July 9, 2002 – Tuesday
Yellowstone National Park
No greater dedication hath any tourist than one who gets up at 5:00am during vacation in the belief that it will be the best time to see the sights. We had set the alarm for 6:00am but woke up early and I decided to shove the cats off the bed and get dressed. The birds had just begun to chirp and the sky was barely pale, but we had miles ahead and crowds to avoid.
We pulled out of Canyon Campground as quietly as possible, and as hoped, encountered almost no other living souls until we reached the road to the Petrified Tree. The soul we encountered there was browsing in the berry bushes on a sunny slope, his tan muzzle stripping breakfast off the vines and his black fur glistening in the morning light. I flicked on the video camera and Brian found the binoculars. We watched the perfect little black bear in silent awe for long minutes before continuing up the road, well aware of the special gift we had just been given.
Still alone, we marveled at a tall redwood stump, entirely petrified. It was fenced for its protection; evidently another stone tree had stood nearby but was now gone, carted away in bits by earlier tourists. If one knows where to hike, a person can see many petrified trees in the park, but we were off to see the next marvel (not before spotting another black bear in the hills near the tree and our old friend again closer to the highway).
I knew Yellowstone had geysers and I had heard about all the animals, but I was not prepared for Mammoth Hot Springs. Picture a pool with water cascading over the edges and stony “icicles” of minerals forming in ever thickening columns. Now imagine linked terraces of these springs, some with crusted edges of gold or rust, other systems of pools in stony layers of blinding white. We hiked the wooden boardwalks in amazement, videoing, marveling and glad we had risen at dawn to witness this wonder in the peaceful morning hours.
The next phase of our little plan to see the park in the cooler, less crowded times was to retreat to our shady camping spot during the heat of the day. I think we were the only ones in the campground. We rested and cleaned house before treating ourselves to showers- three dollars (expensive!) for unlimited time (bliss!). For the rest of the day, I glided around slowly and gracefully, determined not to sweat.
Brian made dinner at the campground- “Chicken Ramon” (Ramen noodles with chicken,) then as the other campers began returning for the evening, we left on our next adventure. Actually, an adventure began before we reached our destination. There is nothing quite like finding yourself in the midst of a milling buffalo herd. We were suddenly in the midst of the great Wildebeest migration, Western style. Bison surrounded a lineup of stopped cars in both directions. The darling calves followed their massive mamas; the bulls were shaggy and shedding and really, really big (up to 2000 pounds). I was actually glad when that wildlife experience was over, and when we parked at the Mud Volcano, I found that I had unconsciously locked my car door. (Yeah, that will protect me from the big, bad buffalo.)
The Mud Volcano sites were – how shall I put this eloquently – gross and icky. The warm stench of sulphur filled our nostrils as we looked at belching holes of slimy, thin mud. The Dragon’s Mouth was the most grotesque- a foul cave that spewed translucent grey liquid and emitted angry, booming sounds from its depths, as a constant fog of hot gas belched forth. Much more dainty (though not necessarily to the nose) was the Sulphur Cauldron, which burbled a pleasant green slime. All in all, I preferred my serene morning encounter with the picture-perfect black bear.
July 10, 2002 – Wednesday
Yellowstone to Cody, WY
I thought the wristwatch hanging near my head said 4:30 when I heard Brian stir this morning, but when I checked with him, he dashed my hopes of an extra snooze by announcing it was 5:30. Tourism is not for the faint of heart, I decided, dressing quickly and pulling a polar fleece over my tee shirt to ward off the chill.
I drove so Brian would be free to enjoy the sunrise scenery. After an hour and a half of down-shifting and pothole dodging, we had crossed the Continental Divide two more times and found the giant parking lots and multiple hotels that could only mean one thing: Old Faithful. Fortunately the lots were empty and I nosed Herb into a shady space just outside the Old Faithful Lodge. We narrowly missed a blast of the geyser and that meant we had about 90 minutes to kill. We decided to warm up with a cup of coffee at the lodge and, to my delight, discovered enormous windows looking out at the resting geyser. Even between eruptions the billowing steam was mesmerizing to watch, and we had a table with a perfect view.
In the background could be seen many other plumes of steam, eerie in the slanted morning light. We sipped our coffee, nibbled a bagel and a muffin, and enjoyed the rustic log-framed room that rose high above us.
At about quarter-to-geyser, we shifted outside to the double row of viewing benches, joining a small assembly of eager early birds. We passed the time talking to neighbors and enjoying the fresh air, just happy to be on the road, in the park and sitting at Old Faithful. Suddenly, without warning, the constant steam jet became much stronger and water began bubbling up. Higher it rose, with much of the dewy vapor drifting our direction. Way up into the sky shot the stream of water and cloud, the breeze bathing us in the geyser’s mist. Then, as suddenly as it began, the big event subsided, reduced again to puffs of steam.
I sighed, content in the knowledge that I was now a person who had seen Old Faithful. I sighed again, knowing our visit to Yellowstone was nearly at an end. There were still a few wonders we intended to explore, though, and one of them was close at hand- the Old Faithful Inn. Positioned almost opposite across the geyser from the Old Faithful Lodge where we had breakfasted, the Old Faithful Inn had a lobby area not to be missed. It was open in the center to a height of about five stories, each floor supported by pairs of sharply bent logs leaning towards a straight center pole. Though each piece of wood was different, there was an odd uniformity to the squiggly interior and the overall appearance was far different from that of the average lodge. A quick visit to the gift shop resulted in another squished souvenir penny for my collection, this one stamped with a bear to commemorate an unforgettable encounter.
It was getting warm outside by the time we left the inn, and hordes of tourists were arriving. Though we felt a bit smug about our early start, we could imagine the crowd building by now at the Fountain Paint Pots. Still, that was the last must-see on our list, so we braved it. It took two turns through the lot to find a parking place, and we had almost given up. After all, there was nothing we could see from the lot that looked very interesting, it was getting hot, and there was no parking shade for the kitties. We did park, though, and soon after we set out on the wooden boardwalk we were rewarded with a couple of impossibly blue pools of spring water. Better still was a large basin of white mud that percolated like oatmeal on a stove. The surface popped and bubbled and spit out little gobs of mud in such a comical way that I chuckled aloud. (Why was I the only one laughing? It was a hoot to watch.) Further along the path were fumaroles emitting gases with a hissing, Darth Vader-like roar, as well as puffing, spewing geysers. I heard that Yellowstone has more geyser activity than the rest of the world combined and I could believe it just from this trail alone. We departed Yellowstone National Park as extremely contented customers.
Our path led east through a canyon of massive stone to the nearest town written in big letters on the map- Cody. The Buffalo Bill museum had been highly recommended to us by more than one person at our bon voyage party, so we had chosen Cody to receive some mail by general delivery. The edge of town started as a thin strip of stores and chain restaurants, but after a couple of bends we hit the downtown area.
Here was a place to placate the urges of the most diehard old West enthusiast. There were saddle shops, art galleries, historical hotels, and souvenir stores galore. We drove clear through town until the shops thinned out again, then returned to a shady park to relax, spending the night at the friendly neighborhood Wal-Mart.
