Spring arrived with my first official sighting of a mountain Bluebird and a western Meadowlark. Both species migrated for the winter colors so when they arrived back in Yellowstone as messengers of warmer days, every guide in the park trained their scope on these colorful birds for eager clients. The western Meadowlarks were heard first with their melodious greeting. The male mountain Bluebird was a cobalt blue dart against the backdrop of greening Wyoming big sagebrush. A new chorus of birdsong seemed to fill the air every day, along with the exhaust of a steady stream of tour buses bound for old faithful and huckleberry ice cream.
I’d seen these birds before, but after a month-long naturalist course and a few weeks guiding in Yellowstone, the complete immersion made me feel like we were more connected, like neighbors. It was almost as if the wildlife and I were coworkers, both there to enhance the visitor experience.
One cold, wet morning in the Lamar Valley, my clients were admiring newborn bison calves called red dogs because they’re born with shaggy red coats. The bison herd was close to the road and lazily grazing while the days-old calves chased each other and played. While the family laughed and photographed the red dogs running and kicking in every direction, I turned to get a coffee and snacks out for everyone.
Across the lush valley, on the slopes of a massive, verdant bench was another herd of bison, but this herd was running uphill bunched together. I’d seen a lot of bison herds, and this was unusual behavior. Spring was a time of fattening up on all the new green shoots of vegetation popping up, recovering from the winter, and giving birth. Why would they suddenly start sprinting uphill? My training taught me that these nearly one ton animals don’t usually Stampede without a reason. Was there something chasing them or were they just feeling frisky?
Raising my binoculars and looking toward the back of the herd, I hope to be the first guy to spot wolves that morning. At the back of the herd, I saw one small bison that was way behind but catching up fast, although its gait seemed different. Wait… that’s no bison, I realized, that’s a grizzly bear!
What I saw was less than 10 seconds of a giant, dark grizzly bear closing the gap on some newborn bison calves at the back of the herd as they crested the top of the slope and galloped over the other side. The last image I saw through my binoculars was the grizzly making a hard charge at a bison calf toward the top of the hill at a terrifying speed, the sagebrush exploding around him. Then they were gone. I didn’t even have time to alert my clients. I slowly lowered my binoculars, gulped, and finished making their snacks. I was like everyone in Yellowstone, awed by the Grizzlies: by their power, their ferocity, their speed. They were the park’s apex predator extraordinaire and, though I didn’t know it yet, my very life force would become linked to theirs.
Excerpt from Through The Wilderness: My Journey of Redemption and Healing in the American Wild by Brad Orsted. Copyright © 2023 by the author and reprinted by permission of St. Martin’s Publishing Group.
Watch the video of The Beast of Our Time: Climate Change & Grizzly Bears. From PBS: Save the Yellowstone Grizzly presents The Beast of Our Time: Climate Change & Grizzly Bears. The 28-minute documentary is an unflinching inquiry into the relationship between climate change and grizzly bears. The film is narrated by one of America’s most beloved actors and storytellers, Academy Award winner Jeff Bridges,* and scored by pianist Bill Payne of Little Feat. (Aired: 02/16/22. Rating: NR.)
Learn more about Brad Orsted’s work at www.bradleyorsted.com. Listen to Orsted’s Take It Outside podcast.
*See ENERGIES Magazine’s interview with Jeff Bridges in the Winter 2022 issue.
