Nature is a wonderful thing. It is truly a self-sufficient entity. It has a way of dealing with weak animals, and only the strong survive thus ensuring the best gene pool. One creature's death means life and food for another. This amazing circle of life has been going round and round for eons. Humans are only a miniscule part of this circle, and mother nature has been taking care of herself without us for a long time.

The policy of "let it be" that is practiced in the national parks is based on this idea. I believe in this policy. I believe it is the right thing to do. Or at least I did until I was personally touched by a life-or-death situation where I had to make a choice.

This heart-wrenching incident happened in Yellowstone National Park. I went from helpless bystander to impassioned leader when I initiated the rescue of a buffalo from a mudhole. Without human intervention, this yearling buffalo was sure to perish. I believed in "let it be" until I saw "it's" face. Then, suddenly I was no longer a passive outsider. I looked into "it's" eyes and felt "it's" despair. I could no longer let-it-be.

I have always been a sucker for a critter-in-need. I've rescued countless birds, turtles, and snakes and bugs who managed to put themselves a little too close to civilization. I put seed out for the birds in winter. I'll even take a spider outside and set it free instead of squashing it. Once, while I was mowing my lawn, I ran over a snake and inflicted a fatal gash through his midsection. I sat and cried and quietly talked to him while he died, so he wouldn't have to die alone. So, naturally, when I saw another of God's creatures in trouble, I had to step in and do what I could.

This had been the wettest spring I can remember. The rivers were swollen far beyond their normal banks, and there were numerous new lakes covering areas I remember as being meadows. I saw mountains reflected in pools that last summer were fields of dry grass. This year, the number of buffalo whose fate was to get stuck in the mud and die there was staggering. A certain section * of the park was littered with carcasses. I counted five within about a 1/2 mile stretch of road. This was part of my justification for doing what I did. The coyotes, bears and ravens in that corner of the park didn't need another carcass. There was plenty of meat around for them to feed on. They didn't need this one. And he was just a yearling. He hadn't lived yet. He hadn't had a mate yet, hadn't had children yet. He was still alive, and I could do something about it. I could choose to "let nature take it's course" or I could intervene and possibly save his life.

When I first saw him, I thought he was just laying down, resting from the day's activity of foraging for food amoung the new spring growth just starting to cover the land. There was another yearling reclined a few feet away. There was no reason to suspect anything was amiss. When I drove by again about « hour later, he was in the same position, the same friend at his side. The thought that hit me then was that he was already dead because he wasn't moving and his face was caked with mud. I decided to take a picture (yes, it upsets me to see something dead, but that's nature, and one creature's death means another's life, etc, etc). As I lifted the camera to my eye, I saw him struggle. I moved closer and realized something big was happening here. I was drawn into a drama that would leave me shaken and with memories I would never forget.

I wanted to do something about this, (he was alive, I could help), but I realized I probably should inform the rangers about it. I ran to my car and raced back to the nearest visitor's center. I hurried in and informed the man at the desk (his name tag identified him as a volunteer, not a ranger) that there was a bison stuck in the mud and could we do something about it. He said "No ma'am, that's nature and we have to let nature take it's course. If an animal dies, he becomes food for other animals." And when my face showed disappointment and sadness, he added, "There's a chance he'll get out on his own, or his mother will push him out". I tried hard to agree with him. After all, I want to see the bears, coyotes and ravens become healthy and flourish. This is how they do it. They have to kill something (or eat something that has died). With tears choking me, I left the building and got back in my car. Let nature take its course is the right thing to do. But this was different, I saw his face and looked into his eyes. I could touch him, and he was still alive. He didn't have to die. I could save his life. Now I was personally, emotionally involved.

When you think about it, any touch by the hand of man is contradictory to the let-it-be policy. Roads and trails built for tourists interfere with the animals' natural wanderings. Roads also cause deaths of the few animals that get hit by cars each year. Trails brings humans further into the backcountry where they come in contact with animals they would not see if not for the trails. Relocating bears that have become too accustomed to humans is certainly a sign of human intervention. Carcasses are moved off the road or moved away so as not to attract gawkers and cause a traffic problem. Trees that fall across a trail or road are removed. And what about reintroducing the wolves. Several of them left the park after being set free. The "widowed" female and her cubs were brought back in after she wandered outside of the boundaries. Let it be?

I drove back to the site and watched for a long time. I had to do something. The animal lover in me couldn't let him die. But the law-abiding citizen in me was afraid now. Now that I had reported it to the authorities, and they had refused to help, my interfering might be against the law. I could get in real trouble for this.

So, I waited until there were no cars passing, and ran down to him and tried to push him out. He was stuck pretty good, and I was getting discouraged. Eventually, a car pulled up and stopped by the side of the road. The occupants said they'd been there 3 hours ago and witnessed a ranger calling for help. The ranger had assured them there would be someone shortly with ropes to pull the bison out. Well, no one had shown up yet. I said "I have a tow-rope". The woman in the car said "Let's do it". So we attached my tow rope to the bison's neck, and I got behind him in the mud. With pulling, pushing and digging through the mud, we finally got him free. He was very weak, and his legs were not working, although he was kicking a little, and they didn't appear to be broken. We tried to get him to stand, but he couldn't. He was pretty thin, and it appeared he'd been stuck there for quite a while. He sat up, though, with his head errect and eyes alert, and we were hopeful that he was going to make it. Two rangers finally showed up and convinced us we couldn't do anything more and that we should leave so as not to cause a traffic jam of gawkers. We didn't get ticketed or even scolded for interfering, but I got the impression that the rangers thought we were meddling tourists and they were a little sick of people like us. I placed a pile of snow next to the bison's head so he could take water when he wanted to without having to get up, and cleaned some of the mud off his face. We then left him in the care of mother nature and went our separate ways.

Normally, I would have photographically fully covered the event, but, because I was involved in the extrication, I did not. For only a brief instant, while I was ankle and elbow deep in the mud, I thought about the camera, and maybe filming this event and letting the others finish the job. This would make a great video. But I was so caught up in the drama that that idea quickly faded. When it was all over, I was so drained, and there was still so much uncertainty in his fate that I wasn't able to get a "happy ending" picture. Neither did I go back to check on him, because if he was no longer there, I wouldn't know if he had recovered and walked away, or he had died and the rangers had moved his body. And if he was still there, it would have made me sad all over again, because there was now nothing I could do to help. I decided, instead, to pick the ending I wanted. I wanted him to get well and walk away to live a full life, so that's the ending I choose to remember.

So, I chose to get involved. And in doing so, I may have broken the law and upset the balance. I guess you never know what you will do until you are faced with the decision. In this situation, it seemed clear to me there was only one choice. Did I do the right thing? Would you have done the same?

* The names of people and exact locations have been changed to protect the possibly not-so-innocent.