The first traffic accident I responded to as a rookie ranger from Southern California was in the middle of the night on a curve just north of the Buffalo Ford Picnic Area.
It looked like a single car crash when I arrived. I could see a small car in the middle of the road, engine running, and only one headlight working. I walked up to the car to check on the driver and passengers for any injuries.
“Is everyone ok?
“We’re ok. All three of us had our seatbelts on.”
“Can you tell me what happened?”
The driver kept staring toward the right side of the roadway and saying, “Buff…Buffalo!”
“We were headed for Canyon Village when that buffalo ran across the road in front of us. I tried to stop but I hit him and then he rolled off the hood and kicked the headlight out.”
Looking at the passengers in the car, they had the same look of disbelief as the driver kept saying, “We just hit a buffalo. We just hit a buffalo.”
I didn’t plan on taking a written statement, road measurements or any photos until I knew exactly where that bison had gone after being hit.
I pointed my flashlight toward a meadow on the right side of the car and there he was. A 2,000-pound bison about 20 feet off the paved road in the dark shadows, bellowing, waving his head back and forth, and pawing the ground. He was standing his ground and ready to charge his one-eyed enemy if it made any sudden moves.
The standoff lasted a few minutes. And then it was over. The bison called it a night. Walked off and disappeared into a stand of lodge pole pines along the Yellowstone River.
A Ranger's Journal 