Cold, icy mist drifted over the Firehole River,
a freezing grey wall hiding the land. Crossing the bridge over the river we
skied into this dawn mist and my weirdest start to a wilderness trip ever. On
the far side lay Biscuit Basin, an area of geysers, hot springs, bubbling mudpots and mineral
stained crusted smoking ground through which a snow-covered boardwalk threaded
a narrow way. Geysers exploded into the air, sending up vast plumes of steam
that mingled with the mist. Skiing through the warm clouds of steam dampened
us. Then when we emerged back into the freezing air the moisture froze, coating
us with frost and ice.
Biscuit Basin lies on the main south-north road through Yellowstone National Park
a few miles north of Old Faithful village. You
can’t drive there in a car in winter though. The roads are snow-covered and
closed to non-tracked vehicles. We’d come in the day before on a snowcoach, a
noisy, bone-shaking journey made enjoyable by our entertaining companions, our
informative driver/guide Sarah, the splendid scenery and regular stops to visit
waterfalls and thermal features. Our snowcoach friends, like many winter
visitors to Yellowstone, were going
cross-country skiing on cut tracks. We were heading into the untracked
wilderness and would see no-one for the next week. My companion on this
adventure was Ed Huesers from Colorado,
who makes a tool for building igloos called the Ice Box. Our plan was to live
in igloos and explore the wilderness west of Biscuit Basin, a vast, steep sided,
undulating region around 8,500 feet high known as the Madison Plateau that
contains several remote thermal areas.
Yellowstone, the first
national park in the world, is a supervolcano sitting atop one of the largest
masses of molten rock lying close to the earth’s surface that exists, known
with great understatement as a hotspot. The supervolcano last erupted some
630,000 years ago, though there have been smaller lava flows since. The Yellowstone landscape is formed by the lava and ash
spewed out in eruptions and then shaped by glaciers and water. The volcanic
forces are still active, as evidenced by over 10,000 thermal features, more
than anywhere else in the world. One day the Yellowstone
supervolcano will erupt again. One day.
Our immediate concern though as we left Biscuit Basin
was to find a way up the steep slopes of the narrowing Little Firehole River
valley to the undulating wooded plateau above. A deep basin cutting back into
the slope looked a possible weakness, though there was a band of low cliffs
around the rim, and we headed up this slowly, dragging sleds packed with winter
equipment and supplies behind us. The snow was soft and deep in the trees, hard
and icy in open areas. Dead trees and boulders lying just beneath the snow
caught skis and sleds, bushy young trees snatched at pole baskets and sled
straps. At times the sleds slid back down the slope pulling the hauler over.
Climbing skins on the skis strained to maintain grip while dragging the sled
back up. Finally we breached the cliffs and reached the rim of the plateau and
the reward of a splendid view of the Upper
Geyser Basin
stretching back to Old Faithful, with columns
of steam rising into the now mist-free air from a stark monochrome landscape of
snow and dark conifers.
Turning away from the views we skied through dense forest,
making slow progress in the mix of breakable crust and deep sugary snow and further
hampered by the many areas of fallen trees. These were from the great fire of
1988 that burned much of Yellowstone’s woods.
Many of the dead trees still stood, grey and skeletal, their limbs snapped off.
But there were also many young trees, often packed closely together, showing
that life had returned. In the late afternoon we selected a spot on the rim of
the plateau and started to build our first igloo. To do this shovelfuls of snow
are heaped into a form and then pressed down to form the blocks of the igloo. However
the sugar snow we had to work with was very slow to consolidate and each block
took a long, long time to make. It was well after midnight before we finished
and could crawl into the igloo, melt snow and make dinner. We finally lay down
to sleep at 4 a.m. after an exhausting 23 hour day.
Inside the igloo it was surprisingly warm, -3ºC, with the
stove going, -7ºC without. Outside it was -23ºC. It was drier and roomier than a backpacking
tent too, with no condensation, room to sit up on the sleeping platforms with
feet on the floor and a table for cooking. Outside sounds were cut out
completely but daylight percolated through the walls.
Unsurprisingly a slow, leisurely day followed, during which
we broke trail through to Little Firehole Meadows then returned to the igloo.
After all that effort we weren’t going to abandon it after one day. The morning
was sunny but clouds rolled in after noon and light snow was falling by
evening. There were many tracks of all sizes in the forest. None were clear.
Fox, coyote, wolf, moose and ground squirrel were all possible. However the
only wildlife we saw were little mountain chickadees (a type of tit) and big
black ravens, both year round denizens of the forest.
The following day our tracks made for a speedy return to
Little Firehole Meadows, this time with the loaded sleds. The meadows were
extensive, spreading out amongst groves of trees with steep wooded slopes
rising all around. The slow meandering Little Firehole River wound its way
through the snow-covered meadows, fed by little creeks, all open despite the
low temperatures due to the thermally heated water. To continue through the
meadows we had to ford the river. This was a new situation to me. I’d skied
across many frozen rivers and lakes but had never had to cross open water in
such cold temperatures. The day before we’d cleared snow to make a platform on
the bank and here we loaded our sleds and skis onto packs ready for the
crossing. I went first, barefoot with trousers rolled up, into water that
appeared only knee-deep. However a thick mat of green water plants covered the
river bed, which consisted of soft, deep mud. The plants gave way
disconcertingly under my feet, causing me to wobble under my top heavy load,
and once through the vegetation I sank into the mud. Soon I was wading
thigh-deep, my trousers soaked. I didn’t feel cold though. That came when I
clambered out onto the snow-covered bank. The shock of freezing air and snow on
my wet, bare legs was excruciatingly painful and left me gasping. Perched on my
foam pad I hurriedly rolled my trousers down, pulled on my socks and boots and
swigged hot lemonade from my flask. Ed, watching, removed his trousers and
started across. His load was taller and less stable than mine and it began to
lurch to one side almost immediately. He still made it almost the whole way
across before he started to topple over, desperately trying to dump his load on
the bank. I grabbed the nearest object to me, a ski, but it began to pull out
of the load so I had to release it and seize the top of the sled itself. As I
did this the load pushed Ed down so that his face was in the water momentarily.
Once free of the load Ed had to cross back to collect gear he hadn’t been able
to manage on the first ford. By the time he’d made his third crossing his feet
and legs were turning numb and I had to help get his trousers and boots back
on. Then we harnessed up the sleds and strode across the meadows to warm up.
Luckily Ed’s load was dry, only the front of his waterproof jacket and his wool
shirt were wet.
Out in the meadows we found a lovely situation for our
second igloo, on a big snow drift on the edge of a grove of trees looking out
across the meadows to the steep slopes of the Madison Plateau.
The snow was more powdery here, still slow to form into blocks but better than
the coarse sugar snow in the forest. It was still after dark when we finished
the igloo. We woke to snow falling and a bitter north wind and spent a few
hours breaking trail across the meadows to the slopes lying below an area known
as Smokejumper Hot Springs before retreating to the warmth and comfort of the
igloo. There was little to see in the swirling snow but some fine big lodgepole
pines and some big grey grouse. That evening the clouds cleared and a full moon
shone in a cold blue sky. Tree shadows were sharp on the snow and the
visibility was greater than it had been during the day. The temperature
plummeted. Our boots squeaked in the snow and sharp cracks rang out across the
meadows, wood splitting as sap froze in the trees. Later we heard that the
temperature in West Yellowstone, some 25 miles
away, had fallen to -36ºC.
There followed a day of snow and wind and low cloud and a bizarre,
weird and eerie mix of thermal features and atmospheric conditions. Heading for
Smokejumper Hot Springs we climbed out of the meadows up a steep thickly wooded
gully. Suddenly we emerged out of the trees into a narrow smoky chasm, an
unexpected thermal area not on our maps. A steaming stream ran past hot springs and warm
pools. The clouds of steam condensed on the trees into grotesque shapes.
Gingerly we picked a way through this fascinating terrain, hoping the ground
would not give way and pitch us into hot water or mud, then climbed out steeply
through deep, soft snow. Back in the silent forest we climbed on to reach the
mist-shrouded plateau. A whiff of sulphur swept by on the cold wind. We
sniffed, turned and followed the smell to the hot springs, the first time I’ve ever
navigated with my nose. Snow was falling, mist drifted through the trees and
steam rose from the springs, pools and smoking cracks in the earth that faded
in and out view.
Back at the igloo the snow fell and the wind roared, a cold
and stormy end to the day. Dawn came
with a rising sun and clear sky though the gusty wind was pickup up spindrift
and blasting it across the meadows. Leaving our igloo home for the last time we
skied into the woods and headed back towards Biscuit Basin.
Part way there we picked up the waymarks of the Summit Lake Trail, a path I’d
walked on my first visit to Yellowstone on the Continental Divide Trail 22 long
years before. Then it had been summer and the forest had not yet burned. No
memories came back. It all felt new. Steep wooded slopes led down to the Firehole River
valley, across which we could see the big bulge of Mallard Lake Dome and, far
in the distance, the ragged outline of the Beartooth Mountains.
A final delight awaited us. At the base of the slopes on the edge of Biscuit Basin bison and elk were grazing,
scraping away the thin snow around the heated ground. We watched them for
awhile then skied on to a final challenge, a branch of the Little Firehole
River that wasn’t bridged. A logjam provided a way across, the main difficulty
being sliding the sleds across the snow on a latticework of precarious logs.
Then it was through the thermal area, much more visible now without the morning
mist. Back on the road Ed stuck out his thumb. A snowmobile soon stopped and
then a snowcoach and soon we were ensconced in the Snow Lodge at Old Faithful having a celebratory drink after one of the
most intense and strange ski tours I’ve ever undertaken.
INFORMATION
Yellowstone
National Park
Map
Trails Illustrated 1:168,500 Yellowstone National Park
Earthwalk 1:106,250 Hiking Map & Guide
Yellowstone National
Park
Trails Illustrated
1:63,360 Southwest Yellowstone - Old
Faithful Trail Map
Guidebooks
Yellowstone
Official National
Park Handbook by David Rains Wallace (NPS)
Yellowstone & Grand Teton National Parks by Bradley
Mayhew, Andrew Dean Nystrom & Amy Marr (Lonely Planet)
Fiction
Letters From Yellowstone by
Diane Smith (Penguin)
Ed’s Ice Box
