To Climb a Mountain

We left the magic of the howling wolves and continued south on the Grand Loop Road toward the Fishing Bridge and Yellowstone Lake. I don't remember now why we went down that way, and where we ended up. Perhaps Lake Village? There was a small store and camping or cabins or some such thing. Anyway, we did a little shopping and then started back north towards Mt. Washburn. Along the way we stopped for a little bison viewing.


Tatanka!


Gotta love the little ones. Not sure what they were looking at, none of the adults seemed to notice anything out of the ordinary.



Farther along the road we spotted this bull elk wading in the Yellowstone River. Not as mature as some of the others we'd seen, but striking none the less.

Wapiti!


They seem so huge until you put them in the perspective of their surroundings.



We made it to Mt. Washburn around noon, the day already hot and dry. We had decided to hike to the trail here as part of our quest to see every non-human inhabitant of Yellowstone--we'd read there were bighorn sheep in these thar parts.

There are three ways to get to the top of Mt Washburn. One can park at the southern side, at Dunraven Pass, and take a fairly switch-backy 3.1 mile hike to the northeast. Or, one can park on the northern side and hike south about 2.5 miles along a fairly straight trail. Either way you are gaining about 1300 feet in elevation. Or, for the more adventurous, one can start out at the Lower Falls and hike about nine miles along Mt Washburn trail that follows the eastern spur of the mountain.

We opted for Dunraven Pass, possibly because the parking area was closer to where we were coming from. We packed our lunches and water bottles, grabbed camera and hiking poles, and started the climb.

There were, of course, gorgeous views from the mountain side.



The bright sun made for some great contrast but also for some sweaty hiking.



There were butterflies all over the place, sipping nectar from thistles, like this sulphur.




This Edwards' Fritillary and Western White are playing nicely together.




The trail seemed to go on forever. There were a fair number of people on the mountain, some struggling up, some rolling down, some zipping past us. We kept a steady pace, trying not to over exert in the heat and higher elevation. Even so, Lisa got a little woozy towards the top. But finally, the summit was visible, capped by a Forest Service fire watch station.




The view from the peak was a disappointment to say the least. The fires that raged on in Idaho made visibility horrible. On really clear days the Teton range is visible 100 miles to the south. Not on this day, however. This image looks west.



Not only were the views non-existent, but we hadn't seen any sheep either. In addition the black flies, the only ones we'd encountered the whole trip, were just voracious, the top of the mountain was barren and had been paved over with asphalt, and the bathrooms stank. We sat on the rock ledge eating our lunch wishing we'd picked a different hike.

Then we overheard two women who were part of a youth group outing talking about the bighorn sheep. My ears perked up--sheep?!? Where? Apparently, they had hiked up from the other side of Mt Washburn, from the northern parking area. Lisa and I looked at each other. I really wanted to see and photograph sheep. But we couldn't hike down the north side since the car was on the south side, five or six miles back down the road. The only solution was to split up. I'd go down the north side to look for the sheep, Lisa would head back south to the car, then drive around and pick me up.

I took the obligatory photo of Lisa with the sign, we filled up our water bottles, and went our separate ways.




I would not be disappointed.


Next: Bighorn sheep and the descent down Mt Washburn.

Wolves in Hayden Valley

By eight am we had made it down into the Hayden Valley. The Grand Loop Road's eastern arm runs along the Yellowstone River as it flows north out of Yellowstone Lake along the eastern edge of the Hayden Valley. This is another "hot spot" for wildlife viewing and we had our fingers crossed. Must have had our toes crossed too because we could not have hoped for what we were about to see.

Once again, rounding a bend in the road we came upon a large clot of vehicles pulled to the side and filling a turnout. Out we hopped with camera and binoculars and approached a small group of folks talking excitedly. What was all the commotion about? A wolf pack, just on the other side of a copse of trees jutting out from the road toward the river.

There was no sign of them from our vantage point, but then a fellow's two-way radio crackled. Someone had gone up ahead along the road, and had found a clear sight line to the pack on the other side of the trees. It was like a scramble at an air force base, everyone grabbing gear, folding up their spotting scopes and running for their cars and vans.

I don't recall how far we drove, 1/2 mile to a mile I'd guess, before we came to another turn out. We all piled out (now I'm seeing the Keystone Cops) and rushed to the edge of the pavement. There, there they were, probably a half mile away, tucked just at the base of the trees, basking in the morning sun.

Don't see them? I couldn't very well either. Look to the left of the dead tree at the center of the frame.


Ah, there they are!


The aptly named Hayden Valley pack was cavorting and romping in the sunrise. The Alpha female was white, and she stood out like a firebrand in the sunshine. Her pups, probably 4 or 5 months by this time, were frolicking in the prairie grass. This wolf pack was fairly known, it turns out, as they tended to hang out very near the road, and could often be seen crossing the road. Lucky they didn't get run over!

Do you see the wolf on the right edge of this image?


I didn't have a tripod, so I knelt by the railing and balanced my camera on top, and took some shots, hoping against hope that something would be visible. I'm happy that I was able to get these, poor as they are (and super blown up at that).




Many of the people there watching with us did this on a regular basis. Some were retirees who spent much of their time exploring the park. Others were private tour guides who knew the park inside and out and would take groups around to the best sights. These folks knew everything about the regulars of any particular area--I remember one fellow talking about the bald eagle pair and where they usually hung out and where their nest was. They were all gracious and friendly and let us watch the wolves through their spotting scopes.

While I knelt on the ground and the group of 40 or so chatted, one woman raised her voice above the rest. Without shouting, she calmly said, "If you listen you can hear them."

The group went silent instantly. And yes, there, rolling across the valley floor, was the sound of howling wolves.

First, one of a moderate tone, then joined by another, lower. Then a third, higher. Then a fourth. They howled and yipped and sang in the sunrise. I was utterly flabbergasted. Never in my dreams could I have imagined this, a morning beside the Yellowstone River listening to the singing of the wolves. I put my head down on my arm and cried like a baby.



We stayed for a while there by the river, but the day was wearing on and we had other things we wanted to do. If the wolves had been closer, more visible, we would have stayed longer. We decided to return in the evening, to see if there were still around. To our delight, that evening around 6:30 when we made it back into the valley, the wolves were still in the area.

Here, the alpha female, wolf number 540f, sniffs along the river's banks. Several of these wolves were collared for tracking purposes, to help biologists study them and learn their behaviors. They are never given names, to help those studying them be less likely to anthropomorphise, I guess. So 540f it is.



Whatever her name, she was beautiful.



Upstream from the white wolf was one of her pups with another adult, nosing around in the flats. The yellowed, hazy skies that hung over Yellowstone that day was from the smoke of Idaho wildfires.



Here they are, cropped.



For months after our return home I was haunted by the howling of the wolves. That moment followed me everywhere. Anyone who has had the good fortune of hearing wolves in the wild knows what I mean. It never leaves you, that feeling. Wolves were never really the enemy of man, not until we domesticated their prey. I would not be surprised if for millenia we didn't work together, one following the other to sustenance. How else did we end up with dogs? We have a certain kinship to these creatures, and I for one am forever grateful to those who made possible the reintroduction of wolves into Yellowstone.

By February of the following year I couldn't take it any more and decided to do a piece in honor of my experience. The alpha female, wolf 540f, was burned onto my brain. I didn't have images good enough to work from, so I stated a search online for photos. I came across some awesome shots of the pack taken near the end of October 2007, three months after we'd seen them. I do not recall the photographer's name, but I downloaded a few. Here's one of them calling in the pack. The fellow who shot these watched them take down an elk a day later.



From some other photos I found I created this piece.


With my prints I like to include information sheet about the animal, physiological info, habitat etc and my experiences with that animal. I wanted to write a piece about this magical morning, and started doing some research about the pack.

I was shocked by what I found. Here is the end of the story:

As we know, Nature is not sentimental. Nature cares little for beauty or mystical moments, as these are human inventions. A few weeks after finishing this drawing, I decided to do some research on the Hayden Valley pack. After some searching, the news I found was initially stunning—the Alpha male and female, wolves 540f and 541, had been killed in late October of 2007, probably by a neighboring pack, just three months after I had seen them and been so moved by them. It was a jolt to my psyche, yet at the same time a confirmation of how Nature works. Yes, life can be brutal, and often is. Life needs death to sustain it, whether to feed it or to make room for the next generation, the next ruling pack. There is no room in Nature for the sentimentality of a broken heart.

The Alpha female of Hayden Valley and her pack were, for many thousands of Yellowstone visitors, the first and perhaps only wolf pack they will see in the wild. I am only one of many who was moved by this powerful animal. The knowledge of her fate only makes my oh-so-human tribute to her that much more personal and intense.

Yes, by the end of October, wolf 540f was no more. No one is sure how many of her pack survived, although several months later an adult was spotted with one of the pups near Old Faithful. Life goes on. Perhaps they started a new pack, or were taken in by another. Life goes on.

I will never ever forget that moment, that experience that still brings tears to my eyes.

What majesty.


What grace.

Waylaid By Elk Again

Once again, on day five of our trip, we were up at the butt crack of dawn and on the road before the sun rose. Our plan this day was to head southeast, to the Hayden Valley, another supposed wildlife haven. Later in the day we would hike to the top of Mt. Washburn to take in the views and hopefully see bighorn sheep.

As had been the case each day, we were distracted from our goal by elk. Along the Madison River, right on the side of the road at a turn out area complete with benches, was a small herd of cow elk with their calves. How could we not stop?

I mean have you ever seen anything as cute as this?



Thanks to a long lens (and cropping in Photoshop) I was able to get good shots of these little fellas without disturbing them too much. They seemed to be very curious about us. I stayed close to the car to avoid spooking them.



What a sweet face!


None of the elk seemed too bothered by us. I like this rather contemplative shot of this cow, across the road from the others.


We left the herd and traveled along the West Entrance Road to Madison Junction where we once again picked up the Grand Loop. This would take us past the place were we'd seen that beautiful 14 point bull elk on previous days. Lisa kept a lookout as we drove along the Gibbon River. We passed his "usual" spot but he wasn't there. Moments later Lisa shouted "There he is! In the woods, on the other side of the river!"

Just up ahead was a turnout, so I pulled over and parked the car. As if I had planned it, I had an unobstructed view of that gorgeous elk, heading into the woods on the far side of the river, just as the sun was beginning to rise.



On every other occasion when we had seen him, he was completely unfazed and uninterested in all of the people around him. This morning, for reasons I cannot comprehend, he was very interested in me.

(Notice all the rubs on the trees around him.)

Here I was, alone except for Lisa, no crowds, no whistling or clapping, with a river between us, and he just stood there and stared at me, first over his right shoulder and then over his left. Nose raised to the wind he seemed to be catching my scent. We watched each other for some time until he finally walked into the woods and disappeared.



I was absolutely thrilled to have been able to share a moment with this bull elk, without the intrusiveness that a group of people brings to any experience.

We hadn't gone far when we caught sight of two more bull elk in a meadow on the west side of the road, glowing in the early morning light. I believe that is Mt. Holmes in the distance. This whole area apparently escaped the fires of 1988.







What a stroke of luck to catch this fellow with a bird hovering over his back, perhaps looking for flies for breakfast.


We finally made it to Canyon Village and headed south along the east arm of the Grand Loop Road toward the Hayden Valley. We were hopeful about our chances of seeing more wildlife. We could not have hoped for anything better than what we saw--and heard--on that magical morning.

Next: The Hayden Valley surprise

Where The Buffalo Roam...And Pronghorn...And Moose...and Prairie Dogs....

From the frigid waters of the Slough Creek we emerged refreshed and relaxed. We decided to drive the length of the Northeast Entrance Road toward the park entrance, just to check out the scenery. This is canyon land, the Soda Butte Canyon to be exact, and the road is bordered by tall sandstone cliffs. It was pretty, but I wanted more wildlife. The day was starting to wind down and cool off, so we headed back toward the Lamar Valley, hopeful for some good wildlife viewing.

One of the first things we saw as we re-entered the valley was a heard of bison. What a classic scene! I half expected Indians on horseback to come charging through the valley after these bison.



The Lamar River flows between the two bison.



At one spot where we stopped to take some bison photos, this little fella emerged and proceeded to much some flowers right outside the car window. I don't think I realized it at the time, but this is indeed a prairie dog. All creatures, even the vilified prairie dog, can find refuge within the confines of the park.





What a sweet pair, this cow and calf, laying on the valley floor. Mom's shaggy winter coat is holding on still, her head rested on the haunch of her youngin' while it nurses.





Farther down the road we came upon three pronghorn grazing right along side the road. This is apparently not typical behavior for them, they tend to stay farther away from us and the roads than many of the other animals. But there they were, less than 100 feet from the shoulder. I pulled the car over and started shooting from the driver's side through he passenger side window. I did not want to disturb them by getting out of the car but Lisa insisted. Glad I did.

One of the two females looked pretty rugged. I wondered if she was ill, or perhaps aged. They grazed along unconcerned about my presence.



Pronghorn butt! A few years back I did a drawing of a young giraffe from behind, head up and turned to the left. It was a unique angle, and I have considered doing a series of animals from behind. I got several good shots on this trip alone!




The third member of this group was a handsome male, who stayed a bit farther away from the road than the girls. I love the tall grass moving with the wind in the background.




I took some shots of him, then some more of the ladies, but I really wanted a good one of the male. He had moved a bit closer to me, and I was hoping he would lift his head again. Now, I heard all sorts of people making all sorts of noise trying to get an animal to look their way, to no avail. I was not about to whistle or clap or click my tongue. I stood patiently, leaning on the back of the car, waiting. Then, more to myself than to him, I whispered, "just one more time, just look up one more time, come on, one more shot....", that sort of thing. And I'll be damned if he didn't hear me, hear the soft psst psst psst of my whisper. He picked up his head, turned to face me, and pricked his ears forward. I nearly fell over with delight!



What a moment. Not only did I get the shot I wanted, but I felt that I'd made contact, on some level, with this animal. It noticed me, and while it will not remember me, I will always remember him.

As we made our way south along the Grand Loop we neared Mt. Washburn. Here again we encountered a large group of folks with scopes and binoculars. We pulled over to see what they were watching. Turns out that not more than five or ten minutes before our arrival a lone wolf had trotted past. Had we not stopped for the pronghorn we would have seen it. In addition, there were two grizzly bears moving across the slope of a butte, but they were several miles away and could only be seen with a powerful scope. The real attraction, however, was two bull moose down in a copse of trees. Again, they were quite far off, but when one of them finally moved out into the open, I took a few shots.


Don't see him? Not surprised. It's the dark blob in the middle of the image. Below I've blown it up for you. Still looks kinda like a blob, but there's no doubt it's a bull moose. Finally!!




As the sun went down and the light began to fade we started the long drive back to the hotel. Along the way we encountered what I think is a Greater sage grouse, walking down the side of the road. It was getting dark but I managed one shot that was not too blurry. I must say that for all the time we spent out of the car on the trails we saw far more wildlife along the roads.



While we drove the sun went down behind the Washburn Range, awash with reds and pinks from the smoke of Idaho wildfires.



This was another spectacular day, filled with amazing places and magnificent wildlife. But the following day would prove to hold the most magical moment of the trip, one that still brings tears to my eyes.

Next: Day 5, the Hayden Valley and Mt. Washburn.

The Magical Slough Creek

The afternoon of July 21st was hot and dry. After leaving Yellowstone Falls we planned to hike along the Slough Creek. I don't recall what made us pick this trail, except that it was on the other side of the road from the Lamar Valley, a hot spot for wildlife viewing. Our first goal however was to find a shady spot to eat lunch.

We pulled into a parking area at the trail head for the Slough Creek Trail. There was no shade to park in, all the prime spots were already taken. We fixed some sandwiches and climbed a rocky outcrop that was surrounded by trees and ate there. While we ate, movement out the corner of my eye caught my attention. I looked to my right and saw the most beautiful coyote trotting past us, not more than 50 yards. This creature looked right at us as it moved past. We stared back, in awe and agony since I'd left my camera in the car.

After lunch we moved the car down near the creek and campground area, donned the water shoes we'd gotten in West Yellowstone to protect our tender feet from the river stones, and went to cool off. Near the camp ground the creek moves through an S curve and a gravel bar with some larger rocks. We sat in the sun with our toes dangling in the cold creek waters. This is the view upriver, with the gravel bar where we sat in the foreground.





While we sat, talking and relaxing, I looked upstream and saw two fairly large objects bobbing side by side, floating down the river. They were a ways off, and in the shade, and it took me a moment to realize it was a pair of river otters. They were heading right for us.




You would think I would have learned my lesson with the coyote, but again I did not have my camera with me. I leapt up, scrambling over rocks and stones in my thin water shoes and dashed to the car. I grabbed my camera--wrong lens! Quickly changed lenses--no polarizer! Crap! No time! I dashed back to the creek and ran down the bank, zigging around tents and jumping over logs as I ran through the campground. I got only a few shots, and most of them were not in focus--hand-holding a 200mm lens when you're panting does not result in very good pictures, but at least I have proof!



They were diving and playing as they floated past. Part of me wanted to join them, such happy and free creatures they seem to be.





Since I was now all hot and dusty we decided to hit the trail. We donned our hiking boots, grabbed our walking sticks (for that all-important false sense of security) and hit the trail.


The Slough Creek has its headwaters in southern Montana, somewhere in the Absaroka/Beartooth Wilderness. It flows southwest, gathering up smaller streams. Downstream from the campground it joins the Lamar River, which flows into the Yellowstone. The area is known for its wolf packs, most notable the Driuds, which has been well-documented by the PBS series Nature, and their rivals the Slough Creek pack. We were well aware of this, and even though it was mid-afternoon on a hot summer day we were very aware of every sound in the woods surrounding the trail.

We hiked for some time, then came to a stretch of the creek littered with boulders. I have no idea where they all came from. Most of the creek is placid, but here the waters tumbled through the rocks.




As far as I can tell the peak in the background is not named, but is part of the Buffalo Plateau.




My intrepid companion, shouldering my camera gear. I look utterly ridiculous in shorts and hiking boots so I'll spare you and myself the agony of a shot of me by the creek.





The woods along the trail were cool, with spruce, pine, and mossy stones. Lisa loved this place, calls it the Fairy Forest. I can understand why.




We reached a spot where it was either cross the river or turn back. I had a rather uneasy feeling, so we turned around and started back to the car.

I don't know if it was the sunlight and the direction that we were walking that caused us not to see the wolf tracks in the mud along the bank on the hike out, or if they weren't there when we passed the first time. They looked very fresh, no drying out of the edges or other signs of age. (BTW, that's a quarter in the shot for scale.)



The idea that a pair of wolves may have crossed the trail behind us was rather electrifying. But whatever the case, a pair of tracks, about 15 feet apart, made a straight line down the bank, across the river, and then followed the far edge of the river for another 30 feet or so until the animals moved up the bank and into the meadow beyond.

A little ways farther downstream we found an old elk skull, partly buried in the mud. It was small, a female or perhaps a youngster. After seeing the wolf tracks I could just imagine the drama that may have played out, one winter day perhaps, the Slough Creek pack surrounding this elk as it foundered in the deep snows, procuring a meal that would ensure its survival for another week or two.





Upon our return to the campground, we changed into our bathing suits and plunged into the cold waters of the creek. There was a deep hole just upstream from where we'd seen the otters, too deep to touch bottom, the current not so strong, perfect for cooling off on a hot summer day.


In hindsight I would have to say this was my favorite place of the entire trip, and when we go back, some day, I want to camp here. A fairyland indeed.



Next: Pronghorn revisited, and maybe a moose.