The Mount Hunt Divide is a relatively uncommon and remote destination for many people hiking in Grand Teton National Park. Sandwiched between Granite and Open Canyons, it sees little traffic compared to its canyon neighbors just a bit farther north. Even so, it provides stunning views up Granite Canyon, and just a bit to its north, unparalleled mountain landscapes in Open Canyon. It can be accessed one of two ways: by hiking up Granite Canyon, or Open Canyon. Likewise, the two could also be strung together for a lengthy loop of about 20 miles.
During a particulalrly active summer hiking in the Tetons, I was day-hiking this loop with what I thought was going to be a clear day. Ascending up Granite Canyon, I could see clouds in the southwest beginning to form, the direction from which most storms approach the Teton Mountains. It wasn’t anything of concern yet, but it was something I was keeping my eye on.
As I continued to ascend, my focus and concern shifted not from my ascent and the increasingly wondrous views around me, but to the clouds growing in the southwest, beginning to appear as if they were already over the Tetons. With any real danger still dozens of miles away, I worryingly maintained my climb. Naturally, that was when I heard the first rumble of thunder. I stopped and looked around, now seriously evaluating my options.
Looking at my progress, it appeared as though I was roughly a mile from the Mount Hunt Divide, the high point of the loop. And while the divide is just barely within treeline, it also sits just below two peaks that could easily draw in energy in the form of lightning. There were two options that ran through my brain (exactly what I should have been doing instead of stopping to think over options).
If I were to turn back, I’d be descending back down through Granite Canyon. While I would immediately begin dropping away from the nearby lightning rods, the canyon is broken up with frequent large meadows, adding to exposure. Likewise, due to the trail system, it would be close to 10 miles before I’m back in a consistent forest. By then, the storm will most likely have passed.
On the other hand, the divide is only about a mile farther. Of course that comes with a strenuous climb, topping off the strenuous climb I’ve already been making. And if I don’t hurry, I’d potentially be meeting the storm at the Mount Hunt Divide, an undesirable outcome. Yet just on the other side of the divide, the trail drops into a forest. I knew there was one exposed section of trail, but then I’d be safe in a large forest while descending Open Canyon.
As I listened to the thunder grow louder, I was unable to choose one or the other. It didn’t feel like there was a right choice. Fortunately, it also didn’t feel like there was a wrong choice.
Putting my faith in my body (and my quick decision break), I began running up the trail toward the divide, quickly discoering running up a steep trail at high elevation is quite challenging. Every time I began to slow down, a crack of thunder, growing ever closer, would shoot a bit of adrenaline through me so I could push on a little quicker.
I looked back obsessively wondering if I had made the right decision. I could now see rain over the Tetons in the southwest. And of course the Tetons are not a wide range, being very young for mountains. As such, the storm was just a few miles away, and lightning has been known to reach out of its storm perimeter farther than I wanted to think in that moment.
With thunder now sounding like it was cracking just up Granite Canyon (because it probably was), I rounded the last switchback and bolted for the divide, where I had anticipated enjoying the view with some lunch just a couple of hours prior.
At last cresting the divide, I instead looked back up Granite Canyon as rain began to fill in its higher elevations. I raises my camera, took the above shot, then began sprinting through the thin forest down into Open Canyon. Thunder was echoing off the peaks and rocky canyon walls all around me. It was equally sublime and majestic and completely terrifying.
From the Mount Hunt Divide, it’s about a mile to the expansive forest, where I knew I’d be safe(r). I just needed to get below treeline and through the large clearing.
As I reached the clearing, bits of hail began pummeling the terrain from the sky. I took the opportunity, while still under a few trees, to grab my rain jacket out from my backpack. I rain-proofed everything in pack, threw the jacket on, tucked my camera inside the jacket against my chest, flipped my backpack back onto my back, and made a dash downward through the clearing as thunder roared and hail pelted, zipping my jacket up along the way.
Down a pair of switchbacks I darted, panicked by the thunder echoing off the cliffs, but grateful it wasn’t from a strike that affected me. Quicker than expected, I entered the relative safety of the old woods.
My run slowed to a walk. I breathed deeper. I smiled as my pants grew increasingly chilly as they quickly became completely soaked in the continuing hail storm, knowing I was more or less sheltered from the worst of it. The thunder continued to echo through the canyon and forests, while I maintained by steady downhill descent. The pelting hail warmed into a steady rain, ensuring everything outside of my rain jacket would be thoroughly soaked: backpack, pants, shoes, etc.
A few miles later and I had cleared the forest. The storm had only moments prior moved on, leaving a diminishing drizzle in its wake. The sun was back out, and in a break from the forests along a rushing creek, opted to set a few things out to dry while I had my belated lunch.