YELLOWSTONE
It’s Friday morning.
We wake up on the scenic pull-off on I-90W in Buffalo, WY. Through the open double doors of the van, I
peak out of my sleeping bag at the thin snow-covered, gently sloping hills. Jeff grabs the kid’s snowboard that we picked
up at a garage sale in Kentucky and starts bombing hills. He is much more adept on a board than I am,
so while he has a little more fun sliding down the small hill, I have a little more
terror. Afterwards we practice rolling
the wheel (kung fu technique), we drive toward Montana.
I told Jeff a couple days ago that if we make it to Montana (weather being the deciding factor), I’m buying a big steak dinner. Less than 30 miles to the border. The mountains we are looking at in a complete 360 degree panorama are further away. The cities in Montana are pretty small and we need to get more memory for Jeff’s smart phone, so we aim for Bozeman, a sizable town about 100 miles west with a highway leading to Yellowstone’s west gate. At a grocery store downtown, we grab two filet mignons, 2lb of London broil, and bacon before heading south. Another 80 miles or so to the entrance, and he drives us between the winding evergreen walled road in the dark looking for a place to camp. A rather large female moose trots out into the road and Jeff hits the brakes hard and swerves to barely miss it. The animal’s back went about midway up the windshield of the van and we approximate the weight to be around 400lb.
At Madison Junction, we found a campsite and stopped to grab
firewood from some down trees on the side of the road. We didn’t know the rules, so tried to be
covert until a Ranger stopped and asked if we were alright. Yep, just getting firewood. He says goodnight and we drive back to the camping
registration lot with arm sized sticks piled a foot and a half tall in the back
of the van. The sign tells us to pay for
the campsite in the morning and checkout time is 11AM. Jeff parks the van on a gravel shoulder
between some saplings and RV’s.
Fire, beer, food.
Jeff sets up the bedding and organizes the van. I build a 2-ply moat of bacon around each of
the beef castles, holding them together with metal skewers and toss them on the
iron fold-down grill each fire pit is equipped with. The giant rectangular London broil
accompanies them next forming a laughing robot smiley face. The filets are pretty rare, borderline raw,
when pull them off, and the bacon is perfect.
The broil stays on for a while because it’s so huge. Imagine a buffalo getting hit in the
midsection by a snowplow going 90. Ok,
maybe not that gnarly, but it was pretty big.
This was our first steak meal.
For breakfast, Jeff cooks eggs with steak and bacon. This is or second steak meal in a row. We clean up the camp site and hang the van
floor coverings in the sunlight on a rope tied between the bright red baby
pines surrounding our camp site. Jeff
notices it’s already noon, so we pack up and head out. I tell the lady at the front that we are very
late in leaving and would like to pay.
She only charges us for one night which is $23.13, and we head to the
canyon.
Not long after we hit the road, we come across a snaking
stream. Candy colored rocks, green-green
Christmas trees, and a mountain backdrop.
I had to remind myself to breathe.
A mile after that, there is a sign for a Gibbons Falls by a 20’ x 100’
shoulder for us to park. Rolling
calendar falls, mist shined boulders, blah, blah, blah. We help a middle aged man hold his
handicapped son, about our age, and then let him go so he is standing in front
of the view. Solid dude. We continue onward to Yellowstone Grand
Canyon, which is about 25 miles away. It’s
getting close to 4 now and time again for some steak. No heating necessary, it’s like cold pizza,
and nothing intimidates other tourists like using your teeth to rip off a hunk
of dripping dead animal from your bare hand.
Just remember to flex your neck muscles and hold eye contact.
A half hour down the road (speed limit is between 25 and 45,
which is perfect) we start seeing steam coming out of the ground. We are at the Norris Geyser Basin. I always though geysers were natures
assholes, but they are quite beautiful.
Crystal blue water and colors I did not know existed in nature. Jeff and I decide there has to be a place
where the boiling hot water from a geyser meets the freezing cold water of the
lakes and rivers. We’ll continue
searching for this later. The falls are
spectacular and there is a mega huge canyon with a river about 900 feet
down. We can’t see the falls clearly,
but can hear it and almost feel the mist. Back in the van and 50 feet up the
road is another pull off for Lookout View.
Now we can see the falls. Back in
the van and we see a sign for Grand View.
This is the recurring theme for the rest of the park. Just one continuous, unique, literally
breathtaking view for about 3,400 square miles.
It’s about 5:00 now, so we skip Artist Point and Inspiration Point,
otherwise we won’t make it to camp before dark.
After dark we pull into camp at Mammoth Hot Springs. We spent the rest of the evening driving
around and looking at badass stuff until we couldn’t see anymore. Yellowstone is a hell of a drug. Jeff and I do the cook clean routine again
and guess what is on the menu. Double
Bacon double cheese steaks motha #()@&a!
Extra steak and some mayo on the fire butter-toasted bread, ya dig? So much meat it should have been two
sandwiches, but we woofed em down like a couple hungry hostages.
After dinner, we looked for further entertainment. Up the hill of the campsite, was a fire with
several people laughing and singing.
Music. We prepare for the
crusade. Bottle of wine, bag of tobacco,
guitar, G and D flutes, lantern, and we ride.
Or walk. I ask if they want some
guitar to go with their singing as we approach the light. Unanimously welcomed, we pop a squat and my
frozen fingers do their best to find chords.
They are pretty lit already (about 8 of them) so the requests are
constant. Great, except I only know a
bunch of really old songs, most of which have southern rock influence, and the
group we are with are mostly international students attending the university of
Montana and we are on the Montana-Wyoming border at this point. One really cool dude, Brandon, is also from
Georgia, so I have something to work with.
They are generous with drinks and we are getting along
famously when the Ranger pulls up and tells us there’s been a noise
complaint. That is a win and a
loss. Jeff and I are usually by ourselves
and don’t have the opportunity to get rowdy enough to cause a disturbance, but
at the same time, we have to put away the guitar and we are supposed to be in the great
outdoors. Lame, but we calm down a bit
and carry on at a dull roar. I make the
mistake of pulling out the guitar for some instrumental solo songs, which
quickly turn into a sing-song fest and the Ranger returns. Now we are told to go to bed and get to
relive the feeling that a 9-year-old has at a slumber party. Bed time.
Most of the group goes to sleep except Brandon and Bryan, an Irish
exchange student, equally cool. We are
all immediately bros and go back to our
fire pit for more drinks and conversation.
At around 4AM, we all decide reluctantly that we’d better call it quits
because we are getting up around 8. Ok,
one more beer. One more cigarette. The fire just lit back up, let’s have another
beer. We felt the other side of a
9-year-old at a slumber party, which is: we don’t want this night to end. Great talks and great guys. Bed time.
Sunday. We get up at
about 7:45am. I run up the hill with a
percolator and some Denny’s coffee. The
cloudy pains swelling our brains are occasionally broken by casual
conversation. It is a quiet morning and
we head to some sights with our new friends before the take the 5 hour drive
back to Missoula. The first attraction
is the Golden Staircase, near our campsite.
This naturally formed terrace is made of sulfur deposits from the geyser
on the hill and is pretty cool. Shiny in
the morning sun with vibrant greens and whatnot. The steak diet has finally caught up to me,
so I don’t really feel like climbing the side of a mountain. I chill by the van and wait for the group to
return. Afterwards, we drive around and
find a remote stream to do a little nature walk. It’s pretty relaxing and after an hour, we
end up back at the parking lot. Brandon
and the Indian dude (not native American) take off their socks to do some cold
water walking. Rassimus, I think
from Sweden, says you either go in all the way or you don’t and keeps his shoes
on. After a few moments of debate, I
look at him and say, “you ready?” I get
down to my skibbies, walk into the middle of the calf-deep stream and lay
down. Cold is what I feel, but after
getting back in the grass and sun, I feel great. Either my nerves were shocked or adrenaline
was flowing. I dried off and felt great
the whole time. Rassimus was next,
followed by another really cool chick.
She cut her foot, but not bad, so after a little first aid, I say
goodbye and we part ways. I will be back
to visit at least some of them in Missoula.
Jeff had been sleeping the whole time and I took advantage
of this to see if a girl was still working at a gift shop in Mammoth that
mentioned something about hot springs the night before. She was and I found out exactly where we had
to go. I spent some time in a dining
hall catching up on the blog and then went back to the van. Jeff just woke up and we watched the elk, who
just roam around all over the parking lots and roads. There are first only 2, and a guy with an
orange vest is controlling the crowd to make sure no one gets too close. It’s a full time job and I take my hat off to
the dude that looked like he was the real life version of the redhead from Metalocalyspe. Soon there were dozens of elk (each about
6’6”, 350) wandering around their
yard. We go up the road 2 miles to the
holy grail.
The Gardner River meets the Boiling River. Not a lot of people are supposed to know
about this, because they have become too popular in the past and damages were
incurred. It isn’t on any of the maps
and people we told didn’t believe it existed.
This was my favorite moment of the road trip so far. You park and walk a half a mile along the
Gardner River to a stair-sloped bank where you leave your belongings. The first few steps on the slippery river
rocks are freezing cold. After 20 feet
or so, the small waterfalls to your left bring the steaming hot water of the
Boiling River. For the next 30 feet, it
is almost unbearably hot. After climbing
a rock ledge, you are in the river.
There is a balance point, where a few inches to the right and you are an
ice cube, a few to the left, you are on fire.
Walk this shifty line to the bath where everyone is relaxing. The hot tub takes me a while to get
acclimated, but finally I can sit underneath the waterfall from the Boiling
River. Absolutely amazing. Best night of my life, again. We are going back in the morning to enjoy
this some more.
n
I’ve seen
some amazing things like the Himalayas in Nepal, but I kind of forget after a
while. Pictures remind me, but the
lesson I’m trying to learn is have a good time today. It doesn’t matter if you are waiting at the
DMV drinking complimentary burnt coffee, or hang gliding off of the mountains
in Tasmania, have a good time. Have the
best time of your life. Don’t do things
that you think are going to be memorable.
Do what you want at that moment. Live
now. Every day is the best day of your
life. Try to argue that. Beeyuch. J
It is very dark when we leave the hot river (big surprise)
and we talk about the Big Dipper on the walk back to the van, hoping that a
bear doesn’t make us his pre-hibernation meal.
Coyote howls are a little nerve racking, but I think I’m a little big
for their menu. We go back to Mammoth to
camp at the same spot as last night.
There’s hardly anyone there because it’s Sunday night at the end of the
season. As Jeff is parking to go slip
the envelope in the late registration box with our fee inside, I ask, “why
don’t we just head south?” Plan
change! We throw all of our plans out
the window and turn the van around. Down
we go.
On our way to the Tetons, we pass Old Faithful. Brandon told us this is a
check-it-off-the-list spot, but not really amazing. Maybe it’s better at night. I insist we get really, really warm because
it could be a 30-100 minute wait and it’s cold out. We grab a six-pack and some blankets and try
to find it in the dark. The wooden viewing
platform is huge and really far away from the geyser, so it must be pretty
serious. I want to walk up to it. We decide not to, because walking on thermal
ground isn’t a great idea, and you can be in a hot tub before you know it.
The geyser does its thing for about 4 minutes and we just
chill looking at the Big Dipper again, which is behind it. It’s like the architect of the park
researched my brain before erupting that volcano half a million years ago. I’m still itching to see it up close, and
stumble up the rocky hill in the dark for about 50 yards. I dodge some warm water puddles the size of
our van and hear the big hollow sound of Darth Vader inhaling. There’s some slight vibration in the ground
and a faint orange glow on the inside rim of the geyser opening. I use my adolescent Georgia spitting skills
to land in the hole while still keeping an 8 foot distance. I whisper yell to Jeff and convince him to
come up and spit in it, too, then we skedaddle.
We sleep in the Old Faithful parking lot and head for the Tetons in the
morning.
