TRADITION AND TRANSITION: DISCUSSIONS WITH THE BEARS AND WOLVES OF YELLOWSTONE
Yellowstone National Park offers visitors a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to see wildlife in their virgin landscapes. However, The Park Service’s management of the animals has been, putting it politely, slip-shod, bumbled, and downright contradictory through the years. With that being said, attitudes have evolved tremendously since Yellowstone’s founding, and have evolved by leaps and bounds within the last 40 years even.
Arguably the most charismatic animals in the park are the bears (both grizzly and black) and the wolves. We sent several correspondents to spend a summer in Yellowstone conducting exhaustive interviews with bears and wolves. A concerted effort was made, when possible, to span 3 generations with the hopes of creating a broader and better perspective of what effect the changes in wildlife management have had on the bears and wolves involved. To avoid retribution from both their peers and park rangers, all interviewed were promised their names would not be included in our piece.
BLACK BEARS
We first spoke with a young mother while her 2 cubs (a boy and a girl, her first litter) romped about in the grass a few yards away. “I don’t mind talking. In fact, I’m rather flattered. Everyone’s always glad to see a bear, and now with my 2 little ones all the lookey-loos go wild whenever I’m by the roadside. But out here is sometimes called ‘Grizzly Country’ and you people sure do go wild for grizzly bears, grizzly bears, grizzly bears. Us blacks bears are always playing second fiddle to the grizzlies. Not that I’m angry. My type aren’t known for being of a confrontational nature. It does make me concerned for my daughter though. She’s turning out to be a C-I-N-N-A-M-O-N. Not that I’m ashamed mind you. Those 2 are my whole life now.”
When asked if it was difficult being a single mother, she laughed. “How long you folks been in town? Nah, it ain’t hard. That’s just the way things are around here. Their old man is a dead beat and a pussy fiend - or, I mean, ‘womanizer’ is a better word. I’m trying to clean up my language. My son’s probably gonna be a little heartbreaker too. I can see it already. I guess there’s just no escaping it.”
Until 1971, the National Parks service allowed, and even encouraged visitors to feed black bears. Cars would be deadlocked along the road with their windows rolled down, while black bears meandered the shoulder in the expectation of free meals. Considering she was so young, we knew it was before her time, but asked if she’d heard any stories growing up. “I don’t know about that,” she answered. “Some say it was better, some say it was worse. I wouldn’t want that life for my daughter, whoring herself out on the corner for a meal. When we get hungry, we’ll just head on up to the Northern Range and see if I can’t scare me up an elk calf. Speaking of, It’s going on dinner time now.”
As it turned out, Male bears (both grizzly and black) were consistently evasive and flakey, which made getting in touch with any males a difficult task. Despite her negative feelings towards the father of her children, the young mother was kind enough to give us his last known whereabouts. After a little hunting and asking around, we found him in a very agitated state a few yards off the road in the Northeast corner of the park. His agitation was understandable considering throughout our interview a gaggle of onlookers with their RVs and motorcycles and rental cars where at the roadside and thickening more and more by the minute. “Sure I can have a rap sessions and answer some questions or whatever, but I gotta warn you folks I’m real pissed off right now.” We asked him what seemed to be troubling him. “Oh boy, how much time do you got? Where do I even start? I knocked up a gal, and now she’s not talking to me. Won’t let me see the kids either. Aw, whatever. Good riddance to that bitch after she quit putting out. She was the least of my problems. Seems like a guy can’t catch a break out here. I’m digging up grubs, trying to get a meal, while all those assholes are over there snapping pictures. You think I like the attention? No. I hate it. I try to get away. I try to get out in some wide open spaces, get some peace and quiet. Then there’s those grizzly bears on a power trip, swinging their dicks around and telling me, ‘This here’s my spot. You gotta pay your dues son, and unless you’re looking for a fight, I suggest you get moving along.’ Fuck that shit. I hate grizzly bears.”
“I wish those assholes standing down there with their binoculars and spotting scopes were allowed to feed me. At least then they’d be good for something other than pissing me off. I’ll tell ya what I’d do. I’d take the god damn picnic basket, and then maul a mother fucker. I’d go for a mormon too. A lot of them come through here and they’re so god damn smug. Hate to lay it on you folks like that, but I’m in a real negative head space right now.”
In exchange for a cheese burger with the works, the young male was good enough to put us in touch with a “looney-ass old crank” who had been born 3 years after the transition in bear management.
Although eager to talk, there was something shifty in the elderly black bear’s eyes, and we had to repeatedly assure him his name would not be revealed.
“Oh my goodness, it’s been so long I’d almost forgotten,” he said with a hint of nostalgia in his voice. “I guess things are better now, but back then boy, it was the hardest way to get an easy meal. My mother, god bless her soul, had a real hard time bringing up me and my brother and my sister, on account she was used to the free handouts. I suppose she had no shame. Acting like a cartoon so she could eat a graham cracker through a station wagon’s rolled down window.
“The worst were the culvert traps. It’s a joke now, blueberry pies as bait. Ha, ha, real funny. My mother used to tell me stories as a child to keep me from going astray. It wasn’t until later I found out the stories were true. As a young man I spent a hellish night in one myself. You’d hear rumors of some blueberry pie just sitting there. You’d hear one of your buddies say he was going to go scope it out. Then you’d never see him again.”
GRIZZLY BEARS
Throughout interviews with numerous grizzlies, their condescending surliness made it clear we weren’t dealing with photogenic Yellowstone wildlife. We were dealing with celebrities, and unpleasant celebrities at that. Until 1971, grizzly bears were allowed and encouraged by the National Parks Service to feed off the waste from the numerous restaurants operating inside the park. Bleachers and stadium seating were set up at the larger dumps, and a small fee was charged so spectators could watch the bears eat garbage. 2 brothers by the name of Craighead took advantage of such dumps to launch a landmark study (which pioneered the use of sedative darts and collared radio tracking) of North American grizzlies. The study was called the Craighead study, and to this day, it remains a contentious issue among the grizzlies of Yellowstone. Some we spoke with on the matter were dismissive. “Why whine about ancient history,” one sow told us. “I mean, let’s get over it already.” Others refused to speak on the matter.
Popular opinion was best summed up by one aged bear whose grandmother had been involved with the Craigheads. “Sure, they looked the part with the denim and flannel and that perfect part in their salt and pepper hair. Sure, they put on a good show as ‘Yellowstone’s vigilante naturalists’ and the whole thing ending in martyrdom made them the brothers NPS loved to hate. I always thought they were opportunists, snatching up my misguided forefathers that were stupid enough to live off of eating garbage.
“To anyone out there that’s ever been shot with a sedative dart. To anyone out there wearing a radio tracking collar, speaking on behalf of all bears in Yellowstone, we offer our sincerest apologies of those brothers.”
“Yeah, what do I care about eating at those dumps,” said the young male we spoke with at Grizzly Lake. “That was way before my time, and I’m glad I missed out. The way I look at it, if I’m going to eat something, I don’t want to have an audience for it. Like, let’s say I’m eating at a carcass and somebody, something comes up. I’m not going to be happy. In fact, I’m going to maul the sorry sun-na-bitch that bothered me and eat’em as my second course. It’s come close to that with those wolves. It’s a lot of give and take with that crew, man.”
This was the first bear and wolf relations were mentioned in our interviews, so we ask the male to elaborate.
“You know, it’s funny. My mom. My grandma. They both hated wolves. Anytime my mom would see a wolf, she’d turn her head and spit and say, ‘There goes the neighborhood.’ But those mutts can be alright. Some grizzlies I guess don’t like the idea of immigrants being bussed in and stealing our thunder. Wolves are wolves whatever, but the ones I really love are those squirrels. Don’t tell them I told you this, but those paranoid little rascals and their paranoid pine nut caches have gotten me through some rough winters.”
One enlightening conversation came from a middle-aged mother bear we spoke with on the grassy slope of Mount Washburn. Our main interest was when bears attack, sometimes fatally, human beings. Her opinions were of special relevance, because when it comes to bear attacks, single mothers have gotten a pretty bad rap.
“You really stepped on a land mine with me there,” she said. “I’ll answer your question with a question. How many bears are in the park? In a single summer, or better yet, a single slow summer, how many people come through here? Get the numbers and then get back to me. I’m not afraid to crack a few skulls when it comes to the safety of my kids.”
WOLVES
The history of wolves in Yellowstone has been a bit more slippery and problematic. Once looked upon as vermin, a campaign of all out genocide was launched against the animals. Wolves were indiscriminately shot. Carcasses they fed off of were poisoned. A non indigenous mange was introduced into the ecosystem to help lessen their numbers. By the 1940s not a single wolf resided in the park. From 1995 through 1996, a specially selected group of wolves was relocated from Alberta Canada into Yellowstone, then gradually acclimated to their new environment. After a century of merciless persecution, then an ironic reintroduction, left to their own devices for a little over a decade, the wolves are now thriving.
Being animals of cult celebrity status worldwide, Yellowstone Association has been closely monitoring the animals since their reintroduction. Wolf pack populations, stomping grounds, shifting social hierarchies, and personal gossip are well documented in annual reports.
Wolves’ highly social nature was a breath of fresh air, while their rigid hierarchical structure, and the tight cliquishness within their packs struck us as rather old fashioned. One encounter is worth reporting because it involved a maverick gang northwest of Mammoth, who didn’t adhere to such stereotypes, and were proud of it. They had no standing against rival packs, and didn’t really seem to care.
“Yeah,” the black-coated female told us, “Alpha, Beta, and all the other underlings and subordinates and all their other quirks and ticks and all that shit. I can’t get into it. I’m so over that. I got my 2 homies. I got my boyfriend. We do alright.”
“The problem is,” her boyfriend interjected, “once you get too ambitious you gotta maintain the tough guy act, keep your posse in place, go out and pick fights with the rival packs. That’s not our scene.”
When asked how they felt about attention from humans, the 2nd young female answered, “You’re asking the wrong wolves. Up here we’re second class citizens. Nobody cares about us. That’s how we like it. We keep out numbers low, and do things like we do’em. You wanna talk to some blue bloods, head out to the Lamar Valley. There’s a pack out there that’s well connected. Now there’s a pack that’s got some deep roots.”
The issue of wolves is currently mucked in a state and federal legal quagmire. Many ranchers in the area would like to see the animals killed, and some ranchers have even killed wolves suspected of ravaging their livestock. When asked if the current situation frightens them one female answered, “You bet it does. I had a distant cousin, somewhere out in Idaho. That poor sucker got his ass shot up.”
Following the tip-off we headed to the Lamar valley. Aside from being one of the larger packs, the wolves we spoke with there were direct descendants of those first immigrated from Canada. Coming from such an esteemed background, we were interested if the alphas knew anything about their forefathers. But first, as the area is often frequented by bears as well, we asked the wolf packs’ thoughts on their relationships.
A young male subordinate of the pack answered, “When you’re rollin’ 17 deep like we do, bears don’t mess with you. Rival packs don’t mess with you either.”
“Not that it’s an eden,” a female added. “At the end of the day we love each other, and we got each other’s backs. That’s not to say this pack is drama free. About 90% of our problems come from within.”
It took multiple visits, but we were finally able to ingratiate ourselves enough that an meeting was agreed upon with the alpha male and female.
“Yes,” the alpha female said, “there is a story passed down of how we came to be settled in this land. Concepts of territory were much different long ago. Before our people came to be settled in this land, they ruled and roamed the great white north. They were captured with the aide of powerful sleep elixirs and spent 2 weeks in gray coffins. It was believed they were being transported to the underworld. But my people were the chosen people. We were the first laid out in this Eden. We were the first to call it our own.”
The alpha male seemed to have read our minds. He answered our question of wolves relationships to people (researchers and fans alike) before we could even ask it.
“You human beings have a fascination with us. Wolves carry with them frighteningly mystical intrigue in the most universal aspects of your culture. Werewolves, little red riding hood or the 3 little pigs and their big bad wolf; phrases such as ‘the wolf is scratching at the door’ or ‘the wolves are circling’ or ‘keep the wolves at bay.’ You people protected this land and protected its animals, but decided to slaughter us. Then you brought us back.”
At this point in his speech we realized that he and his wife were wearing radio tracking collars. When asked about it, the wife told us her necklace was a great inconvenience. Not only did it chafe, but wearing it subjected her to strange black-outs from which she woke dizzy and disoriented. Her husband added that it also, from time to time, attracted a noisy little helicopter.