In July this year, I went on a bus tour with my dad, stepmother, part of my family, and some wonderful people from South Louisiana. We left Zachary, Louisiana, on July 1st, and drove through the midwest to West Yellowstone, Montana, passing through the Badlands, and driving down through the Grand Tetons and the Rocky Mountains, all the way to Dallas, Texas, where I left the group to fly home to San Diego on July 10th. We saw eagles and bison, coyotes and elk, and beauty beyond words.
When we arrived at Old Faithful, the geyser was due to shoot up into the air in about 90 minutes, and we were all milling about close by the site. I passed by my father, step-mother, and niece, and they said, "We're going for a walk. You want to come?"
"Sure," I said. "Where are we going?"
"There's a spot your father wants to take us to see."
"Okay, let's go."
A few minutes in, my niece and step-mother say they've changed their minds and are going to go back to the lodge.
"Okay," I shrug, and my father and I walk on.
It's midday, and hot, very sunny, not many clouds, bright blue sky. I have on a hat and half a cup or so of water in a bottle, and a torn achilles tendon, plantar fasciitis, and heel spurs, but okay, my father wants to see something and he just turned 89 and he's giving me this trip, and I've been sitting in a bus a lot for the past few days, so let's go!
"Where are we going?" I ask.
"Oh, it's just up the way here. It's called "Morning Glory," and it's the most beautiful spot around here. I always go whenever I come here."
My father has been to Yellowstone many, many times leading tours. I want to see what he considers the most beautiful spot, and I love morning glories--they're one of my favorite flowers.
We walk and walk. It's hot, really hot. I start sipping my water at longer intervals to make it last. Surely, there will be a concession stand, the New Yorker in me thinks--ha! No, no water bottles for sale, no water fountains anywhere. Well, it can't be that far.
We walk and walk and walk some more. The crowds fade away. We're passing fewer and fewer people. We are on a semi-paved trail, and there are occasional maps that show the Morning Glory pool up the way, but none of them indicate distances.
Blazing sun, and no trees, no shade. My dad is not wearing a hat, and he's turning beet red. He's also wearing hard-soled dress shoes. I'm wearing hiking boots with orthotics. My injured foot does hurt, but not too bad, and if he can do it, I can do it.
He looks at me and smiles, "You know most people don't make it this far. I usually can't get anyone to go with me."
Awright, well, I've gone this far. I'm just afraid it's going to kill him. I keep offering him water, but no, he says. My hat? No. Okay.
At some point, he takes the water. At another point, he accepts my hat, and I pull my shirt over my head.
He says to me, "You might not think it's worth it by the time we get there."
"I'm here for the journey," I say. "It'll be worth it."
"You might not like it that much. Maybe it won't be as good as I remember it."
"I'm sure it'll be worth it."
"It's a very beautiful place, the most beautiful place here."
It's a very long walk. But we make it. And here we are.
When we returned, we were informed that we'd been gone 2 hours. We missed Old Faithful, but no, not really, when you think about it.
And my foot recovered just fine. Still healing, but better.
Towards the end of our walk, my father said, "Well, I might not do this walk again." After the trip, I told him, "Next time we do that walk, let's each have a hat and bring more water." We both laughed.
