Buffalo, Boardwalks, Bald Eagle, and Biking

July 19th
This morning, we came across a tremendous herd of bison in Hayden Valley! We’ve seen plenty of bison in Yellowstone, but they were mostly solitary males. This was a herd of about three hundred bison, all ages and gender. Two males were sparring vigorously in a cloud of dust. A tawny, tiny calf nursed his mother, while other calves snoozed in the sunshine or wandered about, mischievously nuzzling napping adults. One juvenile male casually sauntered down the road toward me. I quietly backed out of his way. To my surprise, he purposefully changed his direction to follow me. When I evaded him again, he ambled past me—so close, I could see the gleam of curiosity in his eye.

We went to the Old Faithful Geyser Basin, where there are hundreds of thermal features—including, of course, Old Faithful. It faithfully erupts approximately every ninety minutes in a towering column of steaming water, amid the cheers and applause of hundreds of spectators. Because of its drama and predictability, Old Faithful is the most famous and favored geyser; but I found the other thermal features even more fascinating.
We meandered over miles of boardwalks and wondered at them all. Dry geysers belched forth sulfurous steam. Gorgeous aquamarine pools simmered from seemingly bottomless caverns in the earth. Clear water gushed from small vents, boiling over into puddles of heat-loving bacteria that cover the ground with intricate deposits. It was a fantastic sight…I can only imagine what the mountain men and Native Americans of yore thought when they first discovered this place. No wonder those who brought tales of this valley of ten thousand smokes were considered mad!

We had a riparian lunch on the banks of the Firehole River, so named because its frigid waters are warmed here and there by riverside geysers. Maybe it is the edge of hunger whetted by long walks in the outdoors; maybe it is the flavor of fresh air and mellowness of sunshine…but a picnic lunch is the most delightful dining experience possible! It is a most peculiar thing—we all have developed a taste for the tang and crunch of pickles on our sandwiches. It is particularly deviant for me, because I generally do not have a taste for rotten cucumbers. But when we forgot to bring the pickles one day, it was practically a family crisis! At least we have Oreos as a tremendous consolation. When I nibble this crispy chocolate wafer cradling a dab of snowy icing, my tastes declare with immense satisfaction: “It is good.” And when the concoction is immersed in milk to create a moist emulsion that all at once melts in my mouth and crunches between my teeth, my tastes declare with firm conviction, “It is VERY good.”

On the way back toward our campsite, we saw a bald eagle soaring over the Madison River. He swooped and soared away from me…and then he returned! His wings did not flap—they unfurled with sweeping majesty, every feather outstretched in perfect symmetry against a sapphire blue sky. Some plebian crows harassed the eagle, diving at him and cawing hoarsely. The eagle landed on the very topmost branch of a lodgepole pine and let forth a clarion shriek as if to say, “The eagle has landed!” and defy every crow that dared to croak in protest. He perched on that quivering branch for several minutes, gazing condescendingly at the tourists below with his piercing golden eyes, before once again taking flight.

Jacquelyn and I had thought that there wasn’t really any place to ride our bikes here, but we went for a bike ride along a road next to our campground that turned out to be absolutely glorious. The road began inauspiciously enough, merely winding through a dull green pine forest; but the forest gave way to a field where several bison grazed. Then, we rounded the bend and a beautiful marshland unfolded before our eyes, charmed into hushed stillness by the glow of evening. Geese preened themselves in golden wildflower meadows, near pools of water and languidly steaming thermal vents. Beside us lay the vast Yellowstone Lake, rimmed by distant mountains. The indigo water lapped serenely against the pebbled shore. My heart sang to the softly rhythmic cadence.