Chuck Versus a Baby Geyser

 

    Sometimes the worst kind of danger is the kind in plain sight.

      Trekking through Yellowstone National Park, we were well aware of the wild animals--the bison and the elk and the bear and even the wolves who lived all around us. 

      I knew, for example, that by the mid-1900's the wolves who lived in Yellowstone had been killed. In the 1940's park managers, biologists, and conservationists campaigned to reintroduce the wolf back into the park. The Endangered Species Act of 1973 was passed, and in 1995, gray wolves came home, but it was a rocky homecoming. 

      Years ago, I remember hearing the howl of a wolf as I walked through the park. Nowadays, to even see a wolf you need to use a high powered telescope at dusk, and you need to know where to look. Believe me, you don't want a close encounter with a wolf.  

       Bears also are more difficult to spot. Occasionally, with good binoculars, you can see a bear foraging for food. If you're lucky. 

       But you need to be safe. Stay clear of the wild animals. 

       Imagine, now, a different kind of danger. What makes Yellowstone so unique is the plethora of mud pots, fumaroles and geysers that are scattered throughout the magnificent landscape. Lying in wait for the unsuspecting visitor or rascal cat.

       What exactly is a geyser? It's a hot spring that contains boiling water. Ouch. It's so hot, the water gushes upwards. The force generated by the heat produces this torrent of boiling water and steam that shoots up hundreds of feet. 

       Sometimes you hear gurgling as a warning before the water shoots upwards. Other times, the water explodes with no warning.

       Sometimes geysers follow a schedule like Old Faithful. Another favorite is Castle Geyser who shoots off killer jets of water on a regular basis:

 

       Other geysers follow their own internal time clock.

       You get lulled into thinking you're safe as you stroll past these geysers who seem dormant to the naked eye. They're not gurgling. There's no steam. You barely stop to take a closer look or give them a passing glance.

      Every geyser in the park has a name, but one in particular--not a very memorable one--I'll call "Chucky's Geyser."

       For once, Chuck was being a good kid. Not the usual rascally cat he can be. He was walking along beside us, on the boardwalk--the safe zone--as far as I was concerned. Nothing much was happening.

        We rounded the corner. A woman came towards us with her dog. A white dog wearing a greenish-yellow collar. Well, this very cute dog barked--not a friendly "hello" type of bark, but a more "what are you doing on this boardwalk" bark. 

      Chucky stood his ground. 

      The dog growled.

      Chucky has a meow, but it's a disappointing meow. He was short-changed in the meow department. I suspect that's the reason why he didn't respond back. Instead, he leapt off the boardwalk, away from the barking dog, and hightailed it in the direction of the dormant geyser.

        Or, let me rephrase . . . in the direction of the geyser we thought was dormant. 

      It wasn't. A cloud of steam suddenly appeared, swirling around the mouth of the geyser. It was as if Chucky's jump on the ground acted as weight on a lever that turned that darned geyser on. 

      It's never safe to get off the boardwalk. You could be jumping smack in the middle of a mud pot and get sucked down and that's it. Dan and I made a quick assessment. The ground looked dry and hard. Dan, my always hero, ignoring the steam that jutted into the air, climbed down to get Chuck, who seemed quite oblivious to the coming danger.

   

  

      I unhelpfully called, "Get him before the whole thing blows."

      Much ado about nothing. That was our assessment later.

      Dan scooped Chuck up and brought him back. Meanwhile, the barking/growling dog was so startled by the eruption of the geyser, that not another bark or growl came out.  

      It could have been a terrible, horrible disaster, with boiling water, laced with acid, raining down on top of Chuck and Dan, but it wasn't. Instead by the time water shot out after the steam, hero and cat were back on the boardwalk. We stayed for a few more minutes and watched the amazing show that only nature can provide.

      "Chucky's Baby Geyser," I said finally.

      "Aptly named," Dan agreed.

      "You know, if that dog hadn't barked and Chucky hadn't jumped down in protest, we would have missed it."

       We turned to admire Chuck, our almost hero cat, only to discover that he wasn't looking at the geyser. Oh, no. He was looking in the opposite direction. It turns out that the barking dog was a girl dog. Chuck was now in the process of making eyes at this girl dog with the lovely collar and she was making eyes back at him. Love was in the air. Go figure.

          

           

               

         

Chuck Howls in the New Year with the Wolves

I guess I will never learn.

Years ago, and I mean years ago, Bob and I visited Yellowstone National Park, and I heard wolves howl for the first time. It was a magical moment that I would never forget. I couldn’t see them, only hear them.

Years later, back in my home state of New Jersey, I heard of a place and of a man, a photographer, to be exact, who had bought some land, fenced it in, and built himself a wolf preserve in Columbia, NJ. You see he had been to Yellowstone, too, and wanted to build a home for some wolves back on the east coast.

He called this place the Lakota Wolf Preserve.

This year I thought what better way to welcome in the New Year than to howl it in with a bunch of wolves . . .

Well, the Chuckster thought so, too.

It’s cold up there . . . in the mountains . . . when the wind blows. So cold in fact, that sometimes your battery in your camera konks out. Your breath blows like smoke in front of your face, and the trail that you follow to where the wolves actually are . . . well, it is so icy, you have to walk it, not take the small “shuttle bus” that is provided for the visitor’s convenience.

Yeah, it’s an experience. But you get to see real wolves up close and personal. You get to hear them howl. There is nothing better than that. Your eyes tear up, and your heart quakes.

I wasn’t sure if Chuck was up to that kind of adventure. After all, these wolves live on a diet of dead road kill and eat approximately 30,000 lbs. of meat a year. When their jaws clamp shut, (they exert 1700 lbs. of pressure as compared to a dog’s 700 lbs.) it sounds a bit like a thunder clap rumbling in the sky. If Chuckie ever ended up in the middle of the preserve--with the wolves--he would become their next dinner. He couldn’t run fast enough or long enough to escape. Wolves can run at a pace of 35 mph for 12 miles and if they slow down to 12 mph, they can stay at it for 8 to 10 hours. The belly boy wouldn’t stand a chance.

Danger would lurk around us. Chuck knew that, and I knew that.

Unfortunately, I had talked about the wolves so often, my almost brave cat couldn’t resist the opportunity. He wanted to look a wolf in the eye--through the chain link fence, of course.

And, as you guessed it, none of this was allowed. At this wolf preserve, twenty five wolves roam an area which resembles their natural habitat. All of these wolves came to the preserve as pups and have grown up there. And although the owner can walk among them, he does so fully cognizant of the risk involved. What he doesn’t need is a cat on the other side of the wire fence stirring up the wolves.

The wolves are lured out of the woods with dog biscuits. The owner shakes the box and the wolves slowly emerge from behind the trees’ shadows.

So, yeah, by being there with the Chuckster I was breaking every kind of rule.

Chuck’s head peeked out of my backpack. He was mesmerized immediately. He wanted to see more. I moved closer to the fence. He craned his neck out farther. Luckily, I was standing in the back and the man in charge was busy talking about the social habits of the wolves and didn’t notice my ever curious Chuck, who stretched out his paw and was attempting to reach through the chain link fence and make contact with a wolf who eagerly was leaning against the fence, wanting to make contact (or was he thinking “meal” with or “of” my Chuckie.

There was no chance of that, but still, what was the kid thinking?

Finally, the moment came that I had been waiting for--setting the stage for the wolves to howl. It didn’t take much. We were instructed to cup our hands around our mouths and HOWL.

First, the man howled.

Then, we howled.

Then the man howled again, only louder.

We howled again, louder.

And this is where, some say, the miracle happened.

THE WOLVES BEGAN TO HOWL.

OMG.

I glanced over at Chuck. Now, he couldn’t howl with the wolves, but he certainly appreciated the moment. With one paw, he swiped at his eyes.

I nudged my ever faithful husband. “Look, the kid is getting all teary eyed.”

“Who wouldn’t?” Bob said. And then he sniffled.

My two boys were losing it.

“It’s okay, Chuckie. It’s a magical thing to hear.”

What a way to bring in the New Year!!!