Each year in early June, as spring is rising in a crescendo to summer, I like to spend a few days camping at Bridge Bay along Yellowstone Lake.
There’s something about Yellowstone Lake that beckons me – it’s like this pulsing watery heart around which the Greater Yellowstone Ecosystem is centered.
I am called to witness the way the golden light plays across Hayden Valley in the late evening, the smell of earth and sage as the ground warms in the morning, the magic stillness of pre-dawn, elk calves and grizzly cubs tentatively exploring their new world along Yellowstone Lake, and glacier lilies emerging at the edges where snow still lingers even into June.
After getting set up in camp, I spend my first evening in Hayden Valley, lingering to watch the light at Trout Creek, one of my favorite places on earth. The entire valley feels swollen with early summer, lush, green, and sensuous.
If you love Trout Creek as much as I do, you might enjoy bringing this image home.
I rise at 5 each morning and return after sunset, falling into bed around 10pm, both spirit and camera memory card full.
One of the things I always try to do is catch sunrise at West Thumb Geyser basin. I have a million pictures of West Thumb in the morning but I don’t care! It’s always new, and changing.
I love this early morning time, even though the warm sleeping bag begs me to stay in bed and sleep in. Once I’m out in the world during the gloaming, pink barely beginning to blush the sky, the lake surface smooth as glass, it feels like anything is possible, almost as if I’m stepping into a space between worlds.
View this image in my gallery here.
After sunrise in the geyser basin along the lakeshore amidst the bubbling and steam, I walk up to Lake Overlook. The air resonates with robin and other bird song. A few elk graze in the meadow that appears after I emerge from the thick trees. How is it I’ve never hiked up here? The view is divine. Truly. The Red Mountains, West Thumb, the shimmering of the lake and the towering Absarokas beyond are stunning. I can hear the road noise, which is super annoying, but otherwise this is one of the most spectacular places I’ve seen in the park. And that’s saying something. It’s a peaceful spot, and I am grateful to sit in the sun, making a quick watercolor sketch in my journal.
On the way back from West Thumb, I make numerous quick stops to peek down hidden trails that wind to the lakeshore through narrow bands of thick pine and fir forest. I pass a snowshoe hare, still bright white in places, not fully transitioned between summer and winter coats.
I resolve to hike Storm Point this afternoon – late enough to avoid most of the crowds, but not all, so that there will be others on the trail for safety's sake. I start too early though, and nearly turn back to avoid multiple throngs of families and other groups. I decide to linger in a peaceful lodgepole pine grove in sight of the trail, settle into my Crazy Creek chair, and journal for a while while multiple groups pass.
The wind brushes across the lake in a persistent push to the shore, whitecaps marking its passage across the deep green and blue. I'm sheltered a bit beneath a tall and squat lodgepole large pine, which must be quite old. I suspect I'll get fairly windblown when I step back onto the trail.
Later, I stand by myself at the tip of Storm Point, between oncoming groups, alone for a few brief moments, buffeted by the wind, alternately staring out at the waves and standing still in the wind, eyes closed. The moment feels important somehow; just me and the impossibly large lake and the unrelenting wind— like there is something I am supposed to realize, a message I am supposed to get, so I just stand there, still, and take it in whether I understand or not.
To me, that’s the power of Yellowstone. You don’t just see it, you feel it. Deeply.
People by the masses are drawn to the park because of the feelings of awe the park can inspire, yet most folks spend their time in the car driving to catch all the highlights, driven by social media inspired FOMO and missing out on the chance to truly let Yellowstone, and wildness, seep in. If I have one consistent response to the thousands of people in Yellowstone-related social media groups clamoring for advice on how to experience the park, it’s this: slow down, and linger. You won’t regret it.
I head out to Pelican Nature Trail, hanging out on the beach for a while, wading in the shallow water, soft mud squeezing between my toes, gravel sticking to my wet feet when I get out. I lean on a bleached log in the pebbly sand and let my feet dry, breeze in my hair, grebes whistling just off shore.
Later, I watch storms roll in across the lake from the safety of my vehicle.....
Each day I take a trip along the north shore of the Lake in search of grizzlies, and am rewarded by several, including an extended observation of the bear folks call Raspberry, and her new tiny cub. Along the way I’m treated to a herd of elk with new calves along the lakeshore.
Here's a short video I made of the highlights of the trip, including sunrise at West Thumb, sunset at Trout Creek, a giant black bear boar from a mating pair I observed, Raspberry and her cub, a herd of elk with calves, and more:
If you’re interested in reading more about adventures in the Yellowstone Lake area of the park, check out these posts: Family Base Camp at Bridge Bay, Yellowstone Fall Basecamp: Fishing Bridge and Yellowstone Lake, Camping at Yellowstone Lake in July, and Eleven Days Paddling Yellowstone Lake.
