Northern loop road, Yellowstone National Park. Photo: National Park Service.
“People ask me to predict the future, when all I want to do is prevent it.”
– Ray Bradbury
Fed by four days of solid rain, much of it falling on high country snowpack, the Yellowstone River, one of the last of its free-flowing kind, rose up out of its banks, untamed as a grizzly, assertively changed its course and overwhelmed almost every impediment that had once stood in its way.
Hillsides collapsed. Culverts crumpled. Bridges were shorn from their abutments, twisted and heaved into the river. It ate the northern loop road, swallowing a huge chunk between the Gardiner Arch and Mammoth Hot Springs–a road I’ve driven maybe 75 times. Large sections are gone now, chunks of asphalt tumbling toward Livingston. Bankside houses slid into the raging waters. Water mains ruptured. Sewer pipes broke. Treatment plants inundated. The 100-year floodplain was swamped from Gardiner to Billings, whisking away Chevys, sheds and black angus at 82,000 cubic feet per second.
They called it a 1000-year flood. It will probably happen four more times in the next 50 years. At Billings, the river was rushing at 20,000 cubic feet per second faster than it had ever flowed before. The river, unbridled by dams, asserted itself, demonstrated in real, terrifying time the consequences of climate change–deep system changes that are already at work and defy mitigation. The pugilistic, wolf-trapping, bear-baiting Governor of Montana was vacationing in Tuscany. No one really wanted him to come back.
If ever a river had a consciousness, an agency of its own, it would be the Yellowstone, shredding the roads, bridges and cars that have become the bane of the park’s existence, the driving forces behind so many of its ecological ailments. Yellowstone is big, but not big enough for the burden it bears. Nearly 5 million people drive through Yellowstone each year–a hissing, carbon-spewing, bison harassing traffic jam from May to October.
All that changed in a few hours. The five entrances were closed for days. Flights were grounded. Tourists stranded. Trips cancelled. The northern section of the park may be shuttered for a year. Mission accomplished. The park, and its indigenous inhabitants, need a break. A prolonged one. Everyone else needs to take notice. Message delivered.
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