Most of Yellowstone bears a generally neutral outdoor smell, but the sulphur in the park’s thermal features provides a more pungent odor for tourists to enjoy in those relatively small areas.  And, as anybody who’s lived in a house with well water can attest, the odor isn’t all the sulphur contributes to the park: just as it stains carpets and toilets, it also stains rock.  But unlike those generally unpopular carpet and toilet stains, the stains on Yellowstone’s rock are gorgeous.

Of course, those stains need more than just intermittent bursts of water from the most spectacular geyser eruptions to form; the colorful compositions pictured above were caused by the more consistent flow of hot water from a variety of less dramatic holes in the ground.

Sternly-worded warning signs are a frequent and prominent feature throughout the park, and for good reason: for the flocks of tourists who might not know what common sense means outside an urban setting, the unrestrained natural world can be dangerous.  This sad truth is newly illustrated each year by careless or foolhardy visitors who venture off the established boardwalks and trails and fall into the park’s thermal features; some escape with severe burns, but others aren’t so fortunate: 20 visitors have died from encounters with the thermal features.  If you imagine jumping into a huge pot of boiling water on a huge stove, you have a good idea of what it would be like to fall into one of the park’s thermal features — and, I hope, you have an even better idea of why the warning signs aren’t paranoid suggestions.  In many cases, the water actually is visibly boiling.

As we were examining the curious features, one Hispanic visitor — who apparently didn’t think much of the warning signs — felt compelled to see if the water really was as hot as it looked.  The water exiting the spring in the above photo ran within arm’s reach as it traveled under the boardwalk, so he knelt down on the boardwalk and reached his hand out toward the water.  The moment his finger touched the water, he immediately jerked his hand back and exclaimed, “Muy caliente!”

Before I could muster the necessary amount of disdain to laugh at his obvious lack of common sense, he made another decision that prompted me to put my camera to my eye.  After he made sure the tip of his finger was still there, he eagerly gestured to his wife to test the water, just as he had done.  A thoroughly sensible woman might have pointed to his reaction as a fine reason not to follow his example; instead, as a relative aimed her camera to record the moment, she knelt down on the boardwalk and reached toward the same scalding water.

To my relief, her arm was a bit shorter than her husband’s, and she wasn’t nearly as committed to the idea as he had been.  She posed for a photo as shown above, but she elected not to make the extra effort necessary to reach the water.

(Just a note: though I made an effort to detail some of the park’s dangers, it’s not my intention to make this post an unpleasant representation of the Yellowstone experience.  The park is a stunning and highly accessible display of some of earth’s more grandiose and bizarre features, and I believe it’s one of the places everybody should make an effort to visit.  But from both the tone of the warning signs and the numerous stories of behavior that ranges from foolhardy to fatal, it’s apparent that far too many visitors aren’t inclined to take seriously the very real dangers of the world outside our controlled civilization.  If you are able to make a visit to Yellowstone, see as much as you can and have a great time…but please, pay attention to the warning signs, treat the park’s features with a healthy respect, and exercise intelligent restraint and common sense.  Yellowstone isn’t an amusement park; it’s the real world.)

When Old Faithful went back to its oft-interrupted nap, we walked over to the nearby visitors center to see what it had to offer.  But not long after we began perusing its various displays, we were interrupted by a park ranger’s announcement: the Beehive geyser was about to erupt.  We were unfamiliar with this particular geyser, but the ranger made it clear this was an event not to be missed, so we joined the mass exodus from the visitors center.

Much like Old Faithful, we saw only minor hissing and sputtering for a few minutes.  But before too long, the Beehive escalated to full strength, and we quickly decided the ranger wasn’t exaggerating its total awesomeness.

It’s hard to get a sense of the remarkable height of the Beehive in that photo, so here’s a photo that gives a bit of scale.

For those of you who like real numbers that signify real measurements and other absolute things: the Beehive eruption lasts for about five minutes and reaches heights of 200 feet.  (For comparison, Old Faithful’s eruptions can last anywhere from 1.5 to 5 minutes and rise anywhere from 90 to 184 feet.)  So if you stood a regulation NHL rink on end, it would be like a frozen Beehive geyser.  Well, it would be flat and smooth, it would look hilariously out of place and it would be ridiculously difficult to use for hockey, but it would be as tall as a Beehive eruption.

The Beehive gains both its height and its name from the cone through which the water is propelled into the air.

As one might expect, that much water being herded through that small an opening with enough force to push it 200 feet into the air produces a lot of noise.  The loud rumble isn’t get-the-earplugs noise, but it can be raise-your-voice noise.

We were fortunate enough to be there on a fairly calm day, but there was still just enough of a breeze to send the water across the boardwalk.  We thought we were being smart by observing the Beehive from a bit of a distance to stay dry, but as it turned out, we weren’t quite smart enough; as the geyser raged, the breeze shifted and sent the water directly at us.  We didn’t get anywhere near as wet as the adventurous tourists in the above picture, but we certainly didn’t stay dry.

Our first destination in Yellowstone was its most famous feature, Old Faithful.  It’s one of those features everybody visits, but there’s a good reason for that: it’s awesome!  I mean, come on: it’s boiling hot water shooting into the air on a fairly regular schedule — hence the name — and it happens without any human influence.  It’s not just weird; it’s naturally weird.

When we arrived at Old Faithful, it looked more old than faithful.  It was sleeping peacefully, with only a few calm steam clouds providing a clue to the location of the giant hot tub jet in the ground.

While we waited for Old Faithful to wake up, we enjoyed watching the crowd wait patiently for the show.  While modern Americans are known for anything but patience, the hundreds of people gathered around the geyser waited quietly for about 15 minutes while Old Faithful napped.  I have no idea why a geyser could compel people to wait 15 minutes when they’d normally get impatient after 15 seconds at a red light, but it was hilarious.

Eventually, Old Faithful began to hiss and gurgle, providing a prelude to its performance. It started off small…

…But it didn’t stay that way.

After hanging out with us tourists for a couple minutes, Old Faithful quieted back down and went back to producing clouds of steam.

When the eruption ended, we all agreed: Old Faithful was well worth the visit and the wait.  It’s not just that it’s a curiously fascinating natural feature — which it is — but it’s also an iconic American destination.  It’s not just a geyser; it’s Old Faithful.

When we departed Craters of the Moon, we headed for the penultimate major feature of our trip: the famous Yellowstone National Park.  Our time at Craters pushed back our schedule enough that we arrived at Yellowstone after dark, so we drove to our cabin in the middle of the park without being able to appreciate the scenery because, you know, we couldn’t really see it.  That was probably good, though, as I’m not sure we would have fully appreciated it at that point: not only were we worn out from a day of National Parking and driving, but we were also somewhat exasperated because our GPS tried to lead us down a road that didn’t exist.  It told us to turn left, but we couldn’t figure out where to turn because all we saw was a rather abrupt slope that led directly into Lake Yellowstone, which definitely isn’t a road.  After a few minutes of confusion we did manage to find the road we needed, and before long we stumbled into our cabin quite ready not to be awake.

(We did investigate the curious discrepancy the next day, and we discovered the GPS wasn’t trying to kill us; rather, it was just out of date.  There used to be a road where it kept telling us to turn, but it had been closed.)

When we began exploring the park under a brilliant blue sky the next day, we saw what we’d been missing during our late-night drive.  Essentially, we’d been missing one of the most beautiful places on earth.  Not far from the irksome non-existent road was this emphatically non-irksome Lake Yellowstone view that prompted us to stop the car so we could let our jaws drop without causing an accident:

Actually, we made two or three brief stops to ogle the lake and its surroundings, but we did move on without much delay.  And if you come back for the next post, you’ll see where we ended up next.  (I’d include the next destination in this post, but like nearly everything we saw in Yellowstone, it deserves its own post.)

Our next stop in Craters of the Moon was the far less windy Devil’s Orchard, a curious landscape which gained its name from a visiting minister who declared the collection of jagged lava formations and weather-beaten trees to be a garden fit for the devil himself.

The Devil’s Orchard trail is neither strenuous nor lengthy; it’s entirely flat and paved, and it’s only half a mile, which is short enough for even the laziest tourists.  And the Orchard even has a little something to offer to those who prefer some color in their scenery!

If you thought I was kidding about the Orchard having a little something to offer, I wasn’t.  Those purple flowers are very common, but they’re not overwhelming because they’re little.

Remember the Inferno Cone Overlook?  It’s not too far away from the Orchard.  In fact, you can see the hill and its lone tree at the top of this photo:

There are live trees in the Orchard, but unsurprisingly, they’re far less fascinating than the incomparable natural sculptures of long-dead trees that dot the landscape.  The dead trees are like modern art, except they’re actually aesthetically appealing.

Though the weather-beaten forms are appealing enough on their own, a number of the trees are even more eye-catching thanks to Witch’s Broom, a bizarre disease that causes dense growths of branches.

Near the end of my walk through the Devil’s Orchard, I came across a reminder of the presence of wildlife in the park.  One particular animal, defiantly ignoring the “wet cement” signs, took a stroll on the path before it dried.

Though we may have wished otherwise, we had to start driving back east sooner or later.  But that wasn’t all bad: on our way out of Idaho, we just so happened — by which I mean planned — to make a stop at the bizarre and awe-inspiring Craters of the Moon National Park in eastern Idaho.  That may seem like an odd name for a decidedly terrestrial park, but it’s quite apt: long ago, generous amounts of lava covered the landscape, leaving it looking a little like some of Hawaii’s jagged lava-covered areas, but without the Hawaii.  It’s impossible to miss the park’s boundaries, as there’s an abrupt change from the typical Idaho landscape to the park’s hard black lava crust.

After a brief stop at the visitor’s center, we moved on to our first destination: the frighteningly-named Inferno Cone Overlook.

The Overlook isn’t nearly as scary as it sounds; rather, it’s simply a large hill that provides a fine overview of the park.  The climb is a little strenuous, but it’s worth the effort.  But, of course, before I undertook the climb, I took a few pictures of the Overlook and its surroundings.

Though the Overlook appears barren, the park’s landscape isn’t entirely devoid of vegetation.  But generally, where there aren’t small trees or various scrubs, there’s lava.

With the initial photos out of the way, we started up the hill.

When we reached the top of the slope, we were assaulted by a brutal, unrelenting wind.  This wasn’t your standard tousle-your-hair-wind; this was a wind strong enough to knock me over if I didn’t concentrate on just standing up.  However, a few of our fellow tourists took advantage of the wind.

When we recovered from the initial blast of wind, we noticed the top of the hill looked as barren as the slope…

…But further exploration revealed some hardy vegetation that stubbornly defied the harsh conditions.

And remarkably, though the tree grave pictured above looks ominous, one tree managed to stand tall on the hilltop.  Its exposed roots make it appear to be hanging on by its fingernails, but despite the wind’s best efforts, it wasn’t going anywhere.

But on the whole, those patches of green were definite exceptions.

As every American knows, the Fourth of July goes by another name: National Entertaining Explosions Day.  (Oh, and it’s called Independence Day, too.)  Since our visit to Idaho happened to include our nation’s most gunpowdery holiday, we were happy to discover the local municipality celebrated the holiday with gusto — in fact, it boasted one of the largest fireworks displays in the state.  Even better, southwestern Idaho’s generally flat open landscape afforded us the luxury of avoiding crowds and traffic by enjoying the fireworks from several miles away.

It occurred to me just recently that I neglected to finish posting the photos from my trip out to Idaho last year.  That neglect ends now, mostly because that trip resulted in some great photos.

After our visit to Silver City, our next destination was the Old Idaho Penitentiary in Boise.  As indicated by its name, the penitentiary is enjoying a leisurely retirement, hosting curious tourists and even the occasional wedding at the adjacent warden’s residence.  (No, I’m not kidding.  They were setting up for a wedding when we arrived.)

The old dining hall building has seen better days:

Fortunately, most of the buildings are in considerably better shape than that.  Some of the old rules are still in good shape, too:

I know what you’re thinking, and no, we didn’t loaf in that area.  Instead, we moved on to the old solitary confinement facility.

If it looks unpleasant, there’s a good reason: it was.  We didn’t loaf there either — after all, the prison laundry was waiting.  And keeping the air moving in the laundry was a blower from a familiar city:

Oddly enough, though the company went out of business twenty years ago, there’s still a website for the American Blower Company.

From there we proceeded to one of the more relatively recently-constructed cell blocks.

The accommodations were…uh…spartan.

Several of the cells displayed some of the prisoners’ artwork.  Unsurprisingly, the general theme of the artwork was hopelessness.

Death row and the prison gallows are part of the tour, and on the wall in the facility is a display of some of the prisoners who met their end at the prison.  One such prisoner displayed a surprising sensibility prior to his hanging:

Once outside death row, my dad began to plot his escape:

Since I am a freelance photographer for the local paper, I have regular encounters with the word “deadline.”  However, even as much as my deadlines can loom large if I push them too far, they’re nowhere near as ominous as the deadline at the Old Idaho Penitentiary.

It’s not difficult to imagine how the deadline got its name.  And to enforce the deadline, guards watched over the population from atop the prison’s old stone walls.

Oddly enough, maybe 100 feet from that particular tower is a curious anomaly in the prison’s otherwise unwelcoming personality: a rose garden that was established long ago when the prison was still a prison.

Standing outside the main prison was a smaller facility for the fairer convicts:

The informative display in the women’s ward held one paragraph that made us Michiganders first take note and then scratch our heads in bewilderment:

I’m desperately trying to hold back a flood of Detroit jokes right now.  Desperately.