Today was all about Yellowstone and crossing the Continental Divide. I zig-zagged three times across the flinty spine of our homeland, and yes, it’s true, the rivers DO flow east. But they kinda flow north for awhile, too. There are some areas where they are not flowing at all! It’s still winter up here, pretty much. Very grey, cold, cloudy, fogged over. Yellowstone and Jackson Lakes are almost completely frozen over, and many areas of the rivers are blockaded by huge clumps of ice. Dirty snow folds over the landscape like great slabs of melted, cheap-o, chocolate chip ice cream.
My drive up to Old faithful was quite long due to many road work delays. During the delays, I read a book, waiting for the flaggers to beckon me forward. When I finally reached Yellowstone Lodge, I was not thrilled by what greeted me: expansive, crowded parking lots, construction barricades everywhere, debris, orange-mesh safety barriers, chain-link fences, and lots of chaos, energetically. There was nowhere for the eye to focus and find rest. The lodges were beautiful and stately, but the eyesores all around them made hard work of the imagination: how did this all look 80 years ago? Ten years ago?
I slapped a peanut butter sandwich together and scurried off down the gritty paved path to sit in an arena with hundreds of folks like me, waiting to watch Old Faithful do his thing. He’s not as faithful as he used to be, due to fairly recent seismic activities. We all experienced an eruption interruption. There were several false starts, then finally: BLAMM-O!!! About 2.5 minutes of spewage! It reminded me of a time last year, when pressure was building in my life to the extent that I “blew,” very similarly. But my mother, the only spectator, was not at a safe distance for the spectacle. I think I nearly par-boiled her with my anger. I’m still sorry, Mom.
The crowds quickly parted afterwards and headed directly to the lodge for food and souvenirs. I pressed forward like a trained athlete to the front of the crowd where I rewarded myself with a small bowl of vegetarian chili in a paper cup, for which I paid $6. Good grief!
Jubie and I drove another 40 miles or so to Fishing Bridge Campground, where we’re holed up for the night. Don’t let the name seduce you into thinking: quaint, picturesque, bridgey, fishermen, fresh fish, views of the lake. Nope. Just a parking lot with water hook-up but no electricity, for which I paid $32. Bad grief! I walked ½ mile to the little grocery store to purchase a bottle of wine and some salad fixin’s, but was “carded” (come ON!) and turned away because I had left my I.D. back at the Motherload.
Well, I made due with a dinner of hot chocolate, sautéed zucchini and crackers. I’m hitting the sack soon as the sun goes down, hoping to get out of here by 7am. I ask you, have you EVER known a nature-lover who did NOT like Yellowstone? I’m ashamed to admit it. Maybe it’s the weather, maybe the pre-season crowds (I truly CANNOT imagine being here during peak season), but I leave unimpressed. Although I feel great compassion for Old Faithful, the name he’s expected to live up to, and the unrest and angst he holds in his belly.
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