Teton Spring 2014

Snow! The Tetons were December-white in May as we approached Jackson Hole, while warm temperatures and residents in shorts said July – for once, the perfect weather for the Wild West parade and Beer Fest.  Under persistent high-altitude sunlight, we watch the snow retreating further up the mountains each day, feeding muddy, swollen rivers that ignore their banks, creating lakes where scrawny sage grows.

And in this extraordinary springscape, the first wildlife appeared as soon as we hit the county line: two scrawny young bighorn sheep, showing the deprivations of winter. Then, a moose on the Gros Ventre river near our campground, following by welcome news of newborn-calves and a rebounding population. Pronghorn antelope and elk mingle on the meadows with our beloved bison, who marked our first day in camp by meandering through as we drank our morning coffee. The behemoths are molting the heavy winter coats that allow them to survive the brutal cold of winter, rubbing on trees (and the edge of the neighboring picnic table) to lose the woolly tatters. A lone bull visited at cocktail time, but the bulk of the herd roams the open spaces of Antelope Flats, redheaded calves keeping up with the herd as they cross roads at will.

A massive array of vehicles near Jackson Lake marked our first bear sighting on day 3: the famous Grizzly 399 and her yearling cubs. A third cub had been lost over the winter, but this much-photographed sow is a highly experienced mother at age 18, and the remaining cubs looked healthy and strong. Unfortunately for us, they remained mostly in the brush, offering only the occasional tantalizing glimpse, but no photo opps for my amateur camera.

Jackson is an affluent town with residents like Dick Cheney and Harrison Ford, but its public face is young, friendly and super-fit. It’s an incongruous island of tree-huggers who shop organic in a state whose residents disdain climate change and hunt the wolves visitors travel thousands of miles to see. We break up our own wildlife hunts with visits to the history museum and Pearl Street Market for grass-fed local rib-eyes and the Snake River Brew pub for happy hour ales and a two-foot loaf of Zonker Porter bread. What other store carries Perigord truffles and bear spray belts?

Europeans and, recently Asians, flock to this area to enjoy the incomparable scenery and wildlife. We’ve had some fun neighbors at the campground, arriving in psychedelically-painted campers from a New Zealand-based rental company catering to young travelers. The first couple were Aussies who worked at wildlife rescue centers and we stayed up past midnight learning about the secret life of wombats and Tasmanian devils. Last night it was two young Brits from Bristol, who brought us cookies in thanks for a pot of boiling water to make tea after their stove failed.

Our best bear sighting happened yesterday, when we parked at a grouping of cars – the best way to know a bear is near – to see Grizzly 399 and her cubs at Pilgrim Creek. Amid an excited babble of Italian and German, and the enormous lenses and tripods of the Americans, we watched the cubs play in a snow bank and all three bears take to the water, where they wrestled and grunted in obvious enjoyment. The show lasted over an hour, with rangers directing traffic and attempting – not always successfully – to keep visitors at a safe distance. (Visitor safety is a challenge: In another scenario today, two Frenchmen standing five feet from a bull moose at the Snake River said they were unafraid because the animal “had a kind face.”)

The day’s local newspaper brought news that the Wyoming governor wants to remove grizzlies from the endangered species list, a move that could threaten not only 399 and her daughter 160 – who has her own cub this year – but the booming local tourist industry based on viewing wildlife. 

This morning brought pups at play, when we viewed a coyote den under an historic cabin on Mormon Row. One by one, the 9 pups emerged blinking into the sunlight; then the mother burst from the den to go off and hunt, leaving me with a headless photo and the pups to tumble and explore in the warm morning sun.

On the way home we passed the pronghorn we call “Scar,” a mature male who’d obviously encountered predators or perhaps stronger rivals, and emerged not unscathed, but alive and still strong. A survivor grazing this morning in a meadow of wildflowers.
Pictures here:  https://plus.google.com/photos/103909884233134954214/albums/6018920186183846833