Mile High Sea Kayaking
Paddling Yellowstone Lake

first appeared in Kayak Touring 2008
story and photos by Larry Rice (unless noted otherwise)

The snow fell during the night, piling around the tents and covering the boats in a white shroud. I stuck my head out the door and recoiled from the cold. The thermometer read just 20 degrees. No wonder my feet were chilled. Burrowing deeper into my sleeping bag, I closed my eyes and waited for morning. Yellowstone Lake had thrown us another curve.

When our trip started a week earlier, it was late September, and we basked under a bright-blue, Indian-summer sky. Temperatures were in the 70s as we loaded our boats at the Sedge Bay Picnic Area, on the lake's northeast side. Ahead lay a nine-day, semi-circumnavigation of Yellowstone Lake. Much of that time would be spent probing the basin's southern arms—three remote inlets where motorboat use is restricted. We were headed for some of Yellowstone National Park's finest backcountry, and getting there by paddle-power was the best way to explore it.

During the summer, Yellowstone Lake suffers from the same motorized overcrowding that plagues the surrounding national park. But in fall, when most stinkpotters call it quits for the year, this big high-country lake provides a haven for kayak tourers who are ready—or should be—for big water and just about any type of weather that comes their way.

At 20 miles long and 14 miles wide, and with 110 miles of convoluted shoreline, Yellowstone Lake is big enough to make its own weather. And because of its considerable altitude-7,773 feet-and northerly location, that weather is often severe, exhibiting its multifaceted personality every day. The surrounding mountains create sweeping downdrafts that frequently, and with little or no warning, blast across the lake, transforming a placid, mirror-like surface one minute to a seething tantrum of 3- to 5-foot waves the next.

Historically, the lake has taken more than a few lives. The largest section in Lee Whitlesey's book Death in Yellowstone details boating accidents, many from wind-related capsizes. The drowning deaths of a pair of canoeists this summer on nearby Shoshone Lake were the first since 2005, though. The park has been urging paddlers to stick close to shore, get off the water when wind and storms hit, and do the bulk of their paddling early in the day before the winds pick up, and the educational effort has had an effect.

As if to prove a point, when we launched our boats late that afternoon, conditions were already changing. Wind-whipped clouds moved in from the north, and the building whitecaps ripped across the steel-colored waters. I hugged the shore while Jeff and Tom, both better kayakers than I, strayed into deeper water. Glancing their way, I saw two sleek boats moving through the choppy swells like porpoises, alternately rising above them and submerging. We dug deep with our paddles and dared not take a break for the next three hours. As in an airplane, take-offs and landings give the most trouble, and the waves crashing on shore convinced us to stay away.

Finally, we closed in on our destination, the first in a series of backcountry campsites reserved well in advance (as required by park regulations). Perched on a high beach, our site was surrounded by charred and fallen trees. This new Yellowstone landscape was going to take some getting used to. I had not been to the park since the devastating wildfires of 1988 burned nearly a third of Yellowstone's 2.2 million acres. Instead of what once was an endless green forest, I now gazed over a landscape in which untold millions of lodgepole pines were blackened, forlorn skeletons, though the extent and severity of the massive conflagration was almost impossible to comprehend from lake level. New 19-year-old trees, some now eight feet tall or more, grew thickly, but the countryside still seemed as if it had been nuked.

Back-paddling a few yards offshore, we sized up the waves, then surfed one at a time onto the sloping pebble beach. Jeff and Tom timed their exits perfectly, managing to pull their boats up on shore without getting wet. I, on the other hand, hit a reflecting wave and yawed in broadside. A chest-high breaker curled over me as I stalled on the rocks. Only with some helping hands did I manage to miss the next drenching set. "Hey, don't expect us to haul your sorry ass out every time," Jeff said with a grin as I wobbled out of my kayak.

After dinner, cool mountain air began to settle over the basin. The lake lost its fury and settled down. Wildlife was always in evidence. We heard loons calling and elk bugling. Flocks of ducks and geese flew by in the lingering light, all heading for their evening roosts.

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Jeff was starting to come unglued. He unholstered his shiny brand-new bear repellant spray, and re-read the instructions printed on the canister.

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The next morning we rose early, and launched into placid waters before 8:30. With the stable weather continuing, we ate up the miles, paddling long into the afternoon. On our left were 1,000-foot hills--now mostly scorched--along with scattered open sagebrush areas and grassy benches. On our right was the flat, blue water of the wide-bodied lake.

At last, we entered the Southeast Arm, the largest of the lake's branches. Seven miles long and one to four miles across, this secluded sound is by far the best place to view the snow-topped peaks of the Absaroka Range and peer into the broad Thoroughfare Valley. We were glad to be setting up a base camp for the next three nights close to the mouth of the Yellowstone River, which enters the lake from its headwaters deep in the Teton Wilderness. From here we could explore the surrounding terrain on foot and by boat.

Our first full day in the arm dawned brilliantly clear, cold, and flat calm. Frost clung to the tents and ice skimmed our water bottles. A hot breakfast of raisin- and walnut-laced oatmeal and mugs of steaming coffee worked to get us moving, and soon we were kayaking into the Yellowstone River's wide delta. There was so much wildlife in this two-mile-long shoreline we never felt the urge to go farther. It was a veritable kingdom of birds. As we paddled to the river mouth, through shallow water, thousands of ducks and geese, and even a few trumpeter swans, moved around us. The waterfowl dabbled among the floating aquatics, while ospreys, bald eagles, and cormorants (to name a few) perched on tree snags or soared overhead. Bigger critters also made a showing. Floating silently offshore in our kayaks, we counted three moose loafing belly-deep in the weed beds or browsing the heavy willows closer to shore. Even elk ventured in the lake. Several bulls dipped their heads underwater and came up with clumps of plants dangling from their mouths and multi-tined antlers.

Yellowstone National Park is the centerpiece of the 20 million-acre Greater Yellowstone Ecosystem, a region that also includes Grand Teton National Park and acreage from several other national forests, creating the world's largest intact ecosystem in the northern temperate zone. The result is a virtual boreal Serengeti and an amazing concentration of wildlife that includes bison, wolves, and, of course bear--whose presence hit home, literally, when we returned to camp. On the soft sand beach, only a short distance from our tents, were the fresh and unmistakable paw prints belonging to a grizzly.

"This ain't good," Jeff muttered, nervously examining the sharply defined indentations that were considerably larger than his size 12 boots. "And neither is this," echoed Tom, pointing to the ground. Several soft, squishy mounds lay at his feet.

A tall, tough outdoorsman who does it all-from snowboarding and whitewater kayaking to mountain biking and ice hockey-Jeff was starting to come unglued. He unholstered his shiny brand-new bear repellant spray, and re-read the instructions printed on the canister. "This product may be used only to deter bears which are attacking or appear likely to attack humans-may not be effective in all situations or prevent injurie- this product has a range of 15-20 feet," he read. "Well, that makes me feel a whole lot better. If a grizzly gets that close, I'll probably die of a heart attack before I can spray it."