a spiritual experience
YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK, WY – I am not a tourist. Never have been. Never will be.
My aversion to the tourist thing doesn’t mean I don’t have an appreciation for history, a desire to broaden my horizons, or a sense of wonderment about the world beyond the West End of Richmond.
With grandchildren living in three time zones, my wife Emily and I have done our share of flying over the past few years to places we never imagined we’d go, and along the way, we’ve made plenty of side trips and soaked up the local culture when we weren’t doting on the little ones.
But buying cheesy souvenirs, waiting in long lines, paying inflated prices for gas and sodas, and snapping pictures right and left?
Definitely not my style.
Then, we spent a day at Yellowstone National Park.
Our guide on this recent expedition was Catherine Bode, Emily’s older daughter and a 1995 Collegiate graduate who lives in nearby Jackson Hole.
As Catherine drove, I rode shotgun, and Emily sat in the back entertaining (and being entertained by) five-month-old Blake.
When we set out around 10 a.m., I figured we’d drive to the park, look around, see a moose and maybe a bear or two, then return in time for SportsCenter before meeting Nate, Blake’s dad who was working that day, for dinner.
Little did I realize that our adventure would take us well into the night and upwards of 250 miles and that when it was over, I’d wish we could do it all over again.
There was much to see on this beautiful 75-degree day.
First, there was the view, which was nothing short of spectacular.
En route, we marveled at the snow-capped peaks of the Tetons silhouetted against the cloudless cerulean sky.
Once we entered the park, we passed lakes, rivers, streams, mountains, waterfalls, and canyons, all picture-postcard perfect, and to describe them in words would hardly do them justice.
There was an abundance of wildlife living in peace in their natural habitats, unfettered by the ravages of mankind unlike their kindred along the beleaguered Gulf coast.
There were pronghorn antelope grazing in a field and a bull elk lying serenely in a grove of trees along the highway.
There was an American white pelican sunning on a rock amidst the rapids of the Yellowstone River.
Truthfully, I had no idea pelicans lived anywhere but along the coast, and it was wonderful to see one (and others nearby) radiant in their purity rather than fighting for their lives because they’d unwittingly ventured too close to the menace oil.
Shortly after we entered Yellowstone, the long line of vehicles slowed to crawl, reminding me of more than a few maddening trips east on I-64 in another lifetime.
As we approached what I surmised would be an accident scene, we encountered a horde of folks peering into the distance, cameras poised as if waiting for a rock star.
“Something out there?” I asked the ranger as we crept by.
“Grizzly in the brush,” he responded.
“Yikes!” I said as we continued our trek. “Think we’ll keep moving.”
Several miles later, we encountered another traffic jam.
“Look,” Catherine said, pointing to the right. “Bison.”
On the crest of a roadside hill stood a very large buffalo, and he was angry and snorting loudly.
Here he was, minding his business, enjoying his lunch, and all these humans were encroaching on his turf.
Then, as if to assert his authority, he lumbered down the slope and onto the road as if he owned it.
One by one, three of his compatriots followed him across as a legion of gawkers watched.
Soon after we resumed our adventure north, we spotted on the horizon a large herd of bison that brought to mind a scene from Dances With Wolves.
Recognizing another photo-op, Catherine steered her Suburu Outback into one of many “pullouts,” and I hopped from the car and began snapping pictures, violating yet again my “I’ll-never-be-a-tourist” credo.
Next, we made our way to a vantage point high above the Lower Falls, a breathtaking bit of nature’s handiwork that extends 308 feet downward along the Yellowstone River, and took more pictures as my camera’s battery light began to flicker.
Blake was napping in his car seat as we made our 50-mile drive toward our final destination, Old Faithful.
We arrived shortly after 6 p.m. to the news that the iconic geyser would erupt again precisely at 7:13.
So we waited. We made small talk with perfect strangers. We waited some more.
With what little juice remained in my BlackBerry, I send snapshots from our travels to our other children in Richmond, Raleigh, and Pensacola.
As I did my best to remain patient – no small feat for me – a throng of curious onlookers began to gather.
“There it goes!” someone shouted around 7:10, but only a long, thin white plume emerged from the ground, then dissipated quickly into the crisp mountain air.
“False alarm,” another remarked.
The scene repeated itself several times.
Then, at 7:20 sharp, Old Faithful erupted.
Water and steam spewed from the ground and rose toward the heavens for several minutes.
Among the ooh’s and aah’s, there was the staccato click of hundreds of cameras. Mine was among them.
A quick stop for supplies and a diaper change later, we began the two-hour trip back to Jackson.
As we rode along in the twilight through the sagebrush-covered plains with bison and moose enjoying their evening meal, I reflected on all we had seen, heard, and felt that day.
I was awed – and I don’t awe easily – by the natural beauty of the landscape, the wildlife roaming free, and the bravery and sense of adventure possessed by the early settlers who navigated the daunting terrain and stood fast through the harsh winters to settle the wilderness.
For Emily and me, though, the real joy wasn’t seeing a part of the world we’d never seen before and may never see again.
It was sharing extended time with Catherine and realizing what a poised, confident, self-sufficient young woman she’d become.
It was watching her interact so lovingly with her infant son.
And it was reveling in the life she and Nate have made for themselves in a region of the country that they’ve come to love so much.
Dozens of photos will document the day.
The experience we’ll carry in our hearts forever.
