This geothermal world brings awe and wonder to one photojournalist who explores the many colors and textures of Yellowstone

Yes, Yellowstone is the country’s first national park. It is the biggest and boasts the most visitors annually. But what makes this park unique among the jewels in our national park system—and hauntingly beautiful, though very otherworldly to my eyes—is the fact that the planet’s largest and most varied collection of geothermal features exist here.

Much has been written about the Yellowstone hotspot, the architect of the hot springs, mud pots, fumaroles and geysers of Yellowstone’s west loop. The caldera and Yellowstone’s “recent” volcanic and seismic activity offer a fascinating study. But this trip was not about studying the geology; it was about seeing vibrant colors locked in surreal shapes, about feeling a strange wetness and warmth in the chill of the morning, and yes, even about smelling the acrid, sulphurous air. A few days among Yellowstone’s geothermal wonders made me see the world more like the mindscapes of Jules Verne, Stephen King or even Hieronymus Bosch rather than the classic landscapes of Ansel Adams, Elliot Porter or William Henry Jackson. At my feet, violent, steaming water gushing from red rocks and blue holes; on the horizon, a serene apron of conifers and the familiar silhouette of the Rocky Mountains.

The terraces south of Mammoth Hot Springs reminded me that the geo­therm­al topographies we take as a given are in fact a kinetic experience. I expected to see Minerva Terrance’s red and orange hues. But since the most recent earthquake, it had become a lifeless, ashen grey, devoid of water and colorful micro­organisms. Canary Springs had lost is yellow cast, but gained a frothy white staircase that appeared at once solid and vaporous. Orange Spring Mound, under a late-afternoon charcoal and purple sky, made me one with Frodo, feeling the bleakness of a quest so far from home. The chill in the air and the landscapes was palpable.

A night’s sleep in a rustic cabin was restorative and orienting. But out of the cabin, the paint pots, fumaroles and hot springs of Middle Geyser Basin took me further from my accustomed National Park experience. Angry waters, hissing rock piles and pungent, popping mud were almost disorienting after miles of meadows in the early morning. On a narrow boardwalk along acres of cratered desolation, I was surprised to look down into a deep azure pool of superheated water that penetrated far into the earth, seemingly to its core. Farther along the walkway, I looked down on smallish tables of red and brown, each bordered by fine crystalline edging, overall, like giant scales of a long ago sea monster. Another mile into the morning, the unrelieved landscape of steam, ash and blistered white rock gave way to the more familiar horizon of forests and mountains. It was like coming home.

My last morning in the park was devoted to Lower Geyser Basin, home of hundreds of hydrothermal features, including the park’s most famous attraction, Old Faithful. This is the park’s signature, and it is a stunning and awesome sight. But beyond the friendly confines of the Lodge’s viewing platform are broad plateaus of geysers in a Dali-like landscape, quietly puffing steam or violently belching thousands of gallons water hundreds of feet into a crisp blue sky. Where the horizon stretches forever away from where you stand, and where there are hundreds of fissures in the earth’s crust billowing white plumes and beautifully crying out for one’s eyes’ attentions, I was left a puny part of the vastness of Yellowstone’s majesty and its sever and inspiring beauty. Indeed, Yellowstone is a world apart.

PHOTOGRAPHY BY BEN ROOT