Heading Towards a Giant Hole

JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

Highway 64 to the Grand Canyon National Park South Rim, Arizona

Today’s title could allude to a lot of things, such as something financial, emotional, or possibly even intellectual, but the reality is much more mundane, though the gravity of the hole is immense. This hole of immensity is mere hours away from our home, and for those encountering this blog post who have the knowledge that we reside in Arizona, it should be apparent what this reference means. That’s right, we are going to the Grand Canyon National Park, which lies just 217 miles north of us.

I’d love to find an appropriate metaphor to stand in for the destination and relate our adventure to some esoteric thoughts I’ve recently been reading or writing about, but trying to be real, we are going somewhere beautiful and likely extremely cold to go walk with one another because that’s what silly people in love do. Sure, we could walk around Phoenix and save the expense, but our mission to help keep the American economy humming demands that we rent a room on the South Rim for a couple of nights.

Bedrock Campground near Valle, Arizona on Highway 64 on way to the Grand Canyon National Park

The other benefit of this brief excursion is that it will inspire me to photograph things that will force me to write about our experience, so I might offer the appearance that important events happen in our lives other than eating, defecating, and sleeping. But here I am at the coffee shop hunting for wit instead of heading home to finish the last-minute packing and making lunch that would allow us to skip out of town, but as I’m not impossibly feeble (yet) to control things, I’ll add a period to this sentence, call it a paragraph, and get moving.

Grand Canyon National Park South Rim, Arizona

Living only three and a quarter hours from the South Rim of the Grand Canyon allows us to leave at nearly any time, but it was our intention to catch the sunset in the canyon, so leaving at 1:00 p.m. would give us plenty of margin. Sure enough, it’s shortly after 4:00 as we reach the park entrance. There will be no selfie here as we’ve got that photo from a previous visit, maybe more than one. Then again, we likely have many versions of the next image, too.

Caroline Wise and John Wise at the South Rim of Grand Canyon National Park, Arizona

A little more than 28  years ago, we made our first visit together to the Grand Canyon. Just a few days before, we’d gotten married in Las Vegas on a trip from Frankfurt, Germany. Back then, we had no idea that one day we’d be living in America; as a matter of fact, it would be the following year, in 1995, that we packed up and headed west. As I sit here at the lounge in El Tovar following dinner trying to write this, I apparently don’t have enough fingers to be able to count how many times we’ve been to this corner of Arizona, but I’d guess we’re approaching a couple of dozen times.

Grand Canyon National Park South Rim, Arizona

Once we arrived at Yavapai Point, we were not interested in chasing the setting sun. We could be happy right here. I could be cynical and say we’ve seen it all before, but that would somehow diminish the intensity of feelings still experienced as maybe the view is no longer new, but the memories we’ve shared with so many friends and family continue to echo out of the depths and crevices that have captured our oohs, aahs, and astonishment.

Caroline Wise at the South Rim of Grand Canyon National Park, Arizona

Have you noticed that all three photos are of the same location? Can you tell that Caroline froze to death where she was standing as I asked her to wait one more second until the light was just right? It’s a brisk 32 degrees or a big fat ZERO Celsius for our friends in other countries, and with a bit of breeze, we were slightly, but only slightly, chilly, probably in part because we are wearing those warm, cozy things Caroline has knitted for us just for these occasions.

Grand Canyon National Park South Rim, Arizona

As we were losing available light, it was time to head up the road to the Bright Angel Lodge, where we were spending the next couple of nights. Without dinner reservations, we were hoping to get a table over at the El Tovar, and with luck on our side, we were seated without so much as a 10-second wait. That put us here in the lounge with an after-dinner Old Fashioned for Caroline and a hot chocolate for me. By 9:30, the place is empty, our bill is paid, the stars are certainly out in the millions, and after we bundle up into these many layers of winter clothes, we’ll take the short walk over to our hotel.

Nothing is really as easy as it first sounds when it involves doing something in a timely way when we are in a place of such immense beauty. With the moon out of the picture, the Milky Way screamed out at us for our attention while absolute quiet surrounded us. Where is everyone else who should be out here gawking at the sky? Caroline points out how lucky we are that they are already tucked into their warm rooms and cabins because if they were here stargazing, they’d probably also be chatting up a storm. Instead, it was just us and millions of dots of light as we strained our hearing, certain we’d pick something up of that far-away light that worked so long to reach us.

Escaping Death

JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

Death Valley National Park, California

Moving into the heart of Death …Valley. We skipped a hot breakfast so we could bring ourselves back to the park earlier rather than later. Our time today is short because our drive home will require 403 miles and 6 hours to get there. The hot spring-fed pool that was part of the draw of staying in Shoshone we only visited Friday night when the winds convinced us that on blustery cold nights, the hot spring might not be the best idea. No matter, though, as yesterday justified every expense and investment in time to be here. Caroline’s one request for the day was for a repeat visit to Salt Creek, which we visited with her mom many years ago.

20 Mule Team Canyon in Death Valley National Park, California

Distraction number one is found on the left side of the road at Twenty Mule Team Canyon. Uncertain if we’d driven this dirt road before but then again almost sure we had, we’re here, either doing it again or driving it for the first time. I guess this might as well be the first time, considering that we’re that forgetful or maybe confused that another location might share some appearance with this canyon. No matter, here we go.

20 Mule Team Canyon in Death Valley National Park, California

Hey, was Star Wars filmed here? Something or other here or nearby from that franchise was filmed in the area, but of all the movie trivia I might be interested in, those facts are of no interest to me. So John, why are you sharing that tidbit if you don’t really care? Because I read it while looking for what else to share aside from that, we are on this 2.5-mile long drive into Twenty Mule Team Canyon.

20 Mule Team Canyon in Death Valley National Park, California

A giant sandworm emerged from here back when Death Valley was being used as a set for the desert location called Sanubia in the film Dune. I’m referencing the David Lynch version, obviously back when he had a giant sandworm constructed for the desert scenes, as he didn’t have access to digital effects. By the way, none of this is true, but I had nothing better to say and I felt it played well after the Star Wars trivia that is factual.

20 Mule Team Canyon in Death Valley National Park, California

If you think that we might be blasé about things easily found on the side of the road compared to those distant places that require extra effort, you’d be wrong. At the time we are at a place, we really are present to take in the magnificence of the unique characteristics that define that location, and so it is here, too, that we are in awe of the shapes, colors, silence, and geological history on display that is easily witnessed right from the car.

20 Mule Team Canyon in Death Valley National Park, California

Sometimes, nothing from the landscape needs to make sense; it’s just beautiful; it’s there, not requiring us to quantify it or explain our relationship to it. The visual poetry it contains is offering us its lyricism and will forever be oblivious to our musings about it. It’s a perfect situation where, if we take the time to understand ourselves in its presence, just maybe we learn something new about being humble.

Caroline Wise becoming a Jr. Ranger at Death Valley National Park, California

As I set in to write about this photo, I went hunting for previous blog posts that might hint at how many other times Caroline has stood before a park ranger to be sworn in as a Junior Ranger, but I couldn’t find that info. Searching for “National Park” in the index, I came up with 386 entries, but I know that only a fraction of those would pertain to the term “Junior Ranger.” As for searching specifically for “Junior Ranger,” that only turned up 26 hits, and I have to admit to a level of laziness that has me feeling reluctant to scrub through nearly 400 posts or believe that she only has 26 badges. Maybe someday I’ll return to this subject and create a post about each and every badge my wife has earned, but for now, I’ll leave it here that today, on the 23rd of January 2022, Caroline Wise earned her Death Valley Junior Range badge and is standing just a little taller because of it.

Death Valley National Park, California

With her badge firmly pinned to her shirt pocket, fueled up on more of that café de olla Mexican coffee, we were ready to head to Salt Creek, but things didn’t quite go as planned. The proverbial bright, shiny object caught our attention, and before we knew it, we were walking out to look at a part of the salt pan we’d never taken a close look at. Oh, there’s water out here.

Death Valley National Park, California

A whole lot more water than we expected.

Death Valley National Park, California

There are details impossible to see even in an environment as wide open as Death Valley. Out on the salt pan, things frequently change, sometimes step by step.

Death Valley National Park, California

Our original intention when we pulled over was to simply walk over to the salt, take a photo or two, and be on our way. The further we got, the further we were compelled to go. If you’d like to try and understand the scale of things, I’ll offer you the hint that our car is on the right side of this photo.

Death Valley National Park, California

In the driest place in the United States, Caroline and I were surprised to find evidence of waves that were relatively fresh.

Death Valley National Park, California

That’s Caroline out there; as a matter of fact, we were the only ones here.

Death Valley National Park, California

Turn around, walk a dozen more steps in any direction, and things are again different.

Death Valley National Park, California

These blog posts that take on extraordinary length are caused by my incessant need to keep snapping photos of those things worth reminding Caroline and me of the incredible things we’ve seen.

Death Valley National Park, California

In the second photo, after we started walking out on the salt pan, the one with a snow-capped Telegraph Peak (scroll up eight images), you will see a distinct dark area, almost black, between areas of white salt. Those turned out to be salt crusts that are akin to lave tubes in our view, meaning hollow tunnels and bumps that rise off the surface of this desert floor. Research might explain how they form, but the mystery of what is at work here is more interesting for now.

Death Valley National Park, California

Again, the remnants of waves.

Death Valley National Park, California

This felt like I was looking at a satellite view of the Grand Canyon; speaking of, we’ll be there in two weeks.

Death Valley National Park, California

Somewhere along the way, Caroline was reading to me about some of the geology of Death Valley and mentioned how there are more than a thousand feet of salt and clay in this basin above the bedrock, but they quit drilling at that point. Then we try to imagine how, when Glacial Lake Manly was here, there were places that were up to 800 feet deep underwater. I even found mention that the area was once connected to the Colorado River.

Death Valley National Park, California

Back in 2004, a lake formed once again due to an exceptionally wet season, but was quickly gone. Seeing the photos of people kayaking across Death Valley while I was researching things for this entry was intriguing.

Caroline Wise and John Wise in Death Valley National Park, California

While not as windy as Friday night or Saturday, you should be able to glean from our disarranged hair that it’s still a bit breezy.

Salt Creek in Death Valley National Park, California

This is pickleweed, part of the goosefoot family, which includes quinoa. Maybe the best reason I had for sharing this image is that I enjoy writing pickleweed and goosefoot, and reading those words out loud puts a smile on my face.

Salt Creek in Death Valley National Park, California

We are at Salt Creek, which is typically dry during summer, but in winter, enough water is flowing from the spring further out in front of us that visitors are treated to the sights of seeing pickleweed bloom and, if they are really lucky, they might even see the famous Death Valley pupfish that call this desert home.

Salt Creek in Death Valley National Park, California

A trail extends from the end of the boardwalk out in the distance; we are looking back towards the parking area for you to orient yourself to our place.

Salt Creek in Death Valley National Park, California

We are about halfway to the spring that feeds this small creek with occasional pools such as this one. At the time, I didn’t know how close we were to the spring, sadly, but maybe on a future visit, we can walk back to it to see where the pupfish hang out during the heat of summer. Adding another hour to our time at Salt Creek and Death Valley wasn’t possible today; we’ve got to start moving towards home.

The view from Hells Gate in Death Valley National Park, California

Goodbye, Death …Valley, as we escape your clutch on our souls. Today will not be the day we are held for eternity in this vast purgatory camouflaged as a national park. That’s not really how I feel about this place as I look down into Valley of Death from the Gates of Hell, but like so many other hackneyed writers relying on cliches, I just couldn’t help myself to bring some drama to our departure, and the beginning our trip home.

The Corkscrew at Hells Gate in Death Valley National Park, California

Still at the Gates of Hell but looking in the other direction, we are presented with Corkscrew Peak in the Grapevine Mountains. This is the exit.

Highway 374 in Nevada on the way to Beatty

Normally, these signs do not deliver the promised animal sighting, but this one did, albeit a dead one. Not a quarter-mile past this cautionary sign was a dead donkey. Its eye was already taken by the nearby birds of prey that scattered as we humans approached for our souvenir taste of donkey flesh; just kidding as this donkey, while not yet stinking from here back to hell, didn’t look very appetizing. I know you are now thinking, just what kind of dead donkey looks appealing to your tastebuds? Well, to be honest, the kind that’s ground up and served Bolognese style in Italy.

Caroline Wise and donkeys in Beatty, Nevada

After our lunch stop in Beatty, Nevada, Caroline dove right into the donkey mosh pit and had no idea they weren’t interested in dancing anymore after she entered holding a box of bread slices. At that point, the donkeys started attacking in a feeding frenzy, with one particularly aggressive hairy little guy nearly scooping out a chunk of buttery German hip fat as it grabbed her shirt to get her attention.

U.S. Highway 93 south to Kingman next to the Colorado River in Arizona

The donkey party continued after we got back in the car since we still had bread bits left. Getting three of them to remove their heads from the open window wasn’t easy, but soon, we were back on the road with a singular focus, finding a great sunset spot to pull over and grab a photo. To the right, under the sun in the shadows, is the Colorado River. This was taken shortly after we passed the Hoover Dam. And with that, I bid adieu to another great weekend away.

Off To The Racetrack

JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

Death Valley National Park, California

We have reservations we grabbed at the last minute just a few days ago that will be taking us off the proverbial beaten path; it was a lucky score, considering this is the popular time of year to visit Death Valley National Park. An alarm was required to wake us before the sun returned, as we were at least an hour from our meeting point at Furnace Creek. A hot breakfast wasn’t going to be an option here in Shoshone with its one cafe that opens at 8:00; good thing we came prepared. With the essentials out of the way, we were underway.

Death Valley National Park, California

Leaving ourselves plenty of time to dawdle for the sake of taking photos, we took a quick left on Jubilee Pass Road, which at 72 miles to Furnace Creek is slightly more than the 57 miles we had driven through Death Valley Junction outside the park but the path we’ve chosen is definitely the more scenic way even if it takes nearly twice as long.

Death Valley National Park, California

We reset the odometer as we turned away from Shoshone in the hopes that if we knew how many miles still lay ahead of us, we could better manage how many stops we could make along the way. In the distance is the southern end of the Panamint Range of mountains, which is also the western park barrier, but the taller peaks are further north. What we were most interested in was the amount of water we were seeing in this small pool.

Death Valley National Park, California

In the afternoon sun, the brilliant colors of the Amargosa Range come to life, illuminating the extraordinary variety of minerals that constitute the mountains on the eastern side of Death Valley here on the southern end.

Badwater in Death Valley National Park, California

Reaching Badwater Basin, we just had to get out for a short walk here at 283 feet below sea level. On a previous visit to Death Valley, we arrived well before sunrise and walked out what felt like forever but was likely well less than 2 miles of the 5-mile wide valley floor. Still, in shadow, we awaited the sun’s arrival and then walked back as the salt pan turned crispy, clean white with the sunlight slowly crawling along at our snail’s pace. Today, there’s not a lot of pure white salt out there, probably due to not having any rain of consequence in addition to the wind-driven sands that can hide that particular view of the salt.

Death Valley National Park, California

We are on the last stretch of driving before we park the car and jump into a jeep at Furnace Creek. Look to the left, and you can see the effect of the wind kicking up sand over the Mesquite Flat Sand Dunes.

Death Valley National Park, California

This was the view looking back south just as the air quality was starting to get really bad.

Death Valley National Park, California

Lucky us that just past the sand dunes things cleared up. We met up with Hal, our driver for the mystery tour I’ve been alluding to, got into the Jeep, and drove 200 feet around the corner to pick up lunch at a small gift shop and store. Loaded up with sandwiches, some fresh fruit, and a couple of cups of café de olla (some super yummy Mexican coffee), we were ready to continue our trek north.

Death Valley National Park, California

Our guide shares an incredible history culled from his adventures as a helicopter pilot in the Vietnam War, where he earned five purple hearts, his love of photography and Death Valley, a friendship with Art Bell, who was also from Pahrump, Nevada, and some wild adventures where he delivered Cessna’s, with extra fuel tanks, to Australia via a series of island hopping starting with Hawaii.

Death Valley National Park, California

While Hal still owns a helicopter to this day, it’s his intense love of this national park that seems to drive him. I doubt there’s a place in Death Valley he’s not visited. From his enthusiasm for the drive-through Titus Canyon, we now have something new to look forward to on a future visit to this corner of California.

Death Valley National Park, California

Our drive from Furnace Creek to the turn-off for our next stop is 56 miles, but we are finally approaching a very iconic part of Death Valley we’ve waited more than a dozen years to visit. We are excited to be here at this juncture, though we still have 27 miles of bumpy sandy road to cover, which is the reason we needed someone with a 4-wheel drive high clearance vehicle to get us out here.

Road to Racetrack Playa in Death Valley National Park, California

Intention plays an important role in opening doors to finding surprises. Back on December 3rd of last year, I started an exercise that began with an empty spreadsheet. The idea was to best the number of travels we took back in 2004 when we hit a personal record of 22 excursions out of Phoenix. With 2022 around the corner, I wondered if we could squeeze more than that into this upcoming year. Knowing that we were going to the Bosque del Apache National Wildlife Refuge in New Mexico over Christmas, I simply went out two weeks from that and figured a quick weekend trip to Los Angeles would be a good starting point to launch into bi-monthly travels.

Well, this is the second trip in that series that kicked off just two weeks ago, and it so happened that on our way back from L.A., Caroline brought up how one day we should figure out how to get out to Racetrack Playa in Death Valley, I’m sure she was thinking of this national park as she knew as we were driving south of it on the way home that we were visiting in two weeks. We already had the experience of knowing that our car was never going to bring us out there, so I told her to search for tours of the place. She came up with Farabee’s Jeep Tours, but I misunderstood the pricing, and so shortly before our visit, I figured we’d never be able to book the trip, so I didn’t even try.

Road to Racetrack Playa in Death Valley National Park, California

This past week, just Tuesday actually, I decided to call Farabee’s and see if anything at the last minute might be available. To my great surprise, the Saturday tour out to Racetrack Playa hadn’t sold out, and there was someone available who’d take us. The point I’ve wanted to make here is that my exercise of setting 24 getaways created the mental space of anticipating just what we’d do on each of those, but without those mileposts ahead of us, would we have even considered options for any given upcoming weekend?

Another example came up yesterday on our drive north as we started discussing what we might do while at the Grand Canyon. I thought we’d consider the Hermit’s Rest Trail as we’ve never been on it, but it turns out that there are spots with enough exposure that people with acrophobia would be smart to take into consideration. Well, then, it’s a good thing I still have nearly two weeks to go before we get there. Do not leave everything up to chance; create intentions, put things into a document, and then explore how and what you’ll do once you think that thing might be worthwhile.

Caroline Wise at Teakettle Junction on the Road to Racetrack Playa in Death Valley National Park, California

Eighteen years ago, on the 6th of July, 2004, Caroline and I, on a 118-degree day in the shade, drove down a northern dirt road entry into Death Valley. From Big Pine to Furnace Creek, our 105-mile 4-hour journey had us passing the famous Crankshaft Junction (click here to see that blog post). Today, we are now visiting the equally famous Teakettle Junction and we are thoroughly impressed that our adventures have brought us to this outpost.

Road to Racetrack Playa in Death Valley National Park, California

There it is, Racetrack Playa, home of the sailing stones.

Racetrack Playa in Death Valley National Park, California

For years, mystery surrounded how these rocks were sailing across this dry lake bottom. Of course, aliens must have played a role, but the truth was finally confirmed in 2014 that on winter days with just the right amount of rain, freezing temperatures that help form a thin ice layer and light winds, the conditions are such that even very heavy rocks have been filmed traveling at up to 15-feet per minute.

Racetrack Playa in Death Valley National Park, California

We only have an hour or so out here, and while we could have been happy with a mere 15 minutes, we’d also like to remain all day just waiting for one of those little green men to materialize and nudge one of these rocks forward.

Racetrack Playa in Death Valley National Park, California

This “elephant skin” that is the floor of the Playa is a massive series of hexagonal polygons formed in the clay. If you are interested in more details about the processes that have created this amazing environment, there’s plenty more info on the internet.

Racetrack Playa in Death Valley National Park, California

The playa is nearly perfectly flat, with the north side rising only 1.5 inches over the 2.8-mile length of the lake bed.

Racetrack Playa in Death Valley National Park, California

That’s right, these rocks can make turns, change direction, and even fall into each other’s tracks to travel with one another.

The Grandstand at Racetrack Playa in Death Valley National Park, California

Welcome to the Grandstand, jutting right out of the northern end of the Playa.

The Grandstand at Racetrack Playa in Death Valley National Park, California

We walked around it and over the saddle but were most impressed with the lichen growing on the northeast-facing rocks.

Racetrack Playa in Death Valley National Park, California

Sadly, while I made efforts to only show Racetrack Playa in its perfection, some people do not care about how others will visit this remote site. Out of view are the impressions of tire tracks created by young men who feel compelled to drive out on the Playa, perform donuts, and race from one end to the other with no regard for the damage they leave or the time it takes for this complex ecosystem to repair itself. The vandalism by somebody’s off-road vehicle occurred in 2016, six years ago!

But drivers are not the only culprits, as I’ve read of photographers who’ll move rocks far away from their tracks to stop other photographers from being able to capture the same image in order to give their own photographs more value. We are a sad and tragic species with an education barely higher than the clay that makes up the ground here.

Good thing the earth doesn’t need us and has proven to humans that it has created everything that has real value, like dirt, plants, air, water, animals, and even us. Should we disappear from this environment, nothing would be lost except the harm we are able to commit upon each other and the ecosystems that support our lives. This incredible day is not another day for me to spend endless paragraphs lamenting the state of things; we are here for the glorious beauty that enthralls these two tree-huggers out to witness the extraordinary.

Road to Racetrack Playa in Death Valley National Park, California

With that, we jumped out of the Jeep, ran over to the nearest Joshua Tree, and hugged it until we felt nature understood us.

Road to Racetrack Playa in Death Valley National Park, California

We passed a woman on a bike earlier on our way to the Racetrack, and we just passed her again as we were leaving. Our guide stopped this time and asked if she needed anything, “Nope, but thanks for asking,” was her polite answer, and so we drove on, but not without thinking about this woman’s tenacity.

Road to Racetrack Playa in Death Valley National Park, California

Deserts are beautiful places of earth stripped of masks, thus allowing us to see the naked geological forms not obscured by forests or oceans. They could also be the place and occasion for stripping away our facades and allowing the desert within us to be seen and exposed. As people stand before a raw and punishing nature, there is no human status, elegance, or charisma that means a thing to the reality of desert austerity, unable to fathom one’s self-importance. We should be humbled by the incredible fact that we are alive, and if we are truly fortunate, we can bring ourselves to places not enjoyed by everyone.

Ubehebe Crater in Death Valley National Park, California

We are looking into Ubehebe Crater at a moment in the day when the bottom of the crater is in a dark shadow, not the best condition for photographs. This is our last stop of the tour into the north of Death Valley, and tragically, we only have about 15 minutes here before heading back to Furnace Creek, but now we know that there’s a paved road that brings visitors right to the rim. Next time, we’ll hike the perimeter or maybe even consider the steep trail down into the depths of this massive hole that was created by a steam-induced explosion.

Death Valley National Park, California

Well, that was stunning, astonishing, inspiring, wonderful, and a multitude of other superlatives that should be hauled out to paint our experiential memories of what the day brought to our senses. Now it’s time to bask in those impressions and try to cement them into our personal catalog of recollections.

Road east out of Death Valley National Park, California

This is the opposite view of driving into the sunset as we drive into the night.
If you want to know the outcome of tomorrow,
Pray consult the blog post related to the following day.

Deep In The Hoodoos

JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

Bryce Canyon National Park in Utah

Nineteen degrees (-7 Celsius) is cold by most people’s measure, but that’s what greeted Brinn and me as we took our things to the car before breakfast, a car frosted over with ice. Lodging, dinner, and breakfast, were nothing of special note unless noting relative mediocrity is worthy, which I suppose with even having written this made it all noteworthy.

Looking at this overview at Sunset Point on the first steps down the Navajo Loop, it’s easy to be caught breathless by the magnitude of spectacular beauty, and yet the services surrounding this natural phenomenon are heartless utilities of banality built for people of no discernment. I do not mean to imply that I want to see 5-star luxury and Michelin-starred restaurants, but what is here is a testament to the fact that people with low expectations stay in the area. What’s missing? Reasonably priced glamping, cabins with barbecues along with a nearby grocery trading in at least a few fineries, restaurants that don’t serve the lowest common denominator foods pulled from SAD (Standard American Diet).

I looked into renting an e-bike for a half-day, and WTF? The local rental place wanted $59 for a half-day, which is only $4 cheaper than a 3-day rental up on Rügen Island in Germany, right on the Baltic Sea (the cost for a full-day rental was only $22). Also, the battery range for e-bikes in Germany (we also rented in Frankfurt) is 50 to 62 miles on a charge, while the range for e-bikes at this Bryce location is 25 to 40 miles, and the path from the shop to the park is 17 miles in one direction, so maybe you’ll have enough power for the roundtrip.

Then it dawns on me: only provide mediocre services so the nature of the place appears even more valuable compared to the ridiculous expense and horrid culinary experience had in the nearby town. Okay, enough lament; on with the beauty.

Bryce Canyon National Park in Utah

In an instant, the affront to my sense of the aesthetic is washed away like the soil that at one time must have surrounded these hoodoos. Spires, a.k.a. hoodoos, are what we came for, and now was the time to immerse ourselves in amongst them instead of just standing over their grandeur, snapping a few photos, and moving down the road.

Bryce Canyon National Park in Utah

Half of the Navajo Loop is closed for the season due to the potential for ice covering the trails on Wall Street as that part of the path is known. Well, for me this was a great deal because this meant a new trail for me. On a previous trip, Caroline and I had taken the Wall Street leg of Navajo Loop and continued on the Queens Garden Trail to Sunrise Point.

Bryce Canyon National Park in Utah

Little did I realize back on our previous hikes (I believe we’ve done this twice before, but I’m sure Caroline will have the better memory, so look for her note – Nah, I think you’re right – C.) just how different this branch of the trail would appear. It’s immediately and abundantly clear that, after more than a dozen years since our last visit, I must plan a return visit for my wife and me and stay more than a half-day so we can hike the Peek-A-Boo trail we’ve never taken.

Bryce Canyon National Park in Utah

It falls on my head as though Thor’s Hammer had struck me: because we had taken the other side of the Navajo Trail, we’d only seen this feature from above, and that other side of the trail doesn’t offer anything at all like this view. By the way, this rock feature is known as Thor’s Hammer.

Bryce Canyon National Park in Utah

Also, regarding my head, but also my center of gravity that appears to smack dab in the crack of my torso found at that southerly spot of my backside, my sense of vertigo appears to grow worse with age. The unseen photo down this canyon that is on my right, just out of sight, is a series of steep switchbacks that are triggering this fear of heights.

Bryce Canyon National Park in Utah

Then, down near the bottom of the trail, it appears that we are on nothing more than a common forest trail. Oh, while verifying a few things for this post, I saw the Fairy Land Loop Trail is the longest trail in the park at 7.8 miles and would seem to imply that I’ll have to carve out an additional day for Caroline and me if we are to include that one too. If we were to wait another dozen or more years to return to this park, I’d have just hit my  70s, and I can’t be all that certain I’d be able to knock that out. Do things while you can is my motto, all the things!

Bryce Canyon National Park in Utah

See human for scale!

Bryce Canyon National Park in Utah

And before you know it, we are on our way out. Sadly, this is not a ride at Disneyland with some people mover ready to carry us back up the 47 stories it’ll take to reach the rim again. Come to think about it; I’m happy this is not owned by Disneyland with rides where the masses could crowd this spectacle of nature with minimal effort.

Bryce Canyon National Park in Utah

Not the best photo of Brinn I’ve taken, but it’s certainly the best I’ve ever taken that includes his shadow.

By the time we were getting off the trail, all we could do was drive, drive, drive, as we were looking to get back to Phoenix earlier rather than later. Okay, we did stop for a slice of pie at that “Ho-Made” joint called Thunderbird Restaurant at Mt. Carmel Junction in southern Utah, but after lunch, we were in agreement that pie would have to wait for a future visit, which is just as well as Brinn was here with me, not the person he’s in love with and of course I wasn’t here with Caroline so his pie experience will have to wait.

Sure, we were in a hurry, but could I really skip taking any photos on the way home? Nope, and so the world’s largest dream catcher is my stand-in for representing our path back to Phoenix, which is the same route we just took yesterday on our way up.

This concludes our quick two-day jaunt covering 900 miles of sightseeing and Brinn’s first-ever visit to Utah.

Wild Nature

JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

Grand Prismatic Spring at Yellowstone National Park in Wyoming

It’s right in front of you, the biggest of its kind on these shores, but you can’t see it as it hides below a veil of steam. We are at Midway Geyser Basin in Yellowstone National Park, and right there is the Grand Prismatic Spring. Some walk by disappointed that the thing they know from photos or TV is not can’t be seen by them today while I relish the idea that I’m once again in the proximity of greatness.

Midway Geyser Basin in Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming

What would be needed to wake people to the fact that they are always near greatness? Because this rainbow-hued spring cannot be viewed in all of its vibrancy, people are grumbling while perceiving something was lost during their vacation. Nothing is common here; everything is out of the ordinary and unique, yet they fixate on seeing one or two things to define the value of where they’ve been. For some, seeing Old Faithful and bison will be enough to say they’ve seen Yellowstone, but that’s as shortsighted as going to Paris and briefly seeing the Mona Lisa and glancing at the Eifel Tower in order to tell everyone back home that they’ve been to the City of Light while ignoring the billions of other things that make Paris the city it is. While no one can see the entirety of a place in hours, we can be grateful for what we do have the opportunity to experience.

Midway Geyser Basin in Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming

Looking at the earth below our feet, we can gaze into the heavens using the reflection of the sky above while the waters that flow from the Grand Prismatic Spring continue to build the travertine structures and create beds for the bacteria that live in these organic puzzle pieces. The tiniest bit of skill is required to extract words from the language to give meaning to where we are, but when we betray that potential by reducing our vocabulary to grumbling, we forget to pay homage to our humanity and good fortune. We do not only smile at the baby, we convey a multitude of cultural and emotional context that is sharing with the next generation what we find important. When we pass through nature and find disappointment that we didn’t see the bear or some other particular thing, we are breaking the contract of sharing our best traits with the next generation by teaching them to vocalize their disapproval for all those around them who might be enjoying the moment.

Midway Geyser Basin in Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming

Behind me, while I was taking in the Grand Prismatic Spring, was the Excelsior Geyser, also shrouded in steam but with the gray sky and bits of sunlight peeking through. I looked at the reflections in that direction and couldn’t believe my luck at how many times I’ve stood in the park watching billowing clouds rise from hot springs that give us hints of things unseen below us.

Midway Geyser Basin in Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming

Words and emotions are the communicative hints of who we are within that are largely unseen by others. When we express ourselves with enthusiasm we are recognizing our good luck at how many times we’ve been in a situation worth sharing. Our essence of being human is locked in this exchange just as the waters of the geyser create the picture of the object you are looking for.

Midway Geyser Basin in Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming

Far from the waters that flow from the hot spring, beauty is also to be found. In a similar sense, the words and emotions people share flow far away from them, offering impressions to artists and new generations who borrow from those precious moments to shape culture. To desire only the big picture is to throw away the largest mass of unrealized potential, and this is the condition of those who only desire to exemplify the most superficial nature of the self, the exterior. We inhabit a multitude of various planes of existence that create our cultural complexity, and yet, by displaying only our external selves, we fail to share the inner self, maybe because we are afraid of the person inside we don’t really know. In my view, it’s a tragedy that we fail at putting the deeper self on display while we invest so much energy and money visiting the gym, buying trendy clothes, the right accouterments, tattoos, our cars, and homes that demonstrate the external self. We should aim for the same symbiotic relationship of elements we witness in the complex beauty we find in nature. When someone is more aligned with that symbiotic balanced personhood, we are better prepared to find magnificence in the little things.

Standing on our own atop a monument of what lies below the surface takes daring, as in our culture, we have no real room for individuality. Like here in Yellowstone, we don’t care about the hydrological function below the surface; we only desire to see the herd of animals, the forest, or the geyser as it’s geysering.

Excited to get to Grand Prismatic before the crowds, we waited for breakfast until we reached the perfect place for it. That ended up being after we turned east, away from Mammoth Hot Springs, on our way to the Lamar Valley at Blacktail Pond Overlook. I should finally note that we are traveling with much of our own food to cut down on expenses, hence why our first meal of the day was roadside.

I have to give my daughter credit as, like this ground squirrel, she takes an intense interest in observing stuff and trying to find her own angle as she snaps away, taking photos that will join her book of memories. The entire drive from Phoenix to this corner of Wyoming, she’s been talking about seeing animals along the way; this is the reminder for her that she not only saw ground squirrels but even had one rush up to her and try to poop on her shoe.

Bison in Lamar Valley at Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming

It’s rutting season for the bison, and the males are emitting some impressive guttural sounds. If their size doesn’t frighten you, these deep grunts certainly will.

Bison in Lamar Valley at Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming

As they compete for dominance among one another, they pair off and let the fur fly as we onlookers marvel at the primal force and musculature on display here in the park. Jessica and I were able to hang out at a safe distance and watch the fury the bison were directing at rival males to land prime mating opportunities if they could prove they were at the apex of this hierarchy.

Bison in Lamar Valley at Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming

These incredibly beautiful animals are but a few of the 360,000 that exist in the North American herd today. Prior to the arrival of our European ancestors, it is estimated that 30-60 million of them existed. At the low point, only about 1,000 of them were alive as they verged on extinction. If farmers on the borders of Yellowstone had their way, this herd would be destroyed as they risk bringing disease to the nearby cattle populations. A disease that ironically was brought in by non-indigenous cattle in the first place. By the way, those 360,000 bison are nothing when you think that right here in the United States, we slaughter 46 million cows, 121 million pigs, and 9 billion chickens per year, and it’s the existence of 360,000 bison that irks the cattle industry.

Okay, I’ll get off the mountain and come back down to being a tourist. Leaving Lamar Valley, we couldn’t take the road that passes Mt. Washburn (this is not that mountain) as that road is closed for construction. So we backtracked through Mammoth, past Norris Geyser Basin, where we turned left towards the lake again in hopes of seeing more elk.

Okay, so this isn’t wildlife, but if you think about it for a moment, this is wildlife.

West Thumb at Yellowstone National Park in Wyoming

Over the course of our drive to West Thumb Geyser Basin, we spotted a few elk, but with periodic rain and dark skies, I wasn’t able to capture a half-decent image, but that’s okay, by the time we reached this corner of the lake we had a respite in the foul weather.

West Thumb at Yellowstone National Park in Wyoming

Here at the Fishing Cone, it was common practice 120 years ago to stand on the cone and fish for trout. Once caught, the fish was dunked into the hot waters of the geyser and cooked before incredulous visitors. Back then, it was possible to see this geyser erupt to heights of 40 feet over the lake.

West Thumb at Yellowstone National Park in Wyoming

Back in 2003, the boardwalk led right up against this hot spring. I can only imagine it was moved closer to the lake to help stop people throwing stuff into the pool. While we are lucky to have been able to walk the original trail, I understand that we humans are not trustworthy to follow the rules and act respectfully. If you’d like to see that old boardwalk and what this pool looks like on a sunny day, click here and scroll down 24 photos.

West Thumb at Yellowstone National Park in Wyoming

Here we are at the edge of controlled and wild nature. In one corner, we have the National Park’s attempt at controlling people who oftentimes are being introduced to a vast, uncontrollable side of America, and in the other corner the untameable and unpredictable face of a caldera. Nature cannot bow to our will, though we do have the ability to harm it. In the end, it has a greater ability to inflict destruction upon us in profoundly unsettling ways. We are the ones who, with knowledge and the ability to control our actions, are supposed to respect nature and support how we can symbiotically live within it as it sustains us and all other life.

West Thumb at Yellowstone National Park in Wyoming

This dry, hot spring that might have also been a geyser is a dusty bowl here on our visit. Is it only dry due to the time of year, was it clogged with debris people threw into it, or is something ominous at work where the hydrology of the park is cooking up even bigger changes? We are not afforded the luxury of knowing the intention of such large complex systems below the surface of the earth, so why do we think we can control even larger and more complex systems such as oceans and the atmosphere of our planet? I think indigenous people are correct in saying that modern man does not pay enough respect to the land we live on or the skies we live under.

West Thumb at Yellowstone National Park in Wyoming

Forboding sky, meet convulsive earth, with these little naive people standing between you who believe they reign tall in the hierarchy of this spectacular evolving creation. I dream of the day they stand with respect before nature and harness their knowledge to instill values in their kind that are able to invest in places such as this in the same way they do their cars, homes, and cities. Fortunately for humans, there are no destructive hordes of creatures harvesting or burning their cities, and there are no other animals or organisms on earth that intentionally poison their drinking water or work so vigilantly as they themselves do to soil their environment. In that respect, humans might be one of nature’s biggest mistakes.

Grand Prismatic Spring at Yellowstone National Park in Wyoming

Well, here we are back at Midway Geyser Basin for a late-day visit to Grand Prismatic Spring to see how conditions changed between morning and now.

Midway Geyser Basin in Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming

Everything checks out for being in its place. Beauty still rules the view. Best of all though, thanks to the overcast skies, the parking lot, earlier quite overloaded with dozens of cars waiting to get in, was half empty, meaning we were here mostly alone. Just us here with some hot springs, distant trees, threatening storm clouds, the warm and glorious bacteria cheering our return, and some unfathomable amount of air and earth. Yep, just us.

Midway Geyser Basin in Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming

Hey John, is this really one of your best examples of photographic magic? Well, that’s purely subjective, isn’t it? What I can assure you of is that it’s a snapshot of a place and a moment that I experienced with my daughter here on August 2nd, 2021.

Grand Prismatic Spring at Yellowstone National Park in Wyoming

Yep, that’s lava flowing out of the water, or maybe it’s a trillion parties of bacteria in their lit cities, as seen from this satellite view. Oops, I was wrong; this is the work of Banksy, who threw down some damn realistic-looking graffiti turning this plain old hot spring into a multi-billion dollar artwork.

So Much To Do

JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

Writing setup in Old Faithful Inn Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming

With overcast skies early this morning, I sat down in a very quiet Old Faithful Inn to catch up on some writing but quickly realized my opportunity to see the lodge just this way was a rarity. Sadly, I didn’t wander the place as with the sun potentially making an arrival; I needed to jump-start the fingers to do some bidding of the mind to capture my thoughts for yesterday’s blog entry. Jessica is off outside for a short walk, seeing the awesome things I’ll fail to capture as my priorities have changed so dramatically since any of my previous visits to Yellowstone.

Old Faithful Inn Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming

With so much to do but limited time to do it all, we try to make priorities. Most guests appear to be sleeping in right now while behind the scenes; others are likely already prepping for the needs of those still behind closed doors. I need to put this to rest right now: I finished what I could write about yesterday, and it is time to get myself outside to see what the day and my imagination have in store.

Upper Geyser Basin in Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming

It’s cold and gray when I get outside, and I’m reluctant to explore. Something is missing in my joie de vivre, and that something is Caroline. It’s bittersweet finding myself at Yellowstone and not being able to connect to her passionate embrace of life. This leads to the question, how can I so easily find my enthusiasm to be in a place such as Europe when she’s not there? The answer is I’m trying to write to my wife during those times, but I’m distracted by such busy days out here with my daughter, and our personalities are not quite as in tune as Caroline’s and mine.

My inclination was to drag my bag of melancholy back into Old Faithful Inn and continue writing. I’ll start with a love letter to my wife before detouring with a good venting of whatever spleen was clogging up my happiness, but after Jessica and I walked awhile, things lightened up within me, and with the sun emerging, so did better spirits, but, oh how I wish Caroline was here with us.

There are as many memories here as there are trees and hot springs, and every step is a walk into experiences shared with my wife. I can’t begin to figure out how to make memories here for my daughter and me, as it seems that everything is seeping with the essence of Caroline.

After our long walk over the Upper Geyser Basin, we dipped into the cafe next door to the lodge for a quick bite and some water and then a return to the inn as I’d forgotten something in our room. With a full stomach and some sense, I needed to write something. I sat down at the same table as earlier and ended up feeling more tired than inspired. Maybe we should get up and go out for some more exploring of things?

Then, somewhere along the trail, I start to gather glimmers about what the issue might be, but first, some background. Of course, there’d be some other details as rarely, if ever, do I just drop into a concise explanation of anything. In national parks, where I should be leaving the rest of the world and my troubles behind me, I find myself locked in turmoil as, depending on the size of crowds I encounter, I have to immerse myself not just in nature but the morass that is a microcosm of our planet. During this time of pandemic, my immersion takes on interesting qualities. While I was in Germany I was dealing primarily with Germans, but here in Yellowstone, I’m mostly here with Americans.

As is typical for this time of year, should people be traveling (which they are), there are lots of visitors in the park. So, like in a high-end shopping center, I’m here with those people who can afford to spend $500 to $1500 a day on vacation. By and large, the experience regarding the human element in this park is not pleasant. The rangers and staff are great, as are a good handful of the visitors, but a majority are the worst. Not in some criminal or sociopathic kind of way but in attitude.

Amongst all socioeconomic classes of Americans are those who lack any hint of authenticity. I’m certain that to their other superficial friends and family, they are the greatest people ever, no doubt at all, but from my throne of judgment, I cannot find a hint of their empathy for others. Without empathy, you are not allowed into the club of the authentic.

I walked by a man who, by appearance, might have played a different role, but here on the Upper Geyser Basin, he was pushing either his own mother or his mother-in-law in a wheelchair. It’s hard to portray your arrogant loftiness when hunched over a person with disabilities. Back in June in Germany, walking at a snail’s pace with my mother-in-law as she scooted along with her walker, there’s no looking cool to others except those who might empathize with your task at hand.

A mother with four young children cannot wear airs of aloofness when the tribe is running circles around her. She tries to maintain decorum, but you can easily see her limits. A large family vacation, where maybe a reunion is happening, will show you a lot of their dynamic as most everyone is reduced to being their most authentic selves, and those who do not fit in with letting their hair down walk away from the group and are easily identified.

Visitors to any natural area should be there in the moment to see what is there and not worry about being seen or how they appear to others, but the truth is that we humans, by and large, take our swimsuit bodies and nightclub faces everywhere we go. How many would be disappointed to know that there are those of us out here who find more beauty in the steam rising off a hot spring than their ridiculous attempt at looking “put together?”

We spent hours out here on the Upper Geyser Basin, and not once did I see anyone else, aside from my daughter, get down to eye level with the small stuff. Heck, they barely slowed down even for the 20-minute wait to see Old Faithful erupt – in the company of 100s of other visitors.

What’s not seen here are selfies of my daughter and/or me posing in front of any of this because we are too busy not seeing ourselves and instead are witnessing the tiny details that will hopefully seep into our memories, hopefully creating a dad-and-daughter experience in our 11 days into America.

All of these photos I’m posting from here at Yellowstone are conveying information, and while you may not be able to read precisely what is offered, you could do some research and discover what they are. I could share 45 photos of Jessica and you’d still not know a thing about her other than she’s in a national park on vacation with her father. That would be enough as far as you, the casual reader of my blog, are concerned, but for me, I need to know that my shared time with other people carries value that will enhance who I want to be.

Bacterial mats are authentic as they cannot portray anything more than what they are, which is not true with humans. We play roles and use appearance to create our initial line of defense. We avoid eye contact to stop others from establishing a line in, and, should we talk with the other, we can use curt answers to push them away. Most times, we do not have to engage these people; they are offering up who they are within their own families, to their spouses, or to the service person attempting to assuage their anger that life isn’t perfect for them right now.

You will not look deeper into those people who don’t want you to see their humanity as our society has conditioned them that this is weakness. Beauty, perfection, and aloofness are how we allow those below us to fully appreciate the grandeur of our existence. Sadly, this is how a large part of our society responds and finds its own values.

Should you have strangely enough made it to this point in what should have been a silent soliloquy not meant for visitors searching for Yellowstone and reaching my blog, please excuse me, but COVID has turned our world upside down, and while I don’t know about everyone else, I’m evaluating, analyzing, and scrutinizing everything about how the world within and around me is resetting.

But enough of all that, as the world of traveling is not all about the depth of thoughts, it is also allowed to be about the depth of vision and the unknown depths of a geyser. Just take a second to admire the orange bacteria right next to the white calcified ring of minerals on the left of the hot spring, where its opening shows you the aquamarine hue that is difficult to see in the most shallow region of the pool.

Then, on the other side of that pool is a dew-covered plant that is diffusing the individual branches with the light of the sun blurring the picture into shades of red, yellow, and white.

An island sprouts from the tepid, chalky waters and would be easily missed if all I was doing was glancing over the complex landscape, looking for the biggest features that could grab my attention. Qualifying all things great and beautiful into categories that in an instant can be sorted into important or irrelevant is not a place my brain works as I feel that everything has the potential to shine through if you are open to discovering the things that are just before your nose.

It seems that nature has created its own Japanese Zen Garden right here in a hot spring otherwise, how do you explain the nearly perfect layout of river stones around the travertine temple?

This is the appropriately named Ear Spring that I believe I’ve photographed on every other previous visit to Yellowstone. With my 9th occasion to be here, I wonder how the other images might differ from this. After 20 years of not using best practices to catalog my photos, I have to admit I have no easy method for finding those other images from the many 10’s of thousands I store on my computer. Labeling is important, but who knew I’d still be snapping photos of so many places I’ve visited again and again over the years?

From morning to midday we are still walking across the basin.

Taking time to watch a skittish chipmunk emerge from hiding before darting out to nibble on some sweet flowers. Seems to us that this cute little guy is as delightful as seeing bison.

I can’t help but think that this new travertine growth wasn’t damaged by an animal stepping onto the geyser surface but by a human mashing this fragile stuff. While we know it can repair itself, if you imagine just 1% of the 4 million visitors, or 40,000 of them, were walking on this, there would be very little for the 3.96 million of the rest of us to see.

Purple, gray, orange, brown, and white are organized into peculiar forms. In the top left of the image, I see a face to the right of a small skull, and if I were stoned, I would probably see ten other visual features I’d swear were there.

Formerly known as Oyster Pool, this serene-looking hot spring had its name changed back around 1929 after a Belgian man somehow found himself in the 182 degrees Fahrenheit (82c) waters that claimed his life. This hot spring is now known as the Belgian Pool.

We’ll pay a million dollars for a work of modern art using this motif while a parent walking by will not flinch as their teen son spits into a hot spring, such class!

If you knew where this was you’d know what comes next.

Morning Glory Pool it is.

Firehole Lake Drive was our next stop on this adventure. The park is packed, jam-packed. The parking lots are overflowing, but maybe because you can’t see much of this drive from the main road, there weren’t many people turning to investigate the area, so we chose to go here instead of fighting with the lines to other basins. This is Firehole Spring.

The Great Fountain Geyser was not living up to its name while we were here, and we weren’t prepared to wait for 6 to 10 hours for it to possibly erupt, so here’s a shot of it in its elegant dormant state rung by orange pools.

Why is this fallen tree in this pool? Maybe it was here first, and water started bubbling out of a nearby hole, washing away the thin soil the tree was holding onto, and now, instead of the tree standing tall over the landscape, it is slowly disintegrating as it’s absorbed while death removes its existence.

White-footed trees are a feature here in the park as the highly mineralized waters are absorbed by the plant life. I would have liked to share the image of these trees on an early cold morning when steam is rising from the grasses, bringing yet more mystery to the landscape of Yellowstone.

The waters are flowing out of Black Warrior Lake, which is fed by Firehole Lake, this drive’s namesake. The combined waters of the two lakes feed into Hot Lake, which is then carried via Tangled Creek over to the Firehole River, and if I’m not figuring this wrong, they finally flow into the Missouri River.

Wait a second while I contemplate the merits of being moss, growing on an old tree, never paying rent or taxes, bargaining for fresh water, and needing to visit a grocery store for food. While my lifespan might only be 2 to 10 years, I’d have the exquisite fortune of living naked in a place no one can otherwise afford to live in.

If I were moss I’d be looking at the mating grounds of my parents because water is where the male and female reproductive cells meet to create. How moss ends up on trees and rocks, though, is a mystery worth maintaining. I think I’ll go with the idea that they are in contact with aliens who teleport them to places that would be comfy for moss to grow and enjoy the view, reporting back to their alien overlords what they are seeing on this planet.

Up Firehole Canyon past the waterfalls and cascades.

Upper Geyser Basin in Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming

And then back to the Upper Geyser Basin for sunset…

Upper Geyser Basin in Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming

…bubbling water…

Upper Geyser Basin in Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming

…some small eruptions…

Upper Geyser Basin in Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming

…reflections of the late day sun…

Upper Geyser Basin in Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming

…topped off with glistening water spilling over bacteria mats.

Upper Geyser Basin in Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming

Of course, this doesn’t all end with the setting sun, as I have plenty of photographs to work on and a need to try capturing some notes that can be turned into a full blog entry. I’d like to point out since I mentioned notes: compared to Germany, where I was writing each blog as I went along, my daughter and I on this adventure are just too busy exploring or driving to find enough time to stay current with each day. On to the next day.