Crowds watch for wolf packs at Yellowstone
It’s a sound that sends a shiver through your entire body. The howl of a lone wolf was immediately joined by two pack mates. Then it went silent again, except for the lonesome sound of the wind ripping through the naked aspens.
I’ve been out roaming again. This time it was the winter excursion to Yellowstone National Park I had vowed to make last fall while I watched four wolf pups play through a spotting scope that belonged to one of the park’s “wolf watchers.”
The wolves I had heard were members of the Druid Peak Pack, the oldest and most visible wolves in the park. I had arrived just after daylight near the spot where I had seen them the day before. Though a half mile away just tiny silhouettes in my longest camera lens it is an image that will stay with me a long time.
Two of the pack’s black pups had run out into a clearing to inspect an old elk kill, when a gray wolf came to the edge and the youngsters ran back into the trees. I was told the alpha female was gray, and I imagined that she had scolded her children back into the woods where they would bed for the day.
Most of the wolves of the Yellowstone are named by some physical feature in their territory, such as the Agate Creek or the Slough Creek packs. Some, like the Nez Perce Pack, honor American Indians who inhabited the region. Many of the wolves have been collared and are tracked through radio telemetry by National Park Service wildlife technicians. Watchers and photographers have learned to look for these folks, and when wolves are spotted, news travels across radios and a small crowd soon gathers.
The make-up of the various packs is generally known, with many being assigned numbers with an M or F attached to denote gender. Many of the wolf watchers can tell you how many are in each pack and which are the leaders. Alpha males and females are the leaders in the pack hierarchy and usually the only ones in a given pack involved in breeding.
You can learn a lot just hanging out among the wolf watchers. Each year there are more folks in the park during the winter.
It’s hard to pull away from a group that has located a pack, but the solitude of the Rocky Mountains in winter has as much allure to me as the wolves that are a symbol of their wildness.
There is a lot of other wildlife to see. The ubiquitous bison dot the Lamar Valley often referred to as the Serengeti of North America digging into the snow for grasses buried below. Elk have descended to the lower elevations in search of grazing. Bighorn sheep have been forced from the highest elevations by the harsh winter and are seen on the lower slopes near the road.
Each morning, Park Service snowplows carve a path across the north range of Yellowstone from the park’s north entrance to its east entrance. It is the only road open in winter but is kept in good shape for almost any vehicle to negotiate.
Of my five days, I experienced but one below-zero morning. The forecast had been for minus 15, but actual readings are hard to come by. I understand that the other mornings started in the single digits and climbed into the mid 20s. It was downright balmy compared to the 40 below some of the photographers had endured a month earlier.
Though I tended to shun the crowds for the most part, I made friends with some of the photographers, such as Dan Hartman, whose wolf images have walked the pages of National Geographic. And I met legends in the game like Bob Landis.
Among the various critters, I have to say Mr. Coyote was one of my favorites. He seemed to be roaming everywhere in search of a rabbit or a wolf kill that had been left to the ravens. Some traveled in small packs while other individuals did their own thing. As I sat on the tailgate of my pickup, usually hoping to glimpse a wolf, I would hear the coyote constantly yapping and howling. It was having heard so many coyotes in the days prior that allowed me to be certain that I had finally heard wolves.
There are so many things to see, and the chance of seeing wolves close up is rare. There are other, even more elusive creatures such as the mountain lion and lynx that those who spend months at a time in the park are sometimes fortunate to witness.
But five days is also a lot of time to sit and wait to get lucky. It’s easy to slip into a trance, staring into the white wilderness, trying to picture which of God’s creations roams the other side of a ridge, or imagining an elk tearing down the slope with a pack of hunters in pursuit.
As I looked through some of my pictures Sunday night, I felt as if I had but scratched the surface. When I turned to my wife and said, “I have to do this again next year,” she simply nodded.