Attack of the Killer Komodos – Summer Rachel Short
Water the color of bullfrogs gurgles against my shins as we slog across the Firehole River. Nate swings a rope in an unruly gure eight and bellows a Bigfoot call that sounds like a dying whoopee cushion sputtering out its nal serenade. I zoom in the video camera as he takes a wobbly step toward the riverbank. The smell of pine sap and spicy sagebrush mingles with my SPF 75 and citronella bug spray. We’ve been in Yellowstone National Park less than twenty-four hours, and we’re already on the hunt for the legendary primate. As an up-and-coming naturalist, I’m skeptical about the big guy’s existence, but humoring Nate is number three on my Yellowstone Vacation Bucket List. Plus, hanging out in the wilds of the park is basically my denition of paradise.