Mobbing Wildlife

Recently, a horrific scene played out on social media: a video of a young girl being tossed into the air by a charging bison in Yellowstone National Park. It turned out that the girl and her family, plus other tourists, had gotten too close to these wild animals (one report said the bison was being petted!), and the bison had become agitated.

This seems the tragic culmination of a trend in which people try to get as close to wildlife as possible, often so they can get the best snapshot—preferably a selfie with you and the moose, although a ground squirrel will do, if the moose doesn’t cooperate. Some  people don’t understand the concept of wildness—that these animals are not pets but live in a world where survival is the most important priority. If a possible predator—including humans—approach, they will do whatever is necessary to protect themselves and their young.

Beyond respecting wildness, I’ve come to distrust what I call mob photography. It happens all over Rocky Mountain National Park: someone spots a moose along the creek or a bear up in a tree, and before you know it, dozens of cars have pulled over, and people, ready with their phones and cameras, run over to the herd of deer or elk.

At least in the park, volunteers are there to caution visitors about getting too close. In other places, photographers, sometimes professional, stalk animals that have been sighted in convenient places, such as along city trails or close to the roads. Someone finds a nest of great horned owl fledglings along a popular trail, and soon hordes of photographers, with their tripods and long-lensed camera, are competing to get the  clearest shot. Or a nest of baby foxes has been spotted near the road, and cars are lined up to take photos of these cute and rambunctious animals.  

Not only do the animals lose their privacy but they also can be hampered in their abilities to survive—whether it’s foraging, raising young or hunting prey.

I’m not immune to this apparently human desire to be as close to wildlife as possible. There’s something innate in us that’s thrilled by wildlife: animals that live by a different set of rules than humans, that look so different, that impress us with their size and ferociousness. Maybe we want to imbibe some of that ferociousness for ourselves.

I’ve taken hundreds, if not thousands, of pictures over the years of wildlife, many from my car: bighorn sheep on the side of the road in South St. Vrain Canyon, and a bear sleeping in a ponderosa tree outside of Estes Park.

But more and more I’ve come to appreciate the serendipitous joy of accidentally coming across wildlife, often while I’m hiking (or sometimes in my kayak), instead of deliberately seeking them out. Whether it’s watching two moose swim across Lily Lake while I’m on an evening walk around the pond or fragile blue dragonflies swarming my kayak, my most notable wildlife encounters have come when I’m just enjoying being in nature. In fact, when I deliberately try to find a big herd of elk in the park, to impress my out-of-state visitors, the animals are nowhere to be found.

What I’ve learned is that the wildlife we view does not exist independently of its surroundings. Everything is connected. The elk eats the grass that is nurtured by the water flowing down from the mountains or rain from the clouds. Stopping to photograph an elk by the side of a road or an owl in a tree separates these celebrity animals from their context. And, while we’re focusing on the megafauna, we’re missing  the butterflies hovering over the mariposa lilies or the storm clouds swiftly moving over the top of Hallett Peak or the grouse (above, left) almost camouflaged among the trees.

Two summers ago, I was on top of Trail Ridge Road,  hiking a path above 11,000 feet and admiring the alpine flowers, when a herd of about 20 elk suddenly appeared (top photo). There were about four or five young ones, which were being rambunctious, chasing each other across the tundra and kicking up their heels. For the 20 or so hikers on the trail, it was a magical moment, wilderness descending on us when we weren’t expecting it.

We were part of nature—not just the elk or the flowers but the marmots running across the tundra, the deep blue sky, the ring of mountains around us, the whistle of the mouse-like pikas. We weren’t looking at nature from our cars on the road, as if nature was one thing and we were another.  We were part of something much larger. It’s at times like that I feel such gratitude toward the world.

Comments

[Jennifer Woodhull]

What a glorious post! Makes me want to get done with my current Project as fast as possible, so I can go up into the mountains again …

[Sally]

You have the most lovely photos of wildlife! You are incredibly lucky to live where you do and having access to so much beautiful nature everywhere! Enjoy!