Heather and Barry's Homepage

As soon as we were up and moving, we put on our hiking faces and headed to the visitor’s center in Madison to see when the rangers were predicting the main geyser eruptions for the day. The first on the list was Daisy Geyser, which involved a one-mile hike to the location itself, plus thirty minutes or so on either side of the 11 AM time listed. When we arrived at the parking area, Barry looked at the area, looked at the trail map posted at the trailhead, and decided he had no desire to walk for a mile “to see nothing”.

Instead, we turned around and hiked on the boardwalk trail to see Biscuit Basin. As we walked up the boardwalk, an amazingly colorful stream of deep yellow and pale blue merged to introduce us to Barry’s first walk in a high-thermal-activity area. Following the yellow acidic road took us to Sapphire Pool. The deep blue water – a reflection of the sun – was crystal clear. We were able to see far below the surface of the pool. By using my circular polarizer, I was able to capture some shots that demonstated such scientific beauty. We continued along our way until we came to Mustard Spring, were we saw our own personal little eruption. When we arrived at Mustard, the pool was empty; no water was visible at all. The only indication of the existence of such was the small sound of gurgling as we approached. Within seconds, the pool filled to the top, and soon we were honored with a private viewing of one of nature’s phenomena. Seconds passed again, and we watched in pure amazement as the water disappeared into its underground home. In sequence, we share with you, ladies and gentleman, the secret shower of Mustard Spring: This seemed to be a theme, for the two other springs that we passed as we were hiking along, Shell Spring and Avoca Spring, also decided as we were walking by to explode. No harm done; just meant more picture taking. :). Barry, being the skeptic that he is, has decided that none of the thermal activity in the park is actually real. Unfortunately, the park confirmed this as we were walking back to the car from Biscuit to the car for our next destination.

Midway Geyser Basin is the home of Yellowstone’s largest hot spring – Grand Prismatic Spring. Another “be part of the masses and “hike” on the boardwalk trip, we began by admiring the really neat-o waterfall-esque features that began the walk. As I was trying to frame the perfect shot, Barry heard a bird caw in the very very short distance. He came running to me and demanded the camera and the telephoto lens, which I gave him as quickly as I could. In the trees overhead of where we were standing was a raven. When Barry was satisfied with his bird watching, we progressed onward to the trail. Our first encounter was with Excelsior Geyser Crater. Apparently, this geyser was very active in the 1880s, having explosions anywhere from 50 to 300 feet high. The park sign states “The thermal violence formed the jagged crater and apparently ruptured the geyser’s underground system, causing eruptions to cease after 1890.” There was a huge forty-seven hour long eruption in 1985, but nothing since then, and no predictions can be made about when Excelsior will blow again. It seems to me, with very few data points, that every hundred years or so seems to make sense, but I’m far from a park ranger, so my predictions basically mean zippo. shrug Anyway, on our way to the huge-monster, I was captivated by the landscape. The area surrounding the pools in this area were surrounded by these fantastic ripples in the ground with jagged edges and ledges. Run-off from the springs slithered down to the waterfalls that we saw when we first came to the area, sometimes forming pools on the way. These features continued until we reached Grand Prismatic Spring. The sucker was indeed huge, and there was no way to capture the size in a picture. The most fantastic images are the postcards created by professionals from an aerial viewpoint, shown in the sign that tells about the spring on the trail. Three more thermal holes live in this area, which we passed and photographed on the way out. The first was Opal Pool. Like all the others, it was beautiful, but it didn’t do any tricks for us. Turquoise Pool was next. There was this spiffy little bowl that some of the water sat in, draining into the larger pool, which like Sapphire Pool, you could see practically to the bottom. I’m sure the irony between the two names of gems is intentional, but if not, I do like the connection.

Our next stop was one of Barry’s favorites. Thinking that the road would take us elsewhere, we drove the Firehole Loop road and ended up staying there for a while due to Surprise Poll and Black Warrior Lake. Surprise Pool, our first encounter, was all about impressing us. Shaped a little like an animal paw, it captured our attention by boiling all around the edges. The bubbles were most visible at the toes, but could be seen all around the pool if examined closely. Unlike the deep blue hues of the pools and springs we had seen up to this point, Black Warrior Lake was, well, blackish in color. The Lake began with a little baby geyser spouting off in a rage of fury into the translucent depths of H2O. In order to see the geyser from the best angle, we needed to approach the lake from the surrounding boardwalk. Unlike all the other places we had visited today, this walkway had a somewhat different warning. Rather than telling us not to touch the water in order to avoid burning ourselves, we were instructed that the ground not be walked on due to the thermal activity. Tempted as I was, I didn’t test the temperature of the water to see if it would scald me. Barry, however, put his hand near the water at the bottom of his favorite part of the lake or - a little miniature waterfall followed by rapids - and decided that the heat radiating from a few inches above the surface was enough to let him know that the water itself was plenty hot. While Barry fawned over the Warrior’s river, I took some more pictures and in the process watched a raven (or other black bird) approach the area. The bird’s actions were fascinating, actually; it approached the waters edge, sitting right on the crust surrounding the lake. After admiring the geyser for a few moments, it hopped its way up to the boardwalk, then flew off in the direction from which we had just come. When Barry had filled up his quotient of running water for that moment, we left the loop content with our choice, despite the fact that it was not the road that I remembered.

Continuing to be tourists, we went to the next area north in the geyser area of the park. In this section, the Fountain Paint Pot Nature trail, was a new type of thermal activity that neither Barry nor I had ever seen before: mud pots. Before we got to see the mud bubbles, though, we were introduced to Silex Spring, one of the deepest springs in the park - approximately 80 feet. As we approached the shimmering blue pool, a Park Ranger (for which one needs to pay $15 (each) for the guided tour we were about to crash) was talking to a group of people about the pool. It was from her that I learned that the color of the pools and springs came from the sun (mentioned above), and that bison and other wildlife in the park often come to the springs during the winter to eat, as the temperature of the water keeps the vegetation around it lush and defrosted. She also told us about the life that exists both in the water and in the brownish areas around it, and how it is these new forms of life in thermal environments, which are one of the top contributors to medical research and cures. Barry and I tagged along with the group to Fountain Paint Pot, although I stopped listening with my normal hear-everything ears and only half heard what the ranger was talking about because my picture-taker brain turned on. I tried to pay attention, and maybe Barry can fill in the details, but I was entranced with the surroundings and for some reason I tend to lose my ability to multitask when my camera is in the way. I did, however, get the recipe for making a Mud Pot at home. :) Maybe it’s time to get Pikkels a playmate and adopt that potbelly pig that I’ve always wanted. tee-hee Continuing our tour around the loop brought us to a geyser that apparently goes off all the time. The Ranger said that Clepsydra actually is a great geyser to get pictures with, especially around sunrise (yeah, right) or sunset, because she has some color to her that comes out better with the sun on the horizon. We contemplated coming back in the evening, but didn’t want to lock ourselves into a schedule, especially we were hoping to see a bear this evening. We settled with getting pictures of ourselves then, which got us a little wet as the wind picked up and the water from the geyser showered us with a warm breeze.

Walking along all of the boardwalks with all of these other tourists made us hungry and tired, so we decided that it was time to take a lunch break. We ate next to the Nez Perce River and tried to find a table that was in the shade. We were unsuccessful, and decided to eat our PB&J sandwiches on crackers and apples on the ground under some trees. Topped with some granola bars and some Gatorade, it made for the perfect meal in a perfect place.

It was driving back up to Madison to go to Canyon that we found the road I remember from six years ago: the Firehole Canyon Loop Drive. The reason I wanted to find this place is that when I visited the park a month before I met Barry many moons ago, a friend of mine, Reb, and I were swimming in one of the main swimming holes on this road. It was a beautiful area, surrounded by rocks and a little waterfall-type ledge in the beginning that came out into a huge pool where you could swim. All of the cool people (or young and crazy; you can choose) would scamper up into the canyon where the water was really deep and go jumping into the water, float downstream a bit, and do it all over again. As I was climbing the rocks to cannonball for about the fifth time that day, a kayaker floated down the river. I was somewhat familiar with this adventure sport and interested in getting into it given that my best friends, Rachel and Steve, loved it and had brought me down the Deerfield a few times before I had left to drive to California with Reb. Anyway, I had talked to this guy for a bit before he paddled merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily down the river, and (back to current day) I was sick of hearing Barry say that we dragged our boats all across the country for nothing. So I figured if we could find the river, even though we technically aren’t allowed to paddle anywhere in Yellowstone, we could sneak onto it our last day in the park and let Mr. Barry gloat that he got to paddle one of the famous rivers in a National Park. The trip of the canyon started out with the excitement that lit up Barry’s eyes back in Niagara. After all, it was whitewater, and our boats were only an arm’s length away! We stopped the car multiple times to scout the river, and it was looking pretty good, albeit a little boring, until we came to the falls. The falls themselves weren’t really an issue; Barry and I have paddled over a few short waterfalls before and we’re still around to brag about it. The issues were the rocks and the strainers that made any of the three runs Barry and I saw impossible to make. sigh “Such a sweet looking river,” said Barry, “except for all of the death-type stuff.” Disappointed again. None-the-less, we quickly set up the tripod to take a quick picture of the two of us, then continued to scout, hoping for a place where we could take out before the waterfall of doom if the river above was safe. We eventually found the place that I remembered, and I got all excited. It looked completely safe, and even though it looked totally boring (class I, maybe class II), it was still a river to paddle. Higher we went to see where we could put in that would be safe and perhaps allow for a bit more adventure. We found it at Firehole Cascade. About a quarter- to a half-a-mile upstream was another significant drop, almost perfect for an illegal adventure down into the canyon. Why almost perfect? Because some stupid tree decided that the perfect place to fall was across the river, presenting a faultless deathtrap. This only made Barry more frustrated, as the section would have actually been a lot of fun, and again, using our best judgement to keep our mommies happy, we were dissuaded from a fun little paddle on a hot summer day.

Our destination from here was a different part of Yellowstone called Canyon. Before we arrived there, we stopped at another popular tourist trap along the road; a waterfall. It never ceases to amaze me how each waterfall is a spectacular picture of flawless nature. The way that the water cuts the rocks away and flows so gracefully over them in its uniqueness is breathtaking; this waterfall was no exception. We got back into the car and headed north. One thing that I learned six years ago, and anyone who goes there during summer will tell you about, is that there is this practice of spotting wildlife in - yes folks, it’s true - the wild, pulling over and blocking the road, getting out of the vehicle, and getting pictures. I regret to say that Barry and I fell into this trap too, but the pictures were totally worth it. Along the way we saw two elk that were no more than twenty feet away as we followed the trail into the woods. Barry was very patient as I took about 50 pictures trying to get just the right pose in just the right background, but the elk were just not cooperating. Grumpily, I gave him the camera and the telephoto lens. “I want to see the hair on its antlers,” he told me as he zoomed in to the elk that was a body’s length away. When he got the shot he wanted, I grabbed my camera back and waited for my frame. It came minutes later, but the sun was at an angle that didn’t quite give me the effect that I wanted. Mr. Elk came out in shadow. Barry thinks it’s a pretty good picture anyway, and it does have some interesting qualities to it, but it still would have been nice if Mr. Elk had cooperated when the sun was in the right place. Ah, the woes of trying to be the official recording secretary…

Finally en route to our final locale for the day, we turned onto Canyon Rim Road. Known as Yellowstone’s Grand Canyon, walls of rock plummet downward (or upward depending on your perspective) into a gorgeous canyon filled with - you guessed it - whitewater. Once again I had to suffer through the agony of listening to Barry go on and on and on and on and on and on about how he wanted to paddle the river. I can’t say I blame him. Despite the fact that the water is probably huge, it did look like a lot of fun. As we went on out two little jaunts down the trail to see more of the canyon, the first being Grandview Point and the second being Lookout Point, Barry began plotting how to make the run. Apparently, first, we’ll take a helicopter down into the canyon. Somehow magically at the base of Lower Falls, we’ll enter the water from the ‘copter and begin our trip downstream. We’ll need to make sure we’re prepared for anything, given that we’re some large number of feet down in this gully of wilderness with no-one around and no help or serviced if needed. That’s about as far as he got - or as much as I heard (I might have tuned him out. Shhhhh.) - before it was time to get more pictures. A bird, small in size compared to the falls, flew in toward the water as I zoomed in to get the flow of the liquid moving quickly down into the canyon. After the bird’s turn, it was Barry’s and mine. We set up the tripod and fussed with the framing, for it was difficult to get the falls in the way I wanted and get the both of us. It’s not the best picture of us by far, but it does the job. After packing up the equipment at 6:30 PM, we went back to the car and tried to decide if we should drive the rest of the Rim Road and walk to the bottom of the falls or if we wanted to take our chances at seeing more wildlife: specifically a pack of wolves spotted in the area and a few different black bears.

I was able to convince Barry of the latter. We drove more north into the park toward the area called Tower and came to the lookout where the Rangers that we talked to told us was the most likely spot to see such creatures. The scene was exactly like one of the people who told us about the place described; there were a few different people there. A couple people had binoculars, one person had a huge telescope set up. He had been here with his wife for the past hour looking and had yet to have success. The temperature cooled off significantly as nighttime began to overtake the sky, and everyone who had accumulated on the ridge since our parking the car were beginning to wonder if we’d ever see anything at all. We continued to wait, and tension thickened the sky. All of the sudden, the wife of the man with the telescope said to the group, “I see one! It’s running down the hill into the trees.” Everyone looked and saw nothing, as Little Black Spot hid behind a tree for the next few minutes. Then, when it thought we weren’t looking anymore, it came out from behind one set of trees to run behind another. Barry, who had the camera at the time, got the privilege of capturing it on film. Everyone on the hill cheered and waited to see if the peek-a-boo game would continue. Happy with the fact that we could say we saw a bear, we left, despite the fact that my telephoto lens couldn’t see Little Black Spot at a larger magnification.

We got into the car and headed south toward Canyon again, as we were now shower-bound. The amount to pay for cleanliness was quite hefty ($3 something a piece), so Barry and I took our time in the water, soaking up the suds and making sure that every last millimeter of us was sparkling. I then asked someone to borrow her hair-dryer, for anyone who knows about camping in Yellowstone (or anyplace that gets really cold at night) will hopefully tell you that the last thing you want to do is go to sleep with a head of wet hair, especially if one’s hair is as long as mine. Content to have our skin shine, we left and drove farther south to go home. We made and ate a quick dinner of Ramen Noodles and Tasty Bites under our tarp, then had a moon appreciation moment before turning in for the night.