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 11.22.08: Two Ocean Lake: Mud + family = Oops, fell again!

Caption: My wife, son and mother-in-law cross the bridge on the trail around Two Ocean Lake. Due to warm weather and a little snow, the trail was made of nothing but mud or frozen mud in the shade. It was pretty entertaining watching everyone slip-slide around.

Excursion: Two Ocean Lake
Length: 5.3 miles
Distance: 3 hours
Difficulty: Easy when dry, moderate when muddy
Directions: Enter Grand Teton through Moran entrance, turn right on Pacific Creek and take the left onto dirt road. Follow to end and park in parking area.

Understated beauty.

That’s the best way I can think to describe Two Ocean Lake. Not every lake requires the knock-you-over-the-head-with-a-two-by-four beauty of the Tetons to make it an enjoyable place.

When I was in college I drove into Two Ocean Lake in the summer and took sunset and magic-hour pictures at Two Ocean Lake. The resulting photos weren’t something I was excited about as I took them, but they were passable. If I recall I had recently been into some more spectacularly beautiful areas like Lake Taminah and was still reeling from the experience.

When I went back to look at the pictures several months later, I was stunned at the quiet beauty in the well-lit grasses, hills and waters of Two Ocean Lake. I wound up using one of those pictures to grace the cover of a mock outdoors magazine I was making at the time for a design class. The light was gorgeous, the surroundings pristine and the mood and spatial arrangements perfect for a magazine cover. I don’t think I could have picked a much better photo for what I was doing either.

For that reason, I now refer to Two Ocean Lake as a shy stunner. You don’t have to work hard to get there; you can see the lake from the parking area. But if you hit it with the right light and mood it is something memorable, even if you don’t expect it to be. It’s much like starting a conversation with that socially incapable person you’ve “known” for years but never really talked to. You’ll walk away with a slightly altered perception that you wind up thinking and thinking about until you can’t wait to talk to the guy again.

Surprisingly, the Tetons do make occasional appearances as you hike around the north side of the lake. However, right now the exposed north side of the lake is privy to mud as the sun warms the chilled ground. Though hiking in mud is never the most enjoyable thing, it does provide some entertainment value.

My mother-in-law (bless her heart) was fun to watch dance on the trail when the footing got tricky. My 14-month son also managed to slog out at least a half mile of the trail on his own two feet. When things got slippery, we tried to pick him up, but he would rarely let us for long. He wanted to be down with the rest of us. Consequently, we did watch a face-plant or two as his tiny feet found potholes or slippery spots.

At one point he even tottered his way through the mud and right off the trail into a snowfield. With his bundled-up arms outstretched he made it halfway down the hill on the snow before his grandma caught up to him and brought him back to the path while we all laughed.

Two Ocean Lake is notorious bear country. In the spring, the park frequently closes the south side of the lake so the bears can have some nice lakeshore property all to themselves. That way tourists bearing food are less likely to be bear food. During our recent muddy expedition, we proved that bears had a tough time with the footing too. In several places we saw bear tracks, and often it was obvious the bear had slid, digging in its claws to regain traction. So even this late in the season, it’s good to keep an eye out for bears – they may be extra perturbed that they can’t walk on the trails without looking like Bambi on ice.

Despite the mud, the colors of winter look great on Two Ocean Lake. The yellow grass highlights the red willows nicely. And rounding out the mix is the silvery blue reflective slate of the lake. The smell of frozen earth and chilled evergreens livens things up as well.

If you’d like to avoid the mud altogether right now, a there-and-back run on the south shore will more than likely stay frozen in the shade of the forest. At this time of year the bears don’t seem to mind sharing their exclusive lakeshore property.


Caption: The rusts of winter look good on Two Ocean Lake. This was some of the most vibrant colors I've ever seen in the winter.

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.