July 15, 2024
Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming
August 2021
There’s no rush quite like takeoff. At least I’ve always thought that to be the case.
Having been on more than my fair share of flights, I still experience that thrill each time the plane hurtles down the runway. There’s far more buildup in a plane, but a helicopter delivers a different kind of rush.
On this August afternoon, the engine whirred to life, rotor blades crescendoing as they sliced the air. The cabin gave a slight wobble, then quickly tilted forward as we lifted off above the small Bozeman tarmac.
The little red Robinson was airborne.
One of the best ways to capture a viewer's attention is by presenting a well-known subject from an unexpected angle. There’s a reason consumer drones have become so popular—they reframe everyday scenes from high above, turning the familiar into something unexpected.
I first visited Yellowstone in July 2020, getting my bearings across the massive landscape from the ground. This return was solely focused on getting a new perspective of what I’d consider one of the park’s most impressive features. With a drone out of the question because of the ban across all national parks, there was really one option.
Putting aside my lifelong fear of heights, this idea came with an additional hurdle. There were plenty of headlines on the significant wildfires in the Pacific Northwest leading up to my trip—coverage that I evidently tuned out or assumed wouldn't impact my plan. As I arrived in Bozeman, I was greeted by a thick blanket of smoke, concealing anything more than 50 feet away. I knew that even the slightest bit of smoke would wash out the vibrant colors I came here to shoot. And on a four day trip, there wasn’t much wiggle room.
I reached out to the pilot and decided to delay my scheduled flight over the park, hoping that the haze would lift. But each morning I awoke to the same smoke. Mentally, I began preparing to head home empty-handed and try again on a future visit. I did my best to enjoy Yellowstone, though it was hard not to ignore that the purpose of the trip had been derailed.
On my second-to-last night, while driving through the park’s hills, I saw a flash of lightning off in the distance—a glimmer of hope. As luck would have it, rain swept through overnight. I woke up to a clear, sunny day.
I texted the pilot that morning to confirm his availability. Shortly after, I began my drive north to Bozeman. We’d be taking off just after noon.
For three hours, I did my best to ignore the fact that a simple seatbelt was the only thing keeping me inside the small cabin. Instead, I focused on the fact that I was soaring 2,000 feet over America's first National Park. Much of the flight passes over a relatively muted landscape, but amidst a sea of green pines, one feature stands alone.
Around 45 minutes into the flight, a burst of color came into view. I remember hearing my muffled voice over the headset—“Wow” was all I could manage. Grand Prismatic—the largest hot spring in the United States—far below, in all its glory.
This geological beauty mark is part of the Midway Geyser Basin, a collection of thermal features just north of Old Faithful. Grand Prismatic is renowned for both its colors and scale—spanning roughly 370 feet in diameter and plunging over 120 feet deep. It was also the sole reason I found myself in the air, learning out of a helicopter.
The word “prismatic” comes from the Greek stem “prisma” meaning “separated or distributed as if by a prism.” At its center, the hot spring reaches temperatures near 190°F—too extreme for any bacteria to survive—leaving a deep, clear blue. Moving outward, the temperature gradually cools, allowing different microbes to thrive. The pigments within these organisms, tuned to specific wavelengths of light, give rise to the vivid colors we see.
A work of art. Formed by nothing more than heat and life.
The timing of this flight was intentional. I wanted to arrive at a time of day when the sunlight would be strong enough to illuminate the colors, but low enough to cast shadows and add depth. I’ve seen images of Grand Prismatic from the air where photographers edit out the adjacent walkway, but to me, it’s an essential part of the scene. The people provide context, a sense of scale, and act as a reminder that we are spectators to what nature is capable of crafting.
I lost track of time up in that helicopter, but the image timestamps show we spent over an hour above Grand Prismatic. My pilot was incredibly accommodating, skillfully banking the small R44 as we circled. This allowed me to lean out for the top-down shot that I was looking for.
After plenty of time with my arms blasted back by the wind, I knew I had captured some keepers. The pilot banked the helicopter, heading northeast for the final leg of the flight. We made a few passes over the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone and the Upper Falls before turning north, bound for Bozeman.
I’ve spent many hours navigating Yellowstone—cars stuck in snowbanks, bison traffic jams, roadside naps after early starts. But nothing compared to this. This flight offered not just a new vantage point, but a new feeling altogether. One of both distance and perspective.
-EK
15/07/24
