We were telling a friend about our plans for a road trip and she told us of her visit out west, to Yellowstone National Park. She was driving through the park when she found the way blocked by several parked cars. A crowd had left their vehicles to observe a herd of bison mulling around the road. One man, eager to take a picture, gets closer and closer to one of the bulls. The crowd shouts warnings to him, “Hey, I don’t think you should be getting that close. That bison looks a little nervous….” But he continues closer, unconcerned. I imagine him with eyes open wide in anticipation. He’s ready to commune with this icon of the American West. Just as he’s getting close enough, the bull snorts, lowers it’s head and charges forward. Wham! The would be photographer flips into the air and lands several yards away. I suppose that’s one way to communicate.
That story was on my mind last week as we drove into Yellowstone. We drive through the park and to a ranger’s station to ask about the back country. To get a backpacking permit, the park service requires you to watch a video that, among other things, describes possible wildlife encounters. While in the park, you may come across bison, elk, moose and bears. In Yellowstone, there are black bears and grizzly bears. To avoid surprising a bear you should sing songs and clap as you hike. The video shows a group of jolly hikers, singing and clapping through the woods. They look a little silly. They look a lot silly. There was no footage of the hikers encountering a bear, so I guess it worked. And as far as bison are concerned, I’m not planning on walking up to one within goring range, so I should be OK.
Hannah and I get the permits, strap on our packs and head into the woods. We joke about the bear avoidance tactics. We’re here to be in the wild, not to engage in some hi-dee-ho summer camp stroll. About ten minutes in, we come across some large animal tracks. Grizzly bear tracks. I give Hannah a concerned look. She looks back, a little panicked and asks, “What songs do you know?”
Cold gray rain falls throughout the day. We walk through fields of boiling acidic pools. Geysers erupt. The trail leads us through a snowy, icy pass across the Continental Divide and we arrive at a beautiful mountain lake. Birds call out and squirrels scurry. We sing and clap. There are no bear sightings.
The next evening, we come across two bison as we approach our camp site. I want to avoid being flipped into the air, so we walk away into the trees and wait. Twenty minutes later, the bison move on. We setup the tent and start preparing dinner. It’s been a long wet day, and we’re tired. Just as I manage to get a fire going, we spot one of the bison. Its the bigger one, with horns. I’ve heard that a bison can weigh up to two thousand pounds, and this one looked it. It munches on grass and edges closer to our camp. Good thing I got the fire going, that should keep him from getting any closer. He comes closer. The bison starts rubbing up against a tree, an aggressive behavior. He comes even closer, about twenty feet away. Hannah and I, now standing, slowly back away. He walks right up next to the fire. The camp is no longer ours. It was never ours, says the buffalo.
We circle around to the edge of the camp site. The bull is still there. The air chills as the sun starts to set. Hannah whispers, “Stay right there” and starts crawling toward our backpacks, toward the bison. I stand there, dumbfounded in my manliness. Hannah is brave, hardy and six months pregnant. She inches forward. I hold my breath. She sneaks on unnoticed toward the bison and scurries back with packs in hand. We scramble back to the trail, leaving the tent and half of our supplies behind. Ahead of us is a three mile walk through the dark. We utilize bear avoidance tactics as we go and arrive back at the van.
We’re back at the camp site the next morning. The ground around the camp is scraped and turned over, but otherwise everything was as we left it. We pack up our things and walk back out of the woods, grateful.
