Trails, Tourism, and Truth

July 14th

Today Jacquelyn and I hiked around Jenny Lake, while Mom and Dad opted to take the boat ride. We met at the other side of the lake and walked together to Hidden Waterfalls, a dramatic cascade of frothing water. Jacquelyn and I also hiked up to Inspiration Point, a lofty overlook of the lake and mountains. The most common inspiration there seems to have been to eat lunch. All around, people were sitting on rocks, munching on trail mix and sandwiches. This was very attractive to the resident ground squirrels. They brazenly approached the picnickers and demanded their share of the trail mix.

Lacking a lunch, Jacquelyn and I headed back from whence we came. I truly enjoyed traipsing around outdoors. I love hiking…the peaceful seclusion where I can hear myself think. But the Jenny Lake trails were crowded with so many people—hordes of commonplace sightseers interspersed with few serious hikers lugging backpacks, bedrolls, and clanging pots. Like a train of army worms, we scuffled single file down the dusty trail. With all due respect, Jenny Lake is a just little too touristy.

To complete the touristy experience, we went to Dornans for lunch. It’s a small town of sorts on the banks of the Snake River, within the boundaries of the park. Consisting of several shops, two restaurants, and adventure sports store, the whole complex has been in the Dornan family for four generations. We had some delicious pizza there, met three utterly exhausted guys from Mississippi who had just climbed the Grand Teton peak, and browsed a gift shop containing merchandise tattooed with “Grand Teton National Park” slogans.

By contrast, I caught a glimpse the very soul of this place this evening, when we went for a drive on a rural road very close to our campground. I saw a tremendous herd of horses grazing in a peaceful valley within a split-rail fence. Free-range cattle wandered through a birch wood and meandered across the road. The adorable calves approached our van with curiosity, while their parents placidly stared at us before returning to the all-important task of chewing their cud. I dearly wanted to jump out of the van to see if the calves would approach me, but Dad and Jacquelyn positively forbade it. We drove on past a dude ranch, where three nimble cowboys were trying to corner a calf into a pen. We stopped to watch the spectacle. The calf kicked and bucked around the ring as a cowboy mounted on horse deftly chased it here and there. The other two cowboys gave pursuit on foot, vigorously waving their hats and shouting. It was a timeless scene that captured the vitality and romanticism of the American West—cowboys have been cornering calves in this way and in this place for over a century. Finally, the calf was diverted into the pen. The cowboys exchanged grins of satisfaction and, in a golden cloud of settling dust, closed the gate on yet another day at the ranch.