Someone on the other side of my cabin wall had a migraine this morning, and the whining little girl wasn't helping it any.

I got off to a reasonable start and began a counterclockwise circuit of the park. I crossed the Continental Divide twice in Craig Pass. Unfortunately, there was no sign that said "Craig Pass".

I missed a turn and started down toward the south entrance. Before I realized my error, I had crossed the divide again, so I had to cross it going back.

In spite of the predictions, I saw no new snow though here.

Yellowstone Lake is huge and nicely frames the mountains behind it.

I was behind a little caravan of motor homes and pop-up trailers and sport utility vehicles loaded with bicycles and tents and backpacks and people in boots and funny hats, and I began to think that I am not really a part of this Great American Vacation thing.

Yes, I immerse myself in it, but I'm in a bathysphere. I observe, I write, I take pictures, but I'm not actually doing the things these people are doing for the reasons they are doing them. I am in Yellowstone to see these natural wonders, but, more than that, I'm here because it's a vacation spot. I'm here because everyone comes here, or talks about coming here, or knows someone who has come here. Yellowstone National Park is a popular culture icon, and that's why I am here.

I go to Graceland and the Precious Moments Chapel, but not because I am a huge Elvis fan, and not because I collect those little figurines

I visit attractions and go places not because I like them as much as I like the reasons other people like them.

But I'm having a good time, and that's the important thing, and you are reading this to see what I've seen, not to watch me stare at my navel.

The next stop was the Mud Volcano. Apparently in the past this thing sprayed mud all over the place. It has since calmed down a bit.

In case I forget to mention it, every geothermal roadside stop has a boardwalk that snakes off among the geysers and mud pots and pools and whatever else they are called. There was always a crowd, but never a large enough one to prevent one from moving freely.

They all stink of sulfur, too, and the steam almost always obscured the feature when I tried to photograph it or fogged the camera lens (and my glasses).

Also at this stop was the Dragon's Mouth. I tried unsuccessfully to record the sound. This is a hole in the hillside with steaming water running down a multicolored channel into the pools below. A dragon's roar comes from the hole as water sloshes around deep inside.

As I returned to my car I overheard a father telling his children that those light brown spots on that hill waaaaaay over there were elk. I tried to photograph them with the long zoom, but I doubt I'll get anything from it. This also proved pretty pointless, as I would discover in the afternoon: elk (and bison) are not rare in Yellowstone, and I had plenty of opportunities to photograph them from about twenty yards or less.

I came upon another congested area where a herd of bison, with several calves, were grazing near the road, and every car that passed had to stop and look. A couple of dozen people had left their cars and had walked to within thirty yards or so of them. I'm no expert, but everything the park publishes about the animals says to never approach them, and it seems to me that they might be more likely to charge if they had young to protect.

I drove up to Artists Point, one of the two road-approachable viewpoints for the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone and its magnificent lower falls. The parking lot was almost full and dozens of people were walking around, jockeying for perfect photo angles.

(The above photo was heavily processed to look like a painting. At least that was my intent.)

I saw a few snowflakes as I drove along the most severe mountain roads I found in the park.

I stopped for lunch at the Roosevelt Lodge. There was a wait, so I killed time by looking around and visiting the tiny gift shop. Kristin Wisconsin from Wisconsin Rapids manned it. This is her first year working at the park, and she left for a week to attend a wedding, so it's still pretty new to her.

Finally I was seated. My waitress was Melissa Washington, so I didn't have much to talk about. She grew up in Spokane and said she played on the giant red wagon as a child. She now lives in Bellingham, which, she reports, has a thriving music scene.

I ordered a Teton Ale, but they were out. I got another Sleeping Giant Scottish Ale instead.

The bus girl was Jessica Connecticut. She's got a friend in Old Lyme and recently visited there. She promises to look for the Nut Museum next time.

I saw what I think was a coyote cross the road, leisurely, in front of a car ahead of me. I hope it was a coyote, because I didn't take a picture. It looked too small to be a wolf, but it was wearing a tracking collar.

I got slowed down by an elk photo op before reaching the "main" entrance at Mammoth Hot Springs.

The crowd and parking was the worst at Mammoth than anywhere else, which makes sense, I guess, since it is the first stop in the park from the north. People were parking anywhere they wanted, making it very difficult to move around.

I stopped at the Museum of the National Park Ranger, or something like that, which was basically a rebuilt cabin where the Army and later the National Parks Service worked. Behind it was a campground, where a female elk stood about twenty yards from the rest rooms. I took a lot of pictures. Then I started to really see elk.

I saw two cross the road. I saw one in the brush about ten feet from my car. I saw two about twenty feet from the road, grazing peacefully. Nobody was stopped.

A bit further south, closer to the west entrance, I saw a dozen cars stopped to photograph elk. I caught myself copping an internal attitude about these people, obviously new to the park. I was just like them not six hours before.

I made a bit of an error last night, making dinner reservations for tonight at the Lake Hotel for 8:30. It was 4:30, and the Lake area was about an hour from Old Faithful. I hadn't brought anything to read, either. After much debate, I decided to go back to my cabin, spend an hour dumping photos and writing, then head to dinner.

I stopped at all the geyser basins I'd skipped the day before, seeing the Grand Prismatic Pool from ground level. This is the one often seen in photographs, with the red and yellow edge surrounding brilliant blues in the center. It doesn't look nearly as impressive from the ground, but it was still nice. Sure, I could have climbed some mountain to get better view, but let's be realistic.

Signs everywhere said to leave the bacteria beds alone. The bison and elk apparently can't read, since their footprints were all over the clay in the area.

In fact, bison and elk prints and dung surround every geothermal feature. I guess they don't worry much about thin crusts over boiling water.

The Sapphire Pool was gorgeous, but the wind blew the steam right over the walkway, so I couldn't take a picture.

I got back to my cabin, dumped my pictures, wrote nothing, and then drove to the Lake Hotel (crossing the Continental Divide twice more).

I arrived about eight, so I got a beer and went into the lounge area of the lobby to wait.

While not as rustic and impressive as the log Old Faithful Inn, the Lake Hotel is also over a hundred years old. It was yellow with white trim outside and in. This lounge area had three walls that were mostly windows and overlooked the lake.

Tuesday night at the Old Faithful Inn there had been a piano player in the lobby. There was a string quartet in the Lake Hotel.

They actually came to get me early for dinner. My waitress was Missy Missouri, who at first claimed to be from St. Louis, but later admitted that she was originally from Sullivan. I've spent the night in Sullivan and photographed a Paul Bunyan (converted Muffler Man) there. She was very impressed that I knew where it was. We talked about Ted Drewe's and Meramec Caverns and the Jesse James Museum for a while.

Missy Missouri worked here in the winter at the Snow Lodge. She said it was just like The Shining, since the only way in or out is snowmobile or snow coach, and she didn't leave the entire winter.

I had quail stuffed with spinach and goat cheese and something else. It was pretty good.

There was almost no traffic heading out to Lake and even less going back to Old Faithful. Apparently people outside the park leave well before dark and those inside settle in early.

I got a decent picture of the lake as I drove by. For the first time my entire visit the sky was almost clear.

Even though it was ten when I got back to my cabin, it was still not completely dark.

I went back over to the Bear Pit bar in the Old Faithful Inn around eleven to meet Amy West Virginia when she got off work. She, a silent, brooding coworker, and I sat and talked and drank a few beers until about one, when we all decided we'd better get some sleep.