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.
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.
