Each and All: Hiking with Transcendentalist Math

Osprey Falls

Yellowstone National Park

9.2-miles round trip, strenuous
Long ago and far away from the Bunsen Peak Trailhead, Ralph Waldo Emerson poetically opined: All are needed by each one; Nothing is fair or good alone.  We love the hike to Osprey Falls, but pinpointing specific reasons for that fondness is difficult.  It’s a classic example of the sum being greater than the parts—of adding two plus two and magically getting five. 
  
Not that the “components” aren’t special, but what is remarkable is how they build upon one another to provide a classic Yellowstone hiking experience.  This is particularly so on a crisp, sun-splashed morning under the big (almost) Montana sky before crowds hit the trail.  An early start is essential.  We will cover nine-plus miles of variably challenging terrain, and a mid-afternoon return under a penetrating August sun can be draining.  The trail is actually an abandoned dirt and gravel service road for the initial 3.2 miles, a mostly flat route with only occasional tree cover obscuring otherwise wide open sightlines across scrub grass and meadow. 

Big (Almost) Montana Sky and the Gallatins.

And the views are stunning: Bunsen Peak rises immediately to the north of the trail, and unobstructed views of Electric Peak and the remainder of the Gallatin Range are available throughout the trek.  If we are successful with an early start, we may spot bison and elk on the adjacent range, browsing and grazing before retreating from mid-day heat.  A number of ponds, rife with waterfowl, are present near the trailhead; they will offer a nice penultimate respite on the return.

Sheepeater Canyon and the Gardiner River.

In due course, there is a preview of our destination: a bend in the road and a negligible climb provide an overlook of the Gardiner River entrenched in Sheepeater Canyon.  Although the falls are not yet visible, we get a sense for the different terrain ahead and for the looming descent into the canyon as the service road yields to the Osprey Falls Trail. 

Navigating the Switchbacks.

A .6-mile skirt along the rim tapers to a series of steep but not particularly hazardous switchbacks that deliver us to the base of the falls.  The occasional toppled tree and rock scree only enhance this .8 mile downward segment—along with the intensifying roar of the cascade and the atmospheric cooling of nearing water.  Trail’s end brings a jumble of rock outcroppings, collapsed from enveloping chasm walls.  They invite us to sit, to rest, and to take in the 150-foot cascade, the river, and the inner canyon that surround us and saturate our senses:

Micro-Scenery: Harebell.

The falls can be approached and accessed by scrambling across a steep slope, although our experience has been that the primary reward of doing this is a less impressive view of the falls.  The more subtle features of this place, such as wildflowers and other vegetation nurtured by mist from the cascade, can be appreciated and fully enjoyed from a spot on the canyon floor.

Mist-Fed Garden on the Canyon Floor.

Exercising Caution.

We are almost always less motivated for the return leg of an out-and-back-hike.  This is particularly true here because of the steep climb out of the canyon.  But thereafter, a comfortable pace and rhythm can be achieved over the increasingly level right-of-way with ever-modulating views of the Gallatins providing inspiration for the effort.

It is during one of these returns from Osprey Falls that we experience a quintessential Yellowstone moment.  Not ten minutes after grumbling mildly about another failure to sight the trail’s namesake Osprey—either in flight or nesting in the canyon—we receive a breathtaking wayside rebuke. Approaching a copse of immature pine trees, we hear—we feel, almost—a sudden rush of beating wings, as the magnificent brown-and-grayish raptor approaches and passes at eye level, talons deployed, in pursuit of unseen prey.  Once more we think of Emerson: Over me soared the eternal sky, Full of light and of deity; Again I saw, again I heard, The rolling river, the morning bird; — Beauty through my senses stole; I yielded myself to the perfect whole.

On Dirt and Gravel Return Road, Yielding to the Perfect Whole.

Perhaps that’s why we love this place: while we struggle to evaluate discrete parts, to measure unconnected moments, we know that the aggregate experience will be something new, something unforgettable, something inspiring.

A Shining Example of Paranormal Hiking Activity

Estes Cone

Rocky Mountain National Park

6.1-miles round trip, moderate

Places are like people: some shine and some don’t. The sun is shining, and the Longs Peak trailhead is bustling with activity this mid-August morning.  The parking area is approaching overflow: we have a ranger on scene, and a gaggle of hikers are milling about with varying intent and purpose.  On this day, our stated intent and purpose is Estes Cone, a distinctively-eroded mountain on the east side of the park.  To that end, we lace up our boots, gather our gear, and get under way.  We climb immediately and steadily for approximately a half mile before coming to a cleft in the trail.  Straight would take us to Longs Peak and Chasm Lake; we turn sharply north toward Estes Cone.  The wide, sun-dappled path begins an amiable, give-a-little, take-a-little ascent through a potpourri of lodgepole and other pine that limit the view but invigorate the air.

The Stanley Hotel.

We woke this morning at the Stanley Hotel in nearby Estes Park.  Commissioned in the early twentieth-century by Freelan Oscar Stanley of steam-engine motor carriage fame, the rambling neo-Georgian landmark has welcomed all manner of outdoor celebrants and celebrities over the years: John Philip Sousa, Theodore Roosevelt, the Emperor and Empress of Japan, and the Unsinkable Molly Brown, to name a few.  
Many swear that the hotel is haunted, that there is paranormal partying in the grand ballroom and that the ghost of Flora Stanley tickles the ivories when no live piano music is available.  A few supernatural nights in Room 217 inspired Stephen King to write The Shining, a 1977 psychological horror classic, which in turn inspired the 1990 big-screen classic starring Jack Nicholson as psychological horror Jack Torrance.  But we digress.

At the Eugenia Mine Site.

Back on the trail, the moderate climb levels out near a stream at the 1.4-mile mark, delivering us to the Eugenia Mine, a forsaken excavation that, according to National Park Service signage, produced more dreams than gold.  Roaming the site, we find remnants of a log cabin, a rusted boiler, and yellow tailings along the creek, haunting residue of a turn-of-the-century gold boom gone bust.

Remnants of the Eugenia Mine.

Room 402 Closet.

The Stanley Hotel, by the way, is chock-full of turn-of-the-century haunting historical residue.  We are checked into Room 402, a charming enough assignment: a sitting room and a bedroom with vintage lighting and dormer windows, a bathroom with tub shower and diminutive pedestal sink.  Various sources tell us that the oddly-shaped bedroom closet is locked and dead-bolted with good reason.  Apparently and apparitionally, a bald ghost answering to the name Lord Dunraven rattles the door knob in the dark of night, impolitely hovers over the bed, filches jewelry, and periodically gets fresh with female guests.  

Sweet Dreams.

We’ve experienced none of that; however, someone—or something—has rifled through travel papers on the bedroom desk, scattering receipts, brochures, and trail maps across the jacquard-carpeted floor.  And someone—or something—has placed two empty wine glasses in the corner of our sitting room when no living, breathing resident of Room 402 has been drinking wine.  And someone—or something— has been making late-night groaning and whooshing sounds on the closet side of the room.  It’s the wind, we tell ourselves, or inattentive room service, or ancient mechanical exertions from the nearby gilded-elevator shaft.  But still....

Rock Scree on Estes Cone.

Steeper and steeper: more rocks, more climbing, more rocks.  Most of the trail’s elevation gain comes in the final mile.  Cairns mark the way, but they become difficult to spot—and inconsequential to our progress—as we pick our way across a series of increasingly rocky switchbacks on the southwest slope of the cone. At some point we call upon hands to help feet move us up this mountain.  We remind ourselves that variability makes the hike—that all flat or all climb would make for a tedious 6.1-mile round trip walk in the wild.  All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.  All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy:

 

After a slapstick scramble across the penultimate jumble of scree, we rest on an outcrop just beneath the bare rock summit.  
The eleven-thousand-feet-and-change elevation affords (literally) breathtaking panoramic views of Longs Peak, the Continental Divide, and the Estes Park area. 

After the Climb, Enjoying a View of Longs Peak.

A View from Estes Cone.

Now Playing on Channel 42.

That evening, safely returned to Room 402, we snack and watch The Shining as it loops continuously on hotel Channel  42.  We reflect upon the day’s climb and Estes Cone, declaring it a shining hike and a shining destination indeed.  And then it’s lights out: we dive into bed, curl up under the crisp white covers, waiting for sleep—and perhaps Lord Dunraven—to come.