Category: Free Roaming Photography

Earlier this season, I was honored to have been included in the Jackson Hole Land Trust’s View 22 Project. In previous years, only a handful of local artists were selected to portray lands that the Land Trust has protected over the course of their existence. This year, however, they expanded it to 35 artists covering all different mediums. As one of the 35, I happily agreed.

The property I was assigned is a small piece of land located along the border of town along the Flat Creek corridor, between Snow King and Josie’s Ridge. As someone whose favorite places are away from civilization and light pollution, I began to have a little trouble finding the motivation to see what kind of photo I would ultimately capture. I was most thinking of trying to get a shot around sunrise and night, but this proved to be a little trickier than I initially anticipated. I never could find the right conditions at night because of frequent stormy weather, nor could I manage waking up early enough to get there for sunrise due to responsibilities I was managing into many nights. Days began to drift to weeks, until the deadline for getting in some info back to the Land Trust about the final image was rapidly approaching. The pressure began getting to me and I actually had to restrain myself from telling them that I wouldn’t be able to get an image done due to too busy of a schedule.

With the deadline for some info looming only a week away, I began to doubt if I would ever get a worthy shot of the property. Realizing I was just stressing myself out and putting too much pressure on something I do so naturally anywhere else, I finally released myself from all the doubt and pressure that had prevented me from doing anything at all. I decided not to stress myself out with it, but simply accepted that as a worst case scenario, I would just head up there at the last minute one night and get what I could.

The deadline for the info was now just a couple of days away when I found myself heading into town during a stormy day for other priorities. I happened to be parking nearby the property for something entirely unrelated, when I noticed a spectacular rainbow beginning to come out. I checked the time to see if I could spare a few minutes, and sure enough, there was a window of opportunity. I grabbed my camera and rain gear and ran up into the property and began photographing every angle I could, until I ultimately ended up with the image above. The rainbow started to fade nearly as soon as I got this shot, almost as if it were just waiting for me to take advantage of the opportunity. My camera gear was (relatively) soaked, but I was excited about the serendipity that had unfolded right in front of me. I couldn’t have planned it any better. All the elements I wanted were there with no sign of town. All I had to do all along was just relax.

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Distance (one way): 6 miles
Difficulty: Strenuous
Best time of year: Spring, Summer

If the hike hadn’t been as challenging as it was, I might have felt a little demoralized by the name, but summiting Cream Puff Peak does not come easy for anyone, especially once the 6-7 foot wildflowers have grown in. This hike is definitely not for novices or anyone looking for a casual day in the mountains.

After my safe return, I discovered there were two main routes up the peak. I was using a popular guide book by Rebecca Woods called Hiking the Tetons (a mandatory addition for anyone wanting to hike in the area). The trailhead I was directed to was on Bull Creek Road, just west of The Shield (a popular climbing destination) and Granite Hot Springs. As I began hiking, I was thankful I was in long pants. This trail is seldom used so the vegetation along the trail was dense at best, and at least a few feet high. It had also rained the previous day, which meant a lot of the plants were still very wet, soaking my legs as I brushed past them all.

It didn’t take long for the trail to begin gaining significant elevation, at which point I noticed four turkey vultures circling overhead. It was a breezy morning, so assuming they were just enjoying the breeze, I admired them and then moved on. I popped in and out of not-so-dense forests of fir and spruce and even the occasional aspen grove, the latter becoming more frequent as the elevation increased. With the increase in elevation came more and more wildflowers. Duncecap larkspur, mules ear, lupine, and Indian paintbrush carpeted endless meadows on the mountainsides. Views to the south opened up as well with the higher elevations. It was also at this point that I began to notice those same four vultures circling overhead again. I thought it a little peculiar, but then I was distracted by the view of the northern Wyoming Range and continued my climb through the sporadic evergreen and aspen trees.

The trail continued upward, seeming to approach a distant ridge up above as I popped out into another larger meadow about 1.5-2 miles into the trail. As I hiked through the meadow, I noticed a shadow on the ground flying past in the shape of a large bird. I looked up, and again, those same four vultures were circling, now making an occasional pass only about 30 above me. At this point a person’s imagination starts to kick in. Was there a reason I was the only one on the trail and being stalked by vultures? Is there something up ahead that I’d rather not know about? There was only one way to find out. Of course had I been more influenced by bad Hollywood movies, I might have started to wonder if the vultures were well underway in a mental attack on me. Maybe they had learned that with enough persistence, they can cause a human to panic and run and just have that person injure themselves, doing the work for them. Fortunately, I know nature doesn’t reflect idiotic Hollywood movies like The Grey. As I continued on, I told them I was healthy and wasn’t going down, and I never saw them again.

The views to the south only got more and more impressive as the trail ascended through the wildflower meadows, and it didn’t take much longer for views to the east to begin to unfold too. Pinnacle Peak popped out over the eastern ridge with other neighboring peaks, and shortly thereafter, the trail crested a significant ridge where sweeping views to the north were finally revealed. Some of the Gros Ventre Mountains’ finest peaks were showing off in a mesmerizing 360 degree panoramic view.

The trail then cut west heading down toward a small evergreen forest, supposedly with a hunting camp on the south side which I wasn’t able to find, or even see. The trail began to descend into the woods, and became somewhat difficult to follow at times. I lost the trail more than once and even became confused by now obsolete forks, until it finally emerged from the forest into a large, open meadow covered in wildflowers that were easily a minimum of five feet high. I followed the trail, thinking my hike was nearing its end with one last climb up the distant ridge, when all of a sudden the trail was gone. It had completely vanished into the overgrown meadow and there was no sign of it. I headed back to the treeline and noticed a fork I hadn’t seen before. I took the new trail, but suffered the same fate. Fortunately, this one of the rare exceptions where I actually brought the guide book with me. I took it out, read about where I was, but still couldn’t make any sense of where I was supposed to go. I had apparently missed my opportunity farther back on the trail to scope out the ridges and meadows to see more accurately where I was supposed to be going. In fact I wasn’t even sure at this point which peak was Cream Puff Peak. There was a distant ridge, and I knew I needed to get on top of it.

I picked the latter fork and headed back into it, determined to get somewhere. My pace slowed to a crawl as the thick plants, all competing to be the tallest, seemed to be grabbing at my legs to hold me back. After only a few dozen yards, I came to a small stream, producing just enough water to refill, had I needed it, but at about 10-15 feet down a small ravine, had produced some steep inclines that made getting down and across a rather tricky task. I worked my way down the bank, slipping a couple of times until I had reached the stream, but I didn’t have time to plan my jump across. I felt my balance give out and so I just made a leap of faith, hoping I wouldn’t land into a stream I couldn’t see. I hit solid ground, got my bearings, and made my way up the steep incline as best as I could.

After bushwhacking for what seemed like miles, I was a couple of hundred yards from the tree line where I lost the trail. Fortunately, I found a game trail (or possibly a rarely-used hiking trail) which made things slightly easier, though the plants still seemed hesitant to see me proceed. I forced my way through the game trail until I realized it was turning toward the opposite direction that I wanted to be going. I could either head off the makeshift trail with no real certainty where I should be heading, or continue up to the next ridge to at least get a better view and get my bearings. The path of least resistance, so to speak, in this case was the latter.

I reached the ridge and found a very impressive view of a large peak just to the north. I knew it wasn’t Cream Puff Peak, but I was wondering why I wasn’t making my way there in the first place. It was certainly the most impressive looking in my reachable vicinity. I checked the time, and realized I wouldn’t have the time to summit either peak. I needed to be back in the evening and I had already been going for over three hours and 2pm was quickly approaching. I also knew it wouldn’t be easy getting back to the actual trail. I glanced back up at (to my knowledge) the unnamed peak, and regretfully turned around to be sure I’d be back in town when needed. As a not-so-smart compromise, I decided to hike to the other side of the meadow. With uneven terrain, thicker brush, and even more stream crossings, this proved to be one of my poorer decisions. I fell multiple times, tore up my pants, and am pretty sure I got stung by something on my leg. Though it was only 200-300 hundred extra yards or so, it probably ate up at least an extra 30-45 minutes going back the “scenic” way.

Having finally reached the trail again (I was at least smart enough to consistently look back to make sure I’d find it), I was beginning to get very hungry. I had a quick snack, and proceeded back up the trail to the initial ridge that opened up all the views for me. Here I had a (relatively) proper meal, while also getting a much better lay of the land. Now determining where both Cream Puff Peak and the hunting camp were, I had a much better understanding of where I was actually supposed to go, and just how far off the trail I had actually gone. Cream Puff Peak was apparently much farther south than I thought, and the ridge I was going to was too far north. All I could do at this point was to save that valuable information for next time, and enjoy my lunch and the tremendous views that were in front of me before heading back down.

After over six hours on the trail, I saw a whopping total of zero other people. In fact I didn’t see a single other mammal either. There were plenty of signs of deer, elk, and moose, but nothing else, unfortunately. In addition to my stalking vulture friends, there were a few hawks out, and plenty of sage grouse to practically scare me off the trail as they began to fly. You don’t know how startling it is until you’ve experienced it.

So, if you’re looking for some solitude and a good challenge, this one’s definitely worth a shot.

Getting there: From Jackson, take Highway 191/189 south to Hoback Junction. Follow the highway east and into the Hoback Canyon. Continue along the highway for roughly 11 miles and there will be an obscure, unsigned dirt road on the left. If you pass The Shield or the road to Granite Hot Springs, you just missed it. There will be a parking area just up the road, still visible from the highway. Walk up the road a bit more, and a sign marking the trailhead will be visible off the road to the left.

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Yellowstone National Park is exhausted and over-stressed. It’s so heavily visited and trampled in the summers that I believe it’s currently left with only two options. The first option is to completely revamp all the parking lots, consuming and overtaking more natural resources from fragile ground, as well as adding in four-lane highways to account for ever-increasing traffic to an already stressed park. The other option is to close all roads to the majority of motorized traffic from Memorial Day to Labor Day. I don’t doubt that many people would find this preposterous, impossible, and unrealistic, but I argue that the park is currently left either with embracing this option, or continuing to devour its own natural resources in an attempt to scale to meet increasing demand, a trend that shows no sign of slowing down.

Before getting defensive, there would of course be exceptions, ensuring that Yellowstone’s most frequent and active visitors aren’t affected at all, but first, step back and look at the National Park Service as a continually evolving entity. The National Parks are, and have always been, an ongoing experiment. The finality and completion of a park like Yellowstone is about as stable as the volcano and fault lines that it rests on. This completely moots any argument about “breaking tradition”, an argument that never carries any weight in any circumstance.

The argument for a shuttle system is very simple. During my experience guiding throughout Yellowstone National Park for the past four summers, I observed a very consistent pattern among the vast majority of Yellowstone National Park’s visitors:

1. Drive to and park at roadside feature.
2. Get out.
3. Observe.
4. Check it off the list.
5. Repeat.

This population of people enter the park around mid-morning and are out before dinner, unless camping or lodging inside the park itself. Therefore, the overwhelming majority of tourists would not be inconvenienced in any way by the use of a shuttle system, and many of them might even prefer it so they can admire the scenery instead of looking for an opportune time to pass the car ahead of them. Likewise, it would eliminate unnecessary traffic and subsequently all road rage resulting from hurried drivers that underestimated the time from Point A to Point B, making Yellowstone road rage a thing of the past, helping to preserve the wildlife there. Both Zion National Park and Bandelier National Monument use shuttle services with great success, among others, leaving the roads safer and more open for hikers and bicyclists.

As mentioned, there would be some exceptions. Many businesses rely on wildlife safaris in Yellowstone for a significant portion of their revenue. They would be permitted to continue operating as normal, resulting in increased traffic for them plus better viewing opportunities. This would also significantly reduce the stress for rangers controlling crowds near wildlife. Likewise, for avid photographers and opportunists, a system similar to Bandelier National Monument would be incorporated, making use of a flexibility in time. For example, if you arrived to Yellowstone before 8am, for example, you could drive in undisturbed. Gates would close at that time for the day, but reopen again in the late afternoon, around 5pm or so. For those wanting optimal light and wildlife opportunities, this wouldn’t affect them at all since most of them are already doing just that. Also, the road closures and shuttle system would only be in effect during the busiest time of the year, when Yellowstone is overrun with visitation and pushing the park beyond what its budget can handle.

Lastly, and most importantly, this would encourage people to get out and onto their feet, the way a national park is supposed to be seen. Edward Abbey made a similar recommendation decades ago solely for that purpose. Yet now, with park visitation putting unprecedented stress on the natural resources, the park seems to be caught without an alternative.

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The annual Eta Aquarid Meteor Shower peaks every year in early May and is the result of the debris field left over from Haley’s Comet. While it’s best viewed in the southern hemisphere, the northern hemisphere can catch some fireworks from it too on the morning of the peak. Though the shower is quiet with infrequent meteors for the northern hemisphere, it’s still known for displaying fantastic fireballs in the sky. The shower radiates from the southeast, from the constellation Aquarius.

I went out into the National Elk Refuge to watch the shower with my girlfriend and another friend early in the morning of the 6th. We bundled up with sleeping bags, and got cozy in the back of my car with the back open to watch the show. With it being early in the morning, well before dawn, we wound up falling asleep without seeing a meteor. I had my camera set up though, so I was eager to see if I caught anything on there, but unfortunately, it was a quiet shower this year in the northern hemisphere. The time-lapse from this year’s show, or lack thereof, is below. Although a night out under a nice night sky is hardly ever a waste of time.

So with such small odds at seeing an amazing meteor shower, why would I wake up so early to go watch a less-than-spectacular meteor shower? I first started watching the Eta Aquarid Meteor Shower in 2013, and what I saw from it immediately made it one of my favorites. Early in the morning I saw a massive fireball explode in the atmosphere, which I not only caught a still photo of above, but also caught in the time-lapse below.

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