Teton Crest Trail: Day 1, Leigh Lake to Upper Paintbrush, 7.2 miles

Coming back is the thing that enables you to see how all the dots in your life are connected.

Ann Patchett

The morning comes early, still dark when my alarm goes off. There’s nothing special to be done, just roll out of bed, put on my hiking outfit and go. 

The weather forecasts a splendid week of upper 60’s and low 70’s under bright sunny days with all the smoke blown out. Nights will be right at freezing so I pack big greenie, my zero degree bag, plus layers and six days of meals. Yesterday, I biked to Chipotle for two giant burritos wrapped in tin foil to eat along my journey. They get extra screening at the airport. 

It’s been a long week with voice over work plus interviews for a job I would really like to be hired for in a place I want to live. Everything went well, but it absolutely wiped me out and stirred the pot of insecurity and uncertainty. Part of the reason I left for this open-ended backpacking trip now was the coming of fall, but also to get away from overthinking. (spoiler alert: I didn’t get that job)

The flight is delayed due to mechanical trouble, but the women who shares my row switches with me for a window seat. Sadly, it’s the wrong side to see the Teton Range as we fly towards Jackson Hole. That’s where one of my climbing buddies, Cheyenne  happens to be sitting on her way home, now that she lives out here. Small world and hoping for a drink together when I finish. 

We cross other ranges in a bit of haze, but it’s Chamber of Commerce blue skies, just a wisp of cloud at the tip of the Grand. It’s a short runway and we plop down and brake fast. You can’t fly with bear spray, so I rent a can near baggage claim. It’s a good deal at $30 for five days or more – I opt for two weeks just in case. 

‘Bear’ picks me up to drive me over to the Jenny Lake Ranger Station, my fingers and toes crossed I can nab a permit. He’s ex-military and British, swiped by us to train soldiers for high altitude missions. I like him right away especially when he promises to wait to ensure I can hike. 

I wander past the store and visitor center, the place crowded but not nearly as bad as mid-July. Ranger George helps me, an avuncular older man who apologizes when he needs to pick up the phone to organize a search and rescue. 

I joke with him that I’m going for my ‘SKT,’ Slowest Known Time over the crest, carrying six days of food with no intention to hurry. He suggests a few side scrambles and to bring warm gear since it might snow in three days. He also gives me tips on the best sites and wishes me luck, before I race back to Bear who assumed I’d nabbed a permit. 

“Of course you would,” he tells me. “It’s getting cold and the animals are already moving south down the Gros Ventre,” as we spy a small herd of pronghorn antelope doing just that. He drives me a few minutes more north to the Leigh Lake trailhead where I eat one of my sandwiches looking straight at the Grand with two SUP paddlers in line for scale and interest. 

I pack up, put on sunscreen and take off on a wide and flat track. Everyone is happy, commenting on the clear skies (finally) The air is pungent with pine and balsam, it’s fresh and cool as I circle the lake, cross a channel and meet the trail up Paintbrush Canyon. 

It’s a bit late for flowers. I see exactly one on my ascent. Mostly the bushes are turning yellow and red, even as the day heats up. 

I spent two summers playing flute at the Grand Teton Music Festival, so walked this canyon many times. It’s five miles of steep and rocky ascent climbing between magnificent walls towards lakes and finally a divide taking the hiker behind the major peaks. Mount Moran is visible much of the day with its long, dark stripe of rock embedded in a mostly gray mountain. 

I climb slow and steady in absolutely no rush. A few hikers pass wearing headphones and barely acknowledge I’m there. But then I meet a trio in their seventies curious about what I’m doing. They’re from Alabama and one has a strong accent. 

“We’re old, but we’re doing the best thing for your health!” 

Ain’t that the truth. As we part they wonder if a backpack trip with mules might be in the cards for them. I push upward, my pack heavy on day one. I’m in the trees and the shade feels good, though views pop out as the trail begins a long series of switchbacks. 

I meet a large group of men filtering water at a small stream. I hear the bigger stream and want to find a spot to sit while I filter, so move on, massive rock slabs appearing which the trail scurries around. 

I also have a spectacular view down the canyon to the lakes I passed as well as massive Jackson Lake, the land surrounding the dusty light green sagebrush. The trail is nearly always up but good tread. Nonetheless, my heart pumps hard and I’m out of breath, not tachycardia, just hard work. 

I find my good filter spot by a bridge in sunshine, with a fallen log to sit and hang up my gravity fed filter with ‘dirty’ water bags emptying into Smart Water bottles. The water may contain protozoa or bacteria, but is crystal clear.   

An older man and woman come down, she telling me, “Prepare to be amazed!” I think she means the views, but it’s a group of six young children happily marching down the trail. It seems to Tetons attracts all ages. 

I press up and up, waterfalls shooting down the rocks and the trail continuing to zigzag up to an obvious plateau where the lakes must be. I walk slower and slower, still moving though a bit woozy through a massive boulder field, the views wide of peaks and glaciers.

The trail splits here and George suggested I take the right fork to see these pretty lakes, though I have to stop at the first one. I sit on a rock in the middle of a field of grass that’s turned gold. 

I hear two women closer to the water by the rocks laughing. Perhaps they went swimming. They come towards me and I say hi, sharing some of the same pleasantries I’ve shared all day with the dozens coming down from their day hike. When I mention how the grass here just glows, I must have said something magical because the girls really take a liking to me. 

One named Allison has just completed her PhD in the protection of endangered animals. She spent time in Russia thwarting poachers of big game. Victoria is a Coast Guard nurse and the two have been traveling all summer with a stash of champagne in their trunk. 

We take pictures and selfies and promise to keep in touch. Such lovely young women heading down as I have a little over a mile – a steep mile – yet to walk. Holly Lake is lovely tucked in a bowl surrounded by white pine. All the campsites are taken and I suddenly feel nervous that I won’t find a spot to set the alicoop2 before dark. 

A sign for the lake grabs my attention: 9,410 feet. It’s the altitude! I knew the Grand Teton was high, but I somehow neglected to check the height of the trail. No wonder I’m moving like a snail. 

I skip stopping at the lake and head up now towards the Upper Paintbrush camp area. The trail is truly steeper, and I need to walk twenty steps or so, then catch my breath. The views open right up into this staggering canyon, now more a bowl leading to a pass. 

A stream comes all the way down near the trail and George said sites are in small groves of pine. I see one, but it’s a bit too deep in trees, so I very slowly move on. 

Just as I reach a flattening out of the stream, I come upon three hikers stripped to their skivvies with music cranked. Oh no! A few backpackers pass me coming down and I let a few f-bombs drop which they commiserate with. 

But I am wrecked now so can only climb. So when an ideal spot appears near the babbling stream and looking towards the Grand, I take it and get right to setting up the tent. I also get out of my sweaty bra and into warm clothes as the sun makes its long ramp towards setting. 

Pica squeak as if squeezed and loads of birds fly to closer branches to see if handouts are in order. Not on your life! Once my home is set, I head to the water to filter and make dinner. At this point, my head is starting to pound. I always suffer from altitude sickness and it usually takes a few days to acclimate.  It’s not pleasant, and one time it turned nasty and potentially fatal, but mostly I just feel bad. 

The loud music below me is not helping. I yell down to ask if they’re staying and they say yes, but will keep it down. I would prefer off and decide I better just move. But my head really hurts.  

I ask if one might come up to help, and he does, still shirtless and in flip flops. He tells me they were just celebrating one of their birthdays, drinking far too much tequila and about to stop, then wants to know why I’m letting the air out of my mattress. I tell him I need to move and give him a lecture on Leave No Trace and being considerate. 

He says, “You had me walk up here for that?” 

And I realize I’m also being kind of a jerk, too. Josh is his name, and he honestly had no idea I was up here. I apologize and we laugh when I realize it’s only 6:00!

True to his word, it goes absolutely quiet as the sun sets. I sit in the last of the sun as a few birds flap around and one grouse-like creature visits. The Grand and south-facing canyons walls turn pinky-orange, and the glaciers seemingly pasted to eroding scree shimmer. I hang the Ursack in a high branch mostly to discourage ‘mini-bears’ – the pica, chipmunks and marmots – from chewing through. 

I stay out as long as I can stand then bundle up inside Big Greenie as it goes dark and the first stars appear. What a day of luck, especially with the permit and weather, and one that pushed me hard, so hopefully I’ll sleep deeply and dream of more adventures to come.