Old Faithful Weekend

This being human is a guest house.

Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,

some momentary awareness comes

as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!

                                                --Rumi

It’s Sunday morning, a shamelessly beautiful winter morning, and I’m in my modern motel-style room at Old Faithful, Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming, USA, Planet Earth..  The sky is blue, the temperature is mild (25^o), and outside my windows I can see snow of every shape, texture, and variety possible, including a seven-foot high mound immediately outside one window, where staff have removed snow from the room entranceway and the roof.  Ravens are calling, the occasional person walks by, and the electric baseboard radiators offer a staccato of reassuring clinks and clunks every few minutes. It occurred to me how fortunate I am to be here on such a mild day, and combined with the bright sunshine, earlier this morning I felt a tug to venture out and take a long walk.  And so I did.  Old Faithful and all the other geothermal features in the area continue to do their thing, 24/7, that we humans find so spectacular and rare and on this particular morning I sense that here is my opportunity to see them live in the heart of winter.  Now, you the reader may be feeling more than just a slight twinge of envy as you sit there safe, warm, and somewhat blasé in your pajamas and slippers in front of your glowing screen.  What is more human than the desire to be someplace else other than the place one is stuck at present, that illusory place being either warmer, colder, more stimulating, less stressful, or offering a vista of some locale either new or long forgotten.  Like so many of us North American humans with idle time, restless mind, and money in the bank (or at least one credit card with a bit of charge left in it) you want something else: relief from the same wake up to coffee (substitute your favorite morning brew), preparation for the all-too-familiar daily routine, followed by the experience of it and then a settling in and winding down over a segment of some stimulating video… only to repeat said routine once again the following day. We want to be, at least temporarily, removed from the repetitive nature of our daily existence.  “I wanna be free… I’ve gotta be me,” Sammy Davis, Jr. crooned into our minds.

And so I came to Yellowstone.  And so I got up this morning, invited by the bright day, and enjoyed a generous buffet in the Snow Lodge restaurant, designated “the Obsidian Dining Room,” although absolutely no obsidian was used in its construction or décor, and diners will thankfully find no pieces of obsidian hidden away in their scrambled eggs or apple pie à la mode.  Obsidian is a product of volcanic activity and is found primarily at Obsidian Cliff in the Park, which has been designated a National Historical Landmark, yet is present throughout the park.  It is a  jet black molten glass-like material found in other types of rock formations and embedded with a unique signature of other minerals which enables a particular piece of obsidian to be traced back to its specific place of origin.  Surgeons have a fondness for obsidian because it can be honed into a cutting edge six times more sharp than any metal, honed to a point of a single molecule.  American Indians throughout the geographic area we now call North America used obsidian as knives and arrowheads.  It was a highly valued item of trade throughout the West and pieces of obsidian from Yellowstone have been found as far east as the Ohio Valley in the Hopewell mounds.

But I digress from this mornng’s breakfast buffet array in the Obsidian Dining Room:  link sausage, bacon, diced fried potatoes, two types of scrambled eggs (with and without cheese, onions, and peppers), mixed fruits and melons, oatmeal, French toast, hot syrup, cold cereals, orange juice, pastries, and—of course—steaming carafes of coffee (or, substitute your favorite morning beverage).  Enough warmth, calories and pig fat to coat the stomach pleasantly and provide fuel enough for a long day’s tromp throughout the great outdoors on a February morning in the Rocky Mountains. 

And that was exactly my plan.  Big breakfast, brisk walk, then a return to the room to pack for a 1:30pm departure via MatTrack snow coach back to Mammoth.  After all, it’s a mild morning and I need the exercise.  And so I proceeded.  Returning from the Obsidian Dining Room, I grabbed camera, gloves, boots, hat, and brand new Columbia Bugaboo ski parka, exterior made with Omni-Tech waterproof breathable fabric and lined with the latest in lightweight high-tech heat-holding synthetic fibers.  It’s all the rage and omni-present in all the product catalogs of sensible, smart winter gear.  When was the last time a goose down or poly fiberfill winter jacket was marketed in North America?  Or for that matter, when was the last time a winter jacket was made in North America?  But that’s a different topic… and it’s not the discussion here.

So, layered, protected by the best available technology, and eager to burn calories, I left the room, walked to the wood plastic composite (WPC) composite decking boardwalk that arches around Old Faithful (take a peek:  Old Faithful Live), and then proceeded north along the snowpack-covered asphalt path that runs along the Upper Geyser Basin towards Biscuit Basin.  I became aware that no one else was within sight.  Not a single walker or skier.  And I noticed that the wind gusts were quite sharp and biting.  I felt very unpleasant.  And so I decided that there was no reason to re-live the experiences of Robert Peary at the North Pole or Earnest Shackleton in Antarctica.  To call the temperature 25^o is a cruel, deceptive lie.  The wind chill made it 10^o below zero.  I figured that my long walk yesterday was enough, so I turned back for the safety of my little room.  Yesterday morning I had walked about six miles, starting from the Old Faithful Visitor Center, on past Morning Glory Pool, up to Biscuit Basin, and then back to my room via the road used by snow coaches and snowmobiles.  Many coaches and groups of snowmobilers had sped past me, and one even stopped to see if I needed a ride.  I was tempted to accept but it was not bitterly cold, the walking still felt good, and I reminded myself of the many calories I still needed to burn, so I declined. 

So.  (For some unknown reason I imagine this “So” delivered by a gowned Betty Davis in a 1930’s film as she takes the cigarette holder away from her mouth and blows a sharp stream of poisonous smoke through her lips, while her eyes flash as only Betty Davis eyes can).  So, where does that leave us?  It leaves me here in my warm, windless motel-like rom in the Old Faithful area, still rosy-cheeked, writing away at this post for my blog, drinking delicious coffee made by that marvelous little invention, the Keurig machine.  And you?  No doubt comfy in your PJ’s, enjoying your favorite beverage while you work on your computer screen tan.