There is a Mott's fruit snack wrapper floating sadly in a bubbling thermal pool. I find myself staring at it longer than the geyser erupting behind it. As a park ranger myself, going to Yellowstone National Park is pretty dang neat. It was the first national park, signed into existence in 1872 by President Ulysses S. Grant. I went once when I was a wee child, and I haven't been back since. Until today. I don't remember much of the park as a kid, just that I got a stuffed bison that I still let hang out in my bed.
The ten or so miles before even entering the park are made up of the Shoshone National Forest, and it is beautiful. The speed limit is 50 mph, and that is what I am going, yet I have a line of 20 cars behind me, edging me to go faster. When the lane changes into a double lane, they all wizz past me at high speed. In Yellowstone National Park, everyone goes the speed limit, or under, to accommodate all the stopping in the middle of the road to snap a picture of a bison munching on some grass. Outside the park, in a landscape arguably equally as beautiful, everyone seems to be rushing towards Yellowstone, an invisible boundary deeming the land within it more important. I wish I could move even slower through this land, like a glob of honey dripping off a spoon.
I have heard that since the pandemic the national parks have been flooded with high visitation levels unlike ever before, but I got to experience that for myself today, and it's not even peak season. I won't lie, I may have driven right past the exit for Old Faithful when I saw the hoards of cars and towering lodges. Now don't get me wrong Yellowstone is a beautiful place, anyone can see that. However, I think that many would agree that the more crowded a park is, the less enjoyable it is. It is a great thing that people are getting outside and seeing wild animals and wilderness first hand... But are the animals truly wild if their population is controlled, they are administered birth control, and/or they are tagged and tracked throughout the park? Is it truly wilderness if water levels are controlled with dams, boardwalks are on stilts hovering over thermal pools, or the trees are cut down to accommodate trails? Something to think about. I see why certain land management practices are done. Most are a result of the mistakes humans have made in the past, such as overhunting bison and wolves, or bringing animals such as horses over from Europe and then letting some of them roam wild. Are these parks that we visit truly wild? This is a question thoroughly explored in Bill Bryson's book "Into the Wild", but I don't have a clear answer for it myself. There are bits of wild to be experienced when getting off the beaten path, but even then, one is miles away from the untamed wilderness.
"Hey bear!" I halfheartedly yell for the 150th time. I am hiking up Purple Mountain in the Gallatin Range in Yellowstone. It's not a long trail, 6.4 miles out and back, but I suppose that depends on what people consider to be long. About 10 minutes into the hike, I wouldn't say I was freaking out, but I had a tingle of awareness that I was hiking alone in bear country. I had passed two signs at that point, urging people to hike in groups of three or more, carry bear spray, and make lots of noise. I nailed the last two, not so much the first. The ranger at the information booth gave me a half concerned half sympathetic look when she told me I should really be hiking with a group. Especially since the last bear attack which happened the week prior. I am yelling "hey bear" just like she said, I wonder what I would do if I heard a grumbly "hey human" back. I am dragging a stick behind me which is also making some obnoxious noise. If I were a bear, I would have mauled me just for being such a nuisance and ruining the peace and quiet.
The thought races through my mind for a moment, "Do I want to get mauled by a bear?" Of course not! Right? The idea dances around in my mind nonetheless. I feel like it would make sense to a lot of people who know me, that my end would come grasped in the jaws of a grizzly. But I'd like to think that the bear could sense that I mean no harm, but then again that is a very naive thought. I don't want to die yet, but the idea of dying in such a brutal wild way appeals to me much like many people fantasize about the simpler times of hunting and gathering, without the influences of modern technology. How strange that us as humans have gotten so far away from our animalistic instincts, that the idea of a bear attack excites us? Ooops, not us, I'll just say me. For the record, that was a brief thought, the majority of the hike I was still rounding every corner with apprehension, so don't worry.
Near the top I stopped with the stick nonsense and just stuck with the "hey bear!" I did not see another soul on this trail with the exception of a perfect group of three hikers passing me as I was on my first mile of the trail. I felt myself at ease without the crowds down at the boardwalks, but also very much on edge with the possibility of a bear encounter. Had I found a bit of true wilderness in the park? Is true wilderness when you find yourself vulnerable in the environment you are entering? On the way back down, I felt myself relax, and my yells become more like a casual greeting, "Hey bear, howya doing today?" As if I was greeting a friend. Maybe I would meet a friendly bear like in Goldilocks in the Three bears, and they would help me find the perfect fitting hiking boot. I eventually make it back down to the road, and try to cross the traffic to my car.
I walk down a wildly crowded path to see a waterfall, an apparent must-see. As people walk by me I am hit by scents of cologne, perfumes, and body sprays. On Purple Mountain, the scent of rich foliage had been so intoxicatingly delicious smelling that I stopped for a moment just to breath in the rich scent. I've smelled evergreen trees before, but this was different. At this waterfall, however, all I could smell was the chemical scent of human manufacturing, whether that be perfumes or sunscreen. People are lining up at the railing, with their cameras tight in their grasp. Everyone has a camera here, including myself. We grip our cameras like weapons, and raise them to our faces, ready to narrow in on the kill. Every time a photograph is downloaded again, or sent - It loses some of its quality, becoming just a bit duller, a bit blurrier. The effects are hard to see until it is sent many times, and even then it is only really noticeable when blown up. I find myself wondering, what if every time a vista is captured with a camera, a little bit of color and detail is also taken out of it? If this was the case, then most of Yellowstone, and national parks overall, would be faded and fuzzy. If cameras literally "captured" their subjects, then this land would be nonexistent, the waterfall dried up and the sunsets a waning yellow.
There is a lone elk grazing in a field. This is one of my last sights before leaving Yellowstone for the day. I pull over to the side of the road, there is no one else around. It is around 7:30 pm. Taking out my binoculars, I focus in on the beautiful creature before me. I watch for a few minutes, before driving away. If there had been twenty cars there, and everyone had been watching this elk, it would have seemed more forced and inauthentic to me. Yet how is that different than what I was doing? The difference is in the amount of people, not the act of observing. If everyone could view the animal in front of them in solitude, they probably would. Yes, the parks are crowded. Yes, the roads are busier. But, at the end of the day, everyone is just trying to have that moment of connection with nature. We are all mini explorers in our national parks, seeking out the moments that will stay with us when we return to our fabricated lives in civilization. I will continue my pursuit of the wild, and that means venturing off the beaten path from time to time.
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