We slipped past Jackson on the shoulder of summer, with only the high crags of the Tetons holding the new snow of the coming season. Following a dropped pin recommended by a friend, our route took us up a rutted road to the top of a mesa at the base of Whisper Mountain, and on Nat’l Forest land. We knew weather was coming, but with a million dollar view out the back door and the promise of paying nothing for it, we pried a campsite out of high heaven and bedded down for the upcoming storm.
Ampitheater’s black waters under a heavy snow, with Point Disappointment just beyond. I’d passed up some college boys earlier that said we shared the same goal, but they had all turned at the disappearance of the trail. There is something magical and haunting about being on a mountainside with only your prints in the snow pack.