for reassurance and more play their mom. She remained calm and at ease, while the humans nearby kept a respectful distance.

Later, in July, as I drove beyond RMBL to go for a hike up in the West Elk Mountains, a scrawny adolescent fox burst out from the bushes looking harried lean. I stopped, camera in hand. My dog whimpered in the backseat. The fox and I locked eyes. His ears were pinned back, body taut, a collection of dead vermin in his maw. He turned away from me, protecting his kill, and fled back into the foliage.

By October, autumn slipped into winter. A light snow blanketed Gothic, and the road would close to all but those arriving on skis and snowshoes. The only year-round resident, billy barr would observe and document the ever-changing snow conditions as he had done for decades. Before I would be cut off for the season, I took my last trip, the road muddy, my car flecked with dirt. Only a short ride beyond Gothic, I stepped out of my car across the road from the popular Copper Creek trailhead. It was there that I glimpsed another fox, her coat bright orange, slipping in and out of the aspens hugging a steep slope. My dog and I were the only other souls around and in the vast silence, her presence is familiar.

Over the months, the encounters had formed a quiet arc. Without intending to, I had documented these foxes’ lives across the seasons. Seven years later, I am ready to present their story.

As a way to thank and give back to RMBL, I will donate five percent of sales to the laboratory to support its climate research in my beloved Rocky Mountains.

For more photos, visit the Year of the Fox tab at the top of the page. If you are interested in buying any of these pieces, hit the Shop button and you will be connected to my online store: gretastarrettphotographyshop.com

Visit the RMBL website linked below for more information on the research and programs it offers.

Rocky Mountain Biological Laboratory