The Keepers of the Hot Pools

July 12, 2007 (continued)

We departed from Canyon Village shortly after 9:00 am that morning. We piled into Zach’s hippie van (that van was brilliant, it had no seats in the back, which was basically just a raised platform made out of wood.... I thoroughly enjoyed riding in it, and he’d had a massively awesome time road-tripping and living out of it) and pulled out of the service road, heading on the Canyon-Lake road. Zach stuck his head out the window and performed his “We’re leaving Canyon!” victory howl and honked the hippie van horn. Holy cow, we were seriously on our way!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I told him that if we were successful in our quest for Fairyland, he'd have to honk the horn again and howl even louder. Zach grinned and agreed.

The trip was obviously not very long.... which was probably a good thing, cos a long drive back on the 3rd day would not have been loads of fun. We had everything we needed.... Nalgenes filled with water, food to last 3 days, clothes, tent, assorted camping equipment and, most importantly, the topo map, compass, and GPS. However, the GPS would become an inconsequential addition, as the lady rangers had given us the wrong coordinates anyway and we had no coordinate for Fairyland. And what kind of loser seeks Fairyland with a GPS unit anyway?! Seriously, I’ll go with the good ol’ fashioned topo map and compass any day, it makes everything seem much more authentic and the victory all the sweeter. My mother, upon learning that we’d headed into the backcountry armed only with those implements and no real way to contact help if someone fell into peril, freaked out and lectured me, demanding to know if I thought I was some kind of 18th century trailblazer. I assured her that I had no such aspirations.... though that’d be pretty cool, I can’t lie.

We reached the trailhead (the one that leads to Wapiti Lake) in short order, put our backpacks on, locked up the hippie van, and started the long and arduous trek down Wapiti Lake Trail (the only part of the journey to not consist of our own route-making).

The trail begins in a lovely field that stretched out for miles that morning until it disappeared into the blue horizon. Buffalo were chillin’ in a massive herd over the hills to our right, and the sun shown down and cast the yellows of the field into a deeper shade of gold. It also beat down on us, and it wasn’t long before I developed a nasty case of Swack (sweaty back.... Sorry, that might be too much info....)

We were quiet for about the first 15 minutes of the trail, since it seemed to lend itself to introspection rather than conversation. The first massive hills were climbed and subsequently descended, until we reached a low-lying relatively flat area. I glanced over my shoulder and noted the height of the hill we had just left behind. Yep, it was gonna suck to climb that thing at the end of our 3-day sojourn. But hey, where’s the fun without a test of endurance?

Conversation was eventually started when Zach, who was leading our fearless trio (which, as I’ve alluded to in several posts, as well as in the title of this blog, was christened the ManBearPig Expedition—my idea, after a South Park episode, of course....), mentioned the lack of conversation. Indeed.

From our position along the trail, we could make out the distinct smell of sulphur which accompanies most backcountry geothermal areas. I was pretty psyched, and Tim (who loves geothermal stuff like I do, and originally wanted to work at Old Faithful so he could forever be around hot pools and geysers) and I talked about various backcountry thermal areas we’d visited. My favourite, by far up to that point, was the Gibbon Geyser Basin, more specifically the Sylvan Springs area. The hot pools in that area are ridiculously varied in colour and shape, and a massive mud volcano projects mud noisily against its walls. I love to think that even now, as I sit 10 hours away in front of a computer, the mud is still loudly churning and boiling. Brilliant!

So Tim and I continued to chat, and eventually to look through the trees bordering the trail cos the thermal area was now evident on either side. As we made our way along the trail, the trees thinned out until the trail itself faded away into the actual thermal area. I recognised pieces of it as the scene following our buffalo charge of the previous year. [During our first week, I’d stupidly followed a group of guys who ventured too close to a buffalo, which ended up giving us a warning charge. Upon finding ourselves separated from the main group, we stumbled on the very thermal area that our expedition now crossed.]

The most interesting parts of our journey through the thermal area were our repeated buffalo encounters. I loved it, the trees once more closed over certain areas of the trail, creating little pockets of the thermal area alongside us. In each pocket stood a buffalo, as though keeping guard of certain treasures they’d sworn to protect. They didn’t charge or even look perturbed as we passed; they merely watched and seemed to give a slight nod.