The bear was large, its coat a shimmering deep brown tinged with silver. Laying on its belly, leg haunch in the air, it was chewing on the last remains of an elk at a bend in the river. On our way “up the hill” to Mammoth for a regular weeknight engagement, we spotted a grizzly just 100 yards off the road along the Gardner River, and stopped to take advantage of the rare chance to see a bear up close.
We planned to look for the bear the next morning, but the weather was dark and damp, and we had heard the bear was nowhere to be seen. “Let’s go anyway”, George said, because it’s always worth it – something we often tell ourselves when we just don’t feel like getting up early, or heading our for a hike, whatever. The moment we parked the truck and got out, Jenny whispered “George, look up!” There, perched on the hill ten yards above us, was a coyote. We watched quietly as it eyed us for a few moments before trotting nonchalantly down the game trail, across the bridge and off the other side of the road. Atop a higher vantage point dotted with rabbitbrush and sage, the heavy, damp chill enveloped us like a soggy sweater. Suddenly a coyote yipped, then more answered. We looked back at the carcass and they materialized like ghosts: one, two, three – no four! coyotes, their full coats, rusty ears and black tipped tails vivid in the muted light. We watched as they group-howled, heads reared back in full voice. Eventually, they scent marked together, and then trotted on up a hill across the river.
Eyes are everywhere in Yellowstone, and on the ridge farther above us, a lone elk peeked its head over. Soon, another, then another looked down upon us. A sharp shinned hawk soared overhead and perched in a nearby tree. No fewer than six bull elk were in view. We never did see the bear. But just by showing up we saw so much more. Yellowstone, once again, reminded us never to underestimate what even a few minutes outside can do. We were out for a grand total of 40 minutes. It was worth it.
Quick before the gates close! The seasonal closure of Yellowstone’s road system is upon us. Jenny, young George and I took the opportunity to pick up and drop off some sculptures at Mountain Trails Gallery in Jackson, WY as our excuse to take a drive through the interior of our nation’s first national park before the land becomes shrouded in white. Each year the roads of the Park close, save the road out to Cooke City at the north-east entrance, in order to let the snow build up to the point of allowing travel by snowcoach or snowmobile. (Image above: the majestic Tetons reduced to their foothills by dramatic skies)
Our last view of Old Faithful before the snow flies (above, left), Jenny and “G” aka “the peanut gallery” (top, right), Casey – the ‘perenial passenger’ (bottom, right) and Jasper – ‘the navigator’ (bottom, left)
Teton Mountains from near Moran Junction.
Two bull moose near Moose Junction, appropriately enough.