An Ancient Place
The wonder of the national parks lies in the purity of their landscapes. Outside of the parks, we drive through forests that have been logged dozens of times. We picnic under blue skies tainted by factory smokestacks. In Ohio’s Cuyahoga Valley, a pollution-clogged river once caught fire. Humans were made to steward the earth but in poorly doing so, we have left our mark. In the national parks, we can catch a glimpse of nature in its purest form. Yellowstone’s purest form invokes awe and fear simultaneously. That’s why we love it so much!
Featured photos: https://photos.app.goo.gl/en6gJbL942PxQ2Q76
September 30th, 2024 - Yellowstone/Teton Day 3
That morning, we said goodbye to Tom. It was a bittersweet departure. We were excited to see the rest of the park, but as our gruff friend sat by a morning campfire, we found ourselves drawn into the chairs beside him. We didn’t want to leave quite yet. So, just like the night before, we sat and talked. Like proper Midwesterners, we had said goodbye a dozen times before we actually drove away. I think Tom could sense our distress. With a big grin, he said, “I’m not going to say anything more! Every time I open my mouth to talk, you guys sit back down to talk more. If you’re wanting to get into Lamar while the animals are still out, you need to get going. So get going!” With that, he clamped his mouth shut and waved goodbye, blue eyes twinkling.
It was a good thing we obeyed Tom’s command. The animals were out in full force by the time we drove through Lamar. Unfortunately, the tourons were too. When a mama moose crossed the road with her two calves, a large cluster of people hurried out of their cars to get a picture. Knowing the aggressive unpredictability of moose, we stayed in the car. The tourons were lucky the mama moose was patient. They were all within attacking distance!
When we inevitably came across a herd of bison, we were surprised to watch an older man walk right up to a bull to get his picture. Later, we watched a wannabe matador flap his red jacket at another bull bison to goad him into action. Truly, the tourons are nearly as remarkable as the wildlife. I prefer the wildlife though! Along the banks of Alum Creek, we watched a coyote eat an elk carcass. Once again, we felt as though we were in the center of a nature documentary. Gore coated the thick fur of the canine. He ate anxiously, always looking around for the arrival of a bigger predator. Such things have happened in Yellowstone since time began. It was just one small element of an ancient place.
Yellowstone evokes the sort of smallness you feel when you are in a forest of massive trees, or in a centuries-old building, or in a valley of gigantic mountains. In a place saturated with time, one becomes aware of their own being. Humans are very, very small. At the Grand Canyon of Yellowstone, we gaped at the enormity of the yellow crevasse beneath us. The 308 ft waterfall frothed and writhed as it tore away at the stones around it. Even from a distance, the waterfall was enormously powerful. It was intimidating.
Before Yellowstone became America’s first national park, it was a land of mystery. Native Americans called the region their home. Trappers and gold miners saw opportunity in the rolling hills. But often, there was death there too. I read one such story not too long ago. As the story goes, there was a small group of militia men traveling near the Grand Canyon of Yellowstone. They discovered an area that held promise of gold, so they set up camp. A few days later, a group of indigenous people known as the Sheepeaters stole their pack horses. Requiring animal strength for their financial pursuits, the militia men pursued the Sheepeaters. Yellowstone is a dangerous place to hold a pursuit. It is a place where accidents happen all the time. Just last year, a drunk driver careened off the road and into a hot spring. The spring was cool and the driver was lucky. Most stories don’t end that well.
The militia men pursued the Sheepeaters into the Grand Canyon. Surrounded by the sulfur-yellow peaks of the canyon, a sense of foreboding must have overcome them. Centuries have passed over the hills of Yellowstone. The years have eyes. As silent time looked on, the militia men caught up with the Sheepeaters. The Native Americans had quickly constructed a raft and were halfway across the river. Not far downstream, the river roared as it crashed down into the Lower Falls of the canyon. The current was strong. Their raft was weak. The militia men halted their pursuit, knowing the cause was lost. When they were caught in an eddy, the Native Americans, too, submitted to the forces of the river. They looked out across the canyon, no fear marking their faces. The precipitous brink was nearer now. The Sheepeater braves began chanting a noble death-song. The militia men silently raised their hats in salute. The truth was evident to them all. They were in an ancient place, where the cycles of nature continue uninterrupted. In the face of such grave power, we are nothing.
Yellowstone demands respect. As we walked the boardwalks that day, such a statement seems banal. At every turn, mud boils and scalding water bursts from the ground. Acidic pools sing silent siren songs to beckon new victims into colorful water. Horned beasts trod the same paths as we, threatening injury with every swing of their heavy heads. Yellowstone is not a place to be trifled with.
Yet we needn’t fear it either. Beneath the film of alarm, wonder and beauty can be found. It is a place of majesty and peace. Silent pools of water reflect the passing of cotton clouds above. Fishermen stand waist-deep in blue rivers to challenge the magnificent fish within. Hissing steam rises from earthen fissures to join the sky. In these places, we accumulate to soak it all in. Humans cannot replicate the wonders of Yellowstone. That’s the allure of the place. Even the towering Old Faithful Inn cannot compete with the steaming column of water that erupts just outside its doors.
That night, we slept in the log embrace of the Old Faithful Inn. Our rooms in the Old House section had no televisions, no internet, and no private bathrooms. In our stocking feet, we padded down aged hallways to use the facilities, just as generations had done before us. The lilt of violin music drifted down the halls. They were old songs, some that I recognized, and most that I didn’t. The strings sung sweetly of love and loss, joy and sorrow. Our hearts knew the tunes without knowing the lyrics. They were the songs of ancient places. In the flow of the melody, we were humbled. We need not understand the meaning of every note. We need only listen.
Places of interest:
Artist's Point- Grand Canyon of Yellowstone
Fishing Bridge
Old Faithful and Upper Geyser Basin boardwalks
Fairy Falls trail to Grand Prismatic overlook
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