The Buffalo Ranch in Yellowstone's Lamar Valley is the hub for citizen science/Lee Dalton

Smack in the middle of Yellowstone National Park’s northern range, in the middle of the valley of the Lamar River lies a place known as the Buffalo Ranch. It’s the place where most of a few remaining bison in the world were saved from extinction. It’s also the place where wolves were returned to Yellowstone in 1995.

For years, beautiful Lamar Valley was a section of the park that received relatively few visitors. After all, there aren’t any geysers up there. Just a bunch of plain ol’ scenery and a lot of bison, elk, bighorn sheep, bears, antelope and a few other critters along the road that heads out the park’s northeast entrance to Cooke City and the Beartooth Highway leading on to Red Lodge, Montana. For the few rangers stationed out there, it was a bit of Heaven on Earth.

 Then came the wolves.

 And a herd of scientists.

 And a swarm of spotting scopes and long camera lenses.

Perhaps never in the history of wolves have these historically maligned carnivorous creatures created so much excitement, so much interest, so much controversy, and so much enjoyment for those who have come to love and appreciate them for their place in the Great Scheme of Things.

Thus it was that when I learned the Yellowstone Association Institute was sponsoring something called Lamar Valley Wolf Week, I jumped on my computer and made reservations for my own week of wolves. That’s how I came to join 18 other wolfers from all around the United States and one imported from Canada as we partook of three intensely busy days of wolf hunting and education.

The Buffalo Ranch is a small collection of log buildings surrounding two older houses that hold quarters and offices for the Lamar Ranger District. A historic bunkhouse has been converted to a three-room combination of classrooms and kitchen. Just beyond the ranger station (vacant right now after the ranger who had lived there for 18 years retired) is a cluster of about 20 cabins. A couple of them house Yellowstone Institute staffers and volunteers. The rest contain three bunks each for program participants. It’s all powered by electricity from a large solar array supplemented as needed by a very quiet propane powered generator. All the cabins are heated and clean and a comfortable restroom/shower house sits in the middle of it all.

The main classroom, kitchen and dining hall in the historic bunkhouse sit at the edge of Rose Creek. Not far uphill along Rose Creek and out of sight from the ranch is a large fenced pen where Yellowstone’s wolves were held for acclimatization when they first arrived from Canada. Around it all stretches the Lamar Valley – a long, Y-shaped depression cut by its namesake river. The silence is broken only by wind, a bird now and then, and the noise of a passing vehicle.

I was quickly welcomed and signed in by program staff, found my cabin and met the two men with whom I’d share quarters for the next four nights. One of them, an older, very quiet and humble man introduced himself as a professor of philosophy at Colorado State University. He said his name was “Holmes, as in Sherlock.” I shook hands with Dr. Holmes Rolston III. Our third cabin mate was John, a geophysicist from Houston.

That night our group of 19 gathered for dinner and introductions at the bunkhouse. We came from Washington state, Minnesota, Utah, Montana, California, Arizona, New York, Colorado and Saskatchewan. I found I’d be sharing the experience with an eclectic flock of people ranging from university professors, aeronautical and mechanical engineers, geologists, a veterinarian, executives, several PhDs, some retired teachers, wives, and a couple of just plain people like me.

Then there were our instructors, Shauna Baron and Joshua Theurer (rhymes with fire). Shauna and Joshua are full-time instructors with the Institute.

The staff laid out a busy schedule. Early to rise. Early to bed. Out at daybreak as soon as breakfast was over. Alarm clocks set for 05:00. Y’wanta see wolves? Y’gotta get up with the wolves.

If you want to see wolves, you often have to get up when it's dark...and cold/Lee Dalton

At seven the next morning, after taking one of my turns washing dishes, I joined others boarding the Institute’s little buses. Each carries about ten people and six spotting scopes. It may be spring, but in Yellowstone winter gives up only grudgingly. Dawn temperatures that week ranged from -1 to +7. When the staff told us to dress with everything we had, they meant it. We would be standing still and quiet with our binoculars and spotting scopes for long stretches of frozen time as we searched distant mountainsides and valley floors for tiny dark moving spots. Toe and hand warmers were essential.

Even at that early hour there were other wolfers out and about. Rick McIntyre, a former seasonal park ranger and now lead technician with the Yellowstone Wolf Project was already roaming the road between his home in Silver Gate and Mammoth in a government vehicle equipped with radio collar tracking devices. Each pack has at least one collared wolf. Rick put out radio broadcasts to other Project technicians and any wolfers monitoring the frequency.

But even with his help, finding elusive wolves was still a challenge.

That first morning, after a couple of futile stops, we found the Junction Butte pack near Slough Creek. There are 14 wolves in that pack, but only four were visible on a ridgetop about three miles away. They were tiny even in our spotting scopes, but Shauna and Joshua recognized each of them and called them by name or number. Then, as they would anytime we found wolves, they recited the genealogy and stories of each wolf and their packs. I was constantly amazed at the depth of knowledge carried by those two.

We learned the story of wolf extirpation at the hands of Army troops who first garrisoned Yellowstone. When the NPS took over for the Army more than 100 years ago, wolf eradication was still the official policy until all of Yellowstone’s wolves were finally gone. We learned the horrifying story of how “wildlife managers” of the late 1800s and early 1900s imported mites that cause mange from Europe to try to hasten the demise of America’s hated wolves. That parasitic infestation still plagues Yellowstone’s wolves today. A couple outbreaks of canine distemper have added more challenges.

Wolves generally bed down in late morning. When all we could see of the pack were four sets of ears poking above that distant ridgeline, we returned to the ranch for lunch. Each afternoon featured a choice of two hikes – one easier and one harder. A trek to a wolf den or a trip up Rose Creek to the acclimatization pen were Tuesday’s choices. Snowshoes were provided for those of us who hadn’t brought our own.

After supper the first night we were treated to a memorable talk by George Bumann, a young biologist who spends his time studying animal communication. George explained how wolves and ravens, magpies and some other critters talk with one another. As he did, he mimicked their sounds perfectly. We heard fear barks of wolves and coyotes. “Come and get me” howls of lonely wolves wondering where their packmates are. Warning howls telling other packs they’d better not come any closer. We learned the sounds ravens make when they warn of danger and excited chatter of magpies that can tell anyone who understands their language what’s going on in the woods and meadows nearby. All of us were left in laughing awe at what we’d heard.

We were fortunate and found wolves all three of our days in the field. Each day a little closer until, on Thursday morning, they were not far south of us. Even with binoculars only we could see one wolf wandering by himself. “Twin,” as he was called, finally sat down beside a tree and we witnessed his head up, mouth open, and then we waited for the sound of his howl to travel a mile to reach our ears.

The Lamar Pack was easy to spot against a snowy backdrop/Lee Dalton

Afternoon snowshoe hikes led us to other adventures. Shauna and Brenda led just two of us on a hike to a spot above the Yellowstone River where we simply sat in silence while a small group of bighorn ewes and calves grazed nearby. Just silence.

Listening.

Listening.

Later, program volunteer Len Carolan showed us some incredible photos he’d taken a few days earlier when he’d been sitting in silence beside a tree not far from where we’d chosen to sit. A young gray wolf had come to within ten yards as he cautiously brought his camera to bear. A curious wolf investigating a stranger in his home.

Wednesday evening we were visited by Brenna Cassidy, a technician with the Wolf Project. We learned that only Dr. Doug Smith, who heads the Wolf Project, is on the NPS payroll. Everyone else is paid with funds donated by the Yellowstone Institute and Yellowstone Foundation. Brenna gave us a history of wolves and shared a long string of discoveries made so far in Yellowstone as wolves have begun to reclaim their places in the web of life.

She explained that when wolves were first returned to the park, Yellowstone was overrun with elk. Too many elk. With no predation, the region’s elk were often elderly and in poor health. Ranges were terribly overgrazed by herds numbering around 14,000. Winter kill due to starvation eliminated 3,000-4,000 every year. When those few first wolves were turned loose, their pantry was full and their numbers exploded. But then a combination of wolf predation, drought, and disease among elk herds cut the number to a more natural population. When that happened, wolf numbers followed downward until now at about 119 wolves in ten packs, they seem to have reached a stable population.

Brenna showed a series of maps recording confirmed wolf locations and noted that very few of the animals have left the park. She told of ongoing efforts by Dr. Smith to reach out to ranchers, schools, and hunting guides in lands surrounding the park. Hopefully, in Montana particularly, attitudes toward wolves are changing. The state’s wildlife agency and government has taken a more enlightened approach to wolves than have Idaho, Wyoming and Utah. Montana sees opportunities rather than blind fear. But there’s still a lot to be done.

On Thursday, I’d decided not to take part in either of the afternoon hikes and went instead for an expedition in my truck in search of photo ops along the road. Just for fun, I headed east to Soda Butte Creek, where we’d seen the Lamar pack that morning. At the confluence of the Lamar River and Soda Butte Creek, I suddenly spotted all five members of the pack. They were about a half-mile away, headed west with a purpose of some kind in mind.

They were headed straight for the Buffalo Ranch.

I jumped in my truck and made like Paul Revere. I busted all the speed limits for about three miles, slid to a stop in front of the bunkhouse and started trying to rouse anyone who had not gone hiking. By the time a few of us had gathered at the bunkhouse, the pack was already there. It never slowed down. But I finally managed to get my camera to cooperate and snapped five photos before the wolves disappeared behind a ridge.

Shauna and Joshua explained later that the Lamar pack is small and beset by mange. Unable to dominate other larger and stronger packs, they’ve been driven into a part of the valley where elk are few. So when hunger hits, they have to move west into territory claimed by the Junction Butte pack. It’s dangerous.

The most frequent cause of wolf mortality is due to fights with other wolves. The complex interactions among wolves are as complicated as human politics.

Our final evening in the bunkhouse after dinner was a wrap up by Joshua and Shauna. Joshua read Aldo Leopold’s Green Fire essay and Holmes Rolston added to the story. Dr. Rolston, it turns out, is a distinguished theologian and philosopher whose writings regarding environmental stewardship and its relation to spirituality brought him the International Templeton Foundation Award. He shares that honor with Mother Teresa among others. He’s also an expert on the life and work of Aldo Leopold.

Our Wolf Week at Lamar ended. We’d become friends with people of all kinds. People with whom we may have had little in common when we’d met on Monday but with whom we had a lot in common that Thursday evening. In the morning, we’d all pack up, sweep out our cabins, climb into our vehicles and leave behind a magical week.

It had been a week that reminded me, and probably all my classmates, exactly why we need our national parks. It had been a week of no cell phones or electronic gadgets; a week of renewal and none of the political garbage swamping the country right now; a week to make new friends; a week to simply enjoy an awesome place and remember again that we are all just tiny parts of a world we only share with wolves and bears and bison and each other. As I tried to write this account of Wolf Week, I found it almost impossible to put the experience into words. Maybe that’s because it’s not just an experience of the body or the mind, but an experience of the heart. And those may be impossible to share because they can only be understood on a deeply personal level.

You need to try it. You really do.

Finally, in closing, I’d like to quote part of a text by Holmes Rolston: 

“Humans neither can nor ought to de-nature their planet. ... On larger planetary scales it is better to build our cultures in intelligent harmony with the way the world is already built, rather than take control and rebuild this promising planet by ourselves and for ourselves. ... We do not want a de-natured life on a de-natured planet.”