Wolves and Wildlife of Yellowstone Trip 2004

January 10–16, 2004
By Candice Gaukel Andrews '77

A wolf had passed by the place where I stood in the Lamar Valley. His footprint was there in the snow. And as I held my hand gently over it to compare our sizes, it was like we were standing there together, and time didn't matter.

Time is a funny thing in Yellowstone.

Long ago, wolves were natives there. Then, they were gone. Now, seventy years later, they're back. So are the coyotes, eagles, bison, sheep, moose, elk and so many more animals from a time that somehow seems younger, but right before your eyes, now, too.

While these sights in Yellowstone are enough to take your breath away, it's the timeless sounds of Yellowstone you won't be prepared for. The howl of a wolf on the wind, the yips of coyotes on the hills, the rushing water on the rocks. It's the sound of a world before telephones and radios and TVs. It's always been there, but you, somehow, forgot.

It's good to know there are places like Yellowstone in winter.

It's good to know there's a place where wolves still pass by the road.

I'm on the last plane to land in Jackson Hole today. The city is encased in fog. Jackson sits in the middle of a basin, which acts like a big bowl, and fog often collects in the bottom of it. That forces the airport to shut down. The pilot says we have just barely a mile of visibility, and planes cannot land in anything less here.

But, we land, and I feel like this is a good omen. It's one more to add on this trip already, because I'm wearing a totem necklace I purchased in Churchill, Manitoba, Canada. Churchill is the last place I saw this group of travelers, in 2002. Fourteen of us met for the first time on a trip to see polar bears in the wild, and our love of animals and nature led us to planning another trip together where we could share our passions. This is our second trip: to see the wolves and wildlife of Yellowstone National Park in winter.

Settled in my hotel and with a free afternoon before our welcome dinner, the official start of the trip, I take a city bus out to Teton Village. Pre-trip, I had arranged for a dog sledding excursion. I met up with the mushers at the village, and the dogs who would take me on a ride of pure joy. They carried me through crystal-covered trees and foggy expanses. The only sounds were the wooden sled runners on crunchy snow, and the panting and yips of the excited dogs. It would become my first run-in with the unforgettable sounds I would hear in the next six days.

There were quiet embraces and warm hugs as I saw everyone again in the hotel lobby before dinner. It has been 15 months since Churchill. It was as if we were just saying nice to see you again after having seen each other the week before. It feels comfortable and right — right from the very beginning. It is another good omen.

Our first brush with wildlife is by horse-drawn sleigh. We're now in the midst of an elk herd on the National Elk Refuge in Jackson Hole. The elk are intolerant of humans on foot, but they are accustomed to the horses and sleighs. We slip through the herd quietly, and it feels like I could stretch out my arms to touch them. Some are lying down, some are standing, some mothers are mewing to their calves. We pass by two elk locking horns in a gentle confrontation. In the quiet and the fog, the sound of horn-on-horn stands out in relief. Being among hundreds of elk, I feel like I'm getting a wolf's-eye-view of his prey. This must be what it feels like to be a wolf.

After the sleigh ride, we go to the National Museum of Wildlife Art. It's no surprise to me that the wildlife of this area have inspired works of art. Still, it is confirming to see that others have felt as we do about animals.

After lunch and as the sun is beginning to set over the mountains, we drive in our vans about 38 miles north of Jackson to Buffalo Valley. One of our three guides, Benj, is relating lots of facts about the geological and cultural history of the area, but the beauty of this place is getting in the way of my absorbing them. I was prepared and excited to see wolves on this trip, but I can't help feeling blindsided by the unexpected beauty of the landscape.

We drive between two mountain ranges. On one side of the road, the mountains are quite young, Benj says; on the other, they are extremely old. I don't catch the years between them, but I do know I like being caught in time; being caught between the ages in some timeless space. Yellowstone — there's no time here, yet there's all times all at once.

Benj points to an area out the window and says, “that is the most remote place in the U.S.” It's in the southeast corner of Yellowstone and is at least 50 miles from the nearest road. This is my kind of place.

We continue past the Buffalo Fork River. Benj tells us it was heavily trapped i

I'm becoming more and more like a wolf. I haven't spent more than one night in a single spot, I travel in a close-knit group, and I keep moving.

Although we eat breakfast where we ate dinner last night, the view in the morning light from the Hatchet blows us away. The snow on the mountains, the sunrise. What must it be like to wake up and see this every day?

We're soon in the vans again, traveling through the Grand Teton National Park to Flagg Ranch. We stop long enough to try snowshoeing. We're the only ones walking through the woods this day, and it's almost a shame to mar the pristine snow. But we need to keep going, to keep traveling farther away from “time,” as we're used to thinking about it. Perhaps walking through the woods will help us get there.

We stop in a grove, and another of our guides, Eric, opens a book, The Sacred Earth, to read a passage. It was the same book he had shared with us in Churchill. But now we're not on the Arctic tundra, encased in a vehicle, with polar bears around. We're standing among evergreens, on snowshoes, in a true winter wonderland. After Eric reads, one of our travelers, Dorothy, asks for two minutes of silence for reflection. This has to be as perfect a moment on Earth as you can ever get. Benj breaks the silence by saying, “Not all groups would ask for that.” Special things happen when this group is together — it is another good omen.

For the afternoon, we transfer to snow coaches to take us on the next leg of our journey deeper into the park and wolf country.

I didn't bring my own camera on this trip. The other travelers take photos so much better than I do. I take my pictures in a different way — I watch something long and hard, and try to attach a feeling to it. My hope is that the scene will then forever be burned into my heart.

We stop en route at a waterfall. The sounds of this trip continue to amaze me. Elk locking horns, and now the rushing falls.

In late afternoon, we arrive at Old Faithful Snow Lodge. It's still 10 minutes before the next eruption, so I stand next to a park ranger who is explaining the geothermic reasons behind erupting geysers. He answers a few questions from visitors, and stands silent for a moment. He breaks the silence by reciting a quote from Aldo Leopold — a man best known for his environmental work at UW-Madison. This is truly a sign from beyond. There are delightful surprises and poets everywhere on this trip.

After dinner, Eric takes us for a cold and dark walk to prepare us for the many hours we will spend tomorrow standing outside searching for wolves. I have never seen such a star-filled sky. Out here, with no lights from a city to dim them, the stars reach all the way down to the ground. I've never been on a walk where I could hold hands with stars before.

On our way back, we pass by Old Faithful in the dark. It erupts, and we enjoy a private showing. Says traveler Helen, “I wish I knew how to capture that in paint.” Another artist's spirit has been stirred.

Just as I start to think I will never walk in the heavens like this again, a meteor lights up the sky all around us.

After breakfast, we take a walk through the Upper Geyser Basin. There is heavy fog this morning, and we must stop occasionally to let the bison pass across our path. What year is this? I'm pausing for buffalo. Have two hundred years not happened?

We travel by snow coach again today, getting closer and closer to wolf country. Carl, our driver, is a font of knowledge about the area. He talks about the Nez Perce who had once lived in the area, and how it was said Chief Joseph died of a broken heart. Is it any wonder if you have to leave this place?

Then, we run into reality head on and full steam.

It involves an issue that is so important to Yellowstone's future. A group of snowmobilers is stopped by the side of the road. A man is walking towards a bison with his camera, trying to get close for a photo. The bison tries to move away, but the man is quicker than he is. Carl is angry. He tells us about the $100 fine for harassing wildlife in the park, and rolls down his window as we travel past so the man can hear. The noise of snowmobiles is one sound of Yellowstone I do not like.

At an area called the painted pots, we stop to take another walk. The air above this geothermal ground is cold, yet the waters are so hot. As the steam surrounds our little group, two of our travelers, Win and Newell, throw their heads back to howl. I'm not the only one becoming a wolf — we all are. We are all feeling them growing nearer, and their spirits are transforming us.

Toward early evening, we enter the Lamar Valley for the first time. We are told this is, without question, the best spot in North America to view wolves. The valley is vast, cold and home to the Druid pack.

We get out at one of the road turnouts and set up spotting scopes. We're the only ones at this spot — and even on the road — this evening. I'm so glad we're here in the winter. During the summer, the crowds of people might prevent us from even being able to stop here.

Suddenly, they appear before our eyes. Three young wolves rolling and playing near an elk herd.

Very few people are privileged to see wild wolves in their natural habitat. But we have joined their ranks. We have been let in on a special secret.

It is hard to leave these playful, relaxed wolves, but it is so dark we can no longer see. We drive along the Beartooth Highway into Cooke City, Montana. We are exhausted. We eat. We sle

t is before dawn. We need to get a very early start, since wolves are most active at dusk and before first light. We grab a yogurt-and-sandwich breakfast in the guides' room. Attired in our insulated boots and parkas, we sit close together, balancing food in our laps, on the beds. Somehow, this is one of the best meals I've ever had.

The vans are icy and dark, and the heater is no good against this cold. There is frost on the inside of the windows. A few use luggage tags to try to scrape a little view on the world for themselves, and it is the only sound this early. But it, too, is a sound of Yellowstone.

Watching for wolves is a patient pastime. We set up spotting scopes and settle in for the next four hours or more, waiting.
And then we see them again.

This time, there are about six, walking into the valley from the west in single file. Was that a howl, or my imagination carried on the wind?

We watch them for several hours, until the sun rises and the wolves settle down for the day. We'll come back this evening to watch them again.

I thought it was the highlight of the trip.

Until I saw Hells Canyon.

The canyon caught me by utter surprise. The view of the mountains and the deep walls in snow seemed more as if I had stepped inside an old oil painting than standing on an outlook.

There were two wolf researchers there who were using radio equipment to track the movement of the wolves. They talked to us about the practice of radio collaring. In order to monitor a packs' movements and collect histories, wolves are tranquilized from helicopters and the individuals' statistics are collected. The wolf is then collared and left alone to wake up in his own territory.

After lunch in Cooke City, we couldn't wait to get back into the Lamar Valley for the afternoon. Scanning with scopes and binoculars, we spot a wolf who had been collared earlier in the day. At first he was lying down, woozy from the tranquilizer. Then we watched as he slowly stood up, on wobbly legs. We watched until we couldn't see any more of him in the dark. But he's still there, coming back into himself.

In the early morning, we left Cooke City for the last time and returned to the Lamar Valley. The carcass of an elk was now visible. It was a fresh kill, and the coyotes and ravens were finishing what the wolves had left. The wolves had chosen to eat in private the evening before.

Our wolf watching has followed a natural progression: first, seeing them relaxing and playing next to an elk herd, the next day more serious and on the move, and now the evidence of the kill. Like everything on this trip, it was right that we should see them this way.

Coyotes were on the hill behind us. They were yipping. It was the final sound I heard as we drove out of Yellowstone.

— Candice Gaukel Andrews '77

Although I was four years at the university, I did not take the regular course of studies, but instead picked out what I thought would be most useful to me, particularly chemistry, which opened a new world, and mathematics and physics, a little Greek and Latin, botany and geology. I was far from satisfied with what I had learned, and should have stayed longer. Anyhow I wandered away on a glorious botanical and geological excursion, which has lasted nearly fifty years and is not yet completed, always happy and free, poor and rich, without thought of a diploma or of making a name, urged on and on through endless, inspiring, Godful beauty.

From the top of a hill on the north side of Lake Mendota I gained a last wistful, lingering view of the beautiful university grounds and buildings where I had spent so many hungry and happy and hopeful days. There with streaming eyes I bade my blessed alma mater farewell. But I was only leaving one university for another, the Wisconsin university for the University of the Wilderness.
— John Muir x1863

The fourteen original travelers on the Polar Bear Watch tour to Churchill, Manitoba, Canada, in 2002 found they shared a strong bond — a love for animals. At the end of the six-day trip, they decided it was too good to end. They have now formed the first WAA Travel chapter. The two chapter rules are simple: you must be willing to travel once a year to see animals in their natural habitat, and you must pack a good sense of humor.

The group will be traveling to British Columbia to see grizzly bears in August 2005. If you'd like to learn more about how WAA can enhance your travel experience, contact Sheri Hicks at SheriHicks@uwalumni.com.

To read more about how the first WAA Travel chapter started, read Arctic Connections, a diary from the group's first trip to Churchill, Manitoba, Canada, to see polar bears.