“Mindful of different ways of being, Our awareness as a species shifts-
We recognize the soul of the land as our own.” -Terry Tempest Williams
Rainy days. They shift my mood, make me contemplative. After 18 glorious days, we have a little gloom. There is a cold weather front moving in and they are calling for the first major snow of the season to fall at the higher elevations. I’m curious to see how we manage camping in the cold. We do have a Truma heater in the Cricket that runs off Propane but we would need an electric hookup for the spark and Yellowstone’s campgrounds are primitive. We have a day left in the Teton’s and we have booked a cabin at the Jenny Lake Lodge, a luxury that we agreed was necessary to: A. shower B. do laundry c. eat a good meal D. maintain sanity. Most importantly, snow was coming and I relished the idea of hunkering down for a night in a cozy lodge while the fat flakes fell and we dined by candlelight. Ok, it’s been a lot of minimalistic living lately which I am totally down with but I am craving just a tiny bit of creature comforts.
We decided to use the rainy day to explore two special places in the area. We had passed the National Museum of Wildlife Art a few times, perched on a cliff, a beautiful structure of wood, rock and glass. I didn’t think a museum of wildlife art could hold my interest for more then an hour but I found myself mesmerized. Apparently, wildlife art had a great impact on the arc of exploration and conservation in our country. Initially, wildlife artists piggybacked on expeditions into the wild west and recorded what they witnessed, an absolute Eden of wild animals. This in turn had an impact on settlers and hunters moving west and capitalizing on the rich diversity of wildlife. Interestingly, wildlife art began to change as these natural resources were plundered and bison and wolf were brought close to extinction.
The messaging began to reflect an abiding respect and concern for our endangered wild animals. Even Warhol got into the subject matter with a series of endangered animal pieces. It was interesting to note that the fine realistic representations in the years predating photography were the only visual record of the animal world.
Upon leaving, there was a brief respite from the rain and we decided to take the Moose Wilson Road to see if we could spot any bears. This particular stretch of road was known for its bear sightings with pullouts and hillocks for optimal viewing. Our destination was the Laurance S. Rockefeller Preserve and a mile short of it, we saw a group of cars crowded on the side of the road, people pointing and taking pictures. I craned my neck as we slowly drove by and before I realized what I was seeing, I recognized three black shapes in the forest moving quickly away from the crowd of vehicles and keeping pace with our own car, going in our direction. Mark slowed to almost a stop and fifty feet in front of our car, Mama Bear and her two cubs come lumbering out of the dense forest and amble across the road. You would have thought I had witnessed the second coming of JC. The sight of these beautiful wild majestic animals right before me put me into a frenzy.
Now, understand that I’d been anticipating an encounter with one of these magnificent beasts on the trail. To be safely ensconced in my vehicle while I watched the small family of bears disregard me as if I didn’t exist was sobering and humbling. This was their habitat, their environment. I felt out of place and insignificant. As it should be. In our wildest places, where predatory animals roam freely, we should feel like an intruder. It reminds us of many things: that these wild animals once freely roamed the land, that our species almost killed them off completely, that we may conquer wildness with our shelters and our fences and our weapons, but ultimately, the animals reign.
I was breathing hard, beside myself with excitement. We drove on and parked outside the Preserve. This was a serene and wild place. The building, a Platinum Leeds certified construction, fades into its surroundings, blonde wood and flat lines and glass, barn-like in its appearance, meant to encourage an understanding of ecology of place. Walking inside, we told the ranger at the desk that we had seen three bears and she had us fill out a record of sighting. She told us this is their home and they are seen only occasionally. We wandered through this strangely calming place. As one enters, there is a large room highlighting the environmental stewardship and conservation mission of Rockefeller and this center, and a long hallway with pools of light illuminating stanzas of a poem by Terry Tempest Williams, Meditation on Phelp’s Lake.
There are two rooms I want to tell you about. In the first, there are four oblong screens and in front of them are slim benches to sit upon. It is dim and the screens play continual images of wildlife in all four seasons, the sound is magnified so your senses are in tune to the flapping of a birds wings, the scratching of a bull moose antlers against a tree, the trickle and gurgle of a fast running brook, the rutting call of a bull elk, the screech of an owl, the drip drop of a melting icicle. The visuals are gorgeous but your sense of hearing is perked up. When you transition to the next room, you are primed. A circular sound chamber with a round bench in the middle echoes the architecture of the room. You sit and wait and you begin to hear the sounds of nature, your visual is gone, you now rely on just your hearing. I closed my eyes and was enveloped in sound. Distant wolf calls, close by the loud flutter of wings, a grunting and snuffling off to the left, wind through firs, a pitter patter of rain, distant thunder. It was a wondrous experience lasting maybe 8 minutes, one that naturally induced contemplation and reflection. The Preserve feels more like a spiritual place then a visitor center, a chapel to the holy natural world. The effects of my visit lasted many hours.
I am a big fan of seeing wildlife in their natural habitat. Apparently, so are the many locals and visitors to our national parks. There is a palpable excitement at dawn and dusk, the best time to see the wild animals. This is when you are alerted to the presence of wildlife, when you see what looks like a traffic accident and it’s just excited humans trying to catch a glimpse of the elusive. The Tetons are teeming with creatures big and small. Pronghorn antelope are everywhere. We took an inflatable river raft down the Snake River to see a different perspective, here on the banks we spotted beaver sawing logs with their protruding front teeth, and eagles soaring through the brush on the hunt, a lone coyote on the pebbly shore. We have witnessed prairies dogs playfully scampering through their environment and spotted moose on muddy banks on several of our hikes. Big Horn Sheep could be seen through scopes prancing on rocky cliffs far above us. And of course, the intimidating bison grazing in great herds and at times a single huge male solo on the roadside. I’ve been thinking about the appeal of our national parks and the buzz and thrill we get from glimpsing wild animals in their habitat. It’s elemental and dangerous but I think there is something else going on here. We are reminded of a wildness in ourselves. Our technology, our four walls, our tamed backyards and paved roads keep the natural world manicured and comfortable. Out in the wilds of our national parks, we feel our hearts pump, we get close to the menace and perils, we tap into an ancient need to run with the wind, swim in glacial waters, and live in harmony with the land. I am grateful to the poets, painters and creators that attempt to capture the spirit of the feral and untamed.
Speaking of feral, I’m still waiting to spot the Grizzly, the king of beasts. I’m banking on Yellowstone.