Yesterday a federal judge halted the killing of the gray wolf—at least temporarily—by reinstating their protection under the Endangered Species Act. The Natural Resources Defense Council, The Center for Biological Diversity, Defenders of Wildlife, and other non-profit wildlife advocates successfully argued that the wolves had not met the set recovery goal, and that the state of Wyoming had failed to implement an adequate management plan to protect the species.

I celebrated with a toast of sake (having no champagne in the house). The slaughter of wolves once the protection was lifted in April was truly disturbing to watch. According to the NRDC, 106 wolves have been killed since then—at a rate of almost one a day.

When you consider the statistics, the rage against wolves is a bit perplexing. Only 1% of livestock losses are attributed to wolves—for example, in Montana only four sheep and thirty-six cattle were killed in 2006, and reimbursement programs by non-profits have been established to compensate for those losses. The NRDC website states that “a person in wolf country has a greater chance of being hit by lightning, dying of a bee sting or being killed in a vehicle collision with a deer than being injured by a wolf.”

Last year I hiked with a friend up the Lamar River Trail in Yellowstone. Out of the nearby forest rose the chorus of a wolf pack. As we listened to the musical howls, tears came to my eyes. We were in the presence of wildness, and were listening to what Aldo Leopold described as “an outburst of wild defiant sorrow, and of contempt for all the adversities of the world.”

Why are we so threatened by wolves and other predators? I understand they can be scary, injure people and livestock, and cause an occasional death, but so can automobiles and we certainly don’t advocate against the wholesale destruction of the car. Is our fear of death making us miss vital and beautiful (but perhaps not safe) experiences? I think so. And on that theme, I’ll end with another quote from Leopold from his affecting essay, “Thinking Like a Mountain.”

“We all strive for safety, prosperity, comfort, long life, and dullness. The deer strives with his supple legs, the cowman with trap and poison, the statesman with pen, the most of us with machines, votes, and dollars, but it all comes to the same thing: peace in our time. A measure of success in this is all well enough, and perhaps is a requisite to objective thinking, but too much safety seems to yield only danger in the long run. Perhaps this is behind Thoreau's dictum: In wildness is the salvation of the world. Perhaps this is the hidden meaning in the howl of the wolf, long known among mountains, but seldom perceived among men.”

You can read the full text of Thinking Like a Mountain at http://www.eco-action.org/dt/thinking.html

Enos Mills, often referred to as the John Muir of the Rocky Mountains, described grizzly bears as “our greatest wild animal” and “dignified and so-strangely human-like.”

For me, when I observe a grizzly in the wild, words like magnificent and mesmerizing come to mind. Truly, the sight of a grizzly bear, a kingly animal who has evolved to the top of the food chain, is a testament to nature’s wisdom and attention to the beauty of her creations.

Watching this large grizzly bear in a meadow on Dunraven Pass captivated me—in the presence of greatness, I can do little more than stare in awe (and also make sure I remain a safe distance away!).

Mary Oliver, one of my favorite poets, captures the emotion of seeing (or almost seeing) a bear perfectly in her poem, “Bear.”

Bear by Mary Oliver
It’s not my track,
I say, seeing
the ball of the foot and the wide heel
and the naily, untrimmed
toes. And I say again,
for emphasis,

to no one but myself, since no one is
with me. This is
not my track, and this is an extremely
large foot, I wonder
how large a body must be to make

such a track, I am beginning to make
bad jokes. I have read probably
a hundred narratives where someone saw
just what I am seeing. Various things
happened next. A fairly long list, I won’t

go into it. But not one of them told
what happened next–I mean, before whatever happens–

how the distances light up, how the clouds
are the most lovely shapes you have ever seen, how

the wild flowers at your feet begin distilling a fragrance
different, and sweeter than any you ever stood upon before–how

every leaf on the whole mountain is aflutter.

I invite you to join me on my amazing hike up Mount Washburn. The Anderson’s, in their book A Ranger’s Guide to Yellowstone Day Hikes, advise that, “If you can hike only one trail in Yellowstone, it should be Mount Washburn.” The authors also quote a description of the peak from a early park visitor:

"If I could only choose one sight in the wonderland, it would be, by all means, that view from the top of Mount Washburn for you see there the entire park spread out before you in a single picture."

On my drive to the trailhead, I rise over Dunraven Pass, awash with yellow flowers, and obtain a great view of the summit of Mt. Washburn. It’s original name might have been Elephant’s Back, but in 1870 the Washburn Expedition named it for General Henry Dan Washburn, leader of “one of the most important early explorations of Yellowstone,” according to Whittlesey’s Yellowstone Place Names. Dunraven Pass, 8,859 feet in elevation, bears the namesake of the First Earl of Dunraven, an Oxford educated man who was once guided in his explorations of the west by Buffalo Bill.

Early on my hike, I encounter a yellow-bellied marmot munching on a tree limb.

As I turn a corner, I see the Lookout Tower on the summit of Washburn. I also pass bouquets of the exquisite Sky Pilot gathered among the volcanic rocks.

At the top of Mt Washburn, 10,243 feet, I gaze at the spectacular 360 degree view of the park.

The Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone

Hayden Valley and the Grand Tetons in the distance

While I munch on my Luna Bar, a herd of bighorn sheep--with several lambs--join me.

One bighorn ewe gazes at me inquisitively, perhaps wondering why I am munching on a chocolate bar when so many yummy grasses surround me.

A lamb considers me as well, as two others graze nearby.

Something catches an ewe’s attention, which turns out to be a mother and lamb running to catch up with the herd.

On the return trip, I stop to smell the flowers: paintbrush and silky phacelia

“Bear are made of the same dust as we, breath the same winds, and drink of the same waters…” John Muir

I am an admitted ursophile (and I am not ashamed, Stephen Colbert!). As a young girl, I would gaze at wildlife encyclopedias with longing, and always dreamed of seeing grizzlies, black bears, polar bears, et al.

Bears frolic in large numbers over Yellowstone’s landscape, and my dreams have been realized—ten times over! I am in awe of being in such close proximity to these wondrous creatures, and it’s a rare week when I don’t see a bear.

Grizzly and black bears roam in Yellowstone—yet I’m not adept at quickly telling the difference between the two species. This beautiful young bear I saw munching on grass outside of Mammoth Hot Springs has large pointed ears, a flat nose in profile, and no distinct hump (yet the ruffled fur made it hard to tell)—all of which indicate a black bear. But as even the experts sometimes have a difficult time distinguishing between ursus americanus and ursus arctos horribilis, I would not rely on my judgment. Any bear experts out there—please advise if I chose wrongly.

Both bear species can live up to 30 years. About 150 grizzlies live in the park, as compared with 500 black bears. An adult grizzly, despite their bulky size (males weigh up to 700 lbs) might be seen running at a speed of 40 mph. Bears have a very diverse diet ranging from insects, to grasses, to trout. Both black bear and grizzlies also hunt and have been know to take down elk calves. When my parents visited in May, they had to evacuate a trail at Old Faithful as a grizzly had just killed a bison calf.

Not far past the shores of Bridge Bay, I hiked up part of an old stagecoach road to see Yellowstone’s Natural Bridge. The trail is closed for most of the spring as grizzly bears like to congregate here to feast on the spawning cutthroat trout. Blue skies and a rainbow of wildflowers accompanied me on my hike, as well as my co-worker Sharon.

The bridge stands 40 feet above Bridge Creek, with a span of 30 feet across. The explorer F.V. Hayden discovered the bridge in 1871: “At one point…we found a most singular natural bridge…which give passage to a small stream.” According to Whittlesey’s Yellowstone Place Names, “the name Natural Bridge eventually slipped into capitalized form from Hayden’s use.”

Exfoliation–a term I am intimately familiar with from my time in Yosemite's rock fall prone terrain—helped form the natural bridge with rock left from a 140,000 year-old lava flow. An intrepid, lone spruce tree grows on the top of the bridge. In Yosemite, I've hiked to Indian Rock, near North Peak, one of Yosemite's rare natural arches.

After our hike, we had supper in the beautiful, rustic dining room at the Lake Lodge and took a stroll around the shore of Lake Yellowstone, encountering Canada geese and a few lone bison.