by Morgan Kimball, YF Field Educator 

Yellowstone was quiet. The usual summer racket had been replaced by a stillness that clung to the bones of the land. Wanting to spend time in the stillness a friend and I ventured into the Rescue Creek area, a decision I would soon regret. The sun dipped low; shadows stretched out like insidious hands. Exhausted from the day hiking off trail, I found myself daydreaming for the comfort of my car. Suddenly, a sharp snap shattered the silence, yanking us from our own inner worlds. The forest, once serene, now felt threatening. In the distance, a lone lodgepole pine swayed unnaturally. My eyes strained to pierce the growing gloom—was that a mere burn scar on the tree, or was it a hand, dark and twisted, gripping the bark? A sense of dread began to build. I glanced at my friend, they felt it too.

A hurried conversation led us to turn back. We had barely covered a hundred feet when came a haunted bellowing sound, something not of this world. The sound crawled up our spines and into our imaginations. Faster we moved. Bursting from the forest into a clearing we saw a dark lake. Hoping to find safety in the open landscape we paused. From the lake’s edge a soul-wrenching wail rose rippling across the water in waves of despair. We stumbled and scrambled up a small gully to the left of the lake, desperate to put distance between ourselves and whatever lurked in the water.

Then from above a shrill and agonizing cry, like a woman in unspeakable torment, tore through the gully. It reverberated through the air, inciting a primal fear that my body recognized immediately. Blind with terror we ran, chased by the forest’s sinister cries into the growing darkness. Yellowstone, once a place of beauty, had become something far more monstrous in my mind.

Landscapes are alive with sound, sounds that can mean many different things. When we hear an unknown sound, our brains react through what’s known as the acoustic startle reflex. This millisecond reaction primes us for a fight-or-flight response even before we fully process sound. Non-linear sounds, such as a crying child or the distressed calls of wildlife, are particularly effective at triggering these responses because they don’t have a consistent relationship between their intensity and perceived loudness.

Horror films take advantage of this response to induce dread. A couple favorite examples are the other-worldly gurgling clicks of the predator in Predator (1987) which were created from the sound of horseshoe crabs, or the hair-raising roar of T. rex in Jurassic Park (1993) which was created by mixing sounds from a baby elephant, tiger, alligator, and a Jack Russell terrier.

When hiking, unfamiliar sounds can startle even the most seasoned naturalist. During fall, the bugle from a male elk can fill an area leaving an eerie haunted feeling. To me, this sound is comforting and familiar, a signal of autumn. During one of my fall programs a group and I were walking around Mammoth Hot Springs when one of the most impressive bellows I’ve ever heard irrupted through air and startled two women so badly they jumped behind me and held each other. We laughed, and I thanked them for thinking I could take on a bull elk!

A loon’s lonely wail is often used in movies to evoke a sense of wild places and suspense. The sound can be quite troubling, but if you want to see how fast a Yellowstone Forever field educator can move be nearby when we hear a loon’s call on Yellowstone Lake, our fear tempered by the excitement of wanting to find one of these rare birds. There are also those who speak of other, stranger sounds echoing from the depths of Yellowstone Lake.

A truly terrifying sound is the shrill cry from female mountain lion seeking a mate. Mountain lions can mate any time of the year but prefer springtime when food is most abundant for their kittens. I have heard this sound as it tore across the Hell Roaring Trail, instantly resulting in goosebumps, not from fear but from the privilege of hearing it.

Not all noises on the landscape are so easily explained nor are all sounds threatening, many are simply misunderstood. The fear of the unknown coupled with the brain’s tendency to fill gaps with imagined threats makes us especially sensitive to sound. In darkness, where our vision is limited, our reliance on hearing heightens, magnifying the impact of sounds and leading to increased fear and anxiety. However, Yellowstone is a place of beauty and wonder. Learning the sounds of this incredible landscape – or soundscape – can transport you to a different place and time. As you sit here, take a moment to listen to the silence around you.

Wait – did you hear that?

 

Images:
Top – YF / Matt Ludin
Bottom – NPS / Jacob W. Frank