Yellowstone National Park
Yellowstone National Park on a summer weekend. Wow! It’s spectacular. It’s crowded. Its roads undergoing repairs. Lots of stop-and-go. More stop than go in some places. Still … it was wonderful!
Up at 5am in Bozeman. Lovely morning drive to arrive early at the north entrance. No line. I’m in. I go east first to the Lamar Valley where I’m told I will see the bison herds. Yep. Hundreds of them. Roaming the valley. Snorting. Rolling in the dust. Wading in the water. The ‘red dogs’ (as baby bison are known because they’re reddish-orange in color when born) frolicking in the grass. Further down the road. A female moose.
Trucks. Cars. Motorcycles.
Then back to the park interior. A long winding road climbs a ridge to the higher elevations of the park. Lots of motorcyclists cruising the park. Well, yeah! Beautiful scenery, swoopy roads, and plenty of places to stop and stretch, snack, and absorb the view. But waaayyy too much traffic! Although commercial trucking is prohibited in Yellowstone, the construction trucks must have access to get the job done and drivers push the speed limits on these roads. Whoa.
Cars, motorcycles, and trucks in both directions snaking along the side of a mountain. I round a bend and see a cloud of dust as a motorcyclist careens off the road, at least (thankfully) into the hillside and not down the ravine. Everyone stops almost simultaneously. We’re doing about 25mph. Folks in a pickup in front jump out, leave the doors open, and rush to the help the fallen biker. More people rush to help (or ogle) and eventually we have gridlock.
Finally, someone decides to squeeze past the cars and pickup parked in the middle of the road, the latter with its door still open, the one belonging to the hero who has leapt to the aid of the biker. I get it. The injured rider needs help. The other bikers pulled well off the road to stop and help their compatriot. I don’t get it. Leave your vehicle where there is a good chance of causing another, perhaps more serious, accident, hm?! I cruise on. Breathe. I hope the biker is ok.
The Iconic Yellowstone River
There it is. The iconic section of the Yellowstone River. I walk to the overlook at the brink of the upper falls. Whaaaaaa! What an incredible amount of water. The river is wide and full, racing around rocks and down a series of natural, rocky weirs directly toward us, roiling at the edges. It rounds a bend, thunders by us almost underfoot (I guess it is cutting into this rock we’re standing on), its color changing from metallic blue to sea green to white as it plunges over the brink into a huge, churning pool. A rainbow dances on the spray and moss grows thick on the canyon wall. Photos and videos just don’t convey what it feels like to stand at the edge of this precipice. Phew! The power. It’s electric.
Buffalo Jam
I head south. Get stuck in a Buffalo Jam. You know. Everyone stopped at every conceivable (and inconceivable) spot to gawk at the bison. Sheesh. Folks do idiotic things out here. The buffs are pretty smart though. They walk along the road. Path of least resistance, right? Hello Mr. Bison. Way off in the distance a herd of elk drink and cool off in the shallows of the river. A bear, maybe a grizzly, seems to watch nervously as the herd moves in its direction.
Time for me to make a move to get to my campsite; I have a ways to go. The light will fade soon and I’m hungry. On the way I stop at Roaring Mountain. A large thermal area with fumaroles (steam vents) that seem oddly quiet this evening. A large, steamy, whitish-gray scar on the side of a green, forested mountain. The vents hiss lazily, little steam rises into the air. It feels ominous.
My campsite feels delightful. Trees. Space. Quiet. I love National Park and Forest Service campgrounds. Camping in Yellowstone National Park. Wow!
Day Two
Day two in Yellowstone National Park. Slow, easy start to the day. It was already very warm by 10:30am as I headed out. My goal today, paddle on Yellowstone Lake! Along the way the turnouts and parking areas for the popular attractions are already full and backed up with visitors waiting to get a spot. I cruise on by and decide I would stop at these places in the late evening on my return to my campsite and early the next morning before I leave the park. Good decision.
I stop where a couple of photographers are zoomed in on a rocky outcrop to find a little pika busy with its morning routine. Cute and quick. Got one decent shot of it. The fast and the furriest.
What an amazing landscape. Dense green forests and large green meadows interspersed with steaming vents, intensely blue pools of boiling water, scarred white earth, tall dead but not decaying trees, and the pervasive smell of sulfur near the belching vents and mud pots. A disconcerting and ever-present reminder of a still active supervolcano on which we are trespassing.
Elk! and a kayak in the water
The lake! Greenish-blue water under a cerulean sky layered with fluffy cumulus and wispy cirrus. On a whim I turn onto Gull Point Dr seeing most cars speed by the unremarkable dirt road. Miracle! Hardly any traffic and the most beautiful lakeside setting on a protected bay with beach, shade, and space to park. Time to paddle. I stay close to shore for fear of being blown out to the deeper, darker waters of the lake. I don’t really have a bucket list or checklist but, ✅ kayak Yellowstone Lake.
Back to the main road where it crosses Bridge Bay named, not for the constructed bridge over the mouth of the bay but, for a natural bridge a mile up the creek. Lo and behold. A magnificent male elk with a lovely rack of velvet antlers standing in the water! He walks up onto the bank and stares up at us. Then swims across the inlet and heads off into the forest.
The "Grande Dame" of Yellowstone
The old Lake Yellowstone Hotel looks out over the lake with graceful ease, yellow, colonial, and understated in that upmarket kind of way; she keeps her stories to herself. The “Grande Dame” as she is affectionately known is 132-years old and a designated National Historic Landmark. I long to sit in one of the big armchairs by the windows of the sunroom, order a cool gin and tonic, and watch the clouds drift over the rippling water. But time is of the essence and sobriety a necessity.
Bears & Bison
At Sulfur Geyser two bison sit on the white dusty ground near the steaming vents. It’s hot and stinky. Apparently dust baths help control the mites and insects on their skin. Perhaps the smelly air is a bug deterrent too. Clearly the bison are unmoved by the odor.
On my way to see a different view of the falls (the iconic view) I got caught up in bear jam. I pass the haphazardly parked cars, find a suitable pullout to park, grab my tripod and camera, and join the noisy crowd on the edge of the road. A black bear. Rooting around in a meadow of tall green grass. It’s clearly aware of the hubbub of people and cars and might want to move in our direction, but keeps its distance. I move on.
The Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone
The falls. The yellow canyon. The Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone. It most certainly is Grand! Lots and lots of water flowing down this ravine after a long, wet winter. It is truly awesome.
I’m a little taken aback as I listen to the chatter around me, “Where are we?” Someone is Facetiming, “What’s the name of this river?” Ouch.
Back to camp. My favorite campsite hack is to scout the fire rings where campers have departed and collect the partially burned logs and any other remaining firewood they’ve left behind. With the requirement to put a campfire ‘dead out’ at night there are often charred logs remaining in the pits. Earlier that morning I collected a large pile of damp, blackened wood and laid them by my campfire ring. Now I had dry wood, kindling, and fire starter. I built a big, beautiful fire. Grilled a pan of veggies and corn on the cob and sat in contented silence by the fire for a long while.
Today is geyser day
Morning. Gas first. My fuel light is on. The sensor indicating sufficient fuel for 68-miles, which is based on current average mpg so it’s give-or-take a few. I had planned to go early to see Old Faithful for my closing act in Yellowstone National Park. I could make it, but I’m not sure there is gas available there. (It turns out there is, but I couldn’t confirm it.) Maps and an internet search confirm gas is sold at Mammoth Village. Google shows the station opens at 7am.
I try to rouse myself at 6:15am. Hrmph! Not. Finally manage to slide out of bed at 7am and roll out at 7:20. The station is still closed at 7:45 when I pull up to a pump. It opens at 8. Grrr. Glad I didn’t arrive at 7. I wait. Pump $50 worth of high-priced gas and roll again at 8:01.
The travertine terraces at Mammoth look dry and desolate, the springs subdued with few vents issuing steam listlessly into a gray overcast sky. It was as if a fire had swept the landscape leaving devastation in its wake. But this fire is below and capable of far greater devastation. Nevertheless, it is starkly beautiful. The almost monochromatic tones of the early morning are calming.
Today is geyser day. I head back up the winding mountain road and south to the park interior. The Norris Basin appears much more active this morning and I surmise that this is likely due to the ambient air temperature being much cooler in the early part of the day. Sunlight brightens the grays to green, lifts the yellows, ochres, and reds from the ashy white, and reflects cobalt blue in the water. It’s a vibrant, colorful morning.
Old Faithful
On to Old Faithful. I arrive just in time to get a good parking space. Ha! I discover that means the old geezer has just blown and folks are leaving. So, I must wait 92-minutes (±10 according to park notices) until the next eruption. No matter where you go or what you do here it’s a hurry-up-and-wait kind of place.
This vanlife is teaching me patience and tolerance. It’s quite remarkable and wonderful really. I’m not 100%. There are moments that I still get exasperated, especially when I feel I’ve been put at risk by the actions of others—like speeding and overtaking on a double yellow or blind rise, argh!! Mostly, however, I give way to others, smile and be courteous, or simply move on and look for other opportunities. I am so grateful for this life journey.
I take time to stroll through the interpretive center, peruse the gift store, and make and eat a late breakfast in my van. About 15 minutes before it’s slated to erupt, I join the throngs of people sitting on the huge, semi-circular boardwalk fitted with rows of benches to wait for it to blow. Friendly crowd. Lots of, “Hello, where are you from?” and “Do you know…?” and “No way! Small world.” No politics. Just friendly conversation. It’s clear there are vast differences of opinion based on t-shirt imprints and branded baseball caps. But all that seems unimportant out here. Sigh.
Suddenly. Small splutters. Then woosh! A column of water gushes into the air and the audience oohs and aahs. We are downwind of the geyser so the steam obscures the voluminous column of water as the fountain peaks and dips with the pressure changes. It is fascinating. But the spectacle itself, for me, is a little underwhelming.
I think that the beauty of Old Faithful is not so much in its visual display, but in its adherence to a natural rhythm that has persisted for millennia. I imagine some days, perhaps at different times of day and in other seasons, it presents a more picturesque display. Midday in mid-summer might not be its best look.
I head out of the park slowly thinking about all I’ve seen. I marvel at the awesome power of this planet quietly, gently showing off her skills with water and heat. As if to say, “I’m so much stronger than all of you.”
Yellowstone National Park. A treasured landscape.
Be kind.
Be sensible.
Be respectful.
