CDT: The Grand Teton Alternate

On the alternate through the Grand Teton National Park, we’re rewarded with breathtaking alpine views and serene lakes. Over days, we’re traversing scenic passes, tackling a challenging cross-country scramble down to Lake Solitude and navigating unpredictable weather. Finally, the alternate spits us out in the bustling and expensive town of Jackson, where we experience the overwhelming transition from remote wilderness to civilization.

CDT Day 53 — Into the Grand Teton National Park

I still don’t feel well when I wake up, but we decide to hit the trail anyway. Ibuprofen will keep me upright, I’m sure. It takes me a bit longer to get moving, but we’re going. Everybody else is already gone. We keep following the dirt road to the trailhead where we turn on the trail and enter the Grand Teton National Park. A modest sign stands alone in the middle of a sunlit meadow, marking our entry into this majestic wilderness.

At a fork in the trail, we’re faced with a choice: right or left. We don’t really know which route the others took, but we opt for the left. It leads through Webb Canyon, is shorter and has less elevation gain, which sounds like the better choice for my current condition. We have no idea if we might miss out on something big, but after a few miles, we don’t think about it anymore.

We pass a lonely ranger station where there is a trail register in which we find the names of Twilight, Pinecone and Mosey. They apparently all hike together now and passed this way a week ago. This makes us feel more confident in our choice because they chose the same route as us. Can’t be bad then.

As we descend into Webb Canyon, the landscape unfolds with stunning mountain views still dusted with snow. The trail becomes a bit rougher after lunch, with more rocks and fallen trees slowing our pace. The air is humid, and though it’s not excessively hot, sweat beads on our brows as we navigate steeper stretches.

Eventually, we veer off the established path and head cross-country toward the Teton Crest Trail. The open terrain makes navigation straightforward. We climb a ridge, traversing wildflower-strewn meadows with panoramic views of the surrounding peaks and a glimpse of a small glacier. Reaching Horsethief Pass, our highest point for the day, we reconnect with a trail — though this one is faint and barely exists. It takes us some time to navigate. 

Finally, we join the well-trodden Teton Crest Trail, which leads us the remaining mile to Camp Lake, which sounds like there must be good campsites. With the threat of a possible thunderstorm looming this night, we’re eager to find a sheltered spot.

The final stretch is a series of steep, cautious descents until we reach the lake. Camp Lake lives up to its name — there are plenty of nice, protected campsites and the added bonus of running water.

We settle down, pitch our tent, get dinner going while mozzies are swarming us. Maybe 30 minutes later, we hear voices. Randi, Syrup and Trench are arriving, also camping here. They took the other route. It’s clear they’ve had a grueling day —over 26 miles with more than 5,900 feet of elevation gain. And it doesn’t sound like we missed out on anything special. I’m still happy with our choice, especially since we didn’t see another soul all day. Just the way I like it.

CDT Day 54 — A Class 3 Scramble to Lake Solitude

Some rain in the morning doesn’t motivate me to get up, but it is what it is. We head for Dead Horse Pass, yesterday we hit Horsethief Pass. I’m beginning to think someone had a real rough time with horses around here. Maybe someone stole a horse and it just gave up halfway up. I can relate — dragging myself up this climb feels like I’m the one dying today.

At the top, we meet the others and dive into a debate about what a Class 3 scramble really means. The Alps’ UIAA scale Class 3 would be serious business, where you definitely think about using a rope. But in the USA, it seems more like a walk with some occasional hand-holding of rocks. Relief washes over me at the thought of less precarious climbing.

Clouds gather on the descent, and as we ascend again, light rain begins to fall. The gray sky dulls the vibrant meadows and wildflowers, turning the Tetons into a washed-out version of themselves. My mood is about as gloomy as the view — exhausted, cranky, and disappointed. I came here for iconic mountain shots, not monochrome landscapes, and I still don’t feel great, I’m just so tired.

Lunch offers no relief as the rain picks up again. The cross-country scramble to Lake Solitude is looking less likely with wet rocks. But as we keep going, the sun makes an appearance, and everything transforms. Peaks start peeking through ridges, hinting at the grandeur of the Tetons. The day feels full of possibility again.

So, we go for the challenging route. The weather holds, and while it’s not long, it’s slow going, as we navigate carefully. Our first obstacle is Littles Peak, which, despite its name, towers at 10,717 feet. But compared to the peaks we start to see now, it really is just a tiny pile of rocks. We skirt around it, probably not the most efficient path regarding saving time and elevation, but it works — no sketchy sections, just some annoying elevation gains and losses.

At the highest point, we pause to take it all in — the jagged, raw peaks of the Tetons, rising like something out of Patagonia or the Dolomites. Lakes shimmer below, surrounded by breathtaking rocky landscapes. It’s stunning, and I forget how tired I was earlier.

Then the real fun begins. We scramble across a ridge with massive rocks and a terrifying drop, plunging hundreds of feet toward a lake. The drop looms in my peripheral vision, a constant reminder of how high up we are. As scary as it is, it’s also really beautiful. 

We hit a few snowfields and all sorts of rocks — from big boulder fields to those which look like layers of chocolate cake (when you ask me) or juicy steaks (when you ask Ryan). We find our way, not always in the most efficient manner, through this rocky maze, the mighty peaks always in sight. There are some small ponds fed by snowmelt, garnished with some wildflowers here and there, that make this view extra stunning.

It all takes a long time, but I don’t even notice as the hike, as well as the landscape, is so entertaining the whole time. I’m so glad we took this route, this is what we came here for. And, as the weather turned for the better, I also get all the photo ops I can dream of. 

It’s surprisingly easy to find our way down, there is not too much of a choice with common sense. The most important is going left from the waterfall. We scramble down over steep grass, rocks, and boulder fields, with Lake Solitude shimmering below, backed by those insane mountain ridges.

We find the perfect campsite tucked among trees, overlooking the lake and those unforgettable peaks. The best view we’ve had so far at camp. To celebrate the end of this beautiful day and to reward us for our efforts, we cook up our favorite dinner — Shepherd’s Pie with Mudslide dessert, soaking in the view as the sun casts its final glow on the mountains. There is just nothing better than that: Good food with a view. And no mozzies!! All we needed to do was climb up and down some scary terrain. 10/10 would recommend. 

CDT Day 55 — Easy Day Full of Beauty and Muggles

Rain kept us awake tapping on the tent. We’re waking up groggy, but the view more than makes up for it. Lake Solitude has transformed into a perfect mirror, reflecting the peaks around us in the stillness of the early morning.

On the way down, we spot the first muggles just waking up at their campsites. I’m not ready for people, so I do the most logical thing — I hide. I’m so ridiculous. What do we do when we see a bear? We say “Hey Bear!” and make our presence known. What do I do when I see a person? I hide and hope they don’t see me. It’s funny how facing a bear feels easier than interacting with strangers sometimes.

Being neurodivergent, social situations can feel like an overwhelming puzzle, especially after days of solitude on the trail. The idea of small talk, of people wanting to chat — it’s exhausting before it even begins. Sometimes, it’s just easier to disappear, even if that means hiding behind a bush like a nervous rabbit.

We are walking south with those big beautiful mountains in sight for the first mile or so. The morning sun is hitting them so nicely. It’s glorious, but fleeting — the sun will be in and out all day.

There are lots of muggles hiking around that don’t know downhill hikers yield to uphill hikers, and that starts to become frustrating. And with the muggles come the random items left on trail. We could put an entire outfit together with the clothes we find on trail, but worse is the random trash everywhere. But after a while, I get used to all these people and I feel less grumpy about everything.

The first climb of the day is the hardest, going up to Hurricane Pass as it’s a long one, but at least it’s gradual. About halfway up, the wind picks up and rain threatens, so we duck into some trees for cover. The storm blows in and out like it’s on fast-forward — it’s over within 10 minutes. Gusts of wind whipping a big cloud of dirt across the trail. Then, onward and upward, we see many scenic spots along the way, but the gray clouds spoil the view a bit. 

We chat with a lovely couple from Alabama, another hiker shows us the huckleberries are fruiting, and an obnoxious group of three middle-aged women loudly singing on their way down from the pass. No one asked for that soundtrack. I’m giving them a passive-aggressive “It’s so quiet and peaceful out here”.

The climb rewards us with a glacier towards the top. We stop to marvel at Schoolhouse Glacier — what’s left of it, anyway — when we hear someone shout. It turns out that it’s Randi and Syrup, just at the top of the pass. We thought they were miles ahead, so seeing them is a pleasant surprise.

We’re making the final push to the top of Hurricane Pass where we swap stories. They took another route, and it seems even scarier than ours, as they had to scramble and slide down a steep exposed slope full of loose gravel. We’re even happier with our choice after seeing videos of that nightmare. What they took was supposed to be the “safe route”, there was supposed to be a trail!

While we’re catching up, the weather takes a sharp turn. Rain turns into snow, whipped sideways by howling winds. Hurricane Pass lives up to its name, and we’re caught running down the mountain with the wind at our backs, trying to get some cover further down. It gets really cold, really fast. My right butt cheek ends up soaked because we didn’t have time to throw on rain pants. We just try to get off the mountain as fast as possible.

We hunker down next to some small pine trees, taking whatever respite they can give us. The storm passes just as fast as it arrived. And when it clears? Pure beauty. Lush fields of wildflowers kissed with fresh rain and the sunlight makes them glisten. The trail runners around us seem happy, but the backpackers look beaten down by the storm.

We hike with Randi and Syrup until the sky darkens again, this time with loud thunder rumbling overhead. We take cover under some trees and end up chatting long after the rain stops. The wildflower-strewn valleys and red rock cliffs around us glow in the post-rain light, leading us to another version of the Chinese Wall, just as stunning as the first in the Bob. We’re seeing huge blocky chunks of the wall nestled near the trail. No bugs, warm sunshine — perfection.

A mile or so later, we find a lovely view into a canyon below us, which turns into our lunch break and rain fly drying spot.

We pass a few water sources and choose not to fill up since these must be around forever. They were not. As we walk through the expanse, the clouds move in once again and darken the sky. This makes us nervous as we have no cover and are gaining elevation. But the rain never comes, the clouds were all bark and no bite. 

Eventually, we find water — hurrah — as we descend towards Marion Lake. The sun finds a hole in the clouds, bathing the lake and valley in golden light. It’s stunning, but the campsite is packed with tents. Definitely not the same vibe as Lake Solitude.

You need permits to camp here, as Marion Lake is still in the Grand Teton National Park. Our way keeps going in and out of the National Park, and it’s easy to find campsites just out of the park, where we don’t need permits.

We hike on in the sunshine for the rest of the day, without the anxiety that a storm is about to hit us. We pick up enough water at the next source for camp.

We have spaghetti and meat sauce for dinner with a bit of pepper jack cheese. We barely have enough fuel to cook the noodles, but since we cold-soaked the meat sauce separately, it all comes together quite nicely — just like the day. My socks are so dirty by now, that they can stand on their own. We haven’t washed our clothes since Island Park. Time for a town stop.

CDT Day 56 — Pricey Jackson

Today, we’re hiking out of the Tetons, making our way towards Jackson. There’s one last steep climb standing between us and Philipp’s Pass, though the pass itself is laughably low, tucked into a meadow far below the highest point of the trail. Finally, we get some phone reception and check out lodging options in Jackson, which are all ridiculously expensive. Hotels are a whopping $330 a night, and even a hostel is $150 — for a “room” that’s really just a cabin with curtains instead of walls. Outrageous.

We descend through Philipp’s Canyon, walking through fields of purple fireweed that tower over us. The trail feels like it’s leading us through a magical, flower-filled tunnel. But the magic fades a bit as we run into wave after wave of weekend hikers. It’s Sunday, so the trail is packed with big groups and lots of dogs. Every few minutes, we’re stepping aside to let people pass and making small talk. It quickly becomes obvious that Jackson is one of those rare liberal pockets in Wyoming, a little blue dot in a sea of red.

Luckily, Ryan has a friend from the PCT who lives in Jackson, and she invites us to lunch. Even better — she finds us a place to stay! Her friends, who play in a local music festival, have an empty apartment right in Teton Village, and we’re welcome to crash there.

Before heading to the village, we get to do some much-needed laundry and take a shower at her place while she’s out hiking. Clean and refreshed, we hop on a bus to Teton Village. But stepping back into the crowds? That’s a whole new level of overwhelming. The music festival is in full swing, and Teton Village is a wall of sound and people. It’s chaotic, loud, and… too much.

We run into a guy named Bean, who spots our CDT hang tags and gives us a holler. Turns out he’s a fellow thru-hiker — he’s done the AT and PCT and is now working as a shuttle driver for the summer. He’s got plenty to say about the rich crowd, especially when it comes to tipping, or rather, the lack of it. Apparently, wealthy people make for the worst tippers. Who knew? We chat for a bit before spotting more CDT hikers in the crowd. It’s funny how easy it is to recognize each other, even when we’re without our backpacks, and surrounded by well-heeled tourists.

But the noise and the crowd quickly start to overwhelm me. My nerves are shot, so we slip away to meet back up with our friend Sonic and her friends. They welcome us with open arms, offering us the most amazing place to stay — for free. We end up in a luxurious apartment with two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a cozy living room with a fireplace, and a fully stocked kitchen. They also invite us over to their apartment for dinner. It ends up being a very pleasant evening with a great conversation.

I spot Jimmy Chin, a climber and filmmaker, just in front of one of the big hotels. If you don’t know him, you probably do know the “Free Solo” movie with Alex Honnold which he co-directed and starred in. But I’m of course too shy to approach him, which I regret later.

Just two days ago, Trump was in Jackson for some kind of charity lunch. Jackson is packed with rich tourists, expensive hotels, fancy hipster places and bear statues. But it also has public transport, and it’s actually good AND free. 

People are surprisingly chatty here. From bus drivers to strangers at the post office, everyone wants to talk. It’s nice, but it’s also a bit much after spending so much time in the quiet wilderness. Jackson is a weird mix of wild luxury and down-to-earth friendliness — an odd end to our time in the Tetons, but a memorable one for sure.