Hello again Trusted Chaos Companions
I start by saying, there’s no place on Earth quite like Yellowstone. I mean, where else can you be stuck in a traffic jam caused by bison, then five minutes later be staring at water boiling out of the ground like it’s auditioning for a part in Jurassic Park? It’s like Mother Nature decided to show off everything she could do, all in one place, and then said, “Top that, other national parks!”
I knew Yellowstone was going to be special, but I wasn’t quite prepared for how mind-blowingly beautiful and bizarre it is. Bubbling waters, steaming geysers, mud holes that gurgle like they’re laughing at your tiny human brain, and sinkholes that make you question whether standing nearby is the best idea. My mind was spinning with all the geological wonders, trying to comprehend how this place even exists. I may have missed my calling as a geologist, or at least as someone who says, “Oooh, look at that!” very convincingly.
The colours are unreal. It’s like someone spilled a palette of every shade of blue, green, and orange into the ground, creating rainbow-like pools that shouldn’t be natural, but are. And then there was the wildlife. Elks (including an adorable baby), big-horned sheep doing what they do best—looking majestic—and so many bison that I started wondering if I had somehow driven onto the set of an old western. Bison jams are real, people. Forget traffic lights or road signs; when the bison decide they’re crossing the road, they’re in charge. You can only sit there contemplating your life choices and wondering if you should have packed more snacks.
Speaking of planning ahead—I was very, very smug about heeding the warnings to book campsites inside the park. Because Yellowstone? Definitely not the place you can expect to slide in and out of every day. I’d heard the tales of people crawling through the line just to get back in. No, thank you! I was fully prepared to cocoon myself in the park for three blissful nights of uninterrupted nature.
Oh, but wait—of course, I forgot one tiny, crucial detail: propane. Naturally, my fridge decided to give up on life around 3 a.m. on the very first night, plunging me into a coconut kefir-curdling crisis and forcing me to escape the park at dawn in search of fuel. So there I was, back in line, bleary-eyed and cursing myself for not thinking ahead. Thankfully, once I finally got back in, I had four glorious days of exploring, hiking, and dodging wildlife (and lightning—but we’ll get to that) without having to leave Disneyland for the Outdoorsy.
One of my more memorable hikes was up Avalanche Mountain. You know, one of those trails where you climb up, up, up, fueled by a mix of determination and sheer will, only to reach the top just in time for a thunderstorm to roll in. Nothing like hail, thunder, and a light show of lightning to make you rethink that life choice! Finn and I decided to hoof it back down from the summit as fast as possible, realizing that being above the tree line probably wasn’t ideal during a lightning storm. I will say, though, the views were stunning, and Finn had a particularly memorable moment when a deer approached him like she’d found her long-lost fawn. The two of them stood there, eyeing each other like it was a game of chicken. I have to give Finn credit—he won that one.
On the less heart-pounding side of things, I visited a couple of Yellowstone’s lodges. Yellowstone’s historic lodges are like characters in their own right—each with a backstory, a bit of charm, and a touch of rustic drama. First there’s the Canyon Hotel, a prefab from 1886 that was supposed to be temporary housing, meant to gently nudge tent campers into something more civilized (I can only imagine the mixed reactions). And of course, the Lake Yellowstone Hotel, built on historic land where trappers, mountain men, and Native American tribes once gathered—though I’m pretty sure they didn’t have a tea menu as nice as the one I enjoyed while sitting lakeside at the lodge.
Then there’s the Old Faithful Inn, built back in 1903–1904 and famously made of logs—a lot of logs, actually, since it’s still the world’s largest log structure. The inn’s lobby has this towering stone fireplace and a copper, wood, and wrought-iron clock that practically dares you to stop time for a moment and attempt to climb the many many stairs to the top — everything just oozes “classic park charm” with a dash of “let’s survive in the wilderness” vibes. But the real tourist spectacle? Watching everyone hold their collective breath from the balcony and patio of the inn, waiting for that telltale spurt of water. The way tourists jostle and crane for a clear shot, you’d think Old Faithful was an elusive celebrity spotted at random—rather than a geyser with a set schedule and a sign announcing its every move. And yet, when it erupts right on time, there’s a collective gasp, like it’s pulled off the surprise of the century. Regardless, Old Faithful is like the grand finale of the Yellowstone experience—nature’s version of fireworks, without the smoke or pollution.
As if everything in Yellowstone wasn’t already a bit surreal, along came Fabian and his wife, who are cruising from Patagonia to Alaska in what has to be the most unexpected vehicle I’ve ever seen on the road. Picture this: a 1977 Ford Ranchero, but with a full-blown house built on top, like something out of a DIY fever dream. Yes, an actual wooden camper house, complete with windows and a little roof, like a storybook cabin on wheels. Fabian constructed this masterpiece himself, and he and his wife are living in it as they journey up the continent. It’s the ultimate road trip statement, the kind of vehicle that makes even the most hardcore vanlifers do a double-take. You can follow his travels on @Fabianviaja — trust me, you’ll want to see this thing to believe it.
I had asked Fabian how he was doing with the hills in this part of the world. He said they were tough, but that I should be prepared for tougher to come. One of Yellowstone’s nastier hills had Shevanigans huffing and puffing like a geriatric steam engine while I muttered curses under my breath and watched the line of impatient cars growing behind us. But as we finally crested the hill, there it was—the silver spectacle that stopped me in my tracks: an abandoned car, left for dead at the top, decorated with a series of choice phrases from its former owners. Scrawled across the windows and doors were gems like, “5 miles an hour, RIP,” “Sam can’t drive,” “Brian can’t navigate,” and my personal favorite, “$5 OBO.” It was as if the passengers, in one final act, decided to leave their grievances as a demonstration of defeat.
In the end, Yellowstone completely blew my expectations out of the water (pun fully intended). It’s a park where everything feels larger than life—the landscape, the wildlife, even the thunderstorms. I could have stayed much longer, but alas, the road called, and there’s still so much more to see. But Yellowstone will forever be one of my favorites—a place where the earth itself bubbles, roars, and reminds you that you’re just a tiny part of something much, much bigger.
Until Colorado…
Sheilagh, Shevanigans & Finn
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