Our routine in Yellowstone is always the same: arise early, pack a lunch and hit the road. We’re off on the daily hunt, never knowing what we’ll see. Terry compares it to fishing, and it’s the element of surprise, and serendipity, that keep it interesting. With over 2.2 million acres of heavily wooded territory ranging to nearly 9,000 feet in elevation, it’s a miracle that we humans, driving along the road that lassos the park in a figure 8, ever see anything at all.
The best clues to the views are the traffic jams with rangers that indicate trophy animals: wolves and bears. But a moose, uncommon in Yellowstone, created a jam, as do most any animals seen for the first time by newly-arrived visitors. On several occasions, we’ve been the first to spot a bear, quickly creating our own roadblock. The sightings we’re all here for are fleeting, and those who arrive even five minutes later may miss it all.
Two days ago, it was a bear jam prompted by a mating black bear pair, a big cinnamon male and a smaller black female. Earlier arrivals had seen a potential rival male amble into the scene of domestic bliss, where he was swiftly chased up a tree by the cinnamon, who swatted him with huge paws as he scrambled skyward.
Seemingly oblivious to the drama she inspired, the female wandered off to graze, while her conflicted mate tried to keep an eye on her and the treed rival as well. The rival shifted his position near the top of the tree, draping legs over limbs like a floppy stuffed animal, knowing he’d be there for a while.
In Lamar Valley, we watched a foolhardy young wolf attempt to take on a bison herd, repeatedly charging toward a little red calf, only to be repelled by a pair of large bulls. Alone and unschooled in the ways of hunting, the hungry black yearling showed remarkable persistence, giving us wolf-watchers a real show before ultimately abandoning the chase.
On a morning that began as sunny, we ascended the grade toward Dunraven Pass, watching the sky darkening from smoky gray to nearly black as we climbed. Rounding a curve, we came upon a lone bison, molting winter coat hanging in tatters from his sides, limping badly on an injured rear leg as he moved toward the summit.
To his left, the snow-covered hill was nearly vertical; on our side of the road was a sheer drop-off. The wind picked up and sleety rain pelted the windshield, while the bison lowered his head and continued his slow journey toward the top, facing traffic and following the white line at the edge of the road. There was no exit from the asphalt and it would be five miles before the terrain afforded any level spots at all.
Knowing this area to be thick with both grizzlies and wolves, I burst into tears. We stayed on the other side of the pass most of the day, and never saw the bison again.
Sometimes the sightings are of smaller animals: a nesting peregrine falcon tucked into a crevice of a cliff, a yellow-bellied marmot sunning on a rock, a raven in a tree with a ground squirrel.
We looked down on the stick nest of an osprey atop a rock above the river, while the bird oddly sat at the edge of the nest, gazing at two tan eggs. A bystander told us she’d seen the eggs dusted with snow days earlier. On our second visit, the osprey was attempting to incubate the eggs, fidgeting and chirping and leaving the nest for short periods of time. On the third day, the nest was unoccupied, eggs baking in the sun.
Among Yellowstone wolves, internecine warfare is diminishing their numbers. The famed Druid pack was lost three years ago, when the pups died of mange and adults were killed or dispersed. A new group began forming in Lamar last year and now is an official pack, with a mating alpha pair and a litter of pups. But the Mollies are changing the landscape, killing most of the neighboring Agate pack and threatening the newly-formed Lamars.
A loose grouping of a dozen or more mostly yearling wolves, the Mollies have no alpha pair and, lacking leadership, roam the area like a rogue teenage gang, killing at will. Last week their victim was a handsome five-year-old Agate male loved by wolf watchers, who’d named him Big Blaze for his striking markings.
None of which concerns the locals. From a Montana great-grandmother to the mild-mannered manager of a park cafeteria, it seems everyone we talk to who lives in the vicinity of Yellowstone wants the wolves gone, blaming them for the decrease in elk, which now number 4,500 in the region.
While biologists acknowledge wolf predation, they also cite recent droughts, which severely decreased forage, and increased hunting as factors in reduced elk numbers. But hunting is big in this neck of the woods and locals want elk bountiful so they can kill them themselves.
As always, humans tip the balance of nature. Wolves were exterminated in the early 20th century and the elk population exploded beyond the region’s ability to feed it. Wolves were reintroduced in 1995, and a natural balance returned, benefiting even local trout. As streamside vegetation returned, so did the insects which feed the trout.
Everything’s got to eat. Grizzlies take many elk calves. Everything eats ground squirrels, from grizzlies to coyotes, foxes, weasels, badgers and birds of prey, which keeps their staggering numbers under control. Otters eat the protected cutthroat trout, but so do the big introduced lake trout, which the Park Service is trying to control. And so it goes.
And we humans come from all parts of the planet to watch this diorama unfold, to know that here, at least in Yellowstone, mostly removed from cell service and wifi, a place exists that is truly wild.
For pictures: (click on first photo to initiate slide show)
https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/sredir?uname=happytwo.mcwilliams&target=ALBUM&id=5750392329709065425&authkey=Gv1sRgCKjT6fm66e2UkAE&feat=email
and, for part 2:
https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/sredir?uname=happytwo.mcwilliams&target=ALBUM&id=5750700301903627329&authkey=Gv1sRgCLLFy8WkpOfnXA&feat=email
