I'm standing on top of North Americas largest active volcano. It last blew up 640,000 years ago, and some day, will again. But I'm only in this area for three days, so I guess you'd say I like the odds. Besides, it doesn't look anything at all like the textbook pictures of a volcano. Far from it. Beautiful mountains, lakes, rivers and meadows are everywhere. Wild animals do their wild things under the strict protection of federal laws. Boaters, hikers, fishermen and just about anyone who loves being outside come to this place in numbers over 3 million each year. I arrived here in Yellowstone National Park by motorcycle yesterday.
This trip began two days prior out of Portland, Oregon. I rode interstate for 3 hours along the Columbia River where wind generators spin high above and remind me of war of the worlds aliens. Their invasion stops near Pendleton and I turn northeast for a few hours into the striped farming hills of Washington state and into the city of Clarkston - my first overnight stop.
The next morning I cross into Idaho and join highway 12 where I trace the banks of the Clearwater river for nearly 300 miles. This is a land of outdoorsmen and the timber industry. Trucks loaded with fallen trees pass me opposite on this cool morning and in their wake, the long sweet final breaths of of douglas fir, larch, and sugar pines.
I rejoin the interstate near Missoula, Montana by afternoon and finally turn directly toward my destination. My rest stops get shorter and my speed, a little faster through the hills of western Montana. I would like to get to entrance with at least an hour to spare before sunset. I know that it is another 40 miles along the park road to the area within Yellowstone known as Canyon where I'll spend the first night, and I would very much like to avoid the combination of a motorcycle, nighttime and wildlife along the parkway.
In two days, I've covered nearly 900 miles. When I finally arrive at the Canyon Lodge of Yellowstone, I'm tired and stiff but anxious to start my first hike of the trip: a five hour walk up Mt. Washburn. But that is for daylight and on this evening I am very content with a shower and a comfortable bed.
Lodgepole pines, meadow grass and wildflowers are everywhere below the timberline along the path to the top of Mt. Washburn. The stiffness in my legs from two long days on the motorcycle is gone soon after I start up the trail.
It's busy here on this day. But I remember it's a holiday and Washburn gets great reviews for hiking in Yellowstone, so I'm not too disappointed. I know this is an enormous park and Ill have time to find solitude later in the trip.
The wind howls at the top, but the lower level of a fire observation post has been adapted for hikers to step inside and admire stunning views of much of the park. It is still and warm in the room at 10, 500 feet, and most of the park is in view. Yellowstone Canyon and the Grand Tetons are visible to the south. Montana to the north and the forests of Central Idaho that I rode through the day before are to the west.
On the second evening I decide to camp overnight, somewhere. All the established campgrounds are full, so that is not an option. The park service map comes out and I spot an unpaved road in the north part of Yellowstone. It looks promising so I check it out on the motorcycle.
There is some car traffic in the area, but very little. I find a nice pull-out for the bike and start walking up the tallest hill in the area. The climb is very easy compared to the days earlier hike. The hint of a path leads me to the summit. It looks perfect, and I unroll a pad and sleeping bag for the night.
On this 4th of July holiday as twilight becomes evening, there is no sound or splash of fireworks above. But I've learned a little about Yellowstone since arriving here, and I know that there are fireworks around. They're not far from this small camp I've made on the Blacktail Deer Plateau of Yellowstone National Park.
The sun has just drifted behind a soft wash of clouds over the hills to my left. It disappears briefly but will soon ignite those vapors in a warm orange glow that announces dusk. The light will not give up quickly at this time of year and the the blueblaze of skylight stubbornly remains on the horizon well past 9 pm.
The fireworks of Yellowstone exist in the form of an angry molten slug of earth just a few miles below the surface. It is this 'hotspot', as it is known by geologists, that influences everything above and makes Yellowstone unique in the world. Surface water succumbs to gravity through cracks in the earth, then to the fires of magma from the old and buried volcano below. What happens next gives Yellowstone it's character - the return of heated water to the surface - at infinitely different rates. From gentle steam to spectacular geyser to hellish boiling streams, water rejoins the atmosphere, only to begin its tortuous cycle once again.
"More visible thermal features than the rest of the world combined," as the brochures say, and they are everywhere. Clouds of warm vapor hover above pristine meadows and rivers throughout the park's caldera - the boundary of collapsed earth that remains from the last volcanic eruption.
They bubble like witches brew. They churn like open washing machines. They frighten like hidden dragons in scalding water-filled caves. The most famous, Old Faithful erupts almost every two hours to hundreds of cheers and smart phone clicks. Many others are accessed by planked walkways and to view these amazing features is like visiting nature's geo-thermal carnival. Step up, stroll through and be amazed.
Later that night on Blacktail Deer Plateau, a full moon rises, liquid silver on the horizon. It is clear and bright and fools the birds into announcing the start of a new day. But there is no warmth from that reflected light and their songs fade quickly.
A hard chill breeze rolls up from the valley and I draw the sleeping bag closer to my neck. The sky is clear now. It's well past midnight and I wake for just a few minutes. Branches on the lodgepole pines shiver across the small meadow before I drift off again. One last look up into infinite black and ancient fires overhead.
