On and Off the Beaten Track

Friday, August 22, 2015             West Yellowstone, MT

Today was my day to do the tourist thing. Not without any inclusion of geocaching or fishing, of course. Old Faithful itself is an Earthcache. I had it and five virtual caches downloaded. Entering the Park, I found it more lucrative to just buy what they used to call the Golden Ager Pass, that allows any citizen over 62 free admission to any National Park the rest of their lives. This was $10 as opposed to $30 for a day pass. What the heck!

I opted to take the big circle backwards. This led me right to a virtual cache commemorating the Nez Perce fleeing through the area in order to avoid being placed on a reservation. 17 victorious fights! Their code of honor kicked in when they stumbled across a camp of white tourists at this spot and, except for a single regrettable incident, did not harm them. The wounded camper also survived to tell the story. One good thing about geocaching… it takes you interesting places most tourists pass by.

As I was driving, I saw the unmistakable plumes of steam indicating a geologically active area. In fact, this is one of the more active areas in the Park, the central 'paint pot' geyser region, boasting all four types of thermal phenomena. The area was packed, and I saw a boardwalk leading off across fuming, garishly-colored flats and into the steamy distance. Just then the Weird Al CD in my car player started playing “Nature Trail to Hell.” I don’t believe in coincidences, but I DO believe the gods of humor have a major influence over my life. The trail was marked with a huge sign warning that straying off the path could be fatal. I took pictures of the flats, many with orange algae mats, the bacteria specially adapted to an environment of highly acidic water that’s about 200 degrees Fahrenheit. The hot springs can be especially beautiful. I also saw mud pots and fumaroles here but none of the geysers here chose to go off while I was there.

Then it was off to Old Faithful. The oral family tradition was that, when I was about 18 months old, my parents passed through Yellowstone on their move to Colorado, and I took it into my fuzzy baby head to run towards a boiling-hot fumarole. Chasing me down, my mother missed Old Faithful erupting, and never let me forget it. My dad always thought of Old Faithful as the most special part of Wyoming and, in his seventies, had its ‘live cam’ on his computer, with a little chime to tell him when an eruption was due so he could watch it. So my parents were with me today, in spirit. So was my Garmin, which is lucky because the area is enormous and complex, with a number of buildings, parking lots, and not a single sign saying ‘This Way to the Geyser.’ The GPS led me right to it. There was a ranger talking about it, and he spoke for about fifteen minutes before the geyser went. I snapped a few pictures but mostly just enjoyed the sight, feeling my parents watching over my shoulder.

A stop at the store for a bottle of Diet Coke and a bagful of souvenirs, and I was again on my way. This led out of the caldera of the ancient volcano that is the heart of Yellowstone and over a third of its area. I drove to the top of the Continental Divide, elevation 8,262, and Isa Lake. This spring-fed lake has two outlets, one that flows to the Columbia River and then to the Pacific, and the other that eventually joins the Missouri and ends up in the Atlantic via the Gulf of Mexico. Now, really, how cool is that? The parking area was closed due to construction needed to stop erosion (the informational sign was tilting backward) and stabilize the lake and outlet banks. I parked at a pulloff on the west side of the lake and walked there, which I otherwise would not have done if this had not been a virtual cache. This may be my favorite spot in the Park.

I stopped several more times, once for a tremendous traffic jam. Mine was the ‘gaper lane.’ The oncoming traffic was being slowed by a bison peacefully ambling up the road ahead of them. I wasn’t the only one taking pictures. I honestly think the animal was enjoying the human attention. Certainly, the roads are the easiest way to get around in this very hazardous territory, and it's not beyond reason to believe that the bison know it. I also stopped to take pictures of Yellowstone Lake, the crater of the ancient eruption. According to the ranger the caldera has grown a crust 3 miles or so thick over the layer of magma, and I just have to wonder if it’s a little less under the lake. At the head of the lake I stopped for two more virtual caches, one leading me along a walkway beside the awesome rapids of the Yellowstone River, the lesson here being that Cutthroat Trout migrate upstream to spawn every July and the rapids are no barrier. The other, Hayden Valley, is supposed to be a famous bearwatching spot, but hundreds of people, some (including me) with high-power binoculars, could barely (Ooo, bad pun) see an occasional red-brown shape in the distance.

By that time I was getting hungry, so had lunch at Canyon Village and took the short way back west. Signs said part of the northern loop road was under construction and I didn’t want to risk it. This road paralleled the Gibbon River almost the whole way, and I was watching carefully for a possible easy fishing access. I parked at a picnic area and saw only one spot I could scramble down the steep bank, and it led to a short beach blocked at both ends by piles of fallen logs. I cast my Royal Trude to likely holding water in this stretch, but it was not until I reached the pool’s inlet current that a fish offered at the fly. Additional casts were fruitless. I tried to get over the deadfall upstream but could not. Besides, bladder pressure was building and the picnic ground had a privy.

I drove on downstream, but every time the river was in sight and there was a pulloff, there was also a car (sometimes two) with anglers rigging up, or fishermen already on the water. It was almost 6 p.m., and I’d promised myself an early evening, but I never stopped looking for that decent fishing access until the west entrance gate was in sight.

           At the hotel desk, the clerk was saying that the brisk west wind that almost lost me my hat several times today was speeding the wildfires in this direction. The air quality is supposed to deteriorate rapidly tomorrow, if nothing worse. I still intend to fish Soda Butte Creek on the east side of the Park, but I will not linger in the smoke zone.