When the foliage is gone, the structure lies bare. Undulations ripple along the mountainsides; seeps and drainages stand out. 

The rhythms of the forest are speaking in structure, not color. This gift in this landscape of open vistas is long sightlines – a dream for wildlife spotting.

The Kenow Fire ignited with a lightning strike and burned slowly until September 11, 2017, when it blew up in critically dry conditions, surging from 30,000 to 104,000 acres overnight, overtaking Waterton National Park. The Kenow Wildfire was a fire of exceptional severity exceeding every fire since the Park’s records began in 1700. In the end, half of the vegetated land and 80% of the hiking trails in the Park were burnt. 

In almost all of this burn area, most or all of the organic matter was seared away by the fire. The topsoil burned away to a depth of three feet.

Dense conifer forests are being replaced by young aspens and shrubs such as Saskatoon berry, thimbleberry, and huckleberry. It’s a bear’s delight! The conifers will come back, too. They grow relatively slowly.

Fire is necessary, natural, “normal” for these forests. Our human misunderstanding and resulting meddling have given rise to an increase in these large, catastrophic (by human standards) fires. This was a dramatic fire. The recovery is being documented and studied, providing insights into the land’s history and the resilience of nature.It’s often not what I expected, but it’s always an adventure.

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The post Waterton Park and the 2017 Kenow Fire appeared first on Exploring Nature by Sheila Newenham.

Here, Kitty, Kitty. Psspsspss.

On the eve of my first day in the park, during a wildlife drive, I lamented the lack of wildlife sightings. All of the park’s communications warn visitors to be prepared for encountering wildlife while hiking. One hundred yards into any trail is this warning sign.The massive 2017 Kenow Fire razed the dense forests, resulting in extensive sightlines. And yet.

Stuck in My Head

I passed by a small gathering of photographers with their big lenses pointed at a black bear high up on a slope. He was too far away, and, honestly, I’m beyond fortunate to be spoiled by previous, intimate bear encounters.

I’d come here to help reset my head. It’d been way too long since I’d been able to wander the wilderness in this way that feeds my soul, and there’s a lot of stress at home. I craved some forest bathing!

Here’s Your Sign

I was having a hard time shedding the stress. “I’ve lost my wildlife mojo,” I said to myself. The wild is responding to my negative energy, I thought as I rounded a bend to see the unmistakable long tail of a mountain lion crossing the road. A wild, North American mountain lion!!

I stopped in the road and activated my flashers while simultaneously grabbing my binoculars. I didn’t expect to locate the ghost cat, master of camouflage, in the low aspens and serviceberry bushes. But there he was. Standing broadside. This magnificent, muscular tomcat looking back at me.

I’ve spent a lot of time in mountain lion territory. I’ve seen tracks, scat, and sign. One delightful winter day, I heard a cougar calling to her kittens. I’m sure plenty of wild cats have seen me. But, until now, I’d never seen one in North America. Ghost cats!

I quickly exchanged the binoculars for my camera. The puma made some assessment of me and turned to pad up the burnt hillside. He moseyed, moving at a relaxed walk, stopping to look around, gently wagging the tip of that long feline tail, doing all the cat things. I reveled in this magical, solitary moment. 

As I watched him disappear and reappear through trees and brush, he crouched below a boulder and scrunched his ears out to the side. The stealthy cat pose. I thought he might be stalking a hare.

It was at this moment that I heard a car approaching. I am stopped in the lane of traffic below a blind curve. I started the car and crept forward with my eyes on the rear-view mirror. In the car behind me, one of the photographers I’d passed activated her flashers, and we both stopped.

I glassed and glassed the hillside but could not find the cougar. The person behind me had their big lens out the window, focused on the slope. I scanned the area where she was looking, astonished that she had found this elusive cat so quickly, when I’d been watching him and can’t find him. Only then do I realize that she’s photographing a black bear higher up the hillside to the left. To the right, a cinnamon-phase black bear is ambling along the hillside toward the other bear. This must be what caught the mountain lion’s attention, causing him to crouch. Bears and cats don’t play well together. I’m sure “my” cat is long gone now.

Still in Awe

When I got home, I checked the time stamps on my images. I spent almost five minutes with this elegant, wild cougar. FIVE MINUTES! A glimpse is a gift. I don’t even know what to call this—unreal, unbelievable, blessed, connection, becoming.

The image of that lion crossing the road when I first saw him is seared in my mind. Today, I’m the luckiest girl in the world.

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The post Ghost Cat Revealed appeared first on Exploring Nature by Sheila Newenham.

She and her two 15-month-old kittens are taking turns feeding on a guanaco kill. When one cat moves off to groom and nap, another moves in.

Petaka is another of Rupestre’s offspring from the same litter as Dania. Female kittens often stay around, sharing overlapping territories with their mother and sisters. Males disperse widely, leaving their relatives behind. This is how nature ensures genetic diversity.

The 15-month-old male was feeding when Petaka returned to eat. They fed together until there was some unseen infraction.

Petaka hissed. The kitten paused. Feeding soon resumed.

Moments later, Petaka cuffed him on the head with her paw. He shrank down low and did not move a muscle for several minutes in deference.

From over the hill out of sight, the sounds of arguing guanacos fill the air. It catches the kitten’s attention. They perk up, heads raised, alert, ears forward. They pause a moment as if to process what’s happening and then slink silently to the top of the hill and disappear from sight.

When Petaka leaves the kill this time, she does not cover it. They are done. She moves off to the right along the ridge, calling, calling, calling for her kids to follow. 

She can see the kittens who are out of my sight, off to the left, and down the ravine. Yet, they don’t respond.

After thirty minutes of persistent calling, she turns back to retrieve them. By the time I get to the edge where I can see them, the greetings – rubbing, head-bunting, purring – are over. I knelt down to watch.

Suddenly, Petaka, trailed by her two grown kittens, began coming right toward me. As she casually closed the distance. I lowered my camera to be fully in this moment. She never held eye contact, but she kept coming, making me wonder if she would brush past me or how this would play out.

At the last moment, she stepped off the trail and walked through our group, with her kittens in tow. All three of them indifferent to our small crowd.

It is the most intimate experience to be accepted and, simultaneously, ignored by wildlife. In their eyes, I’m not good or bad, not something to be sought out or avoided, just another part of their world. As it should be. Human beings are not separate from nature. We are nature.

The family moved to a seasonal stream for a drink, grooming, and a nap. It’s a distinct, lush, green oasis amid the brown landscape of fall.

The caracaras are chattering as they feed at the abandoned carcass. Even though she’s done with it, Petaka cannot help herself and goes back to shoo them off.

She pauses for the iconic “puma in front of the towers” photo. Of course, she does; she’s a superstar.

Then Petaka turns 90° and once again comes right at me. This time, she’s staring me in the eye as she pads toward me. “Nobody move”, the guide softly instructs. She gets to make all the decisions here. The last thing we want to do is startle her or become unpredictable in her mind.

Her posture is relaxed, her eyes soft, her movement fluid. So, despite her eye contact, it’s not unnerving like when a bear looks me in the eye, but it’s decidedly different than the previous encounter.

Again, she steps around us, uttering the softest of churs after she passes by. Oh! My! God!

Our guide, Diego,  jokingly asks to check my pockets for meat. I said, “My friend Jane Goodall told me they sense my spirit.”

“Ah, you come by it honestly, then,” Diego replied. “She smells your heart.” He gestured, inhaling deeply as he drew his hand from his chest towards his nose and outward.

I love that! She smells my heart.

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The post The Puma Petaka appeared first on Exploring Nature by Sheila Newenham.

Planned

In October, I went to Estes Park, Colorado, the hotbed of elk activity, to photograph the rut. There weren’t many elk around, and Moraine Park was empty.

Unplanned

Later, I was in Northern California to spend time with wild bobcats, and I stumbled upon the tail end of the Tule elk rut! Once thought extinct, Tule elk are endemic to this 71,000-acre patch of preserved land and not found anywhere outside of Northern California. Historically, large herds were found throughout central and coastal California. There are three subspecies of American elk. Rocky Mountain elk are the most common. Roosevelt elk are the largest of the elk subspecies and are found in the Pacific Northwest.

As I travel the Point Reyes National Seashore roads, it seems like there is a massive bull over every hill! When I was last here, four years ago, I only saw elk in the wilderness area of Tomales Point. I’m happy to see them expanding their numbers. There are a few bulls with large harems, but mostly, the elk are alone or in smaller bachelor herds.

Just outside the Tomales Point Elk Reserve, I encountered a sizable bachelor herd. Some were grazing, some were resting, and some were sparing – a friendly way to hone their skills for the real stakes.

Sparring

Antlers intertwined, clashing and pushing one another. It’s a wonder they don’t poke each other’s eyes out. Elk spar from when they shed their velvet to when they shed their antlers (approx. August to March). It’s a way for them to test their strength.

There are no winners or losers, even when the participants are wholly unmatched. It’s playful yet powerful.

The next day, I encountered a similar group in the early morning marine fog. With rain on the horizon, most people stayed in. I was alone in the park with these elk.

All was quiet except for the crisp sounds of clashing antlers and occasional piercing elk bugles carrying over the hills. The sounds of nature are just as impressive as the sights.

Rutting

This bull elk is all testosterone and seriousness. He is pushing his harem, posturing with his neck long and extended. Head tilted back as far as the long antlers allow as he bellows his haunting, screeching bugle.

He looks directly at me and steps forward. He bugles his disdain. I am in the safety of my car and using a long lens, but it’s still unnerving.

I grabbed a couple more images and moved on to relieve his stress.

At the end of the day, a lone bull grazed on a hilltop—a fitting end to a surprisingly elky day.

Let your sense of adventure be your guide.

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The post Tule Elk Rut appeared first on Exploring Nature by Sheila Newenham.

Whether it’s true or not, I don’t know. Regardless, I continued through the tall grass toward the skunk.I stopped beyond “spray range” at a good vantage point. I waited for the skunk to meander into the clearings as she foraged. She grubbed along, eating insects, head down, intent on her task. I was downwind, and she didn’t look in my direction, but maybe she heard me? She puffed out her beautiful flowing tail but didn’t raise it. She continued eating. I stopped photographing to watch her without distraction, to be fully in tune with her mood. Then she turned toward me and stopped, raising her tail fully vertical like a sail. I’m sure what this means. I retreated.

The skunk’s tail relaxed, and she went back to rooting around. As I walked away, I looked back and was compelled by her beauty – that long, silky black and white flowing coat. I turned back but in a different direction, parallel to her path, and stayed further away. I wanted to get a clearer view. Even though her coat and markings are the draw, a decent photograph needs a face.I enjoyed my time with her, and she was mostly relaxed about my presence – whether she could see me or not.

Skunk footprints. Note the long nails designed for digging.

(After I came home, I looked into it. Skunks have poor peripheral vision. They can only see directly ahead for about fifteen feet. Therefore, they are easily startled. They can aim and spray ten to twenty feet, although they’d rather not. It’s costly for them to spray. It can take up to two weeks for their glands to recharge, during which time they are exceedingly vulnerable to predation).

Over the next three days in Point Reyes National Seashore, I would see skunks out foraging daily! What an unexpected delight.

Pretty sure I’ve been seen! This skunk never raised her tail, or even floofed it.

“Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell about it.” – Mary Oliver 

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The post Skunks During the Daytime appeared first on Exploring Nature by Sheila Newenham.

This year, fall has come early. The aspen are mostly bare, revealing their stunning white branching. And the elk are concerningly absent. I was here more than 24 hours before I saw one.

Last winter was harsh across the United States, unusually cold and long with persistent deep, deep snow. It affected the survival of a lot of wildlife. I was worried about the elk herds here. It turns out the elk are fine. The rut is all but over, and they’ve returned to cooler areas of the Park. The Colorado sun bakes Moraine Park even on these cool fall days.

After yesterday’s nine-mile hike around Moraine Park, a day of relative rest is in order. We thought we’d check out some of the trails in the Bear Lake corridor. The first stop was Sprague Lake. As we pulled off the main road, I saw elk standing in the lake! We quickly parked and hurried to the south lake trail. The sun was just coming up.A small group of elk cows and calves stood in the middle of the shallow lake. A large herd had moved out of the lake, grazing along the north shore and trapping a group of people on a viewing deck over the water.

One of the cows in the lake twice struck the water’s surface with her front hoof. It was a forceful, intentional action that garnered no response from the rest of the herd.

A lone cow appeared at the west shore. A younger elk in the lake began calling. The newcomer stood at the water’s edge for some time before finally stepping in. At that moment, the young cow frolicked through the water, prancing, circling, and kicking up her heels.

The calf took a roundabout way to approach the new elk, somewhat submissive. After approaching, she attempted to nurse. It was a family reunion!

I moved to the east side of the lake as the elk began to move off toward the northeast. All of the cows congregated at the northeast corner of the lake, browsing, unconcerned with the attention of the onlookers. The herd’s bull appeared, walking in from the west. He extended his neck and raised his nose as he bugled, his eerie, screeching, lonesome call piercing the dawn.

He quickly disappeared into the woods, heading toward the creek outflow, pushing his girls in that direction. I followed the creekside trail on the opposite side of the herd, trying to get a safe vantage point with the sun behind me. The bull appeared on a rise in front of me.

He started pushing the cows across the creek between me and the lake. Seeing that I could quickly become stuck here by myself between a rutting elk and his harem, I rushed back to the lakeside trail. I’ve been between a bull elk and his ladies before. It’s scary.

As the bull gently moved the herd and the girls grazed casually, I got ahead, climbing up a hillside and waiting behind a large boulder for them to come past me.

In time, they all passed by and then bedded down for a morning rest. The bull moved noisily through the woods, thrashing at branches in his way. Eventually, he settled above them, and we went on our way.

This was a unique, unexpected wildlife encounter. When I thought I would see the moraine full of elk, instead, I got elk in a lake!

If you love a place, it will love you back.

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The post A Lake of Rocky Mountain Elk appeared first on Exploring Nature by Sheila Newenham.

Bears! Bears! Bears!

The Travel

This camp isn’t easy to get to, and that’s a substantial part of the appeal. I flew a commercial airliner to Anchorage. The following morning, I took a cab to Merrill Field and boarded a nine-seat Cessna Caravan. This wheeled plane took us to Lake Iliamna, where a van transported us to the lake. I donned hip waders and boarded a six-seat DeHavilland Beaver float plane to take me to the tundra and camp for a week.

• Three planes
• 1912 miles flown (to get there)
• 51 miles hiked (in chest waders!)
• Six nights of remote camping
• Six gourmet dinners
• 30-70 bears every day!

Departing Anchorage, it was raining and socked in with clouds. Not long after we left, airplanes were grounded due to the weather. As our Cessna crossed Cook Inlet, I left all the clouds behind…for a whole week! The scene that came into view is unbelievably beautiful. Craggy mountain tops and glaciers as far as I could see. Silty, braided rivers and glacial lakes accented the mountainscape.

The flight from Lake Iliamna to camp was dotted with small lakes and more rivers. We flew over a bear on our approach to a lake that seemed too small to accommodate our float plane. Our camp hosts and guides waded out to greet our plane, help us navigate the cobbly lake bottom, and haul our luggage and all the gear and supplies for a week to the tundra.

The Camp

Jami and Julie, our chef and camp host, respectively, and Adam and Sean, our guides, arrived yesterday to set up camp. An electric bear fence surrounds nine tents: six 2-person sleeping tents with cots, a gear tent with solar battery chargers and a bear box to lock our toiletries in, a cook tent, and the “circus tent” – a place to gather when the winds came. Across the rolling tundra, a mostly spongey surface pocked with one to two-foot-wide rocky holes of water, nestled in among some bushes was our restroom. The privy is also surrounded by electric fencing more to protect the gear from becoming bear toys than anything else. It has the best view of any toilet I’ve ever sat upon.

My days would start around 8 am, waking to the crisp morning air nestled snuggly in a warm sleeping bag. Jami had steaming hot French Press coffee and breakfast waiting. After lingering around the breakfast area, chatting and eating, we geared up and loaded up. Our “snack box” was a full 36″ x 24″ x 18″ bear-proof aluminum cooler-type contraption meeting the US Forest Service criteria for bear-proof containers: “(a) resist a direct force of 200-pounds; and (b) contain no cracks, external hinges, gaps, etc. by which a bear can force the container open using claws or teeth.” It contained cookies, trail mix, nuts, Cliff bars, Belvita biscuits, dried fruit, jerky, fruit gummies, crackers, and tins of smoked oysters. Our guides had water filters so we could refill our water bottles from the river while we were out. It seems like Julie spent all her time filtering water from our lake for our use at camp. Twelve people go through a lot of water when it’s all there is to drink. (Well, that and an astonishing assortment of Whiskey. There were four full-size bottles!) She was like Sisyphus pushing that boulder up a hill. The task was never done.

The Terrain

We followed a well-worn trail created by years of anglers and wildlife passing the same way, three-quarters of a mile to the river. Sockeye salmon return to this river each summer to spawn. The fish draw the bears, birds, and scavengers.

Each day, we walked the river watching bears. An insane number of bears. You wouldn’t believe the numbers if I told you. Luckily, I took pictures, so I will show you! Here is just a small taste.

Twice, we came back to camp midafternoon for a break and a big meal before going back out. The other four days, we stayed out until dusk, eating the snacks and wraps Jami had packed for us. We would return to camp around sundown at 10:30 pm or so at night, depending on how many bears we had to stop for on the way in. With the full moon and twilight lasting a few hours, it never got dark enough to need my headlamp, even in the middle of the night. On the days we were out all day, dinner was ready when we returned.

Dinners

• Carnitas soft tacos
• Tiki Marsala
• Halibut with crispy potatoes
• Penne with Shrimp
• Steak with mashed potatoes and green beans
• Burrito Bowls

We hiked seven-and-a-half to fifteen miles per day through rivers, up bluffs, and over rolling hills. At the end of the first day, my hip flexors were sore from pushing my legs against the rushing waters. I wasn’t sure I was in shape for a full week of this. Sleep came quickly every night.

We had crazy, beautiful weather. It was hot! Seventy degrees under a cloudless sky wearing chest waders feels like 90° anywhere else. I felt like I was hiking in my own personal sauna. One day, we all stripped off waders, boots, and socks and rested atop a bluff until we ran out of water. Another day, I brought my flip-flops to wear riverside. Those with waders that didn’t leak (that would not be me) simply sitting in the cold river was the refreshment they needed. For a place that’s usually 55-60°, grey and windy, if not raining, this was exceptional. It was a very wet summer throughout Alaska. This might’ve been the only sunny week they had.

Weather Change

On the last full day, the wind started to blow, and the temperature dropped. I wore all of my cold-weather gear. Camp took a beating but held firm. It made it a little bit easier to leave this paradise.

A word about the waders: Rob and I rented our waders and boots from a place in Anchorage. They are expensive to buy, and I’m not sure I would ever use them again. The waders themselves are made of “waterproof, breathable” material with a bib pocket, suspenders, and a belt. It’s essential to keep the belt secure. This will prevent the waders from filling with water and weighing you down if you fall. Waders full of water are anchors. The feet are waterproof neoprene. It’s best to wear them with socks to minimize rubbing and to help keep feet warm in the cold water. The boots are made to be submersed and are not waterproof. They are meant to let the water flow through. Because we had so much sunshine, the waders and boots were usually dry by the next day. This is one of the blessings of the unusual weather. Under gray skies, they would have stayed cold and wet all week.

Behind the Scenes of Photography

Departure

It took a lot of work and planning to make a trip to the tundra so accessible to me. Thanks to Fish and Float Alaska, Jami, Julie, Sean Sharp Photography, and KAR Photography for making this trip fun and easy!

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

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The post Bear Camp – Behind the Scenes appeared first on Exploring Nature by Sheila Newenham.

I spent most of the morning watching a brown bear lazily grazing through willows and alders on the far side of a lake in Katmai National Park. I was comfortable in my camp chair under the warm Alaskan sun, sipping hot coffee and watching the day unfold. The bear was only occasionally visible in the dense alders. She also seemed to be enjoying a relaxing morning.

When she finally emerged onto the short grass, two, no three! tiny spring cubs tailed her! The family moseyed along the lakeshore as I grabbed my camera. Moments later, a large boar crested the ridge above the lake. As soon as the sow was aware of his presence, she bolted. Boars can be aggressive toward cubs, sometimes killing them. This mom was taking no chances.

Her cubs ran as fast as their furry little legs could carry them. Two of them kept up close to their mom; the third trailed far behind. It was a tense situation. The sow periodically slowed to look back to see if the boar was pursuing and to allow her little ones to catch up. The boar plodded along in a low-speed pursuit. The sow and cubs covered a lot of ground, putting quite a distance between them and their pursuer. Those big lumbering bears are surprisingly swift.

I scrambled over a hill to the next lake to continue to watch the drama unfold. As the boar re-emerged from a valley onto the hillside where the bear family was, he abruptly turned away, moving off in a different direction. It seemed that something else caught his nose. I could finally exhale. When survival is at stake, keep running. And so the sow with two cubs in tow and the third still trailing behind ran until they disappeared in the distance.

Later, away from camp, I saw this same bear family cross the braided river some distance away.

Then again, towards the end of the day, a sow poked her head out of the grasses along the river’s edge. She’s looking for fish that have yet to arrive. Two cubs followed right behind her onto the rocky shore. A third appeared a few paces back. It’s the same family. I had worried that this straggler was a runt, smaller and weaker, not so fit for living in Katmai. At this close glimpse, all three appear the same size. This is just a personality difference. All mothers of multiples can identify.

The following morning, we hiked upriver, searching for the salmon that would bring the bears. In a deep pool at a river bend, some salmon were gathering. This is a beautiful place to wait and see what happens. Some bears passed by, but none lingered until this sow with her three adorable spring cubs appeared. She stayed for a long time, claiming that pool as her very own fishing spot.A salmon fluttered at the surface, making a splash that grabs every bear’s attention. The sow shot forward, startling her sleeping cubs. They bolted upright.

At the same time, a bear that had been ambling up the river took off full speed in the same direction. The cubs scattered in a panic.

Two ran to the cover of the brush. The third followed mom into the water. The tension was palpable.

The two adult bears and the tiny cub disappeared behind a rocky outcrop in the river bend. Roars echoed through the valley. I held my breath. Was this new bear after the cub?!? Was it going to end in tragedy? A second later, the wet cub reappeared, dashing toward the brush. Hot on her heels was her mom clenching a bright red sockeye salmon. Not a pace behind was the new bear, also with a fish in her jaws! A tense situation for bears and viewers alike turned out ideal for everyone.

This family spent the afternoon camped out on the riverside. As did I. Bears continually passed by, working their way up or down the river, searching for the glut of salmon they knew was coming. They’d see this mom, detour through the brush, and give her a wide berth. Sometimes, the cubs would get scared, standing up wide-eyed or huddling close to their mom.

Mom, however, never even looked at the passersby. She’s comfortable in her stature. Yesterday, on the tundra, she seemed young and vulnerable. Today, on the river, she seems experienced, strong and confident. Queen of the River.

She made a few more attempts at fishing but didn’t catch another salmon this afternoon.

There were two exceptions to the deferential behavior of the other bears. First, a boar came upriver, seemingly ignoring this bear family (not a glance, not a stare, let alone a cowboy walk). The cubs scurried in close, and the mom stood up and glared. Then, the family sauntered off for the brush, deferring to this boar.

Not too put out, the family reappeared on the gravel bar where mom laid down to nurse her cubs. Unfortunately, they were too far away to hear the purrs that nursing cubs make over the sounds of the river.

After four hours with us, the family moved on. Other bears continued to pass by and stop to fish. As the sun started getting low, it was time to head back to camp.

Along the way, we encountered our bear family sacked out. To avoid disturbing them as we passed, we detoured into the brush (like all the bears before!). We came out behind them and paused to swoon over the cubs. A smaller adult came downriver from behind us, walking right past the resting family, causing concern for the cubs. The sow hardly gave a sideward glance. Queen of the River.

As this young bear continued down the river, a sow with two two-year-old cubs came into view. With all of this bear activity, the walk back to camp is a slow process! As this new family made their way up, they left the river, scaling the steep bluff with ease. They paralleled the river as they came toward us, piquing the attention of our young family.

When the newcomers were directly across the river from us, the sow stood to get a better look. She turned back toward the river and plodded down the bank, cubs following.

At the water’s edge, she stared at us, put her head down to scent us, and all the while kept coming.

For only the second time today, the Queen of the River stood, deferring to another bear, and walked off into the alders. Likewise, we huddled up. This bear could be trouble. As one big group instead of a bunch of individuals, we appear more imposing, too much trouble for any bear to mess with.

We stood quietly as the sow, with her posse in tow, walked right over to where the other family had been napping.

She passed us with nary a glance and no further drama. The family disappeared into the thicket. One of her cubs stopped momentarily to smell the air, trying to make sense of us.The dynamics of the bear’s relationships are fascinating. They are sentient individuals with personalities, friendships, and preferences, just like each of us. Research has shown that in some bear populations, related females allow each other into their territories and share resources during lean times. They care for one another.

Throughout my week watching bears in Katmai National Park, I saw this family every day. Caring for oneself in Katmai is a challenge, to say the least, let alone successfully raising a family of three. Watching this mom navigate threats, assess competition, find food, and care for her cubs in this vast landscape increased my respect for these majestic animals.

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The post A Bear’s Life (Katmai National Park) appeared first on Exploring Nature by Sheila Newenham.

Spring of 2022 brought a “once in 500 years” flood to Yellowstone National Park, prompting evacuations and an unprecedented full closure of the Park. Flows in the Yellowstone River were recorded at 50,000 cubic feet per second (cf/s) on the morning of June 13th. The previous high flow record was 30,000 cf/s compared to the annual average peak in June at 16,780 cf/s. Within 24 hours, the Park was evacuated entirely, clearing an estimated 12,000 people from roads, lodges, and backcountry sites.  This impressive emergency action prevented any loss of life.

The Northern Tier received 7 1/2 to 9 1/2 inches of rain in one day on top of a heavy snowmelt year. In the three days leading up to June 13th, Yellowstone National Park had received two to three times its typical rainfall for the entire month of June.

The Damage

The Gardner River, which meets the Yellowstone River in Gardiner, MT, flooded, washing out the North Entrance Road. Several long sections of pavement collapsed into the rushing waters. Engineers quickly declared it irreparable.

Soda Butte Creek, which runs along the northeast entrance road, also washed out in many sections, rendering the area impassable. The Yellowstone River in Lamar Valley claimed an interior road high up on the river gorge. This is just some of the damage of the turbulent, rushing waters. All of the significant damage from the raging floods and mudslides was in the northern tier of the Park.

Nine days later, as the weather stabilized, the park’s southern half reopened to visitors. 

With the northeast entrance road in shambles and the Bear Tooth Highway in Montana washed out in six places over its 65-mile course (some ruts were 100 feet deep!), the small gateway towns of Silver Gate and Cooke City, Montana were isolated without any road access. Similarly, the Yellowstone River through Paradise Valley washed out bridges and isolated communities like Miner’s Basin.

The Response

The Park Service moved amazingly quickly to get access to the park from Gardiner. Tour operators were allowed to access the Park via the gravel Old Gardiner Road that joins Gardiner and Mammoth. By October, a brand new road snaking through the hills high above the Garder River Valley opened. Also in October, the Northeast Entrance road opened with washouts at the Soda Butte picnic area, Pebble Creek campground, Trout Lake trailhead, and a few more repaired and repaved.

In Lamar Valley, at the canyonside road collapse, crews stabilized and paved a one-lane passageway until they could rebuild the road this year. This is the only road access through Lamar Valley.

During my visit almost a year later, in June 2023, one-lane sections remained in effect in just three places and were expected to be complete by this year’s high summer season.  The extent of the destruction is mind-boggling, only surpassed by the quick response from all agencies. It’s remarkable that there was no loss of life. Spontaneous major road repairs and rebuilding were completed in just four months.

The folks in Gardiner only half-joke, “First it was COVID, then it was the flood; this is probably the year that the big one is gonna blow!”

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The post Force of Nature: The 2022 Yellowstone Flood appeared first on Exploring Nature by Sheila Newenham.

On my first morning out, a private guide pointed out two grizzly bears high on a ridge above the snow in Lamar Valley. They were specks even with binoculars. His clients, looking through a spotting scope, were thrilled. Their first wild bears!

Grizzly bear specks

Black Bear

Later in the afternoon, on my way back over Dunraven Pass, I encountered a minor bear jam. There was ample shoulder room for me to pull off and park. A cinnamon-colored black bear was grazing along parallel to the road. She appeared oblivious to the crowds of people watching her. I suspect she’s quite used to the paparazzi. I sat on a rock and waited as she headed in my direction. It was a sustained close encounter.

The profile of this bear – the way the nose makes a straight line to the forehead – is characteristic of black bears. Grizzles have a bit of a dip in their forehead.

Black bears routinely climb trees, so their muscling is prominent in their rump. Grizzlies are diggers, so their muscling is prominent in their shoulders. This is a black bear.

Phantom Lake Bear

Along the road from Tower to Mammoth, a black bear grazed near Phantom Lake. Only a few cars were on the road, with no place to pull off and a ranger gently keeping people moving. This bear also stoically ignored the attention he drew.

Grizzly Bear?

Early the following day, just past the high bridge over the Gardner River, a young grizzly bear was intensely focused on investigating something in a rotten log about 50 feet uphill from the road. There are not many cars at this hour, but they are all stopped on the road. After five minutes or so, I was able to creep forward, grab a quick picture through the passenger window, and move along.

This bear appears to have the dished face of a young grizzly. But those big bears say black bear. Grizzlies have small round ears. I’m on the fence on this one.

Black Bear Cubs

Midafternoon in the harsh light, I watched a cinnamon black bear with two spring cubs in the Elk Creek meadow. The sow was feasting on sedges while the kids romped and played. They were far off, but still fun to watch!

Cub up a Tree

On the last afternoon, as I descended into Mammoth from Norris, I glimpsed a black bear steeply downhill at a hairpin curve. No people were around, and a small parking lot was just 100 feet ahead. I parked and hurried up along the road in time to see the bear’s butt disappear into the trees. I noticed a family down the slope on a trail looking towards the bear. I hiked down through the brush to where they stood. A grandma, mom & dad, and two young kids said they saw a cub or two with the sow. I pulled out my binoculars and found a tiny spring cub draped across some high branches. The sow was lying behind the base of the same tree. I shared my binoculars and helped the family to see that the little black blob on the trunk was an adorable little cub. After everyone got a good look, we all departed. These bears seemed distressed by our presence.After dinner in Gardiner, I took one last trip into the park. The Phantom Lake bear was hanging around on the hillside above the water.

Playful Cubs

My destination was the Elk Creek meadow. I wanted a better look at that black bear family. As I rounded the bend, I saw that rangers had moved the traffic management cones to block off one of only two pullouts here. Cars were leaving, so there was plenty of room for me to stop. A bystander told me I’d just missed the sow and cubs in the meadow. They had moved off to the far hillside but the cubs were still visible – playing in the treetops! It was like Cirque de Soleil.

While the Yellowstone bears didn’t provide stellar photography opportunities, they did provide the viewing and experience of behavior and personality that feeds my soul. An unexpected delight!

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

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The post Yellowstone Bears appeared first on Exploring Nature by Sheila Newenham.