Yellowstone National Park, WY (Part 3 of 3)
We can honestly say that we’ve been to the Grand Canyon
Today’s plan was to conquer the Grand Canyon. The Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone, that was.
Our previous drives around Canyon Village had made us fearful of what looked like insane metropolitan-area-like traffic: cars and vans and RV’s all moving at a snails’ pace around the South Rim and North Rim Drives. Theoretically, several parking lots were available, but even harder to see in this park than bison were parking spots for the big attractions. So imagine our surprise when we drove into the lot next to the Brink of Upper Falls, pulled into one open spot among many, and got ready for the trail.
We joined the crowd by the brink of the falls and ohh-ed and aww-ed along with everyone — at the volume of water, at its power against rock, at the laws of physics. Whatever magical combination was working in that particular spot was making the Upper Falls a bit “messy-looking”: it was narrower at the top than at the bottom, which told me either that the water was fast and strong, or that the rocks below were weak and soft, or both. On this side of the Continental Divide, the Yellowstone River ran from west to east, from the south to the northeast.
We left the parking lot behind — along with the crowds — and got on the trail. After crossing the Canyon and Chittenden Bridges, we were on the South Rim Trail, headed to Artist Point. The trail skirted the canyon and, of course, the river, and we stopped often to gawk, enjoy, and take photos. We passed the Discovery Overlook and the Upper Falls Viewpoint. Just in case anyone missed the power of the Upper Falls, it was creating enough of a spray at the bottom of the falls that a bright rainbow was reflecting in all that water-cloud.
Our first view of Lower Falls coincided with a lunch break, so we ate our sandwiches sitting on a bench, looking at the wide, even fall of water, from the brink to the pool below. Especially to the east of Lower Falls, the canyon sides changed into rocks that obviously gave in more easily to the powers of rain, snow, wind, eventually turning into mounds of sand in gorgeous colors — yellow, ocher, orange, brown, green, rose, pink, red, black.
We had been hiking for a while and had gotten good views of both Upper and Lower Falls, so we were surprised to be made speechless at the sight of the canyon when we reached Artist Point. From that vantage point, the views of the multi-hued canyon, the Yellowstone River running green and fast, with the Lower Falls at the back, were simply sublime.
(There was a young ranger who herded people to his talk, but after about 5 minutes, N. got impatient and just wanted to take pictures. The ranger was partly to blame for our abandoning ship: he was a still a bit green.)
The hike back to the parking lot could not help but be a little less exciting since we were taking the same way back. With about a mile or so to go, the skies began to rumble, gathering in angry gray clumps. As the first drops of rain began to fall, we raced to the van and escaped the worst of it. N. took the time to take a quick nap.
Leaving the van where it was, we took off again, this time to the North Rim Trail to Grand View (out-and-back, 2.6 miles). It was in conditions such as these — we had already hiked 5.5 miles — that the differences in our personalities, I think, came through. I was eager to complete the hike in the north rim; N.’s attitude was more like, “I already saw both falls and the canyon: what am I hiking the North Rim for?!?”
N. was especially testy when he realized that the Brink of Lower Falls required a long hike down multiple steep switchbacks that made one dread the climb up. (It reminded me of something I read: at the rim of the Grand Canyon — the one in Arizona — at a trailhead, a sign supposedly announced, “Going down in an option; Coming up is not.”) Not only that, a sign posted by the park service announced that the trail was not maintained and that we should hike at our own risk. Oh, but the reward!
The view was filled by the golden shades of the canyon, especially this late in the afternoon, and although there was no waterfall at the end, it just made the green waters of the Yellowstone River appear more dramatic. The rainbow reflecting in the cloudy spray rising from the brink was a special bonus.
The exercise — go down steep switchbacks only to have to climb back up — repeated itself along the Red Rock Point, this time with both switchbacks and a series of stairs. N. had lost the pep in his walk and his enthusiasm about taking photos; I was just glad I had him on a daily glucosamine regimen.
Both the Lookout Point and Grand View gave us close up views of the colorful canyon walls, but by this time, even I was feeling the effects of a whole day of hiking from viewpoint to viewpoint. N. and I hiked back to our van parked at the lot by the Brink of Upper Falls, mostly on the fumes of sheer will rather than on any sense of enjoyment. N. especially had been feeling the effects of being in such high altitude — 8,000 feet at the canyon — and had continued through the north rim only to appease me.
Even in our tired condition, we agreed that we would drive to Inspiration Point. And so we did.
Today’s plan was to conquer the Grand Canyon. It felt more like the Grand Canyon conquered us: 10.7 miles.
And our reward? Absolutely gorgeous sunset colors on the drive back to our campground.
***
We had a late lazy start and went to Gull Point Drive picnic area again.
Not sure what happened on that first time we were there and N. successfully downloaded several shows to watch on his tablet — it must have been a fluke because the signal has never again been as good. Still, with whatever baby signal we had, N. tried to catch up on some work and I tried to make sure not to fall behind on my writing — I knew that we would forget many of the things that happened during this crazy van life year, and I knew we would be happy to be reminded of our adventures.
Today, while at the picnic area, we had a whole range of weather: the blue skies with postcard perfect clouds eventually gathered together in dark gray clumps; thunder rumbled, rain spattered, and even hail the size of skittles plonked on the roof of the van.
It was good stay-inside weather.
***
We had entered Yellowstone National Park through its North Entrance by Mammoth Hot Springs, but we had driven straight through in order to reach our campground at the southern end of the park that day. (One of the cardinal rules of van life was to never arrive at a new campground in the dark: checking in, leveling the van, settling down were all much easier and safer when accomplished in daylight.)
So we drove north again, all two hours of it, and were reminded of how this part of Yellowstone was different from the others.
We passed Yellowstone Lake, the Canyon area, Hayden Valley and its resident bison, the Norris Geyser Basin, and the road north to Mammoth Hot Springs through steep and rocky mountainsides.
Mammoth itself was interesting for two features. It was the location of Fort Yellowstone, which housed for about 30 years, an army unit that took care of the national park. The old barracks in the area had been turned into housing for some of the staff. Elk also seemed to have taken residency in the area: we saw quite a few just calmly walking in between the buildings and cars and RV’s to nibble on the greens and even get some rest. N. even spotted what he called, “The lazy one”: an elk who was chewing on greens while lying on the ground. A park ranger stayed close by with a walkie-talkie, in case he needed backup to keep the gathering crowd at bay.
The other attraction were the terraces created by the hot springs, which here bubbled up and carried the minerals down the sides of the hills, creating limestone and travertine shelves. Some were snow white with straight edges; others were like stalactites, looking like the melted drippings of orange candles. A few colorful hot spring pools dotted the landscape here and there.
The highlight of the day did not happen at Mammoth, though.
It happened on our way back to our campground, while we were at Canyon Village. There we were on outdoor picnic tables, eating dinner, when a crowd began to gather and point at something in the parking lot. And there he was, a large bison at first calmly walking around the parking lot — next to our van! — and then stopping to munch at the greenery next to a walkaway. He seemed relaxed at first, but then he must have gotten a serious case of the itchies because he suddenly approached a young tree and madly started to rub his head into it. Well, what else was a bison with an itch supposed to do?
The itchy bison was almost upstaged by a double rainbow N. noticed by Yellowstone Lake on the drive back. Along with more colorful sunsets.
***
There was a time to get things dirty and a time to clean.
We got comfortable in the parking of the shower & laundry house at Grant Village — great facilities, no complaints — to get the wash done and even clean the inside of the van. Despite the beautiful weather, quite a few other families had similar plans.
To cap our last day in the park, we made the quick trip to West Thumb Geyser Basin. I learned from Brian, the park ranger giving a talk that West Thumb was the result of a small eruption (164,000 years ago) inside the caldera of the larger Yellowstone eruption (600,000 years ago).
Besides that fun fact, Ranger Brian (RB) made the point that all the hot springs in all national parks were off-limits to swimming. To illustrate the reason for this prohibition, he told the story of a man who, he said, just a couple of years ago, took this clothes off, folded them nicely and set them on a bench in the West Thumb, and got into the Abyss Pool. The result, RB said, was similar to what might happen if one were to put a chicken in a crock pot and cook it for 12 hours. He said that the man’s flesh peeled off his bones. Oh, RB also shared that he had been a state trooper for 26 years, and that he had been shot and stabbed in the line of duty, and he recently had had a stroke. Overall, a pretty gory ranger talk.
The rest of the afternoon was spent by Pumice Point on the hammock.
a Southeast Asian grandfather called N. out of the van — I was trying to take a nap in the hammock — and was delighted to find that we called the same state home.
a couple from Florida asked about how we liked our van and requested that I take a picture for them: it was their 30th wedding anniversary.
a large family from Texas who kept arguing about where the white stuff on top of the far-away mountain was ice or snow. One of the teens in the group even roped me in the argument and asked me. I replied that it was probably snow, but suggested that they ask a park ranger to settle their argument.
multiple cars from various states — Montana, Wyoming, California, Utah, Minnesota, Florida, Arizona — stopped by Pumice Point, snapped quick photos, and went on their way, to other Yellowstone adventures.
***
How to express what our visit to Yellowstone meant to us? Let’s put it this way: of all the national parks we visited so far in the US — the count was up to 18 — Yellowstone was our favorite.
