On the edges and outskirts of the park, we still have the cloud of what Robert Righter describes in his history of the park as “the threats of subdivision and mammonism.” Righter bemoans the damper such activities can put on the human spirit otherwise inspired by the mountain range. “It seems important,” he says, “that future generations know that the Park commemorates not only the grandeur of nature but also the spirit of men acting for a noble cause; it is a park not of chance but of man’s design.”
Today, come to this national park with an open mind, open eyes, and an open heart. Leave your conveyance; walk the trails up into the canyons, around the lakes, into the hills, canoe on some of the lakes. Stand quietly at dusk by a beaver pond and you may see a moose or two or three, some ducks, a great blue heron, a pair of trumpeter swans. The list is long of what may be seen. And the list is equally long—or longer—of what may be heard if you stand quietly: the song of the Swainson’s thrush or the ruby-crowned kinglet, the raucous conversation of ravens, the chatter of pine squirrels, the rattling call of sandhill cranes.
Go by foot or canoe or kayak or on a quiet horse or, in winter, on cross-country skis. You will sense the full and busy and yet harmonious life pattern of the wild ones. It will come to mean something very special to you, for it is a balm and a benediction. It is a reminder of your primeval roots. Stand at the edge of some woods at night and hear a great-horned owl hooting; perhaps, if you are lucky, coyotes singing; or, after September 1, some bull elk bugling.
Be glad they are all still here. These quiet adventures will remain with you always. And think then, too, what might have happened in this valley, and what gratitude we owe a few.
Part 2 Teton Country
The Greater Yellowstone Ecosystem supports the largest elk herd remaining in the world. Nearly 3,000 of these majestic animals, also called wapiti, summer in Grand Teton.
Mount Moran looms as the backdrop to a forested slope in autumn.