travels with janne

An ocean of quirky rock formations spreads before us. In the Bryce Amphitheatre in Bryce National Park countless stony sentinels stand silent in the landscape, glowing warm and red in the sunset. Who else could paint with such imagination and such a sense of colour but Mother Nature? We are awed. We, as human artists, can only hope to copy nature’s creations.

We have left Yellowstone and Grand Teton National Parks in Wyoming behind us, travelled a long road through cowboy country and Mormon country, through Wyoming, a corner of Idaho, and almost the whole length of Utah to get to Bryce National Park. We get up at the crack of dawn to catch sunrises and shiver and wait impatiently at dusk to catch sunsets as they light up the pinkish-red rocks of this amazing national park to a fiery, flaming red.

We hike through the stony, surrealistic landscape, marvelling at the shapes created by aeons of wind, weather and water. Mother Nature has been busy here, sanding, grinding and forming the limestone for millions of years. Here and there trees grow, their roots grappling the rock like claws grasping for dear life. Even forests are established – but then to succumb to fire, as we also see proof of: scorched areas where spiny black silhouettes stand on hills previously covered by green, fragrant pines.

We hike down, down and down on the Navajo Loop Trail, the August sun beating down on us. We see finns and arches formed by the freezing and thawing of slightly acidic water inside cracks in the rock. With time gravity pulled the loose bits of rock to the ground, forming holes and creating arches. When the arches erode spires, monoliths and hoodoos are created, their fate in part determined by the composition and hardness of the rock.

We pass through the cool and shady area called Wall Street, a deep and narrow canyon. Past this dark and narrow canyon we are out in the sun again and look up to see more spires and hoodoos. One of the famous formations is called Thor’s Hammer. It is obvious that one day the handle of the hammer will erode away and the head of the hammer will topple to the ground and become just an ordinary rock. What will Thor do then?

Amazingly, people have lived in this rocky landscape for about 12,000 years, eking out a living in the green valleys that dot the Colorado Plateau by hunting and farming. When white settlers came to the area they met the Paiute people. The Paiute’s explanation of the hoodoo formations is that the ancient animal legend people displeased the coyote who then turned all the humans into stone. And here they still stand, tall and erect.

The huge herds of bison in Yellowstone take my thoughts back to a time when these mighty vegetarians roamed the plains in the millions, a time before the Europeans came and changed things with horses and guns and ambitions. It is not much use sighing for the past and romanticising it, but when we drive down to Grand Teton National Park, which is really just a continuation of Yellowstone, we see a log cabin nestled at the foot of the mountains and once again my thoughts turn to the past. This time to thoughts of homesteading, of cowboys and ranchers, of tough men and women who managed to survive frosty, lonely winters and other hardships. A time when men were men (and women liked it).

Grand Teton is smaller and less crowded than Yellowstone but postcard beautiful. Snow-clad mountains are reflected in clear, clean mountain lakes, the air is crisp and fresh and wonderful to breathe. We live in a log cabin on Jackson Lake. I go for a bracing swim in the water. We dine on delicious bison stew. We drive and hike and see elk (aka wapiti), muledeer (aka black-tailed deer), pronghorn antelope, cormorants, ducks, pelicans, eagles and osprey.

Next morning, after yet another sumptuous American breakfast, we take leave of this wonderful little national park and head southwards on the long drive towards Bryce Canyon National Park. The drive is scenic. The background is mountain range, the foreground cowboyland with corrals, ranches and rundown barns. Gradually, the mountains turn to scrubby hills with greenish-grey shades and then the rocks start to take on a reddish hue.

We continue to be struck by the sheer vastness of the landscape.

Yellowstone
National Park is famed for being the world’s first national park (thank you
president Ulysses S. Grant for being so far-sighted). It is also famous for its
hot springs and geysers, notably Old Faithful, that dependably squirts about
8000 gallons of steamy hot water up from the ground every one and a half hours
or so.

We drive
the circular route that takes us past the various geothermal activities,
stepping out of the car for short hikes and to view the sights (and smell the
odours). It is a landscape of contrasts. On the one hand the heat and chemistry
of the hot springs cover the landscape with death and desolation and emit a
nauseous smell of sulphur. It is as if hell itself has breached the earth’s crust
and bubbled over. On the other hand some of the hot springs are like colourful
abstract paintings, with hues coming from mineral and microorganic activity.

Next day,
we escape the vapours and smells of rotten eggs and enjoy instead the fog and mist
of a morning sunrise in the flat and lovely Hayden Valley. Here the air is crisp
and cool, tinged with the refreshing fragrance of pine.

Suddenly, tons
and tons of bison block our way. They ramble and rumble on and by the roadside and take
dust baths in the loose soil. There are calves and cows and bulls. They pass
very close past the car, close enough to touch, if we were so foolishly inclined.
They are not in a hurry, so we wait patiently for the parade to pass.

The day
also offers sightings of bald eagles, golden eagles, pelicans, Canada geese,
heron, osprey, ravens, mule deer, chipmunks and the ubiquitous squirrels.

A vast
plain of fragrant sagebrush and rustling grass stretches before us as we hike
for two hours in the Lamar Valley in Yellowstone National Park. Distant
mountains form the backdrop. We follow a beaten dirt path through this palette
of late summer colours, hoping that we are following the right route and not
just being led astray by a bison trail. The bison are present. They are in the
distance but on the move. Will they approach us? Will they block our route? We
want to see them but at a comfortable distance. And we do not want to take a
long detour because our backpacks are heavy and we still have some way to go.

Along the
route we see graceful pronghorn antelope, pretty mountain bluebirds, Clark’s
nutcrackers, ravens, squirrels and chipmunks. And bison in the distance.

In time, we
arrive at the backcountry campsite we reserved months ago, situated by Cache
Creek in the Lamar Valley. We have Nature all to ourselves. The peacefulness is
overwhelming, the vastness humbling. We set up camp, fiddling with the tents,
the food, a campfire (no success on that front). My friends try to sound eager
about the food I have served: instant spaghetti a la carbonara made from powder.

As dusk falls
a herd of bison rambles down the hill we have only just come down ourselves.
They make comfortable rumbling sounds that come from deep within. The mighty
animals cross the river and move up the hill on the opposite bank. They
disappear over the crest of the hill, presumably to partake of their evening
meal before lying down for the night.

The day was
pleasantly warm but the evening is chill. We lie snug as bugs in rugs in our
sleeping bags. Next morning we see a lone bison bull coming down a path that
seems to head right towards our camp. He catches sight of us and looks like he
is wondering what we are doing in his territory. He follows the path faithfully
as it leads directly towards us. We wonder what to do. Suddenly the path veers
away from our camp and the big fellow continues over the river in the same
direction as the herd from last night. We breathe a collective sigh of relief.

Breakfast
is oatmeal with dried apricots. My friends were sceptical at the sound of it and
once they taste it I sense a mutiny. After a short stroll along the river we
break camp a day early and return the way we came.