The Land of the Gods
Heart Six Ranch, Moran, Wyoming to Rexburg, Idaho
I awoke to a chilly covered wagon, leaving me wanting to not venture beyond the warmth of our bed. I knew it was yet another long day ahead. So I stumbled from the bed’s warm embrace, forced on my boots, threw open the flap, and emerged into the already-lit world. Still, sometime before 6, the sky was filled with dense clouds breaking on the distant horizon beyond the Grand Tetons. The Ranch was already buzzing with horses headed out for a morning stretch and ranch hands preparing the supplies for the coming day’s excursions.
But for us, it would be the end of our road at Heart Six, and I quickly took to rustling our crew from a deep, chilly spring slumber. We had a light breakfast and took the better part of an hour to load up and check out of our covered wagon. We emerged from the Ranch onto US 26-287 and charted a west course for Moran. Slowly, the once-fattened clouds began to retreat, and at first, small ribbons of blue and, eventually, large swaths of cerulean replaced the grey and melancholy clouds.
Without warning, the landscape was suddenly a collection of postcard-worthy vistas, one after another. The subtlest pink hues caressed the underside of the waning pillows of clouds. Every shade of green lined mirrored lakes at every turn, creating fairytale scenes. The world had been transformed into a Bob Ross painting. It was simply spectacular.
At Moran, we picked up the John D. Rockefeller Jr. Pkwy towards the Grandfather of all Parks, Yellowstone. By now, the girls had again fallen into a deep sleep in the back of the van and were in no mood to join Diem and me for a stroll along Jackson Lake Dam. It was half past seven on a wonderfully cool Wyoming morning as Diem and I emerged from the van to explore the lakeside. A quick photo at the sign, and we walked out onto the dam.
What unfolded before us was a scene painted by the very gods. Whispy, thin clouds float by in the deep blue sky. The majestic Tetons line the banks beyond. Forests of furs run like a carpet from the water’s edge to the rocky range. Low clouds and fog banks caress the mountains like weightless linen floating on thermal patches. A perfectly still lake reflecting a mirror image of it all below. It was an august scene that was as beautiful as I had ever seen.
Diem and I took some time to take in the amazing view. Our thirteenth day on the road. One more day, and we would reach the halfway point. I sat in quiet reflection, amplified by the scene’s own reflection stretching before us. We had already pushed 5,000 miles. We’ve seen so many incredible things, and many more wonderful things are to come. Diem and I stood at the railing, my arm casually around her, taking in the moment. From this introspective scene, we climbed back in the van and headed north for the Southern entrance to Yellowstone.
Continuing up US-89/191/287, halfway between the Grand Teton border and the Yellowstone entrance, we came across a large crowd gathered on the side of the road. I immediately thought it must be a wildlife sighting, so I pulled over, and we hopped out for a look. Just in the treeline of the side of the highway grazed a massive Moose Cow, though she also appeared to be preoccupied with something further back in the brush. Just then, the cutest little moose calf stumbled from the brush, unsure what to do. Diem, Maggie, Lisa, Jennie, and I stared in disbelief as the beast surveyed the crowd. They foraged in the treeline for a few minutes before quietly disappearing into the forest from whence they had emerged.
Yellowstone National Park
Yellowstone National Park, a marvel that stretches over Wyoming, Montana, and Idaho, is a land where a divine brush paints landscapes of incomparable beauty. The park, established in 1872, is proudly the first of its kind in the world. A testament to the foresight of those who saw the value in preserving such natural wonders for posterity. Thinking of all these mysteries of this ancient land, I couldn’t help but think of it as something far more meaningful to Americans. If we had a pantheon to rival the Greeks or Romans, then surely Yellowstone would be our home of the gods.
With its steamy lands, volcanic activity, mineral-rich pools, and geysers shooting into the sky, early humans must have considered it a portal to another realm—a fiery passage to the depths of Tartarus or the lofty heights of an American Olympus. If there ever were, or ever will be, American gods, they would plot, scheme, and exert their will from the mystifying world of the Yellowstone River. In this ethereal mindset, we entered a truly enchanting world through the park’s humble gates.
We immediately pulled off for our selfie at the park sign. The air was cool and clean. Clouds covered the sky, creating a strange melancholy feel that equally felt cheerful and exciting. From the sign, we pushed north. The road was lined with a wall of Lodgepole Pines, whose branches self-prune in this region of the country, leaving a walled border at the roadside, with tufts of pine needles at their tops. The road wound through the foothills as rivers, hills, and snow-capped peaks filled the horizon in every direction.
Nestled mostly in Wyoming’s rugged terrain, with tendrils reaching into Idaho and Montana, lies the Yellowstone Plateau Volcanic Field. This natural marvel, commonly known as the Yellowstone Supervolcano or simply the Yellowstone Volcano, is a tapestry of geological wonder. It’s not just a volcano but a whole volcanic plateau and field, drawing curious eyes and eager feet from around the globe.
Picture, if you will, a map of the United States. Now, imagine it speckled with the remnants of Yellowstone’s fiery temper – volcanic ash that, in some eruptions, has blanketed over a third of the country. The sheer scale is almost beyond comprehension. Maps showing the spread of Yellowstone’s volcanic ash are a testament to its mighty past.
The Plateau’s story is a tale of three volcanic chapters, each etching its mark over two million years. These aren’t just eruptions; they rank among the largest the world has ever witnessed. The first act occurred around 2 million years ago. Giving us the Huckleberry Ridge Tuff. A colossal eruption birthed the Island Park Caldera, stretching over 47 miles. Around 1.3 million years ago, the second act concluded with the Mesa Falls Tuff. Carving out the 16-mile-wide Henry’s Fork Caldera at the western edge of its predecessor.
The volcanic baton was then passed to the current Yellowstone Plateau. It reached a dramatic climax 630,000 years ago with the eruption of the Lava Creek Tuff. This event was the grand architect of the caldera we see today. Following this, the earth heaved and sighed. Ultimately, this created resurgent domes on the northeast and southwest sides of the caldera. Over the next tens of thousands of years, it spat out rhyolitic lava flows spanning a staggering 390 square miles. Even in the early Holocene, the volcano was not silent, punctuating the era with phreatic eruptions that scattered local tephra deposits.
Today, the caldera cradles one of the planet’s most extensive hydrothermal systems, boasting the world’s largest collection of geysers. In fact, more than half of the geysers on the planet reside at Yellowstone. Much of this geological masterpiece is preserved within the boundaries of the Park, a haven for those who marvel at the Earth’s dynamic history. And here, at the gates to an ancient netherworld, we drive into a land of beauty and mystery.
Driving onto the plateau, we were greeted by the grandeur of the American wilderness. Herds of bison roamed freely, a scene straight out of a prehistoric era. With their hulking presence and calm demeanor, the bison seemed like guardians of the valleys and plains, unbothered by human admiration from afar. Further along, we crossed the Continental Divide at 7,988 feet, one of many times we have done so on our journey.
At midmorning, we arrived at the Grant Village Yellowstone General Stores, where snow still covered large pockets on the ground. Coated in a polluted layer of black and grey. Heaped in from the plows and vehicle exhaust over the long winter. But today, it is melting away. In a week or so, there will be no traces that it had ever snowed here as the heat of summer continues to march forward. At the store, we gathered a few souvenirs from the gift shop and some supplies for sandwiches from their little grocery section inside before continuing our journey.
At Keppler Falls, we saw our first massive waterfall fueled by the spring thaw. Here, the Firehole River barrelled down the rocky outcrops in a show of power by Mother Nature herself. Each spring, as the snow-covered land begins to melt under the heat of an expanding day, the waters reshape the land. Moving massive boulders, trees, and even the terra firma as it rewrites its path. We took some time to admire the scene before climbing back in the van and pressing on.
By late morning, we arrived at the Old Faithfull Education Center. We hopped out for an extended visit to view Old Faithfull and explore the museum and visitor’s center. Opening in 1904, the Old Faithfull Inn is an impressive lodge-style structure overlooking the namesake geyser. We passed the majestic structure and headed to the boardwalk circling Old Faithfull. The boardwalk was packed with people, and we muscled through to find an emptyish spot to wiggle in for the show.
At about a quarter past 11, Old Faithful began to stir and cough up a few spurts of steamy water. Then, without warning, the cough turned into a small, steady gush that slowly climbed in height. Until finally, it rose well over a hundred feet in the air. The sky was overcast with uncooperative clouds, and the weather components were of a nature that caused the geyser stream to immediately turn to steam, clouding the view and turning the scene into an almost indistinguishable mass of clouds.
About a minute in, the wind picked up and began to push the steam away, making the gush of water more visible. Old Faithfull spewed and sprayed into the air in varying degrees of intensity for several minutes. We all sat and stared in wonderment at this spectacle of nature. The crowd, too, had become mostly silent as the thousands gathered for the show sat in quiet admiration.
Then, as if someone turned off the spigot, the water diminished in height rapidly before disappearing altogether. For an incalculable moment, the world was still and silent. Then, as if by the flip of a switch, everyone jumped up, resumed their conversations, and began to scurry in every direction.
The number of people crammed into this half-mile square plot in the middle of nowhere in Wyoming was impressive. Earlier, I had to drop everyone at the entrance to the Inn and trek a quarter mile to park the van. There were just people everywhere. There were so many that everyone was ready to press on shortly after we saw Old Faithfull. We did just that.
The geothermal features of Yellowstone are, of course, its crowning glory. The park sits atop a volcanic hotspot, and this fiery birthright manifests as spectacular geysers and hot springs. As we moved through the park, the landscape transformed repeatedly into the wildest and most captivating scenes. Languid rivers meandering through plains as if cut into carpets of emerald. The water was as clear as glass. Crusty patches of ancient lava dot the land with steam vents pushing heated water into the air. Mounds of minerals and bacteria piled up in heaps, bubbling away, creating “mud pots” that dot the landscape.
Shortly after noon, we came to the Midway Geyser Basin and found a spot to park. A large wooden elevated path crosses the river and climbs a basin to a few hot springs and pools. We took some time to explore the riverside before following the path to the top of the basin. Where the water flows off the basin into the river, the rock is coated with orange colors deposited by billions of bacteria thriving off the minerals emerging from deep within the earth.
At times, as we walked up the path, so much steam poured from the pools and vents that the world seemed shrouded in a blanket of fog. The trail passed several pools of the clearest light blues, bubbling, hot, and clearly dangerous. There was talk among the crowd of someone dying recently from taking too close of a look into the boiling pools. Apparently, they fell in and quickly expired. A horrible thought.
The Grand Prismatic Spring is the greatest sight in this particular basin. This beautiful pool is a deep blue at its center and gradually goes through the reverse rainbow of colors until it reaches oranges and reds at its shoreline. I brought my super-extendable selfie stick, which gave us a much better vantage point for awesome shots of the colorful pool. We continued down the wooden boardwalk, making a large loop around the pools. After exploring the basin, rumbling stomachs dictated lunch, and we pressed on looking for the perfect area for a good old-fashioned picnic lunch.
Shortly after one, we sputtered into the Whiskey Flats Picnic area and pulled in for a closer look. A classic picnic and camping area in proper Yogi Bear form, the campground is a serene haven, nestled among towering conifers that stretch towards the sky, their trunks like the pillars of a natural cathedral. The ground blanketed in fallen pine needles and dotted with unobtrusive rocks, offers a soft, natural carpet underfoot. The air carries the fresh, earthy scent of the woods, a blend of pine, and the subtle undertones of the forest’s undergrowth. we unfolded our mobile kitchen and prepared a wonderful lunch on the beautiful, warm June afternoon.
Ramen for Jennie, sandwiches for Maggie, Lisa, and me, and a steaming bowl of delicious glass noodles for Diem. Diem prepared her noodles while the girls ate, and I took a stroll away from the van to take a picture of my sandwich in a backdrop reminiscent of Yogi Bear and Booboo. As lunch wound down, the sky began to swell with the threats of rain. In the distance, thunder hinted at a tumultuous afternoon, and we packed everything up and returned to the road.
Within minutes of our departure, the threat of rain was realized as I turned on the wipers to clear the view. A few miles up the road, we came to a turnoff for National Park Mountain and pulled in to take a closer look. Not as well maintained as the main highway, Firehole Canyon Road wound around a bend to open up to a scene with National Park Mountain as the backdrop to the impressive Firehole Canyon.
The canyon walls, made entirely of lava, reached strikingly into the sky in an almost perpendicular nature to the canyon floor. The girls, in their post-lunch naps and in no mood to wander beyond the confines of the van, were left behind to sleep off their full bellies. Diem and I walked down to the river’s edge, and I breathed in the view. We walked the river for a few minutes before coming to Firehole Falls.
Firehole Falls is an interesting geological formation. Just upstream on Firehole River from its confluence with the Gibbon River, the falls drop a respectable 40 feet in a short stretch. Not terribly assuming, the falls cut down through an 800-foot-thick ancient lava bed. This creates a rather turbulent section of the river. Early visitors to the park realized that the falls were so tumultuous, in fact, that they blocked fish from migrating upriver. Beyond the falls, the river was completely void of fish.
In 1889, a stocking effort began to populate the river’s upper reaches with several trout species. Brook Trout in 1889, Brown Trout in 1890, before an extensive program ramped up in the 1920s to introduce rainbow trout. Those efforts by early conservationists have led to the Upper River becoming an incredibly unique spot for avid anglers. Complete with extensive wild trout populations today, it’s one of the world’s only completely shut-off trout populations. It offers a challenging and one-of-a-kind fishing experience.
From Firehole, we pressed on through Madison, past Purple Mountain, to Gibbon Falls. These falls were more formidable than previous examples, as the Gibbon River cut deep into the Lava Creek Tuff. From the parking area, one could take a higher trail to the falls overlook or down towards the lower overlook. I trekked up the high ground to get a better vantage. A view of where the river goes, more so than the falls. I found an outcrop of burnt orange and light blue lichen-covered rocks and stepped to the edge to look. It was a picturesque scene of a mild-mannered river sprinkled with tufts of white foam as it slowly flowed away into the blanket of green conifers. The dark sky scattered with pockets of blue in the furthest of corners.
At every turn and around every bend was another geological wonder to behold—Beryl Springs, Artists Pots, Monument Geyser, and so on. As the afternoon wore on, everyone else was content with the confinement of their makeshift beds in the van. I took some particular time at Artist’s Paintpots. Where several pools and mud pots are scattered around several walkways a quarter mile from the parking pullout. A truly alien world where the likes of Blood Geyser spew its rich iron oxide-colored waters to paint the surrounding ground a bloody red.
Verdant fields with grazing elk, pristine rivers, streams flowing through green meadows, and lush forest mountains in the background. Yellowstone is truly a land of mesmerizing beauty. We exited the park on its western border at West Yellowstone in the late afternoon. A quaint western-styled town not unlike Jackson Hole, just across the state border in Montana. Another State was marked off the list. My first time in Montana. But our stay would be quick this time. We had a couple of days of Idaho ahead of us, the state I probably knew the least about on our journey. We would return to Montana in a few days. To run its famous scenic highway up the Bitterroot Valley. For now, we pushed into Eastern Idaho to Rexburg, just north of Idaho Falls.
Dark had not yet consumed the day when we rolled into the hotel parking lot. We were all tired and ready for a comfortable bed. I vaguely remember a simple dinner before readying the family for a quick summer nap. Reflecting on our earlier exploits, the cool air as it whispered through the pines and the river sang its ancient song, I thought about our connection to these wonders. Yellowstone is a reminder of the extraordinary beauty of our planet and the responsibility we share in its stewardship. It’s where history, nature, and human endeavor intertwine. Creating a story that continues to unfold, as majestic and mysterious as the park itself.
Tomorrow would be another grand adventure. What would Idaho have in store for us? I had no idea. A map, a route, and a guidebook about the region’s hidden wonders. The coming days would be some of the most unknown of the entire trip. A wild Idaho, and only the understanding that we must be in Missoula, Montana, in a few days. I can’t fully express how absolutely amazing this journey has been beneath an endless sky.
To explore some of the Parks and Monuments we’ve explored and more, click here for the National Park Services.
