At the foot of Grand Teton National Park lies the beautiful valley of Jackson Hole, Wyoming. The principal city, Jackson, was our destination as we left Montana. Its proximity to the Tetons and Yellowstone National Park made Jackson the logical base for the second portion of our trip.
If you missed our post on our wonderful visit to Montana, click on the link below:
Jackson Hole
While Montana is Western wide-open spaces, Jackson Hole, Wyoming is Fancy Ranch in the middle of natural marvels. After being held in Big Sky Country’s expansive arms, we were happily anticipating more of the same from Wyoming.
Tired and hungry, we arrived mid-afternoon to our home base in Jackson: The Rustic Creek Inn. A perfect mix of Wyoming’s vibe. Rustic enough for Eagle Scout Husband, who would prefer camping to a hotel and lux enough for me (my idea of roughing it is a hotel with no room service). We were excited to begin exploring this quaint little town.
Rustic Inn Creekside Resort & Spa 475 N Cache St, Jackson, WY 83001 (800) 323-9279
Our little creekside cabin beckoned cozy and comfortable, but hunger won out. We dumped our bags and decided to forgo the nap that was calling us and caught the hotel shuttle to the town square with unique restaurants, art galleries, specialty shops and its iconic antler-arched cornerstones. The elk antlers in the arches come from the nearby National Elk Refuge – the elk shed their antlers yearly and are collected by the local Boy Scout troop.
Town square, Jackson, Wyoming.
Elk Refuge, 675 E. Broadway Ave. Jackson, WY 83001
(307) 733-9212
Our destination in town was the celebrated Million Dollar Cowboy bar!
Million Dollar Cowboy Bar
25 Cache St. Jackson Wyoming 83001
(307) 733-2207
http://milliondollarcowboybar.com
Saddle seats at the Million Dollar Cowboy Bar
This burlwood paneled center of Wyoming western memorabilia is perfect cowboy kitsch. I loved it! We saddled up to the bar (literally!) and ordered a drink. You have to! After sitting there for a few minutes, I began to appreciate what the cowboys must have gone through in taming this wild and beautiful part of this country: uncomfortable 18-hour days in the saddle, river crossings, storms, and stampedes. . .
After a few minutes we dismounted, drinks in hand, rubbing our behinds as we searched for a steady seat at a table.
Husband had the Million Dollar Bison Burger, which he declared juicy and delicious. I had the tomato soup and grilled cheese, which played well with my spicy Bloody Mary. (Downstairs from the bar, the Steakhouse had Rocky Mountain Oysters on the menu, but Husband wouldn’t take one for the team, so we decided to eat in the bar.)
Cowhand culture is inherent in Jackson. From the log hotels and rustic resorts to the interior design of everywhere we went: Navajo rugs, steer horns, horse art, wildlife paintings, cowhide, antlers and nailhead trim on practically everything not nailed down!
The Cowboy Way
We left the boisterous bar, and while waiting for the hotel shuttle, we came across a store that sold hats and leather goods and went in to check it out. As Husband perused the wallets and jackets, a man looking at cowboy hats caught my attention. A store employee approached the man and began talking about the hats, and how they customize each hat to suit the wearer. He flattered the customer, complimenting his square jawline – recommending a wide brim to showcase his features.
I watched this suave salesman circle around the city slicker, cooing how the hat was going to help him attract the ladies. The salesman selected a black cowboy hat, and as he was placing it on his customer’s head, he explained how the man’s height, weight and shoulder width are taken into consideration when customizing it. He described how a steamer is used to form it perfectly to the man’s face shape and then the final step is brushing it down. That salesman was so smooth – I never wanted a cowboy hat so much in my life!
As we left the store, Husband leaned over and whispered, “That guy is going home with a cowboy hat.”
“Heck, I was about to get one!” I whispered back.
The shuttle was waiting for us outside and it was a good thing. The long drive from Montana was catching up to us (we had plans to be up early to visit the Tetons) and we headed back to the hotel to rest up.
The Grand Tetons
The Rustic Inn is located right on Highway 191, which takes you straight into the Grand Teton National Park, smaller, less crowded and more peaceful than Yellowstone Park, just to the North.
The Tetons towered before us and we pulled over to admire them without distraction. Standing by the side of the road, I felt like a puny little pea in the shadow of these majestic giants, even as they were veiled with a smoky haze from a fire burning in Yellowstone.
Grand Teton National Park,
We drove the 42-mile scenic drive, which I think is the best way to see all that the Tetons has to offer!
It runs the length of the Teton mountain range, giving access to all of the park’s greatest hits: Jenny and Jackson Lakes, Schwabacher Landing, the Snake River Overlook and the infinitely Instagram-able Mormon Row with its iconic barns.
We purchased the National Park Annual Pass, a good idea if you are planning to see Yellowstone in the same visit.
The Chuck Wagon Dinner
Bar T 5 Chuck Wagon Cookout
As part of immersing ourselves in Jackson Hole’s western experience, we signed up for a Chuck Wagon Dinner and show. We arrived at the Bar T-5 Corral at the appointed time, and I was excited to see the horses but they weren’t hitched up until we were in the wagons.
After assembling our wagon-mates (due to COVID physical distancing regulations, we only had to share with two other couples), we climbed up and the horses were hitched. At the call of “Roll the Wagons!”, the wagon train lurched toward the Cache Creek Canyon Camp. The ride was calm and peaceful, the wagon rocking gently with the echo of horse hooves, birdsong and the gentle rustle of trees in the wind.
We arrived at camp, where the smells of barbecue greeted us as we climbed down from our ride. The cook rang a dinner bell and we were served beef, chicken, cornbread, salad, baked beans and a brownie. A simple meal that was simply delicious in the crisp mountain air!
After dinner, the Bar T 5 band picked up their instruments and began to play. They entertained us with Western music, jokes and homespun wisdom. All of the musicians were talented, but the violin player was phenomenal! She performed a version of “The Devil Went Down to Georgia” that would make even Charlie Daniels green with envy!
A Turn of Events
As the music played on, the skies turned dark and it began to rain. The camp had a roof and was protected by walls on two sides, but the venue was mostly open-air. As the band completed their set and we gathered our things for the return trip, the rain began to come down hard. We all ran from the camp, scrambling like scattering ants, heading for the shelter of the wagons.
I became painfully aware that we had not properly dressed for this excursion, although in my defense, the weather report had forecast 60 degrees and 40% chance of rain. I had layered up with a long-sleeved top, a thick fleece pullover, jeans and boots. Woefully inadequate for the weather that was fast developing.
The rain punched through the clouds and the wind began to pick up, blowing a torrent of water sideways into the covered wagon, making us wet and cold.
The wagons made their way down from the canyon. Husband and I nestled together, shivering against the wind. Just when I thought it couldn’t get more miserable, it began to snow. The double-edged wind, sharpened by the cold, cut me right to the bone. Then I got whiny, “But the weather report said, “60 degrees and 40% chance of rain!”
Our Rodeo Queen wrangler chirped, “Welcome to Wyoming!” and tossed us a spare Levi jacket that Husband and I gratefully huddled under. The reins threaded between her fingers, Rodeo Queen snapped them and the horses immediately picked up the pace that had begun to flag in the face of the snow.
Later at the hotel, after a hot shower and an hour under the covers, I began to feel my legs again.
Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming
The next day was the high point of the trip for Husband, whose grandparents had taken him camping in Yellowstone when he was a small boy. (The closest I ever got to Yellowstone as a child was watching Yogi Bear and Boo Boo try to trick Mr. Ranger out of a picnic basket.)
Driving into the park, Husband began reminiscing. As the cars stacked up at the entrance, it reminded him of the traffic jam in the park where people were stopping their cars to feed the bears. The Park Service forbade feeding the bears starting in the 1970s, but back in the day, feeding the bears was business as usual. Husband’s grandmother wisely warned against feeding the bears. They kept their windows rolled up as they snaked around the stopped cars and proceeded on into the park.
That trip made a permanent impression on Husband. Inspired by the tales of his Grandfather Edmund, he grew into an enthusiastic outdoorsman – camping, fishing, hiking Angeles National Forest and the John Muir trail – even climbing Mount Whitney.
We wove our way through the park, hitting some of the notable landmarks:
The rotten-egg smelling mud pots.
The grand prismatic spring.
The travertine terraces of the Mammoth Hot Springs.
The legendary Old Faithful
This site not only gives the approximate geyser activity for Old Faithful, it covers the geysers for the Upper, Lower and Norris Geyser Basins:
As morning turned to afternoon, we came upon Lake Yellowstone and stopped for a lunch of sandwiches, chips and Wyoming cowboy cookies, a delicious treat we found all over Jackson Hole and Yellowstone.
For more info and a recipe for Wyoming Cowboy Cookies, check out our post here:
https://thetravelingdelanys.com/wyoming-cowboy-cookies-the-traveling-delanys/
Lake Yellowstone
There, beside Lake Yellowstone’s softly lapping waters, the bright sunshine felt warm and wonderful on my face. (Little did I know I would wake up the next morning with a sunburn.) Husband began recalling his grandfather’s stories about growing up out in the country and how our current visit to Yellowstone had a full-circle feel to it. Grandfather Edmund died shortly after they returned from Yellowstone, so it was the last time Husband saw him. That last trip with his grandfather became a high point of a young life. Classic boyhood adventures: camping in the great outdoors, grandfather’s stories by the fire, roasting marshmallows and hot dogs, skipping stones . . .
Homeward Bound
Travel is all about making memories. Whether it’s reliving your childhood, getting snowed on or sunburned, it can all be memorable.
There is a kind of magic about Yellowstone. Entering the park, time seems to cast back to the time when our folks loaded us kids up in the camper and we all hit the road. Our Wyoming trip was not only about discovering the natural wonders of our nation’s first National Park, but the recall of youthful memories. Yellowstone is largely untouched and it is a miracle that it’s still so unspoiled. It’s one of the few places from childhood memory that remains ever the same. While holding the hand of long-held memories, we made new memories here that tug at the heart of this happy camper.
