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 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 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.

Excursion Article Series 10.25.08: Heron Pond and Swan Lake Loop

Caption: My wife AmberLynn watches the sunset over Colter Bay on Jackson Lake on the trail to Heron Pond.

Excursion: Heron Pond and Swan Lake Loop
Length: About two hours
Distance: Three miles roundtrip
Difficulty: If my nine-month pregnant wife can do it, so can you (Easy)
Directions: Go to Colter Bay and park as close as possible to boat launch ramp. Trail starts near ramp.

Some spots are so ridiculously post-card perfect that even a highly creative individual such as me can’t think of a way to improve on them. The lily-strewn Heron Pond is one of those places.

A craggy reflection of the Tetons is often broken up by the many lily pads that dot the pond. Swimming at this time of year would be best left to the Polar Bear Club. However, if it were still swimming season and the lily pads were still in bloom, I wouldn’t recommend swimming in Heron Pond anyway, as perfect as it may seem.

This is for a couple reasons. First, it’s just plain creepy drifting through the slimy forest of underwater lily pad stems. Just trust me on that one.

Second, leeches abound in the stagnant water. Though gorgeous, the mucky and murky water is host to those nasty little critters which are just a little bit too friendly. When I was about eight and unaware of pesky pond pals, I went swimming in the muddy shallows of Jackson Lake. The water where I was swimming reminds me a lot of Heron Pond. I swam for maybe a hundred yards before I noticed a piece of muck stuck to my left hand that was tenacious enough to stay glued with each stroke. I vigorously swept my hand underwater to free myself from the pond scum.

When I raised my hand I was amazed to find it still clinging. So I got my right hand involved and flicked at the vicious slime. It moved, but it didn’t whiz off my hand like I expected. Instead, it kind of jiggled like Jello dropping out of a pineapple cake pan. After that it oozed at me indignantly and continued chowing on my hand.

That’s when I finally realized the muck was alive. Then I got aggressive – the kind of aggressive that only comes with the horror of realizing something you don’t understand is eating your tender eight-year-old body. I pinched the black goo – yes it did feel gross – and ripped it off my hand with some effort. The black was immediately replaced by red. My new “friend” left a leech-shaped red hole in my hand. All these years later I still have a raised scar to prove it.

Let me reiterate though: you can’t find many places on earth more ideal than Heron Pond. The sunsets are often spectacular, even after the lilies have disappeared for the season. I watched on my most recent trip as the reflective water morphed from blinding yellow to brilliant orange to searing pink to placid purple before fading to dull silver.

It was at dull silver when my nine-month-pregnant wife suggested we skedaddle for the car, skipping the Swan Lake portion of the loop. Though Swan Lake is also beautiful, it holds nowhere near the kind of appeal that looking west over Heron Pond has. Its draw can probably be guessed by its name. Elegant trumpeter swans and other large birds like pelicans and herons can often be found here. You’ll see many of the same birds hanging out at Heron Pond, if you could guess by its name.

The hills that can be seen from Swan Lake, though not as majestic or obvious as the Tetons, give just enough dimension to the lake to make it quietly eye-catching. The silvery blue lake is worth seeing, even though it might be forgotten next to the roaring beauty just over the hill.

I don’t know what the bird situation is like at this time of year, but I do know the people situation. We went this Saturday evening when it was an unseasonable 50 degrees outside. We parked in a deserted parking lot. We saw no one on the trail. We enjoyed the silence. This kind of solitude is not hard to find in the park at his time of year, so get it while you can.

Even the bears packing it on for winter left us alone.


Caption: In the Tetons, every sunset has the possibility of being spectacular. Colter Bay is a great place to watch them.

Excursion Article Series 09.26.08: Delta Lake loop full of surprises.

Caption: I took this picture of me, believe it or not. I had to do this difficult 11-mile hike in four hours and still leave myself time to play. I set the camera on my high-tech tripod (also known as a small pile of rocks) and bounded over the rocks as fast as I could while counting to 10 with the timer in my head. This was the fourth of eight attempts. I was left pretty winded with a bleeding toe after all the scrambling and jumping. The reward of this picture was well worth it.

Excursion: Delta, Amphitheater and Surprise Lake loop
Length: Four hour death march to all day
Distance: About 11 miles
Difficulty: Expert
Directions: Take main trail from Lupine Meadows. Follow trail toward Amphitheater Lake. At the north end of the first switchback after Garnet Canyon Junction, follow faint steep trail down into trees and up to lake. (More directions below.)

If you don’t like a) route finding, b) boulder hopping, c) adventure, d) steep scree slopes e) mud or f) me, then you should probably opt out of this one right now. If you don’t like any of the things in a) thru e), then f) will be particularly bad off if you go.

I’ll go straight to e) before I come back to the rest. Delta Lake is fed by Teton Glacier and others that give off melt water throughout the summer. Of course, these permanent glaciers are fine sources of glacial silt – hence the name. Over the grinding course of their lives, these powerful glaciers happily reduce proud granite boulders into granite pebbles before taking even that minute dignity away from them and making a reluctant, silky sand out of them.

Then the melt water bears this grumbling sand downhill until it comes to a repository. As much of the granite silt that is able then jumps ship when the water slows and settles to the bottom in typical hard-headed granite fashion.

“If I can’t be a boulder, at least I can sit still,” the silt adamantly declares with a deep frown and folded arms. The finer silt that can’t lay down roots lends a brilliant turquoise color to the water in the lake.

With all the silt brethren united in strike at the western edge of Delta Lake, they create a perfect mud flat which opens itself to a new, unexpected indignity: my nasty bare feet slip-sliding across their collective heads. When viewed from above, this mud flat fans out in an arc from the lake’s source. It is easy to imagine a thousand-year stop-action movie of the deposit process.

All of this history is easily forgotten as I do my impression of a 14-year old gymnast rocketing off the line for a perfect pass. When I hit full speed, I gleefully slam both feet down and let the mud carry me as far as it wants. I paced it off afterward, and I was sliding as much as 35 feet. It brought new meaning to the word mudslide.

The setting couldn’t be more perfect. The Grand Teton herself cradles Delta Lake like a favorite child. The motherly mountain rises almost directly out of the lake, with Mt. Owen also standing watch. As much amphitheater as Amphitheater Lake has, it feels minute in comparison to the walls surrounding Delta Lake. The rough folds and dazzling colors of Teton Glacier are viewable from this proximity, and it seems it would be a short jaunt up the Grand from here – which I can assure is far from the truth.


Caption: A tribute to my Chacos, which take me everywhere I want to go.

The route to Delta Lake is sketchy. After leaving the main trail, the footpath becomes very faint, and is difficult to follow. Use common sense and a watchful eye to stay on the trail. A series of cairns leads over a boulder field sprinkled with wild raspberries that are miraculously still in season. After the boulder field, the trail resumes if you’re lucky enough to find it. Soon enough, the trail spits you out near a creek that seems to flow more underground than above. The roar of the creek is audible all the way up, even though half the time you can walk right up the creek bed without getting wet. Small half-underground waterfalls dot the final several hundred feet before the final rise reveals the paradise of Delta Lake.

Out of all the gorgeous backcountry lakes the Tetons have to offer, Delta may be my favorite. After sliding around, looking at animal tracks in the mud and wading in the lake, I reluctantly bid farewell to Delta Lake and headed up the steep southern scree slope separating me from Amphitheater and Surprise. After several stumbles and a lot of sliding rock on the slope that quickly gains more than 600 feet, I was for the first time in my life surprised to see Surprise Lake. I had been expecting to come out at Amphitheater first.

The fall foliage is stunning and the lakes even more so. Just take a chance and enjoy it, if you love a) thru e) like I do, then you'll thank f) for clueing you in.


Caption: This is a deceiving picture. Because of my tight time limit, I had little if any chance to relax at this, one of my favorite spots on earth. I was taking pictures and running to the next photo-op as fast as I could. Do this hike if you ever get the chance.