We arrived in Jackson in the middle of a storm cycle. After eight hours of crossing the vast expanse of nothing that is most of Wyoming, the reality sets in. Jackson is an island, an oasis amidst a veritable wasteland. Okay, with all due respect to the great state of Wyoming, it is not a wasteland, but hidden in the least populated state in the country, Jackson is not “near” anything. The closest city is Salt Lake, nearly six hours away. The sheer isolation that Jackson enjoys makes it unique among ski towns. Of course, there are hills that are very isolated spread all over Canada and the US, but perhaps nowhere else is such a gem hidden in so much rough. Therein lies much of Jackson’s charm.
Here, in the farthest reaches of Northwest Wyoming, a ski culture with few equals thrives, basking in the life source that is the Teton Range and Jackson Hole.
If you want to disappear, there may not be anywhere better suited to the task than Jackson. Nobody just “passes through” this place. If you are in Jackson, it is because you made the decision to be here. You can come to Jackson and never have to worry about bumping into anyone you knew from your other life, save for like-minded skiers and boarders. You can leave your dress shirts and fancy shoes at home, but if you have cowboy boots…well. One does not go to the clubs in Jackson Hole, and you are judged far more by your skiing ability than by how nice your car is. In fact, you don’t even need a car. There is no doubt that Jackson is out there, but its residents couldn’t be more down to earth. They could have lived anywhere. Restaurants need waitresses and bus boys in every ski resort on the planet. Yet, one and all, Jackson locals decided to come here, away from it all, and live their ski dream.
And as for the skiing, OH MY GOD THE SKIING!, there may not be anywhere better.
It is our first day and looks like it is going to be a cold one without much vis. It has snowed 16” in the last two days and nearly ten feet in the last two weeks. We leave the town and head to the resort, fighting a blistering wind and thick fog the whole way. It seems it will be a tree skiing day. Bundling up in the parking lot, we get geared up for the apparently gnarly conditions.
Then, for just a moment, we see a flicker, a vision through the clouds. The mountain, bathed in golden light, looms over four thousand feet above us, sporting the greatest vertical rise in the US. After speaking to a parking attendant who is jeleous he’s not going up, we find out there is a temperate inversion, and that the upper 90% of the peak is bluebird. Smiles all around.
Standing in the Tram maze, there is a palpable giddiness in everyone around us. As if a bluebird powder day isn’t enough…and it almost always is…the sense of history is in the air. The Tram is slated to be closed next year, and we are all in on one of those stories that we will recount at countless ski bars to come.
“Yea, I rode the Tram in it’s last year…that amazing last year.”
A quick four grand to the top, and we prepare to unload. AC/DC blares over the Tram’s loudspeakers. Yips and woops come out of the crowd. The attendant starts in on his speech, and even if you’ve heard it a million times, you gotta love it. In a few moments and a few steps, you’ll have a lifetime’s worth of lines and runs waiting below you, waiting to be discovered. Did I mention the four grand? That's a lot of skiing.
Flash to a couple of hours later. We are at the bottom of the Headwall hike, already more than a days worth of incredible, knee deep, sun fed, huck to amazing-soft-tranny runs behind us. Ten short little bootpack minutes later, we are at the top of Casper Bowl, staring into fields of untouched, sparkling pow. A sea of clouds hovers a few thousand feet below, and we start off. Bottomless turns lead me through sparse trees and across rock ribbons. The terrain opens up, as do my turns. Arcing across the blanket of white, mine are the only tracks, my breathing the only sound. Soon, I am on top of…well…something. Honestly, I don’t know where I am…I just know that there are hundreds of lines all around me, and mine is a steep spine with an air at the bottom. Jump turn after jump turn and my slough passes me. I stop for a breath and my buddies are pinpoints at the bottom of the bowl. Starting again, I make a few more turns and point it toward the exit.
A second or two of air, the windows come down, and WHOOMPF…the sound of landing in a perfectly soft pocket. I roop through the trees and towards my friends…totally and completely stoked. The best part is that I am barely in Jackson’s cornucopia of backcountry areas. Casper Bowl, largely overlooked by the true backcountry crew, is almost in bounds. Here, just outside the reaches of the resort’s ample borders, lie enough lines to keep you busy forever, and enough intensity to scare even the most hardened shredder.
Jackson has backcountry access galore. Then again, if you’ve seen a ski film in the last frickin' ever, you know that. What you may not know is just how accessible those areas are. Unlike heli-porn in Alaska or BC, Jackson’s lines, from the ridiculous to the manageable, are all right there.
I mean forget your skins because you can bootpack to them, makes laps all day long, have a beer at the resort at lunch, RIGHT THERE sort of right there. No sled, A-Star, or unlimited cash coffers necessary. From "Why Not's" classic, open glades and monster drops on the skiers right, to the do anything playyground that is "Rock Springs", Jackson backcountry is varied, but invariably sick. Out of the resort's northern boundry and along the southern boundry of Teton National Park, the chutes of Granite Springs wait to fill that slots in your backcountry checklist under "Jackson" and "as rad as it gets".
Of course the backcountry isn’t the best option every day. When you get as much snow as Jackson, avi danger is always there, and some days, it’s just too gnarly to head back. It’s a good thing that Jackson’s in bounds terrain is arguably the best and most varied in the US, maybe the world. It’s steep. Let me say that again. Jackson is the test-yourself sort of steep. The Alta chutes, T-Bird Chair, the Hobacks, the ubiquitous Corbet’s Couliour.
You have to love a mountain that offers the real possibility of ending up on top of a death cliff while you are dicking around in bounds. Of course, the mountain would like all less-than-expert skiers out there to know that there is plenty of intermediate terrain available to cruises, but in reality, you don’t head to Jackson to ski groomers. You go to scare yourself and to be rewarded with some of the best turns you can log, anywhere. In the end, if you can ski Jackson, even in bounds Jackson, well, you really can ski anywhere.
Jackson and Teton Village are easy places to feel comfortable. The people are genuine, seemingly more so than their ski town counterparts in Colorado or Alberta or really anywhere else.
Smiles come easily and often to just about everyone you see, and I can’t help but think that it has something to do with how much fun they had on the mountain that day and every day. Indeed, everyone finds those places that feel like home, even if you just got there. Jackson is one of those places for me. Maybe it will be for you too. The only way to tell is to go see for yourself.
Jackson is something that should be experienced by every skier and boarder. It is a pilgrimage, like many, that does not come easily. However, that does not mean that it isn’t worth the effort. It absolutely is. There is no doubt that Jackson gets easier and easier to get to every year. More and more direct flights from more and more cities let you get from wherever you are to where you want to be quickly and easily. Jackson is getting to be something it never could have said it was before. Jackson is getting to a convenient, even easy place to get to. However, airfare is expensive, and there is nothing like a road trip across Wyoming or Montana or Utah to truly make you appreciate coming into the Teton Valley. What are you waiting for?!
Load the truck with skis, friends, and all your backcountry gear…and head into the horizon, towards what will certainly be an incredible ski trip, and to what might become a new lifetime destination. Just try your best to ignore Jackson’s siren song, because every minute here seems to make it feel more like home, and make wherever you were before a little less appealing.
