When Ethel and I arrived in the Grand Tetons, it was early spring. Snow still covered much of the area which caused most of the roads to be closed. The only grassy areas of the park were in the lower elevations which concentrated all the animals into the fields. Looking over the herd of elk and bison reminded me of swimming in huge schools of fish. Unlike the fish however, I had zero interest in being surrounded by these massive mammals.
Because of the below freezing temperatures, it felt like I had the entire park to myself. Evening time was spent alone watching the sun set behind the massive peaks. The last glow of sun looking like a giant fireball on the back side of the Tetons as it slowly set. Occasionally, an elk or two would stroll past me as I sat on the ground curled up in my sleeping bag keeping warm and sipping something hot and delicious. The beauty of our national parks always delivers an incredible experience, and so does raw, unfiltered sake from Japan.
One evening, during my “watch the sun set” routine, I noticed a bull elk who was only sporting one antler. I thought he was so interesting. As I sat on the grass, he gradually came close enough to me to snap a few photos just as the sun was disappearing. The light was painfully low, and it was hard to see him. But with some edits, the pictures turned out ok.
If you talk to different generations of people who have visited the Parks, from ages 5 to 85, you’ll hear stories which bridge the gap and are reminiscent of a common experience shared by all. Plentiful animals, beautiful views, and fond memories.
While the parks are busier now, the sight of elk eating the first green shoots of grass would be the same one enjoyed by my parents when they visited in the 70’s and even by my grandfather when he visited decades before. They are part of an American cultural heritage which stands through time for all citizens and visitors to enjoy. To honor that, I decided to edit the photos with a vintage film look.
Eventually it was pitch black around me. The hot sake was finished, and it was time to go. I’d like to have a nice, poetic ending which somehow ties it all together, really drives home how beautiful this place is, and the special expenses I have daily when I travel here. But screw it. I don’t really have anything to say which will explain how amazing it feels to be in silence, hearing only the breaths of the animals, my shutter, and the occasional birds.
So instead of reading clumsy words, just imagine being here, seeing the mountains, and the sun disappearing, the frosty air becoming colder each moment, knowing you’ve got many more days of this in front of you, and a cooler full of Japanese sake. Cheers!
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