Right in Your Backyard
or
Leave Your Expectations at Home
By Sue Muncaster
You might have thought we were going to Hawaii with all the excitement the night before we took off for our early spring ski trip to Old Faithful. I was in the kitchen bouncing around doing last minute chores to the beat of Jack Johnson, my three-year old daughter, Mariela, was organizing her four toothbrushes, and my husband, Christian, was at the neighbor’s trying to drum up some old fish scale skis. Recent warm weather inspired me to pack my shorts for sitting outside for après ski, and we had swimsuits in case there was a hot tub. “The snowcat is going to be sooooo fun!’ screeched Mariela as she sprinted in circles around the living room.
The next day we were met with a blizzard the entire drive to West Yellowstone. 12-foot tall snow banks lined the streets and we had to dress in full winter armor for our short trip to the Grizzly and Wolf Discovery Center. We were anxious about how Mariela would behave in the small, bright yellow, lady-bug shaped, snowcoach. When they handed us earplugs, I figured it wouldn’t matter.
For visitors who have never been to Yellowstone, the slow, rumbling, coaches are the highlight of a winter trip. We were with another couple from Driggs and a park employee and we all just wanted to get there as soon as possible. We had just watched a bald eagle in the cottonwoods above our house, and moose tromp through our backyard. This made stops to watch sleeping bison and looking for nests through foggy binoculars painful. With trepidation I told Christian I only brought light spring gloves- he told me he wished he had his down coat. It was starting to look like a long weekend.
We arrived and checked into the Old Faithful Snow Lodge run by Xanterra Resorts. It was a bleak afternoon and the chaotic mess of buildings in various states of repair right next to Yellowstone’s most revered natural site was depressing. “What is wrong with you,” I inwardly chastised myself. “I just need to get outside,” I thought.
Christian won rock-paper-scissors and took off skiing so I bundled up Mariela to go see Old Faithful. Like the snowcoach, I talked it up and the anticipation was agonizing. When it finally “pooshed” we watched it for a half-minute before we started shivering and were ready to head back.
The best part of the evening was settling down to a game of Dominos in the lobby after dinner. A giant fireplace and stoic old man playing the piano kept us company. We chatted with other families, and retired couples flirted with Mariela. Free of household chores, vehicles, cell phones, computers, ipods, and daylight, we began to lighten up.
When Mariela opened up the wooden shutters in the morning an audible sigh of relief escaped my chest. Bright sunshine was touching the tops of the hillsides, six inches of new snow blanketed everything, and steam was rising into the crystalline sky. We rushed downstairs for a hearty breakfast before heading out for a family ski. As Mariela toddled along the walkway testing out her new gear, Old Faithful sputtered and spewed water seventy feet into the air. Surrounded by summer lodging and parking for thousands of tourists, the sun warmed our faces as we gaped at the show. One other person was there at 9:30 in the morning.
When Mariela tired of skiing and decided to build fairy houses, I took my cue and bolted. As my skis glided along springtime seemed possible. The skinny path to Lone Star Geyser ran along a summer trail and took me away from the main road buzzing with snowmobiles. The hillsides burned by the 1988 fires afforded commanding views of the valley filled with steaming pools.
While I was gone Christian and Mariela were treated to a surprise eruption of Beehive Geyser and were waylaid for an hour when a herd of bison crossed their path. I only saw a few jays and magpies, but tracks in the new snow told tales of an entire ecosystem. When we re-united to share our stories, our picnic of salami and cheese, fresh pears and Cadbury chocolate seemed like a gourmet treat.
We spent the afternoon touring along the Firehole River to Biscuit Basin. The snow around the thermal features melts quickly and, tired of picking up Mariela as she slept in a sled pulled by Christian, we reluctantly headed back. As we approached the lodge at twilight we were met by the babble of excited guests comparing tales from the day’s ski outings and snowmobile excursions to other parts of the Park.
The Snow Lodge houses only one restaurant for dinner; it’s a bit pricy for the quality of food, but exercise, adventure and fun made everything taste better. I appreciated the fact that they offered a number of options for health and sustainability minded customers including serving certified fair trade coffee, Marine Stewardship Council approved seafood, and a vegan breakfast burrito. The food was only one aspect of Xanterra resorts “Ecologix” environmental management policy. They have an eye toward reducing their negative impact on the environment through green building, renewable energy and resource management.
Riding back to West Yellowstone in the early morning of the third day, steam billowed from the noses of elk and bison as they gathered along the river. Rocks and grasses were frosted with ice and the ground bubbled everywhere.
When we disembarked for a short hike to the Fountain Geyser and Paintpot thermal features, our guide bragged that he was a bit of an expert on the area. Shortly after arriving at the Fountain Geyser we sensed his excitement when he started pointing at bubbling pools in all directions shouting “something’s happening…. something’s happening.” Sure enough, Fountain (which erupts every 8-12 hours) spewed into the air and six other interconnected geysers within fifty feet joined in. For twenty minutes it sounded like the Oregon Coast and guides from other groups came running. Seeing guides who had driven the same route every day for four months get riled made the spectacular performance even more thrilling.
I have to be honest; the swanky hotel room in the Yellowstone Snow Lodge can’t compare with the one I shared with ten friends in the Commissary Ridge Yurt earlier this winter. The food wasn’t nearly as satisfying as the spaghetti mash made that night, nor can the scenery compare to a full moon over Beards Mountain. But, I can’t take my three-year old there (or my grandmother or visiting Aunt). Next winter make plans to visit Yellowstone. Leave your expectations, ipod and racing skis at home and bring your family, camera and sense of adventure.