Decisions, Decisions

Though I’ve had the privilege of visiting Yellowstone in times past, something was different about my trip this year. Plans went sideways before they could even begin. I had intended to spend the entire holiday weekend exploring trails and driving through the expansive landscape. The forecast had other plans. Nothing but ominous clouds and stormy weather for the days to come. This meant a gloomy overcast would hang adamantly in the sky while I would bear the consequences below. Normally, this wouldn’t be enough to deter me; I have come to this place since I was a child and am all too familiar with the park’s unpredictable moods. But then came snow—and snowy roads are unforgiving at the Montana-Wyoming border in mid-October. Getting stuck was a real concern, and I would get less than a day in Yellowstone, as that was all circumstances would allow. 

I packed up the car. 

Gloom and Doom

Rolling into the park entrance, there was no question things were different. Since the 2025 government shutdown, which began on October 1st, things had shifted dramatically. There were six park rangers at the entrance. Weeks ago there would’ve been at least twelve.

Under the Trump Administration’s current contingency plan for the National Park Service, approximately 9,296 employees have been furloughed without pay nationwide during the shutdown. Since January of this year, more than a quarter of the National Park Service’s permanent staff have lost their jobs. According to the National Parks Conservation Association, when parks have remained open during shutdowns, they’ve risked damage from illegal off-roading, vandalism, overflowing trash, environmental destruction, and more. This has been observed in Death Valley, Sequoia, and Kings National Parks. Keeping parks open with only a skeleton crew can be risky and threatening to both visitors and the ecosystem. Conversely, closing parks means substantial loss in revenue. This often forces the Park Service to make up for the cost of labor, cancel educational programs and special events, and scramble to maintain resources in absence of sufficient staff. Wanting to know more about what impacts looked like in Yellowstone, I called the Public Information Office. No one picked up.

What the Wolves Would Say

The landscape made it impossible to remain pessimistic. Just outside the car window was a large gathering of elk, and one very proud bull with an impressive set of antlers adorning his head. More clouds were rolling in. He did not seem fazed in the slightest.

The Greater Yellowstone Ecosystem marks one of the largest nearly intact temperate-zone ecosystems on Earth. Almost half of the Earth’s active geysers exist within the national park. Across the park’s 2.2 million acres live hundreds of species—mammals, birds, fish, reptiles, and amphibians—according to the National Park Service. This is home to the country’s largest wild bison herd, as well as one of the largest elk herds in North America. Yellowstone hosts other notable species such as the gray wolf, moose, coyote, bighorn sheep, bald eagle, and the mighty grizzly. Given all these remarkable features, it’s no surprise that Yellowstone became the very first national park, established on March 1, 1872. The story doesn’t end there, however. Yes, Yellowstone was established, but it was the first of its kind, so many protections, restrictions, and conservation laws were not clearly designated, let alone in existence. The result was a clear lack of administrative support and knowledge of ecosystem dynamics. Perhaps one of the most devastating impacts of early policies (or lack thereof) was the complete extirpation of gray wolves. The last wolf pack was killed in 1926. 

Thankfully, the Endangered Species Act, enacted in 1973, outlined efforts that aided in restoration of gray wolf populations. The reintroduction of wolves into the Greater Yellowstone Ecosystem has been associated with increased biodiversity and improved predation interactions—and where there is biodiversity, resilience follows. Now, the ecosystem thrives under persistent conservation efforts and dedicated stewardship by the National Park Service, demonstrating the importance of adequate funding and support in protecting invaluable areas.

Fall Unfaltering

Clouds became mist over the lodgepole pines. The rain retreated to passing showers. Occasional dapples of sunlight would make their way through the clouds to kiss the landscape. Just alongside the road, a herd of particularly aggravated bison demonstrated their frustrations through a series of huffs and groans. Dampened by the rain, they carried on with quiet determination. Hours later, two grizzly bears would wander the treeline together. Then there was the coyote. I caught her in the middle of a hunt, or at least an attempt at one. Among the tall grasses, she’d wait, tail wagging impatiently from side to side. Suddenly, she pounces! Nothing. Over and over she repeated this process in hopes for a meal. I left her to her quest. 

Curiously, the dismal weather livened the landscape. I became acutely aware of the auburn-toned grasses that blanketed clearings. The yellow aspens staged a visual drama against the otherwise darkened landscape. The thermal pools, though particularly vivid in clear-skies, presented their quiet pigments to me in the rain. The atmosphere carried a promise of colder days. For now though, there is color.

There and Back Again

The drive back felt longer than it was, but it allowed me time to reflect. Everything in Yellowstone is intertwined through a delicate balance of interdependence: the wolves and elk, the grasses and rain, the people who choose to protect them. I am reminded that conservation is not a static act but a living dialogue between species, weather, and time. Despite shutdowns, storms, and setbacks, life here persists—and so must our commitment to it. Conservation is as much about people as it is about wildlife. The park’s resilience—seen in the return of wolves, the thriving bison herds, and even the color that endures amid the gloom—is proof that recovery is possible when care and funding are consistent. The wolves have shown us what can happen under mismanagement and inadequate support, and they remind us that good policies are instrumental in sustaining healthy ecosystems. Without active and intentional efforts, national parks are at risk of collapsing from the inside out. It is easy to feel powerless when the big decisions are made without us. However, true ecosystem conservation depends not only on grand gestures but on the daily work of stewardship, advocacy, and rooted devotion to the land—something we cannot afford to abandon, no matter the climate.