The Grand Tetons: A Place to Reflect

Childhood memories motivate a journey to seek out "Shane" sites

The Grand Tetons held sway over me 20 years before I set eyes on them. The breathtaking backdrop for a mythic American landscape has been etched on my consciousness ever since, as a 10-year-old, I sat mesmerized by a Saturday matinee showing of "Shane," an archetypal little-guy-versus-bully story.

And the Jackson Hole landscape, personified by the overpowering Tetons, is as essential a character as any in the film. The homesteading Staretts, helped by the loner Shane, had to battle that formidable country as desperately as they did the cattlemen Strykers and their gunman, Wilson. So beautiful but so harsh, the sort of West that Wallace Stegner once described as "the native home of hope."

The Teton Range and Jackson Hole aren't that much changed from the 1880s, where "Shane" was set. Whenever I've visited Grand Teton National Park, which has been as often as possible, I've tried to guess where it was filmed, but the valley is broad, and nobody I asked, rangers or locals, had a clue.

Last August, I decided to find some answers. It wasn't exactly a pilgrimage, as I had other goals as well, like hanging out with my son Alex, trying to shoot the perfect Teton sunrise and finishing a 15-mile hike to isolated Lake Solitude that had often defeated me in the past. Lots of unfinished business. Time to make good on some Teton daydreams and test myself a bit.

Just outside Jackson, we were rewarded with a broadside view of the Teton Range, a sight that never fails to take my breath away, and it didn't take us half an hour to see some of the charismatic fauna for which the Greater Yellowstone Basin is famous. Just approaching our cabin at Coulter Bay Village, we caught sight of two black bears and a moose. Good omens.

Next morning, we were up before dawn to check out sunrise at the Snake River Overlook, made famous by Ansel Adams' shot of the river curving sinuously toward the mountains.

The Tetons might be spectacular, but that doesn't mean they are easy to photograph. Making no claims to be a professional photographer, and as ignorant of F-stops and Photoshopping as can be, I'm willing to trust my camera's computer chip to augment my main job: composing the shot. Yet even that industrious chip can have trouble with the lighting in Jackson Hole. The Tetons rise so abruptly from the valley floor that they often appear washed out in landscape photos, and if the mountains are well captured in the morning light, the foreground often appears too dark, the contrast being difficult for the camera to balance.

As the first rays of the sun kissed the tops of the peaks, they still left the river valley in darkness. By the time they reached the sheltered riverbank and forest, we had just a few minutes before the full sunrise overwhelmed the mountains.

That was enough, especially in the mid-30s chill. We retreated to the Jackson Lake Lodge for breakfast and to plan our quest for the first "Shane" location: the Starett Homestead.

I had finally done a little homework, unearthing a CD-ROM book called "The Making of Shane," by Walt Farmer, which provided detailed directions, and even GPS coordinates, to the film sites. How could we go wrong?

Pretty easily, it turned out. We searched some back roads in the Antelope Flats area but never found the trail through the sagebrush to where the Homestead set had been built in 1952. Rather than bushwhack, we satisfied ourselves with a long view of the area.

Not that we didn't have some success. We found the only "Shane" set still standing, the Ernie Wright Place, an abandoned cluster of small log structures predating the film. Though abandoned and in disrepair, they were easily recognizable, bringing to mind a couple of dramatic scenes.

The second morning built upon our previous success.

We first decamped to the Oxbow Bend Turnout, deservedly one of the park's most popular photo destinations, for another sunrise, but in the cold pre-dawn dark we had it to ourselves. We walked to the riverbank and studied the still waters barely reflecting Mount Moran and the clouds through the pre-dawn fog.

Other than a few birdcalls and fish breaking the surface, there was no sound until, in the distance, we caught the unmistakable serenade of wolves. Successfully reintroduced to Yellowstone in 1998, the pack had obviously spread south to Grand Teton.

Nor did this sunrise disappoint us. The first light touched Mount Moran, bathing it in a pink glow. The still waters of the Snake allowed us to capture the clouds and peaks in mirror images, muted by morning mists and constantly changing as the sun eventually drenched the landscape.

After breakfast we resolved to find the holy grail of "Shane" sites, Cemetery Hill and the nearby town where much of the action took place.

We followed our directions down washboard roads and located the little trail head. We had only to follow the faint trail a half-mile or so west through the scrub land to the hill.

As we climbed the little hill, I caught movement toward the west. I stood mesmerized, thinking for a crazy moment it was a little horse galloping through the sage.

At about 30 yards I gradually focused on a massive gray wolf, mostly light-colored with streaks of black, holding its tail high and loping past us almost with disdain as it disappeared around a neighboring hill, all too quickly for us to react with our cameras. One of the ones we had heard earlier in the morning? We were speechless. For a moment it seemed that we were in the same wilderness frontier that "Shane" portrayed so well.

Of course, when I think of the "Shane" sites, I imagine them as they were in the film, but Hollywood usually trumps reality. The cemetery and town seemed real enough in the movie, but they were just sets built and dismantled in the middle of nowhere.

There are still a few pieces of lumber strewn about the hilltop and a small depression where the homesteaders dug Stonewall Torrey's grave, but you'll have to use your imagination to conjure up anything more.

The town site is another half-mile or so west of the hill toward Grand Teton peak, perhaps halfway to the main highway. We couldn't find this trail, either, but it was obvious where it had been. Satisfied to be this close, we imagined cowboys celebrating July 4 in front of Grafton's Saloon and Jack Palance (Wilson) gunning down Elisha Cook Jr. (Torrey) in what must be the film's most famous gunfight.

Our third sunrise was at the top of Signal Mountain. Providing a broad view of both the Jackson Hole valley to the east and north, and a 1,000-foot perch over Jackson Lake and the Teton Range, this is a great overlook.

My "Shane" curiosity satisfied, we still had ambitious plans for the day. This time, I was going to make it to Lake Solitude.

Many of the Teton day hikes are easy, and getting even a few hundred yards off the main roads will pay off in great views and wildlife encounters. Some are more arduous, climbing, sometimes gradually and sometimes not, up the mountain valleys that separate the Tetons' peaks.

For at least 15 years I've had it in my mind that I should take the hike up Cascade Canyon, in the shadow of the Grand Teton, to Lake Solitude. With the help of a boat service across Jenny Lake, this is a 7.2-mile exercise each way -- with an altitude gain of about 2,200 feet.

Years ago I tried it with my family, only to be stopped by a feeding grizzly blocking the trail. Prudence prevailed. Another time, someone got sick. Occasionally, the weather hadn't cooperated. Then there is my natural predisposition toward indolence.

This time, I would not be denied. Mind you, I am no great hiker and had just hit 60. This trek would match the longest I had ever taken, but once a goal gets caught in my mind, it's hard to let go. To make things interesting, an old pal of mine, Tim, a well-known travel and adventure writer, agreed to join us. This would be child's play for Tim, so I had incentive to finish honorably.

We got a late start, reaching Jenny Lake after 9. The initial mile of the Cascade Canyon Trail is one of the most popular hikes in the park, so I suggested that we take a parallel horse trail to avoid the crowd and make better time. As with most good ideas, it quickly came undone. Instead of linking up with the main trail, we were on a climbers' trail that got narrower and steeper, ultimately topping out at a cliff. Retreat was in order.

We still couldn't find the cutoff and contemplated bushwhacking, but the terrain was inhospitable, strewn with brush-covered rocks. More backtracking exposed our error. When we had earlier passed the junction, we were first distracted by a rock cairn demarcating the climbers' trail and an attractive young woman nearby who apparently blinded us to the correct turnoff. Oops.

The next three miles of the trail were fairly level, following the canyon's contours and often crossing the small stream emptying into Jenny Lake.

This stretch is forested, with views of steep canyon walls and cascades dropping from the heights, giving the canyon its name. Tim set the pace. Alex and I did our best to stay in contact but rested often, which Tim tolerated with good humor.

The final three miles to Lake Solitude rise steadily over a rocky trail, and Tim's conditioning let him pull away.

The altitude was getting to us, so we rested often, reaching Lake Solitude at 9,035 feet almost an hour behind Tim.

We collapsed next to the lake. Too quickly, Tim announced that if we didn't head down soon, we might miss the last boat across the lake, which would mean an additional 2-mile hike to the car. Good motivation. We shook off our "rigor mortis" and headed back.

The slopes were considerably easier to traverse downhill, although we had to be careful of rocky footfalls. I remarked to Tim that, truly, gravity was our friend. He replied, "It's not just a good idea; it's a LAW."

After considerable exertion and a brief pause to ogle a bull moose, we made the boat dock with a full nine minutes to spare, sore as heck but unbowed. We had covered about 15.5 miles and gained 2,700 feet in elevation -- nothing some Gatorade, a few beers, dinner and a soft bed couldn't repair. So what that our legs didn't work all that well for a couple of days.

I continued my sunrise quest next morning but didn't dare wake Alex or Tim, both dead to the world.

The famous Moulton Barn on Mormon Row is normally a good foreground, but the sunrise was muted by cloud banks that day.

Tim headed out after breakfast, but Alex and I spent the day checking out photo spots. We repeated the 5-mile drive up Signal Mountain and were rewarded with the sight of a large black bear feeding just off the road, plus some shots of Jackson Hole. A return to Mormon Flats led to a close but photogenic encounter with a herd of huge bison. By late afternoon the rain came.

Next morning, we were headed home, and though we tried to catch one last sunrise at Schwabacher Landing, we were stymied by heavy overcast. After we hiked a short way to a beaver dam and pond, the clouds parted just enough to give up one last majestic view of the Tetons.

Our work completed, we mounted up, steered our car toward the horizon and headed out of the valley.

Just like Shane.

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