Days 11 & 12: Lakes, Rangers, and Bad Coffee

The professors told us days in advance that Sunday, the eleventh day of our journey, would be fully devoted to hiking. We got to the Phelps Lake trail around 9:30 or so, lunches packed and cameras loaded. I'd been waiting the whole trip for this hike, and it was so worth it. Again the good pictures are on the Nikon, but this is was the first leg of our day looked like: 

We walked right along the lake for about 4 miles, then sat down for lunch just before climbing into the canyon between two high risers. After 2 or 3 miles of that, we emerged out from a roof of pines and looked back over the land we'd just conquered. And the magnitude of the sight was like a slap in the face that seemed to remind me that the world is a beautiful place, despite all its depravity, and that I have so much more left to see and do in it. I'm always amazed at the thoughts and feelings that a simple overlook can inspire. What is it about this mixture of rock, snow, and water that is so appealing to us? Why are we attracted to it? I may never know. And as tired as I was after the climb, I wanted to keep going up. But we hit a wall of snow and couldn't safely cross it. So we took the break to have a nice snowball fight, then we sat again and marveled at the overlook. The two mountains that had been intimidating just 2 hours or so before were now beneath our feet, and it was like we could see the entire world. The lake was like a puddle, and its surrounding snow-capped mountains looked as far away and unreachable as a painting. 

I've been trying to decide during this trip if I prefer the view on top of the mountain looking down or the view from the bottom looking up... but it's impossible. The egotist in me wants to say the top is best because it's an empowering experience to look down on what feels like an entire new world. But looking up at the mountains from a canyon is a reminder of how small I am and how much potential the earth carries for discovery. It's like deciding if I prefer chocolate or peanut butter... They're both just too good to decide. And one without the other is useless.

Sadly, we had to make our way back down and onto the other side of the lake. By the time we could see the lake, everyone was already exhausted. It was probably about 3:30, and we still had 3.7 miles to go. But the trail beside the lake was obstructed by various debris slides, and it took us an hour of wandering and walking in circles around the marsh before we found the trail we were looking for. As we came upon the visitors center at which we began, I was tempted to fall to my knees and kiss the ground. But instead, I just collapsed on a bench beside the bathroom that was closed until May 31 and I waited with my fellow aching friends for the rest of the group. Finally, the day ended with an incredible stir fry. Compliments to chef Tyler and Kelly. 

The following day, we had a 10:00 date at another visitor center with Ann Matson, the Jenny Lake geologist. I walked into the log cabin at 9:45, expecting to see come across Mrs. Matson, but instead, the girls of our group got a nice little surprise while we waited. There was a ranger behind the desk who, let me tell you, might have been an angel sent from above. We oohed and we ahhed. But, alas, the fifteen minutes and bliss was short lived and harshly interrupted when Ann came out of her office and began teaching us about plate tectonics. But-- I'll give her this-- she had more energy than our whole group combined. And she was so excited about her job and had so much to teach us. 

She even had visual aids, thank The Lord. (As if all the surrounding mountains weren't enough aid for understanding how the earth works.) Before we left for our short hike with her, I found an incredibly nifty bandana at the gift shop. See, I had to at least pretend to shop in the store while I stared at the ranger. So I saw this map-turned-bandana and thought to myself, "maybe one day when I get lost in the Grand Tetons, I could pull out this nifty bandana and find someone to help me find my way. Since I can't really read a map. And if I'm lost, I probably won't know where I am on the map anyway. But, you know what, the map is cool. I want to wear it on my neck." 

Isn't it nice? That's the derpiest face I could think to make. (Derpy: adj. appearing to have no brain activity or intellect). 

The following hike was like a shorter, snowier version of the hike at Phelps lake. Upon its completion, we headed back to our campsite, ate grilled cheese and tomato soup, and started a fire. The professors decided to head back to Jackson around 9:00 to get some needed groceries, and Kathryn, Melissa, and I decided to join them in hopes of finding a coffee shop to read. Little did we know that nothing in Jackson stays open past about 7 unless it's a bar. We tried to find some locals to ask, but they all told us that no coffee-serving venue would be open aside from the Loaf-n-Jog gas station down the road. We walked there, grabbed a very subpar cup of coffee, and sat on a bench near a parking lot to read our books. It was very sketchy. But it was worth it, because I made some great progress in The Master and Margarita by Mikhael Bulgakov, a novel recommended to me by one of my favorite professors. Any day that I have some time alone to read is a good day. Day 12, then, was a success. 

Days 10: Climb After Climb

On the morning of the tenth day, God created asthma. Tim and I started our hike at 7, packed down with our coffee cups and cameras and clothed in our warmest layers. The first mile or so was completely flat sagebrush land, sprinkled with bison poop and animal carcasses. We eventually ditched our mugs and thick layers as we approached the incline. That's when I discovered the disastrous concoction of thin air, cold weather, and weeks of little to no exercise. My asthma threatened to take hold, but I punched it in the face. In other words, I stopped every 25 yards or so up the very steep hill in order to get my lungs working properly. Tim thought it was funny, so he documented my struggle with his camera. After the uphill battle, I finally made it to the top only to discover that we only had 45 minutes left before our van left for the day. So we basked in our success only for a few minutes before heading back to camp. Turns out everyone was watching us through the binoculars and noticed my struggle and frequent stops. Not a proud day in my life, but in less than two weeks, I'll be back in civilization and finally get to whip myself back into shape. Or quickly be whipped by my coaches. 

While, yes, Tim and I were pretty proud of ourselves for our morning victory, we probably wouldn't have attempted the climb if we'd known what the rest of the day had in store. Dr. Garihan led the group to a historic landslide from the 1920's to discuss the mechanics behind mass wasting. Naturally, Elly and I sang Fleetwood Mac's "Landslide" several times during his lecture and the following escapades. Once he finished talking, the group decided to attempt a "short" hike near the landslide  site. 

After over an hour, we all reached the top-- one by one, at various intervals, covered in sweat, and panting so loudly that words simply refused to be spoken. But even if I was in shape and had the breath the talk, I wouldn't have been able to. The view from the top was too much for words, and everyone's reaction was exactly the same: "holy crap." (Crap, again, is a euphemism. Just for you, mom and dad.) Feeling extra adventurous and risky, I spotted a dead tree standing on the edge of the mountain and climbed it:

But it was worth the risk. Again, I hate posting pictures because they never do the moment justice, but I realize that words get boring. The best part about my view from the tree was that nothing obstructed my vision but the few branches I held on to. And at any moment (though very unlikely) the branch could have collapsed and I would have been in quite a pickle. So knowing that specific view was something that people rarely experience was pretty thrilling. 

As I stood there, I had this overwhelming feeling that I was out of place. Like I didn't belong there. There was so much beauty and purity all around me, and for some reason I thought I was contaminating it. But then I figured I'm just as natural as the mountains and trees around me. Especially because I hadn't showered for about 3 days at that point. Still I couldn't help imagining all the buzzing bees saying, "leave us alone" or the ants thinking, "what's this huge thing doing here?" I guess I just felt unworthy of the place. But then I forced myself to stop thinking so much. I just stood there and stared intently at every different angle around me. That moment when my mind finally rested and I was overcome by the magnamity of creation is one that I hope to remember for the rest of my life. I've had similar experiences with music, but something about the visual sense is more special. I knew I may never see that scene again. I can listen to a song all night long, but that view would only last as long as I stayed in that place. And pictures are crap. 

I wanted that time to last forever, but it inevitably came to an end. We slid back down the mountain and headed to the Grand Teton visitor center, a new building that looked like a woodland palace. It was here that I found the first gift for my dad (my favorite travel companion). Upon leaving we came across a huge pile of snow outside of the lobby. I was raised in Florida, so seeing snow is like seeing a ghost. What is this fluff? Do I run away? Do I play in it? Is it safe?! So I built a snowman. And it was the most pathetic thing you may ever see. 

Don't judge me, it's the first time I've ever made one on my own. And I was in a hurry because the storm was coming. We all hopped in the van and made our way toward Jackson, Wyoming. Nobody was expecting much from the city, considering the places we'd already come across, but it was surprisingly adorable. The professors graciously gave us a little over an hour to explore and shop around, and I searched high and low for a gift worthy of my lovely mother, but my endeavors were futile. (Don't worry, Mom, I got you a little something later. I still love you.) Then I think that my fellow classmates would agree with me when I say that we were praising the Lord when the storm got worse and the professors decided to just stay and have dinner in town. We went to Snake River Brewery, an apparently well-known place in Wyoming, and we feasted like Kings. The food was so good that it made Tim dance. 

We've been eating pretty well, thanks to the brilliant chefs among us, but nothing quite compared to this award winning bison chili. Mom, we've gotta find this recipe somewhere. 

Once we made it back to the site, no one had any energy for a fire, and it was sleep time for all of us. With a full belly and a tired, hiked-out body, I slept on the ground like it was a king mattress in the Ritz Carlton. Of all the beautiful things I'd seen during that day, the most welcome sight of all was the back of my eyelids. 

Days 8 & 9: Travel Bore

Two solid days of travel make for a pretty boring blog post. I apologize in advance to my readers, few though you may be. I'm sure you're expecting a riveting read. 

We packed up our things from the not so glamorous Deer Park camping site (not to be confused with the delicious Deer Park water) and headed to Riverton, Wyoming, the home of our long-awaited hotel. Though the Comfort Inn wasn't entirely glamorous, we hardly noticed. After getting a little laundry done, we entered our feather-stuffed slumber havens as zombies and awoke with the energy of caffeinated children. But even though the bed was a welcome change from the thin sleeping pad, I was happy to leave the hotel. Riverton, Wyoming, isn't the classiest of places, and I had the unfortunate displeasure of encountering two depraved individuals on the third floor while I sat outside of my room on the phone with my best friend from home. I won't go into much detail for fear of worrying those who are prone to overreacting. But I survived the incident untouched, and that's all that matters. It was a needed reminder that women shouldn't go anywhere alone in a strange place after about 10:00. Mommy always says nothing good happens after dark. 

So we said goodbye to Riverton and began our slow journey to the Tetons. The day was spent mostly in the van, which made frequent stops at the most riveting of geologic specimens. At each stop, my thoughts were pretty consistent: "This rock looks eerily similar to the last stop... Are we driving in circles?" "Ooh shiny!" "Whoever made up this geologic lingo clearly didn't believe in any word under 3 syllables. What a butthead." (Butthead is a euphemism I've chosen to use in place of my real thought. For the sake of the children.) To my professors, I'd like to add here that I was also very attentive to the lectures. Your knowledge never ceases to amaze me, especially because the majority of it is far too complexed for the likes of my artsy fartsy brain. But look. I drew some of the words... If that counts for anything. It was slim pickings because I only know how to spell a couple. 

Our learning adventure ended at the magnificent Gros Ventre campsite. Check this out (picture quality is horrific because, like a fool, I only took pictures on my mom's Nikon. So I took a picture of a picture on the iPad of someone much smarter than myself.) 

Once we settled in, my group (Tim and Melissa) cooked a delicious pesto pasta, without much help from me. Surprisingly, I'm learning just as much about cooking on this trip as I am about rocks. But which genre of knowledge will be more useful in my life? It's hard to tell... On the one hand, I could improve my love life with a solid cooking skill set: "Hey there, hunk. I casually cooked a lamb roast and truffle potatoes. And I happen to have some extra. Wanna come over?" But on the other hand, I could always impress the fellas with my rock expertise: "Instead of a diamond ring, you could buy me a cubic zirconia. Looks the same and it's cheaper. You're welcome." I'm clearly very smooth. 

But I digress. After dinner, Tim and I made plans for a morning hike up the hill about a mile away from the camp. The professors warned us that it was farther than it looked. But our ambition and curiosity trumped reason and we decided to disregard their warnings and do it anyway.