The big out-west mountain trips are the ones that we’re all really preparing for while we’re scouring maps of the plains for some decent topography to hike near our hometowns. The following trip that I took to Grand Teton National Park in 2016 is one of a few “exotic” destinations that I may write about on occasion, between posts about local hikes, food, and gear.

Although short, coming in at only three nights, this was one of my favorite hikes ever, and I plan to do it again at some point. Enjoy the story and the photographs (click on any photo to see enlarged versions), and get your trail map here.

Filtering Water at Sunset Lake, Day 3

My new hiking buddy, Brantly, and I arrived at the Jenny Lake backcountry office in the mid-afternoon on a hot day in late July. We arrived many hours later than we had planned after unplanned stops, 80 miles of dense fog, and a wrong turn slowed our road trip. We were tired from our 25 hour, overnight drive from the Chicago suburbs. We had taken turns driving from a full tank to a quarter tank while the other attempted to sleep, but neither of us were successful in getting any quality sleep.

Backpacking at Grand Teton National Park requires a backcountry permit, as well as reservations for camping in designated dispersed camping zones. I had several friends who were on the fence about joining me on this trip well into June, so I couldn’t book the reservations by the park’s May 15th deadline. We were forced to try our luck with whatever was left over of the first-come, first-served backcountry camping zones.

Brantly and I waited in line for a half hour behind a crowd of backpackers and peak-baggers who were in the office buying their permits and renting gear. We were hearing rangers re-directing numerous people to alternative camping areas, as all of the prime backcountry camping zones had met their capacity early in the morning.

Our original goal was to spend four nights and five days taking an easy hike from Teton Village back to Jenny Lake on the Teton Crest Trail by way of Granite and Paintbrush Canyons, for a total distance of just over 40 miles. We had chosen an easier pace because while Brantly was fit, this was his very first backpacking trip. (1)

When it was our turn to speak with the backcountry staff about our itinerary, most of the camping zones were at or near capacity. We learned that the nearest camping zone with availability was at the southern portion of Granite Canyon, which was slightly out of our way, and it was already late in the afternoon. The nearest available zone for our second night was in Alaska Basin, which was a 10 mile hike over two passes. The news that followed was the hardest to hear because it cut our trip a day shorter than we had planned, and it also committed us to a 15-16 mile hike over two of the hike’s toughest passes on our third day of hiking. We would be hiking from Alaska Basin to Upper Paintbrush Canyon.

The backcountry rangers at Grand Teton were exceptionally friendly and encouraging (unlike some rangers that I’ve met in the past), and assured Brantly and I that we’d survive the hike on the third day.

They also shared the welcome news that the heavily sloping snowfield on the north side of Paintbrush Divide was melted just enough, and had been dug out recently enough, that we wouldn’t need to rent ice axes to safely cross the pass. (2) This was particularly relieving since Brantly’s right arm ends just below his elbow, leaving him only one hand to use an axe to arrest any unexpected slides. We certainly didn’t want to risk him having to learn these skills under emergency circumstances on his first trip.

Given the revised hiking plans and the late afternoon start to our hike, we begrudgingly opted to take the costliest, least rugged, and certainly the least dignified method of entering the backcountry – by riding the giant cable car to the top of Rendezvous Peak along with 100 non-backcountry tourists. We felt a bit defeated since we lost our tough 8 mile, 2,500′ elevation gain, first-day hike, and instead would start our hike by losing nearly 2,000 feet on a three mile downhill hike. But we consoled ourselves with the thought that the shorter first-day hike would offer us the ability to acclimate to the elevation before we attempt any strenuous hiking, which our overnight drive across four states hadn’t permitted.

By the the time the tram was a quarter of the way through its 9-minute ride we forgot our self-pity as the views of the valley and surrounding mountains provided the grandest of distractions. We also caught our last glimpse of Grand Teton, of which we wouldn’t see more than just the very tip of the peak until our third day on the trail.

The trail into Granite Canyon descends quickly from Rendezvous Peak, and the crowds of tourists evaporated within a few minutes of hiking, giving way to only occasional pairs or small groups of more serious day hikers and backpackers. By the time we reached the Middle South Fork camping zone a short while later the trail was fairly empty, with only rare sightings of backpackers.

We set up camp at 8,800′ elevation, just east of where our trail would meet the Teton Crest Trail the following day, and fought the mosquitoes as we cooked our dinners and hid our bear canisters (which are required for camping in the backcountry at Grand Teton, which is grizzly bear country). We went to bed before dark and, after being kept awake by a short drizzle, both slept soundly for nearly 12 hours.

Our hike on day two began by descending into and climbing out of two small canyons and crossing over creeks as we gained a net of 1,400′ elevation in the first five miles. Along the way we stopped at Marion Lake to filter water, take pictures, and watch the marmots and chipmunks slink from rock to rock, getting ever closer, with the chipmunks eventually getting close enough to nervously beg for food within inches of our feet. They had obviously been habituated by previous hikers who broke the rules by feeding wildlife. The next mile and a half of trail to Fox Creek Pass was relatively flat, and we crossed our first patch of snow.

A wrong right turn at the pass had us descend 400-500′ into Death Canyon before we realized that we had to turn back and do some climbing to get back up to our trail. By the time we reached the place we were supposed to be on Death Canyon Shelf we were hot and hungry, and ready for lunch. So we found a shady spot under some evergreens at the edge of a cliff overlooking Death Canyon and Fox Creek Pass, and we talked about whether we could see how far into the canyon we had gone, quite unnecessarily. I thought to myself how much better the setting was compared to that of my typical Tuesday lunch.

The Death Canyon Shelf is a gently-rolling stretch of trail, with a cliff rising abruptly to the west, and another cliff falling off sharply to the east into Death Canyon. The trail meanders for three and a half miles through large boulders to Mt. Meek Pass, rarely crossing more than a trickle of water in the later summer months.

I began to feel symptoms of mild altitude sickness as we approached Mt. Meek Pass, and began drinking water more frequently to try to get ahead of the possibility of more serious symptoms. However as we descended The Sheep Steps from the pass, nausea and dizziness set in, and I was forced to stop for three short naps in the two miles between the pass and our campsite among the lakes in Alaska Basin. With Brantly’s encouragement I finally made it, and we found an excellent site away from water and obscured from the view of other campers.

After I took another short nap we set up our tent and then hiked around several of the lakes on a series of unofficial trails that wind throughout the lakes, and connect the Teton Crest Trail to the trail that crosses Static Peak Divide. I was surprised to see how many people were camping in the area. Alaska Basin falls within the Jedediah Smith Wilderness area, which has relaxed backcountry regulations compared with the National Park, and no limits on the number of people (and dogs) who can camp in a given area. Many of the campers with whom we spoke had hiked up earlier that day from a trailhead near Alta, WY that climbs more than 2,500′ over more than six miles up Teton Canyon from the west. Despite my nausea and the large number of people in the area (there had to be at least six other tents around the lakes), the scenery made Alaska Basin one of my favorite nights that I’ve had on the trail.

I was too sick to eat a big dinner, so I ate a fruit leather (the exact one from this post), drank some ginger tea (3), and filtered water in preparation for the next day. As the sun set, the golden light and still water created a beautiful view to the east. I sat in awe and gratitude as we watched the light change on the easternmost ridge of the basin, until it was nearly dark enough for bed. While walking back to our campsite we spotted several mule deer that calmly wandered around our campsite for most of the evening.

As I waited to fall asleep I grew anxious about the following day, and what was at least 15 miles of hiking over two high passes that lay ahead of us. After all I had been too sick to eat dinner, and was experiencing altitude sickness from hiking only ten miles at elevations of only 9,800′. The following day would require climbs to over 10,700′. I didn’t express my concerns to Brantly, but comforted myself with the fact that we could bail on the trip if necessary and hike the shorter Cascade Canyon Trail back to the Jenny Lake ranger station. This would reduce the hike to 12.5 miles, and require climbing over Hurricane Pass, but not Paintbrush Divide.

We woke up early the next morning and I felt encouraged that I was well enough to have eggs and coffee for breakfast without feeling sick. We packed up quickly and began our climb out of Alaska Basin toward Hurricane Pass, both of us in good spirits (even if I was feeling a bit lethargic).

We stopped at Sunset Lake (see the photo at the beginning of this post) after a mile and a half so that I could rest, and so that Brantly could top off on his water. It would be the last place to do so for at least two miles, over which we’d be gaining 900′ and descending nearly 600′, and it was getting hot in the full sun. There were also a few clusters of trees south of the lake and far enough away from the lake to function as privies for a bathroom break (using LNT Principles, of course).

My footsteps became a conscious effort as we made the final approach to Hurricane Pass, however as the trail flattened out near the top of the pass the very tip of Grand Teton came into view. More of the mountain became exposed with every step that I took in its direction, and in turn my steps became less labored the more I saw of the mountain until I stood at the edge of a cliff overlooking an unbelievable view of South Cascade Canyon and Schoolroom Glacier below me, and Grand and Middle Teton above me. I forgot about all of my anxieties and fatigue as I wiped tears of awe from my eyes, and shifted my mind to gratitude and celebrating the view and the achievement with Brantly.

With a new energy that I could not have imagined I had in me given the circumstances, we descended 600′ of scree in a hurry, and took a side trail to the glacial lake to stop for a break near the cloudy aquamarine water. After a 30 minute rest and a couple of snack bars we hit the trail again, descending another 2,200′ and more than four miles down the South Fork Cascade Canyon trail.

All morning we had been hiking at a similar pace to a couple of young ladies who had camped at Sunset Lake the night before, but had gotten a later start than Brantly and I. In addition to seeing them somewhat frequently, as we descended lower into Cascade Canyon we also ran into more and more one-night backpackers and day-hikers. It seemed that we were passing a new group every ten to fifteen minutes. The number of people that we ran into while hiking on day three was new to me. This was the largest crowd I had ever encountered in the backcountry to date, including several times day-hiking the Cascade Canyon and North Fork trails in the past. And on my previous extended backpacking trip in Wyoming, my friends and I went two whole days without seeing anyone else on a five-day hike in the Yellowstone backcountry. While this was a bit distracting from the rugged and remote beauty of my surroundings, I learned that nearly everyone that you meet in the backcountry, even when it’s a whole crowd of people, is friendly and encouraging, and that a mutual respect seems to exist among everyone. I already had a theory that this was the case, but this gave me a larger sample size.

We took a break at the junction where the Cascade Canyon Trail ends, splitting into the North and South Fork Trails. My energy levels at this point were excellent, despite eating nothing but two snack bars and a bag of Mountain House scrambled eggs. I still hadn’t gained much of an appetite, but I forced another snack bar down my throat in preparation for our next five miles, which would take us up nearly 3,000′ over Paintbrush Divide.

The sun was still burning hot, even if a little low in the western sky, when we arrived at Lake Solitude in the mid-afternoon. Brantly and I dared one another to jump into the lake, which still had frigid water running into it from ice and snow melting just feet away. The girls that had been pacing us all day were nearby laughing at us, so I shouted out to them that they need to jump in if Brantly and I finally worked up the nerve. They agreed, trusting that we wouldn’t do it. I was the first in, and waded out to knee-depth before diving in head first. The water water was so cold it was shocking and a bit painful, so I only had the steel to swim out twenty feet or so from the shore before scrambling back out as quickly as possible. Brantly quickly followed, and the girls were obligated to try it out for themselves. No one was in the water for more than a few seconds.

Brantly found a group of fly fishermen who had just hiked over Paintbrush Divide in the opposite direction, and who were about to swim out to a small island in Lake Solitude. Brantly joined them to talk about the hike they lay ahead of us, and got roped into swimming again. I dried off in the sun and light breeze and made small talk with the girls who, it turned out, were very lovely people from a town in Illinois not far from mine, and one of whom was a former high school classmate of a coworker of mine. (I wasn’t safe from my professional life even at an alpine lake in the Wyoming wilderness!)

While Brantly was in the water the sun became obscured by clouds and a breeze picked up. By the time he walked back to our gear he was turning blue and shaking uncontrollably. I wrapped him in my pack towel and sat by him to share some body warmth. We still had almost 2.5 miles to hike up 1,600′ to Paintbrush Divide, and then another mile and 900′ to hike down the other side, so we didn’t have time for hypothermia. Additionally, Brantly heard horror stories from the fly fishermen about the snow pack that was on the north side of the pass, and the five hours that it took them just to hike the three miles over Paintbrush Divide down to Lake Solitude.

I offered my encouragement, and reminded Brantly that we had already done two stiff climbs earlier that day and neither of them took more than an hour or two. And since it was still before 5:00PM we’d have plenty of daylight left to find a good campsite in the Upper Paintbrush Canyon zone even if it took us three hours to take the pass. He wasn’t fully convinced, but we set off anyway.

We made it to the divide at a good pace, despite frequent breath stops and photo opportunities, although a few false-summits required me to provide my partner with some encouragement along the way.

The hike up to the pass and over it offer gorgeous views in all directions. However beautiful, the descent from the pass and into Paintbrush Canyon was treacherous. Faint switchbacks criss-crossed a steep scree field, and required a small vertical down-climb at least twice on the route that we selected (which appeared to be the least steep of the options available). This was the only point at which Brantly, required any physical assistance, and I acted mainly as his spotter.

There was a well-worn path through the steep snowfield, but the surface was still slushy from the afternoon sun and I slipped twice while crossing it, despite my trekking poles which certainly saved me from sliding several other times. Brantly showed me up by making it across the snow with little apparent difficulty. After several dozen yards of snow the path gave way to rock and our hike became a mostly-pleasant downhill search for a campsite.

As soon as the tent was up my energy levels bottomed out, and I began to feel the altitude. Brantly made himself dinner while I napped on top of my sleeping bag. I woke up with enough time to hide my bear canister, vomit, and go back to bed before the sun set. I typically like to have a large dinner after hiking to help my body recover overnight from all of the day’s hard work, but the altitude kept me from enjoying my dinner two nights in a row.

Still, sunset from the tent was beautiful, turning a rocky ridge red against a pale blue sky. We congratulated ourselves for a job well done and marveled out loud at our surroundings. We also had a good laugh about a nearby tree that had a feature very similar in appearance to a human butt.

We took our time hitting the trail in the morning since it would be our last day of hiking, and we weren’t in any hurry to leave paradise. So we enjoyed our breakfast, packed up begrudgingly, and took an easy pace on our 7-mile downhill trek toward the trailhead, with a quick stop at Holly Lake along the way.

This segment of the trail provided the most solitude that we’d experienced since day one; we hadn’t seen anyone since the previous evening at Lake Solitude, where we saw a lot of people, incidentally. About a mile into our morning hike we finally ran into a trail runner who was six miles into his run and taking a short break. His morning plan was to run up the trail toward Paintbrush Divide, then back down Cascade Canyon. Brantly, being a runner himself, briefly talked gear and fitness with the man who then politely begged our pardon and went on his way.

We began passing more and more day-hikers as we descended (including a family from a town near my own), offering them encouragement if they appeared to need it. The trail became less steep in its decline at around 8,000′, and the flora became bushier.

Huckleberries were in season, so we ate handfuls as we hiked, as we discussed plans for hitching a ride back to our car at Teton Village. The rangers had given us business cards for shuttle and cab services in the area and Brantly, being a planner, wanted to give one a call. I was hoping to hitchhike since it’s more fun and a lot cheaper, but was willing to roll with Brantly’s plan if it didn’t work out by the afternoon. Fortunately we ran into the trail runner at the parking lot who was headed back to Teton Village himself , and who was happy to give us a ride. He and Brantly talked trail running and he gave us ideas for future backpacking trips, including the Maroon Bells Four Pass Loop, which I’ve been to twice since receiving the recommendation.

We paid for showers at the hostel in Teton Village, and while each of us was showering the other was talking to hostel guests about their adventures in the mountains – most were planning to summit Grand Teton.

All fresh and clean, we walked to the Mangy Moose for burgers. We watched the casual tourists in the courtyard who were caught up in taking selfies, quarreling, and buying souvenirs, and we both remarked at how far removed we felt from that mentality. It was then that I had to talk Brantly through his first time experiencing the bittersweet post-hike feeling, and reassured him that we’d be like the other tourists again after getting back to our normal routine for a few days.

1. I would almost never bring a newbie on a trip like this if I didn’t first inspect their gear and feel confident in their physical ability. Brantly was training for a marathon, and was mentally tough. This is NOT a backpacking trip for beginners.
2. Check with the backcountry ranger’s office in the days leading up to your trip for updates regarding conditions. Know how to use an ice axe and/or crampons before you’re in a situation in which you need them.
3. I always bring Ginger Tea!! It’s great for altitude sickness or any kind of nausea or upset stomach. It’s also just nice to have as a hot drink before bed.

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