Snowmobiling to Granite Hot Springs: A Jackson Hole winter classic

CAPTION: Though diving is strictly forbidden at Granite Hot Springs, they say nothing about tossing someone into the pool. Here, Jeff Wilcox gets Alexis Wilcox airborne before she splashes back into the water.

Excursion: Soaking in Granite Hot Springs
How long: Half day
Cost: $6 per person
Distance: About 10 miles one way on a snowmobile or cross-country skis

Rolling around in the snow in nothing but a swimsuit is somewhat of an acquired taste. No, let’s get real: it’s enough to make a grown man scream like a howler monkey.

Not that I ever would.

But this is one of the long-standing traditions at Granite Hot Springs. You may do it on a dare, as a test of manhood, or on a personal whim, but it is always the effect of getting back in the soothing 112-degree water that motivates you to do it.

As you slide back into the ginormous hot tub, your skin prickles like you’re being massaged by a thousand miniscule iron maidens. Though mildly uncomfortable, the sensation is worth experiencing.

At least once a year.

Luckily, it’s still easy to find snow to roll around in at Granite at this time of year. The massive boulders surrounding the picturesque pool are piled with about four feet of snow throughout the winter, leaving swimmers to wonder when the towers of snow will topple into the pool to cool it a couple of degrees.

Many swimmers try to do just that by firing snowballs at each other in the pool. Thus far, the pool attendant has never accused me of doing anything wrong when I pelt someone with a hefty snowball in the pool.

Just don’t get caught with food in the pool area. That’s what really ticks off the attendant. Granite Hot Springs provides picnic tables for dining convenience just outside the boundaries of the pool. The other thing they won’t stand for (if they see you) is running on the pool deck. With the snow showers that often blanket the boardwalk in snow, it is almost a sure thing it will be slick in spots. I have personally witnessed children, adults and drunkards alike take a tumble on the planks outside the pool. In sue-happy America, Granite Hot Springs can’t afford law suits charging six bucks a head. So please refrain from blaming personal injury on Granite after personal stupidity.

Because of the nature (literally) of the pool, it does have a tendency to be, well, natural. Don’t be afraid if a little bit of nature slimes you on its way to Granite Creek. On our last trip to Granite, my 18-month-old son was scooting across the shallows of the pool pointing out the floaties and proclaiming “Eeeeyyyuuooo” as he sauntered past them.

Translation: “Don’t drink the water.” That said, they do keep it remarkably clean for a natural hot spring, emptying and refilling the pool on a daily basis.

Just down the hill from the pool, Granite Creek tumbles down a wide precipice, forming Granite Creek Falls. This is actually where I proposed to my wife by placing her wedding ring’s box in the heart of snow angels we made by the falls. Don’t worry, I waterproofed the box first.

The 10-mile snowmobile ride into the hot spring can be an outing in itself. The fast-moving creek stays open in most places throughout the winter, creating a stunning interaction between water and ice. Cream Puff Peak and others rise around the trail, lending even more beauty to the creek flowing at your feet.

In many places along the way, playgrounds for snowmobilers open up. There isn’t a hill to be found without a high mark on it. The terrain is varied and entertaining. Fields lead up to hills which lead up to the mountains. Riders can choose to stay in the open or disappear into the forest. In some places, there are hills custom-made to launch a “sledneck” a hundred feet through the crisp air.

If you go off trail, make sure someone knows where you are at all times, and check your speed often, as unforeseen gullies and ridges can easily trap or wreck even the most experienced snowmobiler.

Last but not least: watch for non-motorized users of the road to Granite. Many unbelievably fit Jacksonites opt to cross-country ski in. One company runs tourists into the springs on dogsleds. Though the staff pulling the sleds will hear you coming a mile away, pass them slowly anyway. They’ll thank you for it, which is much better than the glares and even indignant yells you’ll get for flying past them.

Excursion Article: Breaking trail to Taggart Lake by snowshoe in Grand Teton National Park

Caption: Finding new vistas is easy when you make your own trail. AmberLynn Wilcox comes up on a unique view of the Tetons on her way to Taggart Lake.

Breaking trail to Taggart breaks the familiarity
By Mark Wilcox

Excursion: Snowshoeing to Taggart Lake
Length: Two to three hours roundtrip
Difficulty: Easy
Route: Wherever the heck you want to go

Speeding and sliding down the steep hill with my bright orange snowshoes leading the charge, I laughed as I noticed how much snow I was flicking onto and over my back with the hind end of my snowshoes. A chunky shower of snow sprayed on and around me until I made it to flat ground.

With a grin, I turned around and watched my wife’s progress down the slippery slope. Instead of the hazardous full-speed sprint I had opted for, she took a slightly more cautious route: sliding down on her backside to act as a snowplow for a small portion of the hill.

Though it is one of the last legs on the trip to Taggart Lake, hauling down the last hillside before reaching the parking lot flats is always my favorite part. Its kind of a hybrid between skiing, the 100 meter dash and, of course, snowshoeing. You almost float down on each step on a fluffy cushion of snow. Leaning back on your heels gives the ski-like experience of bouncing through the powder, never finding the real base.

Which is why I opt to run that portion.

However, running the whole trip in your snowshoes would step up the excursion’s difficulty from “Easy” to “Are you insane?” The hills around Taggart, especially the one closest to the parking lot, are not ones any sane person would decide to run up, at least not in enormous snowshoes and four feet of snow. That’s not to say it can’t be done.

The beauty of snowshoeing is that trails don’t matter. I repeat: trails do not matter. Yep, you can chart a trail literally anywhere you dang well please. This makes a simple trip to Taggart Lake a lot more interesting. Even having done this trip numerous times, I always come out on a portion of the lake I’m not quite expecting. And picking your way up hills, through trees and over logs is infinitely more interesting than the tired trail to Taggart. It’s amazing how different everything feels just a hundred yards from the main trail.

And the snow blanketing everything gives newness to the place as well. There’s nothing quite like traipsing through an undisturbed forest boasting a fresh layer of icing. The peace, quiet and sheer solitude of it makes the steady scrunching of snowshoes compressing powder that much more noticeable. And anyone that has gone snowshoeing can attest: that’s not a bad thing.
The young forest around Taggart is particularly fun to navigate. The juvenile trees sprang from the fertile ashes of the 1984 Cottonwood Creek Blaze. The thick new forest reclaimed the terrain more thickly than the original forest, creating a dense maze of saplings to wander through. Small corridors open up through the trees, which can then be followed until the next corridor branches off. Occasionally, you might even find yourself doubling back to find a route that doesn’t require you to knock so much snow off overhead branches to move through the pine boughs. Snow falling down your neck is never pleasant.

Going straight over the hills toward Taggart is liberating and beautiful, affording views and sights unseen by most. From time to time you cross the tracks of other snowshoers, whether they are human or hare. But it’s always more fun to make your own path.

The lake itself is beautiful all layered in snow and ice. A vast field of white capped with my mountains: the Tetons. The bridge across the outlet is always a destination while visiting the lake in winter. The shallow water underneath the snow-stacked bridge opens up almost year-round to the warm, yet freezing colors of algae on the rocks and logs beneath the surface. The intricate shapes created by the interaction between, ice, rock and water almost make you forget the Tetons are right over there.

In short, the easiest way to get a unique hike to Taggart is to make your own trail. However, if you’ve never been to Taggart Lake or have a nasty sense of direction, you’d better stick to the well-worn trail to avoid calling out Search and Rescue.

Excursion Article Series 01.17.09: Cache Creek backcountry skiing: How to photograph oneself skiing on a 10-second timer

Caption: Ever tried to take a picture of yourself skiing without a remote for your camera? Not easy. But I still managed to get this great pic.

Excursion: Backcountry skiing
Where: Cache Creek off Hagen Trail
Difficulty: Moderate to expert

All Jacksonites know that Snow King is not in fact the King of Snow. In fact, it often seems like the resort’s efforts to clone snow early in the year anger the snow clouds who go and haughtily dump their snow elsewhere. That’s why apart from a few runs of night skiing, locals mostly get their skiing elsewhere.

Fortunately, just about anywhere else in the valley will do. Just up Cache Creek on the same hill that hosts Snow King, people willing to hike for a few turns can and will find them. I don’t know whether it’s the proximity to traffic, town or what, but Snow King really does seem to be in a perpetual drought compared to the hills just outside of the town boundaries.

On Friday, even though it’s been pretty sunny for well over a week, I found eight inches of powder underneath just a mild layer of crust just off the Hagen Trail. Because of the crust, I was slightly less inclined to really explore the backcountry than I would have been otherwise.

About a mile up Cache Creek Road from the main parking lot, I took off on the satellite Hagen Trail which heads gradually up the north-facing hills. It’s a neat little trail that’s not as frequently used (especially by dogs) as the main trail. It’s nice to find respite from the incessant signs warning to “do your duty and pick up your dog doo-ty,” not to mention the sign left behind in little plastic baggies by inconsiderate hoards of dog owners. I’m sure they promise themselves to pick it up on their way back, but “Oops,” forget about it on the way down.

Anyway, when I had gone up the trail half a mile or so, I found my little Shangri-La. Just as I rounded a steep bend in the trail, the sun flared through gaps in the trees, illuminating swathes of untouched golden snow on a relatively treeless hillside.


Caption: Here's the hill I skied on prior to tracking it up. Yummy snow...

Mmmmmmmm, I thought.

The only good thing about the crust was that it made it really easy to kick steps off trail. Being a good Boy Scout, I came prepared. Snowshoes strapped to my back in case I really found deep snow, skis and ski boots, a tripod, one perfectly-sized mitten, one undersized glove, an extra coat, water and dangit! Forgot my beanie. Luckily the 20-degree weather felt equatorial after hauling myself and 50 pounds of gear all over the hills.

Unfortunately, I was unable to find anyone to help me enforce the buddy system that day, which is partly why I had chosen Cache Creek for my outing. There’s little to no avalanche danger, decent cell reception and it’s close to home and/or St. John’s in case anything does go wrong. Because of my lack of a buddy, I had to figure out a way to take pictures of myself skiing on a ten-second timer.

This is no easy feat. Scout’s honor.

What I wound up doing was setting up the tripod, hitting the shutter release and sidestepping uphill as fast as I could before the timer released. Scampering 20 feet up a hill through crusty powder on 207 skis in 8 seconds then flying down the hill to hit your 10-second mark at the perfect compositional point sounds about as easy as it is. Too many times the shutter would click just soon enough that I missed the shot but couldn’t stop myself before I reached the camera. So I had to halt, wearily ascend the hill to the camera and repeat. After a half dozen tries, I got frustrated and planted my skis in the snow and took a still shot. I knew that would work.

After that I was able to climb the rest of the hill to get to do one real run before I had to go home. If it weren’t for the chill sounds of “Aqueous Transmission” by Incubus playing on my MP3 player, I don’t know how far up the hill I would have made it. I passed several moose and deer beds on my way up the hill, so take care to watch for wildlife, and please give it space if you do have any encounters. They were there first; plus they’re bigger than you. It’s also always good to check avalanche conditions (http://www.jhavalanche.org/advisories.html) before you go, travel with a buddy, make sure people know where you’ve gone and if possible, have functional avalanche transceivers on hand.

Remember that 90 minutes of hiking for a glorious 90-second run is worth your while. Just don’t forget your beanie.


Caption: This is the picture I took when I wasn't sure any of the action shots were working like I wanted them to. Not bad, just not great.

Excursion Article Series 01.03.09: Snow kiting let's the kite fly you for a change

Caption: The wind was pretty squirrely, making for an interesting day kite skiing.

Excursion: Snow kiting
Where: Slide Lake
When: When the lake is well frozen
Difficulty: Varies with wind speed

Go fly a kite isn’t much of an insult anymore. Maybe that’s because nowadays you can let the kite fly you.

As one of the newest entries into the extreme sports arena, snow kiting, also known as kite skiing or kiteboarding, can be looked at as a cross between sailing and paragliding. Like sailing, you have full and surprisingly responsive control. Yet the kite steers with the simplicity of a paraglider: pull left to go left and right to go right. No two-man crew is necessary or even plausible for the one-man kites.

My family got a kite before most people even knew the sport existed. However, finding time to use it has been hard since we got it a couple years ago. When I took it out most recently, it was only the second time I was ever able to go. I remember the first time I used the kite thinking how easy it was. Conditions were perfect for learning. The wind was blowing at a steady pace, the lake had only a fine skein of snow drifting over the frozen surface and I had just been tutored about how to use the kite.

I left Slide Lake with no such feeling after my most recent outing. The wind was squirrely and gusty, 18 inches of heavy powder blanketed the lake and I have apparently forgotten how to find the magic “power zone” that generates the force necessary to haul a body back and forth across a frozen lake.

What I did find pretty consistently was the “pull-me-down-and-drag-me-through-the-powder-on-my-belly zone.” If you don’t believe in the power of unseen wind, all you have to do is strap yourself into the safety leash of one of these kites on a windy day and see for yourself how hard it can be to stay upright.

My oldest brother Jeff, an experienced paraglider pilot, knows wind well, so we let him give the kite the first run when we saw how iffy conditions were. Even with his experience with wind, mishaps can happen. During our first outing ever, he and our brother-in-law Shawn set up the kite. While Jeff was still unwinding the lines from the handlebar, Shawn released the kite to the mercy of the wind, unaware of how easily it would fly. Knowing it had temporary freedom, the kite took off at full speed. Before Jeff even realized the kite had been loosed, the handlebar had nailed him in the chin several times while unwinding the remainder of the line.


Caption: Letting the kite do the flying, it's relatively easy to zip across a frozen lake.

Reminding me of that painful experience, Jeff chided me to hold on tight until it was time. When his setup was mostly complete, he shouted down to me a final warning, something like, “Wait until I’m ready to let the kite go.” The wind drowned out the negative in the sentence and 50 yards away I heard something like, “I’m ready; let the kite go.” When I did, Jeff instantly began playing snowplow with his face and the wires of the out-of-control kite clipped my legs out from under me after performing a couple jerky swoops through the sky.

Realizing my mistake, all I could do was watch from my back as Jeff slid past me through the deep snow. Despite his frantic attempts to right my wrong, he found time to yell at me as the wind yanked him past me: “What were you thinking!?”

I didn’t find time to answer his question until after I secured the kite hundreds of feet away after Jeff finally had the control handle, safety leash and all jerked from his hands. After we sorted out the misunderstanding, Jeff was able to get a nice workout zig-zagging across the lake on his skis and flying the kite upwind to make it back to our starting area.

When riders get really good, they can get enough power behind their kites to actually get airborne, allowing the kite to actually fly them. When I took the controls, the only flying I did was from my feet straight to my stomach – not ideal. Luckily the powder cushioned my falls – I mean flights.

If it’s a sport you’re interested in, you can typically purchase a beginner kite and harness (the harness is basically just a way to enable power steering, thereby keeping things safer) for well under a $1,000. Just remember not to release the kite until you’re ready.


Caption: Don't let the pictures fool you, snow kiting is a taxing sport. Think water skiing where you control the (sail)boat at the same time as getting dragged behind it.

Excursion Article Series 12.20.08: Early-season sledding rocks, quite literally

Caption: My niece Sydnie picks up speed before crashing into a tree at the base of the hill.

Excursion: Early-season sledding
Where: Just off Moose-Wilson Road
Difficulty: Depends how fast you climb back up the hill for the next run

The thought bounced around my head like the rocks were bouncing off my knees: “Maybe it’s still too early to be sledding on this hill.”

After my knees sustained about the tenth blow through the plastic of my sled, I decided it was time to bail. It wasn’t just the rocks either. I noticed something about where I was headed that I had never noticed in all my years of stopping at the first overlook on Moose-Wilson Road: there’s running water right at the base of the hill. Either it appeared out of thin air or I looked past it through all the years, seeing the meadow beyond instead. After all, there’s always the possibility that it might contain wildlife – moose, bears and elk all frequent the area.

As can be imagined, it was a rather poor time to notice such a fact. My momentum had already picked up on the steep, baseless hill. So I chose the soft, dry, snow over the mucky, wet, freezing water below. I turned the sled sideways and rolled off gracelessly. My tumble uncovered more rocks and stopped me shy of the Houdini-water at the base of the hill that I’m convinced had appeared out of nowhere.


Caption: Sydnie giggles after running into the wiry batch of trees after her speediest run.

So I picked up my sled, rubbed the ice crystals out of my beard, flipped the snow out of my underwear and waited a moment for the powder that had gone down my neck to melt and come out the bottom of my shirt. When that was done, I readjusted my hat and climbed the hill with a slight limp to tell my two nieces waiting at the top of the hill that due to my crash-test-dummy routine and the aforementioned flowing water and rocky hill we’d probably have to find another hill to sled down.

“Next time I’ll let one of them do the testing,” I thought.

I knew exactly where to find the next hill. At the end of the plowed road from Moose toward Wilson, there is a small parking area where the road to Death Canyon trailhead is in the summer. If you park there, it’s a small matter to take a left into the forest instead of heading up the road and climb straight up a perfect sledding hill. Well, almost perfect.

The snow was quite a bit deeper on this hill despite the relative proximity to what I will now refer to as “Oops, Should-Have-Checked-Conditions-a-Bit-Before-Hurling-Myself-Down-the Hill,” or “Oops Hill” for short. Unfortunately, it was right when we got out of the car that my 15-month-old son decided it was too cold outside for his impeccable taste. The worst part is his vocabulary to tell me so consists of whimpers leading into infuriatingly whiny shouts. The good news? I had an excuse to let my nieces guinea pig this hill. So I sent Sydnie, the oldest of the two, to tromp up the hill and make the first run from halfway up.

It turned out to be less of a run and more of a slow canter petering out into a disappointing crawl. Gravity didn’t pull her tiny body enough to displace the 18 inches of fresh powder for more than a few feet. It took her several tries before she smoothed down a corridor that the sled could follow to the narrow, supple trees at the bottom.

With the more compact snow in place, Sydnie really flew down the hill, clobbering the narrow trees and winding up off her sled giggling and asking her sister Hallie to help her stand up. Meanwhile I laughed while holding my son and snapping pictures of the aftermath (see picture above).

When I finally got my turn, I decided that all the fresh snow would slow me down plenty if I went to the top of the hill and came down. I was sort of right, I guess. I did move pretty slowly on the top part, but then I met up with my nieces’ tracks and picked up plenty of speed. My collision with the trees, though painless for me, probably hurt the narrow trunks a heck of a lot more. But hey, they bounced back just fine. My knee will probably not recover so quickly.

I think next time I’ll wait until the snow has covered a little more of the shrubbery.


Caption: Kael complained about being outside most of the time we were there. But I still managed to get this cute picture of us. Check out those beautiful blue eyes.

Excursion Article Series 12.04.08: Christmas Tree Hunting is always a growing experience

Caption: Mom looks in the wrong direction for Christmas trees.

Excursion: Christmas treeing
Where: National Forest land – maps available when you pick up your permit
When: Probably before Christmas would be best
Why: To keep plastic pine needles in clearance boxes at Walmart where they belong

Religion is important to me. It plays a vital part in my life. But every year right around Thanksgiving I find myself especially happy to be a Christian. I personally think we celebrate Christmas in December because we all need a little sunshine in the otherwise often bleak winter weather.

What other holiday could get entire families out slogging around through mud and snow to play lumberjack for a day? And what’s more, everyone seems to enjoy the experience in the end.

Tradition has it in our family that we hunt down our defenseless trees sometime around Thanksgiving, as in “Thanks for this asymmetrical tree.” They’re all mismatched from one side to the other, so if you find yourself having problems saying “timber,” get over it. Just realize that you can easily face one side of a tree toward a wall, or if you have an especially barren tree, a corner. If it’s a bit of a Charlie Brown tree when you get it home, the cats could probably use a new scratching post.

The next thing to consider is height. No matter how well you gauge it when you’re outside, it comes into the house a different height. This is one of the few defense mechanisms the smaller, more perfect trees actually have. They stand there nonchalantly next to their gargantuan brothers pointing their more spindly limbs at taller trees. They know that as Americans we live by the mantra “Bigger is better.” Therefore we forget our ceilings aren’t as tall as say, the outdoors, for instance. If that ploy doesn’t work, they quick-change from friendly fir into spiky spruce to try to get you from hack-sawing through their little spine-ities. Can you blame them?

We all know how well these defenses actually work. So far I’ve found a tree every year that I’m willing to place in my living room. Sometimes this just means it’s getting dark, my wife’s toes are cold and “Hey, there’s a tree that will fit, maybe…” Even with an experienced eye, I find myself hacking off the fullest lower branches and/or the bits where the star ought to perch just so I don’t have to lay the tree sideways to keep it in the living room.

This year was different though. Amazingly enough, I remembered that trees are bigger than they look outside. So I went by the rule that unless I could reach my hand up and touch the top, it was too big. At 6 foot 5 inches tall, I can touch the ceiling in my apartment while standing flat footed. Even then I was looking at the scrawny tree we picked going, “Really? I’m sure we could go bigger.”

My family found our trees on Fall Creek Road near the summit of the sledding hill (article forthcoming when snow arrives.) I couldn’t find my hiking boots on the way out of my apartment, so I had to sub in my tractionless old basketball shoes last second. Right after I started up the hill carrying my 14-month-old son, I slipped on some thick sludge. Luckily, I caught every one of our combined 235 pounds on my funny bone. My son looked startled for a second, but was taking it fine until he could see I was hurting. Not to be left out of the pain party, he started screaming until grandma came to his rescue. For my part, I writhed in pain while the color drained from my face and the nausea flowed up. I reclined on a prickly blanket of pine needles until the pain subsided several minutes later. My brother made fun of me on his way by.

Grr.

Anyway, we all got trees; some of us even before dark, thus keeping up with our treeing tradition. Permits can be obtained for anywhere from $5 for a tree under 12 feet to $25 for a tree taller than 25 feet from the Jackson Ranger District at 25 Rosencrans Lane or the visitor center at 532 North Cache Street. The permit must be wrapped around the tree trunk when you take it down. Only one permit is allowed per person, but individuals may purchase up to four additional permits for friends and family members, provided they have the name of each additional person at the time of purchase.

Surprisingly, I think our scrawny tree may be our nicest ever … except for that lousy back side.


Caption: Eric points out that if you take the middle out of this 14-foot tree, you'd find a perfect monster of a Christmas tree.

Excursion Article Series 11.08.08: Biking in Grand Teton during off season allows for certain...freedoms

Caption: I'm pretty sure we weren't supposed to have our bikes on the lake shore, but it sure was fun getting them there.

Excursion: Biking on the inner park road to Jenny Lake
Length: An hour or two unless your wife’s about to pop.
Directions: Park at the Taggart Lake trailhead, ignore the gate across the road and head into the park on your bike. Yeah, it’s sweet like that.

If anyone else saw me on the road they’d probably swear I was drunk. Don’t worry, though. I don’t drink.

That’s just how I ride when I’ve got the whole road to myself.


Caption: I love having the whole road to myself. Of course when that's the case, there's only one way to ride: right down the middle of the road. Those yellow lines make for a great guide to remain centered on the road. Woohoo!

Every year I am sad to see the park close the gates just past the Taggart Lake trailhead. But at least there’s one perk: being able to weave and slalom on a bike around the yellow lines on the inner park road. They close the road to cars on November 1, but any maniac still willing to brave the weather can take a non-motorized vehicle as far as they like on the road.

My own maniacal tendencies pulled my wife, who’s approximately three days from giving birth, and I out on a rainy day to experience the spontaneous lane shifts. There’s something explicitly joyful about ignoring all traffic laws and weaving across both lanes of traffic - double yellow line or not - just because you can. There is, however, the slight danger that authorized government vehicles will be using the road.

During our recent expedition on the park road to South Jenny Lake, only one park vehicle passed me and my wife. And where not many were willing to brave the cold and rain for a day in the park, we could hear the truck coming a mile away. We had ample time to cease and desist on our slalom routine and find the narrow bike lane. By the way, park employees, if any of you have a spare key to those gates that you wouldn’t mind giving up, I know of a talented local columnist that could come up with a few uses for one.

Ahem.

During this time of year, the weather can get a touch…uncooperative, if you will. When I was a Boy Scout, my Scoutmaster decided it would be a great idea to get our biking merit badge during November while the park road was closed to traffic. It was snowing lightly when we arrived for one of our rides, but our “be preparedness” insisted that we start out despite our shoddy clothing. We were ready for anything in our light jackets, Levis and baseball caps.

Honest.

Anyway, we set out from the parking lot and before long the snow started coming down harder. And faster. And thicker. It was all good, at least we could see the road.

That didn’t last long either.

Before we knew it, where the black strip of road had once cut a swatch through the early-season snow, nothing but a slightly flatter ribbon of snow remained. The snow drove so hard we could hardly open our eyes.

My jacket and purple Phoenix Suns cap I had won in a video arcade in Arizona suddenly seemed insufficient.

Our Scoutmaster sagely turned the troop around well short of our 20-mile goal (I think we’d gone about a mile) and we headed for the parking lot. Trouble was, that road was hard to see in the hurricane-like whiteout that now enveloped us. If it weren’t for the reflector poles lining the flat area of snow, we might just have wound up “scout-cicles” somewhere in the frozen waste. A search party would have found our troop somewhere on the sagebrush flats, huddled together close enough to be comradely without touching. After all, no self-respecting teenage boy is gonna be literally caught dead cuddling up to another one for warmth.

Back in the present, the worst we had to endure was a smattering of rain and some contractions. Not me. Never me. My pregnant wife. Obviously. Sympathy pains can only go so far.

We made it to Jenny Lake where we were treated to a great view of the snowstorm across the lake. It was beautiful, and the rain magnified the wonderful smells of sagebrush, pine and willows transitioning to winter. Even my wife, who came out in the rain with a pooch the size of a swollen basketball, agreed it was worth the effort.


Caption: AmberLynn was about a week from giving birth when we did this ride together. She is so glad she went even though she couldn't go too fast and it was raining on us.