Slow down to the speed of wisdom.
Vicki Robin
I wake with the tiniest bit of frost on the alicoop2, but I was cozy warm all night, the sky crystal clear and filled with stars, a half moon winking in before dawn.
A loud crow wakes me, his wings flap-flapping as he makes a fly over. I’m warm and lazy with no reason to get up, so watch the sun creep up the canyon and light up the Grand.
I’m reading Pema Chödrön Comfortable with Uncertainty trying to learn how to let go more, live more in the present with curiosity and have more humor about myself and all the ways I try to make things go my way. She writes that it’s better for us when we accept that nothing is guaranteed, though I’m fairly certain to be guaranteed I have to do my morning business!
So it’s out of the tent in this glorious place to find a loo with a view and dig my first cat hole of the trip. I next find a comfy spot on a rock outcropping and have a breakfast of raisin bran and pecans. A gal peaks in to say “hi” and I ask if she was warm enough last night. “Oh yes!” she tells me and admires my spot.
I take my time packing, letting the bottom of the alicoop2 dry out first. There’s no rush as it isn’t far over the divide and I want to ensure I don’t get another altitude headache. But eventually I say goodbye to this superb place that held me safe in a night of wonder and I’m off.
It’s steep up past more thickets of white bark pine, but nothing as magical as my site. I see the pass high above, “Oh boy…” and go into low gear passing lakes below in aqua and deep blue.
Thirty years ago, I hiked this on a day with a violinist named Margaret. It was one of the first big passes I’d ever done and I remember it being gorgeous and me being exhausted. We came the other way, a more gradual ascent. This one makes long zig zags with views deep into the canyon before sidling a scree slope. Some glaciers still cling to the slope, but I never cross any. I would definitely need spikes and an ice ax with this 60-70 degree slope straight down for hundreds of feet.
Ahead I see three backpackers working their way up slowly. We’re moving at about the same pace, slow with lots of stops for views. It’s not really hard walking, but I’m careful not to fall and put the trekking pole straps around my wrists. Below me is Grizzly Lake where I might have camped, but glad I decided not to hike down 1,000 feet. All around me are boulders and scree though oddly a few stunted pines at the top.
I see the three reach a very steep bit close to a wall and just as I reach it, a man passes me. He and his partner both are out just for the day and both have stuffed animal ‘mascots’ on their packs. They pop right up these rocks, where I need to set my poles and carefully lift myself up. My pack isn’t too heavy, but it’s unwieldy and I don’t want to fall.
A small group gathers at the top including the five now I’m following and I meet them soon. It’s a wide plateau surrounded by pointy peaks, a few massive glaciers fanning out. We chat and I learn the three climbed the Grand only a few days ago, the young woman in pink-tinted braids getting awfully close to the edge to snap my picture. She mentions she saw a bear heading to my campsite last night, a black bear which I never saw.
Three men are coming the other way and tell me to grab the first site after the waterfall. I tell them that same summer, thirty years ago, I led a nervous group of hikers up to Lake Solitude in snow with yellow crocuses pushing up to the hot sun. The lake was iced over, but the day was brilliant and I wore cut offs and a crop top.
So long ago and I can’t see the lake yet from here. I can see pink quartz in the rock and black glass glinting in the So long ago and I can’t see the lake yet from here. But I do see pink quartz in the rock and black glass glinting in the brilliant sunlight. The wind is up and it’s warm, the sky is a deep blue up here above 10,000 feet. Soon, each group heads down and I hear voices chattering in stereo on both sides. I put on a sweater and drink some water, before deciding I might as well see about that amazing campsite, and head down myself.
The Grand Tetons are made of some of the oldest rock in the world, yet are relatively young mountains, split apart and pushed up while the valley was pushed down. Glaciers carved their jagged shape and remnants of glaciers are visible along with deep canyons and cold, deep lakes. The trail down is carved through massive boulders, and is strewn with sizable rocks demanding attention be paid.
It’s a more gradual descent heading far south, Lake Solitude finally in view but a long way in the opposite direction. But this way brings the massive and slightly askew Grand Teton into view plus the verdant North Fork of Cascade Creek, winding through willows and grasses down to the main canyon.
The trail eventually turns back north under a cliff and works its way like a ramp through small stands of pine and down to the lake, sparkling like diamonds in a bowl of jagged peaks.
I decide to find that amazing site first and return later to the lake. It’s steep down, with trail crews even building rock stairs. I pass the horse hitching post then cross the bridge over crashing falls and look for the spot as three backpackers tell me it’s still a bit further.
A helpful sign indicates the camping zone and a sign points to a campsite. I’m here! In fact, it’s the same one George the Ranger recommended, next to a massive boulder. No one is here so I walk down, over a pile of debris likely pushed here in the spring melt.
It’s positively ideal, my tent site in a grassy meadow between two streams looking right at all three Tetons. I set up in the hot sun, then filter water for lunch – Buffalo Pasta Salad and a handful of gummy bears, plus a peanut butter/chocolate shake –choosing a flat rock next to the boulder in shade. A whole row of backpackers stop on the trail and look in as I putter around organizing my gear and changing into camp clothes. Do they want my spot?
They move on and I put my sleeping bag on top of my tent for shade and try to take a nap. It’s really too hot in the direct sun and the wind keeps blowing it off. So I move to a shady spot under a pine tree with a curvy trunk that appears to be dancing. My view is incredible and I lay down to read. This is truly one of the most magnificent places I have ever camped.
As the afternoon wanes, I decide to head up and explore Lake Solitude before dinner. I take my pack, water and the bear bag in case I want to eat above. It’s not too far up and so worth coming back to a huge rock outcropping with shade under pines.
I talk to twin sisters for a while, then follow the shore. Had I walked the CDT and come here, I would have had to scramble down off-trail. I can see the route along a grassy area, but it’s far and I’ll bet tricky. I walk a path that takes me through fields of dried flowers scraping at my ankles. The lake is turquoise and fed by waterfalls.
I have a few bars and drink water with electrolytes. Altitude makes me thirsty, but my headache is gone. I hear a splash and see someone swimming. I can only brave soaking my feet for a few moments before they go numb.
I meet a young woman named Grace who tells me it’s fairly flat after Hurricane Pass and she didn’t see much water. We talk about how beautiful everything is and she comments my name, “Blissful” suits me.
As I leave I meet the man who swam. He apparently is used to cold water. They’re camping below and when I tell them I’m in the gray tent they ask, “Did you see the moose?!” First a bear, and now a moose. What else did I miss?
They follow me down and point to him laying in the stream below my camp spot. I really can’t see him, but after dinner – triskets and cheese dip – I spy him grazing in the wetlands. He has an enormous rack and suddenly seems to see me. I don’t blend in wearing bright orange. I move out of site so as not to cause him stress. I doubt he’ll come up to my tent, loving his territory of grasses and aquatics.
I make a poor attempt to hang the bear bag. It’s designed to simply tie tightly to a tree because bears cannot chew through the fabric, but I don’t trust critters who can chew through. The sun is golden on the Tetons and I’m already cuddled into Big Greenie.
But I might just check it out.
Holy smokes, a big sneeze. The bull moose is up above the stream. He’s about 100 feet away, just grazing and there is really nothing to eat in my section of the meadow but wow, he’s big!
OK, one quick check of my bear hang before it gets dark, then off to bed and trusting the creatures have no interest in a bunch of dehydrated pasta, cereal and chocolate.
