When the sunlight rolled over the ridge to the east and struck the snowcapped mountains, the aspen trees surrounding the Jeep seemed as if they were covered in gold leaf. We woke up slowly and went about packing the car for our next big stop- Yellowstone National Park. Yellowstone had sort of taken on a sort of holy land persona to me over the course of our trip. As we traveled from one national park to the next, each one had managed to blow my mind a bit more than the last, Yellowstone was going to have a lot to live up to.
The transition from the Tetons to Yellowstone was fairly anticlimactic. For some reason, looking at the atlas had not impressed upon me that the two parks were connected north to south. If not for the park gate, there would have been no way to tell one park from the other until you began to pass the first steaming pools near Old Faithfull. The biggest difference between the two parks was the elevation; as we entered Yellowstone, the banks of snow that lined each side of the road were at times over 15 feet tall, and Lewis Lake was still hidden behind a snow-covered sheet of ice!
Being near the southern entrance, the Old Faithfull lodge and visitor center were our first stop. Here we lingered only a few minutes in order to purchase a fishing license and find out which sections of the park were closed from the snow. We also knew how Yellowstone was like to fill to capacity in the warmer months, but we were hopeful to find a campsite within the park grounds. We arrived and found that we would likely have our pick of the parks campgrounds. As we poked around the geysers near Old Faithfull, I began to realize that the low-tide/ rotten-egg smell of sulfur would be a common theme near the park’s many sites of geothermal activity.
Once deciding that we should finish the drive to the campground as soon as possible, we glanced into the great Old Faithfull Lodge just as a tour of the building was starting. We followed the tour group around for a few minutes gaping upward at the monolithic pine beams that spanned the four story lobby in disbelief at the scale of the building. We ducked outside in time to reach the far side of Old Faithful just as the geyser blew its top. As the steam and tower of water subsided, a wave of applause and cheers drifted over to us from the hoard of camera toting tourists with chubby little children double fisting ice-cream.
As the afternoon wore on, I began to understand how large the park truly was. When we reached the Madison Junction Campground, Sam checked in at the front desk and reserved our Campsite for the next three nights to ensure we would have a place to stay as we toured the park while I used the old ice machine and picked up a 10lb block of ice. As soon as we reached the campsite, I dug out my waders and fly rod and headed towards the river on the far side of the campground. The water was like a coastal black-water river in the Carolinas; the water dyed a black tea color by the organic matter that all the melting snow was filtering through as it entered the river. Although I hadn’t had any success fishing, the grassy banks of the swollen river were the perfect way to enjoy the last rays of sunshine before retreating to the campsite for dinner to the chorus of RV generators.
The transition from the Tetons to Yellowstone was fairly anticlimactic. For some reason, looking at the atlas had not impressed upon me that the two parks were connected north to south. If not for the park gate, there would have been no way to tell one park from the other until you began to pass the first steaming pools near Old Faithfull. The biggest difference between the two parks was the elevation; as we entered Yellowstone, the banks of snow that lined each side of the road were at times over 15 feet tall, and Lewis Lake was still hidden behind a snow-covered sheet of ice!
Being near the southern entrance, the Old Faithfull lodge and visitor center were our first stop. Here we lingered only a few minutes in order to purchase a fishing license and find out which sections of the park were closed from the snow. We also knew how Yellowstone was like to fill to capacity in the warmer months, but we were hopeful to find a campsite within the park grounds. We arrived and found that we would likely have our pick of the parks campgrounds. As we poked around the geysers near Old Faithfull, I began to realize that the low-tide/ rotten-egg smell of sulfur would be a common theme near the park’s many sites of geothermal activity.
As the afternoon wore on, I began to understand how large the park truly was. When we reached the Madison Junction Campground, Sam checked in at the front desk and reserved our Campsite for the next three nights to ensure we would have a place to stay as we toured the park while I used the old ice machine and picked up a 10lb block of ice. As soon as we reached the campsite, I dug out my waders and fly rod and headed towards the river on the far side of the campground. The water was like a coastal black-water river in the Carolinas; the water dyed a black tea color by the organic matter that all the melting snow was filtering through as it entered the river. Although I hadn’t had any success fishing, the grassy banks of the swollen river were the perfect way to enjoy the last rays of sunshine before retreating to the campsite for dinner to the chorus of RV generators.
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