Yellowstone 2011

I haven't kept track of -- though someday maybe I should reconstruct -- the number of times I've been to Yellowstone National Park, Grand Teton NP, and the Greater Yellowstone Area, though regardless of the number, it's never enough. The area is vast, and varied, ever-changing, ever-beautiful no matter what the weather, season, or the altitude, latitude or longitude at which you stand. KLK and I were there for 10 days in early June this year. Here's a run-down of what all we saw and experienced that goes in our "first ever" column:

Since gray wolves were reintroduced to Yellowstone in 1995, wolf-watching has been a major fascination for many people. In the winter of 2010, several of the historically predominant packs whose territories were in the Lamar Valley area and thus relatively easy to watch from the road were extirpated by mange. By the summer of 2011, other packs were moving in to replace them, but numbers are still down. But not the watchers, to be sure, they're still there in numbers. See them up there at the top of the hill with their spotting scopes aimed and ready?

But if wolf numbers are down, what are they watching? Surprise! Unrelated (presumably) to the reduction in wolf numbers, this year there has been an unaccountable explosion of watchable badgers (Taxidea taxus) in the old wolf territory. Although I've seen badgers there once or twice before, it was only with the help of people who had already spotted them, and with lots of magnification. This year, there were several dens very close to the roads, and eminently photographable. Here's a mother with a couple of her kits:

Bison (Bison bison) are ubiquitous and iconic. They're everywhere in Yellowstone and are also frequently seen in the Tetons. Like the badgers, bison bring their babies into the world in May and June. But we've never had the thrill of watching an actual birth. This trip, we missed the exact moment by just a very few minutes. We were stopped in traffic, people were out of their cars along the roadside, and we could see a large herd of bison cows with their orange calves peaceably doing what bison do (mostly eating), when all of a sudden we heard a cheer go up. I looked up to see a stream of blood coming out of the back end of a bison, and knew what had happened: her labor was was at last over. At this point traffic started to inch forward, until, within a few minutes, we got our turn to look: 

You can just see a little bit of umbilical cord between the baby's shaky legs. Note, too, the older calves snoozing in the background, and how this exciting event isn't even registered by the others.

But not all is always well among the bison. In spite of their massive size and power, they are still subject to starvation, old age, injury, and predation.We spotted this very sorry old bull plodding along the roadside, by himself, in the pouring rain:

He's extremely thin, scarred up, he has a swelling or lump on his left rear hock. And something else very serious going on: He has no tail. And, he has no anus. On close examination of the enlarged photo, the tail looks like it's been gone a long time (or even perhaps was never there), but the anal condition looks relatively new. Did the injury cause the sickly condition, or did the sickly condition result in vulnerability to attack (wolf, bear, cougar)? Or, we speculated that it might have been a birth defect, given how symmetrical the opening directly into this guy's rectum is. Mother Nature can be cruel indeed. 

Chicken-sized blue grouse (Dendragapus obscurus), fairly common in the area, are notoriously easy to tame, and, stupidly or otherwise, often unafraid of humans. We came across this handsome guy, with his feathery  legs and orange eye-wattles, hanging out at a pull-out along one of the high-altitude passes in Yellowstone. 

He was there for two days in a row, and not just unafraid: he was downright interested in people, and seemed to particularly like me. I let him approach and bent down to see how tolerant he would be of my hand. He pecked at it, never quite making contact; if I leaned forward, he acted very offended, puffing upright and opening his wings (more intimidating, you know!), gobbling at me. But if I walked away, he followed, walking 6 or 8 feet behind. If I sped up a little, he sped up too. It seems unlikely he was looking for a hand-out, so far as I know, grouse don't go for potato chips and marshmallows, preferring seeds and insects found in their home range.I guess we'll never know what he was thinking.

Photo courtesy K.L. Kuehnel

And of course there are deer, of many sorts (white-tailed, mule, and their relatives the elk and the moose) throughout the Greater Yellowstone Area. Along the wonderfully scenic Chief Joseph Highway connecting Cody, Wyoming with the Northeast Entrance of Yellowstone, we came across a herd of mule deer (Odocoileus hemionus) waiting (fortunately!) to cross the road. 

(From a 2009 trip along the same route)

There was no traffic, so we stopped to allow them to pass. One by one they ventured across our lane, then each suddenly stopped stock still to look down at the yellow and black center line. After considering  for a moment, each then leapt way up over the line as if it were a 4-foot fence, and dashed up the opposite hill to join its waiting mates. We were laughing so hard it took too long to get my camera out, so I caught this young lady, the last to cross, just at the moment she successfully completed her mighty hurdle. 

Bears are notoriously fond of bathing and swimming, and very fun to watch as they do so. But of course they sometimes enter the water out of necessity or other serious intention as well. As KLK climbed down to explore on the hard-to-reach shore of the Yellowstone River just above where Tower Creek runs into it, very swollen and swift with snowmelt after this exceptionally snowy winter, I stood on a high bluff enjoying the magnificent view. 

Photo courtesy K.L. Kuehnel

All of a sudden I saw what looked like a large dark basketball bobbing purposefully cross-current...it was a black bear (Ursus Americanus) whose agenda that day happened to take it from one side of the river to the other. Extraordinarily, powerfully, its long route across the river was almost perpendicular to the shore, with very little downstream drift. KLK caught this moment as it stepped onto the far shore. It's good to have a nice benign demonstration once in a while of how strong bears truly are! 

Photo courtesy K.L. Kuehnel

Bears, it turns out, aren't the only critters interested in water. We often carve time out of our wildness experience to visit the wonderful Grizzly and Wolf Discovery Center in West Yellowstone, Montana, for more intimate views of these beasts that, for one reason or another, but almost always following unfortunate interactions with humans, cannot be released to the wild. They're well cared for there, although as usually the case with such facilities, they don't have much room to roam, and extra effort has to go into providing appropriate stimuli to prevent the development of mental illness. The bears, for example, are rotated in and out of the public viewing area, and between bears, the staff hides treats and toys among the rocks and brush that the bears then have to seek for healthy entertainment. But I'd not seen anything on that order for the wolves (Canis lupus) until this year, when their little wading ponds were stocked with small fish. A couple of them seemed to be fascinated with the fish, but I was fascinated with the bears, so KLK stayed to watch them. He reports that one of them finally caught and consumed a small fish. Who knew these magnificent meat-eaters would consider that fun? Sorry he didn't get an action shot, but here is one of the fishing wolves, watching intently for its chance to bite!

Bear Country

I have always loved to hike. By hike, I mean walk in the wilds for a few miles, maybe up to about 8 of them if the terrain is pretty flat, though 6 is ideal before my crummy old feet give out. I suppose I limit myself by carrying a heavy pack of camera equipment – two cameras, two lenses – binoculars, lunch, water, maps, bird book, cell phone (which, if I’m hiking where I really like to, is out of range).  Someday maybe I’ll get over the need to be optically over-prepared and lighten my load, but until then, I’m traveling heavy.

View of Swan Lake Flats, Antler Peak, the Gardiner River and Gardner's Hole from Bunsen Peak in Yellowstone; please click to enlarge

Yellowstone and Grand Teton National Parks and the surrounding national forests offer unlimited hiking possibilities, although I tend to repeat my favorite trails when I can. In Yellowstone it’s Mt. Washburn, its smaller, more easily do-able cousin Bunsen Peak (the photo is a panorama stitch of photos taken atop Bunsen last time I was up there), Slough Creek to First Meadow, Lone Star Geyser and beyond to a couple of great back-country thermals, Hellroaring Creek; in the Tetons, it’s Colter Bay to Jackson Lake Lodge, Phelps Lake from Death Canyon trail head or the Rockefeller Preserve, Two Ocean Lake...the list goes on, but the best part is that there are a vast number of trails out there I’ve yet to set foot on.  Isn’t that great?

There’s plenty of hiking in the other places we go as well, especially in the many other national parks that we have been to, or are yet to visit; there are even interesting trails in the ‘burbs of Chicago. A couple of autumns ago KLK started out on a trail at Peninsula State Park in Door County, Wisconsin. We were surrounded by tall, straight deciduous trees, their green, red, and gold leaves fluttering against the blue sky in the sunny breeze. But something was missing...it took me only a few yards from the trail head to identify exactly what it was: there was no possibility of seeing any “charismatic megafauna” and in particular, no chance of encountering a bear.

Given the state of current events--the fatal mauling of a hiker in Yellowstone by a female grizzly bear who felt he threatened her cub; a black bear nibbling on a camper in his tent in Leadville, Colorado--anyone reading this has doubtless by now concluded that I am crazy.

Bear Honker

I have seen bears while hiking (though the vast majority of my sightings are from the road, largely because that’s where I spend most of my park time), and I do carry bear spray and rehearse its use in my head; when I hike with others, I always remind them before we set out that we must not hike too far apart, and if we spot a bear, stand shoulder-to-shoulder so we look big. Or bigger, maybe. Instead of “bear bells” (aka, dinner bells from the bear's point of view) which, take it from me, can’t be heard more than 30 feet away along a rushing stream, around a blind bend in heavy brush, or in a forest full of trees swaying in the wind, I carry what I call a “bear honker,” a $3 bicycle horn, to let bears far and wide know there’s a stranger in their territory before inadvertent confrontation. I’m pretty sure that obnoxious noise carries far enough, as I’ve had oncoming hikers comment, irked, on the distance from which they heard me coming.

There’s no doubt that the risk of a rendezvous with a bear, be it black or grizzly, heightens the pleasure I get from hitting the trails. Of course there are other thrilling possibilities as well. Once KLK and I were heading up to Avalanche Peak in Yellowstone, when we heard a great crunching up ahead. I just knew it was a huge, and grumpy, grizzly. I knew it and my heart was pounding in my throat. We froze. Then what should emerge from the brush but an immense bull moose with a magnificent full rack. It stopped mid-trail, and, calmly chewing his cud, looked us up and down, then stepped into the tall trees to our left and, faster than imaginable for a 1,200 lb animal, vanished.

Cinnamon-colored black bear, Yellowstone

On another occasion, a friend and I were two-thirds along the short trail to Trout Lake when I spotted a cinnamon-colored black bear about 30 yards off the trail. He was minding his own business, but I didn't want him getting the idea of following us after we passed. So I squeezed my bear honker and yelled I HAVE BEAR SPRAY!!! (which was true) and jumped up and down and waved my arms and repeatedly ordered him to skedaddle. He looked at me like I was surely some kind of major village idiot, and I suspect he was right. In any case, his little bear brain wheels turned slowly and deliberately, as going away wasn’t on his agenda, but ultimately, after several minutes of my terrifying threat display he decided discretion was the better part of valor and turned tail. A lot of adrenalin at the time, but in retrospect, probably a tempest in a teapot.

Grizzly bear along the roadside, Yellowstone National Park

Part of the inspiration for this post comes from “Up the Crick,” a story by Tom Reed in the May-June 2011 issue of Wyoming Wildlife News. Wyoming Wildlife, an excellent publication by the Wyoming Game and Fish Department, is of course highly responsive to the interests of hunters and fishermen, but unfailingly so from the viewpoint of a highly responsible conservation ethic.  

Reed’s superb 25 column-inch story is about the vibrancy and inspiration that comes from being in bear country and the mental and physical clarity it demands. He concludes, “I know there are other opinions out there, those would rather have an absolute serenity in the wild, would rather not have even the ghost of a grizzly in the territory. I am different. I would rather feel that shock of a hammering heart, would rather hit the soprano note in my “Hey BEAR!” and would rather be alive in a country where we have learned to tolerate and respect. This is the difference between the wild and the deep wild. Or, perhaps this is the difference between just another piece of country, and one that holds mystery and an adventure, a feeling of what it once was when it was all this way. I like having that charge of fast-twitch electricity in my neurons and blood. I like the charge.” I could not have put it better myself.

Grizzly with three cubs, Grand Teton National Park

Winter, winter, winter

I returned from six beautiful days in Yellowstone on Monday night, my travel sandwiched between a winter snow storm in Montana and a winter snow storm in Chicago. The Park can certainly use the snow and in fact should be colder than it has been as well so the normal variation of seasons will be maintained. However, the warmer temperatures - the lowest my rental car thermometer ever registered was +14 degrees Fahrenheit - made outdoor activity an easy pleasure. Wildlife sightings included many, many bison that are doing well in the mild winter, somewhat fewer elk than usual (apparently also because of the weather they have not come down into valleys like Lamar in large numbers), mule deer in Gardiner and points north, golden and bald eagles, one trumpeter swan, numbers of dippers (water ouzels), goldeneyes, many mallards and Canada geese, red squirrels, a gorgeous silver fox, coyotes as always, bighorn rams at the confluence of the Lamar River and Soda Butte Creek, and a wonderful long tailed weasel in winter white (aka ermine). The Druid Peak wolf pack was very active and visible on the days I was out looking. As I process my photos over the next few days I will post specific reports here.