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.
I always wonder how each trip will be, and this first day had an auspicious beginning. We stopped at Nature Trail to glass the Blacktail and spotted a black wolf traveling across the flats. We’ve had so much trouble seeing wolves on the Blacktail the past few visits, the distance too far out.
This spring in Yellowstone is grey and wet and quiet. Swan Lake is still almost completely covered by a layer of ice. The flats are lush and green while Electric Peak is capped with snow.
The black bear is in the wooded area at the base of the ridge. Her cinnamon colored cub of the year bounces on and around her, bursting with energy. He swats at her and she swats back. They roll and tumble over grass and twigs. The cub climbs on a long grey log lying in the deadwood, broken branches jutting out every which way. He bites the branches and rolls off the log, only to climb up again and run along its length. He falls off and runs to his mother, jumping up on hind legs and trying to climb on top of her.
A squirrel invaded our owl box in early January. When we didn’t see the owl for a few days at the end of December, we wondered if he had left the box for a few days, as is normal screech owl behavior. And then a squirrel popped its little head out of the box opening.
The owl pokes his head out of the box each evening around 5, sometimes earlier. He arrived later this year, on November 17, assuming it’s the same screech owl.
