The Herbivores

In Yellowstone National Park, bison begin calving in early spring. Their young, colloquially known as “red dogs,” are the first wildlife babies, usually appearing in Lamar Valley and Little America in April. By early June, when I visited, it seemed like a full one-third of the bison in these vast herds were accompanied by a calf.

The size of the herds moving across the valley is nothing short of unbelievable. It’s hard to believe that the United States plains once looked like this – as far as the eye could see. They are such a big part of the ecosystem, from soil health to plant dispersal, habitat creation, and interaction with predators. The landscape is barren without them.

Twenty to thirty percent of the offspring will not survive their first year succumbing to accidents, predation, or winter stresses. They provide essential food for various wildlife; ravens, wolves, bears, mountain lions, coyotes, and more. For now, the red dogs, like all kids, run and play, spar with each other head-butting like bulls, and running off youthful energy in frenetic circles across the valley floor.Earlier this spring, a well-intentioned person “rescued” a bison calf from the Yellowstone River. It was separated from the herd and appeared to be drowning. It’d be hard to watch, but his intervention didn’t save a life. Rangers attempted to reintroduce the calf to the herd without success and, unfortunately, had to euthanize it. In another misguided encounter several years ago, tourists put a stray bison calf in the back of their minivan and drove it to a ranger station, hoping to find help. I thought I was about to witness a similar interaction in Lamar Valley. It turns out this red dog is actually a red dog!

Elk

Elk calving season comes next from May through June. They usually give birth to a single calf. Elk leave their scentless, camouflaged calves hidden in the sage until they are big enough to keep up with the herd at about 16 days of age.

I’d seen an elk cow-calf pair along the northern entrance road the last two mornings. There’s not a good place to stop there, so this evening after dinner, I went out looking. I drove along Old Yellowstone Trail just outside of Gardiner and quickly came upon a small group of elk with young. Like the bison calves and all kids, the spindly-legged, awkward, spotted elk play – running in circles and chasing each other. The elk’s individualities show in these interactions. Differing parenting styles and varying personalities are obvious.

The smallest/youngest of the three calves here stays by her mother’s side, never more than a few steps away (picture below).The boldest one roams out of sight of their mother. Periodically, her mom stops grazing to glance up and locate her calf. If the pair were out here alone, she might be more vigilant, but as it is, there are quite a few adults around keeping watch. Her little one keeps going over a hill to visit with another calf, pausing to look back to make sure it’s okay with mom.

Eventually, all of the calves come running to rejoin their mothers, where they are greeted nose to nose. The then routine repeats itself.

Meanwhile, as my attention was out the left side of my car, the rest of the group had been moving along the road, and this guy was suddenly near my passenger door!

Moose

Moose in Yellowstone usually give birth to one calf in late May or June. In other parts of their range, twins can be common. The Yellowstone National Park moose are Shiras moose, the smallest of the four North American subspecies. The moose subspecies are the Eastern (Vermont, Maine, New York, and eastern Canada), Alaskan (Yukon, Alaska), Western (Upper Midwest and British Columbia), and Shiras (Rocky Mountain states, Washington, Oregon, Utah, and southwest Canada).

Unlike most deer species, moose are solitary and, despite their size, are hard to see in the woods and willows they prefer. In Yellowstone, they are most often seen along Soda Butte Creek around the northeast entrance and near Silver Gate and Cooke City.

Pronghorn

Pronghorn are the last of the big herbivores to calve in the Yellowstone spring. This may be part survival strategy because the wolf packs are already following the bison and elk, looking for a weakness and opportunity there. When I arrived three days ago (June 6th), I saw a couple of pregnant pronghorn, but I hadn’t seen any fawns yet. Pronghorn fawns, like deer and elk calves, also bed down away from their mothers for their first 2-3 weeks of life. Just past Pebble Creek Campground, I noticed a pronghorn doe on the hillside licking her new fawn. I pulled off and set up my tripod, watching a doe, buck, and fawn. Pronghorn don’t generally congregate in family groups like this. The bucks tend to go off on their own outside of the rut. So I’m not sure what the dynamic is here.  I watched as the tiny fawn on wobbly, somewhat contracted legs from having been wrapped up in the womb not long ago, moved determinedly away from the adult pair. The adults eventually grazed in the opposite direction once the baby was tucked down safely in the grass.

Only her ears and eyes were visible once the fawn laid down, and then only because I’d watched her settle in.

This sighting completed a quartet of spring Yellowstone herbivore babies. I’m amazed and blessed to have seen them all on this short trip. Stayed tuned for more spring wildlife watching in Yellowstone stories.

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The post Spring Wildlife Watching in Yellowstone National Park appeared first on Exploring Nature by Sheila Newenham.

Antelope Island State Park, just outside Salt Lake City, has a reputation as a wildlife hotspot— bison, pronghorn, mule deer, bighorn sheep, coyotes, badgers, bobcats, and birds.  The best time to find wildlife is in the spring before the heat of summer and swarms of bugs.

Oftentimes, as I find myself now, I am not in places at these ideal times.  My opportunity to explore this 42-square-mile island arose on an arid, 100-degree afternoon in late August. I crossed the causeway, greeted by hundreds of shorebirds, hoping for the best despite the heat and bright sun.

The Great Salt Lake water level is at a record low, leaving the harbor bone dry.  A sign at Bridger Beach cautions that distances are deceiving and the water line is a one-mile walk across the cracked, scalding sand.  Bring water.

Along the Fielding-Garr Ranch Road, bison are plentiful.  Herds walk the salt flats where the lake used to be, and lone bulls rest on the hillsides.  A single grazing pronghorn buck looked up as I passed by.

The Fielding-Garr Ranch

I drove 15 miles to the south end of Antelope Island Road.  It’s too hot for me to enjoy hiking any of the trails.  The habitat is grassland with rare trees and little, if any, shade or water.  I stopped at the Fielding-Garr Ranch, where a copse of trees creates a birding hotspot.   I didn’t hear or see any birds, but I did find wonderfully weathered relics from a time gone by.

Fielding-Garr established the ranch on Antelope Island in the mid-1800s to manage the Church of the Latter Day Saints tithing herd of cattle and sheep.  The harsh conditions, isolation, and lack of fresh water deterred many who tried to live here.  However, it was continuously inhabited until 1981, when the state bought the land.  The Ranch is now on the National Register of Historic Places.

Nature weathers wood and wire into works of art.  The textures, patinas, and patterns are captivating.   I wandered here in a state of bliss until I ran out of water.

Bison at Antelope Island State Park

Despite the name of the island, bison are the stars.  They were brought here in 1893 by an entrepreneur who wanted to charge people to hunt them since bison were mostly extinct elsewhere.  By the 1920s, hunters on horseback had almost eliminated the herd.

The State of Utah currently manages 550-700 bison in the park.  Annual roundups for exams and vaccinations help maintain a healthy herd.  Since 100-200 calves are born each year into a disease-free, genetically isolated herd with no predators, some of the bison are sold each year to manage the herd’s size.

Antelope Island is a wildlife-viewing destination.  And if bison do it for you, you’ll be deeply rewarded.  (One day, I will find a badger!).  But if you show up under less-than-ideal conditions, you’ll always find something to pique your curiosity.

If you’re interested in purchasing or licensing any images you see here, please email me: SNewenham at exploringnaturephotos.com, and I’ll make it happen.

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Just past the visitor’s center, two pronghorn bucks called for a detour. The short prairie loop takes me right past these two as they graze across the plain. They are North America’s fastest land animals that evolved to outrun saber-toothed tigers. They’ve been around a long time and are so exotic looking.

Red Sleep Mountain Drive

Back on the main drag, I take the Red Sleep Mountain Drive up the hill. It’s a one-way, seasonal road that cautions drive at your own risk: no guard rails, steep drop-offs; stay in your car. The road climbs around the side of the mountain, offering expansive views of the Flathead River, then drops back down into a valley. The lane follows a small creek thick with bushes and songbirds. A lone white-tail doe is high up on a far hillside.

A visitor center map had stickers indicating where animals were seen today. The first two stickers were bison along the road I’m on, and bison were sacked out in those exact spots! The next sticker is a bear. I’m optimistic!

Bitterroot Trail

At the bitterroot trailhead, a cluster of 6-8 people with cameras and binoculars are looking off into the woods. (This is just past the bear sticker on the map). A woman said there was a bear with two cubs that she’d lost sight of behind a tree as they were heading downhill. I stopped to look, but couldn’t find them. A family, getting ready to depart, says, “well, since there’s a grizzly bear with a cub around, we probably shouldn’t hike this trail.” They left, and that’s exactly what I did.

The first part of the trail cuts across a slope full of arrowleaf balsamroot. I must come back in the spring when they’re in bloom (if the road opens in time, I’m at 45oo feet, and the road doesn’t open until Mother Nature clears the snow). It must be spectacular!

I have the trail to myself. A lone bison rests in a wallow far below. A few bitterroots are still in bloom, reminiscent of crocuses with their sinewy stamens. The yellow salsify has mostly gone to seed. I spent a lot of time photographing them – while looking over my shoulder for bears. The views from this ridge of the Bitterroot Mountain range are breathtaking.

As I head back up the trail, the path rises and curves over a hill before dropping back to the parking lot where the bears were. It’s a blind curve. “Hey, bear! Just a friendly human here. Hey, bear!”  I talk as I crest the hill to find all of the people have departed. I wander over to the side of the road and find a cinnamon black bear foraging down the mountain a bit. “Hey, bear!” I quip to be sure she knows I’m here. She’s a “park bear, ” used to having an audience, glances in my direction, and continues on her way. As I watched her browse, her black spring club frolicked into view. The cub acts carefree as she plays a fair distance from her mom. Confident mother. Confident cub. They start up the hill to the road where I’m standing. I retreated to my car and waited for them to crest the hill and appear roadside. They didn’t come up to the road, and I can’t see down the hill from where I am. Not knowing where they went and the potential for them to be in a place where I would be way too close before seeing them, I decided it was best to let them be.

Mission Valley

The next pullout, Highline, was crowded with cars and hikers, so I drove by, even though this is where the second bear sticker was on the park map. From here, the trail switchbacks down 1600 feet over three miles to the Mission Valley, the site of glacial Lake Missoula. I try not to ride my brakes the whole way down.

Bison Bison Bison

Herds of bison are on the prairie – old, worn bulls and fresh, new, red calves. They are milling about, wandering, wallowing, and grazing. I love the moptop on this big, old guy.

Mission Creek

I made a quick stop at a pond and Mission Creek. Another warning sign. I didn’t see any elk, angry or otherwise, but I did see two white-tailed bucks bedded down about twenty feet from the trail. They were very tolerant—Park deer. I also found an adorable, wary groundhog in the picnic area.

Tomorrow morning, I’ll make another loop before heading back home. I spent the night at a nice hotel at the Nine Pipe Wildlife Refuge.

The Next Morning

The Bison Refuge opens at 7 am. I was there just past seven and was surprised to see a few vehicles ahead of me on the road. I drove the Red Sleep Mountain Drive again, seeing some bison along the way.

This morning, there are chipmunks all over the road. Unlike most places, when I stop my car here, they don’t flee. Since people aren’t supposed to get out of their cars except at the designated trails, a stopped vehicle doesn’t predict danger in the way it does in so many other places. And people are always stopping to look at things on this road, so it’s not unusual for a car to stop. I could pop out my sunroof and photograph a few of them. 

The Highline Trail

I bypassed the visitor’s center this morning, so I don’t know where the bear stickers are today, and I didn’t see any bears. I hiked the Highline trail I’d skipped yesterday with its songbirds, wildflowers, and incredible views. The sign on the trailhead cautioned to stay near your car, but it didn’t say the trail was closed. “Near” is relative, so off I went. I had the path all to myself this morning.

Mission Creek Wallowing

Back down in the prairie, a large herd of bison was escaping the heat in Mission Creek, bellowing and wallowing. They are surprisingly chatty with rumbles, bellows, grunts, and snorts in a language all their own.

The whole herd slowly crossed the road and headed into the creek. They didn’t stay long before seeking a shady place to nap.

I stopped by the pond again on my way out. It’s midday now, and no one is around. I bought the annual pass ($20 versus $10 for a day pass), so I’m motivated to come back in different seasons.

Side note: I’m wearing my hiking sandals again. I’ve learned my rattlesnake lesson and stayed on the sidewalk at the visitor’s center.

If you’re interested in purchasing or licensing any of the images you see here, please email me: SNewenham at exploringnaturephotos.com, and I’ll make it happen.

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The post National Bison Range appeared first on Exploring Nature by Sheila Newenham.

Driving west on I-94, it’s fast and flat through Minnesota and most of North Dakota. I pass crowded fields of sunflowers, their dry seed heads fixed toward the sky, flat terrain pockmarked by small lakes and rolling fallow crop fields. Until suddenly, the land falls away.  A few miles outside Medora, North Dakota, the gateway to Theodore Roosevelt National Park (TRNP), the landscape abruptly transforms. It’s the inverse of the drive on I-70 across the Colorado plains, where the mountains push up from the plains to the sky.  You can see them from incredibly far away.  This, however, is an ancient inland wetland, the earth carved deeply by eons of water. You don’t see it until you’re at the precipice. Steep, deep canyons expose ancient layers of loose rock and mud. Theodore Roosevelt said, “The badlands do not seem to belong on this earth.”  I’d have to agree.

How Can This Be?

Bear with me for a brief dip into geology.  Sixty-five million years ago, this was flat, swampy land.  Volcanic ash, and sediment from erosion of the Rocky Mountains, began to fill in the wetlands. Time compressed these layers into sedimentary rock. One million years ago, in our last Ice Age, the Little Missouri River carved into the soft sedimentary rock as it flowed north and then was pushed eastward at the foot of a glacier following the path of least resistance.

What is left today is a twisting, curving, beautifully meandering river bounded by floodplains beyond which flat-topped buttes, plateaus, and hoodoos give way to the prairie.  This vast, diverse landscape supports so much life!

Exploring the Park

The first morning, I rose in the dark of night to be in the park by dawn. As the first rays of light began to chase back the blackness, soft, warm hues of salmon, peach, and yellow layered along the flat plateau horizon. Bison own the flood plains near the river. One lopes contentedly along the side of the road catching up to the herd – an astonishingly fast pace for such an awkward-looking, lumbering behemoth.  I have a new respect for their athleticism (not a word I would’ve ever used to describe a bison before).  Days later, I would watch a bison herd scale a near-vertical butte on the far side of a river to reach the prairie above.

The river bottoms are also home to white-tailed deer who graze with the bison over prairie dog towns and among the cottonwoods.

In the early morning hours before the sun hits the ground on the prairie dog towns, flocks of turkeys browse the landscape. They are foraging as they walk, frequently breaking into a run to keep up with the leader. They move fluidly and chaotically at the same time, like a river washing over rocks and boulders.

Prairie Dogs

The first sunlight that touches the earth in the prairie dog town serves as their wake-up call. Instantly, adorable, sociable, plump prairie dogs peek out of their underground burrows. They’ll spend their days foraging, socializing, and sounding alarms that send all of them scurrying into their bunkers only to reappear and repeat. They are a chatty bunch.  “Barks” announce danger (which is how they got their name), and their classic jump-yip declares “All Clear.”

They also make a soft cooing purr sort of noise that is adorable. Prairie dog communities consist of individual family groups living within their own burrow with just two openings to the surface.  Above ground, living is social and keeps them safer, but below ground, they go their separate ways. 

More than twenty prairie dog towns in the park create rich biodiversity over the more than 1000 acres they’ve colonized.  They provide habitat for raptors, rabbits, coyotes, horses, bison, deer, badgers, and more.

Scenic Drive Loop

A thirty-six-mile scenic drive loop winds up from the river through all of the park’s ecosystems before returning to the Little Missouri River.  Well, when the sedimentary rock isn’t washing out from underneath the road, it’s a loop. The last four miles have been closed indefinitely since May 2019.  These days the “loop” is a 60mi round trip out and back. Geology stops for no one. 

Whereas the white-tailed deer are down by the river, the buttes and plateaus are the mule deer’s habitat. They are commonly grazing along the roadsides alone and in groups. Wild mustangs are found throughout the park, and I saw some on most trips along this road. There are about 170 horses in 22 bands here. They deserved a whole blog to themselves; read it here.

At the easternmost bend in the drive, I stand at the edge of an empty inland sea. I lean into the wind that pushes up through the ravine to keep my balance. Behind me is rolling prairie, and in front of me, the earth drops precipitously away in endless layers of hoodoos and buttes interweaving all the way to the horizon.

Dance of the Eagles

Back down at the river bluffs, a pair of golden eagles interact in what can only be bonding or courtship. They dance along thermals, coming together, talons outstretched, brushing past one another to soar again. They continued their aerial display until vanishing into specks in the distant sky.  Being far away and fast-moving made them difficult to photograph. Still, I’d never seen golden eagles before, so I’m happy to share the pictures just the same.

Big Plateau Trail

Starting at the Peaceful Valley Ranch, I waded across the ankle-deep Little Missouri River on the Big Plateau Trail to a canyon that brought me up to a plateau. I was greeted by the barks and then, in quick succession, the jump-yips of another prairie dog town.  I’m flattered that they quickly assess me as no threat. Looking west across the expansive prairie, I feel like I can see forever. Northward, the ground drops away again into the painted canyons of the badlands.

On the way back along the Ekblom Trail, a herd of bison is resting near the trail in the floodplain. I’m not comfortable with the amount of space between the herd and the steep wall of the butte to skirt around them.  They probably wouldn’t give me a second look. But, still.  I’m reminded of a sign in Yellowstone National Park that I regret not photographing because I think of it so often. It advised, “When wildlife exists between you and your destination, chose another route.”  I detoured into the woodlands toward the river, following a maze of wildlife trails that I know will lead me back to the river.  A few yards off the path lies the remains of a bison. The sunlight on the arching ribs caught my attention: ribs, full spine, bits of hide, a leg.  Further away is a beautiful full skull and jaw bone.  The limb tells the story; the attached hoof is overgrown, suggesting a lameness in life that a predator exploited.

Porcupine!

Early the next morning, this same herd is gathered in the river. Snorting, bellowing, mooing – it’s like a morning coffee chat. The sounds of nature, when all else is quiet, resonate in one’s soul.  I linger in the moment. As I turn and take a few steps to leave, I stop dead in my tracks. There is a porcupine – a big porcupine – on the ground chewing on a medium-sized bush. I’ve been looking for a porcupine for years! He paused, aware of my presence without looking at me, and then began to waddle up a short rise from the floodplain to a sagebrush prairie. Partway up the hill, he paused, rose up on his haunches, and looked back at me.

Everything he does is in slow motion as if he doesn’t have a care in the world – or as if he has a butt full of quills.  It was still dark enough that my camera had a hard time seeing. I had to slow the shutter speed a lot to let in enough light at this distance. His movements would cause blur.  I don’t have any other options.  I took three pictures, and they turned out decent enough to share here.  And they certainly capture the memory for me.  I’m thrilled! He continued ambling up over the rise into the sage, stopping a couple of more times to look back to me again before he settled under a sage bush. He is perfectly camouflaged there. If I hadn’t seen him curl up, I would easily have walked right past him and never known.  I wonder how often I’ve passed by animals in a similar scenario when I’m out exploring. I suspect it happens all the time. I didn’t follow him into the sage flat. It was time to let him be.

Wild horses, golden eagles, and a porcupine!  What more could you want?!  Stay tuned for a blog about my exploration of the rugged North Unit.

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