Traipsing Through the Tetons

Okay, I admit it. I wasn't paying attention. Or, rather, I wasn't paying attention to the appropriate things. I was sort of focused on the lovely day and the names of wildflowers and the miles I'd already walked and the amount of water I had consumed out of my convenient Camelback and, oh, wasn't that a handy clump of trees? I didn't remember that I was in the wilderness with the potential for encounters with furry beasties. I plowed obliviously ahead.

Until I heard a scrambling noise. I was in Grand Teton National Park. I'd seen plenty of signs advising awareness and caution due to bears in the area. I was even carrying a Bear Vault in which to keep all my food. I'd already seen a bear on a trail earlier this summer. But I still goofed.

I flushed a cub up a tree. It was pretty close to where I was standing, and my first thought was, "Oh, no." I've always understood the most dangerous bear scenario to be irritating a female bear with cubs. And there's no way that cub was out here alone.

My adrenaline took over, and I spun around and almost ran back to the trail, but even as I changed direction, I remembered that I wasn't supposed to run. Different parts of my brain were vying for control. The Medulla oblongata was shrieking "FLEE!" and causing my heart to pound, while my Cerebrum ran through all the things I'd ever read in those "what to do in a bear encounter" pamphlets. That's when I saw Mama bear, pretty close to me and staring. My focus was pretty acute, so I noticed three things right away. 1. I wasn't between her and the cub. 2. She was a black bear, not a grizzly. 3. She didn't seem particularly angry or upset.

I did this really graceful side step, trying to put more trees in between us and reach my hiking party for safety in numbers. My Cerebellum caused me to scratch up my arm a bit on some branches, but thanks to the Medulla, I didn't feel it. My Cerebrum prompted me to sound the alarm, so I called, "Bear, Bear, Baby Bear!" My main man soon had my back, with bear spray handy, and my parents weren't far behind. Once the four of us were together, I knew it wasn't as dangerous of a situation. Despite my quick heart rate and a bit of shakiness in my hands, I was able to snap this photo proof of the scaredy cub, but for better pictures I guess I should invest in a camera that can really zoom.

As we backed down the trail, waiting to see which direction the bears would go, two more cubs ran across the trail! Once the family was reunited a little ways off the trail, we left them alone and continued on our way, pretty stoked about the sighting (and, naturally, relieved that I hadn't enraged the adult bear). I talked to a ranger further down the trail who said that the bears had been hanging out there all summer, so I think Mama bear was fairly used to people going by on the trail and didn't feel too threatened. It just shows how often we probably hike right by wild animals without even knowing it. If I hadn't blundered off the trail causing that one cub to flee up the tree, the four of us humans would probably have walked right by the four bruins with no idea that they were just hidden in the brush.

So, due to that excitement, my main man and I sang the "Bear Aware" song for the rest of the trip. It goes like this: "Be Bear A-ware". Then you make up your own verses, generally various permutations of asking the bear not to be angry and not to maul you but to just go about eating its berries and honey and other lovely non-human things. We didn't see any more bears.

We did, however, have a great backpacking trip up the Teton Crest Trail. It was the only one I had time for this summer, and it was certainly a good choice. My dad had been talking about doing this hike for years, and the Tetons are sort of halfway between my parents' home in Montana and mine in Laramie, so we decided to meet up there.

We started at the Teton Village and took the tramway up the mountain, which was kind of cheating, but did let us start the hike at a wonderfully high elevation. My parents claimed to be a bit concerned about a long backpacking trip, because they are getting up there a bit, but I think they were faking. They did great with all the mileage and elevation changes and carrying heavy packs, and the only sign of a senior moment was when my mom started arguing with a tree near our campsite the first night. I'm not sure of the subject of contention, but the tree wouldn't budge.

The second day was long, but absolutely gorgeous. I think we hiked about thirteen miles up and down, in and out of the national park and wilderness areas. We had perfect, warm weather, and the flowers were at their peak. The colors were fantastic. I have trouble picking my favorite flowers, but the purple lupine seen here in front of Fossil Mountain is high on the list, and there were fields and fields of it.

We passed lots of interesting rock formations and mountains on our way to the Teton peaks. Some, like Spearhead Peak below, provided a landscape unlike anything I would have expected in Northwest Wyoming.


The absolute highlight of the trip was climbing up to Hurricane Pass, just to the west of the three Tetons. As we hiked higher, we could catch glimpses of the peaks peeking over the ridges, but once we hit the high point of the pass, wham, there they were.


The sky was blue and there was no one around. It was a huge payoff. And from there, it was all downhill. There I go, continuing north into the mountains. At times like these, I just feel like I could walk forever, even though I obviously can't. My feet were getting tired, I was pretty much done with carrying my large pack, and I really wanted my dins.


The campsite that night was perfect. We slept just in the shadow of Grand Teton near a little stream. I took off my boots--the same boots that trekked across Wales; they are accumulating some mileage--and refreshed my feet in the cold water. It was quiet and peaceful, and the only nearby creature, besides some inevitable mosquitoes, was a passing mule deer doe. Sunset on the peaks was an extra treat.

The last day consisted of a hike out Cascade Canyon, which was a lovely trail. It couldn't quite compete with the solitude and majesty of the alpine sections, but the creek was very pretty and I found another new bunch of wildflowers to photograph.

It was still peaceful up until a few miles from the end of the trail, where it started to get quite crowded with national park day hikers and sightseers. That usually happens in the few miles nearest to the trailheads. So we booked it out of there, looking forward to a trip to the Mangy Moose before the long drive home.


As I walked around the southern shore of Jenny Lake, I was feeling pretty tired, but it was a good tired. Dad's definitely got the go-ahead to pick another trip next summer.

Take Time to Find the Frogs

Some old friends recently came to visit from Portland, Oregon. I showed them my 'must-see' sites for this part of the country, which includes the Lakes trail in the Snowies and the T. Rex statue on the University campus. And pronghorn, of course.

We then spent one afternoon up at Vedauwoo, where the rock formations never fail to impress. Every time I hike there, I feel compelled to take a picture of this particular stair-step block. I find it so interesting to look at in all the different lights, depending on season and time of day, and I like how the middle area resembles the profile of a man wearing a nightcap.

While walking the Turtle Rock trail, we decided to take a short spur to a beaver pond. I've never seen any beaver, but there are certainly enough dams, ponds and lodges to indicate their presence. One time, when I was hiking in the Zirkels, the busy rodents had completely flooded part of the trail, but I still didn't catch any sight of them. I guess they're usually asleep during the day.

There didn't seem to be any freshly-chewed trees nearby, but it was still worth a look. The pond was quiet. I gave up on seeing any beaver, and looked down at the water near my feet. I saw a green frog, lounging in the water. Then I saw three more, then five. The little guys were all over the place!

My friends and I found a big rock and crouched down to get a better look, while Johnny Bamamfa tried to sneak up on some to get some close-up photos. He also took pictures of us frog-watching. Some frogs were floating in the pond, some were sitting in the mud; they were all green with spots.

I even saw a few frogs that still had tadpole tails! These are apparently called metamorph frogs while they are in and that in-between stage, but I can't remember ever seeing ones like that before. I thought it was pretty neat.

A few other people came by the pond, perhaps to see what we were looking at, and one lady called these critters Northern Leopard Frogs. I looked them up, and they do seem to match the photos and description. The website said they used to be a common frog in high school dissections, but thankfully, I never had to dissect a frog. Just a fetal pig. Which still kinda bothers me.

But anyway, the frogs were very cool to see, and were a part of nature that could be easily overlooked if you just hurried through a place. I've found that the more I slow down and look at the flowers and take pictures and examine my surroundings, the more I can appreciate.

So from frogs, I moved on to take pictures of my friends climbing on the rocks. I snapped some more August wildflowers. I got some butterflies enjoying the thistle. It was a warm, sunny day and we saw pronghorn on the drive home.

The Devil's Causeway

My atlas shows a Point of Interest just south of Steamboat Springs, Colorado. These sites are marked with little red squares and matching text and often lead to interesting road trips. I have heeded the call of many other of these labeled sights, including Independence Rock in Wyoming and Scott's Bluff in Nebraska, so this was worth looking into. The name "Devil's Causeway" had promise, too.

Internet research revealed the Devil's Causeway to be a trail in the Flat Tops Wilderness that narrows to three feet wide with drops of anywhere from a few hundred to a thousand feet on both sides (depending on how scared the estimator was, I guess). Some bloggers reported crossing the bouldery bridge on their hands and knees and kissing the ground on the other side. This sounded like something I had to see.

The Flat Tops Wilderness is the second largest wilderness area in Colorado, so that also seemed worth a trip. I often hike in the Rawah or Mt. Zirkel Wildernesses and find those areas beautiful and generally not too crowded. It was time to explore a little further south.

I bought a topo map and headed out with my favorite hiking partner. The drive took over three hours, since the road west of Yampa turned gravelly and rough, so the day was already warm by the time we got started. There were numerous reservoirs in the area, so there were plenty of cars and campers on the drive, but we only encountered a few other parties of hikers in our first few hours of walking.

We started climbing pretty quickly through some pretty wildflowers and soon came to a viewpoint where we could see our route. The famed causeway lies somewhere along that escarpment. We expected to reach it in a little over 3 miles, bravely cross it, and continue along the plateau before dropping back down into the valley for a 10 mile or so loop.

On the way up, which was hot and more mosquito-filled than I expected for the dryness of the terrain, we passed this skull in a marmoty, rocky area. I think it might be an elk skull. I think someone placed it nicely right by the trail to allow for photographs. I don't think the marmots did it.
I wonder if it was meant as a warning, like pirate's flags. Death to all ye who enter here. I often find bones while hiking, like vertabrae or leg bones or the occasional pelvis. I don't often see skulls, but at least it wasn't human.

So, after a bit of a climb, we reached the top of the escarpment. The trail was very clear and maintained, even though it wasn't completed on my topo map. On one website I read that it may not be included on maps because of the danger. Another great web resource (http://www.summitpost.org/) insisted (in all-capitalized red letters no less) that the crossing should be attempted only in "absolutely dry conditions". The day was dry, with blue skies and only a little breeze. More wind would likely have saved me a few mosquito bites, but might have also knocked me off the cliff, so I won't complain.

As we approached the east side of the causeway, we met a couple with a small beagle. They told us that they were turning around because the dog refused to cross it. Hmm.

The causeway looked like it had two fairly narrow bits with a wider section in the middle. I carefully crossed the first bit, thankful that I had my hiking pole for stability. The boulders gave a weird sensation: because all the rocks were a sort of reddish-grey, the trail blended in with the rock falling away on both sides. It brought to mind the climactic scene from Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, where poor Indy has to take a leap of faith over a canyon in order to reach the Holy Grail. I guess my faith was weak, because my legs did get a little wobbly.

Both my legs and the causeway held, though, and the experience was really cool. Usually hights don't bother me at all, but I think the hype had made me nervous, and, because I was going so slowly and carefully it did seem a bit intimidating. Don't they usually say, "Don't look down!"? Well, I wasn't going to miss the view.

We both made it safely across, and there really wasn't any time when we felt in danger. There weren't even any loose rocks (thankfully). It was a unique trail that was worth the trip to at least see it once. The view of the causeway from the west was even more striking.

After those cliffs of death, the rest of the hike seemed less than exciting. The scenery was very pretty as we hiked a very wide plateau, but lacking in any adrenaline rushes. What we needed was a good bear or cougar encounter, but it was not to be. There's my main man wandering off through the willows towards some other cliffs, in search of some kind of further adventure.

It was hard to believe that the pleasant subalpine meadows we hiked through were on top of 11,000 feet cliffs. Flat Tops Wilderness was well-named, and turned out to be a popular destination for backpacking and fishing. As we decended down into the valley and neared the trailhead, we started to encounter many more people. I'm glad they all hadn't decided to come up to the Causeway with us; it would have lost a lot of its magic if you had to cross it in a queue.

Near the Nokhu Crags

Last spring, my main man and I did some pretty sweet cross-country skiing near Cameron Pass in northern Colorado. This impressive picture of the Nokhu Crags was taken in March. We decided that we really needed to come back in the summer to explore the area a little further.

So we did. The trailhead is only about an hour and a half's drive from Laramie by mountain roads, so it really was inexcusable that we hadn't yet hiked there.

Everything looks completely different in the summer, and the Crags seem much less intimidating with friendly alpine sunflowers smiling in front. Nevertheless, I was not planning on scaling the Crags, only hiking to some nearby lakes. These lakes are either called the Michigan Lakes or the American Lakes, depending on what map, sign or blog you read. In all fairness, I think they should really be the Colorado Lakes, but I'm not in charge of these things.

The highest lake, Snow Lake, which still did have a little snow around it in late July (so I won't fault it's name), was tucked in a rocky bowl that made a nice lunch spot. A few marmots and determined wildflowers were our only companions.

As we looked out over the beautiful valley we appreciated the view, but did not appreciate all the elevation we would have to lose before rejoining the trail that headed up to Thunder Pass. We hadn't been able to get as early of a start as I would have liked, and the afternoon was getting on. We could see the pass just over there. It was time to take matters into our own hands.

We made our own way over to Thunder Pass. The trail we had climbed hadn't been much of a trail, anyway--much of it had been more of a rock scramble--so I didn't feel any guilt about going cross-country. I made every effort to avoid squashing delicate wildflowers and I didn't start any avalanches. My chosen path involved some bouldering and some rock climbing and I lost more elevation than my hiking companion did, but I maintain that my way was less precarious, and thus better. It was a lot of fun.

There I am, perched like a mountain goat on a pile of rocks. At one point, I think I was following a bighorn sheep trail, which was very helpful, but I didn't see any of the creatures themselves. I could see some hikers as little dots of color way down in the valley and felt superior. If I had been able to climb Lulu mountain there in the background, I would have felt even better, but it was getting a little too late and the wind was blowing a little too strongly. Oh well, another time.

Looking back at the Crags from this angle was a treat, especially with all the vibrant paintbrush blooming in the foreground. The wildflowers everywhere have been fantastic this summer.

As we reached the ridge above the pass, we could peek to the south into Rocky Mountain National Park. Maybe it's the geographer in me, but I always think that hiking to definite borders is fulfilling. I took a break, making sure to sit inside the park. Just because I could.

Glacier National Park: Highline Trail

My parents have retired to Northwest Montana, and their choice of home is pretty impressive. While visiting in late July, we were able to explore Glacier National Park and take a great hike together. Starting from Logan's Pass at the top of the famous Going-to-the-Sun road, we hiked the Highline Trail along a cliff face, over another pass, across to Granite Park and down and down to a point a long way back along the road. The mountains were amazing, the flowers were beautiful, the company was enjoyable--it was a memorable hike.

I had not been up Going-to-the-Sun Road in Glacier National Park since I was a kid. The curves and drop-offs were not as scary as I remembered. I guess I've been on a lot of mountain roads since then, and I enjoy these kinds of drives much better now, when I get to have the fun of being the driver!

There is just something special about Glacier's mountains. I love hiking Rocky Mountain National Park and the Snowy Range around here, but these Montana peaks seem somehow more rugged and remote, even though they don't reach as high elevations. They are high enough; we couldn't have hiked this trail any earlier without an ice axe. As it was, we had numerous snowfields to cross. We tread carefully since the slope was often steep. One guy in a group ahead of us lost his footing a slid quite a ways down. He was unhurt, but I didn't have any desire to mimic him.

All the snowmelt waterfalls were fun to cross and great to photograph. The flowers loved all the snowmelt, and I kept encountering new ones as we hiked along. I could start a blog exhibiting the great variety of flowers and probably never be finished!

A highlight of the hike was climbing a pass and coming face to face with three young, male bighorn sheep. They were having a great morning gallivanting in the snow, and they showed off for us, playing and hopping down the slope. At one point, they even sparred a bit with their horns, all in good fun for now, until mating season.
Later (and much further down the mountain) we encountered a less majestic but just as entertaining creature. This male blue grouse was blocking the trail and indicating quite determinedly, "None shall pass!" He fearlessly chased us and tried to peck our legs. He even followed when I went off trail to try to give him wide berth. My family and I had to keep him at bay with our hiking poles (which didn't faze him a bit, either). I'm not quite sure what he thought he was protecting, but it was pretty funny to watch people running from a little bird.

Fields of glacier lilies in front of the fantastic mountains made it hard to put the camera down. With all the flowers and deer and ground squirrels, I didn't stop taking pictures until we emerged back on the road. Then left the park for a well-earned, yummy cheeseburger and a local pint. It was a good day.

First Colorado Bear

Can you see him peeking through the tree branches? This handsome fellow was the first bear I've encountered in all the miles I've hiked in Colorado (and Wyoming) over the last three years. And there he was, right on the trail a mile or so beyond Gem Lake at the edge of Rocky Mountain National Park, about 8 o'clock on a Saturday morning in late June.

We left before 5am for the two hour drive to be able hit the trailhead before the weekend crowds, and this guy definitely made it worth getting up so early. The few other early risers were still milling around in the parking area as we climbed quickly up to Gem Lake, enjoying the cool temperatures that we knew wouldn't last and taking pictures of the interesting wildflowers (like this Miner's Candle) in the morning light.

As we rounded a corner, I noticed some grouseberries and thought of bears. I looked up to see the black bulk of an animal on the trail in front of us and stopped in my tracks. "Bear!" I said as my main man nearly ran into the back of me. We stared at him as he stared at us. I grabbed my camera for the quick snap, then said, "I think we should make some noise." With the adrenaline pumping, I waved my arms and said, with all the creativity of the moment, "Hey, bear."

He ran a little ways, then looked back over his shoulder to inspect us one last time. Then he disappeared.

Only then did I remember the bear spray that was sitting in the closet at home. After all, there are no grizzlies left in Colorado and I had heard that no one ever sees the shy black bears of Rocky Mountain National park. I guess that statement's not entirely accurate.

We continued north and only started to see other hikers when we reached the Cow Creek trail that has its own (much closer) trailhead and parking lot. Cow Creek was very full with all the snowmelt, so we decided to take the spur trail up to Bridal Veil Falls which would probably be at its most impressive.

I had not yet hiked up to Bridal Veil Falls, even though many of my acquaintances from Fort Collins had recommended it. It had just seemed like too short of a hike to warrant the long drive from Laramie. I was glad I had thought of doing the loop around Lumpy Ridge in combination with the falls, for, although the falls were pretty, the bear was better.


Returning back to the loop, we soon left the crowds behind again, and climbed higher into the forest. The day was now hot and sunny and my pace a little slower. I still found plenty of wildflowers to admire and photograph, and I enjoyed the quiet of the trail.

The last few miles were an easy downhill trek through meadows with the rocks of Lumpy Ridge to the left and the higher peaks of the park off to the right. It definitely felt like summer with the blue skies and sunshine.

After the hike, we drove over to the ranger station to report the bear, just in case they were keeping track of any sightings. The ranger, a friendly man with grey hair, said, "Put a gold star on your calendar. I worked and hiked here for twelve years before I saw my first bear on a trail."

Very cool.

Day Five of Glyndwr's Way: Dylife to Machynlleth

The last day of the trek provides the most dramatic scenery. After a scheduled taxi lift back to Dylife, we climb back to Glyndwr's Way and spend the morning walking the beautiful moorland. With not a soul in sight, we approach the highest spot of the walk, Foel Fadian, and revel in the silence and the fresh, cold breeze.

As we take a snack break on the slopes of the mountain, a cyclist glides past - the first person we have seen upon Glyndwr's Way. He's picked a challenging spot to mountain bike, which is probably why he's here.

As we round the corner of Foel Fadian, we see the lovely valley stretched out in front of us, and, beyond that, the sea. We are nearly there!


The trek down into the valley is picturesque and we try to soak up every bit of the scenery. It is a cheerful final day, and nothing makes the two of us laugh more than this cow (with hairstyle) who seems to be saying hello. As the afternoon passes, we start to see other walkers and know that we must be getting close to Machynlleth.

Owain Glyndwr may not be there, but his monument is. I feel a sense of closure and take off my hiking boots.

Day Four of Glyndwr's Way: Llanidloes to Dylife

Roy didn't have much time to rest after preparing last night's gourmet meal; all of us demanding guests still require breakfast. He is up to the task, and I appreciate another tasty full meal with egg and sausage 'bombs' and mushrooms and toast and excellent coffee. I'm surprised at my appetite, given that I enjoyed a five course meal only a night's sleep ago. I guess all this walking is good for me.

Today's routine will be slightly different, for, though we are continuing on Glyndwr's Way to Dylife, we will be spending another night here in Llanidloes. The inn at Dylife has apparently fallen below the minimum standards for the walking tour, so we will leave the trail above Dylife, hike down into the village and be driven back to Llanidloes by taxi service. I have no complaints whatsoever about staying another night at this great hotel.

Llanidloes is a charming town with this unique half-timbered market hall as the focal point. We pop into a shop for lunch supplies and emerge with some local Welsh cheddar. In the nearby bakery, the breads smell delicious. We buy a round loaf of whole-grained goodness of the sort that would cost almost five dollars in an American store like Whole Foods. The cost? 90p. And the patroness is a sweet old lady to boot.

We start our walk, climbing out of the town past farms and houses and a golf course with signs warning of potential golf balls flying from the left. It is early yet, and no one seems to be playing, so our braincases are safe from coshing. We walk through beautiful trees and continue westward.

We soon come to an enormous dam on the river Severn that was once the tallest in Europe and remains the tallest in Britain. We climb from the valley up to the dam itself, which has a parking lot with interpretive signs. An older German couple in a teeny (and cosy-looking) camper are the only other tourists at the dam. More people are interested in the reservoir, and we pass boats and picnickers. It is quite a pretty reservoir, reminding me of a Scottish loch, and our bread and cheese tastes great as we admire the view.

The trail winds up and down, now skirting along the shores of the man-made lake, now climbing away to old ruined buildings and country lanes. We round a corner to find an idyllic scene of ewe and lamb laying in a field of bluebells. I feel bad when they get up and leave.

Once we leave the reservoir behind and cross the Afon Biga (Afon meaning river, but Biga does not mean big), our map and guide show that we are heading for evergreen forests. It is not to be. The plantations have been harvested and we must walk through scenes of desolation. Clear cuts are not nice in any country.

But the stumps and devastation are soon forgotten as we climb up into the high heathland. The clouds are low over the moors and my mood should be melancholic, but I am happy. I lay on the heather and revel in the sponginess of the turf. It is dry and springy and wonderful. I am again grateful for the recent good weather, because I know this could easily have been one boggy, squelchy, endless stretch of trail.

Sooner than expected, we reach the overlook of Dylife and leave the trail to descend steeply into the tiny hamlet. We suspect that the mileage of today's walk was shorter than the other days, since we have over an hour to wait for our ride. We trek over to the inn and pub to pass the time with refreshments. The doors are locked.

We retrace our steps to a public telephone box near the main road. Despite having a pre-paid phone card (for emergencies), the phone will not work. As we fiddle with the phone, a car with a large learner's sign drives up the lane to the inn. A few minutes later, it returns, stopping in front of us. The driver asks, "Do you need any help?"

We explain our non-dire circumstances. The driver is on his way to Llanidloes and offers us a lift. He is the son of the proprietors of the closed pub (which won't open for another few hours) and runs the driving school advertised on the car's sign, so it doesn't feel like hitchhiking.

Dan the Driving Instructor returns us to Llanidloes in about ten minutes, which is a little discouraging. It has, after all, taken us all day to walk to Dylife. But, I comfort myself with the thought that the road takes a much less scenic and more direct route. And Dan zips down the road at such a speed that, if his pupils attempted to mirror his driving would undoubtedly cause them to fail their driving tests.

We arrive in plenty of time to phone and cancel our taxi.

Llanidloes seems like such a neat little town, and I am glad to have another evening to explore it. We stop in a old pub, which is happily open and holds locals who don't mind our intrusion. An elderly Westie shuffles over to greet me. Outside, kitties say hello. Our comfy hotel awaits. This is the kind of town I would recommend that anyone go out of their way to visit. Even though it's not on the rail line, you can always hitch.