The Cold Doesn’t Bother Us Anyway

In the iconic scene from the movie Frozen, Elsa stares boldly into the camera from the doorway of her freshly-constructed ice castle. She is fleeing from the trauma of her childhood to live out a life of happy isolation in the snow. “The cold doesn’t bother me anyway!” she sings jubilantly. 

In Wyoming, Tyler and I were also singing, “The cold doesn’t bother us anyway!” But unlike Elsa, we were singing with heated socks, heated gloves, and heavy overalls. 

Hey, not everyone can be a Disney ice queen! 

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Featured photos: https://photos.app.goo.gl/KQmrxVfPU4gjzsSZA

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The temperature was in the single digits. With the stiff Wyoming breeze, the dry air felt more like below zero. It was the kind of cold that makes your nose feel like it’s freezing shut. Despite this, we decided to spend every moment of our day outside. We were just like Elsa!

Statistically, Wyoming natives spend the most time everyday outdoors out of any American state. Wyoming kids spend an average of 3.7 hours outdoors everyday, nearly double the nation’s average. Not surprisingly, Wyoming natives also rank at the top of the list for mental wellbeing amongst American states. When in Rome, you do as the Romans do. So there we were, improving our mental wellbeing in the cold.

We had intended to go elk-watching at the National Elk Refuge in Jackson. Ordinarily, visitors to the Elk Refuge can board a horse-drawn sled and be carried through the midst of one of the largest individual elk herds in North America. One of my favorite Wyoming photographers had recently done this. The photos she captured were absolutely stunning. My favorite photo is one of her crowning achievements: a massive bull elk with the peak of Grand Teton framed between his antlers. Secretly, I was hoping to accomplish a similarly epic photo. As we stood in line to check our tickets, I clutched my camera hopefully. One can dream!

Sadly, my dreams were dashed before we ever boarded our horse-drawn sleigh. The elk were nowhere to be found. Just the night before, a wolf pack had descended from the foothills. They wreaked havoc on the herd, scattering them left and right across the broad Refuge valley. The elk, understandably spooked, were still nervous and standoffish the morning we were visiting. There were no large congregations of elk anywhere near the sleigh trails. No noble bulls strutted across mountainous horizons. As far as the eye could see, there was nothing but valley. 

Unfortunately, our tickets offered no refunds, so we still took our sleigh ride. To be fair, a sleigh ride anywhere in Wyoming is a beautiful experience. Our driver, a tough Wyomingite impervious to the cold, gave us an excellent lecture on elk biology and Jackson history. By the time we had finished, we had earned a greater appreciation for sleigh horses, tough sleigh drivers, and the intricacies of elk herd management. But, we were still sad about not seeing elk.

Our disappointment quickly waned, however, in the face of what was coming next. We were going dog sledding! I’ve been mildly obsessed with dog sleds ever since I watched the movie Balto. As a kid, I tried (repeatedly) to convince my dog to drag me around on my sled. She was too smart to comply. When I attempted the same stunt with our goats, I had better luck but much less satisfaction. Who wants to be pulled around by goats? 

The Togwotee Mountain Lodge was our destination that morning. Togwotee (tow-go-tee) was a familiar location; we had stayed in one of their cabins during our first visit to Grand Teton National Park. Seeing the Lodge during the winter, however, was a mind-boggling experience. The vibrant green forests had been dulled by the grey snow clouds. Several feet of snow climbed to reach eaves and bury long-parked vehicles. Spear-like icicles hung threateningly from the roofs. Despite winter’s harsh touch, the lodge was full of life. It swallowed us in warmth when we trudged inside to check in. Snowmobiles whizzed past the windows to fuel up at a log cabin gas station. Guests relaxed in front of a crackling fireplace. The atmosphere was so inviting, I was temporarily reluctant to return to the cold. 

My reluctance disappeared, however, when we met the dogs. Their kennels were located a few minutes of snow trudging from the Lodge. This choice was extremely intentional. Have you ever experienced the cacophony of several dozen dogs housed in the same area? They are LOUD. The dogs were gleeful to have human company. They bounced up and down at the ends of their tethers. They leapt to the tops of their ramshackle houses (ramshackle is the correct adjective; some of the dogs were sleeping in snow-insulated plastic barrels). They barked, howled, yipped, and yowled. It was delightfully chaotic! Even more chaotic were the dogs chosen to be harnessed for our sled. Sled dogs love to run. The passion is tangible in their big dopey grins and their excited howls. As they were led across the yard, some of the dogs were so excited they couldn’t even keep all four paws on the ground! 

Our sled team was comprised of fourteen dogs. Unlike the movie Balto, these dogs were not Siberian Huskies. In fact, the movie’s protagonist is a better representation of a typical sled dog; he was a mutt with a lot of energy. Most of the Togwotee sled dogs were crosses of breeds known for their endurance and grit. Their varied appearances reflected their unique personalities. Rodger had a blue-grey coat and an intense, suspicious side-eye. Amos was golden brown and incredibly friendly. Chicken had big brown eyes with a constant expression of concern. And then there was Sherman. Sherman was a big, dopey dog with a face splashed with white. His pale eyebrows gave him the impression of perpetual confusion. Sherman was suspected to be part labrador retriever. His affable personality confirmed it. 

(As an aside, Sherman turned out to be a dog of many talents. While we were on our ride, he proved that it was possible to run and poop simultaneously. Because of his high-protein diet, it was quite the smelly discovery for us too. It was an impressive feat on Sherman’s part!)

When our sled guide gave the word, the dogs lurched into action. Our sled bumped softly over mounds of snow as the dogs settled into a steady trot. Almost as if a switch had been flipped, their excited barking immediately ceased. Our dogs became athletes. It was their time to shine. 

They carried us through pine forests draped with snow blankets. The eyes of white aspen trunks spotted the pale like dalmatian spots. Towards the center of our journey, our sled guide gave us the opportunity to try mushing for ourselves. Tyler planted his feet confidently on the footboards, gripping the handlebar as if he had been driving sled dogs his entire life. When I was given the chance to try, I surprised myself by saying no. To this day, I still don’t know why I did. Was it because I was warm and cozy tucked under the sled’s blankets? Was I afraid of tipping the sled over? I’m too young to have regrets, but I do regret that choice. If you ever get a chance to drive a dog sled, do it!

Too soon, our amazing experience came to an end. Our sled rounded the bend, and the cacophony of the kenneled dogs reached our ears again. Our sled hissed to a stop in the yard, our team looking tired and very happy. We gave them some final pets and reluctantly trudged back to our car. Why do the coolest experiences seem to end the quickest? 

We rounded out our day wildlife watching in Grand Teton. Since we hadn’t seen any elk that morning, we made it our mission to find some bison instead. Conveniently, a large herd of bison was grazing near the Triangle X Ranch, right at the base of the Tetons. Their large humps provided the muscle power necessary to swing their big heads through the snow. Like snowplows, they swung their heads from side to side, clearing the powder to the yellow grass underneath. Just after a golden sunset, we discovered a herd of bighorn sheep on Millers Butte just outside Jackson. They lay in clusters on the mountainside, casting dark silhouettes into the sky. When it got too dark to see the sheep anymore, we returned to Jackson for our favorite activity: window shopping. We strolled the boardwalks, shared an ice cream, and admired the paintings in the Wort Hotel. Not quite ready to surrender to the cold, we even rented ice skates and tried our hand at the small rink in the town square. Tyler and I are both pretty bad skaters, but the atmosphere was excellent. Upbeat jazz music provided a tempo for our slips and near-misses. The neon bronco rider above the Million Dollar Cowboy Bar cast a red glow across the gleaming ice. Tall pines decorated with snow and Christmas lights whirled by in a warm blur. At each corner of the square, the infamous elk antler arches glowed with their own Christmas lights. A warm bubble of joy bubbled up inside me as I slipped my hand into Tyler’s. We were far from Ohio but right at home. Anywhere is home as long as I’m with Tyler. He makes everything feel just right.