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| Vintage tour- "motor coaches" |
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| Great Falls on the Yellowstone River |
Finally able to hit the road a bit earlier, we went east to see the great falls of the Yellowstone River on the eastern side of the park. As we arrived, so too did a charter bus full of geriatric camera jockeys- each one racing us to the picturesque overlook. As if choreographed by some subconscious bucket-list drive, they packed shoulder to shoulder on the point moving over only enough to allow the next couple to take each other’s photo standing in front of the thundering waterfall over half a mile away. With the combination of the stout wind, the height of our vantage point over the canyon, the sharp cold mist in the air, and the dizzying swirl of people- I felt breathless and faint as I shouldered my way up to the edge to see the falls.
Even from such a great distance, the falls made the ground shake and filled the air with deep chest-rattling bass notes and icy spray. Having never seen Niagra Falls, this place instantly topped my list of epic waterfalls.
As quickly as we had arrived, Sam and I raced back to the car to beat the tour bus to the next overlook. We figured that if we hurried, we could likely hold a lead along the canyon road ahead of this bus, but it was unlikely that we could ever out-slow that group.
Each successive point proceeded to amaze us with the might of this river and the steep walls of the canyon. At Inspiration Point, the overlook told the story of an earthquake in the 1970’s centered over 20 miles away that shook the canyon so hard that the old platform of the overlook which used to extend another 50 feet into the canyon had broken loose and tumbled down thousands of feet to the bottom. This placard and the cracked pavement of the area served as stark reminders that even here, some 40 miles from the nearest geyser basin in a place devoid of geyser steam, the ground was still very much alive.
Our plan for the day was to drive south from this point and see the remaining sights as we circled back past the Old Faithfull Lodge and return to our campsite stopping only to fish the Nez Pierce River. Our next stop was the Mud Volcano- a grouping of active sites where the heat of the earth found its escape by boiling up through pools of mud instead of the spectral pools of clear water found elsewhere in the park. One of these formations known as the dragons mouth, was a type of geyser on its side that when it would burp steam deep within the cave at its entrance, would cause waves to roll outward creating sounds reminiscent of a writhing dragon deep within its lair.
Before we stopped at the West Thumb general Store, we swung by the West Thumb Geyser Basin- one of my favorite sites in the park. On the banks of Yellowstone Lake, this large area of activity bubbled boiling hot and crystal clear water directly into the lake. One of the most fascinating features was Fisherman's Cone- a small geyser feature that stuck up only about a foot above lake level and insulated from the frigid lake water still bubbled and boiled with hot water. According to our literature, in the early 1900's, fishermen- and before them, Native Americans, would boil the fish just caught while still on the line, while standing on the narrow rim of this geyser! When the park opened, it became a popular tourist attraction to pose with a fish on the line above this geyser while wearing a chef's hat. At one point, it's eruptions were so unpredictable that some fishermen were badly burned.
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| Fisherman's Cone |
We continued south to see the banks of Yellowstone Lake and pick up some supplies for a campfire that night. From the general store in Lake Village, the expanse of ice that covered the lake stretched out almost endlessly. Aside from being the largest body of water I had ever seen covered by ice, watching the gusty wind sweep snow across the surface like dry sand down a beach, shed light on just how massive this crater-formed-lake really was. As much as 430 feet deep, the lake contained multiple wrecks which according to a nearby ranger were rarely explored due to the high altitude here. After snapping a few pictures for the benefit of my father who had only ever seen the lake during the summer time, we wandered around the gift shop to find our smore- supplies. Halfway through shopping, the power went out, revealing yet again how truly primitive the infrastructure was within the park. Frequent power outages have plagued the park since it began (side note, when the Old Faithfull Lodge was first constructed, it was designed and wired for electric lights) and continued through present day. We had experienced this the night before when the power to our campground went off for hours in the middle of washing our dishes.
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| Yellowstone Lake covered in Ice! |
As we rounded the southern tip of the figure 8 road and headed back in the direction of camp, I prepared mentally for fishing on the Nez Pierce Creek- a tributary of the Firehole River. Due to such high snow pack, the resulting runoff was causing almost every river in the park to run at flood stage. I had been speaking to every fisherman I could for the past two days on the Firehole to see what had been working, yet everyone I talked to hadn’t had any luck. My guess was that by seeking out the smaller tributaries, I could escape the shoulder to shoulder conditions on the Firehole, and hopefully find some of the trout that venture further upstream in high water.
After having seen so much of the park from wooden walkways and behind metal railings- hiking upstream away from the throngs of other fishermen was probably my favorite part of the park. Walking just out of sight of the road made you realize what a miniscule portion of the land had actually been developed here, yet that was the only part that most people would ever see made my little excursion feel very special. On the recommendation from the gentlemen at the fly shop, I hike upstream across two or three meadows to find a promising stretch of stream before I even started fishing.
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| Fly fishing with wild buffalo |
Every minute I was out, the solitude soaked in like the first rays of sun after a month of rain. No cars, no pets, and no screaming kids. Catching as few fish as I did, it’s a good thing I was enjoying myself. Few fish- would technically be an overstatement. I caught one fish about six inches long, and released the little rainbow before even bothering to take a picture of it.
After a couple of hours, having finished her nap, Sam came out and found me. Thankfully, she brought the jacket I had neglected to carry and a snack as well. We walked and fished slowly back towards the car, pausing for a while when a group of buffalo came to join us for an afternoon snack at the streamside. Feeling like a page from some fly-fisherman’s magazine, Sam got a few epic pictures of me fishing with the powerful creatures grazing nearby. Being sure to keep our distance, they paid us no more attention than a glance, as we posed no threat by ourselves. They were all shedding their winter coats, leaving tufts of fur behind them- they seemed almost docile as they lumbered through the grass, snorting and munching.
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| Sam tries to adopt a pet |
Reaching the bridge where the car was parked, I executed the ritualistic hopping dance to strip from my waders and boots without covering them or myself with mud and sand- we packed up and headed for camp. Perhaps there exists a better way to keep one’s waders and boots clean upon exiting the river, yet when I asked the folks at Parks Fly Shop in Gardiner, they could only tell me that the solution was to
Not try to live out of the back of the same vehicle you used to go fishing.
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| Sam pays tribute to Capt. Morgan |
That night at dusk as we prepared to go to sleep, I was making water on the last few embers of our modest campfire when a wayward pair of juvenile male buffalo decided to wander through our campsite. Trundling slowly across the camp a mere 10 yards from where we were standing, their musky smell filled our nostrils and their snorting and breathing; our ears. Moving slowly, it was all we could do to stand perfectly still and watch the powerful creatures eat their way across our backyard. The takeaway from this encounter being of course, should you wish to avoid buffalo in your campsite, then do not urinate on the coals of your campfire.
Even from such a great distance, the falls made the ground shake and filled the air with deep chest-rattling bass notes and icy spray. Having never seen Niagra Falls, this place instantly topped my list of epic waterfalls.
Before we stopped at the West Thumb general Store, we swung by the West Thumb Geyser Basin- one of my favorite sites in the park. On the banks of Yellowstone Lake, this large area of activity bubbled boiling hot and crystal clear water directly into the lake. One of the most fascinating features was Fisherman's Cone- a small geyser feature that stuck up only about a foot above lake level and insulated from the frigid lake water still bubbled and boiled with hot water. According to our literature, in the early 1900's, fishermen- and before them, Native Americans, would boil the fish just caught while still on the line, while standing on the narrow rim of this geyser! When the park opened, it became a popular tourist attraction to pose with a fish on the line above this geyser while wearing a chef's hat. At one point, it's eruptions were so unpredictable that some fishermen were badly burned.
We continued south to see the banks of Yellowstone Lake and pick up some supplies for a campfire that night. From the general store in Lake Village, the expanse of ice that covered the lake stretched out almost endlessly. Aside from being the largest body of water I had ever seen covered by ice, watching the gusty wind sweep snow across the surface like dry sand down a beach, shed light on just how massive this crater-formed-lake really was. As much as 430 feet deep, the lake contained multiple wrecks which according to a nearby ranger were rarely explored due to the high altitude here. After snapping a few pictures for the benefit of my father who had only ever seen the lake during the summer time, we wandered around the gift shop to find our smore- supplies. Halfway through shopping, the power went out, revealing yet again how truly primitive the infrastructure was within the park. Frequent power outages have plagued the park since it began (side note, when the Old Faithfull Lodge was first constructed, it was designed and wired for electric lights) and continued through present day. We had experienced this the night before when the power to our campground went off for hours in the middle of washing our dishes.
After a couple of hours, having finished her nap, Sam came out and found me. Thankfully, she brought the jacket I had neglected to carry and a snack as well. We walked and fished slowly back towards the car, pausing for a while when a group of buffalo came to join us for an afternoon snack at the streamside. Feeling like a page from some fly-fisherman’s magazine, Sam got a few epic pictures of me fishing with the powerful creatures grazing nearby. Being sure to keep our distance, they paid us no more attention than a glance, as we posed no threat by ourselves. They were all shedding their winter coats, leaving tufts of fur behind them- they seemed almost docile as they lumbered through the grass, snorting and munching. 
Reaching the bridge where the car was parked, I executed the ritualistic hopping dance to strip from my waders and boots without covering them or myself with mud and sand- we packed up and headed for camp. Perhaps there exists a better way to keep one’s waders and boots clean upon exiting the river, yet when I asked the folks at Parks Fly Shop in Gardiner, they could only tell me that the solution was to Not try to live out of the back of the same vehicle you used to go fishing.
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