Savory Sulfur — the Armpit Incense of an Earth Intense

Travels with Wally and Company: The Westward Excursion: 1988

Day 7: June 29, 1988 Cody, Wyoming to Yellowstone National Park

The sun shone brilliantly as its rays casually peeped over the mountains, rousing the sleepy Wapiti Valley. The heat rose inside my enclosed sleeping quarters, finally forcing me to awake.

Another day. Another shower. Another nutritious breakfast of Lucky Charms.

Soon, we set our sights on Yellowstone National Park — only thirty-one miles away in northwestern Wyoming. Mountains rose on each side of the sparsely populated mountains. Snow remained on the lofty summits. Gently rolling slopes gave way to thousands of waterfalls, cascading by the roadside.

The waterfalls emptied the melting snow into mud gullies, pouring into the swift-running river which followed the road. Every scenic area was outlined by a perfect backdrop — deep blue sky, soft recliners of clouds that hardly seemed to move, casting light shadows against everlasting evergreen.

An invisible line was drawn across the mountains where trees of certain heights and types were forbidden (by the Laws of Nature) to grow — the timberline.

We pulled into the Eastern Gate of Yellowstone at 9 o’clock. It was a Paul McCartney ‘long and winding road’ to the Visitor Center. From there, we would decide the campground. Some disallowed canvas campers because of wild creatures — mostly bears, and maybe, even, Wally Chapstick.

Noelle expected some major change once we entered Yellowstone — like Dorothy in Oz. But the entire area was beautiful — not just bits and parts stamped by the U.S. Department of the Posterior — I mean, Interior.

In fact, Steinbeck on his travels avoids these “exhibitions” — finding his own paradise with fewer crowds and fewer “oddities” — like Old Faithful.

The National Parks do not confine the finer features of nature. They protect as guardians for future generations who may behold the beauty of America in all its wonder.

Thank you, Republican, Teddy Roosevelt.

Yellowstone is larger than the states of Rhode Island and Delaware — combined. And we had how much time here? Less than two whole days? I read that forty tourists last year were gored by wild bison. They are extremely ill-tempered and unpredictable — like Wally Chapstick.

I also read warnings concerning bears and how to avoid an unfavorable confrontation. Strict procedures were enforced for food disposal and washing and cooking. No food stored in campers — not even my cache of Cheese-Its.

Noelle grew paranoid concerning “the bears” — an easy target for her older brothers — lobbing joke after joke at her.

“Are you sure you can make it to the bathroom?”

“Lions and tigers and bears — oh my!”

We stopped at the fishing village — Bridge Bay Village — and visited the Welcoming Center. A mini-exhibit was pleasant enough. We then focused on The Grant Village, located at the southern end, stumbling upon an enormous royal blue lake. On every side, mountains surrounded the lake. One glance could not take in the entire lake.

This lake — Yellowstone Lake — some one hundred miles in length — is the largest body of water at an altitude of 7500 feet above sea level, more of an ocean than a lake. The wind whipped wickedly across the lake, creating endless whitecaps against the rocky shoreline.

Mom pulled the red family truckster over to a beach with flyfishermen trying to snag the infamous cutthroat trout. I read it was the only fish to inhabit the lake. As I ran for the water, my camera jostled around my neck. Cupping the water to refresh my face numbed my hands and my face.

Could I actually feel and smell the cleanliness of the water as it trickled down my arms?

The sky was clear and bright. The cold morning yielded to the heat of summer. By 10 o’clock, we secured a campsite. By noon, all sites were usually full. The campground was wooded, clean, and comfortable. We “bear-proofed” the site — dumping all dirty water into a large utility sink at the bathhouse. All trash cans were bear-proof, too.

“All this precaution concerning bears,” I said out loud, “And I bet we’ll never see one!” Did I say ‘never?”

After lunch, we headed to the Lower Geyser Basin and the famous Old Faithful Geyser. The parking lot was full. The area was “a big to do.” Shops and restaurants and even a post office surrounded the basin. All the buildings were made of logs — to seem quaint and part of the landscape.

A ranger told us Beehive Geyser was ready to erupt. A small crowd had gathered. It was one geyser that did not erupt too frequently but was said to be the most spectacular.

We stood a good distance — with not enough time to speed walk for a closer view. Soon, small spurts of steam and water shot out of the earth’s crevice. A large funnel of hot water and white steam shot high, and then quickly evaporated.

We learned that underground water pools. Deep magma deposits heated these streams, leftover from the ancient volcanic activity. The water touches the hot rock and turns to steam deep inside the earth. The steam then escapes to the surface, but cold water stops the supply. The pressure continues to increase. The water bubbles over and reduces the weight of the cold water. The steam suddenly releases. Just so cool. The Beehive Geyser blast lasted five minutes.

By this time, Old Faithful was planned to blow. A large crowd gathered around — all positioned with cameras. After a first “tease spurts,” Old Faithful discharged its powerful blast — 90 to 100 feet into the air. It was one of the most spectacular displays of nature I have ever seen.

The aroma of sulfur (just like chemistry class) is not the most pleasant fragrance around. The basin smelled like one eternal fart without the hilarious bubbling of the butt cheeks.

Such farts I called “silencers.”

We walked the loop around the geyser basin, including many thermal springs and thermal pools that were interesting and colorful. The boiling water rises to the surface and collects like a hot, hot, hot tub. Tiny forms of algae grow and thrive. The actual heat causes the algae to turn colors — various shades of blue, pink, red, and, yellow. Steam rose from the pool and carried across the basin. The water was crystal clear. One could easily see the hole in the earth which led to the magma deposits.

So many geysers and underground thermal pools existed in a relatively small area. That surprised me. This was only one geyser basin, too. There were many others around Yellowstone.

The basin area appeared lifeless. Short grass grew in secluded areas, as did stubby trees and ferns. Most of the geyser basin seemed moon-like. The ground was off-color white and very coarse. Steam rose from what seemed thousands of holes and crevices. Dead trees remained as relics in the overflow areas where the water drained off. Minerals from the heated water kept the trunks petrified. It seemed an unearthly place — as if the Underworld had released its Terror, and I was standing in some fiery, smelly furnace.

Incredible.

I was clearly way ahead of my family.

I’m like that — so caught up in wanting to see more. I spotted another geyser erupt — Riverside — situated on the banks of Firehole River. Its opening was cone-shaped and its mist carried over the river and disappeared. By the edge of the river, I took pictures. Mom and the others soon showed up and saw the last portion of the eruption.

After the one-and-a-half-mile loop walk, we went back to the visitor center, hungry. The “Mo-Jammer” treated to ice cream cones. Despite the long line, the wait was worth it. We departed with ice cream piled high on a sugar cone.

It was difficult to eat, but we managed.

It was close to 7 when we returned to the campground — a long drive, some twenty-one miles on a construction-ridden, two-lane, mountain road.

Mom was tired but still cooked a light meal. She relaxed and fell asleep. Just before nine, I drove Noelle and Dave to the amphitheater for an amusing and informative skit by two park rangers who pretended to be an old prospector who was captured by the Nez Pierce Indian tribe. They helped him escape prosecution from the authorities. Four audience members helped out. It was funny.

An hour later we got back to the camper and fell right to sleep. Tomorrow will be another long day of sightseeing and driving — and more aromatic and fragrant sulfur — the armpit smell of Earth.

More adventures coming! Look for these stories on The Masterpiece:

• Day 1: Travels with Wally Chapstick and Company
• Day 2: The Traveling Blues Ends with Talentless Bums
• Day 3: The Magicless Normalcy of The Corn Palace, and Other Notables from Iowa
• Day 4: Thousands of Stars Interrupt ‘Rocky’ in The Black Hills of South Dakota
• Day 5: The Wonders of Childhood Rediscovered on a Mountain Hike
• Day 6: When Storm Clouds Turn Into The Big Horn Mountains