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
“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
“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 
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
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.
“The
Sounded reasonable, “We could go south -do that first and come back here for lunch and then go to
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 t
here 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
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 –
The Canyon area of
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
“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
The
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 const
ant 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
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
“Are we taking the detour to the
“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
We debated for a while and finally decided to take the Uncle Tom’s trail to the base of the
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 a
nd 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
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
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