High in the Tetons

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The aspens are mostly bare now,
 mostly lost their gold

Nothing Gold Can Stay

Nature’s first green is gold,

Her hardest hue to hold.

Her early leaf’s a flower;

But only so an hour.

Then leaf subsides to leaf.

So Eden sank to grief,

So dawn goes down to day.

Nothing gold can stay.

     Robert Frost 

When I saw the Tetons for the first time two weeks ago, the scene was not just a geological awakening, but a surprising inspiration.  There are no foothills.  Peaks rise abruptly from the valley.  They look like Switzerland, the New World’s answer to the Alps.  Their valleys adorned with glacial lakes and forests as if by an artist’s hand.  Nowhere have I witnessed such idyllic mountain views.   

Leigh Lake in foreground,
Jackson Lake in background

I went to the high country yesterday, as far as I could go without hiring a guide and dangling from a rope.  Paintbrush Divide at 10,700 feet provides a view of so many glacial lakes and so many rocky peaks that that I feel no need to go higher.  Part way up, I looked down on some of the lakes tourists see, those reachable by car.  

A rock island with a few trees,
near timberline

I began early for the 17-mile round trip to this barren ridge.  My original plan was to backpack and camp part way up, a three-day trip.  But with weather getting colder and possibble storms, I opted for a strenuous one-day hike.  I could not make it to the summit by noon, which is recommended due to storms; but I believed I could be back by dark.  

Holly Lake

Holly Lake

I cannot claim ownership of Holly Lake, since the name is spelled differently from mine, but it was my private resting spot, halfway up, before the hard climb to the top.  

Only among the rocks of high elevation do I see the little pika. Related to rabbit, but living in harsher winters, each of these furry creatures stores a bushel of grass in a haystack, dries it in the sun, then moves it inside among rocks for winter food.  These industrious farmers do not hibernate. They live as we did centuries ago. 

Nearing Paintbrush Divide, the trail climbs up a rockslide, then a rock face, weaving among snowfields.  Passage here in June is much more dangerous when hikers have to cross snowfields. 

From the top I look along the ridge to a threatening storm, and figure my time here will be short.  

Below, I see several unnamed tarns (glacial lakes) and till left by glaciers, some as terminal moraines (where the glaciers stopped their downhill slide) some as lateral moraines (along the edges of  glaciers).  It’s a primeval scene—how  the earth was at lower elevations many years ago. 

MOUNTAIN CLIMBING SONNET
      Lee Collins.

Go feel high mountains in your pumping blood,
they'll supply that iron will climbers need,
let them sweep in upon you like life's flood
and then with hope upon their wonders feed.
Ascend old trails until they test your strength,
until you feel the price of winning peaks,
climb over rocks, get scraped, until at length
they'll single you out, to your spirit speak.
Climb up, then up until wet sweat will run,
then as you rest know just of going on,
for there upon a ledge beneath bright sun
your heart will find a new and fresher dawn.
The strength of mountains will rise up to you
and number you among a chosen few.