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.
