Wolf sightings are Penn Township man's reward in latest Yellowstone visit

(Editor’s note: Penn Township resident Robert Szypulski — a computer programmer with Windstream Communications — is a regular visitor to Yellowstone National Park and documented his most recent visit to the park’s northern range in April. In the wake of the historic flooding this month of the Yellowstone River and its tributaries, the road Szypulski references from Gardiner, Mont., to the park’s north entrance is closed indefinitely, as is the entire northern range road through Lamar Valley.)

Winter snows close most of Yellowstone National Park each fall from early November to late April. The one road that remains open and plowed year-round connects the park’s North Entrance at Gardiner, Mont., to its northeast entrance near Cooke City.

Locals call the 52 miles between entrances the “northern range road.” For wildlife enthusiasts, it’s all the park access they need.

A huge fan of the west’s mountainous national parks, I enjoy hiking them in autumn with my son. With no bucket list trail in the area for us to tackle, I took a solo trip in April to crisscross the northern range a few times, fitting in only short hikes.

Grizzly bears begin emerging from winter dens that month, and bison calves (nicknamed “red dogs”) are born. And while no crowds and cheaper off-season lodging were nice perks, I went mainly to see a wolf in the wild. Since reintroduction of that iconic apex predator to Yellowstone in 1995, there’s been no better place in North America — perhaps the world — to have that chance.

I flew into Bozeman, Mont., home of Montana State University. The vibrant, growing town is surrounded by the Bridger Range, the Spanish Peaks and Tobacco Root Mountains in what’s known as the “Valley of the Flowers.” From there, it was a 90-minute drive to the Yellowstone Gateway Inn in Gardiner, which I recommend.

The next morning, within three miles of entering the park in feathery snow, I saw my first-ever bald eagle, resting regally on a branch over a creek bed. I drove a few more miles to Mammoth Hot Springs, the park headquarters and small village built next to remarkable thermal terraces. Turning east at the main intersection toward Tower Junction is the unofficial start of the northern range road. I made the turn four times over the next two days, twice near dawn, twice more in late afternoon, when most wildlife are more active.

Each journey had distinctive Yellowstone quirks, from elk grazing on village lawns at Mammoth, to sharing the road with ponderous bison at least once every trip out and back. The latter can fray a few nerves, especially when sheer rock walls and steep drop-offs allow no buffer zone while inching past behemoths weighing an average 2,000 pounds. Fortunately, both the hoofed natives and motorized visitors were patient and respectful when passing.

The farthest I drove across the northern range came my first morning. I covered almost 50 miles, rising through Ice Box Canyon into the heart of the frosted-tree Absaroka Mountains before snow squalled into a wicked whiteout. I turned around, only miles short of the Northeast Entrance and tiny hamlets of Silver Gate and Cooke City.

The decision proved lucky. On the way back, halfway through Lamar Valley, I saw several folks roadside, their tripods mounted with scopes or cameras. Barely visible to the human eye, seven wolves frolicked near the valley’s river. I spotted them only with help from experienced, obliging “wolf watchers,” all happy to share a peek through their high-powered optics. Like an excited child, I scrambled to get video of the wolf pack at play, with my humbler equipment. Shaky monopod technique and a lesser lens notwithstanding, I was thrilled to capture all I did of my first ever wolves!

It got better. A watcher alerted us to an approaching grizzly bear a few hundred yards left of the pack. I’d learned that the wolves were guarding and feeding on a hidden carcass, one wolf seen carrying a bone in its mouth. Suddenly, the grizzly started to run. The watchers presumed it either knew about the dead animal from prior feeding or smelled it fresh and sought a meal. When I scanned back, the wolves were retreating over a hill, conceding the carcass for now. The grizzly reached the spot the pack had fled and soon disappeared down a bank, apparently finding lunch.

After conversing with the watchers, I moved up the valley to a trail I planned to hike. Slough Creek is a famous fly-fishing spot out west, known for its wily cutthroat and wild rainbow trout. Too early in the year for fishermen, I did expect to meet hikers, as the trail linked four stunning, pastoral meadows frequented by bison, wolves and bears. With the gravel road to the trailhead closed, I started from a roadside pullout, targeting only the first meadow, a 7-mile roundtrip.

I never made it. A hundred yards in, the access road dipped and led me down to the creek. About 20 bison were near water that snaked back and forth through lowland toward the Lamar River. On the hillside to my right, pronghorn antelope grazed. On the opposite slope across the water, a larger bison herd congregated. My route angled diagonally toward the right of them.

Even along the gravel road, the hiking was superb, with a meandering creek fronting snow-frosted mountains to one side and a forested trail drawing near on the other. When I crested the ridge to the trailhead, just two miles into the hike, it happened. The bison on the slope began to gallop as a group, not directly toward me, but getting closer. For animal herds, this can be a sign of attack from predators. I didn’t see any and didn’t wait to.

Already favorably downwind, I backtracked, descending the ridge to escape view. Being equipped with bear spray across a restrictive body of water and not identifying any threat wasn’t the issue. Being alone in grizzly country without encountering a single person was. The Slough Creek trail would have to wait for safer hiking conditions.

My retreat was uneventful, but the drive back to Gardiner wasn’t. Nor was any subsequent trip across that unique corridor. Over the next day and a half, I saw bighorn sheep grazing alongside bison, a comically curious fox, mule deer, golden eagles, coyotes, red dogs (bison calves) and osprey in a treetop nest on a mountainside.

On my final drive, the wildlife gods gave a parting gift. Not far from where we watched the wolf pack and grizzly, I spotted a lone predator in the valley racing toward the road. With steadier technique, I filmed a full minute of the dark gray wolf as he approached and crossed the pavement to climb a hill.

History tells us that by 1926, wolves were eradicated from Yellowstone as a killing menace. Absent their main predator, elk numbers grew so large they impacted vegetation and degraded the ecosystem, including other animal species. After wolf reintroduction, the ecosystem recovered, and an average 100 wolves survive there year to year.

I can’t explain my joy that last day in Lamar Valley. Maybe it’s just that such places exist. That despite increasingly challenging times in the human world, there’s a road in northwest Wyoming along which wolves raise pups, hunt prey and run wild, to our benefit, as much as theirs.