My family has not gone on vacation together for almost twenty years. This fall we attempted to remedy that, sort of. Jason and I traveled to Yellowstone National Park near the end of August with my parents and my brother Andrew’s family for an extended weekend overflowing with hydrothermal masterpieces.
Old Faithful is probably Yellowstone’s most famous feature. Its show are pretty predictable, every 45-125 minutes, and last 1-5 minutes typically. Old Faithful discharges boiling water up to 185 feet in the air during these spectacular happenings.
While we were in the Upper Geyser Basin, a buffalo wandered very close to our group. He even kindly posed for us.
Isabelle did not fancy walking on her own much so Andrew frequently strapped her on his back like a babe.
Thanks to our well-timed reservations, made nine months in advance, we were all able to secure accommodations in the Old Faithful area. Jason and I, along with Drew’s clan, stayed in the frontier cabins adjacent to the lodge and my parents resided at the Old Faithful Inn. The cabins were definitely a relic of a bygone era. They by no means were sophisticated. However, despite their simplicity, they were tidy and, more importantly, literally a minute away from Old Faithful and the other geological oddities of the Upper Geyser Basin.
One side of this cabin was ours during our stay. No, it wasn’t spacious or super comfortable but it was very convenient.
Boardwalks are quite common in Yellowstone due to ground instability, thermophilic organisms, and scorching runoff.
Morning Glory Pool, beautiful at 158 degrees, has repeatedly been the victim of vandalism. Leave it to the idiots of the world to treat a unique and delicate spring like their personal wishing well.
It’s difficult to describe Yellowstone to those that have never been there because it seems unbelievable even as you are witnessing it: the pockets of steam peppering the horizon, the vibrant pools and stinky mudpots, the streaks of living color turning the ground into a rainbow, and, of course, the fickle geysers. The Upper Geyser Basin holds the majority of the world’s active geysers. From Old Faithful, which erupts roughly every 90 minutes, to Giant, which hasn’t erupted since 2010, Upper Geyser’s performers are a fascinating natural phenomenon that will keep you hurrying down boardwalks in search of the next upsurge surprise. During the afternoon we spent in the area, we watched some spectacular steam and spout explosions. Grotto, Turban, Spasmodic, Sawmill, Lion, Anemone, and Old Faithful all showed us their geyser stuff. We were really trying to catch Grand Geyser’s routine too but we missed it by minutes.
Grotto Geyser discharges about every 8 hours on average. Although it only shoots water 10-40 feet, its sinter shell, formed by coated tree stumps, makes these events very cool.
The Firehole River winds through Upper Geyser Basin forming a strip of normality amidst the remarkably odd.
Sawmill erupts roughly every 1-3 hours. It was named for the humming sound it makes during these events.
The Upper Geyser Basin was extraordinary. It’s amazing how nature’s genius can transform a little groundwater and some magma heat into an assortment of majestic and powerful spray displays. I wish we had had another day to spend near Old Faithful but we had other park wonders to see. You will hear all about those marvels next week. Will you be able to quell your boiling curiosity until then?
The day after our long journey to Grinnell Glacier, we decided to slow our pace a little while technically speeding it up.
This Long Ranger traveled at 150 MPH. We covered a million acres of the park’s spectacular terrain during our one-hour flight.
We chose to hit the skies surrounding Glacier’s imposing peaks in a Long Ranger, a helicopter that reaches around 150 MPH. During our airborne hour, we got up-close views of several glaciers that are nearly impossible to see otherwise, along with breathtaking glimpses into the park’s backcountry nooks. Wow! I didn’t mind the heights or the sometimes abrupt course changes. Not everyone in our helicopter was equally unruffled though. One of the ladies in our group became so nervous she wouldn’t even look out the windows. Jason also objected a little to our rotorcraft’s occasional sharp movements, or at least his wimpy belly did, but he loved the adventure regardless.
Going-to-the-Sun Road, completed in 1933, is an engineering marvel with hand-excavated tunnels and arch bridges.
Following our flight through Glacier’s jagged heavens, we hit Going-to-the-Sun-Road again but with less distance in mind than on previous occasions. We took it at an unhurried pace, stopping for viewpoints, photographs, and a couple of hikes.
St. Mary Falls surged with beautifully blue water.
The first trail we scaled led to St. Mary and Virginia Falls. This 3.6-mile trek seemed relatively laidback after our Grinnell scrambles. The two cascading features we encountered gave very different accounts of waterfalls. St. Mary’s spill was abundant and gushing while Virginia’s was slender and graceful.
Surprisingly, bear sightings seem to be quite common in Glacier. We chanced upon a number of the beasts but we never had to whip out our bear spray.
We decided, after those surging diversions, that we still had enough oomph for one more walk. We chose to expend that remaining energy by hiking to a viewpoint overlooking Hidden Lake. Hidden Lake is situated almost directly on the Continental Divide. Its altitude and position make it a frequent target for drastic weather swings, as we regrettably discovered.
The trail to the Hidden Lake Overlook wound through rolling hills topped with alpine flowers.
When we left our car to begin the 3-mile journey to Hidden Lake, the skies were a little cloudy but calm. We strolled contentedly up through alpine meadows carpeted with cheery wildflowers but, by the time we reached the overlook, our endpoint, the pleasantness of our surroundings had dissipated. Sprinkles began to fall and they quickly thickened and fattened. Within minutes, they amassed themselves into a torrential army of aggressive water.
The blurriness of this picture wasn’t caused by a camera malfunction but a weather blip, AKA buckets of rain. Hiking back from Hidden Lake felt a lot like going for a dip in a muddy swimming pool with your shoes on.
It had showered on us every day we had been in Montana. Our rain jackets, which we had wisely thought to pack, had, up to this point, adequately helped us avoid too much of a soaking but this tempest was different. This was the kind of storm that blinds you. The sort that turns tiny mountain trickles into powerful muddy currents within minutes, and creates rivers in your undies and streams through your shoes. Even with our raincoats, we were completely sopping before we had dashed a fraction of the distance we needed to travel to get back to our car. To make matters worse, thunder and lightning started to assault us as we scurried down that raging mountain. Granted, those flashes never strayed dangerously close but, after our experience on Wheeler Peak last summer, I’m pretty suspicious of any and all rumblings. When we reached our vehicle, following what seemed like an eon of wetness, we had to change every stitch of our clothing and yet we remained uncomfortably damp for the entire hour-long ride back. Two days later, when we were packing up our suitcases to return home, our shoes were still soggy from this experience.
When we were riding back from Hidden Lake, we encountered several unexpected travelers on the road ahead of us: a black bear mamma and her two cubs.
Although our Hidden Lake drenching was not planned, the next day getting wet was on our agenda. We decided to do a half-day whitewater rafting trip down the Middle Fork of the Flathead River. Do our amazing ideas for amusement ever cease? We floated through scenery and over rapids captured in the Meryl Streep movie The River Wild. We defeated many segments of whitewater like Bone Crusher, Tunnel, Pumphouse, Jaws, Repeater, CBT (Could Be Trouble), and Narrows. It was in one of those bumpy sections that our boat slammed up against a rock. At that point, our guide instructed everyone in the vessel to lean toward the boulder to keep from overturning but, thanks to a heavy dose of confusion, we all leaned the wrong way and our raft tipped. In slow motion, I saw Jason and the guy next to him fall into the water and then it was all over for me. Brr! Glacial runoff is…glacial! Jason popped out of the river much later than I did and seemed quite disoriented. He started swimming away from the raft and I had to coax him back to its buoyant safety. It was quite the experience but, at least, it made this paragraph pretty exciting, didn’t it?
Our raft may look rather waterlogged here but in other photos it’s so splashed and submerged that you can’t really tell there’s even a boat there.
Even with our turnover, oddly, water was still on the menu for us that evening. After rafting, we took a mellow boat tour around Lake McDonald, the biggest lake in Glacier. Lake McDonald is 10 miles long and 1.5 miles wide and, with a 472-foot depth, it’s pretty frigid. So I’m happy to report that all of our hands and feet remained securely inside the DeSmet, a 57-foot historic craft that has glided through Lake McDonald since the 1920s, and no clever rocks coaxed us into doing any hasty flips.
Bone Crusher conquered!
Our Glacier trip was fantastic. We hiked over 28 miles in total during our vacation, a decent tally. We also soared in the heavens and wallowed in the water. The continual onslaught of precipitation was a bit disappointing, as were the below-average temperatures, but at least they kept the crowds away. I’d recommend Glacier National Park to anyone that likes exploring the outdoors. If you do want to check it out, I’d suggest not waiting too long. Thanks to man’s impact, the park’s once 150 glaciers now number only 25 and by 2030 there will most likely be zero. Way to go numbskulls! So see those waning spectacles soon before they’re going, going…gone.
As much as Jason and I loved Whitefish, and we really did, we were thrilled about heading into Glacier National Park, our main focus for this trip.
The hike to Avalanche Lake had some beautiful surprises.
Avalanche Lake was as smooth as a looking glass.
We spent our first afternoon in the park climbing nearly 5 miles to Avalanche Lake, a subalpine pool fed by a number of dramatic waterfalls. It was our first taste of Glacier and we were not disappointed by the serenity of Avalanche’s reflective waters.
We came upon this grizzly bear eating berries as we were driving to the trailhead for Grinnell Glacier. Jason thought it was a big dog at first.
Lower Grinnell Lake remained visible in the valley below us for most of our hike. Now that’s some tasty eye-candy.
That chunk of ice behind me is Salamander Glacier. Jason encouraged me to behave accordingly.
The next morning, we woke up early and drove more than 2 hours along Going-to-the-Sun Road, a slender two-lane highway that cuts across sharp slopes and over the Continental Divide, to arrive at the trailhead for Grinnell Glacier. Grinnell Glacier is one of the most accessible glaciers in the park but reaching it still requires over 10 miles of hiking, even if you, like us, cut out 2.5 miles of the journey with a scenic boat ride around Swiftcurrent Lake and Lake Josephine. Yet, this trek is well worth its 1,600-foot elevation gain. It passes through meadows bursting with vibrant wildflowers and over weathered cliffs adorned with lacey falls. Lower Grinnell Lake, with its striking turquoise hue, remains nestled below you as you ascend, demanding your attention like a glittering jewel on the neck of a captivating woman.
As if there wasn’t enough cold liquid at Grinnell to begin with, the sky dropped a whole lot more of it on us.
The perplexing turquoise color of this lake is caused by glacial flour: tiny bits of fine-grained minerals ground up by the glacier and suspended in its melt off.
Upper Grinnell Lake looks bizarre with its milky waters and floating ice.
Your mouth may never close as you make your way to Grinnell, thanks to nature’s many exposed wonders, and your destination is no less spectacular. Grinnell Glacier, like all the remaining glaciers in the park, is thawing. It’s estimated that by 2020 it will no longer be a glacier. (People are dumb.) The waters melting from its spout have formed Upper Grinnell Lake, a shockingly blue body of water littered with icebergs. Grinnell’s frosty expanse exudes cold but, for Jason and me, capricious rain added an element of tangible chill as we took in that odd arctic block and its basin of icicle islands.
Grinnell Glacier, like all of the ice on this neglected planet, is melting. The water in this lake was once part of its many solid acres.
We came across a whole group of bighorn sheep as we were descending from Grinnell. They didn’t seem to be too intimidated by people.
After that exhausting hike, we still had to drive 2 hours to get back to our cabin. The top of Logan Pass, the heart of the Continental Divide, was encased in a dense fog on our return voyage, making its precipitous drop-offs all the scarier. We made it back though, depleted but safe.
The trail to Grinnell passes under a waterfall. Getting wet is compulsory when a stream is cascading onto your head.
Between waterfalls and falling rain, Jason and I found ourselves pretty soggy as we trekked back from Grinnell, especially Jason.
That is how our first two days in the park concluded. Next week’s post will cover our last two days. Be prepared for rides through the skies and rapid flips.
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