Nine-mile TH to Brimstone Point
Made it to the trailhead by 9, after a few stops along the way to admire a bison herd in the Hayden Valley and the sun shining through fog and steam near the Nez Perce Ford.
Starting a hike, especially a challenging one like this, always makes me a bit nervous. Am I really prepared? Will the weather be decent? What have I forgotten? And of course, what will go wrong that I didn’t anticipate? Because there is always something that goes wrong. The only question is whether you have the flexibility and resourcefulness to deal with it.
But you can’t sit around dithering on a beautiful day for hiking. We stashed a couple of beers in a shady spot for our return, took our trailhead selfie and started walking.
Dan and I hit the trail
The first miles went through old burns, which supported a profusion of geraniums, lupines and fireweed.
A few log crossings were all that slowed our rapid progress on the level and well-maintained trail.
It was hot with neither cloud nor breeze to cut the sun. This weather seemed to favor flies over mosquitoes and kept our pace lively, as the flies are the kind that take little chunks of flesh when you stop to admire the scenery and are not so vigilant.
We stopped for lunch at a lovely spot along the lake. I stripped down and dove right in, adding Yellowstone to my life list of bagged lakes. At 7500 feet, its waters are considerably warmer than the typical alpine lake in the Rockies or Sierras, but still cold enough to be quite refreshing. Despite witnessing my obvious state of refreshment, Dan declined to dive in, and settled for a wade and a rinse.
Post-swim lunchtime along Yellowstone Lake
The forest became denser as we proceeded south, and began looking more like bear country. We rounded a corner on the trail and went from forest to dense brush and thought it wise to announce our presence. A call of “Hello bears! We come in peace” was answered by an explosion in the brush 10 yards ahead. A wave of energy parted the foliage, shooting up the hillside. Although we saw no fur, only one creature moves with that kind of speed and power.
We backed off, bear spray in hand, and (as calmly as we could) explained that we meant no harm and wished to be on our way. Some scuffling noises 40 yards above the trail indicated that we had the bears’ leave to proceed.
Of course we looked back, and we found that we were being followed by a good size long-tailed weasel (or possibly a marten). We walked on, looked back again and it was still there, skulking behind. We called it out.
“Why are you following us?”
“Are you a spy?”
“Who sent you? Was it the bear?”
Eventually it did cease its surveillance and turned off the trail to complete its weasel errands, whatever those may be.
There was no more drama on the rest of the hike, just a succession of lovely views of the lake and the mountains beyond.
Our Park Service lakeside campsite was superb. The size of the lake (at 140 square miles it is very big) lends a feeling of being in fjord country.
There was plenty of time for another swim and to lounge around the shore. Our satisfaction was marred only by the flies. They were atrocious and remained so until sundown, when mosquitos began their shift.
But when you have a sundown like this, it is hard to complain.
Keep ’em coming, Drew.