I hovered near the grand
stand till the full thirty hours and the six predictive hours were
over, and then, as the thunder above roared threateningly and the rain
fell suggestively, I took a rubber coat and camped on the trail of that
famous spouter.
Geysers are more than a trifle freaky. "Old Faithful" is a notable
exception. Every sixty-five minutes, with almost the regularity of
star time, he throws his column of hissing water one hundred and fifty
feet high. Others are irregular, sometimes playing every three hours
for a few times, and then taking a rest for three or more days. This
Castle geyser is not registered to be quiet more than thirty hours, nor
to indulge in preparatory spouts for more than six hours. When I
finally camped to watch it out all these premonitory symptoms had been
duly exhibited. I first carefully noted the frequency and height of
the spouts, that any change might foretell the grand finale. There
were ten spouts to the minute, and an average height of twenty feet.
Hours went by with no hint of a change: ten to the minute, twenty feet
in height. People by the dozen came and asked when it would go off. I
said, "Liable to go any minute; it is long past due now." Stage loads
of tourists, scheduled to run on time, drove up, waited a few minutes,
and drove on, as if the grand object of the trip was to make time--not
to see the grandeur they had come a thousand miles to enjoy.
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