The Ride

 of the

 Yellowstone Bison

January 7, 1991

It was not a cold day for Yellowstone in 91. The temperature was minus five degrees Fahrenheit, somewhat overcast with a white sky. It was my New Year's trip after spending four seasons in Yellowstone from May to September 1987-90. I had never visited the park in the winter. I had arrived the night before. I Rented a car and was going from the Airport to Gardner, MT. When driving from the airport, I stopped in a small town to ask how far away Gardner was; it was late in the day and snowing, and when I asked inside a local store of the distance, there happened to be a Police officer, and he barked at me "The road is closed / or wind up in a ditch." I gathered the road must be treacherous, at night, in the snow in the Northern Rockies. 

The officer prompted me to get a room for the night. Doke's Inn was the place's name, and I was happy to get a bed when all the roads were closed. However, the fun had yet to begin. I got something to eat in one of those cheesy semi-dinettes / restaurants you would see in the movies from scenes out west. When I returned to the hotel, a somewhat rustic place, and went into my room, I thought it was cold. I went to the front desk cashier and asked about the heat in the room, and they said to give it some time to come up. So I did, and maybe an hour later, I could still see my breath in the room. I went and reported it again, and the guy came and bled the radiator and ensured the valve was open. Just my bad luck; the room stayed that way. I asked about a different room, and they said they were all full. Yes, I could take my chances and try another place, but the guy said, most likely, the whole town was packed as a small town. I did "try" to get some sleep. 

In the morning, I got to the car and brushed off the night's snow. I still remember when you walk on the snow, it squeaks when you walk on it because it is so cold there. However, I learned that minus five is not considered cold there. Maybe minus 40 would be an eye-opener. My friend Steve said in the winter. Everyone bundles up when it gets freezing. Then when the temperature goes back to zero, everyone walks around in T-Shirts and shorts. I got in the car to drive the final trek to Gardner, MT. I had one of the most horrific moments of driving in my life. 

I was doing about 60 on a mountain road, and they don't plow the roads as they do on the east coast. So, I drove along the road packed hard with snow. I am driving along, and there is a trucker in my rear-view mirror, and he decides to pass me. At the moment, I did not think anything of it. However, with the temperature outside minus eight, all the snow you drive on becomes powder. The trucker was going about 65, maybe 68, as he went to pass me, and no sooner did the front wheel of his big 18-wheeler truck get just ahead of me on the driver's side. The whole road became white.

Even more so, as he passed me, it was not only a white road; you couldn't see anything. Not a turn in the road or a guard rail, I could not even see the side view mirror, not the hood, or even the front of my car, for that fact. I did not want to hit the brake to send the vehicle toward the abyss and an accident at 60. Even as the truck got past me, I was still behind him, and I had to deal with the aspect of doing 60 without being able to see "anything." Pure white as if you are staring at Ivory Soap in your windows. 

I got to Gardner, MT. Around noon and it was a nice day. I went to see my friends who I would stay with. Checking in with them, I spoke of my experience, and we had some small talk, and that was about all I recollect. I remember we went to a local bar in the evening and had a beer or eight or so. At night it was 23 below zero as we were only a few miles outside of Yellowstone at this point. When the bar door opened, a massive gust of cold Air would enter the room, and everyone would look at the Door and sort of grunt or make a depressed sound. If someone left the door open for over a second, the bartender would start barking up a storm of curse words. SHUT the Door, you Marmot Lovin Vermin. Another eye-opening, jaw-dropping thing I learned was the heat for the bar was modern yet antique too. They had a pot belly stove fired with wood and a big stack inside where they would stoke the furnace. But the most incredible thing was when you looked at the pot belly stove; it stood 5'6" tall and round like a fat man of 450 #'s. But that wasn't half of it. The furnace was glowing orange / almost white with heat. Even at that, it still struggled to keep the bar warm, and everyone sat there with their coats on. 

The next day was my snowmobile trip to Yellowstone. I had an ambitious desire to make the whole loop from Gardner, Montana, down into Wyoming to Lake Yellowstone and then rebound, go up the west side, back, and into Gardner again. I was as equipped as possible; I had suitable ski gloves and a lovely scarf. They provided me with a super warm jumpsuit and a helmet with all kinds of foam around the bottom of the helmet, and I then was able to use my scarf to cover my neck; the gloves worked fine, and the handles of the snowmobile were heated so my hands would stay warm. I thought it was my job to bundle up and dress accordingly. But when the attendant found me, he said that the way I had dressed would never do. 

 As my trek started, I remember cruising at about 40 mph and seeing the different sites. I remember stopping by many of the waterfalls and viewing them frozen, which was a pleasant experience. Driving along the road, I saw 4 Yellowstone Bison crossing the road in front of me. They must have been 80 yards away. Once they proceeded leftward and had moved along, I stopped to see where they had gone. Just at that moment, they had endeavored to cross the Yellowstone River. The river was not deep and was not rapid water. I can still visualize it. They looked almost prehistoric, their coats full of fur, ice, and white. They had to swim as they crossed the river, and you could tell they were unhappy doing it. Their lungs were panting and breathing deeply, and the only thing I could think of was "Huge Bellows" and the sound of their lungs as they took in Air and breathed it out. The sound is almost like giant machines hissing Air in and out. 

I was on my own during the trip and drove around the park pretty much alone. As I proceeded along, I found what I learned was something strange. A snowcat (that is one of those massive machines with rubber tank-like treads and can seat about 30 people with luggage on the roof). There was one on the road before me, and I would think nothing of it. However, the thing was so big and wide that it took up the whole route. There was no going around it. I sat on my snowmobile, and this snowcat only went about 5-6 MPH. I had been following him for 5-10 minutes with no let-up. 

Then all of a sudden, the snowcat gunned his huge Diesel Engines and took a hard right. A black cloud was high in the Air due to the Diesel Engine. The side of the road had a four-foot-tall snow berm on either side. However, he even went up and over it and into the backcountry. Then, when he was off the road, you could tell he had straightened out the snowcat and was going forward with engines at a loud, roaring full blast. As he moved ahead, he created a total whiteout. Because he had gunned his engines and gone off-road, the terrain was 3-4 feet deep of powder snow.

Barely you could tell he had then moved back onto the road. Yet I was still entirely puzzled as to why? I had come to a stop on my snowmobile and was looking intently forward visually to try to figure out what was happening. Then, in the snow, a darker silhouette began to reveal itself as the deep white mist started to settle and unfold. It was a Yellowstone Bison. But wait? It was more than one bison, and you could hear them. The mist was becoming more revealing. It was a small Herd of Buffalo numbering perhaps 23-35, and they were unhappy. The snowcat had spooked them when it crossed in front of them as it went to pass them so it could get on its journey. At this time, I was looking forward watching the Buffalo realizing they were coming my way! I heard voices behind me, and as I looked visually, I saw a group of perhaps 8 – 12 other people on snowmobiles who had picked up the back of their snowmobiles and turned them around so they could head in the other direction. I jumped off my snowmobile to turn it around / but no way! By this time, the Buffalo were way too close. I would never get it done; the Buffalo would trample on me. They were running full gallop in my direction. I was on the side of the road. To my immediate right was the snow berm of the road about 4 feet high. It was made of deep powder snow. If I had tried to run through it, I would move so slowly the Buffalo would be upon me in a flash I would be gored for sure. I looked back at the other snowmobilers in a panic. My heartbeat must have been over 150-200 beats a second, and my blood pressure was through the roof. I quickly looked back at the charging Buffalo. All their tails were sticking straight up, a sign of anger. They were goring each other with their horns and throwing their skulls about violently. You could see the big blue tongue sticking out and hear their deep-throated billowing growl and hooves pounding on the ground as they charged forward in a stampede. The whole herd was coming, and there wasn't anything I could do about it. In desperation, I looked back at the people on the snowmobiles again, and at this point, the Buffalo were no more than 15 feet away at full charge. Looking back at the people, I heard one of them say, "Common, let's get out of here." Then another one said, NO,  "Let's wait here. I want to see this guy get killed"!

I crouched down as low as I could up against my snowmobile. The Buffalo were right there; I could smell them as they stampeded, with their spit flying onto my body as they threw their heads. They were seething with anger, their big brown eyes the size of baseballs and the ice hanging off their coats. They were less than 2 feet away; I could reach out and touch them if I was stupid enough. I stooped there, waiting to get mine, and I would be done. The herd had passed. The danger had subsided, and it was over. I risked my life many times in my years in Yellowstone and lived to talk about it. However, death has never come to my Door so vehemently as that day. January 7, 1991