Grand Teton winter

Happy stayed home for our winter trip to Jackson Hole. Just driving was enough of a challenge, with snow falling as we crested the Sierras and 18-wheelers throwing up blinding sheets of slush on the windshield. This trip was more about snow, hot tubs and martinis than camping, but wildlife viewing is always our goal.
As we approached Jackson from the south, we spotted a few pronghorn antelope, driven out of their northern feeding grounds by the snow, their slender legs incapable of moving through the deep drifts. Deer browsed near the road, including a buck with an impressive rack. A bald eagle surveyed the landscape from a fence post and a golden eagle fed on roadkill.
It was early in the snow season, and the elk had only recently begun moving from the hills into the 25,000-acre refuge, established in 1912 to provide elk with a protected winter feeding ground. Last winter, elk in the refuge numbered 6,000.
There were fewer than 100 in residence as we rattled and bounced in a sleigh pulled by a pair of hefty Belgian draft horses, frisky at their first day out on the range. The Belgians were brother and sister, and they clearly adored each other, nuzzling whenever the driver pulled up on the reins.
Although the skittish elk take off at the sight of humans, horses can approach with impunity and we came very close to a small herd of bulls, contently chewing their cuds. The fall rut over, elk once again grouped by gender, the males having lost a quarter of their body weight in the rigors of wooing females. Like the moose we saw later, they conserved energy by spending much of the day lying down.
Low-hanging clouds obscured the mountains and for the first time ever, we saw no bison on their customary range along Antelope Flats road. Only birds were visible: black and white magpies, both sage and ruffled grouse, and a mob of ravens feeding on the grass-filled gut of a slain elk.
A howling chorus of coyotes greeted us our first evening, and we spotted prints of a red fox in the snow near our door, but never saw either.
While common animals were scarce, we came across a herd of the less-common bighorn sheep, driven down from the rocky heights by swirling winds. I snapped pictures until my fingers were numb as they browsed nonchalantly along the road, literally moving within touching distance.
The sound of – band practice? – stopped us on a quiet road another day and we found we’d discovered a winter refuge for trumpeter swans, impressive birds with eight-foot wingspreads and a call that sounds like a musical instrument.
In another month, the elk refuge would be filled with elk and the bison who compete for their food. On occasion, they’ll be joined by wolves from the new packs recently formed in Grand Teton Park.
Of the wolves we’ve been watching up in Yellowstone’s Lamar Valley, there was news. The lone black pup we saw mousing last fall had not survived, nor had a second pup. Of 9 or 10 pups born to the fabled Druid Peak pack last spring, none were alive to see the winter. Even more ominous for the pack’s future was the death of 569, the handsome gray matriarch and alpha female of the pack, killed by other wolves. Her sister, mother of some of the pups born this spring, has not been seen for months. Will the remaining Druid adults, coats thinned by mange, survive the bitterly cold winter? Will the now all-male pack find females to court? We’ll find out next spring.
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Wolf Tales

Wisps of smoke wreathed Druid Peak our last morning in Yellowstone, as lightening-sparked fires smoldered in the underbrush. Later, we would drive through smoke so heavy it blocked Yellowstone Lake and limited our vision to 30 feet. It would later close the only road through the park as a dozen fires in both Yellowstone and the Grand Tetons, a month old, reignited in the north wind.
But for the moment, our attention was on the valley floor, peering through Doug McLaughlan's powerful spotting scope. Fly fishermen dotted the river, taking cutthroat trout from the shrunken river that concentrates fish in the autumn. But while the season is a good one for fishing, it's a difficult time for wolves, with prey elk made strong by ample summer feeding.
It’s difficult to believe we may be seeing the end of the famed Druid pack, as we watch for wolves in the sage far below us. A huge bull elk crests a distant ridge and a pronghorn ram snorts a warning behind us, but it's an otherwise quiet morning.
Doug has seen wolves still alive with mange in the snows of March, but we can’t imagine how animals could endure 40 below zero temperatures missing much of their fur. If all three pups fail to survive, the pack could disperse, with no new successors to carry the pack into the future. The Druids, viewed by thousands and the subject of many articles, a book and a PBS film, could vanish as have other packs before them.
We’ll find out next spring, when we’re certain to see the wolf regulars, who are a pack unto themselves. Dubbed elitist by some park visitors, they can identify individual wolves from two miles away with their expensive Swarovski scopes. Several have purchased more than one tracking collar, at a cost of $2,500 each. The serious researchers have radios to communicate with Rick McIntyre, who tracks collared wolves with an antenna. His vehicle parked at a pullout is a magnet to the regulars. We’ve learned their code names for the best viewing spots: Footbridge, Hitching Post, Dorothy’s, Fisherman’s – code names wolf watchers use to communicate among themselves while keeping interlopers or those who would cause harm oblivious to the wolves’ location. It sounds rather cloak-and-dagger, but the hatred of wolves by many locals is palpable.
Wolf watchers convinced the park service to bar for two years a professional photographer who violated the 100-yard distance law, particularly after he climbed the peak, intending to photograph the newborn pups in their den. Another park visitor was fined after tossing hotdog buns to wolves when a wolf watcher photographed his license plate.
Wolf people are serious types, but we’ve found them unfailingly friendly and incredibly dedicated.
Of all the wolves observed since the reintroduction of wolves to Yellowstone in 1995, one of the best known male wolves is #302, now alpha male of the new Blacktail pack. Dubbed “Casanova,” the male would leave his birth pack, the Leopolds, and travel many miles to court females in the Druid pack under cover of darkness, always returning to his pack at dawn. Ultimately he joined the Druids, helping the pack gain its dominance and becoming its beta male.
Doug also spoke about Big Black, who broke from the Druid pack and took several strong yearlings with him to form the Slough Creek pack several years ago. The year of 2008 was a tough one for Yellowstone wolves, with only 12 pups surviving in the entire park. Turf wars are common when packs compete for limited resources, and 302 moved on the nearby Slough Creek pack, killing several of its members, although Big Black escaped. Emboldened, the sisters of the Slough alpha female, who’d constantly pinned, subjugated and tormented her sisters, killed their cruel sibling.
Amidst the chaos and decimation of the Slough pack, a female fled to the Druids for protection and was accepted. She was carrying Big Black’s pups and this spring the highly unusual occurred in the Druid pack: the birth of pups that had been sired by two different fathers.
“Big Black’s instinct to feed his pups probably cost him his life,” said Doug, who told us the male wolf was seen approaching the den of his former pack this Father’s Day with food for the pups he had sired. He was seen several more times bringing food to his offspring, but rival males are not tolerated and Big Black probably tried the Druids’ patience too many times. He was never seen again.
Clan rivalries, vengeance, parental devotion, murder – a wolf pack has it all.
On this last morning in Lamar Valley, I finally got to see a Druid pup, the lone surviving black pup from this spring’s litter. We watched him for at least a half-hour through Doug’s powerful telescope, as he froze, then pounced, attempting to find a meal of a mouse or vole in the dry grass and sage.
It appeared there were no adults in the area to feed him. His tail was completely denuded of fur due to mange and he scratched his side in obvious discomfort for long periods of time. At last he took off and headed east, trotting out of sight. Doug told us that black pup is the largest and most vigorous of the three remaining Druid pups and the one who has the best chance of making it through the winter. He believes the pup is the son of Big Black.
Pictures at:
https://picasaweb.google.com/happytwo.mcwilliams/FireInTetonsSept2009?authkey=Gv1sRgCNnusaKVhvHJXg&feat=directlink

Return to Lamar Valley

A bull moose wandered past, within eight feet of Happy our last morning before we left for Yellowstone and bison were back on our side of Antelope Flats road, rolling in the dust, bellowing like lions and hogging the road. We love those guys – such attitude.
Five full hours driving time brought us to Pebble Creek campground. We saw a few deer (oddly enough, somewhat of a rare sighting here) and lots of bison enroute. The bison herds seem to be thriving. Driving through beautiful Hayden Valley, we had a great ridgetop view of what initially appeared to be wolves, but they proved to be the old coyote fakeout. Large, healthy-looking animals, though.
Once at Pebble Creek, we learned from camp host Ray that the Druid Peak wolf pack we observed so closely this spring, the most famous pack in Yellowstone, had left the valley for the summer and only recently returned.
Pulling into our site, we saw a familiar Montana 5th wheel with Utah plates that proved to be Pam and Dennis, the couple we spent so many dawn wolf watches with this spring. We learned from them that the Druids are infected with sarcoptic mange and may not make it through the winter. Rick McIntyre, chief wolf researcher, later offered a bit more hope, saying he’d seen wolves survive mange.
A late sunrise and 17 degree temperatures got us off to a late start the first morning. The wolf watching scene had moved from the convenience of spring’s roadside pulloff and now required a climp up a steep hill strewn with loose rocks. Terry got brief glimpse of black wolf, and we learned a gray had been present earlier. But sightings were few and very distant. Doug McLaughlin, a wolf researcher we’d met this spring, was generous as always with wolf information and the use of his spotting scope.
He told us Druid pups are down in number from 9-12 this spring to three and those three are thin and mangey. Survival through the winter is chancey, but the pack is resilient and has survived much in the past.
Alpha male 480 doesn’t look good, and was seen with a loose flap of skin on his right foot he may have gnawed off due to mange. It may have been him that was hanging around, largely out of view our first morning. Several observers heard him howling this past week, an eerie and very atypical howl that one longtime observer said is only made when a wolf is dying. At 7 ½ years, he’s getting old – the average lifespan for wolves in the park has been less than four years. If he’s not eating, as alpha he will neither ask for nor receive food from pack mates. He was not spotted again during our visit, and his mate has not been seen in over a week.
The unusual heat has kept wildlife sightings sparse, save for the ever-dependable bison. A few bears have been sighted at the higher altitudes, but they’ve eluded us. Even the mountain goats that inhabit Baronette Peak have sought cooler refuge. We have had good sightings of elk, bighorn sheep and pronghorn antelope, always a group consisting of a single male keeping a close eye on his harem during this rutting season. The elk still lounged on the lawns and meandered through the campground at Mammoth, but we missed seeing #10, a massive bull who poses for pictures until a crowd gathers, then charges autos. He’s sent over 50 cars to the repair shop this season.
Where did the mange that’s tormenting the wolves come from? It was actually introduced 75 years ago by the state of Montana to coyotes, which were infected in the hopes they would spread the mites to wolves and kill them (and themselves in the process.) There’s a drug that would cure mange instantly and researchers think it could be administered by lacing a carcass on which the wolves would feed. The dilemma is this: in some cases it appears certain wolves are developing an immunity to mange and if that could be passed on genetically, their offspring would greatly benefit. So – to treat would rob them of the opportunity to develop immunity. It's yet another of the many complexities in managing wildlife.
Ironically enough, we’ve seen more coyotes this visit and they appear in magnificent shape, full of vigor and with thick, heavy coats. We watched one hunt in a field as if it were a buffet line, pouncing on and devouring a rodent every 25 feet.
There are puffs of smoke on the peaks from lightening-sparked fires, and similar fires in Yellowstone are lowering visibility greatly on the main road.
We ran into Ranger John Kerr, who remembered us from the spring, and had a nice chat. Although he was too modest to mention it, we later learned that he and Darlene, our campground host and a first-year ranger, were the two park rangers selected for duty during the Obamas’ visit last month. John, a former Boston resident who’d worked in documentary filmmaking for PBS, now works seasonal bear-jam duty in Yellowstone. He was manning the barricades when the President emerged from his car, thanked John for working and shook his hand, making it a memorable 71st birthday for the genial ranger.
Pictures at: http://picasaweb.google.com/happytwo.mcwilliams/TetonsYellowstoneSept2009?authkey=Gv1sRgCJaXjKWZgenbLw&feat=directlink

Where Have All the Bison Gone?

The Teton range came into view at the same time the clouds turned black: fluffy, whipped-cream cumulus morphing into indigo; black streaks of rain touching the far-off horizon. By the time we made our way through Jackson, rain splatted on the windshield and lightening crackled in the mountains, illuminating the darkening landscape.
We reached Gros Ventre during a lull and set up camp in our favorite area, having seen only a few distant antelope on the way.
The next couple days showed how lucky we’ve been in the past sighting wildlife in this vast expanse of wilderness, and how unpredictable sightings can be. Bison remain dark spots in the distance, recognizable only because we know this is where they live. We miss the bison jams, the snorting and trembling of the earth as they gallop past, the baleful look of the lead bulls as they meander across the road. Don’t they know I just sent a check to the Buffalo Field Campaign to protect their wild brethren?
We've learned that each wildlife sighting is a wondrous gift and we can't take them for granted. What are the odds that an animal will come into viewing range in the few seconds you pass by? Very slim, given the vast size of the park.
Although no one complains but me, the weather is unseasonably warm – highs in the mid-eighties, glass-winged grasshoppers buzzing in the sagebrush as if it were mid-July, wildlife not yet triggered to move south.
The camp hosts recognized us and shared the happy news of seven moose in the campground, five of them bulls. We visited the tree that housed the great horned owl nestlings this spring. The cavity was predictably empty, but I searched the duff at the base of the tree and found a small rodent skull, evidence of the winged hunters’ residence.
We discovered a new area bordering the elk refuge and made our way up the mountain on a dirt road to Forest Service land, in search of a lake and a hike. We found parked horse trailers and a few cars, but no signs indicating the direction of the lake. There were, however several signs warning this was grizzly territory, making the narrow trail leading through the dark forest unappealing. We chose instead the primitive road, marveling at the incredible views across the tawny-grassed elk preserve to the distant mountains.
The silence was profound, the deepest I’ve ever experienced. The dropping of a single leaf was audible. The chattering of a red squirrel seemed as loud as a jackhammer. It was, frankly, unnerving and we turned around before reaching the lake, stopping in town to buy a can of bear spray.
An early-morning bike ride began with the eerie sound of elk bugling and our first sighting of a herd, a large bull with a four-foot rack moving close enough in our direction that we sought the shelter of trees until he moved the herd away. The new bike path to Jenny Lake made 15 miles easy and we so enjoyed the trek we bought new bikes in Moose.
Nights are properly frosty, with star-studded skies and the sound of the river helping us drift off to sleep. Despite daytime warmth, vegetation announces the approach of winter. Patches of golden aspen punctuate the green-black mountainsides; cottonwoods are turning from green to yellow. Black hawthorn, chokecherry and spirea grow more crimson with each day, and rabbit brush and dogbane spread their egg-yolk hue in vast expanses in open meadows.
This morning a bull and cow moose appeared in the campground, the cow browsing while the bull lay in the sage. When we returned from a hike six hours later, antelope browsed the sage close to the road and the moose pair hadhttp://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gifn’t moved, although the sun had. Visibly panting, the bull finally rewarded waiting photographers, stood up and moved into the cooling shade.
We went to a fund-raiser the other night to support research on the pika, the alpine-dwelling rabbit cousin which is considered a predictable indicator of climate change. A search for pika at Slide Lake produced only a fleeting look at one of the tiny, bunny-faced creatures.
Postscript
Returning to camp the next day after a ride on our new bikes, we spotted a welcome and familiar sight: a herd of bison coming back from a cooling drink in the river. Nearly 100 of them stopped traffic as they crossed the road, the calves kicking up their heels and the bulls giving us the bison stink eye.
Things are looking up on the wildlife scene.
Pictures at:
http://picasaweb.google.com/happytwo.mcwilliams/Sept182009TetonBlog?authkey=Gv1sRgCJXOn7nR2vCy7AE&feat=directlink

Fire and Ice

With glacier-carved alpine peaks, crystalline lakes and herds of hikers, Glacier Park is America's Switzerland, beginning in Canada and ending in Montana. It’s a dramatic landscape that has been shaped by fire and ice. Vast expanses of gray snags show the aftermath of forest fires, aesthetically unpleasing, but part of the natural scheme. Spring avalanches regularly clear-cut wide swaths of forest, twisting and snapping trees like toothpicks and rendering impassable the park’s only road. Waterfalls cascade from every peak, crossing the road to drop into the verdant valley far below. It is easy to see why the Lakota consider this land sacred.
But the park’s namesake glaciers are melting. Only a small number of the original glaciers remain, so small from a distance they are indistinguishable from snowbanks, and they will be gone in another 20 years.
The park’s million-plus acres, with nearly impenetrable forest and little access to humans, may be the grizzlies’ last stand, scientists believe. Unlike Yellowstone, animals here are seldom seen, except by intrepid backcountry campers, who are encouraged to hike in groups and carry bear spray. Deer, relatively uncommon in Yellowstone, were spotted frequently along hiking trails, in campgrounds and grazing on the lawns of hotels, and we caught a brief glimpse of a black bear. In general, though, Glacier’s wildlife remained safely sequestered from human eyes and the perils of auto traffic. And, despite the still-deep snow on passes, it was at Glacier that we found the warmest weather of the month.
Thanks to wilderness camping and no Internet, this is being posted weeks after our return!
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Grizzlies and Black Bears and Wolves -- Oh My!

It had been at least four days, I realized one morning with a painful tug, since I’d even put a brush to my hair. The days blur together in one extraordinary orgy of wildlife viewing and it seems we are living on the Discovery channel planet. All of us "regulars" – an author, a teacher, an architect, a civil engineer -- plus daily visitors from around the world – are here for one reason, and this interest in viewing wildlife bonds us on a primal level. Despite the occasional Obama bumper sticker, there is no talk of politics or world travel or great restaurants and wine. We’re not even eating what could be viewed as meals.
Partly due to the weather, we’ve had not a single campfire at night, drinking wine and playing Uno as in California camping. Instead, everything is about the sharing of sightings and encounters with wildlife. Prime wildlife viewing times preclude normal mealtimes, so we find ourselves eating dinner at 3 or 4 and grabbing snacks during the rest of the day in the truck. Sometimes we try to get in a nap, since we never get more than six hours’ sleep at night.
Far from the tourist mobs at Old Faithful, everyone seems to gather at “Footbridge,” the unofficial name for a pulloff below the Druids’ den, to get in some evening spotting and recount the day’s experiences. Rain, hail, spectacular lightening crackles and ground-shaking thunderclaps -- nothing diminishes the size of the group.
It was over a week before we had the chance to talk with our campground neighbors from San Diego, who leave at first light and are already gone when our alarm goes off at 5 each morning. We’ve met couples from Paris, Madrid and Zurich on this great wildlife safari, all in campers traveling the American west that exists nowhere else in the world. They come to Yellowstone for bears and wolves.
The day it opened for the season, we rose before 4 a.m. ourselves to move from our previous campground and get a spot at Pebble Creek, which has only 30 spots and is in one of the best locations in Lamar Valley. We succeeded in getting a spot between the roaring river and a crystal clear creek, with a view of snow-capped peaks and a resident black bear who’s sighted frequently, often out in the meadow eating dandelions. The campground has pit toilets, no showers, not even water since the flooding river contaminated the well. Regulars return for decades and we know we are lucky to be here.
The weather here at nearly 7,000 feet elevation changes from blinding sun to the blackest of clouds and pelting rain within minutes. Nights are always cold, and we sleep under a thick pile of covers I call the panini press. Happily, there have been enough breaks to get out and do a little hiking.
We’ve seen our hoped-for wolves and glimpsed at least six new pups through the trees. We’ve sighted a number of grizzlies – one too close for comfort. Just as we began a hike yesterday, we heard a man yell from his car: “People – there’s a big bear heading your way!” Looking in all directions, we saw nothing but scrambled back toward the truck and saw a large grizzly galloping – and they run 30 miles an hour -- straight toward us across the road. In a few heart-stopping seconds we were inside the truck in time to see that the object of his attention hadn’t been us, but an elk rib cage from a previous kill, which he grabbed in enormous paws as if it were a toy, rolling onto his back and tossing it in the air. Next time we’re here we’ll invest in bear spray.
Each day brings a new series of sightings:
--Three low-to-the-ground badger pups, peering from atop their den with comical jailbird-striped faces;
--A yearling black bear, strolling at the edge of the road atop a rock wall at the brink of a breathtaking precipice, just as any teenager would do;
--An enormous grizzly emerging from the forest and setting its sights on a bison calf on the outskirts of the herd. The grizzly took off and a hundred bison were on the move, quickly coalescing into a galloping herd. The bear charged after the herd, moving to one side or the other as a calf straggled. Then, as if on cue, the herd did an about-face and stampeded after the grizzly, an astonishing chase that lasted until the bear tired and veered off toward the forest.
--Three separate dens of coyote pups, one with wrestling adolescents under the watchful eyes of both parents, the other two with five and six little pups, curled together and dozing in the sun.
--A black bear emerging from the forest to graze her way across a meadow, followed within minutes by a huge cinnamon male twice her size, large scar on his right shoulder. The uncommon cinnamon black bear followed at his distance, climbing over fallen trees clumsily with an odd gait that seemed to indicate hip injuries. “Maybe he has hip dysplasia,” ventured one onlooker, to be corrected by another with more bear knowledge than the rest of us: “He’s not injured; that’s the courting stance.” We later laughed about our faux pas with Ranger John. “I used to walk around like that a lot when I was 17,” he said.
--A bighorn sheep ram, appearing in the same spot each day and turning his head one direction and the other to show off his best angle before shutter-snapping onlookers like a body builder at Venice Beach;
--A sleek river otter and three kits, rolling over and over on a grassy log like circus tumblers until the youngsters fell off with a splash;
--A pronghorn antelope, probably the one we’d seen the night before with an unsteady newborn, stomp the ground with her forward hooves and chase away a wandering coyote.
Some sightings we’ve missed:
--Four wolves attacking a single calf and mother bison, who kept her youngster protected within her legs and the wolves at bay until the cavalry arrived in the form of the bison herd, which routed the wolves. Formidable foes, bison can kill wolves and have even been known to come to the aid of elk.
--Four blacktail deer, marching shoulder to shoulder, and driving a coyote pair away from their own den of pups
--A female moose, with grave injuries from a bear or wolf attack, lying for days under a tree, then appearing upright with a newborn calf, who nursed for several days while the weakened mother grazed. Days later, the mother was found dead in the creek and the calf attempted to follow rangers, who observed park hands-off policies and left it to its fate.
It’s difficult to remain dispassionate about some of the things we’ve seen, particularly now in the season of the young. I’m glad we haven’t witnessed any of the kills, although in some cases we’ve missed them by mere moments. Woven into the unspeakable beauty of the place is grim evidence of the fragility of life, as every animal is another’s meal. It’s a daily saga that’s been addicting, exhausting, sometimes horrifying and always riveting.
Critter pictures at: http://picasaweb.google.com/happytwo.mcwilliams/2YellowstoneBlog2009?authkey=Gv1sRgCNrnnqiCnIagJA&feat=directlink

Valley of the Wolves

“There’s 569 on the ridge below tree line near the kill.”
A murmur spread among the crowd as spotting scopes and binoculars turned in unison toward the hill in Yellowstone’s Lamar Valley. Bundled against the cold of dawn were the wolf watchers and their groupies – ourselves included. We were watching the alpha female of the famed Druid Peak pack, the largest and perhaps best known of Yellowstone wolf packs.
Members of the roughly 14-member pack, through tag-team and ambush efforts, had killed a bull elk the night before, dropping the large animal at the edge of the Lamar River below us. Hours later, all that remained were pink-tinged ribs and a large rack of antlers still bearing springtime velvet.
The den’s pack was located high up on the hill across the road and the adults had fed on the carcass and delivered food to an unknown number of new pups.
The human watchers included two park rangers, volunteers with the Wolf Project, longtime groupies and first-timers such as ourselves, thrilled to be part of it. The volunteers came from far and wide, many visiting the park several times a year for decades. They knew each other by name and the wolves by number. All had expensive spotting scopes – the $3,000 Swarovski was a favorite – and others had cameras with 600mm lenses. Some scribbled notes and Rick McIntyre, the chief wolf researcher, taped his field notes. This was serious business. We were equipped with Terry’s 40-year-old binoculars and my point-and-shoot Canon. Happily, people were generous in sharing their scopes.
“Did 480 participate in the hunt? Has anyone seen 302?” At seven years of age, alpha male 480 was advanced in age. Most wolves live only to five years, and in recent years as many as a third of the Yellowstone’s northeastern wolf population has been lost, the pups to canine distemper and Parvo virus, and the adults to a variety of causes, including hunters. Wyoming classifies wolves as predators to be shot on sight once they stray from the park boundaries.
At the lookout, we were spellbound, watching 569 cross the road to feed the pups and a black male yearling, as yet unnumbered, approach the kill, chasing away both a coyote and ravens who had settled in for a meal. He tugged mightily on the carcass for 15 minutes and came away with a chicken-sized hunk of meat which he carried some distance and then cached in the sagebrush. A gray female appeared and was identified as 645, having lost her radio collar. Wolves are tracked by plane and darted in the winter, when blood samples are drawn and adults collared.
Once plentiful here but exterminated by the 1920s, wolves were reintroduced to Yellowstone in 1995 amid tremendous controversy and opposition by local ranchers. Their fears of predation on livestock have been unfounded and the wolves have returned an ecological balance to the area. All the wildlife is spectacular, but everyone hopes for a glimpse of a wolf.
They’ve brought a great deal of tourist income to the area, but the same guy in town who sells you a wolf sweatshirt could have been the one who chased a wolf for 60 miles on a snowmobile last winter just to kill it. A longtime visitor recounted that some wolf haters have even scattered poisoned hot dogs around the park, killing more than one vacationer’s pet dog.
The animals were taken off the endangered species list last year in Montana, Idaho and Wyoming, but Wyoming’s “predator” classification and “kill on sight” law for wolves outside the park have outraged conservationists, causing some wolf watchers to boycott the state. Obama supporters have been dismayed that he has upheld the previous administration's position.
Meanwhile, the packs go about the business of survival. There are new mouths to feed this time of year, with pups yet unseen by human eyes up in the hidden den. Researchers say that wolves dote on pups and the entire pack – male and female, related or not – plays a role in feeding, guarding and playing with the pack’s youngest members. We watched a young black wolf trot back and forth along the tumultuous river seeking a safe crossing point. Finally, he plunged and we held our collective breath as he was swept downstream before reaching the other side, determined to deliver meat to the den high on the wooded hillside. Bonds within the pack are as strong as the fascination observers have for the animals.
We remained for nearly five hours in the bone-chilling cold, watching as 645 left the carcass and moved up the hill, stopping to sit and throw back her head.
“Shhhhhhh! The wolf’s howling.” Instantly, nearly 70 humans fell silent and we heard the eerie, melancholy song of the wolf. It was an extraordinary beginning to our stay in the Lamar Valley.
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Rainy Days & Sundays

The weather gods just aren't favoring us. Cars heading south this morning were covered with snow and we've learned Yellowstone, our destination tomorrow, is closed to traffic. We've grabbed the brief bouts of sun when we could, but the clouds are dark and heavy and when it hasn't rained the past couple days it's hailed. The temperatures were in the 80s the week before we left.
Hiking's been out, but we've seen our share of bison, elk and antelope from the car, along with a couple distant moose. We've met lots of fellow nature lovers and this trip it seems all of the Europeans (who flock to this area) are, oddly, Dutch. We talked with one who'd shipped his camper over from Antwerp and would be exploring the US for a year. The only place he and his wife had been that disappointed was California. "We didn't like the people," he said, while we hoped to convince him otherwise.
For her part, our server at the lodge, where we snacked on truffle fries and Snake River Ale before being chased inside by a storm, said the Dutch tourists were the worst: "They only tip 3%!" she grumbled. Another Dutch couple rented a camper in Canada and would head up to Alaska in another month or so to "see the glaciers before they melt" due to global warming. "There's nothing like this in Europe," they said, sharing their binoculars with a young American couple. "All these animals..." It often seems to us that those from other countries have a greater appreciation for, and knowledge of, the great American outdoors than many citizens do.
Bear Facts
(If you're not a fan of Animal Planet or Discovery, you may want to tune out.)
Although grizzlies have remained elusive this trip, a friend emailed that they'd found a black bear on their kitchen counter in Tahoe, eating apples! We've learned a lot about the iconic grizzly. Three of its key food sources in this area are threatened. Cutthroat trout, which inhabit the shallow streams, are being eaten by introduced lake trout, which live in deep waters inaccessible to bears. The army cutworm moth which sips nectar and rests on high-altitude rocks provides bears with important fat in the fall, but it's a crop pest and is being decimated by pesticides in the plains states. And pinenuts (who knew?), another important food, are in ever-shortening supply thanks to the pine bark beetle killing pine trees.
This is why the Willow Flats elk calving area is closed to people -- as much to allow the bears undisturbed access to an important protein source as to protect humans. It's gruesome for the elks, but they greatly outnumber grizzlies at an estimated population of 8,000 to the grizzlies' 300, and the elk are fed by humans in the winter, while bears eat nothing for months.
Cubs are born only if the sow has had enough food prior to hibernation, and they're only 10 ounces at birth. Emerging from the den in May, they'll remain with their mother all summer long, gaining about 50 pounds and returning to the den with her in November. They continue to nurse through a second winter, as well as a third, when they've reached 80 pounds. Pity the poor mother grizzly, who feeds the cubs for two and a half years, a year longer than the common black bear. With low reproduction rates, poaching by humans and threatened food sources, the grizzly's future is uncertain.
With luck, we'll see this charismatic critter and wolves, if we can get into Yellowstone.
For an assortment of random photos, either copy and paste or click on:
http://picasaweb.google.com/happytwo.mcwilliams/2Teton?authkey=Gv1sRgCN-HwdOsq-23IQ&feat=directlink

Tetons Redux

The first leg of the trip took us through Nevada, past Winnemuca and the billboard for the Pussycat Ranch (Jacuzzi. Massage. Truckers Welcome.) A sometimes-heavy rain lowered the snow level on the mountains and left the air heavy with the sweet scent of sage -- even in the Elko Walmart parking lot, where we spent the first night, dining on a caprese salad garnished with leaves from the traveling basil plant that accompanies us. A new route through Salt Lake City allowed us to avoid the steep mountain pass that taxed Happy's brakes last fall.
Just over 1050 miles brought us to our destination the second evening, the Gros Ventre campground in Grand Teton park. Miraculously, we were able to grab the same mountain-view campsite we had last fall, this time with a nesting robin in the tree outside the “kitchen” window. The scenic rivers are nearly unrecognizable, swollen to three or four times their size with muddy snowmelt, their currents strong enough to topple the sturdiest bison. We saw no animals on the road to the campground.
The cheery camp host told us there was a great horned owl nesting nearby and we found the nest cavity in a tree at dusk, thanks to a group of photographers with their foot-long telephoto lenses trained on the site. Two large babies with wise old faces peered from the nest, while the parent owl preened in a nearby tree. We immediately fell into the conversation du jour in this neck of the woods: what have you seen and where?
A photographer and his wife from Wisconsin filled us in, beginning with the always tantalizing tip of the pyramid: grizzlies and black bear, mostly in Yellowstone. Like nearly everyone we meet, they travel here more than once a year, with the sole intent of “shooting” wildlife. No one ever seems to be a professional, despite lots of very expensive equipment. They do it for the thrill, spending the day going back and forth on the roads most likely to produce a prize, then sometimes waiting for hours to get the shot.
I love the easy camaraderie of this place: it’s all about seeing wildlife in a spectacular setting and sharing tips with everyone else on where they can find it. Sort of a communal love-in for critter people. My idea of heaven.
The next morning, with low clouds hiding the base of the mountains, we set off on Antelope Flats road and soon spotted our first herd of bison, molting adults shedding their tattered winter coats and tan calves bedding down in the sage. We were reassured that the multitudes of animals we saw in the fall we still around – somewhere.
After a visit to Jackson Lake Lodge, which graciously provides wifi and spectacular views from its lobby, we headed back to camp, stopping at the Oxbow, where Grizzly 399 reportedly still lives with her offspring. There were no bear jams this time. The river now resembled a lake, the beaver we watched swimming was gone and the air was thick with mosquitoes.
We returned to camp at dusk, spotting elk, deer and fleet-footed pronghorn antelope on the way. Our new neighbor was Don, a retiree from Colorado who visits the park several times a year. He was packing up the telephoto for his camera – at least two feet long, it came in camo print. He told us where to find kit foxes, more owls soon to fledge and talked of the wolves in Lamar Valley, our next destination. He occupied the cozy Chalet camper alone, saying his wife had given up camping after 27 years of his wildlife photography.
Spectacular lightening displays illuminated the inky sky. Springtime in the mountains is sheer drama, with snow in the mountains and flowers in the meadows, and weather that changes from scorching mountain sunshine to pelting rain and back in minutes.
Dawn and dusk are the prime times for animals, and the next morning we adopted the photographers’ schedule, setting the alarm for 5 to be out spotting at first light. We were rewarded with a slice of cantaloupe-colored sky and the hulking apparition of a solitary bull bison, grazing in a field of yellow mules’ ears. More bison followed, the calves already treating the road as their birthright.
We’re beginning to feel affection for these implacable and sturdy beasts, who always provide wonderful photo opps, although they tend to give you the stink eye from the middle of the road. Elk were out in force, crossing the road nervously, and skittish antelope were just a tan-white blur as they sped out of sight. No signs of bear, although we learned they are active in Willow Flats, where they troll for newborn elk hidden in the thicket. This feeding window is a narrow one and the opportunistic bears seize it, since soon the calves will be as fleet-footed as their parents. Signs warned human visitors to stay clear.
Our bear lust disappointment was tempered by the sighting of a single sandhill crane, strolling majestically through a flock of Canadian geese, who reached only half the height of the rust-colored giant.
We had homemade gazpacho, bison meatloaf and mashed potatoes for dinner, raising a glass of Aussie Shiraz to toast the beast who provided both a delicious meal and countless photo opps.
Photos are found at: http://picasaweb.google.com/happytwo.mcwilliams/1Tetonblog09?authkey=Gv1sRgCP6I9ZauofCOKw&feat=directlink

Desert rats -- March 09

Much as I enjoy the occasional morning in Happy, comfy in bed with a steaming mug of Costa Rica Tarrazu in hand and the morning news programs on TV; as nice as it is to use the hair dryer instead of the sun or turn on the microwave for a quick baked potato, I’d trade it all for boondocking.
We’ve come to love the days when we’re off the grid, unplugged and enjoying nature with most of the comforts of home. These have been some of the best times: watching whales moving up the Big Sur coast, observing a moose and her calf browsing wild rose hips on a drizzly Wyoming morning, hearing coyotes howl at the full moon in the high desert.
It’s still not true camping – at least not of the remembered Scouting variety. Propane powers the heater, the stove with oven and fridge with a freezer. Solar panels keep my laptop and iPod charged, the water pump working and the lights burning at night. We have a mini wine cellar and a library with games and a cupboard of Trader Joe’s snacks. We even have a solar charger for the radio, which brings in NPR in the most unlikely of places.
We could, but don’t, watch DVDs and seldom listen to CDs, opting instead for a campfire and stargazing.
All of which brought us to the Blair Valley in the Anza Borrego desert. At over 600,000 acres and the state’s largest park, Anza Borrego has more than 500 miles of roads and is one of the few places campers can boondock, or camp off the grid. Pick a dirt road, pick out a spot and set up camp. You’re asked only to stick to the roads and pack out everything you bring in.
And the miracle is, everyone does. We hiked to centuries-old Native American grinding holes, untouched except by the desert winds. Another hike took us to rock paintings by the Kumeyaay people, at least 200 years old and perhaps as old as 1,000 years – faded by the sun, but unmarred by human vandals.
And a steep mile-long scramble up the boulders of Ghost Mountain brought us to the homestead of Marshal South, the nom de plume of an Australian-born writer, artist and eccentric, who brought his wife to the remote mountaintop in 1930 in a grand experiment to live off the land. There they remained for 17 years, in an adobe home they built themselves, living primarily off desert plants and the few provisions they laboriously hauled up the mountain. Tanya South went to a hospital to have each of her three children, but otherwise they lived apart from civilization, writing a monthly column for Desert Magazine.
The crumbling homestead walls remain. Along with the rusting iron bed, tin cans and other remnants of their remote lives – again, untouched by litter or graffiti, although the site is a popular destination.
Staying in the Blair Valley, where the remnants of an 1840s stagecoach road are still visible in the dry lakebed, was the most peaceful camping experience we’ve had. One night a coyote, very near, yipped a response to the far-off howling of another across the valley. In the morning the birdsong was riotous – rock wrens in the boulders, black-throated sparrows in the creosote bushes, and once, a thrilling sighting of a loggerhead shrike, known as the butcher bird for its habit of impaling prey on thorns or barbed wire.
Cottontails and jackrabbits were frequent visitors.
Neighboring campers were specks in the distance and the solitude allowed us to use our outdoor shower – same hot water, but fresh air and blue sky overhead. We moved across the valley after the first night, and at our campsite found the grave for a dog – we guessed a black lab – buried nearly 10 years ago. A faded tennis ball still rested against the headstone, and noting that the dog was buried in August, when temperatures can top 120 degrees, we knew his family must have loved Blackie very much.
We went to Borrego Springs state park for one day, but remained off the grid, in a campsite without hookups and far enough from the showers that we rode our bikes. It was a choice site, with one of the few remaining stone structures built by the CCC in the 1930s, including cement and stone tables and benches and a wonderful rock fireplace built into the corner.
Our site was surrounded by wildflowers and looked up toward palm canyon, a famed desert oasis we visited last year. Gambel’s quail were everywhere, calling “hoo HOO hoo,” and bobbing their silly-looking topfeather as they scuttled across the dry wash.
We were lucky enough last December to get a good sighting of the elusive desert bighorn sheep – the namesake borrego – on a early-morning trek. March, however, is the height of wildflower and visitor season, and knowing the borrego would be scarce, we skipped the crowds of hikers, built a fire and broke out the wine instead. For pictures, link is below: (Click on first picture to enlarge)
http://picasaweb.google.com/happytwo.mcwilliams/March09Blog2?authkey=Gv1sRgCLeNmv639fuiGQ&feat=directlink

Happy on the California coast

Happy trails in California

March 6, 2009
A week has gone and we’re halfway through this trip. Happy has transported us to the desert, a stark contrast to San Diego’s blue bay. The trip down the coast was beautiful as always, and save for one glitch, B and Ed’s maiden voyage in their 5th wheel went well. We spent a night on a bluff above the ocean in Big Sur, then settled in at Morro Bay, where we wine tasted in Paso, visited the farmers market in SLO and kayaked with sea otters and cormorants on Morro Bay. And spent part of an evening with a neighboring camper who shared lots of samples from her chocolate business! The time went by too fast.
San Diego brought Terry and I to our old stomping grounds and a beachside camping resort where I took a yoga class, we rode our bikes, did laundry and had breakfast with the resident ducks each day. We revisited the ‘70s with breakfast taquitos (still 90 cents) at El Indio, fish sandwiches at Pt. Loma Seafood, bike riding on Shelter Island and kayaking through our last residence, the “free anchorage,” where boaters now pay up to $225/month and have solar panels to run electronics that never existed when we lived on kerosene power.
Never much of a desert rat, I grudgingly admit it can exhibit compelling beauty, particularly now when the desert wildflowers are in bloom. We’re at Agua Caliente, a county park with three pools filled by natural hot springs, the overflow running down the hill in a lukewarm creek that gives rise to an incongruous desert night chorus of frogs. We awoke to prints of quail, rabbit and fox outside the trailer and sat in the enclosed hot pool this afternoon, watching a roadrunner run…down…the…road. We saw stagecoach trails dating to the 1840s this afternoon and will camp near the Butterfield Stage route tomorrow, just us and Happy unplugged in the desert. Can’t wait.
Pictures at: http://picasaweb.google.com/happytwo.mcwilliams/March09Blog1?authkey=Gv1sRgCInklImyqJKJCQ&feat=directlink