Backcountry Camping Yellowstone: Shelf Clouds, Snow and the perfect Moment.

The sun is shining as we unload our “lockers” at the trailhead parking lot at Lone Star Geyser. The “lockers” are our 27-pound packs containing all of our gear for the next three days. We are hiking and camping in the backcountry of Yellowstone National Park. No folding chairs with drink holders, no bathrooms, no vending machines, no barbecue grills. We go where access is only by foot, where drinking water is available only by filtering river or lake water, and toilets are available only by shoveling out your own hole into the ground.

I wave our backcountry permit in the air. We've just picked it up from the ranger station. The permit always makes me feel incredibly adventurous and enthusiastic, until the first few miles cause my shoulders to droop from the weight of the pack, and we are dripping wet either from sweat or rain. But no pain, no wilderness.

Today, however, the forecast seems pleasant, calling for clear to cloudy skies. Well, a scattered thunderstorm may pass through later, but the ranger blows it off: “That's just a brief Yellowstone thunderstorm. It'll be over again in a few minutes.”

Anyone familiar with this blog will know that all does not go as planned. Like us, for example, six hours later, standing under a pine tree in soaking rain jackets and staring at a geyser that won't erupt; while dramatic, dark cumulonimbus storm clouds cover us, heavy, wind-blown horizontal rain pelts us, and three-pronged lightning bolts strike around us. And then there's the thing with the flood, the bears, the snowfields, and a phenomenal evening in golden light.

Pack your lightning rods—here we go!

“How idyllic and practical that the river runs right next to the tent,” I say happily as we set up camp after a 4-mile hike into the Yellowstone backcountry. “We don't have to walk far to get water!”

I take a few picturesque photos.

Then the sky darkens. “Ah, that must be the short thunderstorm,” says my boyfriend expertly. We make ourselves comfortable in the tent while it grumbles and rains a little outside.

Afterwards, we hike to Lone Star Geyser for sunset. It is one of the lesser-known geysers in the Park, but it is said to be one of the more spectacular and it erupts about every three to four hours. Because you can only reach it by hiking, there are hardly any people around. In fact, there are none at all tonight.

It could also be because after a brief moment of blue, the sky suddenly darkens again.

“Wooow, look at those clouds!” I exclaim. “They look like a wave is rolling over us.”

Half a minute later, 25,452 gallons of water thunder down from above onto every square foot of land. The sky is opaquely black, wind whips fiercely around us, lightning is not only flashing, it is cracking, and seconds later, the thunder booms ferociously. We are about two miles from our tent and, wrapped in rain gear, we crawl closer and closer under a stinging pine tree.

The geyser is steaming faintly, but in that apocalypse, it doesn't want to erupt. Then the sky flashes and cracks almost simultaneously. Great Caesar’s Ghost!

“That was only half a mile away now,” my boyfriend says calmly.  Even on Judgement Day, he would probably complete a relaxed, scientific analysis before running off. However, there's no point in running away from here either. There is only a choice between hiding under the tree or running 200 yards across an open field.

After an hour, the rain begins to ease. We stroll back to our camp in a daze. The camp that was so idyllically close to the river. By the river that flowed so leisurely but is now suddenly much wider and gurgling and foaming darkly.

It's almost dark when we reach our tent, which is now much closer to the river and no longer idyllic. At least our tent is still standing and dry inside. Unfortunately, we must eat standing up outside in the pouring rain a hundred yards from the tent. There are grizzly bears in Yellowstone. and you should never eat in or even near your tent. Food smells and crumbs in the tent will attract the grizzlies. Grizzlies eat people. So we stand under a dripping tree in the semi-darkness, the temperature drops to 45°, and we eat potato-leek soup from a thermos flask in silence. The question “What are we doing here?” stands next to us like an elephant. But I know that I'd rather be washed away by a thunderstorm while camping in the wilderness than slowly drowning in a monotonous daily routine.

The next morning we wake up to hail. It thumps noisily on the top of the tent. Then there are ice-cold drops dripping onto my face. The tent material seems to be giving up, the down sleeping bag is getting dark at the edges from the dampness, the river has come a tiny bit closer, and the meadows outside are ankle-deep in water.

We pack up. Everything is clammy and cold—including ourselves. There is fog over the meadows. Grumpy, we hike back to the car. We didn't even see the stupid geyser erupt!

When we are almost at the trailhead, the silly sun suddenly breaks from behind the clouds. Classic.

We ponder solutions and drive to a rest area where we lay everything out to dry in the silly sun. We get permission from the ranger station to set up camp again at a different, higher, campsite. The ranger also tells us that the next two days will be sunny. I make a funny noise.

Three hours of dry warmth later, we hike back into the wilderness. Twenty-seven pounds on my back, four miles under my feet.

The new campsite is on a small hill with steaming fumaroles, a good distance from the river. We set up camp again, which is now completely dry.

That night we lie comfortably in our warm, dry, sleeping bags, the dark blue sky is dotted with stars and the crescent moon sits motionless and white above us.

“Let's do something here—right now!” I say enthusiastically the next day. Fittingly, the silly sun is actually shining, just as the ranger predicted. I point to a geyser field on our map app.

The Shoshone Geyser Basin is located about just over six miles—one way—from our campsite and 10 miles from the nearest parking lot. It is a place that doesn't even appear in the normal Yellowstone tourist brochure because it is so difficult to access. Few people will walk 20 miles in a day to see hot springs, as there are many hot springs in Yellowstone that are conveniently near roads and viewing platforms. Even fewer people will have enough time to camp overnight, as we did. For us, it's just the right challenge! We pack our lighter daypacks and set off.

A small stream meanders through a lush meadow, wildflowers lie like candy sprinkles in the grass. In the background sit mountains with feathery clouds streaking across them. Then a small pile of snow appears in the middle of the trail. “How funny, where did that come from?” I say and quickly take a photo to prove it.

A few hundred yards further, the trail begins to climb. A little more snow. A bit further uphill, much more snow.

Soon, we are up to our knees in slightly melting snow, which is so soft that we break through the crust on top, again and again.

“I don't know, Sarah, do you want to go back?” my boyfriend asks, just before slithering over a piece of ice. I'm sweating. It must be 80 degrees on my head, while ice cubes are forming inside my shoes.

“No—I want to see this new geyser field stuff now!” I protest. I don't want to give in to the weather again. We trudge slowly and with great effort through the snowfield for two miles. I know it's bound to get better around the next corner. Cough.

And it does get better. The path finally leads us into a valley and the snow disappears.

Suddenly we find ourselves in front of a deep stream. The thin tree trunks that someone has thrown across it as a crossing aid look more than precarious.

“Oh, screw it,” I say. “My feet are wet and cold anyway.” With my shoes on, I tromp into the the water, which reaches halfway up my thigh. We laugh. My boyfriend follows me.

After another 3 miles, we finally reach the Shoshone Geyser Basin. And wow—what a place! Orange ponds bubble, and springs of turquoise water steam on the banks of the completely surreal, velvety blue river. White sinter hills spray hot water, mini-craters are carved into the earth and a deep, yellowish hole emits a mysterious, muffled mysterious roar. There are no railings, no signs, no fences, no viewing platforms, only a path. We are right in the middle of the wild beauty of Yellowstone. On the entire hike, we see only see one other person—but we find a whole wonderland of nature.

When we arrive back at our campsite in the evening, tired and happy after hiking 12 miles, we decide to walk once again to the Lone Star Geyser. Never mind.

We stand around with five other curious people and wait. Finally, the geyser hisses and starts spewing hot water. But only briefly. Then there is silence. Our fellow observers shrug their shoulders and gradually take their leave.

My boyfriend sits down next to the pine tree where we almost drowned on the first day.

“Come on, let's make some hot chocolate,” he says as he unpacks our camp stove.

Suddenly Lone Star hisses again. Then boils. Orange clouds in the sky are drifting over the hill as the sun sets. And then a huge, 40-foot-high fountain of hot, frothy water suddenly shoots out from the geyser opening. White and hissing, the water and steam seem to touch the glowing evening sky. I go crazy! All alone, we watch a gigantic eruption of the Lone Star Geyser. The display lasts for over half an hour. Again and again, the water shoots up to ever greater heights, while the clouds turn golden, red and finally pink. I want to cry because it's so beautiful.

On this day, in this moment, everything is making sense. This is a moment that no one else is experiencing but the two of us. It is magical and will stay in my memory forever, like a Polaroid. What are we actually doing here?

Living.

Find more camping adventures here:

• Epic Camping Fail – in the Desert with a flat Tire, raw Carrots and no Water
• In Search of the Midnight Sun - Roadtrip Norway Lofoten Islands I
• A Hole in the Ocean and the Craters of the Moon - Road Trip USA Northwest  II
• Purple lightning and hundreds of Balloons in the Sky - Road Trip Southwest USA II