As a surfer-snowboarder based in San Diego, the idea of traveling to the American West come winter never crossed my mind.
Marlise Kast-Myers, Tribune News Service In fact, with the first flutter of a snowflake, I habitually head to the hills for ski season — be it Mammoth, Big Bear or an unfamiliar mountain far from home. Setting fresh tracks with hiking boots rather than a snowboard seemed a waste of precious powder.
People are also reading… More than 4 million people explore Yellowstone National Park annually, most of whom visit in summer. I wanted to experience Yellowstone in its purest, most perfect form. So, winter it was, with husband in tow because, frankly, the man helps me see the world in color. To further thin out human contact, we chose to travel midweek.
Lessons from the past have helped rebuild the park’s ecosystem through conservation efforts and preservation of its heritage — making Yellowstone the healthiest it has been in over a century.We saw it for ourselves, the awe-inspiring wonderland flanked by rivers, lakes, waterfalls, canyons and more than half of the world's hydrothermal features. To access these majestic canvases, we planned to overnight at Mammoth Hot Springs Hotel.
Naturally so. At 2,000 pounds, and surrounded by 5,000 other bison-park friends, we watched in silence — jaws to the ground — as these glorious brutes nearly shook the earth they walked on. From their nostrils billowed plumes of smoke, dissipating by the time it reached their horns. I was ready to gamble, binoculars pointed toward the horizon on the hunt for nature. We trailed a creek lined with boulders, each one capped in virgin snow like mushroom tops waiting to be harvested.
We trailed Gibbon River to Beryl Spring where boiling water shimmered like gemstones. At one point, walls of steam met curtains of clouds, giving the impression that Yellowstone was on fire. Nearing our second hotel — Old Faithful Snow Lodge — we caught a glimpse of its sleeping namesake. Now, we had the place to ourselves, waiting silently with great anticipation, as if Old Faithful was a celebrity ready to make her Oscar debut. And then, from her mouth — no wider than a wrist — spewed a plume of smoke, followed by hissing, and then eventually a burst of steam and water shooting 140 feet into the sky. It was magnificent.
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