Timing in the Tetons

A quiet moment captured from tires-eye view on the bike trail I probably shouldn’t have been walking on in Grand Teton National Park.

How many alarms do you have on your phone? Are they all set for weird times with oddly specific labels like mine are? Currently, I have a total of 90 alarms. On a scale of not at all, to beyond excessive, where does that fall? I save them because they say fun things like:

4:26 pm "Sell sled back" – this was a reminder to sell my saucer sled back before the visitor center closed at White Sands National Park.

7:08 pm "Spray or candle" – this was a reminder to buy some kind of fragrance to bring back to a smelly hotel room I once stayed in, right on the Atlantic coast in Maine.

2:22 pm "Start to get going please" – a gentle reminder to myself, that if I want to see an Acadian sunset over Cadillac Mountain, I better start heading up from Portland. 

2:15 pm "GEYSER!!!!! In 5-10" – one of my favorites which I'll never ever delete; set to see Old Faithful blow, one sunny, Yellowstone afternoon.

11:10 am "Fan & bear mace" – might just be the best one I've got and the main reason for this post.

On day seven of a 16-day road trip, this alarm was a friendly reminder that I would need to purchase a dirt-cheap fan somewhere between Idaho Falls, Idaho, and Jackson Hole, Wyoming, in preparation for spending one night in a hotel with no AC. It was summertime – quite hot – but truthfully, even if it wasn't, I still probably would've needed the fan. Because somehow, my body temperature burns like the core of a thousand suns, and it is physically impossible for me to sleep at temperatures above 71 degrees. Ideally, my sleep thermostat would never run above 67 degrees, preferably always staying in the low to mid-50s with a harsh, howling breeze entering through an open window. 

But I don't blame the hotels in the Tetons for not being air-conditioned. After all, they sit between 6,200 – 6,800 feet above sea level, so their nights are much cooler, and they're only open during the warm summer months. The rest of the year, they're buried in snow, so AC is a complete non-essential. I knew before I'd ever embarked on my trip that I'd be buying the cheapest fan possible before entering Grand Teton National Park, then donating or tossing it before it was time to fly back home. And I'd created several calendar alerts on my phone to remind me of this loony personal prerequisite.

The second half of my reminder: bear mace was sparked by stories I'd read and National Park Service advisories I'd heard emphasizing the importance of carrying mace when hiking in bear country national parks like Grand Teton, Yellowstone, and Glacier. Even the NPS's dedicated AM radio station was heavily focused on carrying mace and the many dos and don'ts for if you see a bear or mountain lion. Never run or scream, actually speak very gently to them, and without making eye contact, sort of side step away very slowly, very gingerly – never turning your back to the animal until they're far out of sight. Park officials discussed warning signs for how to know if the animals are aggressive, and they explained that the absolute last resort ever would be to fight back – for a mountain lion, that is. For a bear, I think the last resort was to ball up on the ground and appear totally defenseless so they'd either think you were dead or too pitiful to pick on.

I was feeling very adrenalized over the chance of seeing wildlife like this, and I was also pretty eager to arm myself with mace. That was, of course, until I got to the visitor center and saw that it was 55 non-refundable dollars for one measly can. I decided I couldn't justify spending 55 whole dollars on something that could potentially save my life, despite the fact that I'd spent probably triple that in souvenirs along the way so far. $55 for the ultimate grizzly protection? I decided to take my chances with the bears. Besides, I wasn't planning on taking any particularly remote hikes. (P.s. I didn't get eaten by a bear.) But seriously, do as the rangers recommend and not as I sarcastically spew here. The mace has saved many people's lives when used correctly: aimed at the face of a bear in close range, not sprayed all over yourself, and your family in a preemptive attempt to repel bears like one lady did a while back.

So instead of splurging on the mace, I bought a Junior Park Ranger booklet, some colored pencils, a few pins, and some postcards because those felt like cash well spent. I was giddy to be back in Wyoming…one of the most bizarrely beautiful states I've seen so far. I'm often puzzled by the landscapes that lay The Cowboy State. There's something so mystifying about Devils Tower in the east and, of course, Yellowstone's geothermal features in the west. The Tetons are the most "normal" things I've seen so far in the state, but really there's nothing "normal" about them. They make up the most impossibly beautiful mountain range I've ever set eyes on.

My first stop in the park was Mormon Row to see the iconic Moulton Barns. There, I met a horse who didn't move further as I moved closer. He stood behind a flimsy barbed fence, but he was so close, he was almost pressed up against it. And I was so close, I planted my feet right where the gravel road met the grass he stood on. He didn't take his eyes off me, but he also didn't budge, except for the involuntary movements of his tail. I took pictures of him and just admired him for a while. I felt lucky to be in his presence, lucky that he was letting me be around him for as long as he was.

A minivan pulled up behind me on the other side of the street. Out of the open windows, I heard, "Mommy, Mommy, look – a horsie!" then ample excitement poured out of the backseats. Two women and four small children unbuckled their belts and discussed the horsie noisily. As the vibes were quickly changing around us, I wondered how long it would take for him to scurry away. "Look how calm he is! Now, kids, be sure to stay nice and calm, nice and quiet with the horsie…he can pick up on your energy, so we want to bring him nice and easy energy, so he doesn't run away." Mom had a point. But it didn't take long for the kids' not-so-calm auras to drive the horse deeper into the farm. He didn't run, he more sashayed away with an admirable air of, "I don't need to expose myself to this, so I won't." I was disappointed to see him go, but I was happy we brought each other good vibes during our short time together.

From Mormon Row, I headed to Jenny Lake to admire the brilliant blue water and get sworn in as a Junior Park Ranger at the visitor center. A kind older gentleman ranger swore me in, and I was delighted that he took adults participating in the program as seriously as this adult took partaking in it. I wanted to make sure I made it up to Jackson Lake for sunset, so I didn't stay long.

I jumped back on Teton Park Road, jammin' out to some Grateful Dead, ridin' around carefree and curious where the road would lead. And that's when I saw something I wasn't expecting to see. A line of cars parked half on the shoulder, half on the side of the road I was driving on were piling up by the minute. Now, this is a big NPS no-no, and most parks people know this, so it was particularly surprising to see so many people blatantly breaking the rules on the park's main road. Typically, you shouldn't be parked anywhere but a designated lot or scenic overlook, or sometimes maybe a full, wide shoulder, but this wasn't one or two cars, this was a string of 18, 27, 39+ cars! Suddenly, they were lining the right AND left sides of the road too! People were abandoning their cars and walking to congregate in an elongated, roadside huddle. One lone ranger stood at the forefront of the bunch, and numerous cameras with the biggest lenses I'd ever seen were set up on tripods and aimed at the open field to my left. There were smiles and fingers pointing, and more and more people arriving by the minute.

What were they all here for? I was moving at a snails place looking for any makeshift spot I could throw my car in to see what everybody was gathered for. I rolled down my windows to ask one of the many pedestrians what we were all stopping for, "Excuse me, miss…any idea what we're all doing here?" She replied with a laugh, "Not a clue! But when you see a crowd like this, it's gotta be somethin' good!" Although I'm not one to glom onto any sheeplike mentality, I had to agree. What could be over there? What was I about to witness? Bears? Mountain lions? Bears riding mountain lions?? I found a space to slot the Corolla in and locked it seven times after grabbing my camera with its semi-impressive lens. 

"Any idea what we're all looking for?" I asked a man who stood tall and proud, looking like he knew exactly what he was looking for. "Bears? Probably bears? Don't really know, though." I laughed to myself…this hilarious herd frame of mind! Surely some of these folks knew why they were here, but it seemed like most didn't. Despite my innate follow-your-own-path ways, my Junior Ranger instincts were tingling and tugging at my attention. So with a camera around my neck and a wooden badge on my chest, I continued to the front of the herd with pep in my step. I walked with the moxie of a National Geographic Photographer and the cluelessness of everyone else who was deserting their cars in any spaces they could find along the side of the road.

Lucky for me, my car was small, so it was easy to ditch, and lucky for me I'm also small, so I can weave through dense crowds at armpit level of most people, and I'm past them before I ever get a whiff of them. I made my way to the front where two rangers now stood with brimmed hats and golden badges, looking like my idols and all kinds of tough and wise. I wondered: Was I allowed to speak to them? Why wasn't everyone else speaking to them? Had they already been told "no questions"? No way, rangers love questions. And hey, I'm a Junior Ranger, we're on the same team, give it a go, Laur – I pumped myself up for questioning. "Excuse me, ma’am…what's everyone looking at?" "We spotted a momma grizzly bear and her two cubs right over there a little while ago…somethin' spooked her, and now they're right back there…behind those bushes. See the shadows?"

Heck yea I did! Wow! Grizzlies?! Shadows of grizzlies! "Wow! Cool! Think she'll show again?" "Tough to tell...think she might be scared now," cool lady ranger replied. "I'm surprised it's ok for all of us to be parked and over here like this…is it ok?" "Actually, yes, we want people to stop and huddle together––sir…' scuse me, sir…I need you to stay on this side of me, please," serve and protect! She wanted everyone to her right so that she could better manage the crowd—what a ranger. "See, we want to look big. The bigger we look, the more intimidating we'll be, and the better chances of her staying where she's s'posed to." I was fascinated! 

I could've sworn she told me that Grand Teton currently had eight bears in the park, but at that moment, they only knew where six of them were. But maybe they only have that many bears tagged and trackable? Because according to Wyoming Fish & Game, there are roughly 700 grizzlies and between 500-650 black bears in the Greater Yellowstone Region, including Grand Teton and Jackson Hole. But I asked the ranger if

it was cause for alarm that a few bears were…missing, and I don't remember exactly what she said…I think there somewhere in there about was a lesson about staying on the trails…truth be told, I was a bit too mesmerized by the grizzly shadows moving beside the bushes to really retain.

I never did see more than shadows that day, and eventually, the crowd of over 85 thinned out. But everyone I met from the Tetons up through Yellowstone, passed the Roosevelt arch, and all the way up into Glacier National Park in Montana showed me pictures of black bears, grizzly bears, moose, and more. I did get lucky enough to find a field full of bison grazing...had to be at least 30 of them. And I also saw one craggy-looking bighorn sheep on the side of Going-to-the-Sun Road in Glacier a few days later. But a lot of people were seeing a lot of wildlife all around. I asked one couple where she'd been when she saw these beasts, thinking perhaps these were true NPS daredevils doing 16-mile backcountry hikes and stuff, but nope. Many of these sightings were along the side of the scenic drives or on some of the more moderate trails I'd hiked. So it's all about timing. One woman showed me some shots of a bear that she'd taken, right where we were standing, roughly 30 minutes before she'd met me! 

The timing of things fascinates me. How so many circumstances have to align so perfectly for two people to meet, for a person and a bear to meet, for snow to fall at just the right moment in time. I love seeing how timing decides what falls into place – sometimes in a beautiful, fairytale series of events. I love experiencing the ways they unfold. Sometimes I think about that as I'm setting an alarm…what might I experience if I leave at precisely this time, or if I leave 16 minutes later instead? Who might I run into, what song might I catch on the radio in the car, what phone call will I be home just in time to receive? Only time will tell. And until then, I like to think that my timing is ever perfect, and I'm right where I belong doing exactly what I'm supposed to be doing, in this moment, in every moment.