Ice Cold

From down in Jackson Hole, that odd name given to the valley of the Snake River, I have looked up at Grand Teton, that highest peak, 13, 770 feet.  Here are two of the many pictures I’ve taken on mornings driving to some trailhead in the mountains.  

But today I wish to zoom in on a feature below the summit of Grand Teton.  You can see that even in October, much ice remains in a canyon there from prior winters.  We had a light dusting of snow a few days ago, but not nearly as much as you see here.  It’s a small remainder, called Teton Glacier, not of the great Pleistocene Ice Age, but from a cool period called the Little Ice Age, 1400 to 1850.  I walked up there and to other glaciated places recently and will lead you on a little trip, if you wish to come, through thousands of years of glaciation.

In the above picture you can see most of my route.  In the lower left just past the trees in the foreground, is Taggart Lake where I met a happy family of moose a few days ago.  Just to the left of Teton Glacier and over the top of the tree covered hill is Amphitheater Lake, my approach yesterday trekking to the glacier.  These places are shown on the map at the right.

Now let’s zoom in from down in Jackson Hole.  Notice what looks like a pile of rocks in front of Teton Glacier.  It looks like an earth-filled dam created by man.  In fact it is a dam and may form a lake, but it is entirely natural.  During the past 40 years, the glacier has retreated about twenty percent.  As it melted, all the rocks that it was carrying down the canyon settled out.  Called a terminal moraine, it may impound water someday to form a lake like Jenny, Taggart or Amphitheater.  Such lakes are called tarns, if anyone cares.  

Climbing up to Amphitheater Lake, I ascended a moraine much larger than the one we see below Teton Glacier.  This moraine is from one of the great Pleistocene glaciations that began 2.7 million years ago and only ended about 15,000 years ago.  Some of these boulders, dropped here by massive ice, are as big as houses.  

Bradley Lake in foreground
Taggart Lake in background
Jackson Hole in distance

Jenny Lake

From the top of the moraine, I looked down on three lakes that I had visited, far below to the east, all formed by moraines like the one I had just climbed. And beyond them is Jackson Hole and the Snake River.

At about 10,000 feet, I reached Amphitheater Lake, a pristine little tarn 

The trail ends here, so I scrambled up a rocky hill to see the moraine below Teton Glacier.

Glaciers are like bulldozers, breaking hard rock, scraping out canyons.  They carry boulders downhill, and fine sand too, but most of the fines get washed down into Jackson Hole, leaving hard rock reminders of how great were the pressures exerted here by ice.  I’m ready for hot coffee now.

Mountain Peaks for Dummies

A lone wildflower at ten thousand feet

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Climbing up to a high summit on a day with rain and clouds in the offing is not smart.  It’s for dummies like me.

The higher I climbed, the smaller the trees and the denser the fog (clouds for lowlanders).  

Approaching the summit at 10,450 feet, the red fir and lodgepole pines, those hardy trees at nine thousand feet, reduce to mere shrubs, barely able to hang on, yet they out-elevation all other plants.

Suddenly a strange sight—all vegetation gone, people in the fog.  It was the sight I’d hoped for, planned for.  All the compass and map navigating through the fog had not led me to some desolate place with no hope of descending before nightfall.  These people rode up on the tram, and I would go down the same way.  One of them took my picture.  

Trough the fog, I saw my escape, riding up on a cable.

And once the tram slid below the clouds, I would soon be in Teton Village.    One consolation—the tram ride is free if you walk to the top.

The First Storm

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Life, that thin rope so easily cut, and getting thinner with age.  Don’t hike alone, the warning signs so glibly advise.  But for me the option is not to hike.  To obey every rule affecting my safety is not prudent in my opinion.  I have goals that are greater than long life. 

I’ve hiked in rain before; I have the right gear; I can do this.  And it might clear up!  Then the air will be clean, views superb, wildlife active.  I didn’t head up any rugged trail for the high country today, but settled for an easy route to Taggart and Bradley Lakes, with a ready escape should things get nasty.  Snow has fallen on Grand Teton, but here it’s just a light rain.  

Hiking beside a rapidly flowing creek, the sounds of animals are nearly impossible to hear.  Startled bears or moose are dangerous here, not because they are aggressive, but because they react quickly to threats.  So I make noise to warn them of my approach in places where visibility is short.  I don’t know who was more startled when I came around a curve, having neglected to shout.  He raised up quickly with a snort just a hundred feet away. 

More people are attacked by moose than by bears and wolves combined.  The rut is the most dangerous time, when bulls fight over cows and anyone is a threat to his harem.  And October is in the rut.  They are most likely to attack if their "personal space" has been encroached upon.  Moose are very limber animals with flexible joints and sharp, pointed hooves, able to kick with both front and back legs.  They employ body language, warning signs prior to attack.  Eye contact is usually the first sign of aggression, while laid-back ears or a lowered head is a definite sign of agitation.  If the hairs on the back of a moose's neck and shoulders stand up, a charge is usually imminent.   

I looked around and saw a cow moose down over the left side of the trail, and another cow up the hillside to the right.  

I stood still, stared at the bull, and tried to look big and foreboding.  The bear spray, which I always carry on the strap of my pack, was quickly in my hand, and the safety was off.  The bull moose just stared at me.  I made no sign of either attacking him or running away.  Our eyes locked as we sized each other up.    

About a minute passed before he started walking my way.  Head lowered, he lumbered down the hillside above the trail, straight for me.  At this point I started backing slowly away, keeping eye contact, clicking pictures all the time, bear spray  ready.    

Then he stopped (left picture).  Something interested him in the direction of the cow to the left of the trail (right picture).   

Now the cow approached him,  and he seemed more interested.  

They turned to me as if to pose for the camera—a sweet couple.  Or else they were saying, ”Privacy please.”  The other cow seems to say “I want some too.”   

They nuzzle each other on cheek and lip.  See how she raises one front leg in feminine satisfaction.  

She finally walks back down the hill, and her bull stands on the trail, looking at me again.  I wait for him to move away so I can pass, but he stands there for a long time, perhaps saying, “For what you have witnessed, I will now take a big chunk of your day.”   

The Park is Open

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Wilderness—still, serene—the ground beneath my feet seems immobile, permanent, as if the earth were a silent backdrop to my life.  But this is an illusion.  Earth is changing; these mountains rise in jerks of uplift along the Teton Fault.  

The Teton Range towers over a valley called Jackson Hole.  The range lifted along the 40-mile long Teton Fault.  Limestone and sandstone from the Tetons eroded away to fill the valley.  The Tetons have some of the oldest rocks on earth, but the range is one of the youngest in North America, beginning only 9 million years ago.  The Rockies, by contrast, started 70 million years ago.

Aspen Leaves

by Tim Callahan

When aspen leaves are caught in a breeze

they’re turned and spun, now green, now white

as gentle winds blow through the trees

and make them shimmer dark and light

They’re turned and spun, now green, now white

as winds cause their white trunks to sway

and make them shimmer dark and light

as fluttering leaves make shadows play

As winds cause their white trunks to sway

the whole stand whispers a breathy song

as fluttering leaves make shadows play

and trees sigh soft and long

The whole stand whispers a breathy song

as gentle winds blow through the trees

and trees sigh soft and long

when aspen leaves are caught in a breeze

My best pictures come as the sky is taking on light in morning.  I wish they could accurately capture the Shangri-La, the  earthly paradise, that mythical Himalayan utopia that I see in person with cold air on my face.  These scenes are the sort that someday, as I lie dying, I will remember, and they  will bring a smile to my lips. 

I had reserved a ride on a boat drifting down the Snake River through the valley called Jackson Hole.  And with the park open, we set out with our competent boatman-guide, in full view of the Grand Teton Range. 

Our boatman-guide knows the river so well that he tells stories most of way when he’s not texting.  

An eagle is having a bad feather day.  She looks straight at me and says, “What are you looking at, you with windblown hair.”

Canadian geese are either migrating, thinking about migrating, or deciding to stay.