Exploring a National Park - IVb. The Second Day (Post Lunch)

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4.3 Mt. Washburn Trail

We had lunch in a big cafeteria bustling with people. There were long tables and you had to find a seat. The menu was one of burgers and fries and I was getting a bit tired with that kind of food. I ordered a tuna sandwich and soup while Soura opted for a chicken burger and milkshake.

Our server was very jovial, “Where are you guys from?” he asked while taking down our order.

“I am from Boston,” Soura replied, “and he is from Jersey.”

“You’re kidding me,” the man was all smiles; “This place is full of people from Jersey. Look at them,” he pointed to a big group sitting at the other end of our table.

The lunch and the post meal icecream, sitting on the outside bench and observing people all around, had a languorous effect. That was not what we needed at the moment. I wasn’t tired physically though, beyond an expected stretch in the muscles.

“Let’s get going,” I rose up, “Mt. Washburn – here we come.”

“There are two ways,” I added looking at my guide, “You could start the hike from Dunraven Pass picnic area and climb to the top of Mt. Washburn and it is around 3.2 miles one way. Or you could drive to the Chittenden Parking area and climb the mountain and that is around 2.4 miles one way, from that side.”

“So the second one is shorter?”

“Yes, but steeper too – that’s what the trail guides say.”

We decided to drive towards Mt. Washburn and start climbing from the point that came first, which would be Dunraven Pass. As we drove northwards from Canyon village, the traffic was much less and within fifteen minutes we came across a small parking lot at the roadside, just in front of the foothills. There was a sign board at the point where the lot ended and the mountains started but it was covered with snow and we couldn’t see what was written. There was a group of around ten people in that area, who had come in a RV and the children of that group were throwing snowballs at each other, with great intensity. They took no heed of us and we made our way carefully, through the barrage and reached the sign-post, which confirmed that this, indeed, was Dunraven Pass.

Behind the sign-post there were lumps of snow on the rocky slopes of the mountain, from where the trail originated. The mountain was to the left and the trail went slowly winding up. It was weird to see and feel snow in July. The rays of the sun were mellow and as we proceeded, a blast of cold air hit us and chilled our bones. I put on a shirt over my tees wishing that I had brought a pair of gloves along.

In about hundred steps, we had left the parking lot behind. The trail reached an open area where we could see it meandering ahead of us in a huge arc. Initially, at ground level, our vision was constricted to the immediate surroundings but now, even at the small elevation, we could see a lot more of the landscape. Medium sized hills loomed to the left and were covered with grass. Our trail circled around one hill till it joined the next and we didn't know where it would lead us to. On our right, we could see the smooth, green downhill patches, almost resembling a golf course, that lead to the road that we had been driving on. Subalpine vegetation such as fir and pine trees and occasional thick bushes added variety to the mountain slopes. From afar, in the distant mountains, we could catch glimpses of the Canyon.

The trail itself was made of loose rocks and soft earth. The upward slope was gentle and our walk was pleasant. We walked at a constant but relaxed pace.

“So much better than the morning trail,” Soura remarked.

I agreed, “Good that we did that first, before this one.”

We occasionally saw groups of hikers, but all of them were returning from the top. I had a feeling that we were the last ones to start the hike.

As we walked, we came across a valley of flowers in full bloom. Violet was the predominant color, with patches of yellow scattered about. The flowers kept appearing along our trail at several spots. Soura was furiously taking photos,

“I don’t like taking too many personal photos,” he said once, “Many people look at the photos I have taken and say – ‘did you actually go to these places? Where are you in them?’ – never understood that logic.” I smiled in broad agreement.

He was a man of his words. When I stopped to get myself photographed at the next scenic spot, he refused to follow suit by saying, “Let’s keep walking. You can take my photo at the next scenic location and we’ll alternate.”

The place that I had stopped was a portion of the road, over which, two trees on either sides had bent over and intertwined above, to form a most lovely and natural arch.

As we walked on, the number of trees that flanked the trail on either side kept increasing and they gradually replaced the grassy valleys at the beginning of the trail. We had been climbing up for quite some time now and were in the middle of the mountains. Looking down we could see more trees that grew upright from the mountain slopes. Sometimes, at a distance, we could spot patches of the trail that we had already traversed. The entire extent of the downward slopes was not visible as before.

“How much have we covered – do you think?” I asked, as we stopped to exchange the backpack.

“Should be close to halfway.”

“Really? I don’t think we are there yet.”

We got into a discussion involving our average walking speed and the time that we had covered. It wasn’t leading towards any consensus, when we spotted an elderly Chinese couple, descending. We asked them about the distance covered.

“Half,” the man said, “close to half.”

As they passed us, we saw that they were pushing a perambulator with a small baby inside, fast asleep, blissfully unaware of the beautiful surroundings.

We would have walked for another twenty minutes when we met another group of hikers coming down and asked them the same question. These guys seemed to be more definitive.

“Still some distance from the half-way mark,” one of them said, “Walk for ten minutes more and you’ll hit a patch of ice- that is roughly half way. The ice continues for a long while.”

“There are many big-horned sheep up there,” his companion added, “We got lots of photos.”

Those creatures were supposed to be a rare site and the news filled us with excitement. As we went ahead, the trees grew denser and the seclusion of the trail increased. Once, I looked ahead at the distance and saw a small structure on top of a faraway mountain. It seemed to be some sort of an observatory. There were several round objects, similar to drums, protruding out.

“What is that,” I asked pointing out.

“Antennae?” Soura guessed.

“But why that shape? Doesn’t look like one.”

As I looked at it, I had a sudden thought, “Hope that’s not our destination - looks too far away,” I remarked as we had stopped to drink some water.

Finally we saw the snowy patch that the hikers had talked about.

Patch was an understatement as the snow was thick and vast, often knee deep and occasionally going even below. Initially we could bypass the snow by scrambling along narrow rocky passages at the very edge of the trail, but gradually those passages shrunk, till it was no longer safe to walk on them and we were forced to climb upon the snow. There were deep impressions on the snow made by previous hikers and I put my feet in them, one after another, and moved forward. Occasionally, I landed in a soft spot and my legs sank abruptly in the snow. Sometimes, I couldn’t get a firm foothold and slipped. The body of snow was at an incline as it was on top of the mountain slope, which made walking on it more hazardous. A couple of false steps would hurl us right off the trail.

We were making slow ascent and the trail was rather monotonous. Once it was broken by the site of a white goat-like creature. I wasn’t sure if that was a big-horn sheep, which the hikers had talked about, but we did pause for multiple photographs.

Once, within thirty feet from the trail and atop a pine tree, we saw a solitary bird of a bright blue color. It was perched absolutely still and unwavering, and seemed to symbolize the silent wilderness all around. We moved on, careful not to disturb the peace and quiet of the place.

By now, we had lost the sense of time and distance. We walked mechanically, without much thought, conscious only of the beauty of nature all around. Around two hours back, we had started amidst medium hills and valleys, gloriously verdant and full of flowers; then we had traversed through dense alpine forests on either side of the road and now we had advanced slowly but surely through snow-county and just emerged out of it.

The place we had reached was more open, more elevated than ever before. The mountain slopes with dense vegetation, that had constricted our vision for so long, gave way to a more expansive and barren surrounding. Reddish brown rocks and boulders of all shapes and sizes filled up the scenery. A couple of peaks from the tall mountain ranges could be seen nearby, looming above us. We could see far, far away into the distance and spot the Canyons, at an altitude much below us. Separating us from them, far below where we stood, were miles and miles of dense forests, that formed part of the Yellowstone backcountry.

“Look at that,” Soura spoke slowly.

I recalled a piece of information from the travel guides, “Seems that 98% of Yellowstone is backcountry. All the places that we drove in car and are hiking now – constitute just 2% of the entire park.”

“Amazing!”

“Can’t imagine the early, park rangers- they would have explored much more of the whole park- to find the 2% that tourists can visit.”

“Why only early? The landscape keeps changing – and for general maintenance of the park too- they get to see a lot more then we do.”

As we turned a bend, we again saw the building on the top of the mountain that we had spotted before. It had grown bigger in size and was surely nearer than when we had seen it first, and yet new measures of distance, previously unseen, seemed to have been added between us. It still looked a good distance afar. I still couldn’t make out what the drums that were attached to it were.

“Boss, that has to be where we are headed,” Soura said with conviction.

We checked our watches. It was going to be seven soon. The sun had not set but was hidden in the clouds.

“Should we return?” Soura said suddenly, “No point in climbing back in the dark.”

“The climb down will be faster,” I was in no mood to go back, “Let’s go on.”

It was probably an impulsive utterance and we kept on climbing. There were some more snowy patches that we had to cover. The trail was inexorably heading towards that building. It was different than before, when we were simply trudging along, regardless of the destination. Now since that was within sight, we were more inclined to keep checking if we were getting nearer. However the closer we went, the building kept moving farther away. Probably because, the trail wasn’t in a straight line; often we had to go around a mountain. The trail was also steeper.

And yet, slowly but surely we reached a huge, rocky plateau, which had a small sign-board saying ‘Mt. Washburn’ and we knew that the long journey was, at last, over.

It was an awesome sight. A mountain wall was to our left and the plateau extended on the other three sides, till it reached the cliff, from where it dropped sharply below. From that abyss, on our immediate right, there rose a mountain peak like an angry serpent, rising from the deep sea. At other places there were huge gaps of emptiness in front of the cliff. The mountain walls blocked all direct illumination to that plateau and the resulting shadow was pleasant, but as we paused there for a moment, to catch our breaths, we could see the surrounding mountain slopes gloriously basked in the golden rays of the setting sun.

It was however not the end of the trail. We discovered that another steep path lead to the building that we had seen. For a moment I hesitated about continuing there, but this time Soura urged us on.

And it was a mighty good decision. I had no idea what that building was, which in retrospect means that I could have improved upon my research about Yellowstone. As we climbed, severe blasts of wind hit us and chilled our bones. Had I been at the edge of a cliff, the wind would probably have blown me over. After about ten minutes we reached another smaller plateau with the building in front of us. There was a sign-board, proclaiming the end of our trail.

The building in front of was some sort of observatory and as we came near, the mystery of the drums was also clear. They were dish antennae, as expected, only that they were covered with perforated clothing, to prevent it from being directly hit by the wind.

There was a short flight of revolving stairs that lead up to the observatory and following them, we stepped into a small chamber with various frames hanging from the walls and a big telescope installed in the center. The frames had location and other information about various mountain peaks of Yellowstone that could be seen through the telescope.

There was another flight of stairs inside that chamber leading up somewhere and as Soura was peering at the telescope, I went up. At the end of the stairs there was a closed door and I pushed it open and stepped out into a small balcony with railings on all sides. The wind was absolutely ferocious with a screech and howl and it messed up with my cloths and hair, pulling and flapping them in all directions. I wondered if whatever hair was left on my head would get uprooted. The wind hurled at my face and eyes, like angry waves crashing at the shore and I found myself involuntarily squinting my eyes and assuming a grimace.

The balcony offered a wide and unobstructed view of the entire Park and was surely worth the long hike. I gazed in front, slowly turning around. At one corner, I spotted a sign-board and moved closer to read what was written. At this point, the door pushed open again and Soura came out.

“Look at this-,” I beckoned him closer in excitement, “Guess what this place is about – this is a fire tower. There is a ranger here at all times- he checks all around to see if there is a fire anywhere in the Park.”

The board said that the practice of elevated fire towers, where a single person was stationed, to watch the entire Park, through his binoculars, and report any incidence of rising columns of smoke, is an ancient one, abandoned by most Parks, in favor of more modern methods. Yellowstone is a notable exception with its four fire towers that still adhere to the ancient customs. As we looked up, we could see that a couple of steps from that balcony lead up to a medium sized room and, through its glass paneled windows, we could see a solitary man. He smiled as our eyes met.

The sign-board also informed us that the lone ranger moved there in late June, as the snow melted and stayed there till October. His food and other supplies were replenished every two weeks, via helicopters.

“This is crazy,” I said, “I can’t believe someone staying up in this place, all on his own for 4 to 5 months. He would turn mad – not talking to anyone for all this time.”

Soura just shook his head and laughed.

“Could make a nice horror story,” I mused, “Think of this – lone ranger stays in fire tower for too long – goes bonkers in the process – then after many months a solitary hiker come here – let’s say a young woman – and so we have a young woman and a psychopath on top of a mountain – think of the endless possibilities of such a plot.”

Soura laughed aloud, “Send this to Hollywood.”

“Yup,” I grinned, “also the natural beauty of Yellowstone will add on to the story.”

“Yellowstone Park and their rangers will sue you for defamation. Poor blokes, looking out for fire for a living – and you have turned them into psychopaths.”

We spent about half an hour in the fire tower, taking photos and soaking up the feeling of vast wilderness that was all around and savored every moment of it. Then we decided to head back, as it would get too dark otherwise.

My legs were fatigued and the feet had developed a mild ache, which I knew would worsen with more walking. Soura had blisters in his feet. However, we were in good spirits and did not take heed of such minor inconveniences. If anything, we were charged up for more adventures.

As we climbed down to the first big plateau, we saw that another trail was leading up the place.

“This must be the trail that started from the other place. What was it called? – the shorter but steeper one?” Soura asked.

“Chittagong Parking area or something like that.”

“Yeah that – you know what,” he added after a pause, speaking with the air of having made a brilliant discovery, “Let’s go down that way. And then-”

“Yes, and then-?”

“And then- we will walk along the road till Dunraven Pass. Or maybe someone will give us a lift.”

That was an absolutely crazy idea and both of us knew that. I thought about it for a split second and then smiled, “Let’s go for it.”

However good sense prevailed soon when we checked the map and discovered that Chittenden Parking area and Dunraven Pass were almost 3 miles apart. Even in all our excitement and recklessness, the prospect of walking 3 miles in the dark, along a paved motor road, seemed like a big waste of time. Reluctantly, we jettisoned the idea.

“Let’s ditch it,” Soura said, “If we have some time after going down- we can still visit the Tower Falls.”

“Yeah, and you never know- we might be chased by a bear while walking on the road.” I remarked with a smile.

“Then, we wouldn’t even be able to run away,” Soura grinned, “and no-one will be giving us a ride in that situation.”

It still seemed like a pity that we had a chance to do something out of the ordinary and didn’t pursue it. However Soura soon made up for that.

As we were retracing our path, he had fallen silent, seemingly mulling over something. Then he spoke, “Look, I have an idea that will save us some time in going down.”

“What is that?” I asked

“Instead of following the trail, we’ll climb down the mountain slopes directly.”

“You’re joking.”

“No, I’m not.”

I looked down incredulously at the steep mountain wall by the road-side that dropped sharply below and then at the vast empty space in front of us where the sky seemed to merge with the void between the mountains. This was a far more crazy idea that the first one.

“How can we?” I asked, “You mean down these rocky mountain walls?”

“Not here,” he said, “I have been observing this place for a while. Soon we’ll reach – over there,” he pointed out ahead, “Over there, the mountain slope has less rocks and is more mud and grass. We could go down from there.”

I wasn’t sure if he was entirely serious. “Have you done it before?” I asked.

He replied in affirmative and added that the basic action was very similar to skiing, an art in which he was proficient. I already knew that from numerous stories that he had told in the past.

We reached the place he was talking about. It was certainly less rocky, but I was far from convinced. The slope was vast and extended as far my eyes could go. It was quite steep and thus impossible for anyone to walk straight down.

“We go down here?” I asked. He nodded. “But I don’t even see the trail at the end of it.” I replied back, “Are you sure this is the correct direction? The trail had gone around several mountains – you know.”

“If we get down in the wrong direction – it would be very difficult to climb up, back to this road,” I added, trying to imagine the consequences to getting lost in the mountains, with the cold night approaching.

“Yeah, I am sure of the direction,” he replied and proceeded to give me some elementary lessons in topography, something in which I am absolutely miserable. Consequently, despite his explanations, I didn’t quite understand how that was the true direction.

“Well, let it be so,” I conceded, “But I still don’t see the trail at the end of the slope - what if there is a steep fall where the slope ends to get to the trail?”

“It wouldn’t be much, even if there is one,” he replied with self assurance, “three, four feet at the max.”

“Also, is it safe to go down? What if we break a bone over here? We’re all alone.”

“We wouldn’t,” Soura was more cheerful and pleasant than ever, “I know how to walk down the slopes. You see- you walk sideways, with your body leaning back-”

“Well-,” I hesitated, my heart pounding heavily, “Does sound exciting – but this really doesn’t look like – it is getting dark also - but let me think – give me a moment.”

“Of course, I don’t want to force you,” he replied in an easy tone, “No point in going unless you really want to go. It’s perfectly understandable.”

Of course, I really wanted to go or else I wouldn’t have even asked him so many questions. I just wasn’t sure if we were well prepared for it. As I fell silent, he proceeded to give me more knowledge.

“Look here,” he said gesticulating with his hands, “Assume this is the slope where we are on – and this is the trail where we have to eventually get to – and now assume that-“

“Wait,” I stopped him as none of his explanations were getting through me, “Just answer one question – are you absolutely certain that this can be done?”

“Yes,” he replied.

“Well, in that case,” I said, “Let’s do it.”

“Awesome,” he said, grinning broadly, “I’ll lead and you follow. Let me first explain to you the trick in getting down a mountain slope.”

With the first few steps into the slope I had a strange feeling - it was almost as if I had been hitherto watching a vast dangerous ocean from the safe confines of a ship but now had jumped into that vast body of water. There was no going back to safety.

However after a few steps, things were much brighter. Soura’s trick of first firmly establishing the left foot into the soft earth, then bringing the right foot close and then repeating the process, all the while leaning the body back to align with the incline of the slope, worked smoothly. In some places, I didn’t get a firm foothold and slipped momentarily but on the whole, I was no longer apprehensive about breaking a bone. After a while, we were confident enough, to stop, pose and even go up the incline a little while for taking all sorts of photos.

For most parts, we went straight down, but in a couple of places, there were rocky patches and we had to go around them; same for other places, where trees or shrubs impeded our path.

Eventually, I saw the trail in front of us and felt elated. Soura was the man. I proclaimed as much. He smiled. The final jump from the slope, to the trail wasn’t a whole lot but since we were landing in the snow, we had to be careful. Once there, we looked up at the mountain, feeling thrilled and fully enjoying the moment.

We were back into the land of snow. Now that we were going down the slope, our progress was faster. The sun had set but the mountains were still illuminated in a mild golden hue. Both of us were really glad to have gone for this hike.

“You would have taken thousands of pictures by now,” I commented once.

“Yes, and I know what to do with them – I’ll make a collage once I’m back home – then I’ll take a huge printout and frame it in my wall.”

“Sounds exciting,” I replied. I thought for a while and an idea struck me, “I’ll write the story about our trip and then post it in my blog.”

And thus we descended the mountain, walking briskly past places that we had seen on the way up. Eventually, at about half past nine, we arrived at the Dunraven Pass parking lot, exhausted but very happy.

4.4 The Way Back

Once we were inside the car, we leaned back on our seats. The plan was to drive back to Canyon Village and hope that some place was still open for dinner.

“If not, we have to drive back all the way to our motel and hope that the McDonalds is still open,” said Soura which did not sound quite alluring.

We drove in the semi-darkness, in a languorous state, conscious only of our epic hike of the day. We reached Canyon Village close to ten and were dismayed to find that the cafeteria, where we had our lunch, had just closed down. However luck hadn’t deserted us completely as the adjacent dining hall was still open.

We flopped wearily on our seats that the waiter escorted us to. While in the hike, we were energetic and ready to take on anything, but now, the desire to lie down on a bed was overwhelming. I gazed wearily at the well decorated dining hall with all modern comfort and appliances and then at the people all around and everything seemed so incongruous.

The food was very good, or maybe we were really hungry and would have devoured anything. I especially liked a dish of mashed cauliflowers.

When we were done and had limped out of the dining hall, we were in no mood for Tower Falls. The time was close to eleven in the night and there was a forty mile drive till our motel. Going to Tower and back was another extra thirty eight miles of driving. We still had many more places to visit tomorrow and also had to drive back to Salt Lake City. We decided to leave Tower Falls for tomorrow.

“We postponed it yesterday also,” I smiled, “I have a feeling we are not gonna make it tomorrow too.”

“Well, three days is hardly enough to explore Yellowstone,” Soura replied.

We drove back in the darkness, fast and eager to reach the hotel. After some time, I was surprised to see cars in the other direction, going inside the Park. First I thought that they were isolated instances but they kept on coming, one after another, at a regular interval.

“What on earth are people entering the Park at this time of the night?” I exclaimed.

“Must be some serious folk – hardcore nature lovers.”

I wondered if I googled Yellowstone plus night activities, I might come up with some surprising stuff. Three days was surely inadequate for Yellowstone.

By the time, we reached our hotel, threw our shoes and shirts to the side and dropped on our beds, it was almost midnight. I copied the pictures from Soura’s camera, readjusted the alarm and fell into a deep slumber.

Exploring a National Park - IVa. The Second Day (Pre Lunch)

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We had set our alarms for 8 AM and it didn’t take us long to wake up and get ready. The feeling of excitement was palpable; today was our hiking day. In my enthusiasm, I had brought an assortment of necessary things and other curios for hiking, some remnants from previous hiking trips and others bought the day before coming to SLC, and was showing them to Soura,

“Here is a rope, candles and a torch – disposable plastic - a swiss army knife and here is a dagger.”

“For protection against bears when they attack us?”

“Yeah,” I grinned as we both knew the futility of the idea, “and here is an insect repellant, a first aid kit and a heat retaining sheet-”

“What for?”

“If one of us falls in cold water.”

We had a good laugh. I knew that most of the things would never get used but what the heck? They were all cute stuff. My personal favorite was a whistle that I had bought, to warn bears of our presence when we would hike in bear county. But it was no ordinary whistle; it had a compass on one side and a thermometer on the other. All these stuff, I put in my backpack,

“Boss, you’re only making that backpack heavy – we gotta carry it too,” complained Soura,” The backpack looks nice by the way,” he added.

“Yup, I bought it also along with the other things.”

So we proceeded to the Hotel’s breakfast in cheerful spirits. There was no complementary breakfast and we had to order. Soura was not the one to shy away from food and I too ordered a heavy meal, in anticipation of the long walks ahead.

At the breakfast table, we were busy discussing the plans for hiking. I had done a fair amount of research about the various trails and was updating Soura,

“According to most websites, the best hikes are near the Canyon area of which the Mt. Washburn trail is the best one. Here is the description – ‘No other single trail provides as much scenery- wildflowers- wildlife as the Mount Washburn Trail- one of the best evening or sunset hikes-‘,”

“Sounds perfect,” said Soura, “What are the other ones?”

“One guy – only one recommended the artist point – south rim trail – Lily pad lake trail. This is what he says – ‘start from Uncle Tom’s Trailhead - wide trail with swarms of people’ – now listen to this – it’s hilarious, ‘don't despair, true solitude is not far away! - proceed to Artist's Point - look west back at the lower falls of Yellowstone Canyon. – spectacular view- continue on-‘ – he then takes us to places of real solitude - here is what he says – ‘dangerous terrain – thermal area - bear county – this trail is not recommend by OutdoorPlaces.Com’- and so on- ”

“Both of these trails are designated as strenuous and could take 4-5 hours,” I said, “We could do only one if we also want to see Tower Falls,” I added reluctantly.

“Strenuous?” said Soura, “Then let’s do both.”

We both grinned. I felt glad that I had come to Yellowstone with only him and not in a large group.

After breakfast we started our journey. Today was my turn to drive and I was looking forward to it. It’s always a pleasure to drive in places of natural beauty. We again drove to the West Entrance and from there 14 miles to Madison and another 14 to Norris. We went past the valleys with bisons and elks, the Gibbon River and the fall and discovered newer aspects to their beauty though we had seen them just the day before.

Just before reaching the Norris intersection, we got stuck in a long line of traffic. I recalled the warnings of my friends. Maybe they were true after all. There was nothing to do but wait patiently. The cars were moving forward at a snail’s pace and I fervently hoped that the situation would improve at the intersection. Finally, I discovered the reason – a large herd of bisons were crossing the road and some of them were loitering around the cars. It was fantastic and a bit scary to see them so close.

From Norris, we headed east towards the Canyon and the novelty was back. It was a 12 mile drive and we saw more valleys and pine forests. The roads were more crooked, the cars were less and we were again cruising along.

We parked at the Canyon visitor center. It was a hub of activity with restaurants, motels and curio shops. We went inside the visitor center and picked up detailed trail maps and also spoke to a ranger to finalize our plans. Mt. Washburn trail was in the north of the visitor center and the South Rim- Lily Lake one in the South.

“The Mt. Washburn description said one of the best evening or sunset hikes,” said Soura, “Let’s do it later and do the Lily Lake one first.”

Sounded reasonable, “We could go south -do that first and come back here for lunch and then go to Mt. Washburn,” I said.

I picked up couple of water and Gatorade bottles and also a pack of trail mix. Soura, who was feeling a bit drowsy, had an ice-cream and seemed refreshed. I had a couple of scoops and it tasted great.

We drove to the start of the Canyon area and parked in the lot. There was a maze of long and short trails, often interweaved, and there was no dearth of options.

“We don’t have to stick to what the ‘solitude’ guy wrote,” said Soura, studying the trail guide that we had picked up at the Visitor Center, “There are other trails that give a good view of the Canyon. We could pick and choose.”

We decided to start from Uncle Tom’s trailhead, follow the South Rim Trail to Artist Point and then continue to Lily Pad Lake and back. That would be a 4 mile hike at the least. Then we would hike over some other trails around the Uncle Tom’s trailhead, depending on how much time we had.

4.1 South Rim Trail – Artist point – Lily Pad Lake

The Canyon area of Yellowstone is second only to Grand Canyon of Arizona in terms of its breathtaking scenery. At the starting point, the lot near Uncle Tom’s trailhead, there was a motley crowd of all ages, shapes and nationalities. There were extended families, busy taking photos of each other and trying to control their unruly children who, in their excitement, were running around. Others were serious hikers with loaded backpacks and walking sticks, trying to push their way through the crowd, as if they were in a hurry to hit the trails.

Walking briskly, we soon reached the South Rim trail. As per a notice post, we were now entering bear county. There number of people had reduced. The meandering trail was along the edge of a mountain, and soon, as we turned around a bend, we came in full view of the Canyon to our left.

It was a magnificent sight. The top of the mountains had dense vegetation but the slopes that dropped thousands of feet below were bare, as sheep shorn of wool, and they revealed an amazing array of colorful rocks. Not possibly as vivid as Mammoth, but the height of the mountains and the immense size of the Canyon slopes, lead to a unique grandeur. As we walked along there were several scenic overlooks along the way and peering downwards, we could see the Yellowstone River flowing far below at the bottom.

“Beautiful,” I spoke looking at the Canyon through the binoculars.

“Ah, you should go to Grand Canyon then,” Soura said while focusing his camera, “This place is great but multiply its effect thrice and you can start imagining Grand Canyon.”

The Yellowstone River, which we saw, gives rise to two waterfalls in the Canyon region – the Upper and Lower Falls. The Lower Falls was close to our starting point and was visible from our trail. It was supposed to be the most famous of all Yellowstone waterfalls.

We walked briskly when not stopping for photos and reached Artist’s Point, whose fancy name was due to superb views of the Canyon all around, which would probably inspire an artist. From there we took the direction towards Lily Pad Lake.

The trail now veered away from the edge of the Canyon taking us inside the mountains and into a dense pine forest. The earth was soft with fewer rocks. The trail was a narrow path in between the trees and bushes but occasionally a dead tree or two lay over the road. There was absolute silence all around save the constant rustling of the leaves as the wind flowed past them. We kept following the trail till we reached a point where the jungle had totally enmeshed us and there was no other human being in sight.

“The guy who gave all that funda about solitude would have been happy,” I smiled.

“Yeah, seems his real aim was to get away from people – hiking was secondary,” Soura replied.

We walked briskly as the trail was mostly flat. After a mile, we reached a small lake mostly covered with dead leaves. We paused for some photos and resumed our journey.

We went deeper inside the forest and the pattern of dense trees, rustling leaves and solitude only intensified. I was surprised not to have met a single hiker for so long. I thought about the bears, with a slight feeling of unease, and out of a whim, took out the dagger from my backpack to keep it handy.

For the last few minutes, I was becoming increasingly aware of the buzzing of mosquitoes and then, we came across a wet patch when all of a sudden, a swarm of those pests descended upon us. I have had plenty of experiences with mosquitoes back home, but the ferocity of these ones was completely unexpected. I was momentarily dazed, but then recalled that I had brought an insect repellant along. I took the backpack from my shoulders and frantically rummaged inside, to find it.

“Here,” I said, throwing the can to Soura and trying to zip my backpack.

“It says mosquito repellant, all right,” Soura said while waving his arms around, “It supposedly contains SPF-14-”

“Never mind,” I said spraying the contents of the can on my arms and legs. Soura followed suit. The spray was surprisingly effective and the mosquitoes stopped harassing us almost immediately.

As we continued, at one point, we crossed a small stream and saw that an intricate array of logs had been deposited across it in such a manner that suggested that they had been placed there, rather than falling naturally.

“Is that the work of beavers?” Soura wondered.

“Certainly, possible,” I said, “Are there beavers in Yellowstone?”

We didn’t know the answer but later I checked and found that beavers indeed lived in the Park.

After half an hour, the road started sloping downwards. From the gaps in between the trees we could see the horizon ahead.

“We are probably getting close to our destination,” I said.

And so it was. A couple hundreds of yard more, we saw the Lily Pad Lake on our left. It was similar to the Lake that we had seen earlier, only bigger. To get to it, we had to take a detour from the main trail. We however continued straight to the place where we had seen the horizon. The trail lead to the edge of a cliff and ended. We could again see the magnificent views of the Canyon ahead of us. We rested for a while and after taking photos were ready for the return journey.

“Are we taking the detour to the Lake?” Soura asked.

“It doesn’t look anything special – Let’s ditch it and head back straight to our starting point so that we had more time for other trails.”

“Well, yeah, we could do that.”

“Why, you wanna go?”

“Nah, it’s fine. Let’s get back.”

Just as we were about to start, we saw a group of three hikers coming towards us. It was nice to see some human beings at last. After exchanging pleasantries, we started. The return journey was quick and smooth, save for some portions of uphill climb. As we reached Artists Point, we saw more people and when we returned to the starting point, near Uncle Tom’s trailhead, it was rather disturbing to see the hordes of tourists all around, doing nothing but posing for photos in the parking lot. It seemed so incongruous to the solitude and quiet of the forests from where we had just emerged.

“Now I understand why that guy was after solitude,” I said.

The total time we had spent in the hike was almost two and a half hours and it had been an invigorating exercise, though we weren’t sure if it was the most scenic of hikes. To be fair to the guy who had written about it, we hadn’t taken the later trails that he had mentioned.

“Not a great deal to see,” said Soura, “Beyond Artists Point i.e.”

“Well, sort of,” I tried to defend as that trail had been my idea, “We did get to see the dense forests though. And to hike alone in bear county – anyways – so what’s next?”

“Let’s see,” Soura looked at his watch and then the map, “It’s past noon. We should get to Mt. Washburn latest by 4 PM. If we have to eat also before that, we don’t have much time now.”

We debated for a while and finally decided to take the Uncle Tom’s trail to the base of the Lower Falls.

4.2 Uncle Tom’s Trail

This trail, according to the map, was short and spectacular. Sounded too good to miss. Fresh from walking over the rough and uneven grounds, the paved parking lot seemed very comfortable on the legs as we walked towards the start of the trail.

“Here is what it says,” I read out from a sign-post, “Uncle Tom's Cabin – no, Trail was first constructed in 1898 by "Uncle" Tom Richardson - next five years- Uncle Tom led visitors on tours which included - following his rough trail to the base of the Lower Falls. – very strenuous walk into the canyon – take care – make enough stops – etc etc – strenuous, is it?”

We weren’t concerned, in the least. However we saw groups of people, coming back from the trail, who were all flustered and panting. I soon sensed that there might be some merit in the warnings. The trail started behind the sign-post and there were paved roads that curved downward in a sharp decline. It was easy letting the body sprint down those roads but it would be a lot harder pushing it up. After a while, the paved roads gave away to a flight of metallic stairs. We were going down the mountain and could hear the roar of the Falls and see flashes of it in front of us, between the rocky edges. We saw more groups of overworked men and women, who were alternating between walking a few steps and stopping to catch their breath.

There was a Chinese couple returning from the opposite direction and as we had crossed them and gone about ten steps ahead, our ears were accosted with the shrill cry of help from the girl. We turned instantly and saw them both; he sitting on a boulder and she, with her arms on his shoulders, appearing to steady him.

She cried out again. For a moment it wasn’t clear to me what the problem was and I wondered if it was not some farce. But then, we saw that the guy, though in a sitting position, was slowly sliding downwards and the girl was trying to hold him up. We rushed to their side.

“Are you OK?” I asked.

His eyes were open and blinking and his face had an expression of embarrassment. “I’m fine,” he murmured, “I’m OK - she got nervous for no reason.”

The girl’s face was full of panic and concern. She didn’t seem to notice our presence and continued to gaze at him anxiously.

“Let us walk you to your car,” Soura offered.

“No, I’m fine,” he said with mild stubbornness and stood up. He could walk and we left the two of them and resumed walking down the steps.

After every thirty steps, the flights of stairs lead to platforms with benches for resting and taking photos. The stairs cut right through the mountains and passed between steep rocky walls with colorful boulders jutting out. We skipped past them to reach the end of our trail; a broad platform that was built about a hundred feet above the tumultuous river that was flowing beneath. A deep rumbling and splashing sound filled the entire place.

The Lower Falls of Yellowstone River, a straight drop of little over 300 feet, was an awe-inspiring sight. From the high mountain cliffs above, it plunged down in front of us, within a hundred feet of where we stood. The previous day, we had seen the Gibbon Falls, which was grand, but had the feel of being a roadside attraction. The Lower Falls, in contrast, dominated the entire surrounding landscape and we stood gaping at it, dwarfed by its enormous presence. Through the binoculars, I looked up at the ridges, high above, from whence it originated; then lowered my eyes to trace its course as it plunged forth and finally hit the boulders deep down with great gusto, forming a tumultuous mass of water and foam from where the river resumed its course.

After about ten to fifteen minutes, we began the ascent that had been warned about. It was certainly not an easy climb but we made it without dropping dead. There was a group of teenage girls before us, but they were more tired and we soon left them behind. Finally we were in the parking lot, trudging towards our car.

“We can’t be doing too bad in cardio fitness if we have more stamina than young people,” I gasped while trying to readjust the straps of the backpack that were cutting into my shoulders.

“Yes,” Soura replied, wiping of sweat from his forehead, “At least we didn’t have a seizure like that Chinese guy.”

“Also we had hiked a long trail just before coming here.”

Thus pandering to our egos, we drove towards the Canyon visitor center for lunch.
Continued

Exploring a National Park - III. The First Day

Previous

A car drive in Utah, like the mountain states of US, is very different from what we were accustomed to from the East Coast. The roads weren’t suffocated by adjacent steel and concrete structures but rather the paved tar was flanked by loose gravel that marked the beginning of expanses in wilderness which would terminate in the horizon or amidst distant mountain ranges.

“Do you want me to take over?” I asked Soura, who was driving.

“Nah, that’s fine,” he said, “You drive on the way back.”

That was a wise choice as he drives a lot faster than I do. On many occasions, he effortlessly went to the opposite lane to overtake slow moving traffic. For lunch, we picked up a couple of burgers from a drive-in, instead of stopping at a restaurant. We were making quick progress towards our destination.

We reached the West Entrance of the Park at about 4:20 PM, all thrilled and raring to go. Just outside the park, there is another small town called West Yellowstone, where we had booked a room at an inn for two nights. We went straight to the park though. At the entrance we picked up a detailed map of the Park. It nicely complemented the other small maps and travel details that I had brought.

“I have this top-ten-things-to-see list,” I said, “Look at this. The Park is roughly in the shape of a distorted 8. There seems to be more stuff to see in the bottom part of the Park. Let’s go to the top half today since we are running short in time.”

“Sounds fine,” Soura replied. Peering at the map he said, “So are we going to Norris Geyser Basin?”

“Right.”

“How far is it?”

“Let me see - from here we drive 14 miles to Madison and then turn north. Norris is, well - another 14 miles from there.”

The road from West Entrance to Madison, was single lane in both directions, which is same for most of the park. Lush valleys flanked either side of the road and ended in distant mountain ranges. For some stretches, the valley disappeared as the road meandered close to those mountain slopes. Tall pine trees stood upright all around, many of them, charred by forest fires. The rays of the afternoon sun that basked the landscape were pleasant as was the light breeze that flowed. There were many other cars, in both directions but the traffic flow was smooth. Both of us, especially Soura, were taking as many pictures as possible.

“Not much of the day is left”, I told him, “Let’s get straight to Norris and not stop in the way.”

“Right,” he said and we resumed back clicking photos from the car. Soon however, we spotted a beautiful river and instinctively pulled over to the side, to get a better view. Both of us realized that with the wealth of natural beauty all around, we did not want to speed past them. When Soura spoke, his words reflected this,

“Boss, I would be happy to see only a few places but see them well.”

I agreed. “Quality over quantity,” I thought.

The river, we had seen was called the Gibbon River, a calm and sparkling mass of water. For a while it continued to go side by side with the road on its left. We were enjoying the scenery in an leisurely mood. The sun didn’t look as if it would set anytime soon and that buoyed our spirits, especially mine. Ever since my flight had been cancelled, apart from my frustration, I had a secret guilt feeling for having wasted Soura’s time as well (not that he would ever think likewise), but now, the various sites of Nature gave me a huge positive boost.

Yellowstone is famed for its wildlife. Bisons, elks, moose, black bears, grizzlies, wolves, coyotes, big-horn sheep all constitute its vast ecosystem. July is probably the best time of the year to observe Yellowstone’s flora and fauna and we didn’t have to wait long to spot wildlife.

The first animals, we saw were bisons. When I was been a small child, I had seen their pictures in illustrated children’s books and it was pleasing to see them in person. They were bigger than I had imagined them to be with especially massive skulls, shoulders, necks and front legs. Their horns seemed smaller by comparison. We drove along a stretch of 3-4 miles where there were probably twenty to thirty bisons, scattered all about, grazing peacefully. Lots of other cars had stopped by the road and people were taking photographs, often getting too close in their over-enthusiasm. There are park guidelines about how close you should approach various wildlife but every year zealous people break these rules. A small fraction of them have even been gored by bisons or mauled by bears leading to serious injuries, and in some cases, death. The bisons that we saw, however, seemed to be very social animals, taking no care of the bunch of curious people that had gathered to watch them. They even seemed to be enjoying the attention.

As we drove along, we spotted more varieties of animals. There were herds of dears and once through the binoculars, we spotted a solitary coyote, far away in the valley. In retrospect the idea to get a binocular was a great one, something that I would recommend to anyone visiting Yellowstone, or any other National Park.

We reached Madison crossing in twenty five minutes and headed north towards Norris. The landscape switched from valleys, to mountains to pine forests. From isolated occurrences, we now saw entire pine forests burnt by fire.

They were an uncanny sight. The trees had been blackened by soot and the leaves and fruits had long gone. They were more like dark posts that had been implanted on the ground in a regular grid pattern. Behind the trees that stood on the ground, were many more those had been felled, naturally or otherwise. The regular pattern of vertical and horizontal tree trunks filled up entire mountain slopes, giving the appearance of a black net, that had been cast on the mountain.

Gradually, we left the valley and the burnt trees behind us and entered the mountains that rose above our heads, on all sides. There were more rocks and boulders around us and the road twisted and turned as we ascended. Norris was another 14 miles from Madison and after driving for approximately half the distance, we became aware of a deep rumbling sound. Within a hundred yards, we saw many parked cars and we joined them. We soon discovered that the source of the noise was a waterfall. It was called the Gibbon Falls; not the most spectacular waterfall that we would go on to see in Yellowstone, but it was the first one and we were thrilled. Soura’s binoculars were excellent and provided for an awesome viewing of the falls. In front of my eyes I could see the huge mass of water, about to leap down from the mountain cliff.

As we left the Falls and drove further up into the mountains, I recalled a small incident, in my childhood, involving a relative. “There are two types of travelers,” she had said, ”those, who are drawn towards lakes, oceans and beaches and the others who prefer mountains and forests,” before going on to add that she loved water bodies.

I, on the other hand, have always preferred mountains. That included water-falls as they were essentially a mountainous feature.

3.1 Norris Geyser Basin

We arrived at Norris Geyser Basin in another fifteen minutes. Let me tell you briefly about geyser basins. Yellowstone is home to the largest active volcano of the world, Yellowstone Caldera, whose presence has lead to the formation of various volcanic structures throughout the park such as geysers and hot springs. Norris is a large conglomeration of a diverse set of such structures.

We parked our car in the lot. The rest of the Basin had to be traversed by foot. There was a small museum called Norris Museum from where the trails started and ended. Many people were to be seen at that point. A trail map at a nearby sign-post, showed several criss-crossing trails that covered the entire basin. The basin ground was made of soft, whitish mud and rocks over which wooden walkways had been constructed. An acute smell of sulpher permeated the entire place. The basin area was without vegetation, except for scattered instances of dead, petrified trees. There were signposts warning visitors not to step into the basin as the ground could be hot, acidic, and unstable or a combination of all of them. The whole area had a surreal feel about it. I was reminded of the episode from Lord of the Rings – the Two Towers, where Gollum leads Frodo and Sam over the marshes on the way to Mordor. This place came close to reminding me of the deathly pallor and isolation of those marshes.

As we went over the walkways, we could see several columns of rising smoke. These were the hot basins, crevices on the surface of the earth from which hot water vapor escaped into the atmosphere. There were several along the walkways but a lot more in the distant forests. A passing signpost informed us that in a volcanic basin, the landscape keeps changing constantly. Springs might dry up and new ones arise in the region.

“One of them might pop up under our walkway, right now,” I said. We had a good laugh. But it was a real possibility.

Besides hot springs, there were geysers, similar crevices that were relatively cooler for water to spout out instead of vapors. We saw the geysers called the Ichamus and Steamboat, which were described as one of the most spectacular and tallest ones in Yellowstone. However unlike the hot springs that emanate vapor constantly, geyser activity was not constant. For most geysers, it was difficult to pin-point the exact time when it would erupt and hurtle columns of water up in the air. There is one notable exception to this in Yellowstone, but later things later.

Walking around the basins we also saw deep blue water ponds that were so clear that the intricate patterns in the sand at the water-bed could be seen clearly. Leisurely columns of vapor rose upwards from them that the wind blew towards our direction and the smell the volcano filled our noses once again.

At one place we saw a small hole filled with a furiously, gurgling muddy liquid. Later I learnt that such mud-pots are formed when volcanic gases escape from a crack on the earth, where water is scarce due to which the acid dissolves the surrounding earth.

All these activities, coupled with the strong odor of sulpher indicate that the volcano, which had erupted about 640,000 years ago with hundred times the intensity of Krakatoa, is very much active to this day.

As we continued our journey, Soura suddenly spoke, “Look at your shoes.”

I saw that both his and my shoes were covered with a layer of white dust. “Acidic dust?” I joked, “Maybe by the time we reach the hotel, the shoes would be gone- corroded.”

“Yeah,” he said, “Maybe our feet would also disappear along with them”. We always had a morbid side to our humor.

As we had almost reached the end of the walkway, we came across a crevice with no activity and seeing a lengthy explanation at the corresponding sign-post, stopped to see what it was all about,

“This used to be a geyser,” Soura read, “Since decades- people have been throwing coins into it- went inside the crevice- joined with the sand- closed the hole- geyser dead as a result- “

It was a pity. The place was too beautiful and pristine to warrant such wanton behavior.

3.2 Mammoth Hot Springs

I had the Park map spread flat on my laps and the top-ten list in my hand and was busy making plans, with Soura, who had started the car and backing up in the parking lot.

“We could go east to the Canyon area,” I said, “That’s 12 miles. There are some good hikes there, which I have planned do on another day. For now we can drive past the Canyon and go to Tower Falls, which is another 19 miles. It’s in this top ten things to see list.”

Soura looked at the map and the list, “Or we could continue driving north from here, 21 miles, to Mammoth Hot Springs. That is also in your list.”

“Yeah, but somehow the description of Mammoth in this list isn’t too exciting. It only talks about some military station being there. We could drive to Tower Falls and while returning visit Mammoth from there and complete the upper loop.”

“Dude, that’s a long drive from here to Canyon and to Tower Fall - am not sure about the sun. Let’s go to Mammoth now and from there we could go to Tower Falls and return by completing the loop the other way. Even if it gets dark, we would be driving from Tower to Canyon and back – and we are not planning to see anything there.”

That made sense and we decided to abandon Tower Falls for the present and go to Mammoth Hot Springs instead.

A large part of the Park, especially the lower half is within the boundary of the Caldera. By driving north, we were gradually leaving it behind. The air was purer, free of the odor of hydrogen sulphide. We saw more valleys and pine forests along the way. The sun had subsided but darkness was still at least an hour away. We were confident of seeing Mammoth in daylight. The traffic situation was also pretty good. A couple of my friends had warned that the July 4^th weekend was the peak time for people to visit the Park and consequently we could face long delays in commuting within the Park. But that fear hadn’t materialized till now.

On the way saw more valleys and wildlife such as herds of elks, big deers with majestic horns. We also saw many snow capped mountains in the distance, and we even saw snow in the valleys, not too far from the road, which surprised us, as it was July. However we reckoned that Yellowstone was going to be full of surprises.

Mammoth hot springs has upper and lower terraces. The stop and parking lot for the upper terrace comes first, but we missed it and halted at the parking lot for the lower level. There seemed to be fewer tourists than Norris. Stepping down, we saw a hill, with a thick limestone deposit that had rendered it a grayish-white color. Several steps or terraces had formed naturally on the slopes of the hill. There were flights of steps that lead to the upper terrace.

“It’s nice, but not really grand,” I said. Soura nodded. I thought of the insipid description in my top-ten list. “Maybe it is correct,” I said.

I could not have been further away from the truth.

The signs were soon to come. As we ascended the steps, we could see that the extent of the calcite hills was much more than what appeared from their base. We then came across a hill, whose façade looked like a face. It was complete with contorted eyes, a flat nose and the mouth wide open in a snarl. Reminded me of the initial scenes of King Kong, when the sailors see the photo of the gorilla’s face in the map.

At around this point, we unexpectedly bumped into Saswata and Ankita, old batchmates from our KGP days. Turned out that they had been in Yellowstone for almost a week. It was the first time I was meeting them after leaving college. Turned out that they too lived in Jersey but we had never met over there. After exchanging pleasantries and Yellowstone experiences, Saswata shared his knowledge about spotting wildlife,

“Early morning and dusk are the best times to spot animals – I am yet to see a grizzly though – seen couple of brown bears and a black one - but no grizzlies till now.”

They were returning and we bade farewell with a tentative plan to meet up later for dinner.

The best was reserved for the upper terrace. As soon as we got there, we could see a multitude of colors around us whose beauty threw us completely off guard. There were small streams which flowed over rocks with intricate patterns of red, orange, green, pink and what not – you had to name it. The intensity also varied from a delicate blush to a vivid glare. There would be a hill with reddish-green slopes with an adjacent pool of pink and violet. It was anything unlike what I had ever seen before.

The sign-posts revealed the reason and wasn’t it surprising? It seemed that there were bacteria which thrived in conditions of high temperature and acidity that were responsible for the colors.

“Thermoacidophiles,” Soura read out their names, “Now, who would have thought of that?”

“Sounds like a trick quiz question,” I said, “Like - in which of these following conditions do organisms live? Option A, B, C, D given - one of which is ‘extremely hot and acidic’. Would you have picked that one up?”

Most certainly we wouldn’t have - before visit Mammoth i.e.

I sat at the upper terraces for a couple of minutes in silence, oblivious of my daily world and its worries. The sun had almost set but its pleasant afterglow still lit up the clouds and tempered the riot of colors all around. The air was calm with the gentlest of breezes blowing. It was soothing to simply gaze at the terraces with a mind blanked out of thoughts.

After a while, I realized something, which I had been observing for quite some time; that Soura was an avid photographer. All along he had been continuously clicking the camera, but here he was even more active. He took multiple photos of the same site, from different angles, zooms and flash properties. He adjusted his camera in unusual places in weird positions to get the photo correct. He even came up with ingenious tricks to capture the beauty of the surroundings,

“Look at this,” he said, pointing to his binoculars, “My camera doesn’t have a great zoom. But I can focus on an object using the binoculars, put the camera at the eyepiece of the binoculars and after a little more focusing, we can get fantastic pictures. ”

He tried and it was a resounding success. A lot of our subsequent photos of Yellowstone, especially of distant animals and natural features were taken using this contraption.

As we left Mammoth, I felt very relaxed and calm. That morning I had woken up at 4:30 AM, to the harsh sounds of an alarm clock, alone in a hotel in a dingy part of Newark, but that seemed like a distant memory now. Did it really happen? Maybe it had been a nightmare.

3.3 The Way Back

It was almost 8:30 PM when we got back to our car. The sun had set by now but there was still light. The temperature had fallen significantly. We were looking at the map to make a decision about going to Tower Falls,

“It’s an 18 mile drive from here,” I said.

“But from there - to get back to West Entrance and our hotel it’s a - well we have to drive back 19 plus 12 plus 14 plus 14 – that’s 59 miles. Let’s do it on another day.”

“Yeah. Even now we have to drive back a lot – its 21 plus 14 plus 14 – 49 miles.”

Both of us were very happy at what we had seen and covered in the first day. As our car zoomed past the roads, we were busy recounting the events of the day and making plans for the next two days.

“This is what I have in mind,” I said, “I looked at several blogs and sites about hiking trails and the best ones seem to be around the Canyon area. I have identified 2 of them – we could do them on one day and maybe the Tower Falls too as it is close to the Canyon.”

“Sounds cool,” Soura said.

“On the other day we could do the lower loop of the Park – that’s basically the Geyser Basins and Old Faithful, the Lake, West Thumb/Grant Village and Hayden Valley – or some of them that we could see properly.”

“Let’s do the hikes tomorrow.”

“Yup, that way we’ll be less tired in the third day when we also have to drive back to SLC at night.”

So it was decided. Our preferences and stamina were very similar and so it was very convenient.

While driving back in dusk, we discovered a nugget. If ever you see a bunch of cars parked on the roadside, there was a strong chance that there could an animal nearby. We saw elks and bisons, which were starting to get repetitive already (and this was out first day) but there were more exotic animals also. Saswata certainly knew what he was talking about.

Once we stopped near a valley with apparently nothing in site apart from a large group of people and two little children, arguing vehemently,

“I saw it first,” shouted the boy.

“No, I DID,” the little girl was absolutely certain.

Puzzled, we looked all around with the binoculars. Very soon we found the source of the people’s attention – and it was a large black wolf. It was quite some distance away in the valley almost hidden in the long grasses.

“How did they ever spot that animal in the first place?” Soura mused. I was similarly amazed.

We left that area, with the children still fighting over who had seen the wolf first. As we drove we saw more animals, including the brown bear that I had written about in the beginning of this story.

By the time we had reached our inn, it was past 10 PM. It looked cozy with copious amounts of references to the Park and its features. The receptionist informed us that dinner time was over and most of the restaurants would also have closed by now.

“Only place open is MacDonalds, two blocks to the right from here,” he said.

We checked in our rooms, put our luggage, freshened up and went to MacDonalds. Not the most healthy place to go but after a long day but I was sufficiently hungry to think about that.

By the time we returned, the streets were empty and most of the inns and restaurants had closed down. We saw a group of bikers heading towards the Park. I wondered what they would possibly do there at this hour.

Once inside our rooms, we threw ourselves on our beds. I transferred the hundreds of photos that Soura had taken from his camera to my laptop. Then we went off to sleep.
Continued