Number 6 Is in the House

We went away for the weekend to see Willie Nelson play in Red Lodge. It was a great show and included a trip across the Beartooth Mountains. When we came back on Saturday, the first report I received about life in Mammoth was that Number 6 was in town. Both Chris and Amanda immediately told me he was there.

Number 6 is a big-old bull elk. Huge. Six point. Massive. He towers over the female elk as he clusters them into harems. This elk has been thrashing trees by Lava Creek as he strips his antlers of velvet and goes ape with hormones. He is the elk of elk.

On Saturday I walked Kelci the dog down through Lower Mammoth. On the return journey we heard the characteristic high pitched bugle of a male elk. The first call this summer. Number 6 was in the house! We walked up to view 50 elk clustered around the Administration Building, about 6 buildings from my home. I dropped Kelci off and rushed to my house as the elk stampede began. The whole herd started migrating towards my house.

Mike and I stood watching them as we waited for Chris to pick us up to watch the Olympics. Finally, I called him and reported the elk status. "Can I still get to your house?" he asked worriedly. "If you come quickly," I responded. He made it just as Number 6 was walking, full rack, straight towards our houses.

We made it safely to watch the Olympics and on return to Mammoth, a thought of the elk mob flickered thorugh my head. The elk were everywhere around the Fort, laying seige to the buildings. Cows, calves, and Number Six were representing! And they were surrounding Kelci the dog's house! How was I to get in?

We drove to the back, where the elk lay 20 feet from the door. Chris drove me to the front, where the screen door was locked with no key. Finally, he took me back around the back, where the light of his headlights illuminated the massive frame and full rack of the bull standing 15 feet from the door. "Good lord, I am not letting you out of this car!" Chris exclaimed before driving to my house and letting me out there. But the dog! I thought.

All fussed out, I went inside, took a shower, and thought about my strategy to return to Kelci's house. What to do, oh, what to do? I heard No. 6 bugle, and it sounded like it was south of the houses. Could luck have turned my direction? Commando style, I crepted from the house and ran to my car, which I drove right to the front door of Kelci the dog's house. No Number 6. Phew! I quickly opened the house door and lept inside, safely avoiding the elk!

All night Number 6 bugled outside. I imagined he was singing, "Looking for some hot stuff, baby, this evening! Looking for some hot stuff, baby, tonight!"

The madness has begun.

Getting Charged By Elk

It started as a normal, beautiful early June day. I walked happily out my door and headed towards work, proud to be sporting my snappy staw ranger hat. Briskly I made my way down Officer's Row to the Visitor Center.

A body caught my eye. Almost unseen underneath the tall coniferous tree, lay an elk. A female elk. An elk that had recently calved. A psychotic, manic, female elk mama. There is hardly anything worse than coming upon a psychotic, manic, female elk mama. Believe me, underneath that tree lay trouble.

Slowly I inched towards it, maintaining my distance while speaking calmly to it, "it's okay Mama Elk. I just want to walk to the Visitor Center, that's it, Mama Elk. Nothing else." While still over 75 feet away from her, I saw her ears go back in nasty alarm. It's already horsy mouth elongated as a feral snarl seemed ready to explode from her face. She labored to her feet, virtually foaming at the mouth. Her long legs propelled into high speed action.

"Oh, shit!" I exclaimed (in uniform) as I took off at full speed (in boots, might I add) around the limestone house of the Superintendant to get away from the manic female. She came after me like a speeding bullet. Images of crasing hooves went dancing through my head. Imminent death and destruction surrounded me. What a way to go down under the hooves of a crazy female elk.

I careened around the corner of the building and chanced a look behind. No sign of the manic elk. Was I safe? My pace didn't slacken as I reached the Chief Ranger's house. Much to my embarassment, Rick was standing outside (also in full uniform with an orange safety vest on) watching my sprint. He looked at me and said, "I saw that elk bolt and then you run around the corner. Was she attacking you?" "Yes," I replied. He commented, "Nothing like getting your blood running in the morning."

Rain

One of the best things ever is the smell of rain and sagebrush combined. The sweetly perfumed dewdrops stimulated my mind and reminded me of all the beauty, joy, and mystery of the West. There is nothing sweeter than that combination of senses here in Yellowstone.

Uinta Ground Squirrels

After months of hibernating under the Mammoth ground, the Uinta Ground Squirrels have reappeared. Where solid ground lay barely one month ago, now the yard is potholed with Uinta Ground Squirrel lairs.

The little buffy ground squirrels leap and frolick across the ground, enjoying the warming climate. When threatened, they dive into the nearest hole with an astoundingly loud call. "BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" they chirp to their companions, warning them that the giants are around. Occasionally they sound out a short, "CHIIIIRP!" in warning instead. But, the stealthy creatures make this noise only when you are inches away, engrossed in another activity, so you are startled and jump in the air with their call. They probably run away giggling that they scared the humans.

My roommate and I decided that their language is actually them squeeking out their name. So, the "BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" translated into human lingo is, "UINTA GROUND SQUIRREL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" And the occasional "CHIIIIRP!" is the team mascot call, "UINTA!" Translated into human talk, the sound is a high pitched, chipmunk noise. "UINTA!" Whenever I see them scuttling across the yard, chirping to their buddies, I always look at them and squeek, "UINTA GROUND SQUIRREL!!!!!!!!! UINTA!" I hope this makes us friends but I don't think it's working because they still like to startle me at the end of the day.

Tramplers

I just don't get it. I don't understand why people consciously climb over railings and trample the terraces. It makes no sense to me but people do it all the time. The boardwalks of Yellowstone remind me of an elementary school game. When I was a little kid we played this game where we had to hop from carpet square to carpet square without touching the ground. The ground was actually molten lava, or sometimes a sea full of man eating sharks, whatever the case, you definitely did not want to touch the ground. By hopping from carpet to carpet, you stayed alive and survived the evil ground. Well, that's what boardwalks are like. You stay on the boardwalk and you stay alive. You probably won't fall through Yellowstone's shallow crust and get scalded by boiling water or eaten by acid or killed in some other rather gruesome way. If you get off the board walk, you may die, and you will definately be an evil trampler, a destroyer of wildness. People who get off the boardwalk are on my bad side. Indefinately.

Every day I rove the travertine terraces, full of admiration for their delicate, chalky forms. And every day I find new sneaker tracks in the travertine. These are tracks that take forever to disappear. These tracks gouge out inches of soft rock with every step. They destroy, maul, and befoul the beautiful terraces. It makes me sick. It makes me mad. It makes me want to sic Law Enforcement on their asses.

Fortunately, I had such an opportunity just last week. While roving the upper terraces I noticed an entire family of five trampling around the top of Palette Spring. They were easily 20 feet from the nearest boardwalk, smiling, waving at their cameras, destroying the travertine! I was too far to reach them, a snow pile lay between us. Quivering with anger, I quickly radioed in to Comm Center the ugly, trampling offense. "10-4, Mammoth Patrol, do you copy?" And before I knew it Mammoth Patrol was on the look out for the offenders. Ha! And 15 minutes later, Law Enforcement aprehended their asses! Boooyaw! The score: 100 for protection, 0 for the offenders.

Unfortunately, there are new tracks every day and normally we don't catch the tramplers. So, I've taken to telling visitors they may fall through the shallow rock to their imminent death. I say this with my don't-mess-with-a-super-volcano-you-idiot voice. Hopefully it works.

Lawn Mowers

The lawn mowers, I mean, elk, are out in abundance today! They are all over happily grazing and filling their tummies for the first time in months.

The bison are dropping their calves so we have lots of red dogs, as the babies are called for their reddish coats, frolicking in the nearby fields.

Bluebirds have been flitting all over, making saphire streaks in the air.

Barrow's Golden Eye are enjoying floating in the rivers.

Lots of carcasses mean lots of bear and wolf sightings.

Bison Going at It

Yesterday, I heard exclamations from outside the visitor center and turned in just in time to see a spectacular sight. Two male bisons in the Parade Ground decided to duke it out. I could practically see steam issuing from their snorting nostrils as they charged each other. If anyone has ever doubted that bison can run 30 mph from standing, I have now seen visual proof.

Their great, wooly heads slammed together before one of the bison took off racing around the visitor center. Not about to loose his macho might, the other charged after him, establishing who was the dominant buff in this town.

Seconds later the bison stormed around the back of the visitor center like two race cars on a speedway. They disappeared from view as they continued their chase and the 30 second excitement ended. Business went back to normal in the old VC, just as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Oh, but bison charging each other in the Parade Ground, in Mammoth, in April, is actually very out of the ordinary.

Signs the Season Is Beginning

With spring temperatures melting snow, animals dropping dead from winter fast, bison babies popping, and visitor numbers skyrocketing, I'm getting some clear indications that spring is coming and summer is on its way. Several of these pre-season signs came from humans.

1. A little girl looked at me today and said, "She has boobies, mommy." Mommy cracked up and said not all women with boobies have babies. Daddy blushed. I informed the little girl that I do indeed have boobies and do not have babies.
2. About four people (given the tracks) jumped off the boardwalk and trampled the travertine by Palette Spring. I just barely missed the buggers and peevishly cried, "idiots," before kindly reminding other visitors to stay on the boardwalk. They shook their heads in disgust at the resource destruction. Those were good visitors. The tramplers are on my bad side. Indefinately and irrevocably.
3. Visitors come in the VC and hold the display antlers over their heads. It's always such a laugh to have one moose antler and one mule deer antler held to one's head.
4. Three foreign visitors fondled the stuffed bison head, missing the sign that says "Please do not touch, I cannot grow hair back." I had to pull out my "you've been a bad, bad visitor voice" and tell them off Interp style.
5. A favorite visitor past time in the summer is always changing the date on the passport stamp. This happened yesterday when we went from April 12, 2008, to August 28, 1989. Time warp.... Hmmmm.
6. The gentle quiet of lapping hot spring water and wind in the trees is getting displaced by car thumping stereos and diesel pickups. Talk about noise pollution.
7. The flag is pulling its customary twist-as-you-raise-it stunt, meaning it takes 15 minutes to try to put it up so it looks half decent.
8. A zillion people came down from Montana to go biking on the last weekend the roads are cleared for bike and Admin traffic only.
9. It's the first really nice weekend since I've been here - almost hot.
10. The sun rises at 6:30 and sets at 8:00.

Carcass

A visitor reported bear tracks on the Howard Eaton Trail, which parallels the Terraces and the Upper Terrace Drive. She also reported a dead elk by Palette Spring, one of the most popular springs to view.

I scoped it out the other day. It was a beautiful day for a stroll, Clark's Nutcrackers were flitting about and the sun was shining. But my eyes were on the look out for a deader than a doornail elk. And sure enough, right at the top of the Terraces I spotted its bloated frame. Right at the end of the boardwalk it had fallen. My mind quickly assessed the situation. A dead elk and bear tracks = cause for concern. I called up the back country rangers and the bear management office to fill them in and assumed they would move the poor beast.

But, no, today I returned to the Terraces and checked out Palette to see if the elkeroo was still there. Sure enough, it was there, but now it had been chewed on... perhaps by a bear, but more likely by a wolf/coyote whos tracks were nearby. Yuck.

This time bear management moved the carcass and put up signs warning people to stay away from the dead elk. It's one of about 6 that have been moved in the last week. Visible evidence to the long, hard winter in Mammoth.

Sightings

On rove today, two bluebirds flitted by. They chirped happily about the coming spring. By the hot springs, Clark's nutcrackers fluttered from trees to posts to travertine to exposed ground. They perched pecking at the ground, warmed by the hot springs, looking for freshly hatched bugs to eat.

Female elk clustered around Mammoth, enjoying the warm sun and rooting around for vegetation to eat. A four point elk joined them, unusual male activity for this time of year. None of them seemed too concerned about people walking past them. The females are getting ready to give birth, another sign of spring.

The air feels springy today and snow is melting.

Snowshoeing, Buffs, and Terraces

My first day off in about a full week, I decided nothing could be better than a snowshoe up the Terraces. I grabbed some hiking poles and bear spray, strapped on my lumbar pack, zipped up my puffy and headed out. Up the snow-covered wooden steps I ventured until I reached the top of Palette Spring. There, I strapped on the snow shoes and began the hike up the back terraces. Deep snow drifts covered the boardwalk but my harish feet kept me high in the snow. My feet automatically slipped into the "small step revolution" as I ascended the steep terraces. Then, before my eyes, rose beautiful Cleopatra. Water poured off its terraces, giving life to the orange-colored thermophiles that thrive in Mammoth. I continued up, up, up the terraces and then down, down, down the other side.

Excitedly, I descended to Mother Mary Spring, only to be startled aware of life forms other than thermophiles in the vicinity. A big bull buffalo (buff) lay basking in the warm hot spring air. I came up to him unaware and stopped mid track. Oh boy, I was definately too close to that buff. Slowly I eased along the boardwalk hoping not to startle the animal. He was completely indifferent to my existence and much more interested in conserving energy than fussing about a human. As I stood watching him, he began to roll on the hot ground, throwing his legs into the air. He nonchalantly stood up and chewed on the vegetation around the springs. What a sight to be seen!

Not wanting to disturb him, I continued on my hike. It was incredible how different the terraces were. Many had expanded twice their size in 2006. I reached Canary Spring to be greeted by its familiar orange color and the gentle lapping sound of water hitting the "shore." Sounds of rapids filled my ears as I followed the boardwalk paralleling the hot spring. Water was gushing down the hillside! I couldn't believe it - there was so much water! The sight left me astounded and smiling, I walked to the Upper Terrace Loop.

Around the loop I went, starting the gradual ascent towards Orange Spring Mound. Intent on my snowshoeing, I turned a corner, gung ho to hike up the hill, when a brown mound began to move. I was definately way too close this time. The buff's horns shown in the afternoon light, making me gulp. Oh boy. How could I safely get around this time? The buff looked at me... and I looked at it... and it continued eating. I unstrapped my snowshoes, waiting for it to make its move. A skier, Mitch, started descending the slope but stopped as I waved my hands and pointed at the bison. "I see it!" he replied. There we stood, a person on each side, waiting for the buffalo to move. Languidly, it walked across the trail and stood munching on the other side before slowly moving off towards some other, more interesting, hot springs. Mitch and I decided it was time to move away and we headed back up the slope.

Orange Spring Mound was gushing all over the road. Little orange terraces were forming over the asphalt. Water splashed merrily out of the springs and continued its path of least resistence down the hill. Beautiful.

The rest of the snowshoe/ski went through relatively fresh powder, glimpsed other gushing hot springs, and descended past the Brian-crash hill to the parking lot. Snow fell thickly from the sky as we passed through this winter wonderland. Tired, but content, Mitch and I hopped in his truck, returned to Fort Yellowstone, and left the spectacular terraces behind.

White Out

I woke to the sounds of a snowplow grating against the pavement. It jarred me awake and I realized snow must have fallen overnight. Outside, the world was wintery white. Snow flakes flurried across the sky, yanked hither and thither by the blustery wind. It looked utterly cold.

In the kitchen, I heated up some oatmeal, hoping it would stick to my ribs and keep me warm. Then, on went the NPS layers and the flat hat and out into the cold I ventured. Three inches of snow lay on the walk and I shoveled it quickly before heading to the Visitor Center. The entire sky and earth were white. Imposing Mt Everts had vanished in the blowing snow, leaving only a solid white presence in the foreground.

I trudged down the drive to the VC, snow and wind blowing me off course. Inside was a haven of warmth that lasted only briefly as I picked up the flag and headed to the flagpole. Sepulcher Mountain and the Absarokas had also disappeared into the hazy white of the blizzard. This was a veritable white out. I couldn't even see the Terraces, a mere quarter mile away. I could hardly see the hotel. The flag tugged and fluttered with excitement at being hoisted high into the air. My fingers and ears grew numb with the wintery exposure as I turned to salute the flag.

Inside, a ranger called with the road report. Zero visibility, blizzard conditions, white out. It's a good day to stay inside, I thought as I watched snow drifts form outside. It was a good day for hibernation, for hot chocolate, for hot springs, and anything geared towards hunkering down. Although the days are long and the month say it's spring, it feels like January here. It may almost be April, but it's winter here in Wonderland.

Coming Home to Yellowstone

My heart is glad to once again be home. Not home home like Iowa, but home like heart-happy home. I wake each morning to Yellowstone, each day to a new adventure, each minute to the splendor that is this wonderland. My home is in historic Fort Yellowstone. I can imagine what life was like at the Fort as our first park rangers, the US Cavalry, lived to protect this amazing place. When I look outside it is to spectacular views of Sepulcher Mountain, the beautiful Absaroka Range, snow-covered Capital Hill, shining orange travertine terraces, and stunning Mt. Everts.

Yellowstone is my cathedral. Here I feel at peace and content to discover the endless pleasures, joys, and mysteries of the Park. I find solace in its mountains. Seeing the great bison, elk, big horned sheep, and pronghorns remind me of my love for the West, my love for Yellowstone. I am surrounded by wildness and beauty. It is what I had craved for for so long in Guatemala. I had yearned for Yellowstone.

Rapidly, like melting snow in the spring, I can feel myself returning to a gentle balance after nearly a year of stress, turmoil, loneliness, and isolation in Guatemala. The constant malcontent that threw me off balance in Guatemala is gone and I feel my normal self returned. I am jubulent. I am heart and soul happy. Yellowstone has blessed me anew.