These are the moments I live for; solitude in Yellowstone. Standing on the side of the road on the Northern Range, no cars, no people, nothing but the gentle grunts of bison and the shrill calls of red wing blackbirds newly arrived after winter. The sky is blue with thin fingers of white clouds, the willows shining, red and orange in the morning light.
I don’t know what it is about today, but there is literally no one in the park. To be out on Yellowstone’s Northern Range with such stillness and silence along the roadside is truly rare these days, and a gift. I am completely humbled by the feeling of solitude in this wild place.
Later, a fox crosses the road, and heads down a narrow path beaten by animals through the snow. The path beckons—as much for a break from driving as to follow the fox tracks—so I take a short meander through a deep forest filled with the gentle sounds of chickadees and woodpeckers, the creek providing background music, sun filtering through Douglas fir boughs. I find a place on a log in the sun in a small area of bare ground, overlooking the creek and listen to the birds chittering around me. I watch a hairy woodpecker tapping away on a downed log. In the distance, wolves are howling.
I never did see the fox again, but I’m grateful that it showed me the way to this moment of peace.
You might enjoy other blog posts about solitude and serendipity in Yellowstone:
Why I Drove Past the Black Bear: A Quiet Moment in Yellowstone
Serendipity and the Art of Lingering in Yellowstone
