Shoshone Lake to the Little Firehole River
Up early and hiking as today we resupply at Old Faithful. There we will also have a chance to get cold drinks and cheeseburgers. No need to rush, though –there is always time to admire the early morning light on a beautiful wilderness lake.
A three-mile hike after breakfast brings us to the Shoshone Geyser Basin on the western end of Shoshone Lake. This little-known, little-visited basin can’t compare with the thermal glories of Old Faithful and its surroundings. But here we have the chance to explore, to examine, and to reflect. Old Faithful is a world treasure, but let’s agree that it is not a spot which lends itself to contemplation.
What Shoshone Geyser Basin lacks in spectacle it makes up for in mystery.
From a distance all we can see are plumes of steam rising from a meadow on a cool morning. What is actually there is up to us to discover. There are no signs at Shoshone Basin, other than ones advising us to stay on the trail. The basin could hold a few pools and vents, or it could be full of more-kinetic water works. Only one way to find out.
What we discovered were springs of various temperatures and thus colors; hissing steam vents; geyser pots that filled, gurgled, paused, then flung buckets of water 6 or 10 feet in the air. It was weird and strange and wonderful.
Moss grows on a hillside, fed and watered by geyser spray
And (upon contemplation) it reminded us that the earth is not always hospitable to life. There is nothing ordained or inevitable about us or our existence. The forces of nature have their own agenda, follow their own dictates.
We spent an appropriate amount of time there, then began hiking the 9 miles to Old Faithful. Dan’s ankle had been nagging him since the second day out. Today it went from bothersome to incapacitating. He had been controlling the pain with ibuprofen, but now it was out of hand and he was visibly limping after a few miles. Stopped at a break along the Firehole River we both stripped off our shoes and socks to soak our feet in the cold water. A glance at his swollen ankle told me he wouldn’t be going much farther.
He began talking over the idea of bailing out at Old Faithful. It was the right move. Much wiser to bail while in contact with civilization, rather than push on and become incapacitated in a remote area.
Dan, being the friend that he is, did not expect me to bail with him. He was fine with hanging around the park for a few days while I finished the hike. Figuring out how to do so was the problem.
There are no shuttle services at the park, and I told Dan he would probably have to hitch. He is a much more respectable citizen than me and had never hitchhiked before in his entire life. I was obligated to give him a few pointers.
“Pick a spot where traffic is slow or stopped. Give people plenty of time to check you out. Take off your sunglasses. Your best bet is dudes in pickup trucks”. I left out the part about hitchhiking being illegal in National Parks.
We arrived at our destination facility and asked for our resupply boxes. The desk clerk smiled and said, “Oh, so you’re the guys”. She went to the back room and came out with our boxes.
We thanked her and I asked “Are there any shuttle services in the park?”
Dan added “I’ve hurt my ankle and can’t keep hiking and want to get to my car. I’m stranded here”.
“There aren’t any shuttles. Where is your car?”
“At Ninemile Trailhead”
“My shift ends at 3. Come back here at 3:30 and I’ll drive you”
Woof. There it was again – the freely-given kindness of complete strangers. It’s one of the things I love about hiking. Somehow, when you are feeling stuck or lost or beat down, someone comes along and offers up just what you need. Maybe not always, but way more often than you would expect.
Dan wasn’t done though. “I have another problem – all the campgrounds are full. I don’t have a place to stay”.
“Wait here”. She went to the back room and returned a few minutes later.
“I called our campgrounds manager. We have a policy of never turning away hikers or bikers. Just go to a campground and tell them you are a hiker and they will take care of you”.
“That is amazing. Thank you.”
“See you at 3:30.”
And that was that. In 30 minutes we went from being stuck to having all our problems solved. Time for a beer and a burger.
We found a shady spot outside and opened our food. I bit into my bacon cheeseburger.
“This burger is dry”
“No way. It’s impossible to make a dry bacon cheeseburger. There’s just too much fat involved.”
Dan took a bite. “I take that back. It is possible.”
We somehow managed to choke down our burgers, finish off our fries, and chug down our beers. The hardship.
I organized my resupply, making sure I had food and fuel for the next four days. I suggested Dan meet me with his car at the Mary Mountain Trailhead in two days. That would save me a three-mile road walk along the busy highway between the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone and Yellowstone Lake. It was the weak link in the planned route and would come after a 23-mile hike and I was dreading it.
Dan said he would camp at nearby Canyon campground, and asked what time I thought I would make the trailhead. Our plan was set and it was time to start walking again.
I headed west on the boardwalk behind Old Faithful, weaving through the crowds of tourists. There was one clot of people admiring a cow elk sitting in the shade, no doubt hiding out from the wolves. It was the only elk I saw on this whole trip.
Old Faithful and its crowds, from a distance
When I had last been here twenty years ago, the elk were so plentiful that my daughters made a game of it. Whoever spotted an elk (they called them “tan butts”) got a free punch. Much of their time was spent pummeling each other mercilessly. They were always such good daughters, finding ways to keep themselves engaged and entertained.
The boardwalk ended, I crossed the road, made my way over the Firehole River and began the steep thousand-foot climb up to the rim overlooking Geyser Basin. It was hot and dusty and I ran out of water, not having filled up at the Firehole and not finding any along the way.
Old Faithful and the Geyser Basin from the caldera rim
But the climb and the thirst were soon forgotten when I reached my campground, a lovely spot next to a 12-foot fall on the Little Firehole River.
I pulled out the can of beer from my pack and stuck it in the river; I watered up; I washed up; I sat back in my comfy campground and enjoyed a few sips of whisky and then dinner, then played my ukulele as the sun set. Another long-tailed weasel/marten ran right through the camp, not five feet from where I sat. No doubt my music charmed her.
I lay down on my foam pad and once again felt welcomed by the earth, felt my spine stretch out and relax, felt the peace and serenity and gratitude of true belonging.
The earth was not made for us, but we are made for it. Nature may have its own agenda, but we belong here all the same, in our one true home.