Jackson Hole, Wyoming

When I first heard the screaming and yelling I wasn't sure if I should leap off my bench and run into the evergreens, stand my ground and fight, or finish lunch. I opted for the latter, chewing my ham and cheese sandwich in disbelief as the blood-curdling howls grew louder and the clip-pity-clop of shod hooves drew near. Then, with a flutter of feathers and heavy breathing, out of the forest galloped a man on his horse, kicking up clouds of dust as he ground his painted pony to a halt before me. Yelling “Yip! Yip! Yip!” and a throaty “AAARGGH” while his trusty steed reared and pawed the air, “Chief Howls-A-Lot” shook his pointy spear in my direction, daring me not to be afraid. I stopped chewing.

---

Smeared in war paint, dressed in beads and leather chaps and moccasins, I couldn't place the tribe. Was it Shoshone? Crow? Blackfeet? Did he hail from the tribes of the Bannock or Gros Ventre - Native American Indians who migrated in times past through this elongated deep valley hidden in the Rocky Mountains known as Jackson Hole? Did he gather blueberries and hunt majestic wapiti and mighty bison during brief summer months in this land of plenty as his forefathers did, mesmerized no doubt by the grandest of mountains that define this perpetual state of superlative beauty? I took another bite, chewed and swallowed. Nope, I concluded, as a horse-drawn wagonload of giddy city slickers rolled up behind me on their way to a barbeque and country and western singalong. They smiled and laughed and pointed their cameras and clicked at the hyperactive Indian on his quarter horse yipping and howling for the lens, some white guy it turns out, all painted up and let loose on the easily amused tourists that flock to this Western wonderland during winters and summers, and those crisp, golden falls - all three million of them. That was a long time ago during my one and only year living, working and occasionally skiing in Jackson. But like so many others who've moved on to warmer climates, I still find Jackson Hole's allure overpowering, an annual summer visit to incomparable Grand Teton National Park mandatory whenever the opportunity presents itself. All eyes are drawn to the centerpiece of the region, Grand Teton National Park and its craggy, jagged towering wall of mountains rising abruptly from a flat sage-covered valley floor, a Mona Lisa of the alpine world. Running north to south on the west side of a 40-mile-long valley, the South, Middle and Grand Teton peaks, Teewinot and Mt. Moran plus numerous lesser geologic marvels coalesce in perfect photogenic symmetry, offering an exquisite, golden composition that has been photographed, painted, skied, climbed, ridden, hiked, fought over, and loved to death by millions for over two centuries, and longer. Hidden among this wonder world are crystalline alpine lakes, 250 miles of maintained trails, deep plunging canyons, technical climbing routes, thick stands of lodgepole, fir and spruce, cols and couloirs and lingering snowfields and bubbling brooks and clear mountain streams with a touch of giardia thrown in for taste. You'll find towering slabs of granite and moss and phlox and lichen-covered boulders strewn about rolling meadows of alpine grasses. And for garnish, summer wildflowers offer a fleeting spectacle of primary colors and their many variations. Out on the flat valley floor where homes are few and silvery gray-green sagebrush the dominant plant, beautiful Snake River curves and bends along the base of the three mighty Teton peaks which reminded lonely French-Canadian fur trappers of an even lonelier woman with three lopsided breasts, hence, “Les Trois Tetons.” The Grand Teton (13,770') and its siblings are worthy complements to the Snake River, a wonderful body of water with elegant curves and voluptuous bends, a bit frigid now and then, but easy to look at. Floated in colorful rafts and kayaks and canoes, fly-fished and photographed and sketched in charcoal as it winds through thick cottonwoods and evergreens, it's a great place to spot wildlife, moose in particular browsing tender saplings along the river's edge. Unfortunately, spruce bark beetle have arrived, indiscriminately killing mature stands of trees, turning needles orange, then gray, before falling to the ground and potentially laying waste to entire forest ecosystems. But all-in-all these are minor distractions compared to the bold portrait of Mt. Moran reflected in the calm blue waters of Jackson Lake at mid-morning before afternoon thunderheads build to towering heights and shower lightning bolts on exposed ridges and send mountain climbers scrambling for their lives. Anyone visiting the park must stop in at the Craig Thomas Discovery and Visitor Center which opened August, 2007. Coming in at a hefty 21.6 million dollars using public ($8 million) and private ($13.6 million) funds, the 22,000-square-foot facility with 30-foot walls and walls of windows has such novelties as streaming “in-floor” video, exhibits for the kids, artifacts and other touchable objects, a photo-mural tribute to mountaineering, and a very cool relief model of the park. Personally, I think they paid too much, the funds could have been better spent elsewhere and the parks in general should start thinking about bringing down their entrance and camping fees instead to better accommodate the have-less and have-nots. It's getting ridiculous. Our national parks were never meant to be cash registers first and foremost. The civilized world's insatiable demand for beaver felt hats, and other furs, brought trappers like John Colter of the Lewis and Clark expedition, Jedediah Smith and William Sublette to the valley in the early 1800s. As a matter of fact, the valley is named after one such trapper, David E. Jackson. Known among that crowd as “Jackson's Hole,” the valley's name was eventually changed mercifully and out of a sense of common decency to Jackson Hole. With a new preference for silk hats, the area's few remaining beavers were given a much needed reprieve around 1840 when the market for beaver hides collapsed and those mountain men of old moved on. Apart from Native Americans who made temporary forays into the valley, the Hole was seldom visited by the white man for 30 or 40 years. Jim Bridger guided a few map makers in 1860. Hayden led numerous expeditions as part of the U.S. Geological Survey during the 1870s accompanied by the famous photographer William Henry Jackson and landscape painter Thomas Moran. But it wasn't until the 1880s that settlers began to homestead the valley in earnest and establish the town of Jackson and surrounding communities like Wilson, Kelly, Moose and Moran. Locating Jackson where you'll find it today came with its own set of problems, controversies that linger 100 years later. Jackson, and surrounding ranches, were prime winter habitat for large herds of elk, or wapiti. By some estimates Jackson blocked three-fourths of the elk's winter range. Initially, the country's elk population numbered around 10 million, give or take a few, and like the bison, those numbers quickly shrank with the onslaught of westward European expansion. The early 20th century saw those vast elk herds dwindle to 50,000, half of which wintered in Jackson Hole by the time settlers took root and blocked traditional migration routes. To make matters worse, stock growers upset the balance of nature by killing off the animals' natural predators, like the wolf. Then came the winters of 1909 - 1911 when the elk's historic range, or what remained, failed to sustain the herd of 20,000 to 30,000. Horror stories were told of starving elk barging into barns in search of hay, of ranchers doing their best to ease the disaster by scattering haystacks. But their efforts were to no lasting avail. Elk died, young and old. In one version of an often-quoted anecdote, a local rancher estimated he walked a mile on carcasses and never touched the ground. But why he'd want to do such a thing is beyond me. Eventually the federal government stepped in and established a small 1,000-acre elk refuge. Inadequate in size, the refuge grew over time and in conjunction with substantial feeding programs currently sustains a viable population of 5,000 – 9,000 elk. The National Elk Refuge abuts the northern edge of Jackson, just east of Highway 191. It's grown to 25,000 acres and has become one of Jackson's great winter attractions, and big business. 7,000 clustered elk are quite the sight, and you don't need to take a winter sleigh ride into the herd, as many do, to get a close-up of these beautiful animals with their large antlers and thick brown pelts covered in hoarfrost, but it helps. A coalition of environmental organizations, including the Jackson Hole Conservation Alliance, recently filed suit in federal court to phase out the artificial feed lines within five years, arguing, unsuccessfully, that feeding risks the spread of disease like brucellosis and horrific chronic wasting disease (similar to mad cow disease). The court disagreed and ruled not long ago that the government's feeding program was not unreasonable and may continue for at least 15 years. During that time, hunting will be used to manage the herd's size, and irrigation will be increased to better the refuge's natural habitat, supposedly. The amount of wildlife in Jackson Hole and the Greater Yellowstone Ecosystem cannot be overstated. It is astounding, and it's not just elk that are found in great numbers, but large bison herds that bring traffic to a grinding halt, and pronghorn antelope, moose, mule deer, black bear, grizzlies, beaver, osprey, eagles.... I realized this was wildlife-heaven early one morning in late spring just as it was getting light. We drove north with Andy Breffeilh and his Wyoming Balloon Company (Highly recommended. Ask to ride in the big basket). I was stunned at the bison and elk scattered on both sides of the 191 between Antelope Flats and Moran Junction. Not dozens, but hundreds and hundreds filled the meadows and grazed open sage country in the dim light. They were everywhere. This really is a very special place. Jackson (pop. 9,000) might be overflowing with rhinestone cowboys and gilded trust-funders but they're not all spineless. Many are not strangers to controversy nor afraid to stand up for what they believe in and defend their little corner of paradise. Whether fighting the expansion of Highway 191 to five lanes, curtailing oil and gas development in Bridger-Teton National Forest, blocking the big box stores, stopping Snake River dam construction, returning the wolf to Greater Yellowstone, slowing the pace of residential and commercial development and a host of other causes, few issues gathered as much attention, albeit brief, as the 2007 protest against former Vice President Dick Cheney who calls Jackson home now and then. Upset with the Iraq war, a feverish crowd of 250 including such notables as famed attorney Jerry Spence (“When the leaders of your country ... have become tyrants, you have the right to remove them under the Constitution.”), state representative Pete Jorgensen (D-Jackson) and many others, made their opinions known with speeches, rants and a 1.4-mile march on Mr. Cheney's undisclosed country club hideaway, hanging an effigy of the VP in the process, sort of. Several of the vice president's friends and supporters came to his defense in the press, chiding the protesters and implying that somehow such unseemly behavior was impolite, messy, and way too loud. Activism, however, has a history in ultra-conservative Wyoming. It was Wyoming, after all, that first gave women the right to vote long before the United States amended its constitution. And in 1920 Jackson elected an all-woman council, including a female mayor. Now that's progressive. That's democracy. Jackson is cowboy chic, offering the good life and Old West charm that continues to attract world diplomats, politicians, famous musicians, talented artists, the Hollywood set like Indiana Jones and bride Ally, not to mention many unknowns with stock options to burn. Jackson caters to that crowd to a great degree. They build log mansions on large acreages and second homes in secluded communities for brief visits during winter months. They're here to ride Big Red up the Big One, and savor fine dining, the best art galleries, world-class spas and resorts, fanciful boutiques and first-class shopping. But despite Jackson's rich underbelly, it's not overt, not necessarily in-your-face pretentious. And there's plenty of normal people to go around. All things considered it's still a charming, small western town with rustic barnwood décor, hackneyed Wild West shoot-outs, buggy rides, Hollywood facades, outlying dude ranches and resort lodges, horse barns and horses, big belt buckles and the pointy cowboy boots, those iconic antler arches in the town square, and we wouldn't have it any other way. But what sets Jackson apart from many other resort towns is its commitment to, and love of, the arts. A stone fortress overlooking the Elk Refuge, the National Museum of Wildlife Art is unique among art museums. With fourteen galleries, it features permanent and temporary works by artists such as Maurice Sendak and Karl Bodmer. Downtown, the 35-million-dollar Center for the Arts caters to dance, music, theater and film. It consists of a 41,000-square-foot arts and education pavilion providing classrooms, offices and studios for numerous education and arts nonprofit organizations. It also boasts a 525-seat theater and music center. The 740-seat Walk Festival Hall in Teton Village plays host to one of the world's finest classical music festivals, the Grand Teton Music Festival, offering chamber music from visiting and resident musicians, and full symphony concerts featuring some of the world's greatest performers. The performing stage arts are also represented by the Off Square Theater Company which presents live, top-notch theater entertainment and education. And during September, the 18-day Fall Arts Festival ramps up with works by international and nationally acclaimed artists – more than 50 events including fine cuisine, poetry, music and art gallery walks, workshops and concerts. For writers daydreaming of literary glory, after 18 years the Jackson Writers Conference is still going strong. One event deserves particular mention, the Jackson Hole Wildlife Film Festival and conference that attracts 650+ of the world's leading scientists, conservationists, writers and media professionals. It's billed as “the premier event of its genre,” with a nature film competition considered by many equivalent to the Academy Awards, honoring around 20 wildlife films from over 700 entries. Fine art, fine dining and a raucous nightlife aside, for many Jackson is all about the snow. The ski industry has come a long way since the 1920s when locals slid down Snow King Mountain on wood planks and braked with a wood pole held between their legs like the Wicked Witch of the West. By 1937 they were holding races, jumping through fire hoops, and by 1939 skiers were pulled up Snow King by Neil Rafferty's tow rope, a 4,000-foot cable powered by an old tractor engine. The local industry took a drastic leap forward in 1965 when Paul McCollister and his partners opened what is now known as the Jackson Hole Mountain Resort (JHMR) and installed a tram the following year. The Big One, as it's called, offers up 2,500 in-bounds acres of some of the finest skiing in North America and has been compared to some of the European Alps' best, radical, extreme skiing. They sweetened the pie in 1999/2000 by opening up an additional 3,000 acres of gate-accessed, out-of-bounds terrain, but you better know what you're doing before you take the plunge. Until you've skied it from the top of Rendezvous Bowl to the bottom of the Hobacks, thighs on fire and lungs a-bursting, it's hard to fathom the sheer size and varied challenges that await you. With an average snowfall of 459 inches and rated by many as the most challenging mountain in America, The Big One is comprised of two interconnected mountains. The larger, Rendezvous, has a continuous vertical rise of 4,139 feet. His kid brother, Apres Vous Mountain, has the lion's share of groomed and intermediate runs. The top of Rendezvous can be accessed by the new, upgraded 32-million-dollar high-speed aerial tram (Big Red) that holds 100 skiers and takes a mere nine minutes to reach the top. Snow-plowers and zig-zaggers beware! Much of the terrain is not for the weak-kneed or easily frightened. Half of the in-bounds runs on The Big One are geared for advanced skiers, 40% for intermediate skiers, and 10% for beginners. And it's the expert half that attracts so many professional skiers and snowboarders, many choosing to live in Jackson for just this reason. Steep chutes and chutelets, rock gardens, open bowls, tricky glades, gullies, cliffs, ridges, crags, boulders … it's double-diamond heaven. It's enough to keep any powder-hounds and snow junkies hooked for life and drooling for more, all for the low, low price of (gulp) $91.00 a day. Check their website for specials and package deals. And if you're planning on tumbling down Corbet's Couloir, as the certifiable occasionally do, don't forget to bring along your parachute. You'll need it.