Blog on BACKPACKER.com - Yellowstone in a Nutshell

Backpacker's interactive maps make planning your Yellowstone expedition easy

With its bounty of epic summits, gnarled canyons, pristine lakes and festering hot springs, Yellowstone National Park serves up thousands of possibilities along with one semi-annoying but semi-important question: Where do I start?

With this conundrum in mind, we sent our fearless correspondent Jeff Chow, armed with only his god-given wits and a trusty GPS device, on a month-long excursion into Yellowstone's immense wilderness. After a month of summiting sky-scraping peaks, fording raging rivers, and sleeping with 600-pound grizzlies, Jeff has not only lived to tell the tale, but has returned with a mother-lode of wisdom (and GPS data) on America's first national park.

So although Yellowstone can be overwhelming, consider that Lewis and Clark charted most of the American West without any of the handy (and free) features — interactive maps, detailed trail descriptions, elevation profiles, Google Earth flyovers, geo-tagged photos and videos, meticulous waypoints and USGS Topo Map quads — that (thanks to contributors like Jeff) Backpacker.com offers on its Destinations channel...

See more, read more! Continued at Backpacker.com!

Electric Peak continued..

On the lee side, you strip off a bottom layer only to put more on. Fleece pants and down vest to keep the warmth in as the wind tries to blow it out.

The clouds surrounding us come and go. What at times appears like a dream looking through frosted glass suddenly gets blown away to the crystal clear reality of the cold dense air. Like stepping out of the shower. Suddenly the world changes from a 15 feet radius to miles of panoramic views of rolling hillsides and jagged snow-capped peaks.

FASTLAYNE is in the fast lane as always and up ahead, beyond sight. The cool damp haze returns and I continue upward. Craning my head to plan my path. I arrive at a monolith in my way. I veer left into a notch in the rock like the entrance to a gated neighborhood. In front is a sketchy 45 degree slope of rock and scree. To my right a 15 foot jagged crag leading obscured into the clouds.

"This isn't the right way," FASTLAYNE yells from above.

"You think I should go down there?!" I respond leaning forward to see any semblance of a path.

"Yeah! I'm pretty sure up is not the right way."

I look again. Then take a few steps to peer around the corner. It still doesn't look good.

Well. He went up that way. I'm going to do the same.

As soon as I begin the hand over hand scramble, I can see what he means. The rock is loose, shifting under your hands and feet. Pieces fall from your grasp. Soon it's easy to tell that this entire monolith was once a solid piece of rock that has been shattered into hundreds of foot long chunks and simply stacked like a game of Jenga. Fear creeps in that the one you just disturbed might collapse the whole thing with Satan yelling "JENGA!" as you fall to your death.

I get to the top of the section, hearing the wind howl over the highest mountain in the range. Suddenly the fear gets to me. Listening to the wind it feels like the mountain is swaying as I watch the clouds rushing by. I shift my feet and lay against the rock trying to stay as low and as stable as possible. My chest tightens and my breath quickens. I curl up against the cold, red rock and shudder.

I lay there for minutes focusing on my breath. I count to five as I try to slow each inhale and exhale. I purse my lips and puff my cheeks as I forcefully push the air out connecting the sound to my muscles relaxing the tension. Pffffffffff.....

I decide to move forward because backwards looks just as scary. I tell myself, I can do this. "You're a capable climber, you can do this." "Just take your time, make sure each hold is solid." "Don't need to be dynamic, just steady and stable." "You can climb 5.11, this is a piece of cake."

I move using all my climbing skills to make this as safe as possible. I have my arms outstretched, bending my knees keeping my weight low. I tug at the rock to ensure it's stability before shifting my weight. I move smoothly, fluidly. Tug, move. Tug, move. Tug, "WHOA!"

Click.. click.. CLACK, click.. click.... click............ click.....

A big piece or rock tumbles down 75 feet of scree. It appears to be in slow motion as I watch the the rock bounce down the mountain. The sound jarring the quiet of its flight. After each impact, it silently flips end-over-end. The noise fades into the wind as it falls out of sight.

I desperately grasp at the rock as I suddenly feel gravity tugging at me. Feeling the anxiety return with images of falling 20 feet to the scree then tumbling down the mountainside beyond the sight and sound of FASTLAYNE, I quickly scramble to the top of the section knocking pieces down as I go.

Click, clack, click, clack.

I move quickly, and dynamically hoping that the rock will stay put long enough for me to get by. I purse my lips and puff my cheeks. PFFFFF... My mind returns to breathing. Forceful at first, then deeper as I try to control the fear. "It's OK" I tell myself. "You're doing fine. Just keep moving." "Slooowly."

I pick my way up and over the back of the stegosaurus of a mountain.

Soon I see the red glow of FASTLAYNE's jacket in the mist.

"Did you make it to the summit?" I ask.

"Yup."

"How much further?" I somewhat pleadingly inquire.

"Oh, it's right up there." he points with the movement of his head.

"K.." "You wanna go back up?"

"Sure"

He falls in behind me as I push the last 40 feet to the summit. As I move towards the peak, the wind seems to calm. An eerie silence begins to fill my ears.

"Is this it? Or is that the peak?" I ask as I point to another little point.

"I think it's this one, it has the register under the rock."

I look out into the grey slosh imagining the view. "That was the scariest thing I've ever done."

"Wasn't it great?!" FASTLAYNE gushes.

I pause in response as I remember a thought on the way up. My life is worth way more than the excitement of this climb. Mapping this peak is not nearly as important as my life. What was I thinking??

But I did it anyway. So I stand at the top of 10,969" Electric peak and yell the everlasting call of excitement, accomplishment and relief -

"HUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUIII!"

Electric Peak

On November 1st we successfully summited Electric Peak. Boogie-woogie-woogie! And boy, it may have been the scariest most death-defying thing I've ever done. It's only 4.2 miles from the campsite but that last .2+ is sheer absurdity... especially when you take the wrong route.




Cliffhangers, endings and a journey home:

From the trail junction and beginning of the S. E. Electric Peak Trail it begins like any good cliffhanger does, gently. You rise and fall meandering towards the peak till suddenly, the story takes a turn. Suddenly you're digging your toes into the dirt scrambling straight up the mountain wondering what happened. And soon you realize that you're on a straight path towards the peak. It's inevitable. You see that thin line of the ridge under your feet lead all the way up and into the clouds that ominously hides the summit.

Once on the turn, you simply apply effort and some hard breathing to make progress upward. Not easy, but you know what needs to be done. You put your head down and summon that 'can do' mountain climbing ego and press those toes into the spongy black dirt lurching your 150 lbs. forward.

They say that all the trails in the West are nicely graded and switchbacked. LIES!

The grade shifts from a nice hillside ascent to standing on the balls of your feet on a slope so steep your calves can't stretch far enough to put your heels down. You lean forward in fear of falling backward. In fear of tumbling forever into the stream now far, far below. Head down and lurch. Step. Step. Step. Rest. Step. Step. Step. Rest.

The story is kept interesting by surprising you with a small reprieve making one switchback through a dry gully. Step. Step. Step. Step. Rest.

You pause to take a photo and turn so that those lovely heels can finally return to earth again.

"Onward and upward," the ego shouts with a overly dramatic point to the top as you lean into the hillside like leaning into the wind.

Soon there's wind too. Up ahead you can hear the wind whistling over the ridge. You brace yourself and prepare to lean forward and sideways suddenly feeling less like a climber and more like those inflatable, weighted clown punching dolls being pushed every which way.

The clear path to the summit begins to appear less clear. Follow the ridge, yes. But the agreeable or likely path up, not so clear. You know where the story is going, but how? Straight up the ridge? Along the rocky bluff? Turn left at Albuquerque? It's a mystery!

Pick a path and go. There's a storyline and a plot, but it ain't a mystery, it's more a choose your own adventure.

You find a faint path here and there guiding you up the increasingly precipitous ridge. Treadway going from black dirt to black rocks. The side of the ridge looking less like a hill and more like a cliff.

The character list is short but sturdy. Your compatriot leads the way providing certainty and resolve when yours is lacking. He is the embodiment of the climbing ego.

The rocky bluff that once protected you from the bitter, blowing wind becomes a shade of fiery red like that of a past girlfriend's hair.

The wind brings a song floating into your head. "It's raining in Baltimore, for 50 odd years. Watching and waiting today."

That bluff becomes the ridge and the separator between a slope of loose rock and vertical wall. The further up the mountain the further it stands out like the dorsal fin of an ancient creature.

To be continued...

No pain, no gain

Or at least no good photos. Bouldering at the edge of Firehole Falls where the snow has melted from the spray of warm thermal runoff has its consequences, other than falling into the water below.


*Photos by FASTLAYNE

Bigfoot Stamp of Approval

Black bear or grizzly, 'dem some big feet. It was an exciting experience to be 4th on the food chain in the park. Grizzly, black bear, and a pack of wolves could all kill me for food. Bison and elk could charge if I crossed them. Seeing such wildlife makes me feel the same way as I do when looking up at trees, mountains or stars. The environment we live in is so much larger than we imagine. Seeing the power and magnitude of the natural world rekindles the magical truth, that we are simply a tiny speck among the vast sea of wonder. With courage, we must remember that we are not in charge of our world, we are simply in charge of our own destiny.

Steaming Sunset

This is taken from my favorite pull-off on the grand loop above Midway Geyser Basin. The road that exists today is the same route that was originally cut through the wilderness when the area was designated as the world's first National Park in 1872. Panoramas like this give you no doubt as to why people fought against potential commercial interests to protect this remarkably unique land.

The Firehole River collects the steaming water from Grand Prismatic Spring on the left and Excelsior Geyser on the right. Click the image for a satellite view of the area.

Home Stretch

Last week of the Yellowstone Project. We've met our hike quotas for day and weekend and just filling out the burly scale by re-attempting Electric Peak. Wish us luck!

Today we bagged Observation Peak. Wooha!

Rolling hills.

Crossing Leading Lines

 

One guidebook says a bison will never move for a human. True. Very true.

Uh. Dentist anyone?

This is also the expression he made when we walked up on a grizzly 30 feet away...

Bigger than My Palm.

 

Summer days are drifting away..

Summer days come and go. One day sun, another snow.

We had another dusting of snow today. Sleeping out in our sleeping bags and no tent as we have been leads to drizzle hitting face and then movement into cars. While today only hit a high in the 30's, the rest of the week is looking like sun and temps up to the 50's. Perfect for a summit bid of 10,900+ foot Electric Peak. Boogie-woogie-woogie.

Peekaboo!

Hiking down to Agate Creek in the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone we chased a bull and his very, very large harem for miles. Each time they would run then stop and stare.

Back to blogging while in town before heading off for our 4-nighter! No AT&T service in the north side of the park, so be sure to watch the spot and zoom in for a good view of the day's highlight in satellite view!

Over the River and Through the Woods..

From YellowstoneLive

..to grandma's house we go. Except this grandma was more the Little Red Riding hood type. Off on the Clear Lake - Ribbon Lake Trail we spotted wold tracks larger than my palm. For miles we walked the same path as the endangered animal. The gait measuring over 2 feet from the one paw plant to its next. He walking the trail just as we do to avoid the billions of dead fall from the 1988 fires. We finally reach the end of the long banana-shaped loop. As we make the turn the snow starts falling. Our eyes on the ground in front of us like the nose of a hound dog following the wolfs every movement. Stopping to point out the change in gait or pause in their travels.

Suddenly the tracks turn off trail into a meadow along a stream. The snow begins to blanket us filling the dark tracks with white fluff. After a moments discussion and a check of our watch, off we go over the river and through the woods to grandma's house we go. We see his (or her) ability to jump over 5 feet onto snow-covered logs, balancing securely on the slippery surfaces. We see him duck and weave through the lodgepole pine saplings following contours and hillsides. Our fingers get colder as our jackets get darker from their soaked fibers. We continue in the 4 inches of snow ducking and weaving just as one of the ultimate stalkers and ultimate family man animals did. We wonder is this the popular trail name Lone Wolf or simply one of the pack searching for prey. Is it an alpha male, and how fast was he moving? Will we catch him? Is he running from us? Is he leading us to Grandma's house dressed in a mumu with a roaring fire and gaping mouth waiting for us? We tromp on.

Rising up a hill we see a clearing ahead. A glance at the map and the GPS shows this as an unmarked or unmapped pond. We pull out our longest lenses and sharpest eyes searching for the steely eyes of the great predator. Grey or white fur and piercing eyes patiently watching us in complete stillness.

No luck. Wet and cold, fingers numb and stiff with thumbs thought strong yet not able to push a simple button, like the arm you sleep on thought movable but alarmingly dead, we turn back. Now we follow, eyes to the ground, the three tracks. Two human, one wolf. Unsuccessful, but excited. We return to the trail and continue on the trail. Warming ourselves with fast hiking laying first tracks for a moment.

We walk and walk and then.. pick up more tracks. It's another wolf, even bigger prints. The sun is setting so we hurry on keeping our nose to the snow (or feet to the trail, if you will) trying to make it back to the car by nightfall. Feet moving swiftly we enter a field and spot bison (buffaloni's as we like to call them) grazing further on in our path. Panning left into the open meadows we spot three other dots. Zooming in for the shot and then in review we see the hump of grizzlies. A sow a cub and a large male.

Suddenly making it back by dark stops with the snow.


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That Womanly Waistline

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Mt. Sheridan Summit Photo

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And the Weather Outside is Frightful

And the fire (in Old Faithful Inn) so delightful. When there's no place to go, (go camping) and let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.

The weather forecast over the next two days is calling for 90 percent chance of snow at minimum 9". And unfortunately we are staying at the wonderful timber-frame and log construction Old Faithfull Inn on it's last night of the season. Which means out into the snow for sub-zero F camping! Woobrrrrrrrrrr.....
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The Elk are Bugling

Do you remember those brightly colored plastic tubes that when swung around make a harmonic? And if you spun it around twice as fast, you'd hear an octave higher. And then if you were a precocious child, try to swing it even faster for the third octave?

That's what a bull elk sounds like. Most often bugling (like trumpeting, beu-g-ling) octaves 1....... 2....... 3....... 2.. 1..

For most of the night I've been hearing them from my frosty tent on the shore of Heart Lake. There's a thermal feature nearby and perhaps they are staying near it to keep warm on this 30 degree night. - I have a feeling FASTLAYNE and I will have to do the same in the coming weeks.

The bulls we've seen have had huge racks of antlers. At the Mt. Sheridan trail junction we saw the skull and rack of a dead bull. Tip to tip they were 4 feet wide and weighed over 30 lbs. Can't imagine carrying that on my head all day!
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Mt. Sheridan

Yesterday we climbed Mt. Sheridan at 10,300'.

Starting at Heart Lake (elev. 7455') we hike through the sand-colored meadows among the dead grey trunks of trees burned in the fires that swept Yellowstone in 1988.

The trail begins to climb among scrubby yellow aspens and sea-foam green sagebrush. As we take long switchbacks across the bulbous hillside among the stoic grey sentinels and red-leaved shrubs, our bodies begin to warm. We look up to the grey and frosty summit peaking through the milk white clouds and wonder whether it will be too cold up there where there's snow. - I try to get video of the clouds blowing by the little hut on the summit but only capture never-ending, homogeneous, white sludge shifting from white to off-white.

We continue up into a section of old growth, trees somehow spared from the inferno. It's shady and moist with the sweet smell of firs. The soft needles underfoot give a surprising contrast to the dry, twice-baked rocks and grass just below. I see the first patch of snow. A little thing, only 2 feet long. But it's a sign that we're getting higher and to potentially harsher climates.

Soon we're pressing our footprints into thin layers of virgin snow, leaving proof of our existence alongside that of a turkey and rabbit. The path alternates between pure white and spongy, oozing brown. White, where it was open to the sky and gooey brown everywhere else.

Patches of blue can be seen through the deep green trees. I try again to get a shot of clouds rolling over the summit. This time I capture mostly white but hints of blue - sky blue - shading the scene like one color step up on a paint sample card.

The trees suddenly give way to yellow meadows again as we enter a shallow col. A field of snow-covered rocks cover the hill to our left. The trail turns into a sticky carmel matching the lighter tones of the dry grass - The summit blocked from view by its false as we arc around the shallow dome in a whistling wind.

We reach the ridge and see the West side for the first time. Endless mountains rolling away from us. I point at the dynamic green-blue lake sitting high just a couple miles away. A gem inlaid among its brown setting.
Burned trees surround us again as we traverse the hill. Dense and scraggly at this altitude conjuring images of witches fingers scraping at the sky.

Flecks of white blow by our faces. I turn towards the sky to see the source, but instead find a Christmas tree decorated in white powder. Like the fake stuff from a can, only better. Each needle meticulously topped with white.

Another ridge. But instead of vague notions of our destination, this time we see the thin, womanly waistline arcing straight to the summit. I click the camera and finally get the shot - blue and white speeding by the shack giving the monumental mountain a sense of airy grace.

Excited, we scurry along the thin edge, peering down the steep 1000 foot drop to our left. Christmas trees seemingly nudging us closer to the precipice.

Coming round the mountain we charge up to the top. Our path an ever tightening spiral centered on the summit. We fly through a 30 foot jumble of rocks like the last question on a test we've prepared all week for and lean in as if on rails on a rollercoaster speeding to the top.

I begin to see the world rising up over the crest as if the veiled curtain of the ground on which I stand were suddenly falling away. First the puffy, white clouds, then a couple snow-capped peaks. A few more steps... Then Bam!

I'm hit!

Vast lakes, and a sense of height that hits you like the sudden realization that you've fallen in love (that or finding a lost piece of green Mike-n-Ike under the map, under the backpack in the passenger seat of your car). Either way, a scene where you gasp at the beauty.

The mountain on which you stand appears to be in complete sharpness in contrast to the smooth bokeh from the distant view behind it. This is cover shot beauty.

The sun is out in force warming our bodies against the chilly breeze. I pull out Mojo bars, Butterfingers and a stick of butter then proceed to chomp on all. We lay out on the rocky South side like wet rain-fly's drying in the sun. I get up to pee off the mountain (one of backcountry's great pleasures). FASTLAYNE falls asleep.

Later, looking through the lens of the camera I see Heart Lake, a vaguely heart-shaped lake that, upon discussion, more resembles a moose or whale. Next, I peer down to where we camped and spy the steaming pool nearby hoping to find bikini clad women lounging in the crystal blue waters, but only discover orange, heat-loving, extremophile microbes lining the edge.

We take a summit photo and begin to head back down. On rails, through the witches fingers, past turkey tracks and meadows. Down, down, down and a whole bunch of turns.

We hurry because who knows, perhaps a heat-loving extremophile is my kind of woman.

*If you can think of a better final line, please post it in the comments! That was the best I could come up with.

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Photo credits

Missed a couple in recent posts. The photo in "I am Les Stroud" and "Bull!" was taken by Joe "FASTLAYNE" Stylos. Also the moss photo shown in the slideshow to the right is also taken by FASTLAYNE.

Cheers!
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