The Last Bit of Yellowstone in a Day

Short Version:
Our visit to Yellowstone National Park draws to a close

Long Version:
Obsidian from the Yellowstone Basin has been found as far away as the Mississippi Valley (a long way away). The pre-European peoples made arrowheads and other implements from it. Much of what was used came from an area called the Obsidian Cliffs, which was both far less impressive that Tuhua, off the east coast of NZ's North Island; and carefully devoid of any legitimate or safe illegitimate parking spots - we suspect to stop people stopping to play collector. If that was the goal, it sure as eggs worked on us, as we passed on by, heading north to Mammoth Hot Springs and its much-vaunted terraces.

If Old Faithful was a cultural imperative for the Amerikans, the terraces at Mammoth Hot Springs were almost in the same league for us, affording as they do a glimpse into the past, to what the Pink and White Terraces near Rotorua must have looked like prior to the Tarawera eruption of 1886. Like a coral reef, most of the constructs were dead, leaving only fantastic skeletal remains behind. They looked pretty cool. There were some few active, living environments too, and they ranged from pretty neat to truly awesome; Canary Springs was probably the most amazing thing we saw in the whole of the park. Fantastically-shaped bacterial colonies piled atop one another and spread fan-like across plateaus formed by the corpses of their forebears; colors waxed brightly, then blended or stayed clearly separated, depending on the paths taken by the hottest waters; fern-like tendrils and fronds swayed in the gentle currents. Magical spot.

It was starting to get cold in the valley, and we still had a long way to go, so we piled back into the Reaper, ignored the irritating squeak which had started to emanate from the front left wheel, and blasted back the way we'd come for a bit, before hooking eastwards towards the waterfall region of the park. It was nearing full dark by the time we arrived at the Lower Falls, but the light of the moon was ample for us to appreciate the spectacle we found at the end of the 600-vertical-foot path down the cliff-face. There was a LOT of water piling over the precipice, and the cataract was almost glowing in the moonlight. We caught glimpses of the Upper Falls in the near distance on our way back up the path, then saw them from much closer quarters after sharing chilli sandwiches in the deserted parking lot.

The moon had disappeared by the time we reached the Sulphur Cauldron, leaving us in absolute darkness, except where our stupidly-powerful night-riding lights illuminated whatever was in their path like spotlights hitting a stage. Actors on this stage were largely bubbling pools, some of water, others of bright yellow molten sulphur. The sound of the bubbling seemed louder than in the daytime, and some of the bubbles sounded really large; James Earl Jones bubbles. Elk were roaring not far away, and the sound that we'd found incredible and a wee bit strange during the day (and from the safety and relative comfort of the Reaper) took on a whole new, rather frightening dimension in the cold, cold darkness outside. The glimpse of a coyote, caught by the edge of a beam, in stalking mode and heading our way provided little reassurance, and it was with relief that we leaped into the Reaper, with just a little more leapy vigor than usual, and set off again.

We were soon back out of the van and back on high alert as we hiked up the hill past a number of small fumaroles towards the Dragon's Mouth, which was making some seriously scary noises as it bubbled away in the dark. When we played our lights over it we saw a restless pool, running back under an overhang into impenetrable darkness. It was from this cavern that the noises were emanating. Further up the hill we found the Mud Volcano, which apparently once was a full-fledged volcano, albeit one made of mud. It blew itself to bits back in the 1800s, though, so what we found was a decent-sized mud pool, bubbling away quietly in the night. After some debate we decided to hit the long way home; a loop hike up and around the top of a hillside. We'd not long set off when the second-thoughts started, encouraged by the elk roaring away somewhere in the darkness, and by the knowledge that creatures with teeth were around and about and quite probably hungry. We had opposing strategies for warding off the eaters; Nene making as much noise as possible so they'd know we were there and multiple and that they should go away and not be startled when we rounded a corner; me trying for absolute silence, so they'd not come to investigate the strfange and potentially edible noises. At a guess the sum total was probably something like one clumsy, noisy creature that smelled like two: probably edible, definitely interesting. We made it to the really stinky Black Dragon Caldron (sic) unmolested, then back down Cooking Hillside (it started heating up in 1978, killing all the trees that grew on it), past Grizzly Fumarole and the Mud Geyser area, which was really impressive in the returned moonlight.

Back into the Reaper, back onto the highway, south past the really large and rather pretty Yellowstone Lake to a region where we were tormented by owls, which seemed to appear from nowhere to threaten the Reaper and its occupants before disappearing again into the darkness. Eventually we made it to the Lewis Lake Campground, where we found ourselves a spot and fell into bed and to sleep without much further ado.