Yellowstone, pt. 2

The Boiling River flows through Yellowstone.  You can’t touch it: it’s boiling.  Eventually, it flows into a normal, cold river.  Where they meet, they form something of a jacuzzi river.  I paddled about for an hour or so.  Some eddies are scalding hot while others are frigid.  Delightful, really.  To get there, you’ve got to head to the north edge of the park:

And of course hop between states on your way.

Yellowstone has a canyon, too.  The Yellowstone Grand Canyon.  Not as impressive as the real Grand Canyon.  But not bad:

Now you get the bit about yellow stones.  Me:

I met a lady at my camp who offered me some newspaper to help kindle a fire.  I thanked her for her kindness.  She then offered to dig out her ax so I could cut the logs I had carried from a dry part of the camp.  I prefer the smash-into-concrete-until-they-splinter method.  I declined her offer but thanked her again for being so hospitable.  She said, “Of course!  This is the West!”  As if only the West is hospitable.  Would no Vermonter share their newspaper in a campground? Would no New Yorker point a lost Montanan to the train?  I hate that shit.

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