Part Forty Four

     August 26th - 28th                  Jackson Hole, WY                   (Go to Pt 1)
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Now we’d have to hitch-hike to Jackson Hole from here; all four of us dirty, smelly, hippie types, complete with our four, over-sized backpacks.  Craig and I already knew how hard it could be for just two, dirty, smelly, hippies with over-sized packs to catch a ride, so getting all four of us to Jackson Hole was going to be interesting.

We set up shop along Hwy 191 and started the monotonous task of trying to hitch a ride with anyone willing to stop for this flea-bag circus we had going on.  Of course, Craig and I knew that if we waited long enough, some ‘unique’ person would come along and, for whatever reason, be compelled to stop and take on a troupe of dirty hippies with their packs.

​Our ride came in the form of a converted school bus driven by a guy that made it sound like this is what he did; pick-up strangers on the road and take them to where they were going inhis bus.  All fine by me as long as he didn’t decide to take us on a ‘scenic tour’ somewhere. ​ 

Click on the map for a larger image

The engine noise inside the hollow tube of the bus made it too loud for chit-chat, so we just bounced along, completely content to watch the scenery roll by as the bus motored along with the miles-upon-miles of cars and RVs that were strung all the way from Moran Junction to Jackson Hole.  We arrived in town around mid-afternoon. 

The bus driver pulled over at a street corner where I started to dig through my pack for some cash to give the guy, but he just smiled and waved me off.  “Have a safe trip, fellas.” he offered as we deboarded. “Thanks, man!”

I don’t quite recall just how Dave and Murry left town, maybe I was too distracted trying to find the Post Office or something, but apparently they found a bus out of Jackson Hole because they did eventually turn-up back home.  

In retrospect, I was rather amazed and really quite impressed at how quickly those two had adapted to the rigors of Divide hiking and how well they had looked out for themselves and each other throughout the entire trip – including the last part where I wasn’t paying much attention and they got themselves back on a bus headed home.  The greensticks had earned their stripes the hard way and were greensticks no more.

Craig and I were doing a resupply and equipment change-over in Jackson but the box with the crampons, ice axes and warm clothes did not arrive with the food box and we were going to need that gear for the Wind River Range.  As a result, we spent two days loitering around Jackson Hole waiting for the box arrive.  

If we’d had some cash to splash, Jackson Hole would have been a rip-roaring good time.  But since we didn’t, we spent our time in the park watching tourist stream in and out of the Silver Dollar Bar – which had its moments, particularly the late night pot bust that nabbed one guy right there in front of us as we lounged at our picnic table. That was pretty exciting.

The box with our gear finally arrived and we did a hasty change-out of equipment in the post office parking lot, boxing-up our lowland gear to send on to Lander where we would need it next for the Red Desert.  

The hitch-hike out of Jackson was exceptionally tedious, in part because there were so many cars on the road that even those inclined to stop were hesitant to pull out of traffic.  But the bigger problem was that we weren’t the only hitchhikers trying to get out of Jackson Hole on Hwy 191, by the time we’d walked out to the city limits there was already a que of dirtbag hippies and one golden retriever ahead of us.  And then, to really knot things up, there were strict rules involved with hitchhiking because hitchhiking was illegal and closely patrolled in and around Jackson. 

This being the case, and since hitchhiking was such a problem in Jackson Hole, the city had set-up a bench at the edge of town with a sign above it depicting a ‘hitchhiking thumb’ where prospective ride-sharers would sit, pleading with their eyes for a ride.  

The posted rules under the thumb were clear, one could not stand within so many feet of the roadway and the use of signs or hand gestures to flag down cars was strictly prohibited; doing any of the above came with a hefty fine which nobody reduced to hitchhiking could possibly afford.  Both the town cops and State Patrol drove by regularly, so us dirtbags on the bench tended to mind the rules, bonding together as refugees do, patiently waiting for our turn under the thumb.
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After a long afternoon on the bench, Craig and I finally got to the front of the que under the thumb then waited and waited with our two monstrous packs for a short ride back out to Moran Junction.  From there we walked/hitched to Togwotee Pass, arriving before sunset with just enough time to hike out and make a camp.

The late afternoon sun shadowing the Tetons was shining across the Snake River Valley to illuminate the northern monoliths of the Wind River Range and clouds gliding under the sun created specters of moving light across the valley.  We were finally heading into the Wind Rivers, a range of mountains that we had been anticipating with both eagerness and trepidation for over a year now.

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Go to Part 45

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The CDTC was founded in 2012 by volunteers and recreationists hoping to provide a unified voice for the CDT. Working hand-in-hand with the U.S. Forest Service and other federal land management agencies, the CDTC is a non-profit partner supporting stewardship of the CDT. The mission of the CDTC is to complete, promote and protect the Continental Divide National Scenic Trail, a world-class national resource. For more information, please visit continentaldividetrail.org.

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