PHOTOS OF

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

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This is the view from my first night's campsite (8R5) looking at the southwest corner of Shoshone Lake. Please be advised that the circuit around this lake requires a half dozen or so fords, ranging from thigh deep to chest deep when I was there. The scariest was fording Moose Creek on the southern part of the trail, which for me was running with a very strong current and at one point was chest deep, due mainly to the heavy snowfall during the winter of 1996-1997 responsible for all the drainages running higher than normal levels. The fording of Lewis Channel was the longest, but it has little current and a very stable small-pebble bottom surface, making it an easy ford.

 

The Shoshone Lake Geyser Basin at the western end of the lake is one of the world's most important basins with over 70 geysers, including 12 foot by 5 foot Minute Man Geyser seen steaming in the left of the photo. This basin is far less popular than other geyser areas due to the miles of walking required to reach it. The trail meanders right through the basin. Immediately beyond the basin heading south, you encounter a nearly mile long marsh which has you ankle to knee deep in water for the entire marsh's length.

This photo dramatically demonstrates the ravages caused by the fires of 1988. Taken along the east shore of Shoshone Lake, it also shows the greenery (lodgepole pine seedlings, wildflowers, and bushes) reestablishing beneath the stark charred tree trunks. This sight inspired a poem by me, included below.

 

Premature Eulogy for Yellowstone National Park

copyright 1997 by Chuck Morlock
 
Mute, charred stilettos ineffectually stab clouds,
silent sentinels weeping above fallen comrades,
eloquent, stark testament to lush glory
which for generations had been.
 
Murdered by the conflagrations of 1988,
experts promptly delivered Yellowstone's eulogy:
Six of every ten acres destroyed.
Soil base scorched beyond revival.
Wildlife annihilated or homeless.
Nothing would live there again.
A pity. Man destroyed Nature
through carelessness and
shortsighted mismanagement.
 
Yet the canyons' grand waters still plummeted the falls,
lakes shimmered with majestic sunsets,
geysers spewed towering columns of vapor and water
as fumaroles fumed and mud pots oozed.
And Man still visited that which he had murdered.
 
But the scorched, inhospitable volcanic soil,
endeared only by the unfinicky lodgepole pine,
dutifully harbored generations of pinecone seeds
awaiting only heat to explode into life.
The forest floor, revelling in long unfelt sunlight,
burst joyously into verdant profusion,
with seedlings and wildflowers and grasses,
the ultimate recycling of new life from blackened earth.
 
Man's infinitesimal stature and foresight
ignorantly declared death upon new life,
again overestimating self and
shortchanging nature's healing power over
Man's destructiveness, as
mute, charred stilettos ineffectually stab clouds,
silent sentinels weeping above fallen comrades,
eloquent, stark testament to lush glory
which for generations had been,
and which in generations
shall be
again.