The hiker pressed on at a quicker pace, maintaining surveillance of his surroundings and trying to push the possibility of an aggressive bear attack from his mind. He had not seen any other hikers on the trail since he disembarked from the guide boat several hours ago. This trip was supposed to be centered on experiencing a remote part of the wilderness. Yet Graham wished he would see someone else, just to know he was not alone on the trail.
Noise. He had to make some noise. The pleasant sound of the tinkling bear bell on his pack had proven to be woefully inadequate as a signal to bears a human was nearby. He thought about speaking aloud but wasn’t sure what to say. He needed something repetitive and easy to remember. The answer was an old drinking tune he learned while in Scouting. The scoutmaster was chagrined when the boys in his troop sang these lyrics while hiking, but he allowed it:
Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall.
Ninety-nine bottles of beer.
Take one down and pass it around.
Ninety-eight bottles of beer.
Ninety-eight bottles of beer on the wall.
Ninety-eight bottles of beer.
Take one down and pass it around.
Ninety-seven bottles of beer.
Ninety-seven bottles of beer on the wall.
Ninety-seven bottles of beer.
. . .
Graham began belting out the song. If anyone along the shores of Yellowstone Lake overheard his obstreperous singing, he or she would have likely concluded the chanter himself had consumed too many brews. But it passed the time and released Graham from his recurrent thoughts of sharp-clawed bears.
The small parking area at the base of Lake Butte came into view around two thirty. A half-dozen cars were in the paved lot, and visitors were taking photos of the lake. Graham never imagined he would be so ecstatic to see other people. He sat on a low stone wall that overlooked the lake and drank from his canteen. According to his map, it was another ten miles to the Lake Hotel. It would take him about three hours to walk, but it was only a half-hour drive.
Graham pulled the Park Employee sign out of his pack and crossed over the East Entrance Road. He held the sign at chest level and pointed his thumb toward the lake. Hundreds of cars and campers passed by without stopping. After forty-five minutes, Graham started to worry about securing a ride. Eventually a car pulling a camper slowed and a hand emerged from the passenger window waving him to the vehicle. The family of four was camping at Fishing Bridge and generously dropped him off at the Lake Hotel before backtracking to their campsite.
Kevin was not back from Bridge Bay when Graham opened the door to their room. He dropped the pack on his bed, grabbed the toiletries kit and a towel, and headed out the door to the wash house. It felt good to remove the sweat and grime from his skin. As the tepid water trickled down his body, he recalled the day’s events. The grizzly he encountered could have been aggressive and mauled him instead of just mounting a bluff charge. And whose fault would it have been? His. What did Alton say? Bears are just being bears if they attack people.
He had learned a valuable lesson. Hiking alone was a huge mistake, and he vowed to never ignore this rule again. Graham looked in the mirror as he toweled off and wondered if he was ready to consummate his vision quest at the Dragon’s Mouth. He put the sacred necklace back around his neck and was reminded of the Baaxpée that protected him today. If he could survive a close encounter with a grizzly, he could certainly visit a small thermal spring on a moonlit night.
* * *
Buffalo burgers were served for dinner at the employee cafeteria. Graham was surprised officials would allow any animals in the park to be used as a food source. The kitchen manager posted a notice at the dining-hall entrance explaining tonight’s menu was unusual because a bison was killed after being hit by a bus in the West Thumb area earlier in the week. The ground meat was distributed to the various dining facilities in the park. The employees who tried the bison meat thought it was lean and flavorful, but no one preferred it over ground beef.
Graham used the unusual entrée on the menu as an excuse for skipping dinner. He drank several glasses of water instead. Redfield had spoken of fasting as an important requisite for a successful vision quest. Graham decided to fast for twenty-four hours before visiting the Dragon’s Mouth this evening. He had not eaten breakfast or lunch and was beginning to feel hunger pangs. He planned to eat after the sacred ceremony tonight. On the way out of the cafeteria, he grabbed two apples, then stopped at the gift shop and bought a package of Pemmican beef jerky and a Hershey milk-chocolate bar.
Graham went back to his room and assembled the items for his trip that evening. His L.L. Bean day pack held a park map, the topo map, compass, flashlight, Park Employee sign, Instamatic camera and film, a few photos, his pipe and kinnikinnick, poncho, Zippo lighter, and canteen. He put the Barlow knife in the pocket of his Levi’s jeans and changed into a long-sleeve, gray Henley shirt. It was sixty-five degrees right now but was forecast to drop into the low forties with clear skies tonight, so Graham stuffed a second long-sleeve shirt into his pack and brought along a lined button-down jacket.
As he went through a mental checklist, he realized he had not labeled his newest purchase. He noticed there were plenty of hats in the lost-and-found area of the marina and the hotel, but they seldom had any identification. It seemed cowboy hats were commonly misplaced by their owners. He used a marker to print the initials GAD inside the sweatband of his hat.
As he finished packing, Kevin opened the door to their room.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
Graham stuck a brushed-nickel money clip with forty dollars and his room key in the pack.
“Yep. Let’s go,” he replied while donning his cowboy hat.
He tossed the pack in the back seat of Kevin’s Ford Fairlane sedan and climbed into the passenger seat. It was a short twenty-minute drive from the Lake Hotel to the Mud Volcano area.
“Let me make sure I have this right,” Kevin said, as he pulled onto the road and headed toward Fishing Bridge. “I’ll drop you off at the Mud Volcano. You’re going to look around there before hitching a ride to Canyon.”
“That’s right. One of the waiters at the Lake Hotel transferred to Canyon Village a few weeks ago. He said I could sleep on the floor of his room if I needed a place to stay overnight. I’m going there tonight and plan on hiking in the Canyon area tomorrow.”
“Are you sure you can find a ride there? It gets dark about nine o’clock. There won’t be many cars driving on the Grand Loop Road in the evening.”
“I’ll be fine,” Graham replied confidently. “I have a flashlight to wave cars down. It’s only a half-hour drive from the Mud Volcano area to Canyon Village. Besides, my cardboard Park Employee ticket hasn’t let me down yet!”
Twenty minutes later, they arrived at a small parking area on the west side of the road. A small brown sign with white letters read:
Mud Volcano
Dragons Mouth
Black Dragons Caldron
Kevin eased the Fairlane into one of the marked spaces for automobiles. A longer set of parking spaces was partially filled with recreational vehicles and cars towing camping trailers.
“Not too crowded,” Kevin commented as he shifted the car into park but kept the engine running.
“Nope. But it sure smells rancid,” his roommate countered. The fetid odor of rotten eggs permeated the air.
Graham retrieved his pack from the back seat, got out of the car, and closed the door. He put on his hat and looked back into the open window. “Thanks, Kevin. I really appreciate it!”
“No problem. Hey, don’t get lost. This isn’t a place to be wandering around at night by yourself,” he advised.
Graham waved as the Fairlane backed out of the parking space and exited the parking area. He glanced at his Timex wristwatch. It was seven thirty, and the sun wouldn’t set until after nine o’clock. He had plenty of time to explore the area before nightfall.
His fi
rst stop was the Mud Volcano, located a short distance from the parking area and a few hundred feet from the Dragon’s Mouth. Visitors are greeted by a small pool of bubbling muddy water and the acrid smell of rotten eggs. Graham wondered why this feature was named a volcano even though it had no conical shape. His question was answered by the large information board mounted at the site. It included a description of the Mud Volcano by an explorer with the Washburn expedition in 1870:
Dense volumes of steam shot into the air with each report, through a crater thirty feet in diameter. The reports, though irregular, occurred as often as every five seconds, and could be distinctly heard half a mile [away]. Each alternate report shook the ground a distance of two hundred yards or more, and the massive jets of vapor which accompanied them burst forth like the smoke of gunpowder.
This volcano, as is evident from the freshness of the vegetation and the particles of dried clay adhering to the topmost branches of the trees surrounding it, is of very recent formation. . . . We saw limbs of trees 125 feet high encased in clay and found its scattered contents two hundred feet from it.
The information display further explained the Mud Volcano’s conical structure was ruptured by a massive explosion sometime after it was initially described in 1870. By the time Yellowstone Park was created in 1872, the spring was reduced to a bubbling, muddy crater.
Graham inspected other thermal features along the boardwalk including Grizzly Fumarole, a series of small holes where steam vents from hot water just below the surface, and Black Dragon’s Caldron, a highly acidic bubbling pool. When he arrived back at the parking area around eight thirty, only a few vehicles were still there. He decided to wait for all the tourists to depart before venturing to the Dragon’s Mouth.
Sitting on a low stone wall, Graham sipped water from his canteen and contemplated his situation. His stomach growled in protest over the lack of food. He had a slight headache and surmised it derived from the noxious hydrogen sulfide gases, from his growing hunger, or a combination of these. He resisted the temptation to reach into his pack and devour an apple. To stay focused on his mission, he squinted at the eerie landscape in the twilight and turned his thoughts to the weather.
The fickle Yellowstone weather was cooperating for his vision quest. A high-pressure system had settled over the region, and there were only a few stray clouds. The full moon would allow Graham to be seen clearly by spirits tonight.
When he heard the last visitors coming down the wooden boardwalk, Graham slipped on his day pack and headed to the sacred site. He had seen pictures of the Dragon’s Mouth but was taken aback by the sounds emanating from the spring as he approached. The display board in front of the thermal site provided a brief explanation:
An unknown park visitor named this feature around 1912, perhaps due to the water that frequently surges from the cave like the lashing of a dragon’s tongue. The rumbling sounds are caused by steam and other gases exploding through the water, causing it to crash against the walls of the hidden caverns.
The visible portion of the hot spring was a small, shallow pool sitting against a hillside. It was spewing steam and violently splashing water against the hidden internal walls of a darkened grotto, generating a roaring noise with each whoosh of boiling water. Graham could understand why Redfield’s ancestors might revere Tó-sál-dàu, the Kiowa name for this hot spring. The combination of sights, sounds, and malodorous gases of the Dragon’s Mouth made this site a prime candidate for the mystical birthplace of a people.
Dragon’s Mouth Spring
Graham checked his watch. It was nine o’clock, and the sun had slipped behind the hills, quickly dropping the temperature. He pulled on his jacket as the clear night sky darkened, waiting patiently for the moon to rise. After thirty minutes, the moon peeked over the southeastern horizon. By ten o’clock, the celestial orb was completely visible over the Yellowstone River Valley. The full moon hung low on the horizon, illuminating the vaporous clouds of steam from the Dragon’s Mouth spring and casting ghostly shadows on the surrounding landscape.
The full moon was a chilling reminder of Graham’s tormented childhood. Memories of that tragic evening on the frozen pond came flooding back. Billy’s small, innocent face appeared in the misty steam vents circling above the grotto. The swirling eddies of the hot spring formed the familiar shapes of his brother’s mittens. Graham felt light-headed and sat on the boardwalk, unsure if he could complete his vision quest. Tears welled in his eyes.
His dolefulness soon transitioned to self-hatred. Why was he so weak? How could a tragic event that happened a decade ago maintain such a tight grip on his subconscious? Had he come this far to simply give up?
He pondered what he would say to Redfield when he returned to Pennsylvania. His Crow friend had entrusted Graham with his sacred bear-claw necklace. If he didn’t proceed, part of Redfield’s vision would not be fulfilled. This thought shook him out of his despondency. He told himself he needed to stop being selfish. Wiping his eyes with his jacket sleeve, he stood up and leaned against the wooden rail guarding the Dragon’s Mouth.
“Okay, I’m going to do this,” he said aloud to fortify his resolve. He completed a mental check on the requirements for a spirit to heed his pending request. He had fasted and was standing under a full moon at a sacred place. Redfield assured him the vulnerability requirement had already been satisfied because of his deafness. He was wearing the modified bear-claw necklace that represented the Baaxpée previously given to Redfield. Now he needed to repeat the same words he had spoken last winter that were carried skyward with kinnikinnick smoke.
Graham pulled the eagle–bear claw necklace from beneath his shirt and placed it on the front of his jacket. He turned to face the rising moon and held both arms out to his sides with his palms up. Closing his eyes, he vehemently petitioned over the intermittent roaring of the Dragon’s Mouth, “Holy Spirit, hear my prayer. Thank you for the blessings of the earth. Open my eyes. Open my ears. Open my heart. Guide my path!”
A strong breeze swept down the hillside, causing the vapors from the steaming pool to swirl around Graham. He opened his eyes, dropped his arms, and fixed his gaze on the brightly lit full moon. It began moving slowly but perceptibly lower in the sky. Graham blinked several times to make sure his eyes were not deceiving him. The moon moved from right to left on an arc toward the same point on the southeastern horizon where it had appeared an hour earlier.
When the full moon disappeared behind the Absaroka Mountains, the night sky dimmed significantly. Then it brightened to a dark gray as a waxing gibbous moon reappeared over the southwestern horizon. This celestial sequence was continuously repeated, and the time for the moon to traverse the sky became shorter with each circuit. The moon rose, arced across the sky, and waxed or waned into a new phase with increasing speed. The heavens moved in concert with the moon, causing the constellations to shift positions and the stars to blur as the sky accelerated its whirling rotation. Numerous reverse lunar cycles were completed every minute.
From Graham’s perspective, the world seemed to be spiraling backward. He grabbed the railing and sat down when vertigo seized him, resting his elbows on his knees and cradling his head in his hands in a futile attempt to stop the spinning. In desperation he lay down on the boardwalk and closed his eyes to suppress the nauseating visual effects, but the swirling sensation in his brain continued unabated.
On a chilly moonlit night at the Dragon’s Mouth, Graham Davidson lost consciousness.
Chapter 10
July 27, 1871
A loud snorting sound wakened Graham from his stupor. He sat up and shook his head, using a hand to shield his eyes from the morning sun. He spun around on his backside and spied a shaggy bison pawing the ground on the other side of the belching Dragon’s Mouth spring. Graham instinctively jumped to his feet and stepped back from the threat but immediately fell onto the rocky soil. He quickly got to his feet and walked briskly backward to put some distance between himself and the massive ill-te
mpered bovid.
Scanning the area in front of the spring, he noticed there was no boardwalk. Not only was the man-made walkway missing, but also the wooden railing and information display in front of the Dragon’s Mouth spring were no longer there. Graham surveyed the sloping hillside and was bewildered. The parking area and the Grand Loop Road at the bottom of the hill had vanished. There were no traces of human presence or activity.
A thundering boom abruptly radiated from an area to the south. Graham flinched when he heard the sound. The ground shook from the force of the blast. Seconds later, tiny flecks of mud showered down, sticking like bits of peanut butter to his hat, jacket, and pack. The sudden explosion added to his confusion, and he was desperate to identify a landmark that would give him a sense of orientation. With mounting anxiety, Graham cautiously walked toward the Mud Volcano - the source of the blast.
When he was fifty feet from the Mud Volcano, he was astonished to see a tall, conical protrusion of mud in the center of a steaming, sunken crater. The appearance of this thermal feature was vastly different from the calm, bubbling pool he had seen earlier. Like the area surrounding the Dragon’s Mouth, there were no boardwalks.
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