“We are just paper lanterns. We can just burn up anytime.”
Joon Park
This one was a big adventure. The goal for the day was to paddleboard across the north tip of Jackson Lake, find the trail somewhere on the other side, and then hike solo through the most remote part of the Park to a couple of mountain passes, and return the way I came. I didn’t really want to go alone, but I couldn’t find anyone available, and with summer winding down, I am running out of time, so felt like I couldn’t wait.
This trail is accessed one of two ways. Either via a 5ish mile approach trail off an unpaved road from the north, or by crossing the north park of Jackson Lake. Given that I had about 20-25 miles to hike, I decided that a 10 mile (round trip) approach was too long, and opted for the nautical approach. I originally planned to paddleboard about 0.7 miles across Jackson Lake from the Lizard Creek Campground, but now the campground is closed and the road gated. The next best option was to paddle from a nearby pull-off called Muddy Flats Overlook. This meant two things – 1. A squishy muddy approach to the lake, and paddling about 50% further than originally planned.
I arrived at Muddy Flats at about 7 AM. The sunrise was spectacular and mist covered the lake. I did indeed have to slog through about 50 yards of goose-poop laden mud to get the edge of the lake. Jackson Lake was calm as I set out, and the paddling was easy, but slow-going. As soon as I made it to about the halfway point, I lost the shelter of a nearby cove, and the wind picked up….significantly. Before I knew it, small white caps were breaking over the bow of my paddle board, and suddenly I was having a little more adventure than I wanted. I realized that with the ambient temperature of 37 degrees, if I went in the lake for a swim, I would get really cold really fast. After anxiously sitting with that idea for about 30 seconds, I redoubled my focus, concentrated on the opposite shore, and continued on. With frozen hands and feet, I made the other beach after about 30 minutes.
I stashed my paddle board by a large downed tree, changed into my trail running shoes, and thought now what? I knew that the trail was on this side of the shore, but I didn’t know exactly where. I could see the trail on the map of my watch, so I figured I’d start overlanding through willow and weeds until I ran into it. As I made my way up the beach, I saw a man-made totem-type pole, and I decided to head that way. Indeed, there was a trail here that after a few minutes led me to the Lower Berry Creek Patrol Cabin. I had found the trail!
I took a few minutes to regroup, made sure I knew where I was and where I was going, and then set out across a wide grassy meadow. The trail wound through meadows and small forests, and eventually gained a ridge through a burned forest. There was a fire here in 2016, but already the forest has begun to heal itself and it was cool to see young trees already replacing the dead ones. It was spooky being in this area solo – I knew that I was most likely completely alone – and the alien bugling of elk while beautiful was also eerie.
I trudged along for miles, and finally with the ever-rising sun began to warm up. My hands and feet thawed, but unfortunately several parts of the trail were boggy, and my feet stayed wet and cold for most of the trip. There were really no vistas or views, and for the most part, the hike was just a long walk in the woods. After about 7-8 miles I finally reached a trail junction – Jackass Pass was straight and Forellen Divide turned left.
I headed toward Jackass Pass, and the trail started to climb steadily, and as I continued to climb, I saw more and more evidence of bear activity. There were several piles of bear scat along the trail. Further, the trail was primitive, and there were several places where the trail was obstructed or disappeared temporarily, and I had to relocate it. Eventually, I could see Jackass Pass in the distance and I was feeling like the view from up there was going to be underwhelming at best. Then, I passed a fresh pile of berry-laden bear poop right before the trail headed into a thick wall of berry bushes. It was at this point, that I decided to turn around, and head back. I felt like I had pushed my luck a little already today, and I still had a dozen more miles to go that might require more luck-pushing, and it seemed smart to turn around, so I did. I missed about a mile of the trail to the top of Jackass Pass, and I can live with that.
I returned to the Forellen Divide Trail junction and headed that way which entailed fording the small creek – wet feet again! The Upper Berry Creek Patrol Cabin lives here, and it was an excellent place to stop for lunch. I sat on a bench against a woodpile and ate in the warm sun. Then, I headed up the trail which was steep, silty, confusing, and overgrown. Again, there were times when the trail disappeared in the grass, and at one point, it took me a solid 10 minutes to find it. Signs of bear activity persisted, and I continued to make my presence known by talking loudly and singing. After about 1500 feet of climbing, I eventually made it to Forellen Divide which offered great views of Owl Peak. It was pretty, but again compared to other sights I’ve seen this year, a little ho-hum. I had a snack, enjoyed the view, and headed back down.
For the most part, it was all downhill from here. I walked quickly and sang a continuous loop of the following songs: Stand By Me, Dock of the Bay, Closer to Fine,Crash, and Gin and Juice. I have no idea how those particular songs wound up in my brain, but I was grateful that I could remember the lyrics to enough songs to keep me entertained and the bears away. I also said “hey bear,” “yo bear,” “coming through,” and “hey you guys” about 7 bajillion times. With just about 3 miles to go, hearing something behind me, I turned around and saw two other hikers in the distance. I wondered how they could be behind me because I hadn’t passed anyone, but then assumed that they were walking faster and would soon catch up. Just the thought that there were at least two other people in the same desolate region helped me relax a bit, and I thought I might hike with them when they caught up. I never saw them again though, and decided maybe I imagined it.
I finally reached the Lower Berry Creek Patrol Cabin, and headed back toward the beach for my afternoon paddle board session across the lake. I wasn’t nearly as worried about falling in now since it was warm, and a swim might actually feel good. I did see a little boat on the beach, and assumed it belonged to the people that I actually must have seen. I strapped on my muddy Chacos and began across. The lake was still windy, but this time it was a tail wind, so the paddle was much easier and much more pleasant. Covered in mud, I returned to the car, and headed home tired and grateful for being finished with this one.
As I drove home, I took some time to think and reflect. It seems like death, the concept of death, and remembering that we are all going to die keeps coming up in my readings and podcasts. I recently read an article that highlighted a pastor who does end-of-life care, and the quote at the beginning of this entry is his. The main takeaways from the article are that 1. At the end of life, knowing death is near, people regret not living the way they wanted and truly being themselves. They regret having wasted time on things they didn’t really care about and things that didn’t bring them joy. 2. life is short, we all die, and at some point, we are all going to have “last times.” One day, we’ll have the last conversation with our spouse, our kids, or our parents, we’ll drive a car for the last time, we’ll hike to a lake for the last time, we’ll hug our last hug, we’ll see the sunrise for the last time. Further, these “last times” are happening all the time. I’ve already had the last time I can hold my kids in my lap and read to them, the last time I can speak to my grandparents, the last time I can pet my old dog Molly.
These ideas while depressing aren’t meant to be morbid. They are meant to remind us to take action, live our lives how we should, and be hyper-present in the moment. Remembering that you might be having the last conversation with someone forces us to put our phones down, focus on the moment, and be grateful for the times we have together. “We are just paper lanterns. We can just burn up anytime.”
Mileage – 29.2 miles
Time –10 hours, 21 minutes
Animals – none
People – two?