CDT - NM to Jackson
WHERE’S COLORADO?
How did I suddenly come to be in Wyoming? What happened to Colorado? To understand the full story refer back to the ending of the “LA to New Mexico” post. I’d just made it to Grants, New Mexico and the Southwestern heatwave was in full swing. Despite sitting at an elevation of over 7,000 feet, The desert sizzled at 108 F (30 F over historical average) and the UV index was off the charts. Only a handful of businesses remained open, and without the luxury of PostMates I had to brave the elements for food and water. I was trapped by the heat, and four days straight in a motel with Subway for breakfast, lunch, and dinner takes a toll.
As a final straw my next two destinations were inaccessible. The town of Cuba was being supported by federal aid due to severe drought. Public works could not provide water, the taps ran dry, and the only source of fresh water and accommodations between Grants and Colorado evaporated. One stop further north, Del Norte Colorado was under threat of evacuation due to raging wildfires and near-zero visibility. The weather report offered no relief in the coming weeks. Fatigued, disappointed, and mourning the planet’s health I pulled the rip cord and shipped the bike and myself back to Los Angeles.
At this point I thought the trip was over, and the rough last few days came in sharp contrast to the good times closer to the California coast.
ON TO WYOMING
Being in LA gave me some time to think. I had always planned to meet Karen in Wyoming, and earmarked a whole week to ditch the bike and experience the area. We love Jackson, and despite the setbacks in New Mexico I wasn’t ready to give up on the journey. I made some last minute adjustments to gear, ditched what I wasn’t using, and loaded the bike back onto a truck. We booked our flights and left LA behind.
About thirty minutes before touching down we were reminded that the town is a Mecca for outdoor enthusiasts. From Karen’s window seat we had sweeping views of the Teton mountain range, Jenny Lake, and Yellowstone’s Hayden Valley. The staff struggled to keep passengers in their seats, with the left side of the plane straining to capture views and pictures through the right-side windows. Turbulence from the mountain air eventually clicked seatbelts - we bounced around all the way to the tarmac.
I had only been to Jackson in spring and remembered it as a quiet town marked by cowboy culture, upscale shopping, and fresh local food. This experience was much more hectic. We flew in on July 4th (cheap flights!), and everyone from hotel staff to restaurants to tour groups seemed overwhelmed by the holiday surge. People poured out into the streets and the town square, many resorting to impromptu picnics as restaurant after restaurant turned them away. The first night we didn’t have a reservation, and the local pub refused to even put our name on the waitlist. “We are committed past close.” It was 5:00pm.
We decided to beat the crowds on our first full day and head to Yellowstone early in the morning. Most of the major attractions and tourist traps fall along the “Grand Loop,” which runs from the South Entrance two hours north into the 2.2 million acres of the park. I’d seen most of the big ticket items before, but my mother had not and they are genuinely stunning.
GEYSERS FOR DAYS
The western fork of the loop runs through some of the largest and most active geothermal areas in the world. “Old Faithful” is the best-known geyser and closest major feature to the park entrance. It isn’t my personal favorite - the lore (and name) really comes from reliability. It is, however, the easiest eruption to predict, so tourists from all over the globe pile in according to the clock on the nearby lodge. We skipped past the primary viewpoint and hiked around back, where we could get an unobstructed view. After a few minutes of teasing us it erupted right on schedule, with plumes of water and steam shooting over 100 feet up. A nearby teenager chimed in with his insight,
“Holy Balls.”
From the Old Faithful parking lot you can explore dozens of hot springs and geysers, so we took some time to walk around. Colors ranged from deep turquoise to fiery orange, and a Ranger explained that you could tell the age of a geyser from how tall the mineral deposits are at its base. Old Faithful has only been active for a few hundred years. Some of the geysers in the area had lived tens of thousands. As hard as it is to believe, I left the DSLR on the bike so these photos were taken from my iPhone X. Zero skill required to get great photos in Yellowstone. The landscape is insane.
Heading North from Old Faithful we crossed by a number of other geothermal sites. In July it is easy to spot attractions without the map - cars and RVs start lining the road within a few hundred yards of anything interesting. This was our tourist day, so we followed the crowds. Normally I like to get off the beaten path, but I was 0% disappointed by the itinerary and stoked to share it with family.
One of my favorite features on the western loop is the “artists paint pots.” They are less trafficked (and less visually stunning) than some of the larger springs, but make up for it by being silly and whimsical. Immature adults (like me) and kids love the bubbling clay, and it really makes you want to jump in and fling mud. Don’t do that, but I’d recommend taking the two mile hike to check it out.
VALLEYS, FALLS, AND LAKES
“Ugh another geyser. Stop or no?”
It hit mid-day and the team had seen enough geothermal wonders for one lifetime. We chose to take the east fork at Madison and circle back towards Jackson. I recommend running the loop in this direction (clockwise) if you want to end on a high note. Geysers were replaced by deep canyons, massive waterfalls, and roaming wildlife. The rotten egg smell of sulfer was replaced by wildflowers. The skies even conveniently decided to clear, drenching us in sunlight for the first time.
We stopped off at the Grand Canyon of Yellowstone. Defined by Yellowstone River, the canyon contains two waterfalls (upper and lower falls) and is (in my opinion) the most dramatic natural feature within the park. After a brief but strenuous hike we came to a vista overlooking the falls. Water thundered over the edge, people clamored for the best photograph, and nervous parents directed their kids to step away from the railings. Right on queue the entry sign explained the yellow coloring in the rock - iron deposits from local geysers.
Continuing south, the rest of the ride home was marked by Yellowstone Lake and the accompanying Hayden Valley - a grassy plain that formed as the Lake shrunk ages ago. This time of year most of the wildlife hung out in the valley, so we stopped off every 15 minutes to marvel at Bison, Elk, and Eagle populations. Even without the wildlife the valley is stunningly beautiful. It looks like a scene from a movie set before the emergence of man - completely wild and untouched.
I couldn’t help but feel out of place in my rental SUV, but the Bison didn’t seem to care. Herds of 50+ sat less than ten feet from the road, dutifully munching on grass to support their thousand-pound figure. They crossed the road whenever they wanted, often freaking out tourists and backing up traffic for a few miles.
EXPLORING THE TETONS
Day one in the bag, we made it back to Jackson just under the nine o’clock limit on dine-in service. The next few days were earmarked to explore Teton National Park on foot, so we justified stocking up on carbs (fries) and hydration (wine). I consulted AllTrails™ to search for a great hike, but the closest hotel employee turned out to be the better resource. He’d lived in Jackson for seven years, and enthusiastically recommended a route to Delta Lake. I downloaded the map and we hit the hay.
The route is 7.6 miles out and back, which would be easily manageable for Karen and I without the 2,600 feet of elevation gain. We didn’t think much of it, but with the lake sitting at 9,500 feet it turned out to be more strenuous than planned. My mom was a real trooper here - she pushed up about halfway before needing to turn around, and got to see some stunning views of Phelps Lake from the side of Grand Teton. She joined up with a group from Colorado on the way down, and left having made some new friends.
Karen and I powered on through the switchbacks, eventually reaching the split-off for Delta Lake. Delta is the least heavily trafficked of the three glacial lakes in the area - the final mile is supposedly a class three rock scramble that tends to turn people around if they aren’t wearing the right shoes. It really isn’t that bad, but coming from sea level the altitude was starting to get to me. We rested every 100 yards or so as we picked our way through the boulders. Taking a tumble here wouldn’t have been good.
“It’s worth it. I swear.”
A lone hiker gave us some encouragement as we passed over the ridge. The steep climb opened up into a wide gulch. The summit of Grand Teton, covered by Teton Glacier, framed the lake, which was composed entirely of glacial melt. The water was a deep turquoise. About a dozen groups of hikers dotted the shore, most eating lunch on their own rock. We picked our way to an open picnic spot, pulled out some sandwiches, and sat in awe.
Karen ran her hand through the water. “It’s really not bad. You should go in.” I took off my shirt, but thankfully checked for myself before taking the plunge. She laughed - it was (and still is) the coldest water I’ve ever felt. A few brave souls stripped down to bathing suits, but in the time we were there only one person jumped in. He yelped at an embarrassingly high pitch, and the pair of teenage girls across the way decided the instagram wasn’t worth the pain. I was perfectly content to sit and eat.
Feeling fulfilled on views but not action we spent the next day searching for the best rock jumping spot. Phelps Lake supposedly fit the bill, so we made our way to the Death Canyon Trailhead and started down the Phelps Lake Loop.
The trail wasn’t meant to be strenuous. Mostly flat, it meandered past the entrance to Death Canyon and down to the water. The lake had a small beach, and every inch of the sand was taken up by someone’s beach towel and/or cooler. The atmosphere was fun and family-friendly, but we continued around the loop looking for something a bit less crowded.
We passed through a few patches (groves?) of birch trees along the way and eventually came up to a crowd of people huddled around a big boulder. This was the jumping spot, and dozens of people lined up to either jump or film. The jump itself was taller than I expected - maybe 35 feet. Big enough that newcomers needed encouragement and experienced jumpers still got a thrill.
I went for it and eventually convinced Karen to change and do the same. Before going herself she spent some time coaching a woman and her mother off the edge.
“You can do this ladies. It really isn’t that bad.”
“You already went? Is it deep?”
“I’ve been dozens of times. Don’t worry about that. You won’t touch the bottom.”
“You look awfully dry.”
“I come here every year. I just haven’t been today.”
“OK I’m trusting you.”
The final straw was her six year old calling her a wuss. She nervously jumped, hit the water, and popped up to mass applause. Karen stepped up after her, looking hesitant over the edge.
“I thought you said you come here every year?!?”
“I lied!”
The couple behind me thought that was pretty funny, and noted that she’s a very convincing liar (true). She finally jumped, and we spent another hour or so hanging out by the water and looking at Death Canyon.
COWBOYS AND COWGIRLS
Karen grew up in the Bronx. I grew up in the suburbs of Boston. My mother has never slept in a tent. We are definitely not cow-folk, but it can be fun to immerse in the culture. Wednesday and Thursday were ranch days, and we kicked it off by picking up fresh hats and attending the Jackson Hole Rodeo.
This was, in fact, my first rodeo (hehe) and I quickly realized I wasn’t alone. I don’t think a single local attends the event in the hectic summer months. The announcer even kicked it off by having the crowd raise their hands for whatever state or country they came from, and Wyoming tied for dead last.
“The golden state of California! …. welcome to America folks”
“The equality state! Wyoming! …. yup no takers there.”
The show was full of gimmicky and patriotic antics, but we had fun. I enjoyed the novelty and sat through a genuinely impressive array of bull rides, steer wrangling, and barrel races while sipping on a few beers. As the show wound down the announcer gave a plug for the Million Dollar Cowboy Bar - the only large bar in town and the “official afterparty” of the event. Karen and I had been before. The bar stools are saddles. Cowboy and country fair is strewn everywhere. They usually have live music. We left a bit early to head over and try to get a table.
All three of us drank whiskey and spun around to John Denver and Johnny Cash covers. Pro tip - if you look carefully at the light fixtures they have iron cutouts spinning around them that form shadows on the walls. Most of the shapes make sense (horses, mountains), but every five minutes or so you catch the one that doesn’t fit (it’s a shark). Bar veterans like to make a drinking game out of it.
The following day we planned to go horseback riding and tour Turpin Meadow Ranch - our perspective wedding venue. Sadly the secret has been out on Jackson Hole for some time. It is an extremely popular destination wedding, so we booked our venue fifteen months in advance sight-unseen. This was the first chance for us to see if we made a mistake. That being said I wasn’t worried. Anything with a Teton view is guaranteed to be rad.
Turpin lies in the Bridger-Teton National Forest about an hour north of Jackson and only fifteen minutes from the entrance to Yellowstone. Given it was last minute we booked our horseback riding session two ranches over at Heart Six, so we pulled off along the way.
I’ve ridden a horse twice before. Generally I’ve always found it boring, but mostly because I’m not skilled enough to do anything interesting. In this case the guides were great. They gave basic instructions to the beginners, but for the most part we were free to run the trail. My horse (Baby) plodded along willingly, and I couldn’t help but think that:
Cowboy hats make a lot of sense.
Riding is way easier than hiking.
I could see why this was so popular in the old west, and I spent some time thanking Baby for saving my legs. All in all we covered 10 miles over two hours. The trail was steeper than I pictured and from the main vista we got sweeping views of the Tetons and the valley. Eventually we made it back to the corral and dis-mounted, feeding the horses from a bag of apples.
Turpin was right down the road. A four mile dirt path led to the main lodge, adjacent to a wide stream and stable. The owner let the horses roam the property freely, which I’d never seen before. A pair of white horses ate the grass right next to the parking lot as we pulled in.
The property contains the main lodge/restaurant, fourteen guest cabins, a “gym,” the stable, and a few hundred acres of wilderness. The manager, Bobbi, grew up in Manhattan Beach (small world) and met us for cocktails before dinner. She was far and away the most friendly and accommodating wedding venue manager we’d talked to. Weddings are big business, and most venues play games to try to upsell you. She seemed uninterested in dictating our experience, and slowly checked all my boxes. Yes we can party as late as we want. Yes we can use the big cabin for an afterparty. Yes we can have horses, ATVs, and mountain bikes available for guests. Pretty much anything we could dream up was on the table.
The thing that really sealed the deal was their bar and kitchen. Portions were huge, well-cooked, and on-theme. They served me a massive hunk of Bison and Karen locally caught trout. The “Gunsmoke,” a mezcal-based cocktail, is probably the best drink I’ve ever had. We were both relieved by and excited about how great the place ended up being. After a few hours of drinking the Gunsmokes got to me - Karen had to drive us back to Jackson.
BIKES
Friday was the last full day before parting ways with the fam. We woke up early to get back to Moose Junction and rent a trio of bikes, eager to make the most of it. After some gentle prodding I convinced my mom that electric bikes are the way of the future. Ten minutes and one hill later I heard the “well I think I need one of these,” and knew we’d made the right choice.
The bike path from Moose runs 16 miles adjacent to the Tetons and into the park, crossing past both Taggart Lake and Jenny Lake. With a few hour rental you have more than enough time to hit the off-shoot hikes, so we stopped off whenever we saw a crowd or shop. Taggart Lake was the first stop and the most interesting hike on the day. The path meandered through the forest for three miles before coming up on the water. Every clearing in the trees gave you a better and better view of the mountains, and since the boat launch is at Jenny the area wasn’t crowded.
We moved on to Jenny. Gift shop. Ranger station. Ferry. It was packed with people of all ages, and the Rangers hectically tried to herd the cats in the right direction. The “hike” to Jenny from the parking lot is maybe 300 yards and designed to be ADA accessible, but even without the effort the view is beautiful. The Kayak launch and most of the more adventurous trailheads are on the other side of the lake - a small ferry motors back and forth.
SNAKE RIVER
You can’t come to Jackson in Summer without getting on the Snake River. We chose white water rafting as the medium, and piled into a school bus to make our way to the water. The bus driver was old, talkative, and full of inappropriately dark-humored jokes. Most people weren’t paying attention, but a few parents gave me the youseeingthisshit? look once they actually started listening. The jokes were 100 parts creepy and 0 parts charming.
“Welcome to my bus. I’m gonna drive it off a cliff.”
“Free advice. If you fall in the river - drown. More seats for the rest of us.”
I looked around at the rest of the clientele. One family in particular was way more prepared than the others. All eight of them had full wetsuits and the dad brought along what I guessed to be a few thousand in underwater camera equipment. Much more professional than our outfit. We packed bathing suits and a few granola bars.
On arrival the guides split up the crowd into groups of eight. The over-achievers got their own raft. Our group of three was paired up with a family from Boston - two kids and two parents. Our river guide, DJ, looked to be in her early to mid twenties. She had the kind of casual cool and effortless charm you develop from bucking the corporate world - similar to a Colorado ski bum or California surfer. This was her third season as a river guide, and like most guides in Jackson she lived out of her truck in the summer. She directed us to push the boat out into the current and hop in.
“Welcome to my boat. There are only two directions y’all, so life is easy today. I say “take a break” and you stop paddling. I say “all forward” and we all paddle together.”
Oh and also - for your sake don’t try to push your guide out of the boat. These big paddles give me a lot of leverage - it ain’t happening’.”
There was clearly a story behind that one. She went on to explain that guides often provoke other groups to push out their guide, hoping to watch their colleagues fall from grace. DJ had been rushed three times this season, and every time she ducked her shoulder under the would-be attacker and flipped then into the water behind her. I believed it - girl seemed tough as nails.
Jackson had been unseasonably warm all week, so the occasional splash of cool river water was a welcome way to beat the heat. Once we reached the rapids it became more than an occasional splash, but the session was meant to be family friendly. Most of the rapids we encountered were class two and easy to navigate. DJ acted as the rudder, and steered in such a way to maximize excitement (and water in the boat).
Between rapids we had the opportunity to dry off, chat, and observe the wildlife. DJ pointed out an adult Osprey circling overhead. Just as it caught my eye the bird dove, slammed into the river, and emerged clutching a full-sized trout. The fish looked heavier than the bird - it struggled to get back up to its perch.
The last hoorah was the two largest rapids - “Big Kahuna” and “Lunch Counter.” They were the only class three waves on the day, so DJ gave us a quick pump-up speech. In the distance I saw a group of river surfers setup on boulders overlooking a neck-down in the river. A surfer was already on the wave, but I learned that anything upstream has the right of way. They could move or get run over. A photographer sat behind them, ready to capture our effort for posterity.
We powered through the waves, mostly flailing rather than paddling in unison. No one fell out, everyone laughed, and it was a great way to end the outing. My mom, being the champion she is, laughed hysterically and seemed eager for more action.
