We came upon this scene at the turnoff from the main road to Roosevelt Lodge, where we were staying. Arrayed in the large parking lot at the intersection, itself an unpretty but necessary destination with its vault toilets, an enormous bank of recycling bins, gas station, and rangers office, were a hundred onlookers, cameras and binoculars aimed at the sage where a black bear's nose would pop up to gather molecules of scent, trying to hone in on the location of their origin,only to disappear in the brush and rise again seconds later, yards away...
What we had witnessed is a daily occurrence in the wild: an animal, a deer, invests enormous amounts of biological energy in producing and then nurturing offspring; then suddenly, within a few minutes, another animal has purloined all of that energy for its own welfare and that of its offspring.
Then one evening we were meandering up a mile or two of gravel road in an area that happens to be among the most beautiful in the park. The ridges and valleys and narrow canyons also form a bottle neck between two vast open spaces, and thus offer the chance to see concentrations of wildlife, including, often, wolves. That was not to be our fate this evening though. As we turned around and headed back, we saw a car facing in the opposite direction pulled up close to the edge of the road; the front door was open so all we could see there in the grassy sagebrush was the busy movement of something furry, so we too stopped to look. What we saw was this creature, an American badger. Badgers are very close to the ground, with beautiful striped facial markings, and a snout (usually with dirt on it, as in this case) and powerful forepaws designed for digging.
Someone happened to look away from the badger's work (one should always pause to look around when so focused on wildlife activity, it pays off in all kinds of ways) and pointed to an all but unnoticeable hole in the gravel road. What we saw was remarkable: one after the other, four mouse-sized animals, almost the same color as the gravel, literally popped out from the hole, landing nearby on the gravel. I thought they were mice, but on close inspection, they proved to be infant ground squirrels.
Bob Landis, the renowned cinematographer, happened to be there (he's almost always in the park, which is how he captures some of the phenomenal action that he does), so I know some truly first rate footage exits of the little creatures. But since we were all experienced wildlife-watchers, and have it deeply engrained in us that one does not interfere with Mother Nature, we all stood around marveling. Nobody took any action, even in the full knowledge that once we all dispersed, the next car to come down the road would have no chance of spotting the pebble-sized pups before squashing them. Then finally, a man leaned over and one-by-one picked them up in a paper towel, setting them down in the grassy sage at the side of the road. Not 5 feet from the badger's hole. Still, no one said anything -- certainly no one criticized him for what he did, and in fact probably many were relieved he had done it. Not knowing what else to do in the fast-fading evening light we finally all did disperse back to our cabins and tents and campers, all with the unexpressed knowledge that we had just made it easy for the badger to get its tender ground squirrel meal, and perhaps to provide a nutritious meal to its own offspring.
The so cycle of life, and death to enhance the chances of other life, goes on.