Old Faithful

I have been working at Old Faithful for around 12 days now and I have to say that I prefer this place to Canyon, although I do miss my various groups of friends. There is much more to do and see, the buildings are much nicer, the work is easier, the managers are friendlier and my dorm is right next to the canteen and the famous inn built by Robert Reimer – where I work. On my last day at Canyon I unfortunately had to work, along with all others who had later end dates. We did menial tasks such as count all the stock individually and one absurd job which took up most of the day; unfolding and re-folding 2,162 bath towels after they had been done by machine. Jennifer was apparently not happy with the machines way, so made us do this for hours on end - I now know what a factory job is like! Apart from that it was a nice ending, we all (Housekeeping) went down to the Canyon together after dinner for a final time and the next morning I came back again before getting the bus. I wanted to visit my favourite spot, the brink of the lower falls, one more time. It is so intense and overwhelming to stand right at the drop, especially in mornings light.

I checked out of my room after doing a simple vacuum and dust, easy for me after being in Housekeeping for 2 months, and the room was left feeling cold with its bare display. I got the bus at 1pm, the bright yellow Yellowstone one, after saying my goodbyes to friends that were left – waving through the tinted windows as the bus disappeared into its trailed dust cloud. We stopped at various Xanterra spots to drop off and collect employees for transfer to different hotels. Few remained for Old Faithful, with only two left over to go to the last stop at Mammoth. I was placed in the dorm Laurel, which I like because it is not 10 minutes walk to work like the others but the rooms are just like Canyon,. It also has an amazing view through the exit window; a geothermal hotspot is right across. In the morning as the sun just starts to wake, a huge cloud of sun pierced steam hangs in the air, frozen in the cool climate. It is amassed from the dotted steam vents and murky fizzing hot springs; which for some reason ducks seem to enjoy splashing about in at times. These features are thought to be the reason why the dorm is so hot, as they surveyed this summer the geothermal area is moving underneath the entire dorm. My roommate tells me that many people exclaim that a geyser may shoot up and wreak havoc at any moment. I am not worried.

I have really fallen in love with the Old Faithful Inn, at night I will often find myself casually climbing the split log steps to read in one of those grand red cushioned chairs on the balcony edge, or to write beneath the dim glow of the candle-like bulbs. The ground floor is structured with local pine logs of great circumference, laid closely together on their side with others splicing through at the ends. The next two floors are not built up by logs but wooden slats, somewhat like they have on those little charming beach houses, yet with a coffee russet coat. The lobby has two platforms peering down to the cornered gray stone walled chimney, which seem like they have the mass of boulders. Wide mouthed fireplaces are dotted on each edge of its square base, occasionally all four will roar in harmony. I am easily distracted here and often little reading will be done in truth. My eyes could ponder on the structure for hours, particularly at the details, those features that give the feeling of being in a living and breathing structure; conveyed by the naturally formed bowing branches as stair handles or, bulbous tree deformities as banister ends. The roof is held by straight up tree bases, meeting a horizontal support at each level, conjoined by bent pine bottoms (supposedly formed by a snow impression) and then continuing on its vertical journey to the narrowing top. You get a grand feeling of nature, of the place being at one with the surroundings and often that you are in some secret wonderland in a hidden veiled forest.

I am also distracted by the guests. In any sitting, even if it follows the previous one, I will never set my sight upon a familiar face. Sometimes there will be an old man with a cane and a funny waddle where he will dip twice on each side in one slide of the foot. There could be a close-knit table of Europeans laughing huskily in an unspecified language, while drinking and shuffling cards in their middle aged hands. Or an awkward group of teenagers on a school trip all clambering around a couch, some not knowing where to be positioned. Their attention focused toward the centre where a fair haired and made up girl sits with one high leg beside a classically posed male – trying too hard with legs wide, back leant and arms smoothly winged out as an eagle on the couch top. And for a last stereotype there could be, to much amusement, the whole product of an Asian tour bus dropping to their chairs and picking out brown paper lunch sacks from packs or handbags. The fumbling of hands that dive for an apple or a jam sandwich along the crinkled paper edges is in synchronisation; felt through the grand resonance of rustling ubiquitously, leaving not a nook hushed.

I will let you know of my other adventures soon.

Days Off

In my second last week we thankfully had two days off, how wonderful it felt just to have the chance to relax! On the first day I went to West Yellowstone with the same group of friends as in the previous week. West is a town just a few hundred yards from the border of the park boundary. A town with similar style to Bozeman yet far more touristy with the only shops available full of souvenirs and ‘Yellowstoner’ shirts - ironically made in China. I walked around and took pictures while my friends had T-Shirts printed. It was certainly a very western looking town, so different and intriguing when I am used to the English stone paved streets. We ate dinner at a peculiar place called Einos, a small restaurant where you order the food as it comes from the fridge. As in, you must cook it completely by yourself. It was an interesting concept, one that I was not sure whether was created through laziness or to be unique. My friends all cooked themselves huge steaks on the grill while I had my veggie burger going. The warm light dashed across the lake and the horse grazing fields to eventually shine through the panes and onto the messy used bottles of steak sauce and ketchup beside our plates. It sure was nice to cook our own after eating stomach churning cafeteria food for months.

On my second day Tommy happened to see me and invited me on an off trail hike to Sulphur Mountain. I think this was technically incorrect according to Yellowstone rules as you are supposed to follow trails, but this had so much more glory and adventure. We drove to the middle of Hayden Valley, where Yellowstone River pulls out sharply and curls back again multiple times. Apart from the mountains and this, it would appear that the valley was rid of any interest – this certainly is untrue. We walked across the road and started the little climbs over and down the undulating yellow grass hills. Admittedly we were lost to start as we found nothing but generic pines, Tommy forgot his map. We continued the expedition as Tommy was sure that what we were looking for was somewhere around, it is amazing how things can keep so well hidden when so close. We attempted to reach atop a higher hill to look around for the destination, but before we got there we could see a large gray white patch creeping through the spaces between a dead forest; a telling sign of a geothermal area. We had found the place; mighty steam rolled along the ground and rose upwards from cracks. Some pines stood disjointed and plucked bare with a painted cream coating all the way to their sharpened pencil like tips. We tread our steps carefully as the crust around these areas can be much thinner than may appear; following the bison tracks and prodding the ground with branches aided the walk. We met the openings and stared into the dark open cracks of the earth where the hot air flowed and the muddy water boiled. Tommy asked me to take his picture multiple times through the trip, one time he even posed with my camera apparently as a dramatic element. If there is one thing I have learnt about Asians it is that most love picture taking, and in particular posed picture taking with wide forced grins – many of my friends would say ‘One more. One more. One more’ after each snap.

Crystallized rocks of sulphur contrasted against the thermal desert in a radiant neon yellow and spiky web forms were strewn where water movements sounded below. We headed up the so called Sulphur Mountain, which in reality was the height of a small hill (I am unsure whether this is its official name). Tommy reached the boulder at its head before me and let out high sounds of excitement and praise for what could be seen, the object of his projected awe unbeknown to me. His childlike happiness was certainly deserved as he rushed down the slope (falling frequently). There lay beneath, next to the edge of the pale hill’s rise, a bloated circular pit of azure Caribbean waters shooting up a few metres from its heart and spraying around its oddly bumpy brown dripping outskirt. I had never seen a feature as such a perfect sphere or so ideally exquisite.

Unfortunately, Tommy had to be back to Canyon to go work so we left the area with haste, following the steam pots run off around the forest, for who knows what furry dangers could be waiting in there. More features were in the area as steam rose from many dips all over; alas we had no time to investigate the glory that could have been awaiting. As we walked the plain back, smoke billowed purplish from behind Mt. Washburn and slithered along Yellowstone River below like a cool misty morning. The forest fire that we had witnessed the brewing beginnings of in previous weeks was clearly still ablaze. I am unsure of its present condition, yet it has been unnaturally hot in Yellowstone for this time of year. The road to Roosevelt was also closed for safety.