When Bison Grieve: Notes From Montana's Fair-Chase Hunt

A typical scene from Yellowstone country, yet heart-breaking in its timeless beauty: Three bull bison bedded down in winter-yellow bunch grass and sagebrush. A fourth grazes nearby. Winter’s biting chill has arrived; heavy snow is imminent. As they have done for eons, wild bison settle in and prepare to endure a season of cold. These are descendents of the fortunate 23 who escaped the great extermination of the 1870s, finding refuge in remote Yellowstone. The serene and abiding image they create today belies their turbulent, tragic past.

Into this setting walk seven humans -- four intent on taking a life, three determined to witness and record that passing.

Some 50, maybe 60 yards away, the bison observed our intrusion with little concern. The hunting tag-holder dropped to the ground and supported her rifle on a blue backpack. She settled in while the three men in her crew coached her on shot placement. During the eternity before she fired, I fumbled the camera with trembling hands and wondered, Is this what Montana considers fair-chase hunting? Shooting an animal not even on his feet? The shot exploded.

Whether he was hit that time, I don’t know. The resting animals stood up, more startled, it seemed, than frightened. The targeted animal walked slowly to the right. Unlike other ungulates, bison typically don’t flee; our continent’s largest terrestrial mammal has the luxury of facing down his foe. It’s likely that Yellowstone bison figure the wolf as their most lethal threat, yet they will stand their ground against fang and claw, and usually come out unscathed. But unlike wolves, bullets don’t back down, and the second shot rang, then a third. If there was a fourth, I don’t remember.

He fell, and the scene became an impressionistic blur: storm clouds gathering behind Electric Peak, pungent perfume from low, gnarled sagebrush. A bright patch of snow, brighter splashes of blaze orange, of blood. Congratulatory calls of “Good shot!” from the crew. As the bison lay dying, the silence was broken now and again with incongruous giggles from the shooter. Nervous relief, perhaps.

Do bison grieve? Decide for yourself. The remaining three slowly gathered around their fallen
brother, the carriage of their tails registering distress. One, in particular, seemed especially anguished; he pawed the motionless shoulder as if to rouse him. Getting no response, he nudged the body with his head, then with the shank of his horn. Again and again he nudged and butted and pushed; finally, in an act of utter pathos, he lay down in resignation next to the body. Foam tinged pink with blood frothed from a bullet hole.

The crew was unhappy with this turn of events; the tag-holder complained that the meat would spoil. “How long are they going to stay?” she asked in exasperation. “They need time to mourn,” my companion replied, exasperation in his own voice.

She drove them off with a couple of shots and duct-taped her tag to the lifeless horn.
_______________________________________________________________________
Since the documentation of this death, several more bison have been gunned down while grazing. In another instance, no fewer than 11 distressed animals surrounded their dying herdmate.
_________________________________________

The author joined BFC volunteers in Gardiner, MT to document two deaths on the day following Thanksgiving.

Yellowstone’s bison are subjected to hazing, capture, quarantine, and slaughter by Montana’s Department of Livestock when they migrate out of the park. They are not considered wildlife and are afforded no habitat in the state. Buffalo Field Campaign, while not an anti-hunting group, opposes this hunt as one more politically-driven tool with which to exterminate wild bison. BFC volunteers are in the field every day documenting the on-going persecution and working for the day when Montana designates bison habitat on public lands surrounding Yellowstone. Information and photo and video documentation are available at http://www.buffalofieldcampaign.org.