This morning, on the 25th of September 2025, I set out from Mammoth and drove south toward the Norris Geyser Basin. The air was fresh and cool, and the early autumn light gave the mountains and valleys a sharp clarity, as if every ridge and slope had been etched into the horizon.
On the way I stopped more than once, unable to resist the call of the landscape. At the Golden Gate, the road wound between sheer cliffs of golden-yellow rock, their rugged surfaces catching the light in shades that shifted between ochre, honey, and pale orange. Below, the narrow gorge opened up into a dramatic vista, and the sharp contrast between stone and sky made me pause for photographs.
Farther along, I stopped at Swan Lake. Here the water stretched out calmly, reflecting the clouds like a sheet of silver glass. Around its edges, tufts of grass and reeds swayed in the light breeze,
while beyond the lake the mountains I had admired yesterday on the self-guided trail rose again before me. Quadrant Mountain stood tall with its wide shoulders and layered slopes, the grey stone cut with streaks of green from hardy patches of vegetation.
Antler Peak lived up to its name, its sharp ridges jutting out like the branching tines of a great elk’s antlers, dark against the morning sky. Dome Mountain was softer, more rounded, its broad summit shaped like the curve of a sheltering hand, glowing faintly in muted browns and dusty greens.
And then there was Mount Holmes, standing somewhat apart, its profile sharper and more imposing, the darker rock surfaces broken here and there by lighter veins. Seeing them together again from this different vantage point, I felt as though the whole land breathed with power and timelessness.
When I reached Norris Geyser Basin, the landscape shifted entirely. Here the earth itself seemed alive, restless,
and breathing. Steam drifted from countless vents, rising in white ribbons against the blue of the sky.
Hot springs and pools shimmered in colors that seemed almost unearthly. Among them, the Colloidal Pools glowed softly, their delicate tints reminding me of milky opal.
The Emerald Spring drew me in with its striking clarity: a pool of deep, transparent blue, dropping to a depth of eight meters, its edges lined with a vivid ring of yellow sulfur deposits that glowed like a golden crown around the cool blue center.
Steamboat Geyser loomed as the great giant of the basin. It is known as the tallest geyser in the world, able to hurl water more than 90 meters into the air. But its eruptions are unpredictable, and standing before it I realized I would need to wait not hours but weeks to perhaps catch the spectacle. I could not spare that much time, so I lingered only briefly, listening to the steady hiss of steam that hinted at the immense forces hidden below.
Nearby, Echinus Geyser fascinated me with its unique character. Millions of tiny spine-shaped deposits of silica surrounded the pool, giving it a texture unlike any other spring. The waters were rich in iron, arsenic, and silica, their mineral chemistry creating an alien, almost otherworldly quality.
I also visited Minute Geyser, whose story carries a sense of loss. Once it had erupted to heights of twelve to fifteen meters, but over time, careless visitors dropped objects into the vent. The damage silenced its grandeur, and now it only manages to spurt water half a meter high. Standing beside it, I felt a quiet sadness at how fragile these wonders are and how easily they can be diminished. As I walked through Norris, with its steaming vents, dazzling springs, and geysers breathing with the deep pulse of the earth, I carried with me the images of the mountains I had seen earlier in the day. Their solid forms and colors, set against the restless and ever-changing forces of the basin, gave me the sense of a land shaped both by permanence and by constant transformation. Today was a day of contrasts: the stillness of Swan Lake, the power of waterfalls, the grandeur of mountain ridges, and the restless bubbling heart of the geyser basin. It felt like traveling across layers of time, each moment of the landscape telling its own story, all woven together into the vast and unforgettable character of Yellowstone.
It is looking just so lovely, how the Gibbon meanders in the Meadows.
My last stop for today was at Gibbon Falls. The waterfall spilled in a broad white veil, tumbling down over a dark rocky escarpment before gathering in foaming pools below. The sound was a constant rush, deep and resonant, filling the air with a cool mist that caught the sun in small sparkles. Later, at Beaver Lake, the atmosphere softened. The lake rested quietly, its still waters bordered by grasses and surrounded by gentle slopes, a place of calm in contrast to the restless falls.
