Photos by Elisabeth Kwak-Hefferan
By Elisabeth Kwak-Hefferan
A go-go-go traveler discovers that at Yellowstone, less really is more.
I don’t often find myself craving espresso and ice cream at the same time. Coffee is for the morning; ice cream is best after dinner. But for years, I’ve made an exception at Yellowstone. Yellowstone Perk, a gift and snack shop in the gateway town of Gardiner, serves up a mean affogato—and if there was ever a time for caffeine poured over refined sugar, it was midafternoon on another jam-packed visit to the park
Back in those days, I tackled the country’s first national park like an all-you-can-eat buffet. Never mind that, at 3,472 square miles, Yellowstone is larger than entire states. I wanted to see everything: geysers, bears, bison, lakes, travertine terraces. And I wanted to see them all today. I’d get up with the sun to scope for wildlife, then drive from destination to destination, tagging hydrothermal basins and waterfalls like I was punching a bingo card. By 3 p.m., I’d be utterly exhausted, yet somehow unfulfilled. Cue the affogato, and another round of touring until I crashed, or sunset, whichever came first.
Reader, there’s a better way. A way to see less, but profoundly more at the same time. And I wouldn’t have figured it out if not for my two most uncompromising teachers: my kids.
Parents everywhere know that little kids will not tolerate marathon sightseeing. Trying to visit Yellowstone Lake, Old Faithful, Canyon, and Mammoth all in one day is a recipe for meltdowns the likes of which will scare away all wildlife in a three-mile radius. Admittedly, I was slow to accept this new reality. But I finally conceded that my breakneck visits simply wouldn’t do once first Sam, then Eve, joined the touring party.
Back in those days, I tackled the country’s first national park like an all-you-can-eat buffet. Never mind that, at 3,472 square miles, Yellowstone is larger than entire states. I wanted to see everything: geysers, bears, bison, lakes, travertine terraces. And I wanted to see them all today. I’d get up with the sun to scope for wildlife, then drive from destination to destination, tagging hydrothermal basins and waterfalls like I was punching a bingo card. By 3 p.m., I’d be utterly exhausted, yet somehow unfulfilled. Cue the affogato, and another round of touring until I crashed, or sunset, whichever came first.
Reader, there’s a better way. A way to see less, but profoundly more at the same time. And I wouldn’t have figured it out if not for my two most uncompromising teachers: my kids.
Parents everywhere know that little kids will not tolerate marathon sightseeing. Trying to visit Yellowstone Lake, Old Faithful, Canyon, and Mammoth all in one day is a recipe for meltdowns the likes of which will scare away all wildlife in a three-mile radius. Admittedly, I was slow to accept this new reality. But I finally conceded that my breakneck visits simply wouldn’t do once first Sam, then Eve, joined the touring party.
Here’s what I didn’t expect, though: Being forced to slow the pace has given rise to some of my very best moments in any national park. Children excel at just being in a place—enjoying the here and now without worrying they’re missing something else down the road. We’d all be wise to take notes.
After a few rather stressful attempts to take our family to the park the old way, we decided to try a different approach: just one Yellowstone destination. On our next trip, we camped outside the park and ventured in to explore Norris Geyser Basin, and only Norris. I’d been there several times, and usually rushed through its boardwalks, hot and a little disappointed in its lack of predictable geysers.
After a few rather stressful attempts to take our family to the park the old way, we decided to try a different approach: just one Yellowstone destination. On our next trip, we camped outside the park and ventured in to explore Norris Geyser Basin, and only Norris. I’d been there several times, and usually rushed through its boardwalks, hot and a little disappointed in its lack of predictable geysers.
Things were different this time. With nothing else on the agenda, we strolled through the basin’s two miles of trail slowly, stopping to appreciate every fumarole and minor bubbler. When the sun got to us, we found a bench and chugged water. We studied the different colors of the microorganisms surrounding each feature. At one point, the kids plopped down on the trail and started building hills out of gravel; my husband and I just hung out, watching shapes form in the steam over a hot spring. I felt like I was seeing Norris for the first time.
On another visit a couple of years later, we headed for the Lamar Valley before sunrise, hoping to spot a wolf or a bear in the wildlife golden hour. When we saw a small group with spotting scopes at a pullout near Slough Creek Campground, we joined them—but heard we’d just missed the wolves. The old me would have hopped back in the car and driven somewhere else. But we decided to stay awhile.
On another visit a couple of years later, we headed for the Lamar Valley before sunrise, hoping to spot a wolf or a bear in the wildlife golden hour. When we saw a small group with spotting scopes at a pullout near Slough Creek Campground, we joined them—but heard we’d just missed the wolves. The old me would have hopped back in the car and driven somewhere else. But we decided to stay awhile.
Sam and Eve set themselves up with camp chairs and blankets, hot cocoas in hand. A few bison grazed in the distance as the valley lit up with the rising sun. This wasn’t bad at all. We explored the sagebrush and the creek as the air warmed up. Then, suddenly—“Wolf!” Three members of the neighborhood pack had returned. We watched them in awe, passing binoculars back and forth.
A half-hour later, we noticed more bison were wandering toward us from the south. Amusement (“Oh cool, more bison!”) gradually turned to alarm (“Aren’t they going to stop?”). We finally pushed the kids into the van as a hundred bison surrounded us, moseying their way from grass clump to clump. We couldn’t have gone anywhere even if we’d wanted to. But with the enormous animals grunting and stomping within six inches of our windows, who’d leave? Eventually, they moved on. We checked the clock: We’d been at the pullout for almost five hours. And the wolves, the bison, the creek, the sunrise? Old me would have missed them all in a mad attempt to see “more.”
We live in Montana, so we have the privilege of visiting Yellowstone often. If you’re on a once-in-a-lifetime trip here, I can relate to the urge to tour ‘til you drop. But from one recovered whirlwind sightseer to another: You won’t regret slowing things down a bit. When I’m not in any rush, I’ve found that the landscape reveals so many new layers—I notice more, and appreciate it more, too. Plan to spend more time in fewer places, and you’ll be able to really soak in the magic of this park.
Go ahead and order the affogato, though. I still do.
A half-hour later, we noticed more bison were wandering toward us from the south. Amusement (“Oh cool, more bison!”) gradually turned to alarm (“Aren’t they going to stop?”). We finally pushed the kids into the van as a hundred bison surrounded us, moseying their way from grass clump to clump. We couldn’t have gone anywhere even if we’d wanted to. But with the enormous animals grunting and stomping within six inches of our windows, who’d leave? Eventually, they moved on. We checked the clock: We’d been at the pullout for almost five hours. And the wolves, the bison, the creek, the sunrise? Old me would have missed them all in a mad attempt to see “more.”
We live in Montana, so we have the privilege of visiting Yellowstone often. If you’re on a once-in-a-lifetime trip here, I can relate to the urge to tour ‘til you drop. But from one recovered whirlwind sightseer to another: You won’t regret slowing things down a bit. When I’m not in any rush, I’ve found that the landscape reveals so many new layers—I notice more, and appreciate it more, too. Plan to spend more time in fewer places, and you’ll be able to really soak in the magic of this park.
Go ahead and order the affogato, though. I still do.
