One Moment in Time

“One moment in Yellowstone can last a lifetime” said the park service employee in the PBS program on our National Parks, as he spoke of his experiences in Yellowstone National Park.

Listening, I was transported back to the moment I will never forget in Yellowstone. It was at the Old Faithful site and I was completely mesmerized by the energy of the geyser; the colors, the smells and the sounds as the water flume spouted upwards just as it has for years and years, and the mud gurgled at my feet. It was, and is, a primordial scene.

As usual, I had my camera in hand and was absorbed in catching the amazing moments on film. Crouched on the boardwalk, on my knees to get closer to the mud bubbling a foot away, I was oblivious to all except what I could see through my camera lens.

When suddenly, some ancient instinct from deep within me, said, “Look up” and when I did, I was terrified: for coming toward me, on the very boardwalk where I crouched, was the biggest animal I had ever seen that close. One of the bison so prevalent in Yellowstone was headed right toward me. Immediately, the warning the park ranger had given me earlier came screaming back: “they run fast and they get up to speed quickly; they weigh over 2,000 pounds; stay clear of them and do not startle them—whatever you do, do not run from them.” My heart seemed to stop for an instant as the beautiful animal lumbered toward me. In that moment he looked innocent enough, but I knew that was an illusion. Now, my heart was racing: I had to get out of there and quick. But, I did not want to lose my shot. I might never have an opportunity to be this close to a bison again. I might never again have this camera angle.

So, slowly I moved first one foot and then the other backward, my shutter clicking away as the bison continued directly toward me. I was frightened, exhilarated, and determined to get my photograph. As I inched backward, one knee at the time; the animal continued forward, almost in slow motion, completely silent. The only sound I heard was my shutter: click, click, click. It was as though the rest of the Park, indeed the World, had gone silent. It was just the bison and me, and the click of my camera. Then, suddenly he (or she) stopped. Looked at me for a very long moment, and then very carefully with a sure foot, the animal stepped off the boardwalk and began to traverse a path through the hot, bubbling mud, that only he could see. Slowly, I rose to my feet and held my camera down by my side. As he passed me, he looked over at me, as if to say—“hello, have a nice day now, “and then he continued on his way.

When my heart slowed to its normal beat again, I made my way back to the Park Ranger to tell him about the experience and, frankly, just to make human contact. The ranger told me that the animals know where they can step on the ground without getting burned and in fact they do have paths that only they can find. He chided me for getting too close, but congratulated me on remembering not to run.

I accepted the Ranger's comments, but I knew then, as I know today, that my fate was not up to me that morning. The Bison clearly made a decision to pass me by—there is no question that he was the one in charge. It is a moment that will truly last me for a lifetime. I look at my photograph of the magnificent animal and I am thankful for the moment we connected. I have often wondered what the Bison thinks when he remembers the woman with the camera and the racing heart.