In the Heart of Winter, An Abundance of Wildlife

Wolves in Yellowstone

Wolves, I learned from watching them in Yellowstone National Park, are clever team players. The pack of 10 that I spied several years ago in the Lamar Valley in the north of the park did diligent reconnaissance of a reddish baby bison, making repeated forays to come between the calf and its mother, at one point drawing a stampeding two-ton bull, which scattered them briefly. But they could only keep it up for so long before collapsing and resting, seemingly distracted, as if their lives did not depend on this kill. The drama went on and off like this until we could no longer see them in the dark. In the morning, a carcass, picked over and attracting ravens, indicated they had been successful.

Seeing an apex predator on its game in the nation’s oldest national park is a bit like watching a “Nature” documentary live — thrilling and sometimes gory — but without the edits between plot points. Patience is a virtue when it comes to wildlife-watching generally, and that is especially true of wolves.

But in the winter, when their dark coats stand out against the snow, is a good time to try.

“Wolves thrive in the cold,” said Tanya Anderson, the wildlife expeditions director for Teton Science Schools, which runs trips in Yellowstone and Grand Teton national parks. “Their thick coats keep them warm but can lead to stress in summer. They’re often more active in winter.” She added that January and February are breeding months for wolves, so visitors might hear more howling.

With the heavy snow in the higher elevations, the primary prey of wolves — bison, elk and deer — come down to lower elevation areas, such as the Lamar Valley, where Wolf Tracker, a guide service, offers tours ($800 for four).

“Wolves are using a smaller area in the wintertime because so much of the landscape is constrained by snow,” said Nathan Varley, the co-founder of Wolf Tracker and a wildlife biologist who monitored the wolves when they were reintroduced to the park in 1995. As of January 2021, an estimated 123 wolves lived in Yellowstone, though about 20 have been killed recently outside the park, where hunting and trapping regulations have been relaxed.

“Wolves have such an iconic place in our mythology,” Mr. Varley said. “They co-evolved with us, and some became our dogs and some who stayed in the wild became more mysterious. The reintroduction created an opportunity for people to rediscover wild wolves in a new way.” — ELAINE GLUSAC

Great gray owls in Minnesota

Kyle Te Poel, a Minnesota birding guide, says the most common reaction to the main attraction on his Sax-Zim Bog winter tours is that suck-in-your-breath moment of seeing the mystical become real in the flesh — or in this case, the feathers.

“Typically it’s a hushed silence for minutes on end, punctuated by an occasional whisper of ‘oh, my God,’” Mr. Te Poel said.

If there’s a bird worth putting on a bucket list, it’s Strix nebulosa — a nearly three-foot-tall nebulous stack of mottled gray plumage, with an oversize facial disc punctuated by fearsome yellow eyes and a dapper bow tie of white feathers.

North America’s tallest owl, the great gray is a top-shelf predator of the boreal North, which means it requires an ample and steady supply of voles to survive. And what the Sax-Zim Bog lacks in living conditions for humans (Sax and Zim are the names of two ghost towns about 50 miles northwest of Duluth, Minn.), it more than makes up for with vole habitat. According to Sparky Stensaas, the executive director of the birder nonprofit conservation group Friends of Sax-Zim Bog, the 300-square-mile bog contains a “magic mix” of soggy black spruce and tamarack stands “interspersed with meadows and fields filled with meadow voles.”

But, Mr. Stensaas cautions birders, Sax-Zim is not a park. It’s a network of sometimes rough gravel roads winding through private and public lands. The Friends group maintains a welcome center at the south end of the bog, and in the last winter before the pandemic about 6,000 people registered in the visitor center’s log, coming from 45 states and 14 countries, including Colombia, India and Australia.

“All the Big Year birders come here,” said Mr. Stensaas, who guided the Dutch birder Arjan Dwarshuis in Sax-Zim in 2016 on his record-breaking global tour to see 6,852 bird species in a single year. Sax-Zim and its great gray owls appear in the 2004 nonfiction book “The Big Year” by Mark Obmascik, and the subsequent 2011 movie of the same name. Ironically, Mr. Dwarshuis and one of the Big Year birders missed their Great Grays in the bog, because of their fast-paced schedule of accumulating bird species in a race.

Visitors who take their time have a “50-50” chance of seeing one, Mr. Stensaas says, which goes up the more time you spend in Sax-Zim. There are upward of two dozen great gray owls that breed and live in the bog year-round, he said, and December through March is the best time to see them: “Great Grays are more visible in winter since they come out of the deep, dark spruce bogs to hunt roadsides and meadows.”

According to Mr. Stensaas, great gray seekers can up their chances of an encounter by getting up early and staying out until dusk. “Great grays are crepuscular, so they primarily hunt at dawn and dusk,” he said. He also advises birders to check out the weekly Sax-Zim Bog birding report, which posts recent great gray sightings, and to stop at the Friends of Sax-Zim Bog Visitor Center where naturalists and interpreters offer the latest advice on what’s in the bog. The Friends’ website offers a list of guides, many of whom donate a portion of their proceeds to the group’s land preservation mission. Rates start at $250 to $400 for half-day trips. — GUSTAVE AXELSON

Humpbacks in Hawaii

Humpback whales are found in every ocean, according to the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration. In the Pacific, many spend their summers feeding in the rich waters of Alaska then migrate some 3,000 miles to mate and give birth in tropical Hawaii in the winter.

“We’re smack in the middle of a national marine sanctuary and we believe it’s the protected coastal waters that attract the moms and calves here looking for shallow water and sheltered bays,” said Jens Currie, the chief scientist in the domestic research program at the Pacific Whale Foundation, a nonprofit research organization based on Maui.

An estimated 10,000 to 12,000 humpbacks migrate annually to Hawaii during the November-to-May season, but other than mothers with their calves, most travel solo, making the migration a steady stream of individuals rather than a mass arrival.

“There’s a constant coming and leaving in whale season,” Mr. Currie said, noting that the average stay is three to six weeks.

January, February and March have the highest concentrations of whales, including calves as well as “competition pods” of males seeking to mate with a female.

“That’s a favorite to observe, because there’s lots of surface activity and head lunges as males try to push down competing males,” he added. “If you follow it long enough, you can identify the principal male escort that is defending the female, then the secondary male trying to jostle the primary escort out of position in hopes of being her next suitor.”

Travelers hoping to see this display, as well as other dramatic behaviors, such as breaching and tail-slapping, can take a whale-watching cruise in the Auau Channel between Maui, Molokai and Lanai with Maui-based PacWhale Eco Adventures, which is owned by the foundation and helps fund its research (trips from $59.95 for two hours).

While humpbacks are almost always seen on the cruises in season, naturalist guides will point out other species common in the area, including bottlenose and spinner dolphins, green sea turtles, monk seals and other whales such as pygmy and melon-headed varieties. Occasionally, the crew spots endangered false killer whales.

Researchers, like camera-toting tourists, are often waiting for a humpback to dive deep, which is signaled when they lift their fluke in descent. The move offers a chance to see their unique tail fins, which are essentially thumbprints for a whale, identifying individuals.

“They take larger breaths and you can tell they’re starting to go down,” Mr. Currie said. “That’s the money shot.”

— ELAINE GLUSAC

Bison, wild horses and sandhill cranes in Florida

It is a surprising sight, this vast grassy wetlands that stretches as far as the eye can see in the heart of Central Florida. Named the Great Alachua Savannah by the American naturalist William Bartram, Paynes Prairie Preserve State Park is 21,000 acres of diverse habitat for snakes, river otters, white-tailed deer, wild turkey, bobcats, hawks and, of course, American alligators, as well as a wintering ground for waterfowl. The wetland — Florida’s first state preserve — was designated a National Natural Landmark in 1974 based on its wildlife and flora and the conservation efforts to protect them, including the reintroduction of bison to the state in 1975 and the care of the park’s wild horses.

Yes, bison and wild horses.

Bison once roamed as far south as Florida and were reintroduced to Paynes Prairie in 1975. “There’s an estimated population of about 50 bison currently at Paynes Prairie, and the herd usually roams in two groups of about 35 and 15 members,” said the assistant park manager, Heather Goston. As for the park’s wild horses, they descended from the equines brought to Florida by the Spanish in the early 16th century.

Birders will be richly rewarded. The preserve is the western gateway site for the Great Florida Birding and Wildlife Trail, a network of over 500 viewing sites across the state. From November to February, leggy sandhill cranes, with their distinct warbling honk, make the prairie their home. Among the nearly 300 species of birds on the park’s checklist of residents are limpkins with their long beaks; the gorgeous red, pink and white roseate spoonbills; ​​and relative rarities such as tundra swans, golden eagles and the striking bright orange vermilion flycatcher.

With eight trails equaling 30 miles, there are a number of ways for hikers, bikers and even equestrians to enjoy the prairie, including the Gainesville-Hawthorne State Trail, which begins at Boulware Springs Park in nearby Gainesville and winds 16 miles through the preserve. Many visitors find themselves on the La Chua Trail, which starts as a boardwalk at the northern entrance of the park, then turns into a grassy mile-and-a-half path ending at a viewing platform. The 2.6-mile Bolen Bluff Trail winds through an oak hammock, which is a habitat for bobcats, white-tailed deer and wild turkeys.

A 50-foot-tower just off the park’s southern, and main, entrance offers a panoramic view of the prairie and is a nearly foolproof way to spot the bison and horses. There is also a campground and the 300-acre Lake Wauberg, rich with bass, bream and speckled perch.

Those heading to the park for the first time are wise to take advantage of the visitor center and its audiovisual program, which explains the area’s natural and cultural history. Ranger-led programs are held weekly at the campground’s bathhouse, as well as on the northern rim of the Rim Ramble Trail. The park is open from 8 a.m. until sundown daily; the cost is $6 per vehicle. If time allows, swing by The Yearling Restaurant, housed in a cabin in nearby Hawthorne, close to where Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings wrote the Pulitzer Prize-winning novel “The Yearling.” — COLLEEN CREAMER

More bison in New Mexico

For many Native American tribes, bison provided not just food, but shelter, clothing, tools, jewelry and more. The slaughter of millions of the animals by settlers in the West in the 19th century was part of a plan to control Native Americans and to clear the way for railroads and cattle, leaving fewer than 1,000 bison by the 1890s, according to the National Park Service.

Today, bison have rebounded largely as livestock, but the country’s national mammal can also be seen in the wild in several state and national parks and wildlife refuges, such as Custer State Park in South Dakota.

In southern New Mexico, they are also a keystone species on two private ranches owned by Ted Turner, the founder of CNN who is also a bison rancher and conservationist. Wildlife biologists and managers of the 360,000-acre Armendaris Ranch, about 160 miles south of Albuquerque, and the nearby 156,000-acre Ladder Ranch are attempting to restore the land to a time before European contact, including reintroducing bison and nurturing species — like the Bolson tortoise — native to the northern Chihuahuan Desert.

About 30 years ago, reintroducing bison led to the entire ecosystem restoration, because grass wouldn’t grow in the overgrazed range, according to Jade McBride, the managing director of Ted Turner Reserves, which oversees the two properties. Invasive species needed to be removed, and endemic ones, like bighorn sheep, reintroduced.

“The process to restore and heal the land to create an environment where bison could live led to some of his biggest and most impactful work,” Mr. McBride said, referring to Mr. Turner’s efforts.

Guided tours allow visitors to explore the private ranges and help fund the conservation work. All outings are private and can be done by biking, hiking or in open-air vehicles (half-day tours $350 for two). From June to September, special expeditions visit the lava caves on the property that attract roughly one million Mexican free-tailed bats, which come seasonally to have their young, streaming out en masse each evening to forage.

Many visitors stay nearby in the town of Truth or Consequences where Ted Turner Reserves operates the 17-room Sierra Grande Lodge (rooms from $160), with indoor and outdoor hot springs.

Whatever day trip you choose, you’re likely to see many species, such as mule deer and possibly bear.

“It does feel a lot like an American safari,” Mr. McBride said.

— ELAINE GLUSAC

Sea Lions in Los Angeles

Moviegoers can be forgiven if they believe coyotes wandering from the desert to yodel above Modernist rooftops are Los Angeles’s wildlife stars, but most people within earshot of the Pacific know better, especially during winter when beach revelers head indoors and their din is replaced by barking sea lions. Like their tiny ears, sea lions stand out and are louder, generally heavier and more sociable than their seal cousins — the latter’s lack of external ears is a quick way of telling them apart. Sea lions also have longer flippers to propel themselves off the beach, so they’re landlubbers, too, sometimes getting as far as a mile into the urban jungles of Los Angeles.

“We call them ocean puppies, because they’re playful and get around,” said Amber Becerra, the chief executive of Marine Mammal Care Center, a rescue center in Los Angeles. Their sociability comes in part from how they’re raised. “Seals only need six months to nurse with their mothers. Sea lions need more than a year.”

There’s hardly been a better time to check out the sea lions along Southern California’s coast, thanks to the recent pandemic beach bans that have given sea lions room to reclaim space, especially on long stretches of Los Angeles’s abandoned shores.

“We have a theory when the humans stay inside, the animals thrive,” Ms. Becerra said. “The basic rule out in the wild,” she added, “is to stay at least 50 yards away from them,”

The center is open to the public. To get within herring-throwing distance of sea lions, make an appointment for the 11 a.m. feeding time and head to the pools in back where staff feed up to 70 “patients” a day. Pups often show off when visitors are present, leaping ballerina-like from the pools. When they are fattened up enough and have been trained to catch fish, they are released back to the Pacific.

Otherwise, it’s easy to find them in the wild. Just listen for the barks. One of their more popular hangouts is two hours’ drive south of Los Angeles at La Jolla Cove, a major sea lion rookery. A cliff trail along the shore takes you right above the sea lion colonies and down to Children’s Pool Beach, where they sprawl out together like a giant shag rug.

King Harbor in Redondo Beach has so many sea lions that it’s become a matter of controversy among property owners, fishermen and conservationists.

But my favorite spot is smack in the middle of Los Angeles’s urban shores in Marina del Rey where sea lions lounge on the boats, buoys and docks like teenage truants. During a recent visit, I rented a paddle board on Mother’s Beach and drifted into the main channel. The 50-yard-rule was almost impossible here as a sea lion swam up to have a closer look. In summer, the Marina is packed with boaters and strollers, but in December I felt like an outcast human on Planet of the Sea Lions. In some unseen jut of dock, one emitted a short burst of enthusiastic barks. An instant later it was joined from the other shore and soon the marina erupted into a cheery call and response, a loud reminder of just how nebulous the wilderness borders of Los Angeles are. — FINN-OLAF JONES

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