The Burros of Peace and the Bisons of Death

A dangerous encounter with wildlife

Here is a story people seem to enjoy: the time I faced Death coming on four legs.

 We left Whitefish at sunrise, right after checking with one another that we had packed the mandatory carrots purchased the previous night. It was our intent to reach Custer State Park, perhaps now my favorite of Parks, well before sunset so as to see the sights, but even more importantly to allow for a leisurely negotiation of our admission.  

Fortunately we were forewarned by our Triple A guidebook of the key points of this procedure. Sure enough, almost immediately upon passing a park entrance sign, we encountered the infamous population of wild burros, standing shoulder to shoulder defiantly blocking our way. We had prepared for this earlier, tearing open our bags of carrots and placing them on the center console for easy access. We now opened our car windows, stuck out our arms, and high in the air wiggled carrots to signal our friendly intentions.

We were swarmed. Initially confronted by a competition of animals jostling and shouldering their way to a window, we were more than a little unnerved. Also, we quickly discovered the chomping teeth of a greedy burro can be quite dangerous. It took a long time to give each and every burro its fill of carrot, for that was the price of admission. But as we got them fed the numbers surrounding the car slowly thinned, and burros with full, or at least partially full stomachs, ambled off across the grassland.

All in all we had found the encounter a rare, entertaining, and rather heartwarming event. We motored away with a wistful feeling that bordered on regret.

Some time later we reached our campground. This promised another unique experience as we saw very few tents but a multitude of elk populating the grounds. Few were on their feet; the majority lay sprawled all about, quite a few occupying designated tent camping spots. Have you ever seen an elk up close? They are rather immense, imposing creatures. Well they seemed peaceful enough as they lay dreaming or chewing their cud. This is a digestive process of ruminants, as they tend to swallow their food whole, then later leisurely vomit it back into their mouths and give it a good chewing. Whoever originally named them ruminants, derived from the verb ruminate, meaning to think deeply, felt that this class of animals which includes cows, goats, elk, and a few other species, were serious thinkers as they chewed away.

As I nervously erected our tent, no more than ten feet from a prone elk, I was certain it glared at me in hostility, and I could easily read its deep thinking.  It did not want us there!

I was quite anxious as to what the night might bring. Elk are nocturnal animals year round, however it was mid-September, typically the start of the elk rutting season, a period of aggressive behavior by the bulls. Well into the night sleep eluded me. When I did start to nod off, I would be jerked back awake by the horrifying bugling of a bull elk wishing to copulate with a cow in estrus.  My heart pounding, I listened long enough to realize the bugling was a fiction created by my tired brain seeking to immediately dream. Eventually I did sleep and the hours until morning proved uneventful.

We awakened to a beautiful morning to find ourselves still surrounded by elk. After an early breakfast, we unloaded our bikes from the roof of the car, intending a leisurely ride through the rolling grasslands, and made sure we carried carrots in case of any random burro encounters. 

We cycled out of the campground, anticipating a two or three hour ride through beautiful rolling countryside, only to be forced to a halt a few hundred yards down the road. A bison clan blocked the way. Perhaps two dozen animals were bedded

down on the warm asphalt, undoubtedly digesting breakfast, dozing, dreaming buffalo

dreams. Many more were on their feet, grazing on either side of the road. They seemed

quite passive, yet stubbornly immobile as we stood watching them. For thirty minutes we stood watching them.

Frustrated, finally I said to Diana let’s just cycle very slowly through the herd. They seem calm enough. Stay close on my rear wheel and you’ll be fine. I began pedaling my way around the first two or three cows lying in the road. Almost immediately bison began leaping to their feet, began running this way and that, forcing me to swerve this way and that. I had only gone a few more feet when I heard, or maybe just felt, a gut-wrenching rumble like thunder coming from my right. Trying to remain upright and not collide with a panicked cow, I had to intensely focus on the constantly shifting obstacle course before me. But fearful of that sound, I stole a quick sideways glance and saw the giant bull making himself known, rumbling out a warning to the herd, pawing at the prairie grass. Within seconds he charged. I stood up out of the saddle, pedaled for my

very life, dodging fleeing bison cows. Every second I expected a horn to be thrust through my back and out my belly. Every second I expected to die.

Upon hearing this story people tell me I am a fool. A very lucky fool.

 I was lucky. Apparently that bull was satisfied with giving me, and his females, a good scare, and he stopped his charge a few feet short of contact with my quivering body.

When I reached clear asphalt, unharmed but frightened witless, I turned around to make sure Diana was still right behind me and was unharmed.

Oh yeah, she was ok. She was standing in the road 50 yards back where my crazy ride had started. Whether she lacked the courage, or whether it was her good sense, either way she had not stayed on my rear wheel.

 A great many agitated bison now separated us, still blocking the road. Now what?  Not only could we not go riding, we couldn’t even stand together while watching bison, attempting small talk. Maybe just as well as I expect Diana’s talk would have been neither small nor pleasant.

It was turning into a very long, frustrating morning. I can truthfully report that when they are not trying to kill you, it gets pretty darn tedious standing around watching a bunch of buffalo do not much of anything.

Well not much of anything continued for a long time. I stood in the middle of a road, in

the middle of a big state park, and Diana did also. Together in frustration, if not exactly

together by location, we waited, waited, waited. I was torn between relief that I had

not been run down or gored by the bison boss, and increasing frustration and growing

anger that Diana had not stuck with me. 

Eventually a van drove up on Diana’s side, stopped, and once apprised of the situation, the gallant driver offered Diana his services. He was after all a wildlife photographer, so he claimed, intimately familiar with the ways of bison. He offered to escort Diana through the herd. With great relief she prepared to lift her bike into the back of his van, but oh no he said, I will drive very slowly through the herd, you stick right behind me, you’ll be ok. Duh, hadn’t she heard this plan before?

MEN, they’re all alike.

Well she did follow the van, stayed right on his rear wheel, so to speak.  She arrived on my side shaking like a leaf?, no shaking like a woman who never again wanted to see a bison, or a man for that matter.

So, in sour moods, we rode over hill and dale for an hour or two, but by now it was so hot it was quite unpleasant. We turned back, thinking surely the bison clan would have moved on. Nope, we found them still enjoying an entire day grazing and lazing, blocking the only road. There they remained.

This stupid misadventure seemed endless, but finally a park ranger came along, let us

load our bikes into the back of his pickup, let us briefly ride in the cab, and slowly

forced stubborn bison out of the road. Prior to dropping us off at the campground, he

had just enough time to authoritatively explain that when a bicycle chain passes

through the derailleurs, it makes a noise exactly like a hissing rattle snake, explaining

why bison dislike cyclists. Pure bullshit from a man who hadn’t ridden a bike of any

sort since the age of eight. But did we argue? Hell no.

The truth is, tourists don’t belong disturbing the last of these wonderful, beautiful

creatures in the last of the very small natural habitat allowed them. They don’t want us

there and we should respect that. Every year, thousands of tourists pour through their home. How they must hate us!

So much of the world is incredibly beautiful, yet incredibly painful for me. I enjoyed writing down this true story for you, but the process also aroused pain.

I hope at least I entertained you a little bit.