Day 9: Jackson Hole & Yellowstone

Well let's see, it's been about a year since an update; shame, shame. After a brief rumination, I remember we ended the previous post taking the road less traveled, i.e. the longer, Northern route through the Southeastern part of Yellowstone down into Jackson. If I hadn't emphasized enough, the Mountain West, beginning around central Wyoming, has what I consider a preternatural beauty unmatched in any other section of the nation. While I have had the good fortune of visiting nearly every region of the country, the Mountain West can only be described by its grand scale, endless skies, and the feeling one gets of being utterly alone and minuscule, enveloped by nature. Before hitting the Tetons in Western Wyoming, Yellowstone provides all of the necessary catalysts for feeling tiny, inconsequential, and most importantly, humbled by what feels like the last vestiges of a wild, ancient land. It was a no brainer purchasing the the annual National Park Pass--for Yellowstone alone--as we had about ten National Parks to explore in the near future with Yellowstone being the unanimous winner in terms of topographical and ecological diversity. Despite the unprecedented volume of tourism in Yellowstone during the summer months, our short drive through the park on this particular day was magically devoid of human contact, perhaps due to the fact that we entered and left during the extended twilight hours when many daytrippers have already exited for the night. 

Before even entering the park, one can ascertain the massive scale of Yellowstone by simply soaking up the the skeletal remains of the various forest fires of yore which, in many ways, actually contribute to the long-term vitality of the mountainous ecosystem. Despite the obvious destruction in the picture below, the fires and the ensuing charred debris actually reinvigorate the land and the (un)natural cycle of tree death/fecund rebirth which would be nearly impossible without the immolation of wood which has outlasted its use. Incredulous? I'd be too were it not for the sagacious wisdom of the park rangers. 

Within minutes of driving past the vast terrain of downed trees and entering the Eastern side of the park, the topography rapidly transitions from rolling mountains to the lush meadows and fertile hills which surround the pristine Yellowstone Lake.  The pictures--despite being prettay, prettay good--really can't do the park justice. It's remarkable more people don't inadvertently drive right into the drink while snapping pictures because Yellowstone Lake is unparalleled in color, serenity, and its ability to be photographed against an otherworldly, craggedy-peaked backdrop. Whether it's the lake from behind the gnarled tentacles of the marsh trees, the rocky outcroppings of the Maine-like coastline or the sharp precipices of the Tetons, Yellowstone Lake is a visual, visceral showstopper. 

Necessary, token view-ruining selfie.

Continue with ethereal imagery and extended metaphor of potent reaction to leaving park.

 25MPG in the hemi coming down this sexy piece of tar.

The lady that got away but always tickles my fancy, Ms. Teton.

Conclusion: made it back to Papa Littauer, the sweet nugget of Jackson cooked up in a masterful quad-percolated, multi chamber bong piece and the loving, macro embrace of white folks in plaid button downs, mustaches and PBR.

Day 8: Spearfish, SD to Jackson Hole, WY

Every new day of the road trip marked an exceedingly powerful and visceral euphoria, for there is truly nothing like experiencing the unknown and unfamiliar day in and day out. I don't like to dig into philosophy or psychology--two "sciences" which I am mostly unfamiliar with, but in certain circumstances it seems appropriate to venture down the path of ruminations which, though relating to sciences of the brain, are wholly personal. When this happens, I must indulge in my learned passion for Faulker-esque stream-of-consciousness. It may be redundant at this point, but as I ventured Westward, every new state provided the context for my favorite theme of travel--freedom. On this particular morning, waking up early in the midst of a crisp mountain sunrise was exhilarating, and despite such little time exploring the natural wonders of Spearfish, I knew that even greater adventures lay ahead. For one, we were driving from Spearfish, SD to Jackson Hole, Wyoming--undoubtedly my favorite town in the entire country. Although Wyoming is the least populous state in the country (which is shocking in of itself), the state is massive and we had a five hundred mile drive ahead of us across the first truly Western terrain of our trip. After a phenomenal feast at a local diner--one of those authentic, midwestern, 5 dollar greasy spoon diners right out of the 1950s--we hopped back on our favorite cross country highway--I-90. Within mere miles, the dynamic scenery of the Western states had created a dichotomy of colors and terrain--lush green forests to arid reddish-brown plains--which would periodically pop up every 100 miles or so. To say the least, the drive was beautiful and reminded me of the country's vast diversity--a fact one can only truly absorb when traveling via car. After leaving Spearfish and heading west, the majority of Wyoming from the Northeast tip through the central part of the state visually reflects the transition from the flat grasslands of the Great Plains to the harsh, often red, and topographically diverse expanse of the Mountain West. Within minutes, the scenery magically warped from grassy flatlands with mile-long sprinkler systems blasting away in the hot sun to expansive vistas of copper-tinted mountains overlooking distant rocky outcroppings. The sensory overload was both enchanting and exhilarating; even a staunch city-kid or a person who detests driving would have to agree that this was a blissful cruise.

Wyoming is truly a frontiersman state as vast plots of untouched land intermix with horses, cowboys, and saloons. Other than Devil's Tower in the Northeast part of the state, there are not many cultural attractions as the various "cities" across the state are minuscule, most of which are a shell of their former selves and literally appear to be Ghost towns. At one point during the drive, we cruised through the smallest town in the country, population 1--talk about a lonely existence. Soon after this, in the middle of a vast, arid plain, a huge field of decommissioned aircraft appeared in the distance. The "Museum of Flight and Aerial Firefighting" in Greybull, WY was not a museum in any sense of the word, but rather a military plane graveyard set in the foreground of a range of rolling, golden hills and snarled with barbed-wire protecting these once-glorious symbols of American military might. The "museum's" existence in this desolate and uninhabited section of northern Wyoming was an enigma as the nearest air force base was hundreds of miles east. Regardless, the scene was pretty incredible and I imagine it was a nice resting place for these old war horses:

I chose the longer, northern route to Jackson Hole because it meanders through some cool old ghost towns before entering the Eastern border of Yellowstone before turning sharply south out of the park and eventually into Jackson. I couldn't have been more excited as we cruised by Yellowstone airport and saw the sign pointing towards the park; despite spending many winter days in Jackson Hole, I had never had the opportunity to indulge in the plethora of natural wonders which encapsulates America's most popular National Park. In retrospect perhaps the best decision I made during the trip was to purchase an annual National Park pass which provides access to every park in the country for a mere $150 despite being having no idea that I would eventually cruise around nearly ten of them.