A Walk in the Wild

Magical Moments on a Yellowstone Trail

Mary and I came upon the first set of wolf tracks within minutes of leaving the trailhead.  In the shallow snow that frosted the trail, the wolf’s prints looked as fresh as ours. They had not been melted by yesterday’s sun or frozen by last night’s chill. We studied, debated, and eventually agreed that the tracks were from a small wolf ambling in the same direction we were heading.

A wolf! Buoyed by this discovery, we laughed and chattered, placed hands by the tracks and took pictures. Hoping we would be lucky enough to see this—or any—wolf, we followed the tracks for about a half-mile until we reached a stand of naked aspen, their light trunks a pleasing contrast with dark firs.

Across from the stand, the wolf’s tracks veered off trail and down a draw. Debris so cluttered the floor of the draw that following the tracks was beyond our skill level.

We stood in the middle of the trail, silent, until Mary asked in a soft voice, “Do you think the wolf left the trail because it heard us?”

“I wouldn’t doubt it with all the noise we made,” I replied. 

“Damn!” Mary said, frowning and looking with longing at the last clear track. 

Our disappointment of possibly having disturbed the wolf was replaced with excitement as we continued on and discovered other tracks. First came those of a coyote heading in our direction. Then a fox. Then elk and deer, squirrels and deer mice. Each set of tracks invited us to stop and study and imagine. 

We followed the winding, wildlife highway until a gap in the trees revealed a view to the north, east, and south that stopped us in our tracks: the snow-capped Absaroka Mountains, flat-topped Mt. Everts, the dark cut of the Gardner River canyon, distant Blacktail Deer Plateau, and nearby Bunsen Peak with its steep side scarred by the colorful trail of a slide.

After we pulled ourselves away from the viewpoint, we picked up the tracks of two wolves traveling together along the trail in the same direction as we were. Mary turned to me and whispered, “I think we should follow these tracks in silence. What do you say?”

For a moment I imagined spotting the wolves, wild, free, and in their home. I smiled and whispered, “Great idea. I don’t want to scare these two off.”

“OK, then let’s just use hand signals to communicate,” Mary said.

Over the next half-mile, we discussed with our hands how the tracks revealed that the wolves sometimes walked beside one another and at other times the rear wolf walked in the tracks of the lead animal. We had often seen wolves do this in deep snow, and we had figured it was a matter of efficiency. But this dusting of snow did not demand efficiency. As I walked and pondered, I glanced down and realized that I was stepping in Mary’s bootprints so as to avoid the wolves’ tracks. Was it possible that these wolves were doing the same so as to avoid marring the story that their sensitive noses could read along the trail?

After a while, the surroundings changed from forest to the beginning of a slide area. The ridge above and to our right was the edge of an ancient thermal terrace that must have been similar to Mammoth Hot Springs.

But Yellowstone’s thermal areas change over time and this one dried up; the travertine aging from white to mottled gray. At some point long ago the terrace collapsed and crashed downhill, scattering chunks in its wake, some as big as small houses. Biding their own slow time, lichen grew, freckling the blocks with orange. Conifers ferreted out places to sprout and grow, die and fall. 

For reasons known only to them, the wolves we had been following left the trail in the middle of the jumble. Mary and I continued along, now leaving tracks in virgin snow. As we closed in on the far side of the slide, we entered thicker forest and came upon the trail of a single wolf. His big paw tracks—the front ones as large as Mary’s hand with fingers extended—marched right down the center of the trail. We followed them through a half-mile of forest to a viewpoint. His paws didn’t pause, but we did.

Spreading below us was the ancient bottom of a large lake once filled by melting glaciers. Over eons the lake had dried and shrunk, leaving a remnant and a lot of flat bottom land that sage and grass had claimed. This lunch counter for elk and bison explains why the trail we were on is such a wildlife highway. Hungry grazers take the trail to and from the feeding grounds; hungry predators follow.

We left the viewpoint and kept following the big wolf tracks now heading downhill toward the flats. I took the lead, and moments later I heard Mary’s forced whisper, “Rick, stop! Rick, stop!

I stopped, turned, and watched Mary use her entire body to pantomime the lumbering walk of a grizzly bear. Then she waved for me to come back. When I reached her, she pointed to the snow-covered trail and the track of a grizzly’s rear paw as long as her size-seven boot. And much wider.

We bent over and examined another track, the imprint of the ball, toes, and claws of a wide front paw. I had walked right by these tracks without seeing them. That’s why Mary is the tracker in our pack.

We straightened up and surveyed our surroundings. The trail, with grizzly and wolf tracks now intermingled, threaded through thick forest with limited visibility. We started walking, Mary now in the lead. After a few paces, I said, “We’re behind and downwind of that bear. While we followed the wolf tracks in silence, I’m not sure that's a smart move now.”

Mary looked back over her shoulder and said with her volume rising with each word, “Yeah, we don’t want to surprise a grizzly.”

Off to our right we heard the snap of twigs and crackle of dried leaves. We stopped and looked in the direction of the sound, but the understory was too thick to penetrate. Eyes wide, we stared at each other, nodded, and shouted at the same time, “Yo, Bear! Just us! Coming through!”

We moved on loudly and slowly, our heads swiveling. We rounded a bend and stopped at a mess of tracks. Reading them, we discerned that the wolf had continued on but the grizzly had stopped moving forward, turned around, and come back about ten feet. 

“Look at that,” Mary said, “it left the trail and headed in the direction from which we heard that noise. I wonder if it left because it heard us.”

“I sure hope so,” I replied.

We kept heading downhill, following just the big wolf tracks. When those tracks left the trail, the wild slipped from our walk. The presence of wolves and grizzlies defines wildness. Those big predators knock us humans from our self-proclaimed throne. Their presence invites us to use our senses fully, to engage the moment, and to find our true place in nature. 

Thanks for joining me in this Love the Wild! If you haven’t yet subscribed, I hope you’ll do so. It’s free and brings a Love the Wild letter to your inbox each week. In addition to stories such as this one that is based on a chapter from my award-winning Deep into Yellowstone, you’ll enjoy a variety of podcasts, photo essays, stories inspired by photos, commentaries, and more. With each, I hope to warm your heart and excite your mind as we share moments with wildlife and in wild lands.

I write and photograph to protect wildlife and preserve wild lands. My bestselling In the Temple of Wolves; its sequel, Deep into Yellowstone; and its prequel, The Wilds of Aging are available signed. My books are also available on Amazon unsigned or as eBook or audiobook.

Photo Credits:

All photos by Rick Lamplugh