Hard to believe, but it’s been four and a half years since our honeymoon in Wyoming, a third of that time shrouded in the fog of a global pandemic. Spurred by an aching desire to get back into the world, Jane and I booked a return trip to Jackson Hole almost a year ago, when the COVID-19 vaccines were merely whispers and rumor. We held onto those plane tickets like little totems of sheer, dumb hope - hope that life would eventually return to some semblance of normalcy, that old familiar places and memories of happier days might be just around the corner. Our flights connect in Chicago and Denver instead of Salt Lake City this time, and we’re pausing busy attending/scientist lives instead of coming off a whirlwind intern-year wedding. I’m a better photographer. It’s the height of autumn in the Rockies, instead of late spring. But despite the masked faces in the airport terminals and the ever-changing world, there are some things that remain, comfortingly, the same. The Tetons are just as imposing and majestic as we left them four years ago; it’s hard to find a meal anywhere except the Signal Mountain Lodge; and trading wildlife stories is still topic du jour for every encounter with a friendly hiker, photographer, and binocular-wearing enthusiast on the trail. In the face of our little growing and receding human lives, the national parks continue to have a constancy and reliability that is all their own.
After a unusually leisurely early afternoon flight out of Boston (enough time for a lunch at Legal Seafoods in the airport), we arrive in Jackson Hole by way of Chicago. It’s near sundown, and we’re due for beautiful light as a storm front moves in from the southwest, down the valley. We zip from the tarmac to the inside of our rental car in record time (9 minutes including a bathroom break; I don’t think we’ll ever beat this one), and drive a few miles to photograph sunset at the Blacktail Ponds. At the overlook, we’re treated to a perfect re-introduction to the Teton Range: gold and magenta clouds catching upon the peaks, light receding behind the mountain wall, and in the foreground, the meandering Snake River passing us beyond stands of spruce, cottonwood, and willow. In the distance, we hear the sounds of bull elks bugling - their haunting screams echoing across the mountain slopes. Fall is in full procession here; I set up my tripod and shoot timelapses of the sweeping clouds, and close and far shots incorporating the golden foliage. As the sun sets, we drive northeast on the highway past the park’s east entrance gate, arriving after half an hour at our lodging for the next four nights: a cabin at the Heart Six Ranch in Buffalo Valley. We break out our electric water kettle from home, and settle in after a dinner of instant noodles, dried fruit, and canned goods.
The second day of the trip is a roving one; owing to a patchwork of weather systems and rainstorms blowing in off the peaks, we elect to stay near the car and hit some high-yield photography locations. We start with sunrise at Oxbow Bend. The light is overall lacklustre, owing to a bank of high clouds shrouding us to the east, but the sight of Mt. Moran looming over the horizon and the colors of the maples and alders reflected in the river, all suffused in the pink glow of dawn, is nevertheless very pretty. We move a short distance east, walking toward Signal Mountain past a stand of aspen trees, and taking in views of the Snake River. I shoot another timelapse here as storm clouds close in on the Teton Range; we make a hasty retreat back to the car as raindrops begin to land from a distance.
Back in the car, we head toward Jackson for groceries to round out our instant noodle and snack stash from home. Along the highway, we catch amazing light near the Triangle X Ranch, and we revisit some old scenes from our honeymoon: the Snake River Overlook (still nothing like in Ansel Adams’ day, though gorgeous with the autumn colors) and Schwabacher Landing (a lovely mountain scene with the aid of golden cottonwoods and dramatic skies). In town, Jackson is crawling with other tourists and their cars; we avoid the center of town and make a quick grocery stop at Albertson’s before returning back to Buffalo Valley for a break and an afternoon nap.
In the late afternoon, we head back into the park to scout out more compositions for sunset. Sunset itself turns out to be a bust, as another wall of storm clouds descends from the mountains (a daily occurrence, it seems), shrouding the whole range from view. We stop and shoot at the Willow Flats Overlook (unable to explore, as the area is closed due to bear activity) and make an abortive attempt at getting dinner in the Jackson Lake Lodge (no chance in hell) before retreating to our ranch for another instant noodle dinner. The loveliest images of the evening come from a spur-of-the-moment roadside stop just west of Buffalo Valley, and at the very end of the golden hour, on the road just outside of our cabin.
