by Joyce Johnson
Summer is a busy time of comings and goings in the Valley. My nephew Eric and wife and son came for a first visit to Montana, from So. CA recently, and I dedicate this column piece to them. Up here to see Mt. Rushmore, Crazy Horse, and me, in that order... as well as more kin in Nevada, I apologized because they might not see the grand view of the Absarokees, obliterated in wildfire smoke, with no end in sight. So I asked the sky to clear for at least an hour when Eric and family were due to stay. (It did, and stayed clear for their stay, thank you.)
Off to the Park: Been a while for me, so this third trip, this time in my nephew’s big fancy pickup. And quick entry with my senior pass, and it began: The stopping here and there to look at steaming hillsides, and when cars pulled over, you slowed down to see if (hoped) it’s a bear. At one of those minor stops, we tourists laughed and videoed a goofy, fearless chipmunk who worked the crowd with his gig, “Now you see me, now you don’t,” as he was darting in and out of the bushes on the other side of the little barrier, to beg for treats. Some of the canyon views beyond the little barriers were heart-pounding steep and...seemed bottomless. Gulp.
But the trip was worth it alone, when at our first destination, Norris, we walked out on the patio to view the basin, Ledge Geyser blew right in front of us, OH WOW! Didn’t know there was another one besides Steamboat. We followed the stairs down under it’s roaring, steamy cloud, and a gentle cool mist fell on us. It continued to roar and blow for about an hour or more and much of the time over a 100 feet up. I asked a ranger how often it blew, and he said, apologetically, “It’s rather common.” [What!? I’m telling everyone it blew just for us. Prove me wrong.]
We slowly walked around the lovely, boiling, multi-colored aqua blue pools of Norris Basin with the geyser still blowing behind us. Then, back at the parking lot where hunger caused an impromptu, time-saving tailgate lunch. After a quick bite, we gave our space to one lucky tourist, and were on the road again to find the great waterfall at Artist’s Point, a treasure hunt in more ways than one, because we got a little lost. One can view the canyon from several points on both sides, and the road signs were baffling I thought. We stopped a couple times but they were not the grand view you see on the postcards. We finally found the large viewing area at Tower Fall, and I held my breath as I walked out on the viewing place, looked to the left, and saw that magical, 132-foot, rainbow-misting, water fall and it’s curly, trailing, blue stream running towards us. The place was full of friendly, smiling tourists from all over the world wandering around, united in one language of “oohing and awing” in enchantment and appreciation. After that we headed home... we thought. The road we reversed on looked the same but there was a huge herd of bison in the fields on both sides. Uh oh. Eric soon figured out we were heading for Yellowstone Lake instead of Mammoth. Just to set the record straight, it wasn't my fault as map monitor... the map was upside down—so there.
Lost for the second time in YNP, was a gift. We would not have seen that huge bison herd, so well spread out over hundreds or more acres, they didn’t even glance at us ogling “Two-leggeds” rolling slowly by in a straight line (all day). They didn’t look first before they mozied across the road either, and what a thrill if you got to stop for one. I have had past “quality time” with bison. A couple dozen of them surrounded my Honda on Hwy 89, at dusk, near Gardiner the winter of 88. I don’t know or remember why it happened so suddenly, but my young passenger was terrified when her window light was blocked by a large dark woolly critter a foot from her. It... takes a few seconds to realize it’s not TV, but is the NOW. But, that night, I sat patiently behind the wheel and didn’t honk or anything. The bison ignored us and just strolled away. I exhale again, from recall.
Our Great Bison, growing so huge and strong eating just grass, are impressive survivors with an old prehistoric lineage. But more recently stars of wild, western legends—fed and clothed the Native Peoples for countless centuries. They are still greatly respected, and of global renown. To all the Park Rangers, bison and wildlife rescuers and advocates, Thank you. 15 thousand years ago, great herds were all over our whole country. Then nearly all killed to near extinction. One Native Elder said, “As long as there is one male and one female bison existing, they will be here,” and he chuckled. And so it is. 4,500 is the latest count.
Finally, heading home in the right direction, we recited our complete list of wildlife sightings: Bison of course big time, some deer, a couple antelope, swans, geese, ducks, unidentified flying big birds, talented chipmunks, wise ravens and last but not least we saw a young coyote trotting casually in front of a long line of crawling cars like a parade leader. We are Earth’s tourists, and privileged stewards of a beloved, gorgeous, hearty, and often funny land. Our Park is a sanctuary; a gold nugget in the heart of America. My eyes sting.
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