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| The Snake River and the Grand Tetons |
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| Snake River and the Tetons |
My first - and only - full day in the Tetons! I must make the most of it. I scouted the terrain yesterday, got the lay of the land. I know which sites I must visit or re-visit today, catching the sun in just the right position for good "shots" of this grandeur. But first I have breakfast at the Jackson Lake Lodge. We owe this lodge, too, to good ole John D. Rockefeller, who was reportedly so taken with the view that he purchased the land and then paid for construction of the lodge. The lodge boasts lobby windows 60 feet tall, with their view of the craggy Tetons. My breakfast table is against the windows, and I eat in reflection. My eggs are scrambled with mushrooms, onions, and . . . elk! Oh, here goes that conflict again. I push it away (the thought, not the food). I will not decide this conflict today. Instead I will focus on the land. I grab a cup of coffee and go. It is 50 degrees, totally blue sky. It is a perfect photography day.
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| Snake River and the Tetons |
I feel pressed for time. The sun is moving, and I only have today and tomorrow morning. I need to capture all that I can before the sun moves and I must turn and face the other direction. I drive and I stop, I drive and I stop. Sometimes it takes me an hour to cover a couple of miles. I stop at the Snake River just east of the Jackson Dam. The shrubs and trees lining its banks glow gold and orange in the morning light. The River is blue, reflecting the blue of the morning sky. There are no clouds. The Tetons rise slate gray in the distance. This is a popular spot, there are numerous cars in the turnout. But no one gets any closer to the River. They all shoot from the edge of the road, turn and leave. I scramble down the bank and walk its edge. I find new views, different angles. I see that the view to the east catches the sun in ways that make its colors more brilliant than the view to the west, of the mountains themselves. I examine the rocks in the river. I watch the birds, osprey and I think cormorant, sunning themselves. I am in my element. If I had more time I would stay here for hours, would wander the edge of the lake all the way to the dam, up and over, then back around. I would explore. But the sun is moving, so I must move on also.
I find Elk Ranch Flats, on the "outer" road. There are two roads that run north and south through the Grand Teton National Park. The eastern road, Hwy 26, runs alongside ranch land, that looks up to the Tetons in the West. The western road, Teton Park Road, runs along the eastern edge of the Tetons and the lakes at their base. Elk Ranch Flats is on Hwy 26. Grassland stretches for miles, up to the Snake River, which is bordered by pines and golden aspen. Buck and rail fences mark the land. It seems like the foliage has become more brilliant overnight. I find Cunningham Cabin, homesteaded by J. Pierce Cunningham who staked a claim under the Homestead Act around 1890. The Homestead Act of 1862 allowed folks to claim up to 160 acres of land if they would build a cabin and live on the land for at least five years while growing certain crops. I think to myself that I need to check and see if the provisions of that Act are still in effect. . . . I find a field of horses, easing themselves into the day, some standing, some lying down, one rolling in the grass. I think I understand how he feels, rolling in delight at the grandeur of the day.
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| Cunningham Cabin |
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| Cow Moose |
I see a crowd of people gathered at the edge of some woods. This signals that there has been "a sighting." I stop, too, not wanting to miss whatever it is. "It" is a pair of moose, about 20 yards apart, snuggled into the shrubs and bushes. She is calmly chewing her cud. I can’t tell what he is doing, as all I can see is his antlers. I watch for a while, then leave when there is no movement other than the jaw of the cow . . . There is more to find. I see a pronghorn standing in the outwash plain. He is moving rather funny, first he scratches in the dirt, then he stretches forward, his back legs out an angle . . . Hah! I watch him pee! Then I watch him watch me, and we commune for a few minutes. I discover the Circle EW Ranch, one of the few ranches still in the hands of the original owners. A dirt road leads back through the yellow field, to the buildings, hidden in the distance. I am drawn to photographs of dirt roads leading into the landscape. I hold here for a while.
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| Pronghorn |
I find Mener’s Ferry, land homesteaded by William D. Menor in 1894, who claimed land under the Homestead Act next to the Snake River, then built a ferry to allow folks to cross that River. I "discover" the Chapel of the Transfiguration next to Menor’s Ferry. This little log Chapel was built in the early 1900's and still holds services during the summer. I wander down to the edge of Jenny Lake again, this time with the sun shining strong against the mountains. There is a stiff wind whipping up the waves. The water is blue black. Fallen trees edge into the water. And I feel it happening, I feel myself entering in, a mystical spiritual experience that happens every now and then. I cannot make it happen, it just comes of its own accord. Today it is here. And I relax in it for a while.
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| Jenny Lake |
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| Jackson Hole, Wyoming |
When I begin exploring again, I decide that I must drive into the little town of Jackson Hole while I’m here. I am a bit disappointed when I do. The town is not garishly built, rather composed of wooden buildings with a western flair. But it hosts such stores as Coldwater Creek, Eddie Bauer, and even a Ripley’s Believe It or Not. There are some quaint touches, like arches at the corners of the town square made solely of elk antlers. And then, there’s the Cowboy Bar. Unfortunately, the only cowboys I’ve seen sport license plates that read Wisconsin, Ohio, Washington . . . I don’t think the clothes make the man . . . I don’t dally in Jackson, instead head back toward the Park. I stop at the edge of the National Elk Refuge, winter home to almost 10,000 elk. I think that I would like to come back and see that spectacle.
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| National Elk Refuge |
Sated for the day, I find myself wandering back to Dornans. The top deck is almost empty of people. I order chicken gorgonzola and a glass of merlot, and I sit, savoring the view that has enraptured me throughout the day. I read a bit. I call a few friends. I sit and I breathe. And once again I just be. What a day. I think of the mystical spiritual experience of earlier this day. As I try to put into words what was happening, my thoughts go to the little wooden chapel, then I think of all I have seen today. And I think,
Today my chapel has no structure. Instead its ceiling extends endlessly through sky and beyond. Its walls are mountain and river, rock and plain, field and forest. Its message is constrained only by the depth of my soul. I enter in, to Awe and Wonder. The Great Mystery speaks wordlessly to my heart, and we are as one in silence. I exist only now.
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| Blacktail Butte |
Yes, it is Good.
Donna
©September 20, 2010
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| Jenny Lake |
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| From Dornans |
I find Elk Ranch Flats, on the "outer" road. There are two roads that run north and south through the Grand Teton National Park. The eastern road, Hwy 26, runs alongside ranch land, that looks up to the Tetons in the West. The western road, Teton Park Road, runs along the eastern edge of the Tetons and the lakes at their base. Elk Ranch Flats is on Hwy 26. Grassland stretches for miles, up to the Snake River, which is bordered by pines and golden aspen. Buck and rail fences mark the land. It seems like the foliage has become more brilliant overnight. I find Cunningham Cabin, homesteaded by J. Pierce Cunningham who staked a claim under the Homestead Act around 1890. The Homestead Act of 1862 allowed folks to claim up to 160 acres of land if they would build a cabin and live on the land for at least five years while growing certain crops. I think to myself that I need to check and see if the provisions of that Act are still in effect. . . . I find a field of horses, easing themselves into the day, some standing, some lying down, one rolling in the grass. I think I understand how he feels, rolling in delight at the grandeur of the day. 
When I begin exploring again, I decide that I must drive into the little town of Jackson Hole while I’m here. I am a bit disappointed when I do. The town is not garishly built, rather composed of wooden buildings with a western flair. But it hosts such stores as Coldwater Creek, Eddie Bauer, and even a Ripley’s Believe It or Not. There are some quaint touches, like arches at the corners of the town square made solely of elk antlers. And then, there’s the Cowboy Bar. Unfortunately, the only cowboys I’ve seen sport license plates that read Wisconsin, Ohio, Washington . . . I don’t think the clothes make the man . . . I don’t dally in Jackson, instead head back toward the Park. I stop at the edge of the National Elk Refuge, winter home to almost 10,000 elk. I think that I would like to come back and see that spectacle.
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