Sung to by wolves in the Lamar Valley, Yellowstone National Park
and other enchantments in our favorite corner of the park
We left Indian Creek for the far-flung corner of Yellowstone called the Lamar Valley, and reached it so early that we watched the sun crest a ridge over the vast rift plain as we descended, the only car on a long empty ribbon of road. The plains below lit up gradually, powdered gold late summer air woven with the eerie song of wolves.
The hairs on the back of my neck rose as Mike pulled over and rolled down his window, searching for the source of the sound. “Let’s find them,” he said.
I nodded, unable to speak past a heady ball of excitement and dread caught in my throat.
We pulled off the main road onto an unmarked dirt one. We rolled along slowly, the windows down, periodically stopping and listening.
The wolves seemed just nearby but stayed out of sight, over a ridge, through a wood and beyond a stream, haunting us. Something about their howls is elemental; it’s the saber rattle of nature, etched in our DNA as danger and fascination.
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