We took this picture shortly before we turned around and headed back up Granite Creek the way we’d come. We would have preferred to travel in a circuit, but our map didn’t show any trail or combination of trails that would get us back to Jackson without backtracking in the amount of time we had left. Our plan, as mentioned in my last entry, was to backtrack only as far as an unnamed trail shown on the map that branched westward and connected with the trail that had taken us to Turquoise Lake.
Our plan was in some doubt now, because on our way down Granite Creek, we hadn’t seen the cutoff to this trail. But this time we watched for it carefully and found it after about an hour. It was a faint path, and the small wooden sign that marked it was tacked to a tree instead of a post like the other signs we had seen at trail intersections.
From the beginning, this trail was hard to follow. At several points it was so indistinct we weren’t sure we were still on it. There were no ranger’s horse tracks to reassure us. Fallen branches had not been cleared nor cuts made in trees that had fallen across the trail. Where it was wet, there were sometimes cloven hoof prints that we were fairly sure had been made by llamas. In my preparation for the trip, I had learned on-line that the Sierra Club was offering a llama-supported hiking trip through the Gros Ventre about the time we would be there, and John and Diane had told us there was a group accompanied by llamas somewhere about. Diane kept referring to them as the llama people.
After about an hour of painstakingly following the barely-visible trail, we crossed a small creek, went up the rise on the other side, and the trail just stopped. We went back to the creek, found another potential trail, but it quickly disappeared as well. After circling around for 15 or 20 minutes, we finally found a narrow part in the undergrowth, but it headed south rather than west. Nevertheless, we took it, since it appeared to be our only option. After just a few minutes, Natalie pointed and called out, “Look, llamas!” Sure enough, we had stumbled upon the llama people! Or at least their llamas.
From the beginning, this trail was hard to follow. At several points it was so indistinct we weren’t sure we were still on it. There were no ranger’s horse tracks to reassure us. Fallen branches had not been cleared nor cuts made in trees that had fallen across the trail. Where it was wet, there were sometimes cloven hoof prints that we were fairly sure had been made by llamas. In my preparation for the trip, I had learned on-line that the Sierra Club was offering a llama-supported hiking trip through the Gros Ventre about the time we would be there, and John and Diane had told us there was a group accompanied by llamas somewhere about. Diane kept referring to them as the llama people.
After about an hour of painstakingly following the barely-visible trail, we crossed a small creek, went up the rise on the other side, and the trail just stopped. We went back to the creek, found another potential trail, but it quickly disappeared as well. After circling around for 15 or 20 minutes, we finally found a narrow part in the undergrowth, but it headed south rather than west. Nevertheless, we took it, since it appeared to be our only option. After just a few minutes, Natalie pointed and called out, “Look, llamas!” Sure enough, we had stumbled upon the llama people! Or at least their llamas.
Seven or eight of them watched idly as we approached. We didn’t immediately see any signs of people, but after following the trail around the hillside where the llamas had been turned loose to graze, we came to a place where two creeks converged, and on the far bank sat an elderly man.
He was deeply tanned, with a scraggly beard and a weathered look that made it clear he was at home in the outdoors – not one of the tourists. He waited as we changed into our spare shoes, forded the creek, changed back into our hiking shoes, and climbed up the bank to where he sat. His cap said “Al’s Llamas,” and when we introduced ourselves he confirmed that he was indeed Al. In a few words, we told him how we came to be in the Gros Ventre, and he told us he was guiding a group of hikers for the Sierra Club. He also gave tours in the Wind River Range, but this time of year he preferred the Gros Ventre because Wind River was crawling with mosquitoes.
We never actually saw any other members of his party, just a couple of their tents. I pulled out my map, showed him the way we had come, and told him about the trouble we’d had following the trail. He confirmed what we suspected, that we’d gone off course. He pointed northward where our trail was, or should have been, high up near the top of a ridge. The trail that had led us to him was one only he and his llamas used as far as he knew and was not on any map. He gestured southward over his shoulder and told us his trail would take us back to Turquoise Lake before too much longer. Natalie and I considered our options. I was apprehensive about trying to follow a trail that wasn’t even on the map when we’d lost one that was, and in the end we decided to go back and try again to pick up the elusive westward trail. We thanked Al and he wished us luck.
To be continued...
We never actually saw any other members of his party, just a couple of their tents. I pulled out my map, showed him the way we had come, and told him about the trouble we’d had following the trail. He confirmed what we suspected, that we’d gone off course. He pointed northward where our trail was, or should have been, high up near the top of a ridge. The trail that had led us to him was one only he and his llamas used as far as he knew and was not on any map. He gestured southward over his shoulder and told us his trail would take us back to Turquoise Lake before too much longer. Natalie and I considered our options. I was apprehensive about trying to follow a trail that wasn’t even on the map when we’d lost one that was, and in the end we decided to go back and try again to pick up the elusive westward trail. We thanked Al and he wished us luck.
That evening, having failed again to find the trail we wanted and gone back to Granite Creek and from there hiked all the way back to Turquoise Lake and from Turquoise Lake climbed about an hour back up the slope we’d descended the day before, and having made camp high up on a windswept hill with a view in all directions, we looked down the hill toward the northeast and saw…Al’s llama camp, less than half a mile away. We had walked about four hours to get to a place we could have reached in 15 minutes if we had continued southwest on Al’s private trail.
After we’d pitched our tent and while we were trying to decide where to make our kitchen and hang our food, along came the two rangers we’d met the previous day. We walked out to the trail to greet them. Meeting people in the wilderness is so different from meeting them on a city street, so novel and unexpected. Ignoring them is out of the question. We talked to them about where we’d been and what we’d experienced since seeing them the day before. When I told them about losing the trail, the young lady ranger explained it was a trail that wasn’t traveled much since it didn’t lead anywhere in particular, and wasn’t maintained regularly. She wasn’t surprised we’d lost it and that made me feel better.
After the rangers left, we lit our stove and started water boiling. The hill we were camped on had a few widely separated clumps of trees and was otherwise bare except for a sparse growth of ankle-high white flowers, which seemed to grow everywhere in the Gros Ventre, but especially where nothing else would. We poured the boiling water into a foil pouch of freeze-dried chicken teriyaki and rice, which turned out to be the best meal we had on our trip. I had only bought one of these freeze-dried entrées because they were pricey, but ended up wishing I’d bought several. The food-hanging was easy that night because one of the trees in our kitchen area had a good branch at just the right height, not to mention that we were getting better with experience.
After we’d pitched our tent and while we were trying to decide where to make our kitchen and hang our food, along came the two rangers we’d met the previous day. We walked out to the trail to greet them. Meeting people in the wilderness is so different from meeting them on a city street, so novel and unexpected. Ignoring them is out of the question. We talked to them about where we’d been and what we’d experienced since seeing them the day before. When I told them about losing the trail, the young lady ranger explained it was a trail that wasn’t traveled much since it didn’t lead anywhere in particular, and wasn’t maintained regularly. She wasn’t surprised we’d lost it and that made me feel better.
After the rangers left, we lit our stove and started water boiling. The hill we were camped on had a few widely separated clumps of trees and was otherwise bare except for a sparse growth of ankle-high white flowers, which seemed to grow everywhere in the Gros Ventre, but especially where nothing else would. We poured the boiling water into a foil pouch of freeze-dried chicken teriyaki and rice, which turned out to be the best meal we had on our trip. I had only bought one of these freeze-dried entrées because they were pricey, but ended up wishing I’d bought several. The food-hanging was easy that night because one of the trees in our kitchen area had a good branch at just the right height, not to mention that we were getting better with experience.
To be continued...
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