Day 1: The world melts away...
I don't usually front-country camp at Yellowstone Lake in July, but since my June dates were canceled on account of the flood that washed out the north entrance road, I decided July would do just fine--else I might not get into the park's interior at all this summer!
While visitation is definitely down, by the time I get to Lake the road scene is still fairly busy, and I must admit I’m quite tired from driving all the way around to Bridge Bay Campground in Yellowstone from the North Entrance. It took me 6 hours, and after getting the camper parked and camp all set up, I am more than ready for the serenity of Yellowstone.
But…I forget that even though visitation might be slightly down because of the recent floods, it is still July in Yellowstone, and I can’t slowly meander along the roadways quite the same way I want without being rude or having people people running up my tail. So I check out of the road system completely, and stop over at a favorite spot along the Yellowstone River where there are shallows that I can dip my feet into. I need a visceral connection, so I pull off my sandals and stand in a sandy spot in a small eddy.
And almost instantly, the rest of the world melts away.
I am filled with the senses of the moment: wind whistling in the lodgepole pines across the river, the bright green of the still-moist grass along the bank, the sharp, cold water numbing my feet above the ankles. The smell of the trees and the grass and the water meld into a cloud of sensation. It’s an entirely different world.
I love being with my family, but I also relish these times by myself. Sometimes it’s the little things, like nobody adjusts the eye cups on my binoculars. Sometimes it’s bigger things like being able to follow my curiosity wherever it leads without distraction or guilt.
Right now my curiosity leads my attention to an elderly patch of elephant’s head flowers, still erect and pink, but fading. It's drawn to the power of the stiff wind, the way the water eddies around from the main current into the grassy shallows, and to the graceful swaying of grass in the wind as seaweed in a tide.
By the time I head back to camp, the wind has whipped into a full force gale. The lake churns with whitecaps, and dust and tree debris blasts me in the face. I had been planning to try for some wildlife watching, but the force of the wind scraping across the landscape encourages me to read a book back in camp within the relative calm of the pine forest.
Day 2: Climbing Avalanche Peak
It’s a clear blue morning, with mist and fog lingering over the Lake. The Absaroka mountains seem no more than hulking shadows in the gloaming. It’s chilly; 37 degrees at 7:45am.
Although I didn’t get up as early as I would like, it’s still feels early. I love being out early in the morning; there’s an energy that is gentle, yet full of possibility, still poised before the action of the day. Driving through the sleepy campground, a few folks have fires going, surrounded by kids with thick blankets wrapped around their shoulders huddled near the warmth. I pass a woman taking an early morning walk through the campground, and she smiles and waves.
I’m on my way to hike Avalanche Peak today; any bears, flowers, or beautiful light on the way notwithstanding. I figure an early start will be a good idea, because I believe it’s going to get pretty hot today. But not too early, since I will be looking to hike in the vicinity of others for bear safety.
I stop at a flowery meadow I love by the lake, but there’s already somebody there – of the 2000 pound variety – so I move on for now.
Near Lake Butte I encounter a juvenile eagle, sitting and pruning and generally being eagle—ish, much to the chagrin of the local birds and squirrels all along the hillside behind, who are all alarming and chattering.
While my usual preference is to walk in my own very small group far from others, today I am glad to find several hikers hitting the trail. Since I am hiking alone and this is definitely bear country, I take two bear sprays and make sure to keep pace between a couple of groups. It turns out that there are quite a few folks hiking today. Everyone seems super happy to be here, friendly on the trail, and thankfully no-one is playing music while hiking….so I’m not too bothered by the crowds.
Whoof the trail is steep! I know this from hiking it at least a dozen times, but it always seems a surprise in the beginning. I pass happy patches of helianthella, bright pink Indian paintbrush, and stately bluebells along the sweet creek, all which seem to say “you can do it!”
I walk through the ghosts of whitebark pines, both familiar and eerie at the same time. The bright yellow helianthella is cheerful against their smooth gray bark; yin and yang, life and death juxtaposed. Climbing through stand after stand of skeletal sentinels that once provided food and shelter for grizzlies and Clark’s nutcrackers, I think humans might really have it coming.
Blister rust, fire suppression, pine beetle, climate change; a perfect storm of natural and human driven forces that have culminated in so many thousands of acres of these trees decimated. If more folks saw these forests perhaps they would ask how we humans are culpable.
I sit to have a snack at the base of the bowl, and spot a bighorn ewe on a point far above the trail. I smile to see a wild animal despite all the people in the trail, thinking of how many will walk right by. Shortly after, I see a mule deer munching flowers on the steep slope above me.
Along the rocky scree, deep silky phacelia is a highlight. I let my hands pass over the smooth bark of the dead trees. The feel reminds me of saddle leather in a way; the natural and utilitarian feel of something once-living.
I eventually crest over the top, and take in the view. It’s very smoky today, so the lake views aren’t great, but the surrounding mountains are absolutely stunning, craggy ridges stretching for miles and miles of wilderness. The wind is strong and quite chilly, so I find a rock shelter to sit behind and eat my sandwich. I grow warm and sleepy….
On the way down I pull over to let a group of faster hikers by, I overhear one of them say “well, just another great day in Yellowstone.”
Indeed.
Day 3: Sunrise at West Thumb Geyser Basin, and flowers galore!
It’s 6:45 AM and I am the only human soul in the entire geyser basin. It’s literally Yellowstone magic.
Black pool is mesmerizing in the morning light, and a young killdeer forages the shoreline.
After processing photos over breakfast and coffee in the Lake Hotel, I head to a favorite wildflower spot north of Canyon. I follow an old road bed-turned-game-trail I’ve never noticed before, taking small steps in a slow motion meander, enjoying the riotous colors and patterns, snapping pictures.
I have my bear spray of course, move slowly, give a lot of yoohoo’s to make my presence known, and watch the loose dirt for tracks. So far so good, only elk tracks, and maybe a coyote.
Then, just out of sight of the road, where the game trail starts to go in to some trees, there it is: a small bear track. Cue an immediate about face, for two reasons-to avoid surprising the bear, and to give it space.
I spend the rest of the day like this, following my curiosity and the flowers.
Day 4: Wildlife, Hayden Valley, and more flowers!
I do more driving around today looking for wildlife and flowers to observe. I was rewarded right away with the bull elk in velvet that are hanging around the campground, and a fox with a kit hunting along the lakeshore.
Hayden Valley is resplendent in her royal green and blue summer coat (see top image), picturesque views of blue water, green valley, puffy clouds around every turn. It’s hard to get anywhere and where would I need to be besides right here, following my intuition and curiosity?
My intuition leads me towards Canyon again, where I encounter a black bear foraging in the downed logs a couple hundred yards off the road.
Bull bison are here and there, looking magnificently powerful whether they are sauntering down the road or laying down in the flowers. I didn’t yet see much rut behavior, or hear any bellowing, but you can feel a subtle tension building…it’s coming. A herd of cows and calves peacefully crosses a stream along the edge of the Yellowstone River.
I end this day sitting in the sand on the lakeshore east of Steamboat Point, taking in the sound of the waves, the smell of the water, the endless diversity of stone and driftwood and feathers washed up on shore, and the peacefulness of the end of a good day.
Day 5: One last hike along Yellowstone Lake
Before packing up, I go for a walk on the lakeshore in the early morning sun. It is the perfect last moment before leaving; the lake was peaceful and calm, the gentle sound of the waves caressing the shore and the soft hoots and calls of mergansers the only sounds, and the mountains in the distance compressed into shadowy layers of faded blues.
The early sun illuminates thousands of spider webs in the grass, turned to golden thread weaving a tapestry of life in the understory.
There wasn’t another human soul except for an older man walking the shore with a fishing pole and a bucket.
On the return, I gladly moved out of the way for a hunky bull bison who was walking straight down the trail towards me (don't worry, the image was taken at full telephoto from quite a distance - I don't mess around with bison!)
I return to camp and prepare for the [long] drive home. As I pass along the lakeshore, and Hayden Valley, and along the Yellowstone River, I am struck with sadness. It’s always hard to leave Lake, but I am surprised to find how much the closed north entrance—and the inability to easily access the interior of the park—makes me feel emotional.
We’ve all been toughing it out facing the changes brought by the recent floods, and most of the time I look to the positive and try not to dwell on how our own access has changed. But this is our home; the sights and sounds and animals and nooks and crannies and moods and seasons of the park as familiar as our own backyard.
So goodbye Yellowstone Lake, Hayden Valley, Mount Washburn, and Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone, for now. Though it may be a while 'til next time, my heart is here.
Want to read more about Yellowstone Lake and Bridge Bay? Check out Eleven Days Paddling Yellowstone Lake and Family Base Camp at Yellowstone's Bridge Bay.
Images and text © Jenny Golding
