Hiking with Big Game on the American Serengeti
The Lamar Valley, Yellowstone National Park, known as the “American Serengeti.” By Kris Cochran
When I’m overwhelmed by my “To Do” list, I feed it to the shredder, pack my camera gear, and head the northern border of Yellowstone National Park.
The Lamar Valley is known as the American Serengeti. Formed by fire and ice, the valley is home to one of the most diverse populations of large animals on earth.
And it’s practically in my backyard.
As always, I make the three-hour trip with no plan but to spend a few days doing less and being more.
When I allow mother nature to unfold my moments, I’m free to play in life as a child.
A serendipitous sighting
A young, lone grizzly on his way to the Lamar River for a drink. By Kris Cochran
On my first day, I drove along the Lamar River toward a creek I know and a short hike to get the traveling kinks out of my 70-year-old bones. I was nearly there when traffic ahead of me slowed to a stop.
Several park visitors abandoned their cars and pointed their cell phone cameras straight up a cliff to my left.
It’s late afternoon, I thought, probably a grizzly on his way to the river for a drink.
In the spring, grizzly bears actively feed all day to catch up on calories. Towards evening, they’re thirsty. With a steep cliff on one side of me and a sharp drop off to the river on the other, I stayed in the safety of my Jeep.
I grabbed my camera and rolled down my window on the off chance I caught a glimpse of the bear.
I nearly gained a thirsty passenger.
A young grizzly came off the cliff beside my Jeep, then sauntered toward the river.
My best grizzly photo ever, and I didn’t do a thing to find him.
Storm’s A-Coming
A pregnant cow elk looks for safety before a storm. By Kris Cochran
On my return trip through the valley, storm clouds shrouded the peaks of the Gallatin Range. Rain would douse the sunset and keep me inside my motel room just outside the park in Gardiner, Montana.
I decided to risk getting wet with a short hike through a meadow where I’d seen elk the year before. I pulled rain gear out of the back of my Jeep and set off.
Animals sense a brewing storm. Elk are unbothered by light rain but will look for a protected spot to bed down in a heavy downpour.
I was in the right place at the right time when I spotted a cow elk ahead of me. She stopped grazing and looked up as the air thickened in the meadow. I noticed she was pregnant and had two beings to keep safe.
In a couple more weeks, she would give birth and hide her newborn calf in heavy sagebrush, out of sight of the wolves. Mother to mother, I sent her a silent blessing.
To be a giver of life is to carry on through the storms.
One eye on the sky, another on the elusive pronghorns
A doe pronghorn on alert. By Kris Cochran
On my second day in the park, billowing cumulus clouds with dark, flat bottoms filled the sky. The sun peeked between them in scattered patches. The contrast of light and shadow was breathtaking, and I felt tucked in and protected.
I rolled open my sunroof and drove through the valley with one eye on the sky. I shot a few landscapes where the sun-splashed contrasting patterns across the green grass and brightened the snow on white mountain peaks.
Halfway through the valley, I spotted a small herd of female pronghorns bedded down in a pool of sunlight. If I hiked close enough to photograph them, they would see me coming and bolt.
Pronghorns are wary and sprint up to 60 miles an hour. That’s a fast burn of precious calories, so I kept my distance, content to simply be with them a while.
Pronghorns are rare in Yellowstone. While there are 5,000 bison, the pronghorn population is a mere 500, up from 200 a few years ago. Fences outside the park restricted their migration pathways to wintering ground, nearly decimating the herd. Fortunately, their numbers are returning with the cooperation of private landowners.
I had decided to move on when the pronghorns rose at once as if by a telepathic cue. They crossed the road and lazily grazed their way up a hillside. I drove to a pullout a couple of miles ahead and found access to hike up a low ridge where I would be downwind from them.
If they came my way, I might get a good image.
They passed me undisturbed on a nearby rise, close enough for portraits. A soft light filtered through the clouds and bounced off the swirling patterns in their golden and cream coats.
I alone could not have planned this moment.
An open heart at sunrise
A black bear cub follows mamma up a hillside. By Kris Cochran
A black bear mamma waits for her cub to catch up. By Kris Cochran
By early evening, my meandering around the valley put me in an area where I’d often seen black bears. On a hunch, I hiked along a creek, scanning openings in the pines for dark, furry patches.
No bears were about, and dark clouds swallowed mountain tops once again. I called it a day and went to bed early for the second night of sleeping to the soothing sound of rain.
Since black bears are most active around sunrise, I drove back into the park the next day at dawn while the tourists were searching for avocado toast in town. I returned to the same spot. The hunch I had still nudged me, and I’ve learned to listen when nature whispers in my ear.
I soon spotted a mama black bear and a cub feeding on a hillside far enough off the trail for safe images. The cuteness factor of a baby bear is irresistible, but I took a few quick shots and quickly backed off without interrupting their breakfast.
Babies of every species open our hearts and remind us to be in love with life.
Wallowing in the mud
A bison family welcomes spring. By Kris Cochran
Bison are everywhere in the park, but it seems to me they’re most at home along the Lamar River. I still had plenty of time to hike to the river and photograph them before driving home.
During the long, harsh winter in Yellowstone, bison stand in blizzards and root around in the snow for a meager existence. Come spring, the resurrected grass is plentiful. Naps in the sun are interrupted by frequent wallowing in the mud to rub off their winter coats.
What a glorious way to spend the day, I thought.
What kid doesn’t like playing in the mud?
Effortless renewal
Mama bison rests in the sun. By Kris Cochran
Daddy bison watches over the herd. By Kris Cochran
A newborn red dog takes his first wobbly steps. By Kris Cochran
Nature effortlessly renews life on the American Serengeti as she has every spring for half a million years.
There is no doing here.
Only being.
Thanks for walking with me,
Kris
