Petting bison, cooking food in geysers. Ride along with our writer on a wild trip to our nation’s most iconic national park at the height of tourist season to see all the bad behavior.
New perk: Easily find new routes and hidden gems, upcoming running events, and more near you. Your weekly Local Running Newsletter has everything you need to lace up! Subscribe today →.
Let me establish my tourist bona fides before we go any further. I am a 47-year-old white man who has lived in the suburbs for the vast majority of my existence. I have spent a grand total of one week camping. I consider emptying the dishwasher to be hard labor. I don’t know how to pitch a tent, build a lean-to, start a fire without matches or a lighter, or climb any rock higher than three feet tall. I am not hardy. The only other time that Outside asked me to write for them, it was to review bathrobes, which are generally not worn outside. I own both cargo shorts and a fanny pack.
And I am legion. The U.S. has a near-infinite supply of clueless tourists such as myself, much to the dismay of our National Park Service. Yellowstone, our most famous national park thanks to Kevin Costner, welcomes 4.5 million of us each year. Like all of our parks, Yellowstone takes in tourists not only for the revenue but to remind them that the physical country they reside in is a marvel well beyond their comprehension. As such, Yellowstone is set up to accommodate these hordes. And while park officials do their best to keep tourists in line, often literally, my kind still manage to do plenty of tourist shit. We trample plant life. We get shitfaced and pick unwinnable fights with animals ten times our size. And we hurt ourselves. According to NPS data, at least 74 people have died while visiting Yellowstone in the past 15 years. I could have been one of those people. I deserve to be one of those people.