I never tire of gazing at bison in Yellowstone. I find them magnificent creatures and they are inextricably linked for me to a prehistoric time when 60 million of their ancestors roamed in endless herds across North America (one explorer noted a sea of buffalo that stretched 20 miles wide).

In the winter I salute their tenacious survival skills, and smile when I see a bison “snow angel,” the marks in the snow left from them brushing their head from side-to-side in search of sparse forage underneath. Somehow these 2,000 pound animals scratch out a living in Yellowstone’s extreme winter by eating mostly dead plants–what we would consider the equivalent of munching on cardboard.

May is my favorite time in Yellowstone, as bison give birth to what some visitors mistake for “little orange dogs.” Although an adult bison can’t really be described as cute, a bison calf is pretty darn adorable. Last year a bison calf was born in my front yard and another in the snow right outside my office. When my parents visited Yellowstone, they witnessed a grizzly bear take down a bison calf at Old Faithful– and saw members of the herd brave the danger and go back to try and unsuccessfully retrieve the calf.

And if one needs a further testament to the intrepid spirit of this remarkable animal, we need only recall the story (and look again at the photos) that went viral last year of a bison, badly burned from a fall in a hot spring, who still managed to outrun a hungry grizzly bear.

On this blog, for the most part, I prefer to steer away from opinion and instead inspire others by simply sharing the wonders of Yellowstone. Yet when I read this evening that one of the test bison I had written about in my prior post was killed as a result of it not staying within the prescribed safe area, a profound sadness overcame me.

This past January marked the beginning of what many heralded as a new era of bison tolerance on the northern range of Yellowstone when a test group of bison were released and allowed to roam outside the park boundary for the first time in decades. Yet not even a week later one of the herd was slaughtered for refusing to move from private property adjacent to the newly designated protection corridor. Less than two weeks later the botched experiment was abandoned, and 500 of the Yellowstone’s bison that wandered outside the park were gathered in a holding area and are facing possible slaughter.

This has been a very snowy winter and even the lower elevations of the park near Gardiner have received above average snow. The bison was probably hungry and tired and had no conception that his quest for greener pastures would result in death.

The punishment doesn’t seem to fit the crime. Bison with ancestors who once roamed the entire continent don’t perceive property lines, they see the world in terms of survival and migrate where they find a food source. So why was this bison shot? Allegedly to prevent the spread of brucellosis to livestock, although most sources I have consulted say there has never been a documented case of a bison spreading the disease to cattle.

The Yellowstone bison are part of our national heritage, they are the last continuous descendants of the mighty wild herds of bison that once wandered our country. In the early 1900s, bison had dwindled from the 60 million animals that existed prior to the mid 1800s to less than two-dozen hiding out in Yellowstone. In one of the most significant conservation measures of our time, the park restored the herd back to health, and today over 3,000 bison call Yellowstone their home.

When confronted with the historical mass slaughter of the great bison herds, most of us express dismay. And although it was only a single bison shot this weekend, I feel the same sadness. Have we still not learned to cherish wildness and the specialness of wild creatures? If even one bison can’t find protection in the last sanctuary for his kind, then we as a people may need to rethink our priorities.

Although most of Yellowstone is blanketed in snow after the recent series of storms, visitors to the park’s north entrance have been stopping to photograph a bright splash of orange against the white landscape. The source? A fuzzy bison calf born late in the season.

Bison babies don’t resemble their parents at all-although adult bison are magnificent creatures, it’s a stretch to call them cute. But bison calves are pretty darn adorable. The starkly different appearance of the calves from the adults-especially the brick red color of their coats-has caused some park visitors to inquire about the “little orange dogs” running with the bison.

A bison usually gives birth in late April through May to one calf (twins occur occasionally) after a nine and a half month gestation period. For the first few days, the calf spends most of its time resting, but soon becomes energetic enough to explore its surroundings.

The orange-reddish coat typically fades after about ten weeks, gradually darkening until it transforms into the dark brown hue of the adult bison. As this little calf was still sporting the bright color, he must have been born late in the fall.

The calf, nicknamed “Zisa” (the Lakota word for orange), is defying all expectations in surviving the winter. Yellowstone has experienced one of the snowiest winters in recent years, making foraging for the park bison even more challenging, and a calf born this late in the season is already beating the odds. As Harold Picton, author of Buffalo: Natural History and Conservation, observes: “such small, late born calves are unlikely to survive the winter.”

During one of my excursions in the park, I spotted the intrepid calf and his family wandering the area surrounding the Mammoth Hot Springs campground in search of forage, then followed them as they headed south down the park road in the direction of Gardiner, causing traffic to stop due to the ensuing ‘bison jam.’ Delighted park visitors observed little Zisa as he leapt through the deep snow and followed his mother down the highway.

Once Zisa’s coat turns to brown, he’ll be difficult to spot, but park staff and visitors are rooting for him to survive the winter. I am certainly cheering for the little fella!

Bison Jam in Yellowstone

“‘Kermit!’ shouted a high childish voice and we knew the roadside wetland we were scouting held at least one frog. A distant moose was instantly forgotten as the young tourist’s family gathered around to share her delight in observing the tiny creature with the fearless wide-eyes gaze and mysterious powers of transformation.”

-Debra Patla and Chuck Peterson, Yellowstone Science

It truly isn’t easy being green in Yellowstone. The harsh winters of the Northern Rockies with temperatures hovering near zero Fahrenheit during the day and often dropping below zero at night, doesn’t provide the most amphibian-friendly habitat. Lacking the ability to generate their own body heat, amphibians utilize the temperature of their environment for internal climate control.

Perhaps not surprisingly given the challenges, within Yellowstone’s borders live only four species of amphibians, which include two species of frogs: the Columbia spotted and the boreal chorus frogs (for contrast, Yosemite National Park, with its less severe winters, boasts triple the amphibian population).

Yet the intrepid frogs of Yellowstone persevere despite the harsh environment. Making the most of the wintry spring and taking advantage of the small doses of summer sunshine, the boreal chorus frog and Columbia spotted frog happily hop through numerous wetlands and meadows even at the higher elevations in the park.

Indeed, the harsh winters may have produced a hardier breed of frogs in Yellowstone than their more temperate cousins; a study in Yellowstone Science concluded, “For spotted frogs, Yellowstone winters translate into long lives.” Spotted frogs in the park can live up to ten years as compared with a three-year average life span of those studied in coastal British Columbia.

Park visitors flock to Yellowstone for the elk, bison, and bighorn sheep ruts, yet the park’s annual frog “rut” is an overlooked spectacle not to be missed. After emerging from hibernation in springtime (likely spending the winter in cozy burrows abandoned by other animals) thousands of frogs travel large distances to their breeding grounds.

Spotted frogs have been observed traveling 600 to 1,400 feet in a few days even over snow to breeding grounds-that’s akin to a person traveling almost 6 miles!  Park naturalist M.P. Skinner in 1927 described a mass migration he witnessed at Pelican Creek “The whole length of the…causeway was live with them, every square foot having from one to three tiny frogs on it, and more continually coming up from the marsh.”

Once situated at the breeding grounds, the musical courtship of the frog rut resounds throughout the park; instead of locking antlers or ramming horns, the frogs choose a more peaceful method of competing for females: singing. The frog symphony in Yellowstone is quite an experience to behold, with the almost deafening music of a gathering of boreal chorus frogs continuing day and night as the animals call for female companions.

For such a small animal (adults are usually less than two inches) to serenade so loudly is remarkable. Even more incredible is to witness the frog singing as its body almost doubles in size with the expansion of its throat and in a single minute the frog may give up to twenty calls. Spotted frogs lack the loud, distinctive call of the boreal chorus frog and instead take a softer approach to courtship with a faint croaking.

Yellowstone Frog Pond
Excerpt with permission from the article, “Small Things, Large Wonders,” originally published in the Yellowstone Association’s Yellowstone Discovery