Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming

I hadn't originally planned to go to Yellowstone, but I was so close, it seemed silly not to. Like going all the way to Hawaii and not going in the ocean. Or going all the way to New York and not seeing art.

Alice with Eagle

Yellowstone has several things I like and several I dislike. Like: mountains. Alice Avion has now gone to 8300 feet. Dislike: tourists. It is a very popular park, even on a Thursday. Like: wild, dangerous animals. Buffalo became mundane, but still amused me that most of them weigh as much as Alice. My car could pull a buffalo, but my axles could not support its weight. And I like that they are wild and dangerous and unfenced. It humbles you that at any moment, the creature could charge you and put you back in your place. Dislike: park layout. There are many two lane roads all over the park, perhaps 150 miles worth of roads. You have to keep an eye on the car in front of you, because it will stop without any notice if it (thinks it) sees an animal, traffic be damned. I wish there was a shoulder the whole way, if our only interface with most of the park is via road. The park is so large, there are towns in it to provide gas, food, and sweatshirts to the dummy who doesn't gas up first, bring food, or understand weather (there was snow on the ground in places). I have not yet hiked any of the trails (well, there are short, boardwalk-style trails to individual points of interest; I looked at some of those), so I can't rate them. I know there are fewer than I would expect.

With all the notices warning about bears, I was really hoping to see one. One of my inspirations for going to the park was from "Travels with Charley," in which Steinbeck talks about how many bears he saw and how much it upset his dog. Around each curve, along each stream, I expected to see a bear. I hoped to see a bear. Black bear, or grizzly bear, I didn't care. I just wanted a bear. I'd see a crowd of stopped cars, most blocking the road, some sensibly pulled to the side. I peered eagerly for the bear, only to see a happy coyote frolicking in the grass. It's just a coyote! On the other hand, he looked more happy and more healthy than the ones I see in the suburbs.

The quest continued. Sleeping elk under trees. More buffalo. Ground squirrels. All were marvelous, and none were a bear. As the afternoon wore on, two things became obvious: I would not see a bear, and the campgrounds in the park were all full. I would have to make the 50 mile journey back to the park entrance to find lodging in town.

This made me melancholy. The distance, the darkness, the mountainous roads made me not want to linger to see the sun setting, the pelicans swimming on the lakes, the large herd of buffalo grassing in the slanting evening sun. All was a disappointment because I hadn't seen a bear. I thought about making one up. All the dark shapes in the woods I would pass, when I found myself alone on a road--those could be bears. No one was around to confirm or deny it. I could see them in my mind's eye, not really much different than remembering seeing a bear. The mind can play tricks.

I stopped to see the 8:30PM Old Faithful geyser. Geysers are weird, fascinating things. The earth reminding you it could boil you any minute, if it wanted to. Steam erupting from the ground all around, then this geyser. It didn't seem like a surprise, all those pools of primordial ooze, for the earth to erupt like that.

As I made my way to the park entrance in the waning light, not seeing any bears, I passed a herd of elk. I could barely see them, and only the high speed of my camera could pick the babies apart from the adults and the general darkness (that picture doesn't even look like it was taken at night, does it!). It should have been a sign. Wake up, Kristen. There are wonderful things in the world, even when the things you want aren't around.
As I reached the last stretch of road, a long, dark, lonely stretch, I continued along, listening to my book ("Thousand Splendid Suns"), thoughtlessly obeying the speed limit (much easier to do when you are pulling a trailer), when a shape leaped out out of the darkness ahead. It was light brown, still, taller than the car; the profile of the great beast like a giant target standing slightly to the left of the center line. Elk are much larger in front of your car. While it is no buffalo, its 900 pound mass must be respected. I slowed quickly, swerved slightly to the right to avoid it. As all animals do, it registered my approach and leaped to my right, in front of my corrected direction. I slammed on the breaks, my camera sliding to the floor, and all 8500 pounds of my two vehicles slowing from 40 mph to stop. I don't think I was going fast enough that I would be injured (unless it went through the windshield), but I knew the car would be wrecked, my trip would be done, and I would have killed my first animal on the highway. Alice and the Durango were not interested in that fate, however; our adventure is still only half done. We stopped, a foot or two to spare, and the big elk ran off.

I continued on, this time significantly slower than the speed limit, switched my book to music, and watched my fingers tremble like birds as I made my way into town.