This weekend was the formal opening of our dorm's brand new deck.
Built from 100% reclaimed wood and the sweat and tears of 4
afternoons of hard work, we coupled the evening with an Indian/Thai
potluck/bonfire extravaganza. About 15 people came by, and most
ended up staying until the conclusion of the evening, enjoying
frosty cold beverages poured on top of blissfully bulging stomachs
around a roaring bonfire.
Let me tell you, always make friends with the guys who work at the
fire cache. They make the best bonfires.
As the evening wore on, my roommate Carrie had gone inside to
retrieve another round of frosty cold beverages for the crowd. A
couple minutes had passed when we heard a somewhat meager voice
exclaim "Hey Guys! Bison!".
Not an unusual exclamation for Yellowstone. Especially not
recently, where there has been a small herd of bulls hanging around
Upper Mammoth, munching on the bunch grass that surrounds the
buildings. They're normally a well-behaved bunch,
concentrating their efforts on the difficult task of constant
cud-chewing.
However, it was nearly 10pm. The bison-watching usually ends when
the sun goes down. Three of these bison had decided to go on a
little walk that evening from the area around the gas pumps up the
road towards our building. Something had tweaked two of these
massive animals, and they decided that the appropriate course of
action involved running towards our building. Carrie related to me
after the fact that they looked like they were going to run up the
stairs towards her and into the building, but instead they barely
missed gouging another roommate's car, trampled over a charcoal
grill on the ground, and left 3" deep depressions wherever their
hooves touched the soft ground.
As they rounded the back corner of the building, the people around
the campfire stood up in response to the massive shapes. The large
fire and swarm of people slowly backing away seemed to frighten the
first Bison, as he turned away from the fire and ran down the back
side of the building. Being dark, he obviously didn't see the two
saw horses in his path, shattering one of them. He probably didn't
notice the shed, trailer, table, or stack of toolboxes in his path.
There was a huge metal-on-metal noise, and we can only assume he hit
the toolboxes (3'x4'x5', usually moved by a forklift), as they were
tipped over and moved considerably from their original position.
The second bison, probably responding to the clamor issued by the
first bison's chosen path, wisely decided to run in the opposite
direction, away from both the people and the crowded corridor.
Closest path, these animals past within 10 feet of the bonfire and
within 5 feet of the one person standing on the deck.
We had a couple visitor's and some new employees around the fire
that evening, and it'll probably be an evening they'll never
forget. My adrenal gland made it so I didn't sleep for many hours
afterwards, and we were all a bit jumpy for the rest of the
evening. It's difficult to remember sometimes that we're living in
their home, and that they probably view us as invaders much more
than we view their occasional "misbehavior" as an invasion. They're
the largest land mammals in this hemisphere, and they have a brain
hardwired for survival. Lee Whittlesley, the park historian, has
written a book called "Death in Yellowstone" describing all known
deaths within the park. We all could have easily made it into the
next edition. Luckily, the bison did "the right thing" and avoided
us, and we weren't doing anything "wrong". Our paths just
coincided. Other visitors aren't so lucky, as they treat the
animals who live here as objects for their personal amusement. I
often see tourists get far too close to these huge animals in search
of the perfect picture, seeming not to care that these lurking
beasts are wild and unpredictable, and will fight for territory,
food, mates, their young, or just because they don't like the way
something looks. We got lucky.
But I'll stay, thanks. I'd rather take my chances in the wilds than
be safe in the city.
Nick
Nick
