On our last full day in Yellowstone, Jane and I call into the park roads hotline to hear that the water main break at Canyon has been finally fixed, and that the pass under Mount Washburn, the highest and snowiest point on the park loop, is set to open on schedule. With these developments, the northeast corner of the park is accessible from the Lake area, and our vacation is able to proceed as planned. We drive north through Hayden Valley and across the Canyon of the Yellowstone; after this, the road turns into the mountains, and snowbanks to the side of the road grow taller and taller. Just before entering the pass, we pause at a vantage point on the rim of the Yellowstone Caldera. Jane and I eat chunks of pepperoni bread while looking out across the wilderness, its endless miles of pine forest interrupted in places by stripes of riverland and columns of steam.
Now the road climbs sharply along the sides of the mountain, and we navigate hairpin turns through what feel like tunnels of ice. The mountains of the Washburn Range, with their broad, frozen peaks, rise up out of the white wasteland around us. The summit of Mount Washburn itself, which we would have loved to climb in warmer times, is shrouded in dense cloud, totally inaccessible without crampons and heavy winter gear. We drive onward; on the other end of the pass, just as abruptly as we left, we are transported back to the land of lush river valleys. The road curves east before resuming a northward course, following the bank of the Yellowstone River (downstream now from the Canyon) to our right.
Our first stop of the day is roadside at Tower Falls, where Tower Creek plunges out of the mountains and toward the Yellowstone River below. The falls are named for the minarets of basalt that surround the lip of the waterfall; I spend some time trying to figure out how to best photograph these in relation to the falls themselves, but am unable to do so on account of a few lovingly intrusive pine branches (just off frame to the top left). A lower perspective would have been helpful, but though there was formerly a trail leading to the creek at the bottom of the falls, this has now been shut off due to erosion and overuse - a vivid illustration (I could list many, especially in Yellowstone) of the American public quite literally loving its national parks to death. I settle for a nice long-exposure shot of the falls, using the surrounding pines as a frame. Jane buys a cup of coffee at the Tower general store before we continue.
A few miles north at Tower Junction (west to Mammoth, east to the Beartooth Highway), we head east, following the road down the Lamar Valley, a broad riparian flatland that dwarves Hayden Valley in comparison. Crossing the Yellowstone River, we pass a 20-car pileup and a bonanza of photographers that could only mean a gala reception for either grizzly or wolf (we later learn that there was a grizzly sow with cub down by the riverbank). We join another group of spotters further down the valley; with a little help, we're directed through our binoculars to a black bear and two cubs walking in a clearing on a distant hillside. We also see our first pronghorns, bounding along the valley floor like wind-up dolls, quite literally outpacing our car at highway speed. They are the fastest land mammals in the Western Hemisphere (and second in the world only to the cheetah!).
Mid-valley, the road and river curve north, running together toward the border with Montana. We stop here at the Lamar River Valley trailhead, descend a dirt path, and cross over Soda Butte Creek on a wooden footbridge. The trail places us in the center of the valley, nestled beneath the Yellowstone Plateau to the south, Druid Mountain to the west, and the peaks of the northern Absarokas to our east (bearing such wild western names as The Thunderer, The Needle, and Hurricane Mesa). We walk south toward the foothills, following the creek to where it joins the Lamar River. We pass bison grazing and dozing contentedly on the riverbank, and pronghorn that watch us with suspicion and go bounding into the sagebrush as soon as we pass by. The greenery of the river valley, with its stands of willow and cottonwood, is a pleasant contrast to the pine forests we have been walking in. Here in May, the ground is dappled with blooms of yellow violet and phlox; in the next few months, the entire valley will be splashed with a rainbow of wildflowers.
Over the next few miles, we cross an old river channel that the creek has left behind, then climb up a steep hillside leading toward Cache Creek. Here, we get a sweeping westward panorama down the valley floor - snow-capped peaks, a river that winds into the horizon, and the dots of distant pronghorn and bison herds. On top of the hill, we hear grunts and roars emanating from a nearby glade; ever alert for predators, Jane retreats back down the hill to get a better look. She finds the source: a bison fight club in a little dirt bowl under the hill. After I finish a few photos of the valley, we watch, bemused, as a pair of male yearlings headbutt each other. The cows of the herd, with their little brown calves, sit around them in a circle, beside themselves with indifference. On our way back to the car, we are accosted by one bull who stands suddenly from his riverside bed of dirt, apparently spooked by Jane (who is generally louder in open meadows than enclosed urban spaces). We take a long semicircle detour into the sagebrush to avoid being charged, much to the amusement (or perhaps horror) of the people watching from the car park.
On our return trip, we stop roadside near Tower Falls to photograph basalt columns overlooking the Yellowstone River, before grabbing a lunch of hot dogs and coffee fudge / peach ice cream - such a pleasant ice cream pairing that I repeat it the next day at West Thumb. I buy a pack of huckleberry-flavored twists that taste more like silicone than berry. As we cross back over the mountains into the Yellowstone Caldera, a steady rain/sleet mix begins to pour down. We run into a herd of bison taking the route under Mt. Washburn, eager to use the newly opened road to reach their summer pasture, presumably in Hayden Valley. At the Canyon, we take a brief walk along the North Rim to catch a view of the Upper Yellowstone Falls, aflood with the melting springwater and the falling rain. We return to our lakeside cabin in the mid-afternoon to relax and pack for tomorrow; I head into the hotel's business office to transfer and back up my photos, as Jane's Macbook has died to commemorate our wedding.
That evening, we return to the highest hillside overlooking Hayden Valley to watch the sun set. I set up a timelapse as the clouds stream in over the Washburn Range, darkening the sky and casting a flurry of shadows over the valley floor and the Yellowstone River below. A few wildlife spotters join us, setting up their tripods with their range scopes next to mine with my camera. As we review the day's finds (evidently, quite a few grizzlies and a gray wolf pack near Soda Butte that morning), one woman chimes in, "We saw two hikers dodge a bison near the Lamar Valley trailhead! We were so scared something was going to happen to them!" "We were scared too!" we respond.
