Yellowstone and Our First Grizzly

Route

Saturday, October 24th. It was a frigid 20F in Gardiner and exceptionally still when Rhea and I headed out for our customary pre-sunrise walk. You could see the snow-capped mountains with Orion above, clear as day, as dawn peeked over the horizon. Spectacular. She did her business and attempted an early morning elk-dropping snack, because she's a psycho at times.

Back at the Airbnb, we made some delicious coffee, had yogurt and granola, packed overnight oats to go, and loaded up the truck. We were obviously going to see bison, and I'd love to see a big bull elk. Then I made a wish. I went to undergrad in Vermont and have spent a lot of time out West, yet I had never seen a moose, a bear, or a wolf in the wild. Seeing just one at Yellowstone would make the trip. It was also my mom's early 70th birthday, so I wanted that for her. Rhea would probably lose her mind too. But she would not be getting out of the truck for any of those extracurricular activities. She was a truck girl today.

Our Airbnb was so close to the north entrance; my mom and I hadn't quite realized. We really did get an epic spot. You drive in through the Roosevelt Arch. Theodore Roosevelt laid its cornerstone in 1903, and it still carries the words of the 1872 law that made Yellowstone the first national park: "For the benefit and enjoyment of the people."

The whole drive in was spectacular. Frost covered the frozen trees as they shimmered in the morning light. We climbed switchbacks up over the mountains, so high we ascended through the clouds. Super cold, 20F, but Rhea didn't mind. She had her head out the window, taking in all the smells as she does. That husky in her loved every bit of it.

The salt and sand trucks had been out working, but I still skidded out a bit, so we took it slow. By 11:30am, there was steam coming off the roads. Things change pretty quickly here.

We cut across the north side of the park, over to Canyon Lodge, and down through Hayden Valley, where two big herds of bison were right by the road. Big bulls grunting, and calves feeding with their moms. A bunch of people stopped, and I got some really good shots of the herds. Everything in Hayden Valley had a light blanket of snow, giving Yellowstone that real early-winter charm. The steam vents sent sulfur plumes into the crisp blue sky in the distance. Breathtaking.

And there was no one here. My mom and I kept saying it. Only a couple of cars on the road. We had the place to ourselves.

We followed the Yellowstone River down to Yellowstone Lake. It's really hard to appreciate how massive this lake is, way up in the caldera above 7,000 feet. It was like a mirror, reflecting the partly cloudy sky. An incredibly still day.

On the northwest corner of the lake, you can see where a wildfire burned through years ago. Most of the tall, mature trees burned and have fallen. But out of the ashes, a new blanket of pines is rising to fill the void. Most of the park's forest is lodgepole pine, and many of its cones stay sealed shut with resin until they hit at least 113F. A fire opens them and drops the seeds onto freshly cleared ground. It seems unnatural to us, but it's necessary for the ecosystem. The young pines remind me of the aspens in Colorado, but they're pencil-straight and packed so tightly together that they shut out all the light from the forest floor. No light goes to waste, that's for sure.

We crossed the Continental Divide on the park's south side, then headed to Old Faithful. My second time seeing it, and again, pretty underwhelming. It's the biggest tourist attraction in the park. All the buses go there, with huge lodges, places to eat, gift shops, and kids running around. It's the iconic Yellowstone spot, but it's far from the most impressive. The Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone with its falls and Grand Prismatic Spring are two of my favorites. So is the lake, for its sheer size and beauty.

Heading north from Old Faithful up the west side of the park, the trees are a little smaller. This area burned much longer ago. Brooks run through the pines, bubbling not from the rocks but from the thermal activity, with foam and minerals and steam coming off the ground in the middle of the forest, ready to swallow up whatever animal steps in. And the smell. That crisp, unaltered pine. There's nothing like it.

The Firehole River runs up past the hot springs and Grand Prismatic, with heat radiating off the water and sending steam high into the sky. We saw a number of fly fishermen too. I bet that water stays warm year-round.

Among the younger forest, a few toothpick tree trunks still tower above the new pines. The skeletons of the older forest, still standing over the new life. Most of them have fallen, but they're what's left from before the fires tore through.

At 4:40pm, by the Gibbon River, a grizzly ran out and crossed the road way ahead of the truck. We pulled up, and once it had crossed the river, I hopped out with the camera and got some shots. Our first grizzly bear! That was it. Trip made.

As we were leaving the park at dusk, all the way up at the north entrance, we saw herds of pronghorn, an elk, and a deer, all within a couple hundred yards of each other. This place is teeming with wildlife. They come out at dawn and dusk, and we were there right as the sun was setting.

Back at the Airbnb, we had a beer, fed Rhea, and took her for a little walk. Then we went back to the same bomb spot as last night. My mom got the wild Alaskan salmon, and I got the elk burger again with our stouts. The food is top-notch.

We met a couple from North Dakota sitting next to us; they live a couple of hours away and come to Yellowstone every month. They gave us some great tips. She said a mama bear and her cub are often seen around Floating Island Lake on the north side of the park. And way out past Lamar Valley, there's the Beartooth Highway, open only in the summer months because of all the snow up there, where you can get right up to mountain goats. She showed us pictures. Unreal. It pays to befriend people.

Rhea

Rhea lost it at the bison, like she always does, whining and whimpering to get out and chase them down. But she would have gotten her butt kicked, or worse. So we kept the windows up. Steinbeck drove in at this same north entrance on October 14th, 1960. Charley, normally gentle, went so wild at the bears along the road that Steinbeck turned around and left the park. We kept going.

By the time we got back to the Airbnb, she was passed out on the bed, exhausted.

And Mom's verdict: a perfect day, a 10, for her early 70th birthday. In her words, "My wonderful son Christopher and my favorite girl, Rhea."