Yellowstone National Park

If you could take just one photo: Yellowstone National Park

It’s a sound you don’t soon forget. Rich and haunting, it resonates through the air, hanging there, almost like you can touch or even see it. It’s the sound of a wolf howl, and it’s being heard by more and more visitors to our country’s first national park, Yellowstone. Since the animal’s reintroduction to Yellowstone in 1995, wolves have become a star attraction and tour operators have responded with more programs focusing on the captivating canine. One of the more popular is the Wolf Discovery Tour, where guests spend three days with a knowledgeable, enthusiastic guide from the Yellowstone Association Institute, the park’s educational partner. Tours crisscross the enchanting Lamar Valley, often referred to as “America’s Serengeti” because of its large herds of bison and elk. More than half of Yellowstone’s wolves call the valley home making it the best place in the park for wolf watching. And, if you’re lucky, you’ll be treated to a symphony of howls.

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After being reintroduced in 1995, the gray wolf roams freely throughout Yellowstone National Park. Even if you’re not a morning person, it’s worth rousing yourself at the crack of dawn and heading over to Lamar Valley. This is the best time of day to capture a glimpse of the elusive wolf, and this quiet valley is home to one of the eleven wolf packs that calls Yellowstone home. Bring binoculars to scan the tall grasses for a wolf trotting home after a night of hunting. Bring warm clothes, even in July – the morning air nips at your fingers and turns your breath into little puffs of smoke. Most importantly, bring patience; peeking a look into the world of this shy, noble creature is a privilege, not a guarantee.

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Yellowstone is a gigantic expanse of raw nature. I’m not talking about the boardwalks or the geysers, I mean the untamed land that starts when you turn your back to the car and walk forward. Like a stocked pond, wildlife roams its rolling terrain in surprising numbers. It’s as if animals migrate here from all around the Northwest to riddle the turf with their hoof prints. The ground in March is frosty and patched with snow. It crunches beneath my feet and my breath smokes before me. It’s quiet here. I keep a watchful eye on the buffalo huddled sturdily together to my right, and I can’t escape the feeling that I’ve somehow gone back in time. I stand on the wild frontier. I should have never waited so long to come here. I crunch on.

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