Today was supposed to be an office day, but I had the sense of being "pecked by ravens," a phrase I coined to describe the chipping away of well being that comes from a seemingly endless pile of to-do's, too many responsibilities and not enough nature. Feeling an overwhelming urge to run screaming from the office and into the wilds, I packed up my camera, left the deadlines behind, and headed out to Yellowstone's Northern Range.
That’s how I found myself at Hellroaring overlook this morning at sunrise.
As I stood there alone in the morning silence, moved nearly to tears by the delicate layers of orange and gold and purple marching off into the horizon (see image above), I knew I had made the right choice. Suddenly, not much else seemed important.
Not far around the corner I was happy to be delayed by a herd of bison near Floating Island Lake. I pulled over to simply enjoy their gentle sounds as they grazed. There’s something about being among wild animals; just watching them go about their daily lives makes our petty problems seem so small. While we’re at home fretting over the news and the never ending list of distractions, bison are out here, stoically grazing their way across wide open valleys just as they have for thousands of years.
The day quickly becomes a parade of surprises and delights. With no agenda, I am free to wander in a place that ignites my creative fires, following my own curiosity and interest. I am richly rewarded.
Next across my path is a very fat coyote, raising questions about why its belly was so rotund. There were actually 2 coyotes, but the second vanished into the trees before I could tell if it was also hanging a bit heavy in the middle this morning. I could hear its progress through the trees by the squirrel alarms, but didn’t spot it again right away.
It seems like a good idea to hang out at a pullout and watch for signs of a possible carcass nearby.
Sure enough, around the corner, a perched raven points the way to four more coyotes feasting on something fairly large - an elk or deer perhaps.
As I meander through the Northern Range, all the way east of Cooke City, I am deeply happy.
Every trailhead past Cooke City feels like a ghost town. Just the way I like it. Finally my whole being breathes after the push of summer and fall visitation. I think all of these places are taking a collective breath with me. My heart expands and I feel more closely the presence of wilderness.
I take a short walk on a Forest Service trail to a wide slough in the creek. The edge of seasons jutting up against one another is palpable. Maybe it’s because I know there’s a winter storm warning for tomorrow, but I swear I can feel it. The sky is clear blue and sunlight bright, but I can feel something in the wind, subtle, like a whisper...snow is coming.
The feeling of approaching winter makes the way the sunlight casts everything with glimmer and gold even more precious.
I take a few minutes to sit in the trees along a wide stretch of the creek. The trees are talking overhead, in conversation with the breeze. Leaning dead trunks creak and groan in the wind. The forest has a stillness between the motion and tree chatter- a hint of the winter stillness to come?
Now that I’m out here, there’s nothing else that seems all that important. Only here, and now, listening to the Clark’s nutcrackers and red squirrels chattering in the trees.
See what a slower Yellowstone pace can do for the soul in our free guide How to Do Yellowstone Better.
Read more about Yellowstone in Autumn: Four Days at the End of the Road in Silver Gate, Earth's Artwork: Autumn in the Beartooths, and Hiking Yellowstone's Fall Color.
Images and video © Jenny Golding
