Yellowstone: Somewhere Along the Way

The alarm sounds at 4 a.m. It is an early start, but wolves don't operate on our schedule, and wolves are the mission at hand.

By 5 a.m., the car heads toward Lamar Valley through the darkness. With months of research behind us, we are on our way to where the wolves are supposed to appear. The plan is decided.

Moonlight casts the trees into silhouette. Every shadow becomes potential wildlife, adding to the anticipation.

As the sun is beginning to rise, Yellowstone greets us long before we ever arrive in Lamar. En route a juvenile black bear casually decides to cross the road ahead of the car. It is clear it has its own plan by the way it scurries across the road disappearing into the trees. We are on the lookout for wolves but Yellowstone decides to give us a black bear.

We turn down the gravel-dirt road toward Slough Creek as the golden hour begins. It is quiet this time of morning. Leaving the noise of the pavement behind, it feels as though we are discovering a hidden path or secret side road no one else was aware of. Of course in reality,  that is not the case at all. Slough Creek is a well-known location to spot wolves.

The only sound present is a soft crunch of fine gravel under the tires with the occasional sharp pings of small pebbles striking the wheel wells. Behind us is a thick, billowing plume of dust catching the rays of the rising sun. The absence of people only seems to magnify the natural silence. Even the local wolf watchers have not arrived yet.

We pull into a vacant dirt turnout overlooking the vast flats of Slough Creek. The valley is largely empty other than a bald eagle perched high in a tree along the creek and some scattered bison throughout the valley. There is no chatter, no crackle of wildlife radios, and no clicking shutters. Instead, all we hear is a profound, ringing quiet of the backcountry: the wind whistling low through the sage and the water rushing along the creek.

The air coming through the open window is intensely sharp and cold, carrying the earthy, sweet scent of damp sage and morning dew. There is a palpable tension of anticipation. Our eyes dart constantly between the road and the tree line, scanning for the dark silhouettes of the pack.

The stillness persists.

We expect these dirt pullouts to be packed bumper-to-bumper with roof racks and window-mounted scopes but they are completely vacant. There are no tripods standing like sentinels in the grass. The vast flats of Slough Creek stretch out entirely empty, bathed in a beautiful, mocking morning light. The stillness feels heavy, almost eerie, as the rising sun illuminates miles of pristine country with almost nothing moving inside it.

We wait. We listen. No howling wolves. No wolf watchers. No movement.

Eventually, the lack of brake lights, parked cars and local wolf watchers become a red flag. The realization hits: the pack isn't here. Apparently everyone else knows something we don't. The wolves are miles away gathered around a fresh carcass, and we are left holding front-row tickets to an empty theater. Of course, we didn’t find out about the carcass until much later. It is a sobering reminder of the old proverb “The best laid plans of mice and men often go awry.” The wolves are not obligated to appear where we expect them.

We continue further into the valley. Bison graze along the side of the road. One herd even causes a bison jam as they descend further into the valley. The red dogs are flanked by their large protective mothers as they cross the road before us toward the river. One baby curiously stops to stare at us before darting back to its mother. 

A few miles further into the valley, there they are: the wolf watchers. A cluster of out-of-state SUVs and roof-racked trucks are already pulled haphazardly into the dirt turnouts. Cars are lined up and down both sides of the road. A line of people stand with their binoculars and spotting scopes aimed at the distant hillsides. All of the tripods are lined in a row like birds on a wire.

Clearly there is something going on but there are already so many vehicles that have descended onto this location that there is nowhere to park. I grab my binoculars to get a glimpse of what all the commotion is about. 

It is a wolf. A lone black wolf walking across the valley next to the river.

I jump out of the vehicle to quickly get what I hope will be a closer look and maybe an opportunity for a few photos. There is quite a large distance between us so it is difficult to appreciate what is being observed without the use of binoculars. The car cannot remain where it is so after a few quick photographs, I hurry back before someone has a chance to complain.

I accept that this will be the glimpse of the wolf Yellowstone gives me. However, Yellowstone is great at delivering the unexpected. On the way out of the valley I am fortunate enough to see a bunch of additional wildlife. More bison, some pronghorn, a ground squirrel and a really intimate encounter with two Sandhill cranes with their baby chick. The wolf watching does not turn out as expected but Yellowstone ends up delivering so much more instead.

The following morning brings a new plan: Old Faithful.

We take the longer route through Hayden Valley.

We hope to cross the continental divide and have the chance of encountering some wildlife along the way. We agree that this is the most scenic route and if nothing else, we would simply enjoy the ride.

Driving through Hayden Valley in the morning is serene. The warm water contrasting with the chilly air causes a mist that lingers above the river like a halo. The mist together with the steam rising throughout the valley from the volcanic pools, mud pots and fumaroles is a reminder of just how alive the ground is beneath us. 

Canadian geese congregate in the thermally heated river. Calm water ripples expand gently outward around the swimming birds. Even in the quiet stillness of the morning there is still movement. 

To my surprise, after only a few miles into the trip I find myself yelling “Stop the car!”. The car suddenly stops and pulls off to the side. I quickly jump out of the car and rush across the road. The surge of adrenaline is immediate. In the valley across the river are two wolves meandering. One wolf is jet black and the other one a mix of gray and white, presumably from the Wapiti Lake Pack that is only seen in the area on occasion.

The wolves are moving through the valley as if they have no plan at all. Nearby are a couple of Sandhill cranes tensely keeping watch. Ravens fly about, seeming to be enticing the wolves to play. The wolves are so at ease in their own environment. The black wolf eventually settles into the grass while its cohort continues to meander.

People looking to see wolves go to Lamar, not Hayden, if they want better odds of a sighting. Yet here they are. Hayden Valley was never supposed to be part of the wolf story.

Old Faithful will have to wait. After all, that geyser is much more predictable than the wolves of Yellowstone. The valley has given us an unexpected gift. I accept that a fleeting glimpse of a distant lone wolf will be my only wolf encounter in Yellowstone, and then Yellowstone decides to give me two more when I least expect them.

This morning reminds us that Yellowstone has little interest in where we believe things are supposed to happen. We spend much of our lives believing memorable moments wait at our destinations but then we are quietly reminded that sometimes they are waiting somewhere along the way.