We left early for a drive to the far-flung corner of Yellowstone, the Lamar Valley. We were on the road by 6 AM and watched the sun rise over the vast valley in primordial splendor as the plains below us came gently into view, and the powdered gold air filled with the eerie song of wolves. We tried to find them, but they stayed out of sight over a ridge and beyond a stream, haunting us.
Once we reached the valley’s floor, buffalo were everywhere, mating, fighting, grazing, milling about in dust wallows, nursing their calves, and ignoring the gawking of humans.
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