We flew back to Bellingham from the Tetons on a sunny clear morning and as usual I spent the entire flight with my nose pressed against the window, devouring the landscape.
It’s a landscape I obsessed over for a decade. I’d trace lines on the map, piecing together routes to travel on foot and ski and bike and car, and then bushwhack up drainages, chase dead end trails, tiptoe over airy ridges, and get turned around but always refuse to turn around.
I peered down at Teton Pass and tried to pick out the treed slopes we pillaged during our two days of skiing. I watched the march of mountain ranges east to west from the Wyoming state line through central Idaho, the geographic names bubbling up from my random access memory: Pyramid Peak, Mosquito Creek, Garns Mountain, St. Anthony Sand Dunes, the Lemhis, Pahsimeroi Valley, Salmon-Challis National Forest.
We planned for a quote-unquote Ski Vacation, something I’d never done before: flying with skis, booking a car and a short-term rental with a hot tub. Bougie-like. But our secret vacation hack was renting a house within blocks of several friends and coming equipped with a decade of knowledge on where to ski, what to expect from the weather, timing, and aspects, where to eat, and how to avoid ever turning left in traffic.
We arrived in the middle of a little storm that blessed us with supremely excellent backcountry skiing. And we spent plenty of time with friends, slipping back into the exact same conversations all over again, relishing sharing so much history and so many stupid jokes, the sense of being known by the people you are enjoying unstructured time with.
We sought out only a few of our many Teton Valley acquaintances and they were kind enough to give us a lot of their time on the skin track and at The Wolf and on the tailgate and on the chairlift and in their homes and in our hot tub.
After they left, Cy and I talked and agreed that, honestly, we don’t miss the place at all. We drank so deeply of the Tetons and upon return found the cup empty. We are so happy with the life we’ve found in Washington. It's even better than we could have hoped when we severed the line of comfortable familiarity holding us to Driggs.
But my god I love my friends. I can remember the first time I met each of them, at trail days or on the chairlift or at parties or trying to find new roommates.
I have made some really good friends in Bellingham and I’m so excited to build a shared history with them too, but I’m so grateful for my time in Teton Valley.
