Saturday, June 4
Near Blacktail Plateau Drive, a pair of Williamson's sapsuckers visited a conifer they had been drilling holes into for several days; three pairs of ruddy ducks, the males with tails thrust high, swam on Floating Island Lake; and a lone male and a pair of cinnamon teal quietly foraged in small ponds next to the Slough Creek campground road.
Joining us this year on our backpack up Slough Creek were Lorelle and Dan, friends from Minnesota. Not far up the trail, more than a dozen tree swallows either rested in or flew around aspens. Some looked to be cleaning their cavity nests or feeding young inside.
A house wren chattered then dove into a hole in a dead conifer, and yellow-rumped warblers chipped and sang from several areas.
Farther along by one of the small ponds, a sandhill crane probed for prey in the shallow water, walked slowly onto the trail—showing no concern for us just yards away—and then made its way up to the next clearing and into the grass.
The trail showed tracks and scats of animals who had recently passed by, including wolves, coyotes and both kinds of bears. Unlike any other year, hundreds of thousands of shooting stars and pasque flowers dazzled the meadows with pink and purple.
About a dozen elk grazed or rested high on the hills opposite the First Meadow cabins. Down and to the right of them, a large black bear looked to be grazing, too. Chorus frogs creaked in the wetlands below, and a cow elk cautiously nursed her calf on a small hill at the back side of the meadow before moving out of view.
Towards the top of the hill leading away from the meadow, a sharp-shinned hawk whizzed by and vanished behind an aspen grove. Not far from there, the steady chirping of a marmot told of danger—a coyote had come too close but then continued along, stopping twice to pee on ground squirrel burrows while keeping an eye on us.
At first glance, a bison looked to be grazing in a meadow south of the first camp site, but Emily looked at it through her binoculars and discovered that it was in fact a large, fat cinnamon black bear.
Not far from camp, Emily and Dan saw an osprey flying up from the creek with a trout; a little behind them, Lorelle and I had stopped to look at songbirds and badger tracks.
Up at camp, we saw the new steel bear box that was installed after a black bear robbed the food of some campers last fall and was later euthanized. A ranger we met earlier on the trail is concerned that the three-cubic-foot box could be abused if people are tempted to use their cook stoves on top of its flat, level surface, or if they abandon food, gear and garbage inside of it. He'd found a bag of tuna fish just this morning.
While some of the rangers might be wary of the boxes, we found this one to be quite convenient and a real luxury. Many times over the years, we've hoisted packs up bear poles only to discover that we forgot to remove or add items to them and had to lower and raise them again. At this site, you simply go to the box, open the doors and see everything spread out before you as with kitchen cabinets.
Across the creek, about a dozen geese rested. Several pairs of cranes foraged together throughout the meadow, and to the south, a beaver slipped into the water from the creekside. Four or five cow elk fed and scanned for danger amidst the hills. High above them on the side of Anderson Ridge, a cinnamon black bear grazed as daylight faded. Cranes, snipe, chorus frogs and soras called.
Sunday, June 5
Early in the morning, Dan watched a group of four cow elk in the hills to the north as a large grizzly moved among them. Three of the cows eventually left as the grizzly zig-zagged looking for calves. He either caught sight or scent of the fourth cow's young, found it and killed it.
This happened in the same area that my brother Sean and some of his students saw wolves and a grizzly interacting over a calf carcass eight years ago. It could have been the same bear as they can live two decades and longer. Regardless, the push and pull of predator and prey has been seen here every spring for thousands of years. And although you might feel sorry for the calf or its mother, bears have evolved to take advantage of seasonal foods—flesh and vegetation alike—and maybe a cow needs to lose a calf to fully realize what's at stake and how better to avoid danger.
The cow stood watching nearby as the bear ate her calf. When the bear finished, he wandered off downhill and out of view. The cow walked slowly to the kill site and sniffed around. It's unlikely she found much other than a few bones and hide, but cows will revisit sites like this throughout the day and even the next one before finally moving on.
Several other cows fed and kept watch across the creek from camp. Dan had seen another calf earlier in the morning, which lay safely out of view under some sage.
The cinnamon bear foraged about 300 yards from where it had been the night before, and the big grizzly came back into view across from the fourth camp site. He plodded uphill stopping just a few times to sniff the ground and to stand up and mark an aspen tree with his claws. Soon after that, he stepped into the forest and was gone.
Inside the horseshoe pond, a sandhill crane lay on its nest while its mate hunted in the soggy meadow nearby.
A smaller grizzly appeared on a hill across the creek from camp, possibly searching for calves. A cow elk watched it but didn't reveal the location of her calf, and the bear eventually wandered away.
Later in the day, we walked to the Elk Tongue cabin. Along the way, a peeping green-winged teal alit on a small pond next to the trail, and we saw more bear, wolf and coyote sign. Near the cabin, tree swallows zipped along the creek just inches from its surface eating insects. Cliff swallows hunted higher, maybe 10 to 15 feet from the water. Down the creek a short distance, a male bufflehead splashed in for a landing.
In the soggy ground near the water's edge, a boreal toad hopped away from Lorelle's left boot and plopped into a small pool of water. Deep moose tracks in the mud led towards the fourth camp site, and a pair of Barrow's goldeneyes swam downstream not far from there.
Looking back towards Cutoff Mountain, the valley showed all the beauty of winter, autumn and spring. The snow-topped mountains shone white while the willow blazed gold, burgundy and orange. And all around beamed the dozens of shades of green in the emerging grasses, sedges and leaves. Behind it all the deep blue sky hinted at the passing of spring into summer.
Dan watched a coyote make its way uphill across the creek. Along the mud, crane and coyote tracks occasionally appeared, as well as a few bobcat tracks along the "S" curve.
Several pintails floated in the horseshoe pond with a few other ducks. Behind them, a crane lay on its nest.
Closer to camp, flies buzzed around the remains of a bull bison carcass. The placement of the bones, head and hide suggested that a grizzly had worked the bull over, though bird droppings on the head and coyote scat told of smaller scavengers, too. The bull likely succumbed to the epic winter the park had experienced. Deep snows with high moisture content made it extremely difficult for elk and bison to reach the vegetation below. Many bison in the front country were walking skeletons draped with dark shaggy blankets, and the odds of survival were even greater in the backcountry, which saw deeper snow and no plowed or groomed roads to travel on
The remains of one of the dead bison's companions lay across the creek, and at least two bull elk had also died in the meadow either of starvation or predation.
This spring, only two bull bison roamed the meadow. Another sign of how severe the winter had been was the dozens of bison scats circling lodgepole pine trunks. It appeared that the bison moved little and used the trees for shelter and relief from the deep snow, rising only to wade out to find a little grass.
What looked like the smaller grizzly from this morning appeared again roughly where we last saw it. A nervous cow elk kept a close eye on it as it wandered around. A second bear across the creek, probably a black, never fully came into view from a ravine.
In the evening, five or six cow elk were visible at any time in the valley, including the one who had lost her calf in the morning. Again, she visited the kill site, and we also saw her there early in the afternoon and would see her there again the next morning.
As the cranes trumpeted into dusk, Dan spotted the cinnamon bear again on the side of Anderson Ridge, roughly above where the smaller grizzly had been.
Monday, June 6
Across the creek to the southwest, a jet-black black bear slowly made his way upslope on a diagonal. Across from camp, three cow elk and a calf walked along the edge of the creek. The tiny calf could fit directly under its mother almost without ducking, and it raced around confidently with head held high. Maybe it was getting tired of hiding out all day long.
The calf's mother looked ragged in her patchy winter coat. One of the other cows stood out sleek and reddish in her summer attire. The third cow's coat was halfway between the others'. A few times, the mother chased one of the other cows a short distance, maybe from the stress of having a calf out in the open. And once, she tried to ride up on one of the others.
There was no visible or audible cue that we could discern, but eventually the calf wandered off, and within 10 to 15 seconds hid itself under sagebrush. The cows wandered away slowly up a draw, feeding along the way and would not return until evening.
From a hundred yards away, a pine squirrel clucked excitedly at me from a thick, exposed root next to a conifer. For at least 30 seconds, it repeatedly clucked, and with each cluck, it's tail alternately shot up or dropped.
Another black bear with cinnamon tinges grazed along the side of Anderson Ridge in a big grassy meadow, and another cow and calf appeared farther down the creek. Although the grizzly caught a calf yesterday, the calves gained strength every day and the opportunity for bears to catch them grew slimmer.
To the south of camp, an olive-sided flycatcher called "quick three beers". Chipping, white-crowned and Lincoln's sparrows also called, along with juncos, robins and a mountain bluebird. And a Uinta ground squirrel climbed to the top of a sage bush for a better look at me.
Back near camp, a Cooper's hawk took wing from a low perch and sailed down the valley to another viewpoint.
A pair of Stellar's jays noisily glided into camp along the small creek and hopped along the ground and among branches in dense conifers. Near the unused bear pole, a ruby-crowned kinglet flitted close by and occasionally flashed its bright red crown.
Grizzly tracks led down the end of the Bliss Pass Trail, and later, cub tracks pointed up towards the pass. A few wolf tracks and grizzly scat appeared here and there.
A tanager called but stayed hidden; a pair revealed themselves, however, on the return hike. Two male yellow-rumped warblers tussled in the air and nearly hit the ground before resuming their chase through the forest. Undoubtedly, a female was close by.
In an opening farther up, two pairs of bluebirds flitted around in a meadow, as well as ruby-crowned kinglets, mountain chickadees and gray jays.
Not quite two miles up the trail, we hit deep snow and were forced to retreat. We had never seen snow this thick any other spring, not even near the 9,000-foot pass, which was still a few miles' climb away.
On the way down, a ruffed grouse ambled slowly away from the trail, going in and out of view among fallen logs and brush.
Back on the Slough Creek Trail, we passed a lone backpacker tending to blisters on his feet. He said he'd be staying at the sixth site, and two younger guys soon passed us on their way to the fourth site.
Light rain showers and thunder rolled in before dinnertime. After the rain passed, Emily spotted a cinnamon bear alongside Anderson Ridge and four cow elk scattered around the valley. Later, a black bear came into view roughly across from the Elk Tongue cabin and part way up Anderson.
About 11:00 after sitting around the fire a few hours, we crossed the small creek through camp and headed uphill towards our tents. Part way there, a pine marten raced across the narrow trail in front of Emily and quickly disappeared into the darkness.
Reaching our tent, Emily and I discovered that it had clearly taken a beating. A lone, muddy paw print stood at an angle to a tear in the rainfly. The bear had also torn other sections of the fly and bent the poles out of shape beyond repair. As rain began falling again, the four of us decided to pack up and head out. Who would be able to sleep in a damaged—or intact—tent with a marauding bear in the area?
Tuesday, June 7
In drizzling rain about midnight, we put on our packs and headed down the trail, moving at a pretty good clip and shouting "hey bear!", as well as curses at the fiend who flattened our tent.
A few fresh wolf and bear tracks glistened in the wet mud the first mile or so, and we yelled a little louder as the light of our four headlamps bobbed down the trail.
The rain fell off and on the rest of the way, and we saw few other fresh tracks the five-and-a-half-or-so miles after the second camp site. However, in a marshy area, something exploded from the ground and spooked us. Calm returned, though, as the silhouette of a great-horned owl or other large bird zipped across the trail and down towards the creek.
Hundreds of night crawlers wriggled along the ground and at the bottom of puddles as the trail neared the rise above the First Meadow.
At the bottom of the hill where the forest nearly reaches the trail, Emily called out that she saw eye shine 40 yards away. Alarmed, we halted and tried to find the glowing eyes again. Soon, those of us with brighter headlamps could see a pair or two of blue eyes staring back at us. Whatever they belonged to, they were curious and stock still.
Slowly, we moved a little closer off trail to the left since the eyes were to the right. Still, they simply looked back at us. It seemed unlikely they belonged to a bison as they were too low, and although a bear wasn't out of the question, maybe a coyote or even a wolf was trying to figure us out.
When we moved still a little closer, an animal darted across the trail and up into the forest. It was a fox! We soon saw its companion by the edge of the water. It ran, as well, but not too far. A bat flittered around us for a moment as we stopped to look at the second fox but soon continued hunting insects.
Down by the cabins, we switched out our headlamp batteries for fresh ones while we stopped for some water. The final few miles proved uneventful, and we eventually reached the trailhead about 2:40, unloaded our packs and began driving towards Gardiner.
An elk and her calf crossed the road ahead of us about a mile from the trailhead. Maybe they felt safer traveling at night?
Beyond Floating Island Lake, the eye shine of two or three bedded bull bison glistened as the truck passed, and another fox crossed the road not long after that.
Exhausted, we reached Gardiner at 4:00 and found a motel that had vacancies and a night clerk. While the others went to check in, I called the Backcountry Office and left a message about our tent's encounter with a bear. Once in the room, we washed up and were fast asleep by 5:00.
Early that afternoon, we drove back to Mammoth and learned that the Park Service had acted quickly after listening to my message. They closed the first three camp sites up Slough Creek for 10 days, and rangers and wildlife specialists had already traveled to our site to set up a decoy tent and camera to see whether the bear would return.
As it turned out, the bear stayed away during that period, but we don't know whether it returned later in the summer. Had we not met the ranger while hiking in, we wouldn't have known about the bear being put down last year. And after talking with others following our encounter, we heard rumors that a second bear might also have become relaxed around camp last summer.
In any event, our trip was cut short by just half a day, and all in all, we experienced one of the most beautiful springs we've seen in Yellowstone and looked forward to returning to the Second Meadow the next year.
Saturday, June 4, 2011
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Pronghorn and Coyotes
Saturday morning near Reese Creek, I stood unseen and motionless as two pronghorn does walked towards me from 50 yards away. They focused intently on a coyote moving swiftly through the two-feet-high sage along the creek. The coyote didn't spot me until it entered a gap in the brush about 25 feet away. In a split second, it darted off, and the does soon wandered away over a hill. Until their fawns grow stronger and can outpace predators, they'll remain super vigilant--and for good reason, as coyotes can take a heavy toll on their young.
Sunday morning not far from Tower Junction, an agitated doe huffed repeatedly at a coyote who appeared to be only mousing. Innocent or not, the coyote was hunting too close to the doe's hidden fawn or fawns, and she took no chances. Twice, she charged the coyote, who soon crossed the road to escape. The doe eventually wandered uphill, stopping several times to scan for the coyote. She disappeared over the hill, possibly to nurse her young, and the coyote eventually crossed again and resumed mousing in the small meadow.
Sunday morning not far from Tower Junction, an agitated doe huffed repeatedly at a coyote who appeared to be only mousing. Innocent or not, the coyote was hunting too close to the doe's hidden fawn or fawns, and she took no chances. Twice, she charged the coyote, who soon crossed the road to escape. The doe eventually wandered uphill, stopping several times to scan for the coyote. She disappeared over the hill, possibly to nurse her young, and the coyote eventually crossed again and resumed mousing in the small meadow.
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| Coyote on the move |
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| Pronghorn doe chasing coyote |
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| Pronghorn doe chasing coyote |
Friday, May 28, 2010
2010 Slough Creek Backpacking Trip
Friday, May 28
What started as drizzle in Bozeman turned into pouring rain by Livingston, dampening hopes of a dry start to a four-day backpacking trip. But 20 miles into Paradise Valley, the rain stopped, and to the east, the heavy clouds turned into mist hovering low above the deep-green foothills of the Absarokas.
Farther to the south and inside the park, an elk and her days-old calf stood high above Boiling River. Several bison herds stalled traffic between Mammoth and Tower, and by the time we reached the Slough Creek trailhead, the sun shone brightly.
Several Uinta ground squirrels scurried from their holes to grasses and back again as we loaded our packs and set out. About a mile up trail, two bull bison grazed close by and watched lazily as we passed about 30 yards to their right. Along the trail between the bison and the First Meadow, a few bear and wolf tracks showed in the mud.
Near a lazy bend in the creek just south of the meadow, yellow-rumped warblers flitted about small shrubs, and a male scaup rested by the far bank.
Chorus frogs sang, and a few bison foraged out in the meadow. High above them almost to the skyline along Anderson Ridge, two nervous cow elk grazed and about nine bull elk lay resting.
Between the First and Second meadows, thousands and thousands of pasque flowers bobbed their purple heads in the breeze along the trailsides. Fresh badger diggings dominated the meadow on either side of the trail about a mile south of the first camp site. Last year, a badger and her two young had waddled up this stretch of trail towards us before slipping into the grass to hunt for ground squirrels.
Ice shelves still spanned the creek by the second camp site, and piles of snow slowly melted in the dark recesses of the forest nearby.
A bull bison grazed in the rolling hills across the creek from our camp, which had been redesigned since last year. The bear pole, fire ring and cooking area are now up in the forest where the tents used to go, and the tents are now put up beyond that, near an area where black bears forage and travel. Just beyond the fire ring, ice shelves covered the shady spots along the creek.
Off and on, cranes trumpeted in the afternoon and evening, and the rain began again, falling more steadily as the day wore on.
Robins began to accumulate by camp, and a ruby-crowned kinglet flitted about underneath a conifer and scolded me for getting too close.
Seeing no let up in the wet weather, we turned in early. With the new camp design, the music of the small, rushing creek, which once pulsed within feet of the tents, now barely reached us, but the steadily falling rain had a pleasing rhythm of its own. And despite the rain, the nearly full moon glowed strongly through the clouds.
Saturday, May 29
The chattering of a pine squirrel and the slow mournful cheeps of robins foretold the coming of dawn an hour or more in advance.
By the forest, robins, cranes and white-crowned sparrows are some of the familiar voices in the Slough Creek soundscape. Closer to the stream, chorus frogs, spotted sandpipers and savannah sparrows dominate the music.
A junco foraged on the ground close to the tent, and a pair of mallards flushed from a small pond as I walked down to camp.
The rain had stopped, and the temperature hadn't dropped as much as was forecast. Still, fresh snow glowed from Anderson Ridge, Cutoff Mountain and elsewhere.
A bald eagle glided in for a landing on the camp side of the creek and soon fluttered across the water and set down on the other side.
Besides the eagle, a bison, a few cranes and the ubiquitous robins, not much else stirred. The robins sat in the tree tops, apparently waiting for their food to warm up enough to start crawling or wriggling about.
On a small bridge below camp, an old wolf scat lay beside wagon wheel and boot tracks. A bald eagle, maybe the same one who'd been along the creek earlier, sat on a limb to the north.
Around camp, yellow-rumped warblers, chipping sparrows, and ruby- and golden-crowned kinglets flitted around busily feeding or making nests. A lone raven momentarily rested atop a conifer before continuing on its way.
Graupel fell off and on through the day in waves. Occasionally, the sun peaked through, but mostly it was a day for those blunt-edged snowflakes. Most years, winter is in no hurry to leave Yellowstone, and it was probably in the 40s all day.
Thousands of shooting stars painted the sage hills around camp with streaks of pink. In places, bluebells colored the landscape, as well, but so far, just the leaves of prairie smoke poked up from the earth. Usually, they're in full bloom, but this year, we came a week or two early.
The green tips of the grasses in the meadow were just peaking up, too, over the winter tans and golds, and much less water stood in the meadow than the previous two springs.
Territorial robins zipped through the dense boughs in the forest, chipping at each other loudly. And chickadees and red-breasted nuthatches called from above as did a flicker and a hairy woodpecker.
Down along the creek, what looked like a flock of vesper sparrows flushed and fanned out from us, and about 25 American pipits foraged near the water. They'd soon continue their journey to breeding grounds in the high country.
Two snipe noisily burst from the underbrush by the "S" curve in the creek. This is alarming when seen and heard for the first time and nearly as much every other time, especially since the birds often wait until you're just feet from them to take flight.
Coyote tracks went from south to north in the mud along the inside of the "S", and common yellowthroats and MacGillivray's warblers sang from and darted in and out of the willows. Bluebirds and savannah sparrows called in flight, and a pair of cranes slowly walked nearby probing for prey.
By a bend in the creek, a pair of gadwalls floated near a male lesser scaup and a male Barrow's goldeneye. The female gadwall quacked continuously, and eventually, the goldeneye and scaup lifted from the water and winged their way down creek. Not long after, two pairs of raucous geese landed on the creek and continued their wild honking.
A male kestrel sat on a conifer scanning the area back around camp, and not far away, a northern harrier flew low over the meadow. A red-tailed hawk appeared from the forest about eye level and slowly circled higher and higher.
The evening brought a few sunny spells, and after dinner, Emily spotted a grizzly and her two yearlings to the north on the side of Anderson Ridge. The two-toned youngsters were blond in their mid-sections and darker elsewhere, and they chased and wrestled each other as the sow moved along. Occasionally, she stopped to dig for roots or tubers. When the yearlings fell too far behind her, they raced to catch up and then continued playing.
A lone cow elk grazed to the north of the bears, and two bull bison fed closer to the creek. Another bull continued to spend his time in the rolling hills across the creek from camp.
A bald eagle soared to the south as thunder rumbled in the southwest. Ominous dark clouds moved parallel to us and then suddenly overtook camp as the winds whipped in and the skies dumped graupel. Almost an inch accumulated before the wind calmed and sunshine broke through, creating a misty, glistening landscape.
The grizzlies had weathered the storm in place, and the calls of a sora and chorus frogs showed they hadn't been put out either.
A crane trumpeted loudly beyond the first camp site. Trumpeting often sounds alarming, but rarely do we see what makes the birds so agitated. This time, however, the answer was obvious--a black wolf had trotted too close to the crane. The wolf stayed in view just a few moments, stopping briefly to jump a puddle or to pounce on a rodent, and then it jogged southwest.
Late in the evening, sunlight illuminated six robins in one tree and seven in another. The scene looked not unlike Christmas trees adorned with large orange bulbs glowing brightly.
The grizzly family made its way down to the valley floor and traveled along the backside of the meadow, heading southwest. Occasionally, the sow stopped to dig, and the cubs chased each other. At one point, the young bears splashed through a wet area and sent water flying everywhere. The sow trudged slowly into the same pool, but after a few moments, she charged through it, having grown tired of getting stuck in the mud. About dusk, the family disappeared into a rocky area beyond the "S" curve.
Cranes trumpeted throughout the meadow as darkness fell, and three deep hoots spaced several minutes apart came from the forest. After the third, a robin chirped in alarm.
Sunday, May 30
During the night, coyotes howled twice from within a few hundred yards and might have been distantly answered by a wolf.
A little snow had fallen and stuck in areas around the meadow with more accumulating up high. What likely was a merlin flew by and perched briefly beyond the tent. The two bull bison remained overnight above the creek to the north; the lone bull still held on in the rolling hills across the creek from camp; and two ravens foraged in a bend of the "S" curve.
Cranes, geese and savannah sparrows called throughout the valley, and juncos and robins took wing from the muddy trail as I neared them. An unseen Stellar's jay squawked from the woods south of camp and possibly imitated a red-tailed hawk's call.
A mystery sparrow spooked from the ground, alit in a small bush and scolded me with a husky almost quacking voice. I studied the bird for a long while, planning to look it up in a field guide later. Too many times, I just call it a sparrow or "little brown jobbie" ("LBJ") and move on. This bird had a distinct, though streaky, breast spot; a dull-colored belly; a creamy, tan and darkly streaked collar; a gray/dark/gray/dark/gray striped crown; and streaky wings.
The entire time I watched the sparrow (it turned out to be a Lincoln's), a snipe "cricked" boisterously from the top of a 15-foot pine. What an odd sight--a long-billed, ground-nesting bird sitting on top of a tree!
Fresh wolf tracks stood out farther along the trail as well as older scat. Coyotes howled to the north, and closer by, a common yellowthroat and flicker called. From the edge of the forest, the accelerating sounds of a drumming grouse came.
The calls of the coyotes were soon followed by the animals themselves--four soaking-wet adults hunting rodents by the horseshoe pond. At least one caught something and gobbled it down before they bedded, keeping an eye on me. Eventually one by one, they disappeared into the forest opposite the pond.
Thirteen geese flew in from the south and landed on the creek, while nearby, a scolding common yellowthroat zipped through gold and burgundy willow.
Up towards the forest, a robin, its breast set ablaze by the early morning sun, sat low in the sage. Were robins as uncommon as harlequin ducks they'd be prized. And were harlequins as numerous as robins, they'd quickly be forgotten.
Down near the next camp site, the sound of gushing water indicated a few breaches in a 25-foot-wide beaver dam, and along the "S" curve, a killdeer escorted me through its home range, repeatedly flying ahead a short distance, landing with a run and crying "killdeer, killdeer".
Along the banks of meandering Slough Creek in springtime, long, sizable clumps of sod drop into the water with audible plops, and the fallen turf glows green and yellow from below the surface. The force and volume of the runoff changes the shape of the creek yearly. Opposite the sharply cut banks are pebbly, sandy beaches with sparse vegetation, but in a few years' time, they'll be less likely to flood and will grow rich with plant life.
On the way back to camp, a few ground squirrels whistled in alarm as I neared them, and large badger holes appeared amongst the rabbit brush. A few badger or coyote tracks were stamped in the damp soil heaped next to the entrances.
At camp, an acrobatic kinglet, hanging upside down at times, gleaned food or nesting material from underneath boughs. Nearby, an olive-sided flycatcher hunted insects by the small creek.
In the afternoon, a red-tailed hawk circled and screeched at us south of camp--we'd unknowingly walked too close to its nest high in a tree. Several bear scats lay on the animal trail that wound its way through the forest, and Emily spotted what might have been grizzly hair snagged on the bark of a fallen tree, about three feet from the ground.
Back out in the meadow, a lone wolf's tracks headed north along the creek, and a beaver's willow clippings floated in a quiet bend of the water.
Hidden in a rocky area beyond the first camp site, a robin's nest sat about four feet from the ground in a small pine. Four vibrant blue eggs shone from the grassy nest, but we didn't linger after having inadvertently flushed the female from her clutch.
Across the creek, a marmot chirped in alarm from a rocky cliff as two ravens flew closely by. And down along the creek, we first saw and then smelled a bull elk carcass from the late winter or early spring (he'd died before shedding his antlers).
A peeping male green-winged teal came in for three landings on the creek between the meadows. He'd disappear into the thick vegetation at the creekside, swim back out, fly off and then splash down again.
Back on the main trail, crisp-edged deer tracks cut into the dark mud, and down near the second camp site, a sandhill crane sat on its nest in a small pond. It wasn't a good place to nest, being vulnerable to predators and hikers with their cameras.
In the evening, a grizzly made his way down the side of Anderson Ridge before disappearing into the forest. Later, a black bear came into view grazing above and to the left of where the grizzly had been. The grizzly reappeared in a thin gap in the forest a few hundred yards downslope of the black bear and fed on vegetation as well.
About dusk, just as we were about to turn in, wolves howled from across the valley. In the dim light, a gray and black trotted into view traveling upslope beyond the creek. A second black stayed behind them and constantly scratched himself, likely because of mange.
The wind quieted, and the sounds of snipe and chorus frogs soon reached camp. Something spooked the geese on the horseshoe pond, and they flew noisily off to the north.
After dark, a lone wolf howled from beyond the creek, and later, several group howls floated to us from far down the valley.
Monday, May 31
In the middle of the night, light rustling noises came from outside Emily's side of the tent. Mouse? Deer? Bear? Or just the wind? The sound was easy to ignore the first few times, but not the following ones. Finally, I crawled out of the sleeping bag, unzipped the tent and rain fly and stood in the cool, dark air with my headlamp on and looked down. Tied to the side of the tent, our camping permit flapped lazily in the breeze. I yanked it off and didn't cast the light any farther than necessary. Who wants to see glowing eyes when the sun's still hours from rising?
At dawn, the mallard pair flushed again from the pond, and a bald eagle landed near the willows across from camp. Two bull bison grazed down by the first camp site, and the same lone bull remained in the rolling hills across from camp.
A lone cow elk traveled slowly above the "S" curve moving north. She took an hour or so to cautiously cover a quarter mile, alternating grazing, scanning and walking. Finally, she disappeared into the rolling hills above the bison, possibly to drop her calf or to nurse one already born.
Later in the morning, five cow elk, including a yearling, jogged beyond the first camp site far to the southwest in the valley. A good while later, they appeared in the meadow and followed the creek northeast, stopping to graze here and there.
Most mornings, the valley can be pretty quiet, and one rule of thumb in the spring is you don't stop watching any ungulates who are out in plain sight, whether they're elk, moose, white-tailed deer or whatever.
Yet I broke the rule as a hungry Emily repeatedly called to me to come down for breakfast. When I reached the fire ring in the conifers, something urged me to walk back out into the open to see what the elk were doing.
Damn! Only four were in sight by the "S" curve, a good distance from the last place I saw them. Looking quickly to the right, I saw a gray wolf speeding after the sleekest cow. Whether the wolf singled this elk out from the beginning or split it from the group will remain a mystery, but confidently and with head held high, she strode stiff-legged and stayed easily ahead of the wolf before reaching the creek and splashing in.
Two other grays lagged behind the lead one and met it at the side of the creek, where the cow stood belly-deep in the fast-moving water. Unlike two years ago when this pack ran three bull elk into the creek, the wolves didn't circle back and test the other cows, who were wary but not overly so.
Abdominal hair loss and extended nipples on one of the wolves indicated she was nursing pups; another had a mangy tail and stopped to scratch.
The elk waded out of the water after about 10 minutes and walked away to the north. But the reclining wolves quickly rose, raced towards her and might have nipped her hind end before she again reached the safety of the deep water. One of the grays approached the creekside for a drink and eyed the cow as he lapped water. Maybe something in her eyes told the wolf that this wasn't her time to die. Whatever the case, the three wolves soon turned and disappeared into the tall vegetation.
About 10 minutes later, the cows regrouped and walked up the valley still on the wolves' side of the creek. They slowly made their way to the hills opposite the fourth camp site and edged out of view.
Two of the wolves lifted their heads from behind some willow and watched the cows go. Later, one of the grays rose to answer chorus howling to the southwest, and eventually, the three wolves trotted fluidly in that direction and out of view.
A Clark's nutcracker called from the forest next to camp, and about 50 honking geese in V-formation flapped high above us moving roughly south to north. In camp, a kinglet gathered moss and other nesting materials from beside the creek.
Back along the trail, a pair of hairy woodpeckers and a gray jay flitted among some trees close by. Between the meadows in a dense stand of aspen, the musty smell of coyote or fox urine rose from the base of a tree trunk.
The two bull bison who'd been by the first camp site grazed near the crane nest by the second camp, and grizzly tracks appeared here and there in the mud along the trail from just after the Second Meadow to beyond the first one.
In an aspen stand by the hill north of the First Meadow, a pair of downy woodpeckers flew back and forth the trail calling to each other.
Year after year, young aspens continue to grow taller along several sections of the trail. Some researchers believe this is because the reintroduction of wolves has meant an overpopulated elk herd, which had severely over browsed aspens, has been thinned and kept on the move and that some of these aspen stands are in unsafe areas for elk. They call this dynamic the "ecology of fear". Whatever the case, many of these trees have grown taller than 10 feet and appear to have reached the threshold for survival.
Just below the skyline on Anderson Ridge, at least 30 elk rested or grazed. A black bear foraged not far from them, and several of the bulls remained bedded and unconcerned even as the bear walked closer.
Back by the trail, a prairie falcon whizzed by us and quickly went out of sight, and two bull bison slowly moved off the trail down by the cabins.
The two-and-a-half-mile road down to the trailhead and front-country campground had just opened the day we hiked in, and as we walked out the final two miles, more and more people passed us. Soon, the front- and backcountry camp sites would be booked solid for weeks to come. No view of the creek would be absent of anglers; few stretches of the trail would be void of hikers. They could have it for the summer. We'll return at a quieter time, when winter and spring tug back and forth at each other and the valley is reborn.
What started as drizzle in Bozeman turned into pouring rain by Livingston, dampening hopes of a dry start to a four-day backpacking trip. But 20 miles into Paradise Valley, the rain stopped, and to the east, the heavy clouds turned into mist hovering low above the deep-green foothills of the Absarokas.
Farther to the south and inside the park, an elk and her days-old calf stood high above Boiling River. Several bison herds stalled traffic between Mammoth and Tower, and by the time we reached the Slough Creek trailhead, the sun shone brightly.
Several Uinta ground squirrels scurried from their holes to grasses and back again as we loaded our packs and set out. About a mile up trail, two bull bison grazed close by and watched lazily as we passed about 30 yards to their right. Along the trail between the bison and the First Meadow, a few bear and wolf tracks showed in the mud.
Near a lazy bend in the creek just south of the meadow, yellow-rumped warblers flitted about small shrubs, and a male scaup rested by the far bank.
Chorus frogs sang, and a few bison foraged out in the meadow. High above them almost to the skyline along Anderson Ridge, two nervous cow elk grazed and about nine bull elk lay resting.
Between the First and Second meadows, thousands and thousands of pasque flowers bobbed their purple heads in the breeze along the trailsides. Fresh badger diggings dominated the meadow on either side of the trail about a mile south of the first camp site. Last year, a badger and her two young had waddled up this stretch of trail towards us before slipping into the grass to hunt for ground squirrels.
Ice shelves still spanned the creek by the second camp site, and piles of snow slowly melted in the dark recesses of the forest nearby.
A bull bison grazed in the rolling hills across the creek from our camp, which had been redesigned since last year. The bear pole, fire ring and cooking area are now up in the forest where the tents used to go, and the tents are now put up beyond that, near an area where black bears forage and travel. Just beyond the fire ring, ice shelves covered the shady spots along the creek.
Off and on, cranes trumpeted in the afternoon and evening, and the rain began again, falling more steadily as the day wore on.
Robins began to accumulate by camp, and a ruby-crowned kinglet flitted about underneath a conifer and scolded me for getting too close.
Seeing no let up in the wet weather, we turned in early. With the new camp design, the music of the small, rushing creek, which once pulsed within feet of the tents, now barely reached us, but the steadily falling rain had a pleasing rhythm of its own. And despite the rain, the nearly full moon glowed strongly through the clouds.
Saturday, May 29
The chattering of a pine squirrel and the slow mournful cheeps of robins foretold the coming of dawn an hour or more in advance.
By the forest, robins, cranes and white-crowned sparrows are some of the familiar voices in the Slough Creek soundscape. Closer to the stream, chorus frogs, spotted sandpipers and savannah sparrows dominate the music.
A junco foraged on the ground close to the tent, and a pair of mallards flushed from a small pond as I walked down to camp.
The rain had stopped, and the temperature hadn't dropped as much as was forecast. Still, fresh snow glowed from Anderson Ridge, Cutoff Mountain and elsewhere.
A bald eagle glided in for a landing on the camp side of the creek and soon fluttered across the water and set down on the other side.
Besides the eagle, a bison, a few cranes and the ubiquitous robins, not much else stirred. The robins sat in the tree tops, apparently waiting for their food to warm up enough to start crawling or wriggling about.
On a small bridge below camp, an old wolf scat lay beside wagon wheel and boot tracks. A bald eagle, maybe the same one who'd been along the creek earlier, sat on a limb to the north.
Around camp, yellow-rumped warblers, chipping sparrows, and ruby- and golden-crowned kinglets flitted around busily feeding or making nests. A lone raven momentarily rested atop a conifer before continuing on its way.
Graupel fell off and on through the day in waves. Occasionally, the sun peaked through, but mostly it was a day for those blunt-edged snowflakes. Most years, winter is in no hurry to leave Yellowstone, and it was probably in the 40s all day.
Thousands of shooting stars painted the sage hills around camp with streaks of pink. In places, bluebells colored the landscape, as well, but so far, just the leaves of prairie smoke poked up from the earth. Usually, they're in full bloom, but this year, we came a week or two early.
The green tips of the grasses in the meadow were just peaking up, too, over the winter tans and golds, and much less water stood in the meadow than the previous two springs.
Territorial robins zipped through the dense boughs in the forest, chipping at each other loudly. And chickadees and red-breasted nuthatches called from above as did a flicker and a hairy woodpecker.
Down along the creek, what looked like a flock of vesper sparrows flushed and fanned out from us, and about 25 American pipits foraged near the water. They'd soon continue their journey to breeding grounds in the high country.
Two snipe noisily burst from the underbrush by the "S" curve in the creek. This is alarming when seen and heard for the first time and nearly as much every other time, especially since the birds often wait until you're just feet from them to take flight.
Coyote tracks went from south to north in the mud along the inside of the "S", and common yellowthroats and MacGillivray's warblers sang from and darted in and out of the willows. Bluebirds and savannah sparrows called in flight, and a pair of cranes slowly walked nearby probing for prey.
By a bend in the creek, a pair of gadwalls floated near a male lesser scaup and a male Barrow's goldeneye. The female gadwall quacked continuously, and eventually, the goldeneye and scaup lifted from the water and winged their way down creek. Not long after, two pairs of raucous geese landed on the creek and continued their wild honking.
A male kestrel sat on a conifer scanning the area back around camp, and not far away, a northern harrier flew low over the meadow. A red-tailed hawk appeared from the forest about eye level and slowly circled higher and higher.
The evening brought a few sunny spells, and after dinner, Emily spotted a grizzly and her two yearlings to the north on the side of Anderson Ridge. The two-toned youngsters were blond in their mid-sections and darker elsewhere, and they chased and wrestled each other as the sow moved along. Occasionally, she stopped to dig for roots or tubers. When the yearlings fell too far behind her, they raced to catch up and then continued playing.
A lone cow elk grazed to the north of the bears, and two bull bison fed closer to the creek. Another bull continued to spend his time in the rolling hills across the creek from camp.
A bald eagle soared to the south as thunder rumbled in the southwest. Ominous dark clouds moved parallel to us and then suddenly overtook camp as the winds whipped in and the skies dumped graupel. Almost an inch accumulated before the wind calmed and sunshine broke through, creating a misty, glistening landscape.
The grizzlies had weathered the storm in place, and the calls of a sora and chorus frogs showed they hadn't been put out either.
A crane trumpeted loudly beyond the first camp site. Trumpeting often sounds alarming, but rarely do we see what makes the birds so agitated. This time, however, the answer was obvious--a black wolf had trotted too close to the crane. The wolf stayed in view just a few moments, stopping briefly to jump a puddle or to pounce on a rodent, and then it jogged southwest.
Late in the evening, sunlight illuminated six robins in one tree and seven in another. The scene looked not unlike Christmas trees adorned with large orange bulbs glowing brightly.
The grizzly family made its way down to the valley floor and traveled along the backside of the meadow, heading southwest. Occasionally, the sow stopped to dig, and the cubs chased each other. At one point, the young bears splashed through a wet area and sent water flying everywhere. The sow trudged slowly into the same pool, but after a few moments, she charged through it, having grown tired of getting stuck in the mud. About dusk, the family disappeared into a rocky area beyond the "S" curve.
Cranes trumpeted throughout the meadow as darkness fell, and three deep hoots spaced several minutes apart came from the forest. After the third, a robin chirped in alarm.
Sunday, May 30
During the night, coyotes howled twice from within a few hundred yards and might have been distantly answered by a wolf.
A little snow had fallen and stuck in areas around the meadow with more accumulating up high. What likely was a merlin flew by and perched briefly beyond the tent. The two bull bison remained overnight above the creek to the north; the lone bull still held on in the rolling hills across the creek from camp; and two ravens foraged in a bend of the "S" curve.
Cranes, geese and savannah sparrows called throughout the valley, and juncos and robins took wing from the muddy trail as I neared them. An unseen Stellar's jay squawked from the woods south of camp and possibly imitated a red-tailed hawk's call.
A mystery sparrow spooked from the ground, alit in a small bush and scolded me with a husky almost quacking voice. I studied the bird for a long while, planning to look it up in a field guide later. Too many times, I just call it a sparrow or "little brown jobbie" ("LBJ") and move on. This bird had a distinct, though streaky, breast spot; a dull-colored belly; a creamy, tan and darkly streaked collar; a gray/dark/gray/dark/gray striped crown; and streaky wings.
The entire time I watched the sparrow (it turned out to be a Lincoln's), a snipe "cricked" boisterously from the top of a 15-foot pine. What an odd sight--a long-billed, ground-nesting bird sitting on top of a tree!
Fresh wolf tracks stood out farther along the trail as well as older scat. Coyotes howled to the north, and closer by, a common yellowthroat and flicker called. From the edge of the forest, the accelerating sounds of a drumming grouse came.
The calls of the coyotes were soon followed by the animals themselves--four soaking-wet adults hunting rodents by the horseshoe pond. At least one caught something and gobbled it down before they bedded, keeping an eye on me. Eventually one by one, they disappeared into the forest opposite the pond.
Thirteen geese flew in from the south and landed on the creek, while nearby, a scolding common yellowthroat zipped through gold and burgundy willow.
Up towards the forest, a robin, its breast set ablaze by the early morning sun, sat low in the sage. Were robins as uncommon as harlequin ducks they'd be prized. And were harlequins as numerous as robins, they'd quickly be forgotten.
Down near the next camp site, the sound of gushing water indicated a few breaches in a 25-foot-wide beaver dam, and along the "S" curve, a killdeer escorted me through its home range, repeatedly flying ahead a short distance, landing with a run and crying "killdeer, killdeer".
Along the banks of meandering Slough Creek in springtime, long, sizable clumps of sod drop into the water with audible plops, and the fallen turf glows green and yellow from below the surface. The force and volume of the runoff changes the shape of the creek yearly. Opposite the sharply cut banks are pebbly, sandy beaches with sparse vegetation, but in a few years' time, they'll be less likely to flood and will grow rich with plant life.
On the way back to camp, a few ground squirrels whistled in alarm as I neared them, and large badger holes appeared amongst the rabbit brush. A few badger or coyote tracks were stamped in the damp soil heaped next to the entrances.
At camp, an acrobatic kinglet, hanging upside down at times, gleaned food or nesting material from underneath boughs. Nearby, an olive-sided flycatcher hunted insects by the small creek.
In the afternoon, a red-tailed hawk circled and screeched at us south of camp--we'd unknowingly walked too close to its nest high in a tree. Several bear scats lay on the animal trail that wound its way through the forest, and Emily spotted what might have been grizzly hair snagged on the bark of a fallen tree, about three feet from the ground.
Back out in the meadow, a lone wolf's tracks headed north along the creek, and a beaver's willow clippings floated in a quiet bend of the water.
Hidden in a rocky area beyond the first camp site, a robin's nest sat about four feet from the ground in a small pine. Four vibrant blue eggs shone from the grassy nest, but we didn't linger after having inadvertently flushed the female from her clutch.
Across the creek, a marmot chirped in alarm from a rocky cliff as two ravens flew closely by. And down along the creek, we first saw and then smelled a bull elk carcass from the late winter or early spring (he'd died before shedding his antlers).
A peeping male green-winged teal came in for three landings on the creek between the meadows. He'd disappear into the thick vegetation at the creekside, swim back out, fly off and then splash down again.
Back on the main trail, crisp-edged deer tracks cut into the dark mud, and down near the second camp site, a sandhill crane sat on its nest in a small pond. It wasn't a good place to nest, being vulnerable to predators and hikers with their cameras.
In the evening, a grizzly made his way down the side of Anderson Ridge before disappearing into the forest. Later, a black bear came into view grazing above and to the left of where the grizzly had been. The grizzly reappeared in a thin gap in the forest a few hundred yards downslope of the black bear and fed on vegetation as well.
About dusk, just as we were about to turn in, wolves howled from across the valley. In the dim light, a gray and black trotted into view traveling upslope beyond the creek. A second black stayed behind them and constantly scratched himself, likely because of mange.
The wind quieted, and the sounds of snipe and chorus frogs soon reached camp. Something spooked the geese on the horseshoe pond, and they flew noisily off to the north.
After dark, a lone wolf howled from beyond the creek, and later, several group howls floated to us from far down the valley.
Monday, May 31
In the middle of the night, light rustling noises came from outside Emily's side of the tent. Mouse? Deer? Bear? Or just the wind? The sound was easy to ignore the first few times, but not the following ones. Finally, I crawled out of the sleeping bag, unzipped the tent and rain fly and stood in the cool, dark air with my headlamp on and looked down. Tied to the side of the tent, our camping permit flapped lazily in the breeze. I yanked it off and didn't cast the light any farther than necessary. Who wants to see glowing eyes when the sun's still hours from rising?
At dawn, the mallard pair flushed again from the pond, and a bald eagle landed near the willows across from camp. Two bull bison grazed down by the first camp site, and the same lone bull remained in the rolling hills across from camp.
A lone cow elk traveled slowly above the "S" curve moving north. She took an hour or so to cautiously cover a quarter mile, alternating grazing, scanning and walking. Finally, she disappeared into the rolling hills above the bison, possibly to drop her calf or to nurse one already born.
Later in the morning, five cow elk, including a yearling, jogged beyond the first camp site far to the southwest in the valley. A good while later, they appeared in the meadow and followed the creek northeast, stopping to graze here and there.
Most mornings, the valley can be pretty quiet, and one rule of thumb in the spring is you don't stop watching any ungulates who are out in plain sight, whether they're elk, moose, white-tailed deer or whatever.
Yet I broke the rule as a hungry Emily repeatedly called to me to come down for breakfast. When I reached the fire ring in the conifers, something urged me to walk back out into the open to see what the elk were doing.
Damn! Only four were in sight by the "S" curve, a good distance from the last place I saw them. Looking quickly to the right, I saw a gray wolf speeding after the sleekest cow. Whether the wolf singled this elk out from the beginning or split it from the group will remain a mystery, but confidently and with head held high, she strode stiff-legged and stayed easily ahead of the wolf before reaching the creek and splashing in.
Two other grays lagged behind the lead one and met it at the side of the creek, where the cow stood belly-deep in the fast-moving water. Unlike two years ago when this pack ran three bull elk into the creek, the wolves didn't circle back and test the other cows, who were wary but not overly so.
Abdominal hair loss and extended nipples on one of the wolves indicated she was nursing pups; another had a mangy tail and stopped to scratch.
The elk waded out of the water after about 10 minutes and walked away to the north. But the reclining wolves quickly rose, raced towards her and might have nipped her hind end before she again reached the safety of the deep water. One of the grays approached the creekside for a drink and eyed the cow as he lapped water. Maybe something in her eyes told the wolf that this wasn't her time to die. Whatever the case, the three wolves soon turned and disappeared into the tall vegetation.
About 10 minutes later, the cows regrouped and walked up the valley still on the wolves' side of the creek. They slowly made their way to the hills opposite the fourth camp site and edged out of view.
Two of the wolves lifted their heads from behind some willow and watched the cows go. Later, one of the grays rose to answer chorus howling to the southwest, and eventually, the three wolves trotted fluidly in that direction and out of view.
A Clark's nutcracker called from the forest next to camp, and about 50 honking geese in V-formation flapped high above us moving roughly south to north. In camp, a kinglet gathered moss and other nesting materials from beside the creek.
Back along the trail, a pair of hairy woodpeckers and a gray jay flitted among some trees close by. Between the meadows in a dense stand of aspen, the musty smell of coyote or fox urine rose from the base of a tree trunk.
The two bull bison who'd been by the first camp site grazed near the crane nest by the second camp, and grizzly tracks appeared here and there in the mud along the trail from just after the Second Meadow to beyond the first one.
In an aspen stand by the hill north of the First Meadow, a pair of downy woodpeckers flew back and forth the trail calling to each other.
Year after year, young aspens continue to grow taller along several sections of the trail. Some researchers believe this is because the reintroduction of wolves has meant an overpopulated elk herd, which had severely over browsed aspens, has been thinned and kept on the move and that some of these aspen stands are in unsafe areas for elk. They call this dynamic the "ecology of fear". Whatever the case, many of these trees have grown taller than 10 feet and appear to have reached the threshold for survival.
Just below the skyline on Anderson Ridge, at least 30 elk rested or grazed. A black bear foraged not far from them, and several of the bulls remained bedded and unconcerned even as the bear walked closer.
Back by the trail, a prairie falcon whizzed by us and quickly went out of sight, and two bull bison slowly moved off the trail down by the cabins.
The two-and-a-half-mile road down to the trailhead and front-country campground had just opened the day we hiked in, and as we walked out the final two miles, more and more people passed us. Soon, the front- and backcountry camp sites would be booked solid for weeks to come. No view of the creek would be absent of anglers; few stretches of the trail would be void of hikers. They could have it for the summer. We'll return at a quieter time, when winter and spring tug back and forth at each other and the valley is reborn.
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| Home for three nights |
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| The view to the north of camp, showing the meadow just starting to green, the legacy of the '88 fires and the fresh snow up high. |
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| The view from camp to the south and southwest. Over the hill beyond the trail is Secret Passage and the boundary between the Lamar and Slough valleys. |
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