I had the pleasure of spending a great deal of time in the Northern Rockies this summer. Anyone who’s been to places like Glacier National Park and Yellowstone National Park understands just how special the ecosystem is. A photo enthusiast can expect endless opportunities for scenic vistas and wildlife, as well as good conversation with other visitors. Most people are in the ecosystem because they want to be there. It’s not a place you visit by accident, or on the way to somewhere else.

Unfortunately there’s an ugly side. On my way to the National Bison Range (just north of Missoula), I was passed by a speeding truck. As the truck passed, I noticed something flopping ahead on the road. I strained my eyes and realized the flopping critter was a turtle. The truck swerved into the oncoming lane at the turtle, ending its life before it could cross. I was horrified that a person could do such a thing. My first though was to track the vehicle down and phone the proper authorities. But since I was in a National Wildlife Refuge and numerous birds and other critters were darting across the highway, I didn’t want to be hauling ass. I’d seen way to many wildlife collisions because of speeders. So I swallowed my pride and enjoyed the rest of the day at the Bison Range, although there was a bitter flavor to it all.

Anyone who’s been out along I-94 between Montana and North Dakota has passed through Theodore Roosevelt National Park. The park is known for its badlands and prairie. On my way back to Chicago, Just before entering the park on the west, I noticed something flopping ahead on the interstate–another freaking turtle. I watched the car ahead of me swerve at the turtle. The car passed over it, narrowly missing with the driver’s side tires. I hit the brakes, got out of the car, and ran back to the turtle. Closer inspection revealed the species—-a western painted turtle the size of a small garbage can lid. Spooked by the jerks in the previous car, the turtle had gone into its shell, right in the middle of the damn interstate. So I reached down and tried to grab it, and the turtle scurried away at a surprising rate of speed. It headed for the grassy median, but still had two more lanes of traffic to cross. I grabbed the turtle by its shell, and it kicked and pushed with its clawed, webbed feet. I waited for traffic to pass and crossed the other lanes, turtle feet kicking the air. I’m sure passerby’s thought I was crazy. Clear of the interstate, I set the turtle down and watched it lurch towards a fence. It struggled at the fence, so I grabbed the turtle, climbed the fence, and set it loose in pristine prairie with no roads as far as I could see. I watched the little fella head into the prairie, and soon the turtle disappeared, its presence betrayed only by the parting grass.

I guess I felt I owed that turtle a free ride across the interstate after what happened near the Bison Range. I think I was just trying to be a good neighbor, same zip code or not. Western painted turtles are a treat for the eyes. Their shells are smooth, with yellow, red, and olive designs at the edges. Their arms and legs have these cool yellow markings, and their undersides are splashed with red and olive designs reminiscent of a psychedelic poster or t-shirt.

I thought about the turtles quite often on the way home. When a car sped by, I wondered if the passengers had it in them to swerve at an animal in the road. Perhaps such actions are proof of the inherent self-destructive nature of our species.

It’d be nice to live in a world where people don’t swerve at turtles.

Turtle party at the National Bison Range