One day, this place will be hell on Earth. Geologists will crawl over themselves to see it. A super volcano laying waste to a region the size of a small European nation, one day it will erupt in totally unprecedented fashion and rescale our understanding and appreciation of volcanism.
… I can’t fucking wait.
In its own way, it’s already hell. My typically insouciant demeanour is lost somewhere at the gates, thwarted by the combination of recalcitrant primary school scum who scarcely struggle to keep their shithouse behaviour within their family, nevermind to themselves and roads over-populated with rental RVs being piloted with all the surgical nous of a drunken teenage boy fumbling his way through his first sexual encounter.
The place reeks of sulphur. As a result of this, my asthmatic bronchioles become constricted and through no regular effort, Yellowstone quite literally takes my breath away.
Sure, it’s geologically peerless and the site of a remarkable feat of conservation in pulling the American bison back from the brink of extinction. Yes, the rangers give excellent fireside chats at the campsites. They even deftly respond to deliberate goading about the disingenuous nature of Roosevelt’s reputation as a “conservationist”.
Reader, I go to these places so that you don’t have to.
If you must, when you get there I’d suggest you slash the Cruise America RV tyres and put anthrax in the kids food. It’ll make the whole place much more manageable.
