Hiking and Hot Springs

July 18th

This morning we visited the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone. Here, the Yellowstone River winds through a deep canyon of buttery yellow, the sheer rock stippled here and there with emerald pine trees. The river is more white than green, tumbling over rocks and plummeting over waterfalls hundreds of feet high.

Jacquelyn and I hiked the South Rim Trail, which parallels the canyon. The trail began close to the river’s edge. I stood one step away from the rushing river, staggered by its seething power—just one step away from death in the churning water. Further downstream, the mighty river carved through softer stone. Without ascending, we now found ourselves on the rim of the canyon, the river crashing far below. The trail hugged the side of the canyon, twisting through fragrant pine forests carpeted with wildflowers.

After a time, we came upon Uncle Tom’s Trail, marked with a sign that basically warns visitors that the strenuous trail is not for the faint of heart. Of course we went down it! The trail descends five hundred vertical feet into the canyon to a place near the base of the Lower Falls. We stood in awe at the end of the trail. Before us, the river crashed over a 309-foot waterfall—a white ribbon of froth dissolved into a rainbow of mist. It filled my heart with admiration and fear.

Ascending the trail was slightly more difficult than the descent—300 steps take your breath away at an altitude of 8,000 feet. But we were propelled upward by the awe that lightens your heart.

When we rejoined Mom and Dad at the end of the hike, we were all ravenously hungry, so we looked for a picnic spot. Along the way, we saw two bull elk near some dilapidated employee housing. Following the crowd, we clambered onto a deck. I peeped over the rail, and there it was—a huge elk just a few feet away! Purposefully oblivious of the commotion he was causing, he was grazing on the succulent grass. He must eat as much as he can to feed his growing velvety antlers and to prepare to fight for supremacy in the fall. It was an amazing experience to be so close to such a wild yet unafraid animal. Only in Yellowstone can you be just a few feet from a 500-pound elk with a formidable set of pointy antlers. Only in Yellowstone can you park your car in the middle of a busy road so you can jump out and take a picture of a bison herd. Only in Yellowstone can you predict what kind of wildlife is ahead by the size of the traffic jam (in ascending order): bison jam, deer jam, elk jam, eagle jam, and bear jam.

We created a jam of our own after lunch. We drove over Mount Washburn to the Lamar Valley, a place that a pack of wolves calls home. We looked for these elusive, beautiful creatures, but saw none. Dad and Mom parked in a pull-off beside the road and took a siesta. You should have seen the cars that pulled off the road, under the impression that we must have seen a wolf pack or grizzly bear! Car after car parked us and anxiously surveyed the surrounding hills with bug-eyed binoculars. Dad pulled his hat over his head. Mom sighed in her sleep. Jacquelyn counted the carloads of deluded wildlife-seekers. Belle cuddled with a Kleenex box on the floor. Beanie and I gazed out into the Lamar Valley, watching heavy clouds gather overhead and looking for the wolves that never came.

When Mom and Dad woke up, we visited the thermal area of Mammoth Hot Springs. Here, heated springs of water deposits calcite above the ground, creating terraces that entomb anything in their path—grass, trees, even the boardwalk beneath our feet! The result is a surreal and melancholy landscape. We meandered amid the terraces of gray and white and amber. Occasionally, stark and stunted skeletons of dead trees arose from the terraces in a shroud of steam. The steam drifted into the gloomy sky and returned as clammy, cold drizzle that gave me goosebumps. In the distance, the all-surrounding mountains lurked like a dark and glowering shadow.

We returned to our campground under the watch of a full moon, glowing orange in the inky black sky. As I drifted to sleep, the yipping of coyotes penetrated my fitful dreams.