Originally, I had only one destination in mind: the Sawtooths in Idaho, an area I had long planned to visit, but life circumstances had gotten in the way. However, after visiting Montana for the Fourth of July, I revised my plan to travel to the Sawtooths via Wyoming.

I set off north from western Colorado amid the worst wildfire smoke I had ever experienced in the state. The route would not be direct, as the massive fire nearby had closed many roads. Fortunately, I escaped the smoke only 10 miles into the drive.

From Vernal, Utah, I continued north into Flaming Gorge National Recreation Area, where I found the incredibly scenic Fireman’s Memorial Campground, perched in the forest on a rim above Flaming Gorge.

The next day, I had only one destination in mind, the mountains surrounding Jackson Hole. I made my way north with the Wind River mountains flanking my east side. A small part of me wanted to head directly for them, spending a few days there before heading to my primary destination, but if I have learned anything in my van camping experience, it is to keep trips simple. Adding too many destinations just creates a feeling of being rushed. Packing too much ruins the entire experience. Simplify, simplify. It is truly about the journey, not the destination.

I stayed on course and stopped just short of Jackson Hole for the night, along the Hoback River. As I was studying the map that evening, I noticed that Teton National Park was just north of Jackson Hole. Being August, I assumed it would be packed, but I determined that I would still explore the area the following day.

I should not have been surprised by my experience in Jackson Hole. The number of cars, pedestrians, shops, restaurants, and chaos I experienced pushed me right through town without even a second thought.

As soon as I spotted the Tetons, Jackson Hole was out of mind, and I immediately felt drawn to the mountains. The jagged peaks looked artificial in their splendor and beckoned me towards them. Crowds be damned, I determined that is where I would spend my day, maybe even camp that night, or even two nights! I daydreamed about hiking, relaxing, and spending my allotted time in Wyoming solely in this wonderful area. The excitement became short-lived.

The half-mile-long, two-lane queue to pay the entrance fee first set off alarm bells. The attendant telling me that all the campgrounds were surely full allowed reality to finally set in. Still with a glimmer of hope, I parked just inside the entrance and got online, thinking maybe I would get lucky. Instead, I found that the only available camping spot in the park was $120. I concluded that I would backtrack to the $20 campground I stayed at the previous night, but I could still spend time exploring the park and enjoying some hiking. I picked two: Taggard Lake Loop, an easier hike for today, and Delta Lake, a longer, more challenging hike for tomorrow.

As I approached the Taggard Lake trailhead, my jaw dropped in astonishment. There was a mile of cars lining the road on each side, overflowing from the packed parking lot at the trailhead. I knew that since COVID, national parks had become more popular, but this was my first time experiencing what that actually looked like. I was losing my energy for the beautiful area quickly.

Thinking that perhaps the Delta Lake hike I had planned for the following day would be less popular, I decided to scout that trailhead. Again, cars lined the road at least a half mile on each side. I was still hopeful that if I woke up early, I would experience some solitude on the trail, so I kept my spirits up.

By the time I returned to the Taggard Lake Trailhead, there were a few parking spots open in the main lot. I set off, feeling fortunate and energized, but I immediately came upon crowds of people who were difficult to get around. One guy whom I passed called ahead to his son to “watch out, she might run you over.” I let the comment go, not sure what inspired it. But I was already beginning to sour on the whole affair.

I made it to Taggard Lake and was amazed at the beauty, but I had to search for the wonderful positive feelings that my endorphins generally muster while hiking: energized excitement for the great outdoors, peace in the solitude, and a sense of being grounded. I was falling short.

A mile or so later, I came to Bradley Lake, which did provide solitude. I sat on a rock, taking in the scenery while still trying to muster positive feelings. Still falling short. I circled back and made my way to my camper, my spirits low. I was confused. I was in this beautiful place, in fact, some of the most beautiful mountains I had ever seen, and yet I wasn’t enjoying it. I wondered if I was a terrible person. Surely it is a good thing for my fellow hikers to be interacting with nature as opposed to the multitude of other things they could be doing. Surely this is the type of experience that generates a desire to protect these unique areas. All good things. Yet for me, there is something so difficult about enjoying nature when it is overrun with people, no matter how beautiful it is. It cheapens it. The novelty gets extracted.

Still, I kept my plan in place to wake up early the following morning and hike up to Delta Lake. I prepped my food the evening before with an ugly sense in my chest that I could not place. During a sleepless night, I was able to define the feeling and turned off my alarm. If I had been unable to enjoy such a beautiful hike the previous day, why would I think my experience would be any different the next time? Hiking to a beautiful alpine lake perched within the jagged mountain peaks of the Tetons would only be exceptional if it was not flocked by hordes of people, some with their portable speakers blaring out. That scene was just not for me, and I had to make peace with that.

Instead, the next day, I opted to leave the area and spend the night in a campground along the Wyoming/Idaho border. Just a few miles short of the campground, I spotted a trailhead with about five cars parked in the lot. The hike appeared to make its way up a ravine. Still with a hunger for an alpine hike, I wondered if I would find a view of the Tetons and determined that I had found a substitute hike for the day.

The Coal Creek hike did provide me with an exceptional view of Grand Teton in the distance at my turnaround point, but not before traversing through truly breathtaking country. I passed a handful of happy hikers along the way and enjoyed the fresh air, the quiet, and the exhilaration of hiking alone, bear bell and all. Once again reminded that it is about the journey, not the destination.