The Hike Around Jenny Lake
The hike around Jenny Lake to Hidden Falls sounded like a dream: a gentle stroll around a sparkling alpine lake, a dainty waterfall, maybe a photogenic squirrel or two. Instead, it was a five-mile, five-hour death march, three hours up and two hours down, with a 620-foot elevation gain starting at 6,783 feet above sea level.
I had finished 33 sessions of radiation just four weeks earlier, so I figured a “nice little nature walk” would be a great way to celebrate. Spoiler alert: the mountain disagreed.
I’m from Florida. My lungs are built for humidity and alligator sightings, not this thin Jackson Hole air that feels like breathing through a cocktail straw. By mile two, my optimism had filed for bankruptcy and my lungs were sending SOS signals.
It started cold. I was bundled up, smugly confident, feeling outdoorsy. Halfway up, I was sweating like a rotisserie chicken and shedding layers like an emotional breakdown. Near the top, it was freezing again. This trail has microclimates. I was prepared for exactly none of them.
The path was a slippery obstacle course of rocks, mud, and ice. Every step was a new opportunity to re-injure my dignity. I clung to trees, stumbled like a baby giraffe, and crawled up stone steps whispering “why” to no one in particular.
I didn’t drink much water because what if I had to pee in the wilderness? My nose ran nonstop. I forgot tissues. By hour three, my gloves were an OSHA violation. Dignity? Left that at the trailhead.
Normally I hike in “horse mode” - head down, keep walking, don’t think. But this trail demanded “mountain goat mode,” and I was running on house cat energy. Other hikers bounded by like woodland sprites, cheerful and fresh-faced, while I looked like an oxygen-deprived swamp creature. Some passed us twice. I started to suspect they lived there.
Even the wildlife mocked me. A pika squeaked like it was laughing. A squirrel sprinted across a log just to show off. A mule deer stared with open disdain.
Nature: 10. Mitzi: clinging to a rock.
And then there were the liars. Every hiker who chirped “You’re almost there!” should face trial. For three straight hours, “almost there” was the biggest scam in Wyoming.
Finally, I reached Hidden Falls. It was stunning, roaring, misty, and cinematic. I stared for a full thirty seconds before thinking, “Was it worth the hike? No. Was it beautiful? Sure. Would I ever do it again? Absolutely not.
I survived Jenny Lake. Barely.
Hidden Falls: 1.
Mitzi: wheezing somewhere near zero.
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