The weather is changing. Even though days warm to mid-80s, I feel it. August 3 the temperature dipped to 37 degrees and didn’t reach 70 degrees. It feels like we are creeping toward autumn. There has been no rain for over a week, and smoke hovers in the air, creating a veil that shields the land from sun. We could use the rain, to douse the fires surrounding us and clear the air.
It’s been a week since we’ve been to the Park, and we’ve heard recent reports of the Wapiti Pack on a carcass. Far away - very far away, but still visible. Early yesterday morning Hayden Valley was socked in by fog making wolf viewing difficult, but today the sky was blue and clear. We arrived around 7:20, climbing the hill to join a crowd of others hoping to see the wolves.
Mist rose from the Firehole River as we drove into the Park. It was 37 degrees and soon fog covered the road making driving difficult. Tim wanted to fish the Firehole River before it became too warm and the Park Service closed it to fishing, but it was still early, and still cold, so we drove on to Old Faithful. As we approached the fog cleared revealing a beautiful morning.
Big Springs is crystal clear pools of water where you can see through the shallow water straight down to the gravel bottom; where grasses and plants sway in the gentle flow of the creek. Fish live here: trout, salmon, whitefish. A trout wiggles between the rocks and plants, a big one; gulls and mallards float by joining with the rhythm of the water.
On Saturday we drove into the Park to check on the Wapiti Pack at their den site, hoping to see puppies. There were no wolves in sight at 7:15 a.m., but across the road a grizzly foraged along the banks of the Yellowstone, then crossed the river delighting lots of visitors. Last week we spotted four Wapiti wolves lying in large snow patches near the den; when they are bedded down on the grassy slopes, they can be difficult to see.
After a weekend of cold, rainy weather, the sun coming over the mountains is a brilliant sight. We headed straight for the northern range, hoping to see the Junction Butte Pack, where the pack has localized around Slough Creek during the denning season. But this year has brought a disappointment: a litter born to an uncollared female, who is not the alpha female, did not survive.
We are settling in to our new life in West Yellowstone, after three long days of driving through Texas, New Mexico, Utah and Idaho. The drive from Moab to Provo was amazing. I’ve seen photos of Moab and TV documentaries, but the beauty and enchantment can only be grasped by presence. Being there.
A year without owls, that is how I will remember 2025. The last time I saw a screech owl in our box was December 30, 2024, and now it is almost spring 2026. The entrance to the nest box is chewed around the circumference, evidence of the squirrel who invaded in early January and raised her litter there.
The Yellowstone west entrance is melting down. On the first Saturday in May, patches of snow are everywhere. Bison cross the road in front of the car, heads turned toward us, eyes wary, always moving forward to the other side. One of the first bison calves born this spring clings to its mother and moves awkwardly, still not used to its legs.
The Yellowstone west entrance is melting down. On the first Saturday in May, patches of snow are everywhere. Bison cross the road in front of the car, heads turned toward us, eyes wary, always moving forward to the other side. One of the first bison calves born this spring clings to its mother and moves awkwardly, still not used to its legs.
