CDT + GDT: Green River Lakes to Jackson (Gros Ventre High Route) - A Whole Expansive Ridgeline to Myself
Resupply 19 | Green River Lakes Trailhead to Jackson via Wind River High Route
Day 75, 28.8 miles.
When I was at the top of the 12,000 foot pass yesterday, I had a little bit of service so I checked the weather forecast. It predicted on and off thunderstorms today and then several days of sun. I almost considered asking my parents to take me back to their hotel and skip the storm, but I didn’t. On a thru hike, you get the weather you get. My things were still wet from yesterday’s rain, so as soon as the sun came out enough to show shadows, I got my quilt out to dry. It rained on and off, and in the afternoon there was a lot of hail and lightning that looked like it was right over the ridge in the valley I’d be entering. It was the second closest I’ve ever seen lightning strike and it’s terrifying but amazing. I took shelter for an hour to wait it out and fell asleep despite the thunder. I woke up because I got too cold. Besides my quilt, all my insulation is active, not static, meaning it’s only warm when I’m moving while wearing it. So I would have had to set up my tarp and get in my quilt to be warm while sitting for that long. I just shivered instead and then got up to hike. I had to bushwhack around big puddles on the dirt road because I didn’t want to ford and get my shoes and socks more wet when I was already so cold. But the bushwhacking was like walking through a car wash: I had all the rainwater from the wet foliage dumped onto me. Luckily the clouds broke in the late afternoon and I was able to dry out again. To access the Gros Ventre High Route, I took a neglected and overgrown trail that was covered with wildflowers. Towards the end of the day I think the bushes whacked my water bladder out of my side pocket. I ran back about a mile to look for it and I searched and searched the thickest brush but found nothing. A thunderstorm was forming again and I had to stop looking so I could set up a desperation camp in the nearest stand of trees. It’s sloped and rocky and it was hard to pitch in the tight trees. I had to pitch and repitch it to get the right angles. It’s one of the worst camps I’ve ever set up. Even with a very low and near horizontal pitch, I can’t block out all the rain. I just draped my rain skirt over my head so it’s a little protected. There is only one comfortable sleeping position. I put my shoes under my chest and my pack under my hips to stop me from sliding downslope. I put a beanie on the rock that’s right where my head has to go. Water is dripping and collecting near my hip and feet and I can’t do anything about it. I had to weed out a bunch of toxic Poodledog bush. But at least I got it set up before the worst of the storm started and I’m mostly comfortable, warm, and dry. I’ve had it worse on several nights on other trails. I didn’t get as far as I wanted to today but it is what it is.
Day 76, 19.5 miles.
I was damp, wet, and cold when I packed up camp this morning. My right shoulder ached from doing all the work of keeping me from sliding last night. My socks were dry, but they quickly got soaked from walking through the soggy and frosted vegetation, and then I had to ford the creek. By that point my feet were freezing and I had nothing dry to warm them up with. On the other side I saw so many sheltered flat camp spots that, had I not spent that hour yesterday looking for my water bladder, I could have made it here and maybe I’d be more dry now. I felt like screaming. No one else is here so I let out two primal screams as loud as I could, and I felt better. Then I put music on, and the first song was “Vienna”: “Slow down, you crazy child. Slow down, you’re doing fine. When the truth is told, you can get what you want or you can just get old.” Then I cried. And the sun came out. And I got a glimpse of the peaks in this range. And I ate a cookie. And I was fine. There is no trail at this point so I’m catching bits of game trails when I can and otherwise just walking freely across the landscape.
I walked over a plateau covered in cracked sandstone that looked like a waffle iron and found rocks that looked like tempeh.
I walked through a field of huge cube-shaped talus that made me feel like I was walking through giant Legos. The cliffs here remind me of Arizona and Utah. A lot of the day looked relatively flat on the topo map but was actually a series of cliffs and gullies and some snow patches. Finding the path of least resistance took time. I saw no other tracks besides fresh bear and marmot tracks. I treated myself to an early camp in a nice spot tonight to make up for yesterday.
Day 77, 20.5 miles.
Today I climbed back up to the ridgeline and luckily had great weather all day. I did a lot of scrambling around talus and loose scree. All the broken layers of rocks made me feel like I was walking along the ruins of an ancient temple. I had my first glimpse of the Tetons today. I was a little emotional looking at them because the last time I was in the Tetons was also my first solo backpacking trip ever. I’ve grown a lot since then. I highly recommend sprinting up a hillside especially if it’s on a wide ridgeline surrounded by sky, like Maria does in the Sound of Music. Guaranteed to lift your spirits. Or try walking on the ridge with your arms outstretched, the warmth of the sun on your back, listening to music that swells, like the soundtrack of either How to Train Your Dragon or Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron. You will feel like you are flying. That second movie was a favorite for me growing up. It feels especially fitting here in this landscape. It’s about homeland, belonging, fighting for what you believe in, independence, freedom - all the things that the American West stands for. There were a lot of Cambrian fossils in the sandstone and limestone and shale today. This whole place used to be an ancient sea. And when I held that evidence physically in my hands, I thought of how many beings across the whole of evolution have lived and died on this same land. How all the history we know of is contained on this earth. All of it happened here somewhere. Think how much has happened where you are sitting now. It’s sacred here. Everywhere. And now we get to be the stewards of this land for the next generation. And when we go, we won’t take anything with us. We’ll leave it all behind. I’m camped now with a view of the Tetons.
Day 78, miles to Teton Pass / Jackson.
In the year that I did my first solo backpacking trip in the Tetons, I was on an extended road and bike trip across the American West. On that trip I went to see the famous sunrise at Oxbow Bend. I cried, standing there in awe amongst all these whispering strangers: all of us sharing this moment that we might never witness again, and yet it’s a small miracle that happens every day no matter what kind of day we are having somewhere else in the world. Somewhere, there is a beautiful sunrise. On the same trip I rode my bike around a loop of the Tetons, on bike lanes that my new friend Liz helped to establish. To this day I still haven’t met her, and yet she has been like my trail fairy godmother throughout Wyoming: whipping up magic at every stop. Today I slackpacked the roadwalk through Jackson to the start of the trailhead into the Tetons, meaning my parents came to take all my sleeping gear so I could “day hike” the road. Liz made us a reservation in town at her friend Kristen’s restaurant, Roosevelts. Then we stayed at Liz and George’s newly built residence in Jackson. It’s so new it’s not even furnished yet, so their neighbors brought in a cot for me — but all I needed was a shower and laundry anyway. On my walk today I was thinking how lucky I’ve been to meet the people I’ve met. The generosity of Liz and George feels like what you’d extend to family. I feel shepherded through Wyoming. I’ve taken three showers so far in Wyoming and all of them were thanks to them.
Their support throughout Wyoming has felt akin to having family in the state. The people make a place what it is. Now in my memory Wyoming will be a state full of warm, smiling faces and not just its spectacular landscape. Here’s what I believe: Friction creates warmth. Yeah it’s less coordination effort to get a hotel for the night, but I wouldn’t have made a new network of friends in Wyoming. We’re always trying to make things more efficient. We try to solve problems with money. We want groceries delivered. We want self check out. We don’t want to talk to our driver. We pay a premium for convenience. But then where is the community? As I’ve said before, I may be hiking alone but I certainly don’t feel alone. It can be more lonely in a city full of people.
xx
stitches
You’re an inspiration. Take care, love following along with you. 🫶🏻