Red Lodge to Yellowstone: Chasing Sunrises and Waterfalls

On the road to Glacier, we’d carved out two nights in Yellowstone—time to grab the photos, footage, and memories we’d missed last year. First stop: Red Lodge, Montana, the gateway to the Beartooth Highway.

We got there too early for our reservation. No rooms. “Check back in a couple hours,” the desk clerk shrugged. Kodi wasn’t loving the road this year, those cattle guards sent a shiver straight through her paws. But she perked up when we stopped for brunch at The Pollard Hotel and strolled the town. We wandered up to Red Lodge Ski Area for mountain views—gorgeous, but closed until the weekend. With the whole town booked solid, we lucked into the very last room at the Quality Inn.

By dawn, we were winding up the Beartooth Highway. At 10,947 feet, the summit felt like the top of the world—above the treeline, with morning light spilling gold across the peaks. At Beartooth Lake, it had already warmed to a brisk 50° when we stopped for photos. Soon we rolled into Cody, Wyoming, onto the Chief Joseph Highway, and by 8:45 a.m., crossed into Yellowstone’s northeast entrance. A herd of massive bison—two thousand pounds each, easy—wandered the roadside, chewing grass like we didn’t exist. Safe in Bessie, I still couldn’t shake the thought that one sideways look could flip us like a toy.

My mission: the Tom Thumb Trail, where you descend 300 steps to stand behind a roaring Yellowstone Canyon waterfall. We stopped at every viewpoint and hiked both the North and South Rims. The ranger broke the news: it was closed—but the close-up waterfall footage I did get was worth every step.

Next up, Grand Prismatic Overlook and Fairy Falls. The climb to the overlook was steep but buzzing with families and hikers of every age. From the top, the rainbow swirl of hot spring colors looked like something from another planet. The trail to Fairy Falls wound 1.6 miles through lodgepole pines, a bear-frequented area, though with plenty of fellow hikers, it felt more adventurous than risky. After scrambling over a couple of downed logs, I stood close enough to the 200-foot cascade to feel its icy spray on my face.

That night’s stop: a cabin at Old Faithful. Dinner at Snow Lodge, then out cold. At sunrise, we caught Old Faithful’s full eruption in slow motion; every droplet suspended midair—before heading toward Grant Village, which we’d skipped last time. The Lake House Restaurant sat right on Yellowstone Lake, all wood beams and a wide deck with million-dollar views.

Our next overnight was booked at Roosevelt Lodge. Or so we thought. Turns out, we were a day early—again. The park was completely sold out, so we slipped out the northwest entrance and found a room at the Antlers Lodge in Gardiner. Cozy, quiet, perfect.

The following day, we wandered Livingston, an artsy-cowboy mashup of galleries and saloons, grabbed fresh-grilled burgers at Mark’s In-N-Out, and made it to Helena for the night. Tomorrow: West Glacier. Sunrise. Going-to-the-Sun Road. West to East.

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