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.

Escaping Nothing

JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

From Craig, Colorado, the Wyoming border is maybe 30 miles away, and while we were offered a beautiful sunrise, it was going to be short-lived as rain was on the horizon. Until that point, we’ll try to see as much of our environment as possible. Before we reached the border we had to contend with a stretch of road that I was happy we didn’t attempt to drive last night. Five miles of dirt with a few deep ruts from heavy trucks taking the trek were dry by this morning, letting me sigh in relief that I didn’t chicken out and turn around for a long-haul detour.

I’m in love with these bucolic scenes and ideas of pastoral life, but beyond the terrific landscape, people are living angry lives right now. Funny how decades ago the problem was damage being done by DDT; today, it is DJT (Donald J. Trump).

Always trying to avoid the highways that, while fast, offer little in the way of scenery and, of course, little opportunity to stop for a photo of curiosities and sights of interest.

Then again, on a highway, you’ll never run into a single-lane gravel road regulated by a red light, and you get to drive through a trough where a new bridge is being built out in the middle of nowhere.

After our nearly 6 miles of bumpy, slow driving, we encountered paved road again and maybe 10 miles after that, we reached the Wyoming state line. This is looking back into Colorado at that spot.

What have we escaped by leaving Colorado and entering Wyoming? The same things we left behind in Arizona and New Mexico, just about nothing. Everywhere, there are things to discover unless you’re one of those who feel trapped and cannot see the opportunity all around them. The state line we are crossing is where road number 13 turns into the 789.

We have a lot of miles to cover today on our way up to northern Wyoming, but easily distracted by nearly everything, we’ll stop again and again. These distractions are known as pronghorn antelope.

Looking west, we are near Interstate 80, which we’ll have to contend with as there’s no way to avoid it. But if I turn around…

…and look east there was a train approaching far in the distance. So, we waited about 10 minutes for this multi-engine, nearly 2-mile-long train with an additional engine about two-thirds of the way back to reach us here at the bridge. Jessica commented that she couldn’t remember ever seeing a train from above, come to think of it, I don’t know if I ever had either. I should add when those diesel engines pass right below your face, the power they are exerting feels quite intimidating.

We only had to cover a 20-mile stretch of the freeway before reaching Rawlins, Wyoming, where we could reconnect with Highway 789, also known as the 287. It’s raining off and on out this way, leaving few opportunities for photos. Even though we are far away now from Interstate 80, nothing slows down the impatient on their way somewhere other than where they are. So I just try to mind our safety, and when a car in the rearview mirror is closer than about a half-mile, I pull over and wait as where we are going will still be there whether we arrive sooner or later.

It was just one such stop that I noticed a sign of roadside interest, but you couldn’t see it from the main road, so I turned down a street, and we walked over to read this. Welcome to the modern ghost town of Jeffrey City that sprung to life in 1957 as a uranium mining town but less than 30 years later would lose thousands of residents. A biker rode up to collect his mail from a central mailbox still operating for the few who remain and told me that there are still about 20 people living there.

Another 50 miles up the road, we finally stopped for a proper coffee in Riverton at the Brown Sugar Coffee Roastery on Main Street. Taking a few minutes to sit down away from the car and write in this small town is a great luxury celebrated with grabbing a pound of coffee beans and a little snack. With our goal to get to our next destination earlier than the previous two days, it’s time to hit save and get moving again.

Another 22 miles north, and we have arrived at our destination, Shoshoni, Wyoming, but something looks amiss.

Shown our room, we weren’t the least bit pleased as not only things don’t look like the brochure they mailed us, but we’d asked for a room with two queen beds. Management at the Shoshoni Motel was unrelenting in insisting they had a 24-hour cancelation policy and wouldn’t refund our money. So, Jessica slept in the chair, which was probably a better deal as she didn’t have to rest her head on that filthy pillow.

Of course, that motel was NOT where we were staying. But nothing is at it seems out here. The river in this photo is the Bighorn River, while the area is called Wind River.

This is my daughter’s look of confusion as she was trying to solve the puzzle of exactly where she was, though it might have also been the latent effects of that wicked, powerful joint we bought yesterday in Colorado, where weed is legal for recreational use.

I have a soft spot for granites and schists.

Pulling into Cody, Wyoming, with a few hours of daylight remaining, the draw of Yellowstone National Park was too much to ignore. Fortune struck on two counts for us: first of all, we didn’t have a reservation for tonight; secondly, after calling Old Faithful Inn, I was able to tack on an extra night a day early. So, instead of waiting till morning for the drive into the park, using a park entry I’ve not driven before, we’ll be heading in under gray skies this early evening.

Here we are, cruising ever closer to Yellowstone, passing through Wapiti, when I spot a lone Bob’s Big Boy statue standing guard in front of the range. That’s some loving care out there as someone gave this nearly forgotten icon a beautiful home, mounted it on concrete to thwart its theft, and is keeping it painted so it looks as fresh as ever.

We passed through the entrance of the park but skipped the crowded entry sign as the selfie-a-gogo party was in full effect. So instead of our smiling faces noting that we’d dropped into Yellowstone, I present you flowers and water.

I smelled this bubbling hot spring before seeing it; it’s not a smell I find awkward at all; as a matter of fact, I quite love the reminder of where I’m at.

This unnamed hot spring was our welcoming thermal feature, and though it’s no Old Faithful geyser, it was perfect for me this late day.

Ran into our first traffic jam caused by gawking at wildlife with a small group of elk standing next to Yellowstone Lake. It was dark as we arrived at Old Faithful Inn and found the parking lot packed full. Over near the gas station, we were able to find a spot and hauled our stuff up the short incline. Not that short, though, as at 7,300 feet of elevation, this old man was huffing and puffing, trying to drag everything up in one go. At the iconic red doors of the inn, signs were added yesterday that required everyone entering to wear a mask; back to this routine as things seem to be spiraling out of control in America.

Out Finding The Road

JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

Here we are in the San Juan Mountains, heading towards Telluride. This should have been one of the more beautiful drives in America, with mist rising off the forest and streams, wildflowers, bursts of summer growth, and soaring mountains, but the path through it all is a utility not intended as a corridor of exploration and appreciation. There are just not enough pullouts to stop and enjoy the glorious views. Couple this road with the aggressive nature of those in a hurry to get to their destination as they’ve grown so accustomed to the sights that the scenery means nothing to them, and I’m left feeling that we are on a road to nowhere.

Signs used to be limited to pointing towards directions and upcoming conveniences such as hotels, food, and restrooms, but nowadays, we also must contend with a politicized thoroughfare where perpetual campaign slogans are seen every so many miles instead of being able to enjoy the birds and trees. This long drive that should have led into the wonderful becomes a maneuver through the psycho-consumptive mental illness that is modern America.

My love affair with the grand wide open spaces I was so fond of on previous visits is being crowded out by the anger of a populace that is growing disenfranchised and their mantras affirming their disillusionment. The vistas still rise majestically, but I can’t help but feel that the morass of stupidity is accumulating like molasses around the ankles of those who wish to move freely.

Pullouts are few and far between. Picnic benches are non-existent. The speed limit is 60, with most drivers pressing 70. I try to mosey along, barely maintaining 40; I am the hazard. It’s summer here at the end of July, and while the temperature is a pleasant 53 degrees before 9:00 this morning, my opportunity to listen to the silence between bursts from the songbirds with rushing water below is limited. Massive pickup trucks with a single occupant, windows rolled up tight, occasionally with bass thumping from a quarter-mile away scream past, letting me know that we are in different universes. Nature is no longer here for poets, writers, composers, hikers, and explorers; it is either a financial resource or an impediment to arriving at a destination where money is to be found.

Moving through Telluride but not stopping for more than a photo at the end of the road, I’m struck by the contrast of those walking and riding by and the Goethe’s walk along the Lahn River to the Rhein River. Goethe walked for three days to cover the 70 miles, and after his arrival back in Frankfurt, he wrote a book that led to a new era in literature. Today, people have to have the right LuluLemon tights, the best namebrand shoes, $10,000 carbon fiber bikes, kitted-out Jeeps with all the popular accouterments, and water bottles that speak to their brand loyalty. They do not move; they present.

Walking, hiking, or biking without style and the display of conspicuous consumption is for the commoner. Being mentally present for the sake of doing something of any particular meaning is passe when Instagram pages are waiting to be filled, and likes are accumulated for simply going to the place everyone believes holds a kind of cache not found in places not branded as “hip.” And what is going to lend that air of importance to a location besides the beautiful setting? It is the expensive nature that can be brought to the destination to maintain exclusiveness. Why should the poor experience “our” beautiful places when they can go to their local lake?

There’s a conundrum here as I fully understand what places like Daytona Beach, Myrtle Beach, and Atlantic City attract concerning tourism and how the exclusive natures of Jackson Hole, Telluride, and Sun Valley maintain their dignified airs. The real problem is a lament I’ve shared here far too often: America cultivates a vast underclass so that at any given time, it has massive reserves of expendable bodies to fight whatever conflict it wants to enter. As long as America’s lower and middle classes have lakes, sectioned-off segments of the coast, and places like Branson, Missouri, that are referred to as “Family Vacation Destinations,” this divide will continue to exist. I’m comparing this to Europe, where in places such as Vienna, all the economic classes of Europe mingle with the cultural attractions on offer.

Damn, this is a line of writing that I’ve grown tired of, but here I am in western Colorado, being confronted with the American reality that the haves and have-nots should remain as far apart as possible, and this makes me seriously uncomfortable.

I am on vacation with my daughter, and I can’t let go of the built-in, inherently unfair structural elements that define this country. I resent that we no longer want to do better and build a solid society but instead are cozy with our ugly mediocrity, bias, racism, and classism.

Just as I gaze out on the profound nature all around me and want to be lost in the moment within the environment, I cannot shut off the hostility pulsing through this country.

And then I realize that part of my problem for experiencing anxiety today is that I’m catching glimpses of the conditions that are leading to the re-masking of America due to the pandemic going out of control again. As the Delta variant of COVID has been ravaging corners of America, especially the unvaccinated, I’m watching people go about as though nothing is wrong. I feel like it’s the end of February 2020 all over again, where Caroline and I had already stocked up on masks, sanitizer, and food while the majority of the population seemed to think nothing much at all was going to happen.

Had you given me an all-expenses-paid vacation to Anywhere, Earth, last February or March, I would have turned it down, but here in Colorado, on our way to points north and then southeast, it’s business as usual. While my daughter and I are among the vaccinated, it’s obvious that at least half of everyone out here is not, while social distancing is nonexistent. Hopefully, when we finally start in on some hikes, we’ll find some solitude where the pandemic can, for a few days, be put out of my head.

The rainbow should be the perfect metaphor for what lies ahead, as the darkness of stupidity can’t loom over my head forever. True, I’m not out of the woods yet, and I can’t say that I’ll be able to escape the malignancy overcoming the landscape of the United States.

Here we are, America. We’ve lost our way, and our dreams no longer exist. The corpse just continues to wither away, and remnants of what was once an elegant creature are left by the side of the road, unseen by those on their way to suffering the same fate. We are now redefining our flag with various colors or trying to live with archaic symbols of an age long gone. We are pledging allegiance not to an idea but to a man some would like to be seen as all-powerful. This is the empire and body politic in decay. Sadly, I can no longer glide over the landscape without smelling the putrid stench of the rot.

Will the clouds dump their cleansing waters of enlightenment and clear our minds of the rampant hatred, or are we doomed to live in perpetual night?

Well, the sun sets over this day, too, and maybe tomorrow, the glimmers of something new will rise with our nearby star, but I will not hold my breath as while I may wake to witness beauty another day, as long as I’m within these borders I’m afraid the storm of our mediocrity will continue to rain down.

Traveling Again

JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

East of Superior, Arizona

After that last blog entry, my longest ever at 11,833 words, I needed a break from writing critical things. So, I turned to work on old blog entries. I did some backfill of photos for various, long-neglected trips from 2004, 2007, and 2011. Along the way, Caroline and I fixed a date for the two of us to visit Germany together, and those tickets are now reserved. Meanwhile, with all the travels of May and June, including the Big Sur Coast and Germany, I’d forgotten about a trip coming up early next year that will take us to Chiapas and Oaxaca in Mexico. the first part of that adventure is all about the fiber arts of Chiapas. A conversation with our travel companions opened up online that brought my attention back to this Mexican adventure. I suppose we should somehow give thought to it though I can’t really think how I’ll prepare any better.

While steeped in the old blog entries from 2011, I focused on writing about a particular visit to Oregon that had us visit the “Spruce Goose” airplane from Howard Hughes. The more I looked at the images from that 5-day vacation, the more I longed for a return to Oregon, and so I booked us two nights at Carl G. Washburne State Park and a night at Umpqua Lighthouse State Park for later this year. Speaking of vacations, last December, I’d mentioned that Caroline and I were going to raft the Selway River in Idaho around the 4th of July this year with friends; well my need to be in Germany derailed that for us.

Off the Salt River on Highway 60 north of Globe, Arizona

In between all of that, but still connected to the old blog entries, this time from a 2004 trip, I was filling in some details and old photos of my daughter Jessica and my first-ever road trip together and called her, inviting her to read the updates. Soon, we were talking about how it’s been a couple of years since we’ve seen each other, and as she recently got her COVID vaccinations, I suggested we should consider the idea of a new road trip and found she was ready for some traveling. Well, then I found a room available at the Old Faithful Inn in Yellowstone National Park, and our trip started taking shape. We leave today, just she and I.

On this trip, while on the road, I’m going to invest myself in taking a more studied approach towards photography. Typically, I just point and shoot, grabbing enough to end up with a couple of dozen good photos that I can share here, but I don’t focus on taking great images. Well, that’s changing for this 11-day journey as I’m bringing five lenses, a tripod, and better attention to focus, aperture, and low ISO.

Near Salt River Canyon in Arizona

About my writing, some of the days on the road will be easier to write about than others due to the different natural areas we’ll be exploring. I’ve intentionally loaded up on some days that I hope will present challenges to my use of descriptive language.

Rounding out the time shared with Jessica will be my need to dip into a synthesizer I’ll be taking along. For that, I recently migrated some modules into a portable case that allows me to take the essentials to help with beta-testing a particular module a friend is creating. With our trip to Germany coming up fast, I need to get in as much time as possible, digging into the way things work in the firmware to help make it as idiot-proof as possible [John, the proper word is user-friendly – Caroline].

Heading towards St. Johns, Arizona

Stacked up, this looks like a lot of things to do and not enough time in a day to do them all, and if I fail, I’ll fall behind in such a way with the photography, writing, and testing that I won’t be able to catch up in a meaningful enough way. So, I am writing this to myself as a mantra to not falter in my resolve to do everything I need to do. In order to extract every ounce of value from the investment in time, energy, and money, this must offer an incredibly experiential contribution to my memories, but isn’t that always the case for how I approach life?

North of St. Johns, Arizona

In full disclosure, all the above was written a couple of days ago, but I never took a photo to match it to, and so it wasn’t published. So, I’m assembling this post tonight after arriving in Cortez, Colorado, after the first full day of traveling with Jessica. The photos above and below were all shot during our drive when we had good weather. We had a lot of gray and our fair share of rain, but here we are out on the road.

Somewhere in New Mexico

This will be the longest trip my daughter and I take together as I believe the previous lengthiest was maybe five days maximum. I’m pensive as we dig into this 3,000-mile-long haul as there’s a lot of driving, and she’s a sporty, stay-active kind of person, which causes me a bit of concern.

Somewhere in New Mexico

But out we’ll go and see what the road has to deliver as we bring ourselves into the unknown territory of sharing so much time together.