Winter turns Yellowstone National Park into a desolate and silent universe. Snow weaves white magic to cover hill, dale and trees, conniving against the camouflage of grey wolves. Suddenly they have no choice but to come into clear focus, etched out sharply against the blinding white slopes, evidently the best time to catch a glimpse of them.
We were going to twine along the only open ribbon of road stretching across the Blacktail Plateau and Lamar Valley to the village of Silver Gate and onto Cooke City, a 57-mile-long mountainous stretch, in pursuit of wolves.
‘Before men ruled the earth, there were wolves’ goes the saying.
Once abundant in North America, they were hunted, trapped and poisoned to protect livestock and for their valuable pelts. In 1926, the last wolves born in Yellowstone were shot. Canada came to the rescue seven decades later. Fifteen wolves from Canada were released in Yellowstone in the winter of 1995 in the first tranche.
The year 2025 marked the 30th anniversary of their return to Yellowstone. Wolf reintroduction, though controversial and fought tooth and nail up until the moment before their cages were opened to release them in the Park, is one of the greatest wildlife conservation success stories of the last 50 years.
The wolf has been termed “the most polarising animal in the West”. Listing or delisting on the endangered species list has been influenced more by politics and less by science. Legal battles and varying state rules continue. They have been removed from the endangered list in Yellowstone. Controversy still reigns, with conservationists arguing that they are yet to be fully recovered.
Wolves are inextricably stitched into the tapestry of Yellowstone’s ecosystem. Without wolves, ungulates exploded and munched off the vegetation. Yellowstone river had shrunk due to extensive riverbank grazing and aquatic creatures had begun to vanish.
Keeping the deer away from the riverbank fell to the reintroduced wolves, allowing the riverbank to stabilise and prevent soil erosion, which in turn led the river to flow freely and change course for the better. Repercussions were felt up and down the Park’s food chain.
There are more than 100 wolves in the park in around 10 packs. Numbers never went far above this due to low survival rate of pups and those knocked off during savage inter-pack battles. Wapiti Lake pack is the largest pack at present, with 25 odd members.
Deep river-cut and glacier-carved valleys, creeks and canyons fold across the volcanic plateau, piled with layers of snow. Rocky mountain ranges loom beyond. Pursuit of a hundred odd wolves in an area over two million acres of this description struck ice-cold despair in our hearts.
Reading our minds, our guide threw in a story about Yellowstone’s most famous inhabitant, more celebrated than wolves themselves. Rick Mcintyre, a retired National Park ranger who had spent forty years watching wolves in America’s National parks, interacting with visitors and explaining what they were seeing. By a happy coincidence, Mcintyre’s arrival in Yellowstone had narrowly preceded that of the reintroduced wolves. Ever since, he has watched, chronicled and dedicated his life to the wolves with unflinching perseverance.
Living at the edge of Silver Gate village, he was the first to drive out to the Park every dawn and barely ever exited the Park. It was clear that with able help from one of the foremost experts on wolf behaviour, we were almost guaranteed to a sighting or more, once we reached Lamar Valley near Cooke City.
To ensure safety of man and beast, Yellowstone mandates humans to maintain a distance of at least 100 metres from wolves. Hence vehicles are equipped with spotting scopes, which are tripod-mounted telescopes, to help draw the wolves closer.
Wolf locations are constantly tracked by guides and park officials and communicated through radios. Whenever a signal came through about pack whereabouts close by, we halted and our guide set up his scope. Unfortunately, during the first couple days, our efforts to encounter wolves came up short.
We drifted to the northern part of the Park towards Cooke City on the southern fringes of the Beartooth mountain range. This gold mining town is famous for being the coldest, snowiest town in Montana averaging seventeen feet of snow each year, but also for being the gateway to the Lamar Valley, America’s Serengeti!
Cooke City has all of 30 inhabitants and five restaurants to host the influx of out-of-towners.
A roadside motel holds forth a feeble promise to keep us warm in the face of relentless snowfall that wickedly plots to hide all traces of colour.
Heaping layer upon layer in our battle against the teeth-chattering cold, we stepped out gingerly into the pitch-dark pre-dawn, making our way to the Bearclaw Bakery and Café, for a morning huddle over breakfast. Walls adorned with huge pictures of famous wolves, whose stories were being told and retold over the years and the aroma of gluten-free bread baked fresh every morning added to the warmth inside.
No sooner had we exited Cooke City through the village of Silver Gate, our guide pointed to a mobile home standing forlorn in the dreamy morning haze. That’s what Rick Mcintyre called home.
Snow had sung a night-long lullaby, trancing the trees into deep slumber. Crowding both sides of the narrow winding road, they stood snow-cloaked and mist-wrapped, not daring a shudder, tremble or flutter, lest the spell break.
Lodgepole pines, strong in numbers, stood bold and stolid, although underneath the ground their nervous roots reached out laterally to clasp the root hands of their neighbours. Holding tight onto each other, they steadied themselves in the thin layer of topsoil allowed to them, and choosing to be brought down all together when a windstorm conspires. Spruce and fir broke the monotony. Here and there some quaking aspen surprised us.
Morning broke on the scintillating iridescent wings of a flock of magpies, flying out of the thicket, their calls scattering the silence. Leaving the stands of trees behind, we drove out into the open mountainside, towards the bucolic sweep of the Lamar Valley arrayed in all its grandeur.
Spying a small gathering of vehicles, with some early visitors already setting up their telescopes on a pullout, we decided to join in. There was the legend himself, Mcintyre, behind his scope.
Pouring out longingly into the unexpected bright sunshine, we recoiled just as swiftly, as if stung! Sunshine-snow collusion had frozen the temperature at below 20 celsius! I needed to get back in the car, to put gel heating pads under my double woollen socks so my toes would not fall off! Even so, we had to constantly wiggle our toes, stamp our feet like impatient stallions and flay our arms, to keep those body parts safe with us.
Across the canyon in front of us, atop the butte, the sight of our first pack changed everything. Under a clear blue sky, easily visible in their dark coats contrasted against the stark white slopes, about 12 to 13 of the Wapiti pack frolicked, oblivious of our presence. Wapiti is the native American word for elk.
Mind-numbing cold forgotten momentarily in our excitement, we could hardly wait for the scope to be set up. Through the scope, the proximity was dramatically unnerving, with a pair of hypnotic hazel eyes staring back into mine, so close I could reach out and touch its wet black snout.
Elegantly setting herself slightly apart from the cavorting pack was the alpha female, the only snow-white beauty of Yellowstone. Greys, light and dark and a couple of sinister-looking jet-blacks slid on the snow and pawed each other, sometimes looking like a tangled mass of grey and black. Whenever they looked our way, sunlight reflected as fiery specks in their sharp, intelligent eyes.
Pack mentality with complex social bonds is the cornerstone of the wolf’s existence, Rick explained. They indicate deep emotional connections and abide by a strict social hierarchy. Topping the pyramid is the alpha pair, the only one that mates, which helps to control the population. Younger males leave the pack to form their own, which ensures genetic diversity.
In order to prevent the pack’s claim on the valley from becoming tenuous should the alpha die, the beta pair is the second in command. Omega pair brings up the rear and displays submissive body language in the presence of higher-ranking wolves. All adult pack members help to rear the young.
The eyepiece of the telescope had transformed into Alice’s magical looking glass, affording us a luxurious peek into the private universe of a wolf family, replete with their intimacies and intrigues. Unguarded moments to treasure, where they were relaxed while we indulged unabashedly in high octane voyeuristic delight! A full bellied pack after a satisfactory feast, since wolves rested for most of the day after owning a night of hunting.
Tumbling on each’s backs playfully, they rubbed nozzles, their shared affection belying their tremendous fury and power, turning them into your pet German Shepherds at home! Some took a good roll in the snow, perhaps cleaning themselves up of the blood after a kill. Rick pointed out the yearlings from the previous spring’s litter as well as the alpha male, distinguished by his thick leather collar with radio transmitters attached.
Collaring with GPS helps in tracking, research and conservation efforts. Every pack in Yellowstone has at least one wolf that has been darted using helicopters, collared and assigned numbers by wolf biologists.
Everyone took turns through Rick’s scope, abandoning their own, with Rick forced to uncomplainingly adjust the scope from time to time. It was hard to tear ourselves away, when the time came to move on and make way for others to have their opportunity.
Suddenly, a distant baying sounded out. Up on their feet in a circular huddle, they had raised their noses to the open sky and were howling in unison, in a celebratory song of life and joy. Several long choral howls knifed through the valley, a haunting, thrilling melody. The valley answered back as many times, the sound ricocheting around us, perhaps in a ten-mile radius.
We met the pack again next day in the Slough Creek area of Lamar Valley under a scowling grey sky this time, by following closely on Rick’s wheels. Fire in their eyes and snow on their coats, they trudged through the deep snow purposively, in single file, the alpha female in front breaking the path to make it easier for the others to follow, evidently on one of their endless winter roaming forays.
Looping back next day through dry snow drifting down, unmindful and dreamy, sprinkling the countryside, without sticking for long, our guide enlightened us that locals called it champagne powder, perhaps because it was light and fizzy and kept us drunk on its sheer beauty.
On the side of the road towards the exit of the Park, a quick sharp movement in the bush had us springing up in excited anticipation. Perhaps a closer encounter this time! It wasn’t. Just humble tumbleweed blowing across the silent epic vastness of the Big Sky Country, chasing the twirling, whirling champagne powder flakes.
After more than three decades in civil service, Sudarshana Talapatra now writes stories on history and conservation that she brings back from her travels. Views expressed are the author’s own and don’t necessarily reflect those of Down To Earth.