You know he'd be a poorer man
If he never saw an eagle fly
John Denver

I am visiting Yellowstone National Park for the gazillionth time, one of my favorite places in the whole wide world. In 1980, on one of my earlier visits to the park, I saw a bald eagle for the very first time, soaring over the Yellowstone River in Hayden Valley. I squealed with glee, like a child. It was one of those defining moments that changes everything.

I head north on John D. Rockefeller Parkway, into the park. Driving along I recall other special Yellowstone moments: seeing Old Faithful erupt for the very first time; Lower Yellowstone Falls frozen solid in January; quenching my thirst in the cool, clear Madison River; hiking through a lodgepole pine forest thinking more of the griz than the forest; the September bugle of bull elk in rut, certainly one of nature's most haunting melodies.

Yellowstone never runs out of wonders and I am here for more.