Yellowstone, Part 4

The driving tour

Yellowstone is vast. Bigger than most of us could imagine. The size of a small state … or maybe a medium state. It does, in fact, occupy land in three states, most of it in Wyoming.

For our fourth day in town, we prepared for a big ride out to Lamar Valley, located in the northeastern part of the park. Our goal: find the wildlife.

Marla’s brother, Paul, told us many critters could be found here, if we were willing to get there REALLY early. How early? Before dawn, he said.

Yeah, right.

Let me remind any of you who don’t remember or know me. I don’t do mornings.

At least not very well.

I’ve worked night shifts in the newspaper business for years. Mornings and newspaper editors do not mesh. We actually hate each other. If we meet, somehow, someway, there is always a fight. Dawn always wins, but I rarely witness its victory over night. Because I’m sleeping.

But for this trip and the chance to see wildlife roaming, free, I mustered my best morning face. I even set the alarm for my cozy cabin-mates. Three alarms, just in case I smothered the phone on the first or second rings… at 5 a.m.

The gang rallied. We were up, showered and shoveling down breakfast by 6 a.m. I got the car going with bleary eyes and pointed it toward something I had spotted the day before: Espresso A-Go-Go. Hallelujah!

I felt almost human with a big cup of hot java in my hand. We bolted for Yellowstone’s gate and greeted the chipper park ranger already wide awake in her booth. Hate her!

God lives here

A heavenly blanket of golden mist lights our way in Yellowstone.

The kids were silent lumps in the back seat, covered by a sleeping bag. Marla and I sipped coffee and almost choked as the park came into view.

Oh my.

Yellowstone is a beautiful land mass that masks a mostly-dormant volcanic Hell below. We heard tales of what would happen to Earth if this particular caldera ever erupted. Buh-bye, world.

But for now, the bubbly activity below ground makes for spectacular mornings. Before us, the road disappeared under golden mist that spread across the ground like a heavenly aura. The Saab told me it was 32 degrees outside. The cold air was wrestling with hot, wet steam escaping its earthly confines. The show was amazing.

I stopped the car several times so Marla and I could try and capture the scene on our less-than-adequate cameras. We marveled at the landscape and the complete silence around us.

We had all 2.1 million acres to ourselves.

Making our way

There is a lot to see in Yellowstone. I am a fan of nature. I love land left alone and in its original context. I can forgive the nation for paving roads here, but I have to wonder what it would like without them.

Lamar Fall does its business on a cold August morning.

As we climbed higher in elevation, we saw more mist rise around us. I opened the window and heard a thundering sound.

Waterfall!

Neither Marla nor I were expecting this. We were just driving around, minding our own business (ignoring the map), and along came Gibbon Falls.

More photos were snapped before the cold encouraged us back into the warm car.

The golden mist followed us for another hour. We saw elk grazing in an open field. Snap, snap. We gaped at lakes with steam boiling from their surfaces. Snap.

I caught a glimpse of a woodchuck perched on a hill by the road. I spun the car around so Marla could get another look. She couldn’t believe I had spotted him. Snap.

He was enjoying the view, too, I said. His perch was high above a hysterically beautiful valley. We had mystical American Indian music playing; I got goose bumps and felt myself tearing up. Seriously, this beautiful place moved me so.

I pulled over from time to time to collect myself and soak up the sheer beauty of the land. I wanted my brain to remember, because no digital picture of mine could ever do it justice.

Lunchtime hike

We spotted this canyon and its river on a lunchtime trek.

Around the park there are picnic locations noted with tiny signs. We spotted one around lunchtime and pulled off the picturesque roadway. Growling stomachs reminded us we’d been on the road for hours, already.

The picnic area was peppered with signs warning us not to feed any wildlife and to avoid leaving any food behind. Bears lurked here.

Fabulous!

After gobbling down delicious PB&J sandwiches, apple slices and bottled water, Sandy and I bolted for a steep trail we’d spotted nearby. I was huffing and puffing by the top, but the view was worth it.

Below us spun a marvelous canyon and a river running through it. We spotted a pair of predatory birds sweeping above. They landed in a nest perched atop a spire of rock over the river. Sandy and I broke out the binoculars and played biologist.

Peregrine? Bald eagle? Osprey? Red-tailed hawk?

We had no clue, but it was fun watching them while we marched across the ridgeline.

A discovery! Animal pooh on the trail.

Michael soon caught up to us and we continued down a somewhat beaten path. We saw some small paw prints, critter pooh, baby raspberries, burned trees … but no bears.

Sandy and I stopped to take portraits by a large rock. We’d spotted another lunch group doing the same earlier. Good idea!

We turned to find Michael and spotted him running down the path. He shouted back to us, “Gotta go!”

He was a long way from the picnic area’s potty.

Eventually we made our way back to Marla, who was enjoying the scenery from her camping chair. Michael sat abashedly at the picnic table. Sandy and I knew he had not made it back to the bathroom in time. We teased him roundly, packed up the car and made our way east.

Dead bison alert!

The journalists, all two of us, had done a pretty good job avoiding “news” during our vacation, so far. It didn’t take long for the Yellowstone Grapevine to reach us, the old-fashioned way.

While snapping photos at yet another scenic overlook, we asked folks heading the opposite direction if they’d seen any wildlife. Well, as a matter of fact, they had. A dead bit of wildlife.

The details were scant but up the road (a mere 5 miles) a big, dead buffalo waited.

That itty-bitty brown speck is a dead bison, really.

Yippee!

We hastened back to the car and hit the turbo hard. Ground squirrels scurried to their underground havens as we zipped down the road.

But for the mass of cars pulled to the north side of the street, we would have missed Ol’ Dead Bison.

He lay there, a heap of ragged brown fur, toppled on his side, feet jutting stiffly into the air. He was probably 200 yards from the car, in the middle of a pretty field, with mountains rising around him. Not a bad resting place, I thought.

There were people lined up, taking paltry photos of the poor beast. The crafty outdoor types had telescopes set up. They were willing to wait all day … Wait for what? Predators!!

This heap of prime buffalo meat was a steakhouse in the making.

Come on down, bears! Wolves welcome! No shirt, no shoes, no problem!

Later in the day, the story got even better. It was rutting season, and Dead Bison had gotten into a fight, likely over a girl bison, and got gored with the nasty bully’s horn. He wandered a few miles in distress, bleeding out, with nary a Buffalo ER in sight.

Bonk, down he went. My theory is he fell onto his wounded side, preventing those devilish birds from pecking him open. He’d been in Buffalo Heaven for three days, and still no predators.

We weren’t sticking around to see that buffet in action.

Coyote on the run

Sandy and Michael brave the chilly, rock-strewn Lamar River.

With the dead buffalo in the rear-view window, we forged ahead toward the land of buffalo.

Sandy’s eagle eye spotted something running along the Lamar River bed. We softly scoffed at her notion that a dog was cavorting in the wild … at high noon.

Well, we were wrong. As we rounded a curve, sure enough, there he was. Yellowstone coyote are pretty. I’m used to scrawny, rust-colored mutts who stalk and eat cats in my neighborhood.

This guy was gorgeous, with a beautiful (and intact) pelt of gray, white and black.

We screeched to a halt with cameras ready. He was gone in a flash, but he left us a lovely gift: a beautiful river bed that said, come, walk with me.

This laid back ground squirrel greeted us at the river.

And so we did.

The kids ran ahead while I stuffed my feet back into hiking shoes. We slid down a hill, passed a curious ground squirrel (no joke), and hopped onto the river’s sandy beach. How appropriate for our Sandy girl.

Michael quickly found the trail of coyote tracks. His Scout training might be at work here.

Coyote tracks followed closely by Michael tracks.

We followed the paw prints until water tickled at our shoes. The clever critter had likely made his way into tall grasses that flanked the river. Undaunted, we shucked our shoes and dipped toes into crystal-clear water. Cold, so cold. The river rocks made it a bit difficult on bare feet, so we reapplied the shoes and hopped off to see more of the river bed.

Buffalo roam, rut, grunt and make a general mess of things.

Finally, wildlife … and alive!

With the dead bison a fading memory, we traveled deeper into Lamar Valley. Ahead in the distance we saw dust clouds and more shaggy brown fur.

Bison herds!

This was the home of Buffalo Ranch, established back in the early 20th century (I hate typing that), to help restore the buffalo population, which had been exterminated by greedy, meat-loving humans.

Helpful sign fills in the gaps for ignorant tourists.

The efforts of Buffalo Ranch paid off, and the herds of Yellowstone (and the nation) were eventually restored. The ranch closed and was converted to a ranger station and field campus. The buffalo herd now tops 2,000 and roam freely throughout the park. Free … anywhere.

If they run into your car, that’s your problem. If they rut and fight and throw themselves onto your brand new Cadillac Escalade, your problem. (That’s a true story.)

We had no such encounters with 2-ton buffalo. They seemed perfectly happy to romp by the river.

Return trip antics

The road ended for us at the eastern entrance to Yellowstone. We opted to stay in the park, so we turned around and headed back with Marla at the helm.

I had a chance to soak in the mountains. Our elevation was a tidy 8,900 feet and it felt like it. The trees towered and I hoped for a bear sighting.

But the day was getting late, and the bears were surely tucked into a shady hollow for an afternoon nap. I felt like I could do the same.

After traveling for an hour or so, we found another picnic area and stopped for a snack. We stretched our legs, ate more sandwiches, experimented with the camera’s timer and tripod, then headed into the fields for flower photos.

One, two three: Now you see her, now you don't

Sandy and I had a photo session in the flowers. My sister had taught me that with our nifty flexi-tripods, we could prop the camera anywhere (or hang it by a tree branch), set the timer for 10 photos in 60 seconds, then run and play.

Our antics must have stirred up the hillside, because as we staged yet another shoot, we were joined by a four-legged visitor. A wild one …

Holy crap! There goes our wiley coyote!

A coyote!!

Before either of us could reposition the camera to snap a coyote portrait, he ran down the picnic area’s main road and disappeared into the forest. A couple eating lunch not far from us jumped up as the creature ran by.

Wow! He probably passed within inches of my left leg. I felt so special!

Turn the page: Sandy and I tackle 656 steps