Witnessing a Classic Hunt in Yellowstone

by Tory and Meredith Taylor

Photo by Gerald & Buff Corsi

On a snowy day at Mammoth, headquarters of Yellowstone National Park, five of us set out on a winter wildlife-watching and cross-country ski trip in the silent wilderness. We were the group's leaders, er, alpha pair, driving along the road that connects Cooke City, Montana to the rest of the world.

Along the way, we stopped to photograph big bull elk, look at shaggy bison and watch coyotes pounce on snow-buried voles. We pondered the wonders, history, management, biology and politics of the world's first national park, but the constant question in the back of all of our minds was, "Will we be lucky enough to see wolves?"

With wolf watching, as with life, timing is everything. An hour out of Mammoth, we stopped to look for wolves through spotting scopes. Elk, check. Bison, check. Coyotes, check. Ravens, Clark's nutcrackers, chickadees, magpies, eagles, check. But no wolves.

Then, we froze in silence at the first note of a clear, long, mournful

Photo by Jeff Vanuga

moan. Wolf howls are one of the wildest sounds in nature, and we marveled as the beautiful notes echoed across the valley again and again. The howl declared that Yellowstone was once again home to the great carnivore, a notion that seemed politically impossible a few short years ago. Had we been a few minutes later, we would have missed this amazing wolf concert.

After a pleasant eight-mile ski and picnic lunch, we invited photographer Bob Landis to join our pack for supper at Mammoth Hotel. Bob lives in Gardiner, Montana, at the park's northern boundary, and has spent as much time around the Yellowstone wolves as anyone filming "The Return of the Wolf" for National Geographic.

Bob explained that the howling we heard was a dispersing adult male wolf, looking for his own territory and pack. The lone male's prolonged howling was an attempt to lure willing females away from the Druid pack to join him in starting another pack.

We met well before daylight in the hotel lobby before driving off into Yellowstone's white silence in search of wolves. We stopped to visit with a mountain lion researcher, who told us that several wolves had just crossed the road and disappeared into the nearby timber. Again, we realized that timing is everything.

After a long ski up Slough Creek, we watched for wildlife at the Hell-Roaring overlook and visited with other early risers. The group had been lucky enough to watch the Druid pack make a kill just an hour earlier. We hoped our luck would be as good the next morning.

We drove into the Lamar Valley early the next morning, determined to see wolves on this last day of our trip. After spotting the predictable elk and bison, we suddenly saw what we were looking for: a wolf jam!

We've learned from experience that whether you want to see wolves,

There, in the fog of a snow squall, we saw a shadowy line of gray canine ghosts.

grizzly, elk, or ducks, look for a traffic jam and you'll find your quarry. We parked among the group of photographers and researchers to focus our binoculars and spotting scope across the valley.

There, in the fog of a snow squall, trotted a shadowy line of gray canine ghosts between the edge of the trees and the valley floor. Of all our wolf experiences, from the Yukon to Yellowstone, this distant string of wolves seemed the most mysterious, beautiful and primeval.

We watched the pack lunge through the deep snow, stopping here and there to rest. By mid-morning, the wolves had curled up at the edge of the timber to take a siesta. We decided to take advantage of the wolves' nap to soak in the open-air natural hot pools of the nearby Boiling River. Relaxed and warm, we drove back to the Lamar Valley to see if the napping wolves were up yet.

Now our timing was absolutely perfect. Through our scope and binoculars we watched as the twelve Druids strategized and then trotted towards a herd of about 250 elk. The elk stood alert and still, watching the wolves. From a distance of several hundred yards, we wolf groupies were mesmerized as the ancient dance between predator and prey began to play out before us.

The elk herd bunched tightly and ran to our left for several hundred yards. The Druids quickly closed the distance, and suddenly the entire elk herd wheeled in unison to our right. The wolves split up, cutting the fleeing herd into smaller and smaller groups. The alpha pair and a yearling pup ran the length of the elk herd, testing, screening, sifting and searching, scattering elk everywhere.

At the lead, the alphas and the pup closed the gap, splitting off a

We watched as a dozen wolves strategized and then trotted towards a herd of abut 250 elk.

band of elk. Suddenly, a change came over the three wolves. They had somehow found the elk they sought and broke into hard runs, like greyhounds racing to the finish.

The selected cow did not last long, and as she fell, elk, wolves and humans all realized that the drama was over. Within moments, the elk stopped running and regrouped a short distance from the feasting wolf pack.

Ravens arrived as if by magic, followed shortly by a bald eagle and several magpies. Bob Landis, a veteran watcher of many wolf chases, broke the silence. This classic hunt scene, he said, was the best he'd ever witnessed.

The alpha pair and a yearling pup ran the length of the elk herd, testing, screening, sifting and searching.

We informally timed the wolf attack at 45 minutes from staging to kill. The first ravens glided in within two minutes. With no apparent communication between them, every wolf in the entire pack reached the kill in less than 10 minutes, some arriving from nearly a half mile away. Within 30 minutes, bare ribs stuck up from the carcass and the elk herd had regrouped, started feeding and then bedded down.

Life went on as it had since the beginning of time for the elk and wolves. But our lives would be changed forever by this rare, wild experience.