Into the great dark yonder

(Here's the latest installment of my Excursions column, which runs every other week in the Jackson Hole News&Guide)

By Amy Schenck

For a fleeting moment as my car rumbled up Ski Hill Road toward Teton Canyon, I questioned my sanity.

It was two days after the winter solstice, the clock read 6:30 a.m., and not even a hint of morning sunshine lingered on the horizon. 

Instead, snow wisped in front of my windshield, reminding me that it was indeed the middle of winter.

I had planned to go to a 6 a.m. cardio and strength class and then go running afterward, with the first light of day.

But the fitness class got canceled for lack of students and my run got bumped up an hour.

Coming from Alaska, running in the dark and snow doesn’t much faze me. Up north, when the sun rises at 10 a.m. and sets by 4 p.m. this time of year, often my wintertime option was to get out in the dark or not get out all.

Sometimes I would run at 5 p.m., sometimes at midnight, sometimes at 5 a.m. … the time didn’t really matter, the landscape in the beam of my headlamp remained unchanged.

But on this Dec. 23 day in Alta, Wyoming the big difference from my previous running forays is that I lacked a headlamp.

Hoping ambient light and good eyesight would be enough to get me by, I parked at the beginning of the road to Teton Canyon.

I decided that it would be a good idea to warm up on the half mile of plowed road before it dead ended in a parking lot. After that, I knew the going would get much tougher, as the slog continued over snowmobile tracks.

With dogs Zippy and Oscar, we set out in the dark. I ran right down the center of the road, feeling my way forward. Zippy and Oscar frolicked in the woods, thrilled by the fresh snow that fell overnight.

Several minutes later, the drivable portion of the road ended. Unable to make out the path through the snowbank circling the parking lot, I followed Zippy and Oscar step for step, using them as beacons to find my way.

Now, on the groomed portion of the trail, I zigzagged back and forth, seeking out firm ground under my feet.

I knew it would be easier to run over the path compacted by snowmobilers; I also knew it was good manners to avoid tracking up the skate ski path. But without vision, it took some trial and error to get on the right track.

I laughed thinking about the folks who would ski, walk and sled down Teton Canyon later in the day. Surely, they would think a drunk or a lunatic, or both, had made the footprints in the snow.

I plodded along, trying not to dwell on the soft, sand-like surface under my feet. Gradually, morning sunbeams lit up the snowscape around me.

Alone in this frozen world, a peace settled in me.

My body churned out heat, fighting off the ice crystals clinging to my cheeks.

A few times I thought about turning around before reaching the end of the 4-mile canyon, telling myself the conditions were just too slow going.

I reminded myself to be patient, to just put one foot in front of the other.

My mind wandered.

I rounded a corner.

Surprised, I found myself at the parking lot that services Table Mountain in the summer.

I looped around and began the plod back to my car.

On my way, I ran into a volunteer out grooming the trail.

We chatted for a few minutes, commenting on the beauty of the place and the morning. That groomer was the only person I encountered the whole two hours I was out.

The return trip went seemingly much faster. While the downhill grade and sunlight probably helped, I suspect this was mostly because I had settled into a rhythm, and was no longer counting each step.

Soon I was back at my car, and by 9 a.m. I was in Driggs, ordering at extra hot Irish cream latte and a raspberry cheesecake pastry, with the whole day still before me.

Columnist Amy Schenck is perplexed by the lack of winter trail runners in these parts. Finding a packed down path in the mountains more than a mile or two long is no small feat. Amy Schenck’s columns appear in the News&Guide every other week.