This post is the final part in a three-part series about this trip!
To read part one, click here
To read part two, click here
To read more about the Otherwhere Blog Series, click here
Life’s not so bad when you wake up to a view like this.
I was certainly still exhausted and a bit depressed that I forgot coffee grounds, but it all seemed insignificant as the sunrise woke up the world around me. We sat at camp for a bit, munching on nuts and Clif Bars in a dire attempt to regain some of the calories we lost the day before. We filtered a few liters of glacial stream water and packed up camp for the day.
We started slowly up the mountain. We had just under another thousand feet of elevation to climb over the next mile before we reached the top of the pass. Once completed, we could finally start our 13-mile descent through Cascade Canyon.
We crested the pass, climbing through snow and over rocks, as our legs quickly burned through the energy we gained in our night of rest. The climb was difficult, yet only slightly technical. The motion of trudging upwards was burned into my mind as my robotic legs ached with each shaky step.
Still, not much could dampen our spirits upon summiting. We celebrated by mixing hot chocolate powder into mugs to sip at while our legs recovered from the ascent. The elevation tugged at our lungs and our packs sat heavy on our backs, but it was all worth it.
Once we finished our break and chatted with some other hikers, we began our descent. Switchbacks scaled their way down the other side of the pass as we quickly lost the elevation we worked so hard to gain just an hour ago. But you definitely wouldn’t hear me complaining about it – I was just happy to finally give my thighs a rest.
The downward trajectory helped us gain pace, and our newfound view of the Grand Teton peak kept our spirits up. We hiked another three miles down the mountain before the ground resembled anything close to flat, and on that flat land sat Lake Solitude. We stopped there to rest before turning up the pace for the relatively flat 7 miles through Cascade.
The Grand Teton towered over us the entire way back. The stable ground allowed us to quickly crush miles, only stopping periodically to look back on the progress we made and admire the change in scenery.
A Harsh Reminder That Mountains are Brutal
Sadly, that vigor only lasted us so long. After the 11-mile mark, a steep decline in energy was met with an even steeper drop in elevation. Steps became treacherous as my aching feet and screaming joints begged me not to land harshly on any terrain. Those begs rarely went answered.
After that grueling drop was an even more punishing 2-mile finishing stretch spent harshly exposed to sun and wind. Sweat poured out of nearly every pore in my body, and each footstep punished my already aching feet.
Those last few miles made that hike into one of the most difficult things I’ve ever done. The sight of my car probably would have pushed me to tears if I had any more water left in me. Once we sat in the first real seats in 25 miles, we could barely rest before our muscles’ screams successfully begged us to take more action. We drove, our muscles aching and cramping, to find a shower.
The shower only brought a small respite since I had to fight against my body’s protest to being upright. But still, getting the insane amount of dirt and sweat off me was a welcome improvement.
Life is About the Little Things and the Memories
After the shower, we hopped back in the car and hightailed it over to Jackson, where we gorged ourselves on burgers, fries, and the biggest milkshake we could order. The calories we lost were at least sort of replaced, and that was enough for me.
Nonetheless, it didn’t take long for the pain to fade away enough to look back on the hike with love. It was likely the most difficult physical thing I’ve ever done, but the sights still sit in my mind as beauty I’d never forget, and certainly never regret seeing.
That night we camped in a true campground, and it immediately highlighted how relative luxury can seem. We were able to bring out the cooler, cook over a fire, and sit in our chairs all night. No hiking, no survival, just campfires and cold drinks. That, to me, was perfection.
As I retreated back to my tent for the night, my exhausted mind rang out a well-worn thought throughout the trip, “I live here now.”
