Shoshone Lake

Yellowstone National Park

June 25-28, 2003

For a topographic view of our trip, click on the picture above

Scott, Zach, and Ed next to Tawny Falls in the Shoshone Geyser Basin

NOTE:  To view large versions of the pictures below, please click on the thumbnail versions of each picture

PARTICIPANTS:

1.    Ed Brown

2.    Zach Brown

3.    Scott Reardon: 

OUR STORY:

In August of 1999, while visiting Yellowstone Park with a large contingent from our local church, I found myself chatting at a pullout with my friend Ed Brown as we were heading towards Yellowstone Lake.  This particular parking area, labeled “Shoshone Point”, sits perched just below the Continental Divide between Old Faithful and West Thumb, and provides the motorist with the only view of Shoshone Lake from the front country.  As we longingly gazed at the distant waters to the south, Ed and I briefly discussed our desire to collaborate on a future trip to the area.  Over the past few years we have revisited this mission, strongly desiring to seek out one of the finest backcountry adventures that Yellowstone has to offer.

On a cold, cloudy morning a few weeks ago, we were ready to make good on our desire to complete the mission.  We had spent a rather chilly night in our campsite at Lewis Lake Campground near the southern boundary of Yellowstone National Park, and had received overnight weather warnings of several inches of snow and temperatures in the low 20s.  While the frost on our community water jug gave evidence to the latter, the often irritating and trip-ruining white stuff never materialized.  Following a hasty breakfast consisting of dried fruit, trail mix, and Power Bars, the three of us quickly struck our camp and headed for the nearby boat dock.  With clear skies shadowing the snow covered peak of Mt. Sheridan to the east, and calm water in front of us, we were on the water with paddles in hand by 6:30 am.

                   

Our ultimate destination was a campsite aptly named “Tranquility” on the southwest shore of Shoshone Lake.  Once fishless and unknown until discovered in the early 1860s, Shoshone Lake is touted as the largest backcountry lake in the lower 48 states.  Covering approximately 30 square miles at an elevation of 7391 feet, Shoshone Lake joins the neighboring lakes of Lewis and Heart as the headwaters of the Snake River.  Water access to the lake is limited to hand-propelled crafts, and that only after an arduous trip across nearby Lewis Lake and up the adjoining Lewis Channel, with a one mile portage thrown in for good measure.   The trip from the boat dock at the Lewis Lake Campground to the west shore of Shoshone Lake can take over five hours, and that only with seasoned and strong canoeists at each end of the boat.

But then there’s the wind.  I have many memories from both my adult and childhood years of battling dark skies, chilling blasts of cold, and boat-soaking white caps in this normally placid wilderness area.  It can effectively ruin the best of plans with its incessant and strength-sapping resistance. Thus it was with tremendous relief that we were on the water at an early hour.  Somehow, I was determined that this trip would be different.

By 8:15 am, Ed, Zach, and I had reached the portage point in the Lewis Channel, where further upstream navigation is impossible due to the strong current between the two lakes.  We had made excellent time to that point while enjoying the large flock of pelicans patrolling the north end of Lewis Lake, and in particular noting the inspiring forest regeneration so highly visible in the Channel.  Thousands of 2-6 foot lodge pole pines were scattered across the steep hillsides around the river, giving strong reinforcement to nature’s healing process following the devastating and highly publicized fires of 1988.  It had been 12 years since I had last been through the region, and my memories of charred trees and barrenness had been replaced by the newness of abounding forest life.

                       

I slipped on my waders and water socks, and dragged the canoe up the river through the rapids while my two partners followed the well-worn trail along the river bank.  I was quickly made fully aware of the two opposing elements of high elevation and my own lack of conditioning, and found myself stopping in the middle of the river several times to catch my breath.  The trail and river separated just before reaching Shoshone Lake, and we soon found ourselves on either side of a bull moose and two of his girlfriends, who were lazily grazing in a large marsh area.  Not wanting to play The Dating Game with Mr. Boewinkle, I crossed over the river to the opposite side with the canoe in tow; I wanted some space between me and Bachelor #1.

We were soon all back in the boat and paddling along the south shore of Shoshone Lake, and reached the point of South Narrows by 10:20, aptly named because of the narrow constriction of the north and south shores at that point.  It is here that a “go or no-go” decision must be made to continue on westward, as there is no place to land a craft along the gnarled and rocky south shore for over a mile.   This is not an element of the trip to be taken lightly, as the wind at this elevation can kick up with very little warning.  Unfortunately, drownings on Shoshone Lake are not uncommon; a father and son lost their lives at this same time last year in the very area we were traveling.

Finding the nominal headwind to not be much a deterrent, we pushed on to our campsite, and arrived there by 11:00 am.  As we unloaded the canoe and hauled our many belongings up the steep hillside to our campsite, there appeared a darkening of the skies to the west, and an increase in the intensity of the wave action on the water.  By now it was 11:45 am, and the wind was in full force, pushing 3-4 foot whitecaps against the shoreline with such fiery that we quickly beached the canoe and removed the rest of our gear to higher ground.  But as far as I was concerned, we had won the battle against that dreaded wind by a little less than an hour.

                       

The next morning, the three of us headed off for a day of fishing and sight seeing along Shoshone Lake’s western shore.  We found the angling at our old family fishing area to be quite good, which the Reardons have long referred to as “Brown Bay”.  With our Jake Spin-A-Lures in tow, we landed over 25 fish in a little more than two hours, with the majority of our catch consisting of lake trout ranging in length from 16-20 inches.  My two friends were pleasantly surprised, and agreed it was some of the best fishing that they had experienced.  I amused Ed and Zach with my constant references to our flimsy, discount store fish stringer, which I referred to as our “Fisher Price Lil’ Fisherman” stringer.  We began to refer to the stringer as “Mr. Fisher’s Clubhouse”, and would “invite” hooked fish to come visit as they swam past their comrades. 

By early afternoon we landed our boat in the northwest corner of the lake for a tour of the Shoshone Geyser Basin.  With its hundreds of hot springs, geysers, and steaming fumaroles (steam vents), the Shoshone Geyser Basin is considered the premier backcountry geyser basin in all of Yellowstone.   The varied and colorful thermal activity is framed by the serene waters of Shoshone Creek wandering right down the middle of the steaming cauldrons.  The crown jewel of the basin is Minute Man Geyser, which would best be described as a miniature version of its world famous cousin, Old Faithful Geyser.  Minute Man ejects spurts of water 20 feet high about every 50-70 seconds, and is an easy study model for geyser students attempting to develop a pattern of predictable eruption activity.  The other side benefit of the area is the ability to get close to the various thermal features without the restrictions of the warning signs and boardwalks which dominate geyser basins with road access.  Such freedom, of course, necessitates the constant need for caution and alertness when viewing such thermal springs.

The best way to complete our tour of the Shoshone Basin and to clean up after three days of heightened grunginess was to show my friends the secret bathing area along the hot spring runoff channels nearby.  While throwing in another disclaimer in here that bathing in thermal features in Yellowstone is considered dangerous and illegal, I comforted by friends with the fact that the water temperature was down this year because of high snow melt (our small pools were around 85 degrees).  I also loosely interpret our bathing area as an extension of a mountain stream originating off the hillside, thus making our activity technically legal (the regulations read:  “Soaking or bathing in waters entirely of thermal origin” is prohibited).  Whatever the case, warm water and soap was a welcome relief, even if there wasn’t time to shave the irritating stubble from my chin.  We even had time to locate an obscure waterfall that I had read about in a book on Yellowstone’s waterfalls.  Even after nearly 40 years of visiting this backcountry wonderland, I continue to discover new facets of the Shoshone Geyser Basin with each visit.

               

Later that evening, our return to camp resulted in a hastily prepared fish cookout, and we definitely maximized the capabilities of my faithful Whisperlite stove in this culinary endeavor.  My attempt to fillet the fish was a little unorthodox, but the final result of the tasty steaks of lake trout could not be argued with.  You have to be a culinary imbecile to go wrong with freshly caught lake trout.  However, since most of my backcountry cooking involves boiling water for oatmeal and freeze-dried meals, I am not exactly the embodiment of a gourmet camp chef. 

I awoke somewhat groggy Friday morning, as my normally reliable ThermaRest mattress pad had failed to stay inflated during the night.  While I often refer to the lightweight, 3/4” inflatable as my “appendicitis pad”, the sensation of a deflated mattress turned sleep into a more difficult obsession for me.  My fatigue was evident as we quickly ate breakfast and headed off to the fishing spot with limited results, tallying around 15 fish in nearly three hours of effort.  My companions were slightly discouraged as we returned to our campsite to pack up the canoe and head to our next location to the east.  The appearance of two canoes in front of our campsite was the first clue that we had exceeded our checkout time, and our newfound campmates were quite relieved to see us scrambling to remove our assorted baggage to the beach.  Soon after departure, we stopped to secure three fish that we had left overnight in a makeshift freezer consisting of an adequately sculpted snow bank.    Then it was on to the Moose Point campsite by early afternoon, with that same easterly wind pushing us quickly across the south shore of the lake to our destination as I serenaded my shipmates with a modified rendition entitled “Boat Over Troubled Waters”:

             When you’re paddlin’, feeling tired

            When waves are high, and crash and soak you to the skin

            Stay on your side; I’ll steer us straightly home

            When friends can all be found

            On a boat over troubled waters

            We will not capsize

Moose Point is a very popular campsite to boaters who choose not to venture much beyond the lake outlet, and offers some of the most beautiful vistas of the lake from its steep, forested extreme northern tip.  From here, campers can view the eastern “Dogshead” section of the lake and the DeLacy Creek drainage to the north, along with clear views of the north shore nearly all the way back to the geyser basin.  There are numerous tent sites located on the point, with a large dining and cooking area on a bluff overlooking Moose Bay.

The Park Service has done an excellent job in creating and maintaining these campsites; all sites on the lake include a horizontal “food pole” to throw a line over to keep food out of a bear’s reach, and most every site includes a rudimentary toilet set back in the woods.  I thought of my brother Keith several times on this trip, as it was his work crews who put a lot of these campsites together in the late 80s, and his greatest accomplishment was to create toilet areas with beautiful views of the lake.  And with the clouds of mosquitoes that follow you back when nature calls, there is not much time to linger with a book or magazine.

Soon after landing at Moose Point, I impressed my campmates with my ability to quickly patch my wounded ThermaRest.  Donning waders and water socks, I took the pad out into the lake, fully submerging it to locate the offending hole.   Then, as luck would have it, I had fishing wader patch material in my first aid kit.  Like Ed said, either I would have a good night sleep, or the glue would burn a huge hole clear through my pad.  The former prevailed, and while my friends took an afternoon nap, I headed out into the lake solo to fish for a while with a ballast stump that we nicknamed “Wilson” manning the stern.  The Mackinaw that hit my line on the third cast would be the last of the 49 fish that we would tally on this trip.  Unfortunately, Wilson didn't say much, and I quickly returned to camp for some human companionship.

The next morning, after three days without seeing another boat on the lake, a parade of canoes and kayaks streamed past us starting at 7:30.  We were anxious to return to civilization as well, striking camp and hitting the water by 9:00.  With Ed and Zach providing the power, we motored by several other crafts and were the first to shoot the upper end of the Lewis Channel.  The water was unbelievably low for this time of the year, and the shallower lower end of the current area was almost impassable.  I steered around several obstacles with little difficulty until we T-boned a low lying rock, and Zack and I flew a foot up in the air.  A moment later, we grounded on another large rock, and I took an unplanned bonus wade into the river to extract us from the precarious perch.

After a break to switch to dry socks on a marmot populated rock formation, we found ourselves once again crossing Lewis Lake and heading for the distant boat dock.  I was amazed that this was the same lake of many of the foreboding crossings I had made as a child in this same canoe; the winds were calm, and the bright morning sun glistened off of the Sheridan Range to the east.  Rowing skulls, canoes, and fishing boats populated the west shore as we paddled in shirt sleeves and shorts.  I suddenly found myself not wanting this trip to end, and soaked up the scenery and the sun like a sponge during this last 40 minute crossing.  We stopped briefly to enjoy a view of the Tetons to the south, which Zach had longed to see, if just from a distance.

Then it was on to the Lewis Lake boat dock, and our memorable trip was over.  We felt like rock stars as we threw our belongings on the dock, and several tourists gathered around us to ask us where we had been and how the fishing was.  What a feeling!  I had shown my two friends some of the best of Yellowstone’s backcountry while taking a sentimental journey back to the lake that I have known for my entire life.  Mission accomplished! 

Special thanks to:

Click here for more photos from the trip

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