Tag: wyoming

These factors help illustrate how the Tetons became my favorite place in the States and what better way to spend a weekend there than with also my favorite people in the States? 

Over Father’s Day 2025, I hosted a trip to the Grand Tetons with 12 of my closest friends. I made all the reservations, created the itinerary, and communicated directly with those not able to participate as fully during the preparation phase, ensuring everyone was on the same page. It was a significantly bigger trip than any I have hosted before and the natural worry that something will go wrong, or my compromises proved insufficient, loomed as the day approached. A massive undertaking when considering 99% of the rest of my travels have been alone. 

The first time I went to the Tetons was in the previous August, a last minute decision made two days prior to departure upon realizing I had an upcoming 4-day weekend. This first trip had no room for preparation: the short notice meant all booked campsites, I tackled Yellowstone as well which limited even more time in the Tetons and the one friend I knew would also be available that weekend due to current unemployment had significantly opposing hiking habits than myself, so I worried at least one of us might struggle to fully enjoy the trip as a result of all these factors. Although we did both find that trip pleasant, I was partially right. He far outpaced my patient, cherishing-the-moment behavior. Splitting the weekend between the two National Parks took away time to fully appreciate the Tetons, a park, I discovered, heavily hiking-centric requiring more than a day of exploration. Thus born was the concept of a return journey. 

The initial intention of this second journey was simply to fulfill the gaps the first trip left open. I allotted more time for long-distance hikes I knew some in the group would want to attempt, while experimenting with other less tenuous options for the more chill attendees. Sometime during the development of the trip however, its purpose shifted. I realized how much I enjoyed the process and considered the possibility of continuing the task professionally by starting my own tour company. The trip transformed into an alpha test, my closest friends being efficient testers for the experiment. 

Now obviously because these were my friends and I wanted them to enjoy the trip however they desired, I left flexibility in the itinerary. If this had been an official company-hosted trip, I would have dictated the activities more. This alpha test trip, however, helped me realize what activities other people prefer and not just what I think they would enjoy. In addition, the extended weekend allowed me time to scout new areas of the park for potential future excursions. I want to annually host this trip, aiming for a beta test with strangers next time around. 

As host, I felt it my responsibility to arrive early and help set up the campsites so that those arriving later had the option of heading straight into the park if desired, or at least not having to worry about the set up themselves so they could just show up and enjoy the trip. The rest of the logistics were my responsibility after all, why should the set up be any different (although other early arrivals were appointed to assist with that responsibility. I did have three campsites reserved)? 

Despite the shorter drive than I am used to, my companions and I felt the desire to relax after setting up the campsites. As such, even though the desire to arrive early was influenced by more time for the park, Friday ended up including little exploration of the Tetons and mostly relaxation around the campsite, bonding with my friends. Only after all the others arrived did discussions to enter the park that night begin, ultimately concluding with continued relaxation. Again, I wanted everyone to enjoy the park as they desired, so despite only having a few voters for exploration (a vote that Sean randomly decided to govern in a very teacher-like manner with no complaints here. I understand it was technically my job, as host, but his management was more entertaining than mine would have been and created a far more enjoyable experience for the others.) I volunteered to drive those interested myself for a bit of stargazing. It was not an activity I had considered anyway and curiosity of its favorability for a potential company-hosted trip also influenced the decision. The drive into the park greeted the three of us with painted mountains as the sun lowered behind the Tetons’ peaks. By the time we reached Jenny Lake, we required little time before the stars crept out of hiding. But I didn’t need the stars to imprint the memory forever into my brain’s database. 

Jenny Lake is arguably the most popular destination within Grand Teton, regularly overcrowded with an overflowing parking lot. My visit last year required looping the lot half a dozen times before replacing a departee. Massive crowds can sometimes make it difficult to fully appreciate the atmosphere. When we arrived at Jenny Lake that night, completely absent of any other parties, we discovered a rare serenity only a nighttime visit could provide.  

For me, this excursion immediately withdrew from its stargazing purpose. I opted toward simply relaxing in a Jenny Lake that was never going to be more peaceful than that single night, resting atop the stone railings, listening to the waves while admiring the growing collection of stars. Like Kevin Flynn, I chose to “knock on the sky and listen to the sound.” That experience connected with me on a whole new level, a spiritual journey I have never embarked on before. Through that journey, a revelation dawned on me. 

Everywhere I go, everything I do, a great distraction taints my enjoyment. I encounter reminders that I am alone: friend groups on a spring break or weekend trip, families vacationing, couples on a fancy date. Heck, I can’t even see a comedy show alone without being reminded that I am indeed, well, alone, with other guests asking if the seat next to me is taken. It’s growing increasingly harder to tolerate solo traveling, my only motivator being the argument that the world is any man’s greatest companion. And as I make these new memories I am simultaneously visualizing an alternate world where I have that special someone with me. What made this particular stargazing night memorable was the absence of that reminder. This time, I was the one flaunting my companions. This time, I did not need that special someone. Although there were individuals I would have loved to be there with me, I was content with the friends that were. It would not have been as special as I had imagined were they there anyway; I found out upon returning home that, in my endless struggle to respec my personality stats in favor of a more extroverted build, I once more failed to seize an invaluable opportunity, and those individuals would not have felt the same way. The people there with me that weekend were the best people to be there, the only people who should have been there, and it absolutely kills me that I am now taking a break from that community for self-improvement, but I believe it a necessary experiment to purify this taint. 

To think this therapeutic stargazing experience wasn’t even my idea is a blessing I’m forever grateful for and would never have happened had I fully dictated an itinerary. It was an unexpected benefit I am realizing will be focused on in this story far more than intended. I started writing these travel stories partially to inspire others to travel, partially to transcend my experiences beyond the character limitations of social media posts, but I have discovered in writing these that they are my diary. People write to put into words what they cannot vocalize and in a similar way these stories have become my therapy. I meditated under the stars, contemplating life, my flaws (and plotting how to correct them), for a solid 20 minutes until embarking on a short walk around the docks, appreciating the serenity for at least an hour more before reuniting with the others at the campground. The short-lived reunion concluded with an early bedtime in preparation for an early morning. 

Since Saturday would be the only full day in the park, it seemed the optimal day for one of the park’s many long hikes available. I knew at least three of my friends were going to attempt a journey through the Cascade Canyon, so it seemed fitting to guide the rest around the beginning of that trek, around the popular Hidden Falls and Inspiration Point. Although I have already been to both, I would have felt bad not permitting the first time visitors to experience the same wonders that made me fall in love with the park. There were benefits to revisiting these points of interest anyway. My visit last time near the end of the season meant a weakened waterfall, so witnessing the Hidden Falls at the peak of its impact force offered a change in that experience for me. Both visits were memorable: the first allowed me a closer approach to the falls for photogenic views, the second’s forceful torrent announced its presence miles before its location and claimed dominance over the entire cascade canyon. 

The appreciation of Hidden Falls faded quickly as we continued our journey up the steep incline leading to Inspiration Point. Overlooking Jenny Lake, the point offered views of the entire Teton Range, the perfect venue to recreate my iconic landscape photoshoot technique: staring off into the distance, which my friends and I nicknamed, and which I will likely continually reference throughout many of these stories, the “Sigma Pose.” It also created the perfect opportunity for a group photo, especially since the group would be temporarily splitting upon departing from the point. I recognized the effectiveness of its naming even during my first visit but revisiting Inspiration Point reintroduced me to an inspiration often forgotten, conceptualizing a great motivator. The idea to consider hosting group trips for a career was born here. 

While the others departed deeper into Cascade Canyon, my group returned to the edges of Jenny Lake, looping around the 5 mile trail surrounding it. The mostly shaded journey convinced me I had no need of sunscreen. While I still believe I was safe from the sun on that hike, I tended to ignore utilizing some that entire weekend, returning home with unnecessary sunburn and bug bites. I wouldn’t classify the Jenny Lake Loop as a difficult hike. Its elevation gain is minimal but the distance is certainly longer than the average trail. Communicating with the other group over walkie talkies while our mobiles struggled to find signal revealed their completion of their hike before ours and thus with the assistance of a friend who proceeded ahead for trail running (I just realized the irony of the only trail runner being named Forrest), we called in the cavalry to pick us up about a mile away from the end of the trail. 

Breaking away from the original plan and our intended community dinner, our tenuous hikes encouraged a cool down trip to town, Jackson, Wyoming. I never spent time in town during my first visit to the Tetons. In fact, during that visit, I came from its North Entrance after exploring Yellowstone and I never saw Jackson Hole until heading home. I never had time to even acknowledge its value. That’s one reason I opted toward joining the group into town while others returned to camp, another was the preference of experiencing local cuisine at least once while traveling. And as host, I wanted to maximize everyone’s enjoyment on the trip. With limited drivers already available due to campsite policies, I had no issues volunteering a ride into town.

We found dinner at a bar just outside the town square. For navigational purposes and assigning a meet up point, we simply called the square the “park with the elk antler arches.” When ordering our meals at the Roadhouse Pub across the street, I found it strange the reactions of my companions as if a Cheesesteak was an unusual request, especially given another companion ordering the same meal. I discovered the trigger of their reactions only upon reception of the meal. At first, I believed the waitress had misheard me, but from experience if multiple people registered the same word then the likelihood was that I had indeed misspoken and instead had ordered a cheese cake. The mistake was easily fixed and I bit into a cheesesteak only a few minutes later, apologetic that I then forced them to dispose of perfectly good food. I really should have requested to keep that cheese cake for dessert, though I’m sure my companions held no complaints for the ice cream we substituted the cake with.  

We waved farewell to Jackson as we returned to the campsite. The brief return’s primary purpose was a regathering in case any others wanted to join for an evening in the water. Only my passengers opted for this excursion, however, and once changed into their swimwear, we were off again once more. The driving around the Tetons this weekend wasn’t particularly efficient, lots of back and forth that could have possibly been avoided with better foresight, a flaw to be perfected for future visits. My main interest in the lake day was the discovery of renting a boat during my initial visit which, despite my pre-trip research claiming it was only available as first-come first-serve, apparently required reservations. Thankfully I had a back up plan, a brand new paddle board purchased and delivered only a day before leaving home. As the only paddleboarder in our group that evening, I was more or less able to evade the chill temps of String Lake, a lake we were informed was among the warmest in the park due to its shallow waters. I would have preferred the water temps over the mosquito infestation any day though. These conditions weren’t ideal for any of us though and as soon as the others felt ready to return, I obliged. I knew most planned an early departure in the morning anyway and I’d have time to return and fully explore the lake the next day. 

Because of the holiday, a third of our crew left early to spend time with their fathers. The trip happening over Father’s Day weekend wasn’t poor planning. It was a desperate attempt to seize a campsite before there were no more dates available. Truthfully, it wasn’t in consideration when I made the booking; my father lives 1500 miles away and the only plans I had with him were a phone call I could make anywhere. The rest of us remaining were more lax on departure times and decided to chill and bond with some of the late arrivals that we hadn’t had much time to commune with yet that weekend. We took our time deconconstructing the campsites. While transporting gear between the expiring sites and the site our late arrivals extended a couple days, I often decided to take a shorter route through the campground’s offsite sagebrush rather than along the road. My crew had been waltzing through the sagebrush all weekend, so I thought nothing of it, but during one such journey I realized in a rather devastating manner a reason to not enter the sagebrush. I hadn’t immediately registered what happened. I had heard the squeal, but it wasn’t until I saw the creature hobble out of the brush and observe the avians hovering overhead did the realization hit me: I had become an accomplice to murder. I had stepped on, incapacitated, and sentenced a chipmunk to death. 

For the rest of the entire campsite tear down phase, I swear every time I heard a chipmunk chirp their numbers grew. They were amassing an army of vengeance. I literally nearly jumped into my car the next time I saw a chipmunk charge out of the brush. Although only one other was witness to the tragedy, the rest of the crew immortalized the event with a photoshoot reenacting my reaction to realizing I had killed a chipmunk. I fear that is an act they will never let down, but it is also an inside story that will forever connect us. 

The second third of my crew had time for only one more activity before returning home. I escorted them to location scout new territory for future Tetons trips, the Mormon Row Historic District. I didn’t expect much out of it. I had already seen many pictures of the District and while I recognized the photography potential (an old pioneer-age barn backdropped by the Teton Mountains and illuminated by the Northern Lights was captured and for sale by a nearby merchant), I imagined there wasn’t a whole lot to do there. I was right. The Mormon Row’s only value is its picturesque views, but given its existence in a park covered in mountainous and lakeside panoramas, its beauty is comparably miniscule. And while there were signs detailing its historical significance, I never encountered any. It was a decent enough stop to conclude the trip for my now departing comrades but I honestly probably wouldn’t recommend it to anyone, nor include in any itinerary for future trips I host. 

My last passenger and I reunited with the remaining third of our crew at Moose Junction. We spotted them wrapping up the paddle board inspections I passed the day prior, which made the timing of my short excursion to Mormon Row perfect. From there I escorted them back to String Lake, this time free of mosquitoes. My passenger sought the comfort and serenity of his hammock while the other 5 of us ventured onto the lake. Initial disappointments of the lake stemmed from its insignificant size but after paddling around a bend and revealing the connected Leigh Lake, those disappointments dispersed. We boarded across the entire lake until the hastened rapids pushed us back. Along the way I yet again allowed my insufficiently built personality stats to dodge a potentially flirtatious encounter, though truthfully I assign some of the blame on putting all my eggs in one basket; I envisioned being there with that special individual back home, not some random girl standing on a rock asking what kind of fish lived in this lake. Sometime during the return journey, after we napped on our boards, splashed the others with our paddles, broke our paddles splashing the others, and willingly tumbled into the water as a pseudo-punishment for splashing the others, we strapped our boards together to craft a raft and continued to nap more. It seemed I wasn’t going to be able to escape my new reputation either, for as our raft approached a goose, the inevitable jokes of running it over ensued (seriously though, my relationship with wildlife that weekend was bizarre. On the drive home, a deer crossed the road then immediately turned around as I drove by and nearly ran into me). Already significantly surpassing the time I informed my passenger I would return, and it being my responsibility to return him to Utah, I disbanded from the raft and paddled to shore, waving farewell to the last third of my camping comrades and officially ending the weekend vacation. 

I have grown to discover that traveling is the greatest teacher a student can have. Traveling teaches one about the world but more importantly about oneself. A simple weekend in the Tetons illuminated my character weaknesses and has motivated me beyond any experience in the past to improve myself, to focus on what matters most to me, which has resulted in returning to spending every evening writing in a cafe, creating this story and exposing my thoughts to the public. For these reasons alone, there is no doubt that the Tetons will always and forever be my favorite place in the United States.