Geysers, Bison, and Unfinished Plans - Yellowstone National Park

We didn’t make it out the door early. Not for lack of trying. But packing a car for seven humans and one energetic dog—each with their own needs, snacks, complaints, and preferences—takes time. Even with hundreds of repacking reps under our belt, we’re not a pit crew. So we pulled out later than planned and headed through Idaho, into Montana, and then into Wyoming, aiming for Yellowstone’s West Entrance since the South Entrance hadn’t opened for the season yet.

We weren’t even sure where we’d sleep that night. There were a couple of day-of options we had our eye on in Gardiner, Montana—the original gateway to the first national park in the world. But mostly, we were winging it.

When we saw at the West Yellowstone Visitor Center that the next eruption of Old Faithful was in 60 minutes, we felt a surge of hope. But if you’ve ever tried to race an hour-long clock through Yellowstone’s winding roads, you know how this ends: with us watching the eruption from the parking lot, geyser pluming above rooftops like a natural steam whistle saying, “You’re late.”

We could have stayed another 90 minutes to catch the next one, and the next, and the next, but instead we tried our luck at Grand Prismatic Spring. Bad idea. The parking lot line stretched into the road. With five kids and a dog in tow, waiting in a car parade to maybe see a boiling rainbow pond wasn’t going to cut it.

So we pulled into the Fairy Falls trailhead, hoping for the overlook trail to Grand Prismatic. The trail was supposedly “closed,” but in Yellowstone “closed”  meant way less snow than the slip and slide we did the day before in Grand Teton.

From the overlook, the view didn’t disappoint—Grand Prismatic Spring in full technicolor glory, with the deep blue Excelsior Geyser steaming like it was trying to boil the sky. We navigated some grumbling kids, leftover bug bites from the night before, and a surprisingly unfazed bison heading for the trail. We kept moving. He chased a few tourists behind us who were moving too slow.

Eventually, we circled back to Old Faithful and caught its spout again—this time from up close and ten minutes “late” according to the Rangers, but still true to its name. With the day waning and everyone tired and hungry, we grabbed dinner near Old Faithful, guessing this would be our last shot.

Then came the real magic: golden hour. Most of the crowds had gone. We looped the full boardwalk around Grand Prismatic Spring, nearly alone in the late sun. The vivid colors were even more stunning with no one jostling for photos. We then squeezed in a visit to the bubbling Fountain Paint Pots—mud plopping, geysers spouting—magma’s greatest hits on full display.

We considered one final stop at the Artist Paint Pots but realized it would be a mile each way through the forest, at dusk, in grizzly country. With five exhausted kids, a dog and bear-attracting granola bars left in the car? No thanks. We’re all for exploration, but we’re not that crazy.

So we chalked up a day full of late wins and exited through Yellowstone’s original entrance to the north, just as the last daylight slipped behind the mountains. Hundreds of elk munched in the twilight as we rolled into Gardiner, Montana, a little sunburned, a lot tired, and incredibly grateful.

Thanks, Yellowstone. We get it now. You had to be the first.