Checkmate
All of America was on this trail.
Understandable. The Tetons, late summer, only a few miles to an alpine lake that Instagram salivates over. I, too, was present for these reasons.
And then it got a little more America.
Halfway around the lake, I walked past two older men bent over their phones.
They exclaimed and pointed at each other’s screens and then one of them looked up and said – “mama grizzly and her cubs up ahead.”
“You okay?” I asked and they nodded. I rested my hand on my bear spray.
“On the trail or off?” I asked.
“Walking down it,” he said with glee. I get it – a bear sighting is exciting.
“Okay,” I said, and turned around.
“You’re not going to go look”? he asked.
No, dude.
I am not.
It wasn’t long before someone else came along. “Grizzly mom up ahead,” I said. “Right on the trail. She has her cubs, so I turned around.”
“Oh,” they said, and then continued their conversation. I tilted my head – odd lack of reaction, and boy would I not be actively walking towards a bear in a bathing suit, Crocs and jean shorts, but alright.
Another few groups came along. One of them was positively gleeful about the prospect, almost breaking into a run to get a glimpse. One group had a single member who said in the thready voice – maybe we should turn around? And I watched as the others with her made enough fun of her that she relented. They continued up the trail.
Then, nature decided to put a stop to this bullshit.
One of those forceful, cold, acidic wind gusts positively growled across the lake. The kind that turns dust to sandpaper, where you know you’ll be picking dirt out of the corners of your eyes later. A lifetime in Texas and some very memorable hours in the alpine have taught me that when temperatures drop like that and the wind smells different, it’s a warning. There won’t be a second.
The dozens of people who had been waist-deep in the lake, posing with Grand Teton in the background, came scampering out. Wet hair stuck to every available now-dirty surface of their goosebumped skin. Half-full bags of sour patch kids went skidding across the underbrush. People huddled under trees as the wind threw spray from the lake’s whitecaps onto shore.
Everyone had walked up in strong summer sun and now it was the opposite. Those that had jackets struggled to get their wet arms into the sleeves. Especially when the jacket was a cotton hoodie, now weighted with damp. The return trail was busier than most city sidewalks after a concert.
Mama bear was forgotten, no one walking her direction.
I’m sure it was all a coincidence. People are foolish about bears and storms happen all the time. But I can’t help thinking that maybe Mother Nature had seen too much and was like – I’m done. Time to clear the decks.
Look – there’s nothing wrong with going to a beautiful place. Nothing at all wrong with swimming in an alpine lake with snicky snacks. I love it too. But after all the warnings and signs and things saying please leave the animals alone, especially mamas and little ones – to not even consider turning around? Either to avoid disturbing her or – if self-preservation is top of mind – not wanting to get hurt yourself?
I’m going with: Mother Nature rustled up a little storm, winked at Mama Grizz, and got herself a checkmate.
Inspired by events at Taggart Lake, Grand Teton National Park.
On the ancestral and traditional homelands of the Shoshone-Bannock, Eastern Shoshone, Crow, and Cheyenne.