Let the wind take my troubles away

The crisp morning air poured through the rolled down window of my car as I snaked toward Teton Canyon outside of Driggs, Idaho.
Out my window poured the song “Windfall” by Son Volt.
“Both feet on the floor, two hands on the wheel, may the wind take your troubles away.”
With each passing mile my “troubles” i.e. the cares and stresses of the week dissolved, replaced by a penetrating inner peace.
Just me and my dog. Just me and my dog headed to the mountains. Just me and my dog headed to the mountains on a dazzling autumn day.
I relished the feeling of having a whole day to follow my creative whims.
The night before I poured over the map and came up with a circular traverse full of possibility. The topographic lines promised passable terrain and the location – a ridge directly to the west of the Grand Teton – hinted at stunning views.
I planned to go up Table Mountain – a hike that’s been on my to do list for some time – but, at the top, rather than retrace my steps, with the Sunday afternoon swarms, I hoped to traverse across to Hurricane Pass and descend via the Alaska Basin Trail.
I’d never been on any of these trails – or lack of trails as was the case for one section of my planned route – and with the extra edge of doing it by myself, the anticipation made me feel alive and free.
I pulled up to the parking lot at the end of Teton Canyon at 11 a.m. It was later in the day than I would have liked, but since I planned to half-hike half-run the route, I still had plenty of time to complete the guesstimated 17 miles before sunset.
There’s two ways to get up Table Mountain: the short and steep route or longer and semi-steep route. I was aiming for the short and steep route, but since only the trailhead for the longer and semi-steep route is marked, that’s where I found myself.
No matter. It followed a river, giving Zippy, my dog plenty of opportunity to hydrate.
(Scroll down to keep reading the day's narrative)

We jogged through aspens groves, bursting with circus colors, winding our way toward a plateau at the end of a basin.
For a long time – due to our late start – Zippy and I had the trail entirely to ourselves; but as we approached the summit of Table, the five-mile single track took on overtones of a highway.
The final section arcs across a sweeping ridge, and people dotted it as far as the eye could see.
Crawling carefully over loose gravel, Zippy and I crested the summit of Table Mountain, elevation 11,106 feet.

If you’ve never sat on Table Mountain on a clear day, you should.
It feels like you can reach your pointer finger out and caress the Grand’s rough, jagged, rock-strewn sides. You feel like a queen on a throne and an ant on a sandcastle – at the exact same time.
We sat up there, under the warmth of early October’s afternoon sun, eating lunch for nearly an hour – I shared some of my almond butter and jelly sandwich with my brown eyed, floppy eared pup, who chowed appreciatively.
Stomachs and spirits full, it was time for the real adventure to begin.

From Table Mountain I had a clear view to Hurricane Pass, and picked out a route and way markers: a snowfield shaped like a V, a grassy knoll and a scree field full of volcanic rocks.
With one last glance at the Grand, I was off. I tiptoed up to the edge of a bluff. Using a steep gully filled with dead grass and a scattering of loose boulders, I picked my way down.
Arriving at the bottom, I knew there was no turning back.
I then set out cross-country, hugging the shade of a few small trees as long as I could, before being funneled into a field of black, abrasive boulders.
As the sun beat down and the rocks baked from below, I began to wish I’d worn sunscreen. Instead I periodically gave Zippy a few gingerly sips of water from my Camelbak.
I then had to make my way up through a rock band that wrapped around most of the mountain side, like a ribbon on a gift.
I found a ravine that looked passable and started scrambling up it, faithful pup in toe. About half way up, loose rock began to drain out from underneath my feet.
Keeping my cool, but admittedly a bit unnerved, I was relieved when both Zippy and I reached semi-horizontal, grass-stabilized ground. (Note: if you attempt this route, there’s a much simpler way to get up, as I later discovered, directly below Hurricane Pass).
A short while later, traversing south, I made my way to Hurricane Pass. My total off-trail time was between one to two hours – I wasn’t keeping close track. The distance covered was a bit more than a mile.
In its own way, Hurricane Pass is every bit as spectacular as Table Mountain. An aqua green glacial lake sits like a gum drop directly below the pass, while the Grand towers above.
As I laced up my shoes, I felt a quiver of excitement. Before me, 10 gentle downhill miles twisted next to North Fork Darby Creek.

I easily found a running rhythm, a rhythm that got interrupted occasionally by a rock formation or waterfall so striking that I had to stop and gawk.
Zippy trotted behind me, his rhythm matching mine … through fields of crackling yellow leaves, past a merry marmot and into a refreshing alpine lake. (I didn’t actually go into the lake despite Zippy’s cajoling and assurances that nothing would feel better).
The sun hovered on the horizon, casting long shadows and soft magical light.

For 9.5 miles I saw no living creature, save that merry marmot.
It was just mom and dog in the mountains on a dazzling autumn day.
By the time we closed in on the last half mile, when we had a few sightings of other human beings, the wind had taken my troubles away, and filled my lungs. I was running faster than I would in a flat 5K.
I took that pace right to the parking lot and into a nearby a river – Zippy’s cajoling at work.