YNP Day Three

It was 38F when I woke up at sunrise over the Lake yesterday. That's ten degrees colder than the day before in Beaver Creek. Elk sauntered around the cabins behind us and Sadie was barking. It was time to go.

The road south from Fishing Bridge followed the lake, as cauldrons and hot spots spewed steam from holes in the ground. I stopped at every loop and path that came along the drive. Trumpeter swans swam in the lake and gathered in small flocks along the river.

This portion of Yellowstone was the mellowest, as the tall mountains were behind me now. This was cauldron and water fowl area.

But when I passed Grant's Village and drove now back north toward Old Faithful, the traffic jams began. This is where all the international tourists gathered, along the southwestern portion of the park. New construction and wider roads here guided drivers to the huge Mall of America Parking lot where it took me two rounds to figure out the traffic pattern and to find a spot in the shade for Sadie while I made it to the Old Faithful loop.

I was lucky. Although Old Faithful was taking a nap, another geyser nearby showed seismic activity and Jaimee, the only African-American park ranger I saw all during my trip through the national parks, announced that the Plume Geyser was about to erupt in ten minutes. Oh boy! So I power walked as fast as I could to the designated plume and no sooner when I arrived, the Plume shot up, taller and longer than Old Faithful ever could. (After all, Old Faithful is getting old!)

The kids in front of me let out screams of delight as they got wet from the mist. It was surprisingly a cold mist, not warm at all, and it hit my face and camera as I backed away giggling with the rest of the womenfolk around me.

What a sight it was to see all that water gush upward for so long. I never knew that Yellowstone was so full of seismic activity across the park.

I walked on, contuining along the four-mile path northwest to other interesting geysers, including one called "the Lion Geyser" that really does roar when steam builds up in its cracks. I cut the walk short, though, when Old Faithful did erupt an hour after the Plume belched. Crowds along Old Faithful sat waiting in wooden seats, waiting patiently for the old guy to burp. And burp he did! But when the crowd dispersed, it was like a clearance sale at Walmart: people waddling off in all directions to get back to their cars.

That's when I realized that the National Park Service should be renamed the National Resort Parks Service, as tourists with their screaming kids, huffing parents and overweight men in tight pants made off around the paved paths. This was not a park but a resort area exploiting nature. And I was part of this all.

I had now seen it all and was ready to leave Yellowstone. Just a short drive north to the Madison Junction, to gawk at the river there where black bears tend to migrate (but which of course was void of the ursus when I got there) and I was ready to head south toward the Grand Tetons, the Big Tits according to the old French fur trappers that first named those impressive peaks two hundred years ago.

I made it to the northern edge of the Grand Teton National Park yesterday and, after stopping at the Flagg Ranch to inquire about tent sites ($26.50) I was advised to drive westward on Grassy Lake Road and chose my own campsite there, first come first serve. I found an empty site along the Glade Creek and shared the night with another Vanagon, an RV and two tenters. Kayakers and two fly-fishers stood in the cold waters until well past my bedtime.

But what a mosquito-infested site that was! Just to keep the skeeters off of us, I slept with the windows up. Sadie and I suffered in the 71F warmth, which soon cooled off to 64F at sunset and 51F by 10pm.