THE TETONS, FROM BEHIND

We slept in a little on Saturday, worn out from Friday’s 16-hour tour of Yellowstone. We weren’t terribly motivated anyway, since this was our first day since entering Wyoming without any hiking planned. In fact, our agenda was limited to picking up Boone, running some errands in Jackson, and relocating to a campground in the Teton National Forest where we had reservations. Christy’s knee was every bit as swollen as it had been the previous day, but I was hopeful that another day or two of rest would result in some improvement.

I made eggs, bacon, hashbrowns, and coffee for breakfast before we broke camp. Then we drove down to the village of Colter Bay in the heart of the Tetons. Along the way, we enjoyed views of Jackson Lake and some of America’s most dramatic mountains from roadside pulloffs. We stopped in Colter Bay to take showers, which cost $3.75 (no time limit). I preferred the showers at Grant Village in Yellowstone, which were only $2. Those were limited to six minutes, but I haven’t taken showers exceeding six minutes since I was a teenager.

We made a brief stop at the visitor’s center to get the weather forecast. Unfortunately, big changes were coming to the usual mid-summer weather pattern. By late Sunday and Monday, a major storm with heavy rain was expected to move in. This was inconvenient, since I had one of the biggest hikes of the trip, a climb of Table Mountain in the Tetons, planned for Sunday.

We arrived at Happy Tails Pet Resort at 12:30, which was 30 minutes prior to closing time. Boone had served his time well, though I don’t think he’d particularly enjoyed his vacation. His stay included daily play time with the other dogs, but he hadn’t eaten much of the food we’d sent along with him. He was definitely happy to see us when we arrived.

We picked up take-out Chinese for lunch. We could’ve eaten at the restaurant, but it was a hot afternoon and we didn’t want to leave Boone alone in the car. Instead we drove to a local park. However, the park had a big sign prohibiting dogs, so we ended up rolling down the windows and eating in the car. Afterwards, Christy dropped us off at a local dog park while she ran errands. She got groceries and a knee brace while I played with Boone. By the time we were ready to go, afternoon storms were rolling in. Was the weather changing already?

We drove over Teton Pass in rain and fog, which was disappointing, as I’d been looking forward to the scenery along the way. We passed the start of the Teton Crest Trail, which runs north into Grand Teton National Park, before descending the west side of the Tetons. Then we drove north, to Driggs, Idaho. As the storm cleared it revealed the Tetons from a less familiar perspective. I found the view of the mountains from the “other side” to be equally attractive, if not quite as post-card worthy as the more famous vistas from Jackson Hole.

From Driggs we drove east past the Targee Ski Resort and back into Wyoming. Eventually the pavement ended, and we found ourselves driving up a lovely canyon, with the spires of the Tetons rising ahead of us. We found the Teton Canyon Campground at the end of the road. It’s a beautiful campground, with a mixture of deep, dark spruce forest and open meadows thick with aspens and sunflowers. A beautiful mountain stream runs along one side, and the area is full of wildlife. We actually passed a young moose browsing on our way to our site.

I was glad we’d made reservations, as it is a small campground, and it was nearly full when we arrived. The only downside was that the site I’d selected online wasn’t one of the better ones. It was an open site in one corner of the campground near the stream, but it didn’t have much in the way of trees. One of the sites deeper in the forest would’ve offered more shelter, which would’ve been handy later that weekend.

We arrived late on Saturday afternoon, which was actually relatively early for us. The rain had cleared out, so we actually had some time to relax and enjoy the campground. I had to restrain myself from taking a hike, as I didn’t want to leave Christy alone any more than necessary. In fact, I was already feeling guilty about planning a hike on Sunday without her. So I limited Saturday’s adventure to wandering around the campground, stalking the resident moose and taking photos of the aspens and wildflowers.

That evening I grilled chicken (for me) and fish (for Christy). Baked potatoes and steamed broccoli rounded out the meal, and Boone devoured a bowl and a half of food. He was looking a little gaunt from his five days of fasting at Happy Tails, so it was good to see him regain his appetite. Light rain moved back in while we were eating, driving us to the tent early. I was concerned about the weather, since I was planning to climb a peak above treeline the next day. At least the rain encouraged me to go to bed early, since I was planning an early start to my hike.

UNDER THE TABLE AND DREAMING

I was up at 6 on Sunday. I needed an early start for one of the toughest hikes of the trip (12 miles round trip with 4000’ of elevation gain). The campground was eerily quiet under an overcast sky as I ate my breakfast of granola cereal. Boone and I started our hike right from the campground. This was convenient, since Christy would have use of the car.

My goal for the day was to summit Table Mountain. Table Mountain, which is situated on the border of Grand Teton National Park and the Teton National Forest, is perhaps best known for being the vantage point from which the first photograph of the Tetons was taken. William Henry Jackson took the photo during the Hayden Expedition in 1872. Jackson and his party approached the summit from Teton Canyon, just as I planned. Their expedition took ten days though, whereas I hoped to return in ten hours.

The climb started abruptly with a hearty climb on switchbacks from the bottom of the canyon. Three major trails actually start at the end of the road, including two that lead to Table Mountain. I was planning to make a loop hike by descending the exceptionally steep Face Trail. The third trail continues up the canyon, all the way to Alaska Basin. Alaska Basin sits on the Teton Crest in a saddle between Hurricane Pass and Death Canyon Shelf. Alaska Basin is exceptionally well-named, but I didn’t realize just how well named it is until later that morning.

The initial climb ended and I followed an easier route through a mixture of aspens and meadows. The meadows were covered in acres and acres of sunflowers. The wildflower display was truly astonishing – at one point I found myself gazing up at the ridge high above, the entire hillside in between a brilliant gold. This part of the hike was so beautiful, I stopped caring about the weather. I wanted to make the summit, but if conditions didn’t allow it, I could be happy just wandering around in that magnificent garden.

The reality of my undertaking set in a few minutes later. I caught up to another group of hikers at a ford of a powerful stream. The creek didn’t look like much on the map, and I hadn’t expected crossing it to be a major challenge. In hindsight I don’t know why. After all, we’d had our hands full with a relatively minor creek crossing in the Wind River Range less than two weeks earlier.

The other hikers included three local guys and a fellow from Switzerland. They’d scouted upstream and down from the official ford, without finding anything promising. When I arrived, they asked me what I thought. I was still in a jovial mood, drunk on sunflowers, when I told them what I thought. What I thought was that we were going to get wet. Very wet. I was right.

Continuing the hike meant wading through a torrent of water just upstream from a long run of gnarly cascades. Getting swept down through them would’ve been ugly. Crossing farther downstream wasn’t an option – that would’ve required going all the way back to the campground. It was hard to believe that this was the same pleasant, babbling brook that wound its way past our tent. In fact, it was less than half of that stream. This creek was only a tributary, but up here, it was a monster.

There were more cascades upstream, so finding another crossing in that direction didn’t look promising, either. Eventually we decided to go for it. The other hikers were a step ahead of me, as I still needed to change shoes. They went first, with one of the stronger hikers, Mike, helping the others. I watched each of them cross, and my sunflower buzz quickly was replaced by the hangover of reality. This crossing was dangerous. It was a good bit more threatening than the ford we’d encountered in the Wind River Range. The water was almost waist deep and powerful. It was pushing the other guys around, though each of them managed to reach the far side safely.

Finally it was my turn. The first half of the crossing was reasonable, but the last few steps were intense. The water was so cold it was mind-numbing, but the experience was so frightening I barely noticed. I made one final step, and Mike grabbed my arm and pulled me the last few feet to safety. Graciously, he’d stayed behind to help a stranger. His buddies were all changing back into boots, ready to resume their climb.

All was well except for one little detail. Boone was still on the wrong side of the creek. He was running up and down the bank, barking and whining. I’d seen this display before, but I should’ve realized that getting him across would be more than half the battle. I tried calling him. I tried walking up the trail to encourage him to follow. Finally I waded back into the creek and held onto the boulder with one hand while extending my other arm towards him.

Boone wasn’t having any of it. He was terrified, and the more I thought about it, the less I blamed him. Initially I’d been confident that he could swim the narrow but powerful channel. After all, he is a strong swimmer. But what if I was wrong? What if he got swept downstream, into the ugly funnel of angry boulders and crashing whitewater? I might never see him again. I knew if I lost Christy’s dog, I might as well wander off into the wilderness.

I was still standing waist deep in freezing water, accomplishing nothing. I climbed up on the boulder to think. Mike had offered to help me get Boone across, but I’d sent him on, knowing there was nothing he could really do. Now my problem was that I needed to go back across. Alone. There wouldn’t be anybody around to lend a helping hand. Even worse, approaching from the other direction had allowed me to lunge that final step towards the waiting boulder and Mike’s outstretched hand. Going the other way offered no such reassurances. In fact, any sort of lunging would be a recipe for disaster.

I’d gotten myself into this situation, and there was only one way out. Leaving Boone behind wasn’t an option. I said a brief prayer and eased myself back into the creek.

At that point I’d been in the creek long enough that I was at least prepared for the strength of the current. I carefully worked my way across, focusing on the placement of each foot while avoiding looking downstream. After a few steps I was past the worst of it. After a few more steps, Boone greeted me by nearly knocking me back into the creek. Thanks Boone!

Boone started back towards the campground, but I wasn’t ready to concede defeat. I decided to bushwhack upstream. I knew it would be ugly, but if there’s one thing I have a lot of experience with, it’s bushwhacking. The map indicated that this tributary was simply the product of many smaller tributaries, all running down from the snowpack on the high peaks above. If I could get high enough I could cross multiple smaller streams. Boone would be able to handle that. It seemed like a good plan, even if it was largely based on wishful thinking. Then again, it was still early in the morning, and I didn’t have anything better to do. I wasn’t quite ready to resort to an afternoon lounging in the sunflowers.

Upstream we went, climbing over boulders and pushing through the shrubbery. Before long I began to realize that I wasn’t the first person to attempt this. I saw muddy boot prints and broken branches. Then, of all things, a red ribbon tied to a limb. I followed a rough route to another ribbon, and then another. The rough path wandered away from the creek, but I wasn’t fighting it. Even a rough route is better than pure bushwhacking. Things were looking up. Making progress was slow and tedious, but surely these ribbons were leading somewhere – hopefully to an easier, safer crossing.

After a ½ mile or so I stumbled out of the woods and onto a well-traveled trail. At first I was puzzled. What trail was this? At that point I didn’t care – I was following it. A few minutes later I caught up to Mike and the rest of his group at any another creek crossing. They were surprised, and perhaps a bit relieved, to see me.

We compared notes and figured out what had happened. After their crossing, they’d hiked a few minutes before reaching another ford. That one was nearly as bad, and crossing had been another traumatic event. Once across, they were back on the same side of the creek as they’d started on. Meanwhile, my bushwhack took me upstream, bypassing both creek crossings. If only I’d tried the bushwhacking before attempting the ford!

The stream was much smaller at this third crossing, and wading was easy, even for Boone. A couple of minutes later we reached a fourth, which was actually just a fork of the main stream. After that I was able to keep my feet dry – at least until I reached the snow line a few minutes later.

I hiked up through a beautiful, snowy alpine basin and began climbing switchbacks in the snow towards Table Mountain’s west ridge. I really picked up the pace after the last creek crossing, as I was rather agitated about how much time I’d wasted earlier. The sky remained overcast, and my weather sense told me that I needed to hurry if I was going to summit. I knew the chance of a thunderstorm would increase significantly in the afternoon. I didn’t want to be anywhere near the summit of Table Mountain, or even above treeline, at that point.

When I reached the crest of the ridge Mike and his group were coming up through the alpine basin I’d just left. I eased my pace along the ridge though, as the views were entirely too distracting. I could now see the goal of my hike ahead, with the massive spires of Tetons rising just beyond. The wind had scoured most of the snow off the ridge, and early flowers were blooming in a riot of color. I stopped for some photos, even though strong winds foiled most of my efforts.

The hike from that point was simple. The west ridge forms a gentle ramp leading to base of the peak itself. The walking was easy along here despite the lingering snow. The only hazard was staying off the snow cornice that had formed on the north side of the ridge. The ridge is wide though, so that wasn’t a problem. This last part of the hike was through scattered clumps of small trees and across barren tundra. The views were fantastic, but the best was still to come.

The final climb was steep and required a mild scramble up through a break in the cliffs. That challenge only took a few minutes though, and I reached the summit (11,106”) at 11:40. It was windy and cold up on that perch, but the view was so overwhelming that I barely noticed my discomfort. The peaks of the Tetons towered directly in front of me. The summit of the Grand Teton was shrouded in swirling mist, and Cascade Canyon fell away thousands of feet below me. The most astonishing view though was back to the south, towards Hurricane Pass, Alaska Basin, and Death Canyon Shelf. Looking that way I gazed over a sea of jagged cliffs separated by basins full of snow. In fact, the only surfaces that weren’t buried under snow were the many vertical rock walls.

When we started this trip I knew we’d see a lot of snow, but even with that in mind, it was an unbelievable scene. Who would’ve guessed there’d be that much lingering snow on July 31^st? While we’d seen a good bit of the white stuff in the Wind River Range and in Yellowstone, it was now 1-2 weeks later, and this was the deepest snowpack we’d seen thus far.

Mike and the other hikers arrived 30 minutes later as I was finishing lunch. It was already past noon, and I knew I should head down, but I just couldn’t pull myself away. Instead I loitered a bit longer, chatting with the other hikers and soaking in the view. I finally started back at 12:45, well after I should have. I guess I fell into a bit of complacency since there were other hikers there, with more heading up the ridge towards us. I passed around a dozen people on the way down, along with 5 or 6 dogs. Boone loved seeing all of those friends, and of course he had to play a bit with each of them before we could resume our descent.

I backtracked down the west ridge to an unmarked junction with the Face Trail. At that point I continued ahead, still on the ridge. The Face Trail promised a quicker, more direct route back, without any creek crossings. On the other hand, it’s a horrible trail. The route is steep, unmaintained, and badly eroded.

The scenery was nice early on, with more views south and lots of wildflowers. I was treated to an impressive display of columbine, along with more sunflowers near the end of the hike. Luckily I was below treeline when the rain started. I stopped below a giant spruce tree, which served as an effective an umbrella through the worst of the storm. I was still loitering under the tree when Mike and his group caught up. The rain eased a few minutes later, and we headed down together from there. This time I had trouble keeping up, as I tend to be a little slow on steep descents.

We finally joined the trail to Alaska Basin, crossed a bridge (!) over the creek, and strolled into the campground at 3:30. Christy had gone into Jackson to do laundry and swim, and she wasn’t back. I retrieved a snack from our campsite’s bear box and then crawled in the tent for a nap. Boone was more than happy to join me, and I fell asleep immediately to the soft pitter patter of rain drops on the tent fly.

Christy returned later, and during a break in the weather I grilled dinner. I had chicken again, while Christy went with veggie dogs. Mac-n-cheese and salad rounded out dinner, and we washed it all down with Moose Drool. Unfortunately the break in the rain roused the mosquitoes, which were some of the worst of the trip. They drove us to the tent by 9, which was ok since I was still exhausted from the hike. The rain returned later that night, but I barely noticed.

Continue reading about our trip as we visit Mesa Falls in Idaho and I hike to Terraced Falls in Yellowstone National Park.

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