To Geyserland Part 1

To Geyserland.

by Edward F. Colborn.

GEYSERLAND

Where in confusion canyons and mountains and swift running rivers with painted banks abound, and elk and deer, buffalo and bear range through the wilds unterrified by man and gun, and tall, straight pines in almost unbroken forests plant their feet in a tangle of down-timber that centuries were required to produce; where in the earth there are vents through which roar and rush at exact intervals columns of boiling water, sometimes more than two hundred feet high, or in which painted mud blubbers and spurts; where pools by thousands at scalding heat boil and murmur; where under one's feet is felt the hollow of the earth and through hundreds of holes of unfathomable depth come deep growls of Nature in her confinement; where dyes have been daubed in delirium on hillsides and river's brink; where a canyon gashes the earth thousands of feet through colors so vivid and varied that no record can write them down; where one of the highest navigable lakes in the world washes the feet of mountains that hold aloft the snows through every month of the year; where the supernal and the infernal are blended in a harmony that only Infinitude can produce, and every miracle of Creation has been worked; where one can be lost in a wilderness as long as he will and come face to face with almost every form of creative eccentricity--there is _Geyserland_.

_The Way in and Out_

Yellowstone National Park is reached via the Union Pacific and its connection, the Oregon Short Line, the New and Direct Route, over one stem from Kansas City and Leavenworth, and over another from Council Bluffs and Omaha. By way of the latter you cross the Missouri River over a magnificent steel bridge and traverse the "Lane Cut Off," a splendid ill.u.s.tration of modern railroad construction. If you journey over the stem from Kansas City, your way leads through a succession of thriving cities and towns amid the finest farming region of the West, and through beautiful Denver, through Cheyenne, thence through Wyoming, and a portion of Utah, to Ogden, from which point Salt Lake City, 37 miles distant, is reached.

[Ill.u.s.tration: _The Cascades of the Firehole River_]

[Ill.u.s.tration: _Hayden Valley between Yellowstone Lake and the Falls_]

Leaving the central system of transcontinental lines, access to the Park is had in a night by way of the Oregon Short Line Railroad from Salt Lake City, Ogden, or Pocatello to the station, Yellowstone, Montana, at the western border, nineteen miles from the Fountain Hotel.

All along this route are strewn stretches of delightful scenery, and fields of rare fertility; but these things the tourist does not see--he awakens for breakfast at Yellowstone, and an hour thereafter is following the course of the beautiful Madison, well on his way into the Park and to the wonders that there await him.

_The Scenery_

As a whole, the scenery of the Park is restful and satisfying. What it lacks in the stupendous it makes up in softness of coloring and the gentle undulations that lead gradually to the ma.s.sive mountains. The green of the pines, lightened and darkened here and there with the shades of different species, is everywhere. The waters of the rivers are dimmed by the shadows; the cascades have a glimmer and sparkle quite their own, and now and then peep out in the sweeps of the distance, little lakes that s.h.i.+mmer in the sun. Vagrant clouds of steam, signs of the geysers and boiling springs, are seen all over the landscape, especially in the early morning when a little of the night frost still lingers in the air. Many grotesque shapes are taken on by the rocks, and there is hardly a spring or pool that does not suggest its name by its form. From the Lake Hotel can be seen facing skyward, the profile of a human face so perfect it has long been called "The Sleeping Giant."

Yellowstone Lake is a marvel of beauty; the dense forest comes down to its sh.o.r.es, little dots of islands sprinkle its surface, its waters are crystal clear away into the deep, and under the kiss of the sun the face of the sea takes on a glory altogether splendid.

[Ill.u.s.tration: _Keppler Cascades_]

[Ill.u.s.tration: Western Entrance]

[Ill.u.s.tration]

[Ill.u.s.tration: Gibbon Falls]

[Ill.u.s.tration]

_Coaching in the Park_

The stage coach, the old-fas.h.i.+oned one with the lofty seat for the driver and the boot and the thorough-brace, the rocking-cradle vehicle that served so well when civilization was beating its way westward fifty years ago, holds the first right-of-way through the Park. Driven from use almost everywhere else by the iron horse, it has found safe refuge there, and neither the railways nor the automobiles can enter to oppose it.

[Ill.u.s.tration: _The Mud Geyser_]

[Ill.u.s.tration: _A Coaching Party_]

A good half of the pleasures of the tour is found in the coaching. To watch for the coming of the stage at the door of the Inn where the baggage is piled, and the porters and bell boys stand expectant--to hear the clatter of the wheels, the sound of hoofs, and to see the gaily harnessed horses in conscious pride swing the coach gracefully under the Porte Cochere--to be wheeled over the winding, dustless roads at ten miles an hour behind prancing leaders and wheelers--to be garbed as you please without thought of style or detail--to breathe air distilled among the fragrant pines--to be touched by breezes that fan your cheek and dishevel your hair--to be free from all care and abandon yourself to the delights that come with the everchanging scenes that panoramic Nature is constantly unfolding to your gaze--is to experience an exhilaration never to be found among the busy haunts of men.

The drivers, gentlemanly and skillful, are full of information, and you do the 158 miles from Yellowstone around the circle back to Yellowstone with so little fatigue that you regret the trip is not longer.

_Park Regulations and Improvements_

Two companies of United States Cavalry are stationed at Fort Yellowstone, and, during the summer detachments of these troops are placed in different parts of the reservation. Their duties are to patrol the Park, prevent the spreading of forest fires and the commission of acts of vandalism. The troops have authority to make arrests for any violation of Park regulations. Hunting is especially prohibited, and all guns are officially sealed at the entrance to the Park.

The commanding officer at Fort Yellowstone is Acting Superintendent of the reservation. All rules and regulations emanate from the Department of the Interior, and printed copies of them will be found posted in all Park Hotels.

The Government has constructed a system of macadamized roads of easy grade throughout the Park, and these are kept sprinkled daily during the Park season.

[Ill.u.s.tration: _The Crater of Oblong Geyser_]

[Ill.u.s.tration: _Punch Bowl Spring_]

[Ill.u.s.tration: Grotto Geyser Formation]

[Ill.u.s.tration]

[Ill.u.s.tration: Rapids above Upper Falls]

[Ill.u.s.tration]

[Ill.u.s.tration: _Upper Geyser Basin_]

_The Geysers_

Nature has lavished her gifts on the region of the Yellowstone--wild woodland, crystal rivers, gorgeous canyons and sparkling cascades--all under the guard of mountain sentinels around whose lofty heads group every form of cloud castle that vagrant winds can build. But of all the wonders that G.o.d in His mysterious way has there worked to perform, none is so strange--so startling--as the geysers.

To count them, great and small, would be like counting the stars, and to measure in words their awful power, or picture their splendor of sparkle and symmetry--that, no one can do. They must be seen to be appreciated, and once seen--the memory and mystery of them will linger to the end of the longest life. They are as different as geysers can be. There are dead geysers--dead from bursted throats--mere boiling pools now--shaped to resemble a variety of familiar things; with depths that the eye cannot sound, and colors--blues, greens, purples, reds--down their deep sides and in the wonderful tracery about their rims, so blended, so beautiful that one may well believe that all the paints on the palette of the Master were commingled in their decoration.

One blubbers and gurgles and grumbles awhile, and then with an angry roar lifts a great column of mud into the air. Another steams and growls through an orifice hundreds of feet wide in seeming angry spite that years ago it blew out its throat and ceased to gush forever.[A] But the geysers that most attract are the regular-timed spouting wonders--the Giant and Giantess, Old Faithful, the Grand, the Fountain, the Castle and others whose names mark the geography of the Park.

[A] In 1888, Excelsior, then the greatest geyser in the known world, while playing with unusual vigor, ruptured its crater and has never spouted since. In its former periods of activity it is said to have raised the Firehole river seven feet in as many minutes with its waters.

(_Ed._)