Our rental car, a small black Sudan, skittered chaotically along the gravel road that branched off from the main street in Grand Teton National Park. We were on a gravel path that took us ten miles up to Swift Creek Outfitters.

An Outfitter, I would learn from my cousin, is any establishment that “outfits you” with everything you need for an experience, especially an outdoor experience (like fishing or kayaking or—in our case—horseback riding).

We were headed there for a trail ride where we’d take our horses up to a viewpoint that showcased the Tetons against a backdrop of sky. 

My cousin had found this outfitter a few weeks prior to my arrival in Wyoming. She’d chosen it for its high-quality website and more affordable pricing than some of the fancier ranches listed as options within the park. More affordable also meant a bit more lax when it came to gear (we would not be required to wear a helmet) and a bit more strict about payment methods (cash only in September, this being their last month of the year for trail rides). 

Most of the horses would be moving to Riverside, Wyoming for the winter though a few would stay back for the October hunting season.

Starting our ride

We paid for the two-hour “viewpoint tour” at a little wooden stall that was set up in the middle of the ranch. The woman working was quick and efficient and we were soon making our way to the trailer-style bathroom before going to stand near the horses to await instruction. 

While we waited, we gave pets to a muddy Saint Bernard who was ambling around and a black-and-white sheepdog who was sporting a bit of a limp after having gotten into a scuffle with a wolf a few weeks back. 

Another group was called and they left on their one-hour tour. It took about ten more minutes for a cowboy in a white cowboy hat, sunbleached jeans, and a checkered button down shirt to acknowledge us. He asked us about our riding experience (we’d both ridden horses in Hawaii growing up, but I hadn’t ridden-ridden in years). I couldn’t tell if he was listening or not, but he repeated back “used to ride.”

He called over two other cowboys (one looked to be about thirteen) and had them bring over two horses. Mine was a speckled reddish roan horse who was small in stature (just like me) and my cousin got a black horse who was quite a bit taller.

Meeting our guide

We were then introduced to our guide. He was a full-blown cowboy wearing a big ol’ hat which sat atop wavy, shoulder-length black hair. A knife with a big white, curving handle was tucked into his belt and the cowboy on the ground told us his name was Dante. 

“Y’all ready?” Dante asked, lifting his chin to look at us.

“Yep,” we nodded. 

Then we followed him out from the ranch, across a stream, and through flat lowland valley. To our left, the forest grew up on the mountain. To our right, only a few bursts of trees grew from tall yellow grass. 

He got to talking and asked us how old we were. When we told him (31 and 34), he asked how old we thought he was. 

“The back of your head looks twenty-five,” my cousin said. 

“Late twenties?” I asked. 

“Just turned nineteen.”

From that point on, he had a lot to say, and his youthfulness shone through much more strongly than his previous demeanor had allowed it. 

He asked if we liked hunting (thank goodness my cousin was there to say she’d been along on an elk hunt last year) because my response would have been “no, and I’m a vegetarian, and I don’t understand the appeal of shooting an animal in the slightest.”

He went on to explain how much he loved hunting, how he’d come to go on horseback hunting trips, but to do so needed to also help with the trail rides. We listened and my cousin told him about her friend who was also into taxidermy. 

Dante got excited then! He was eager to learn to taxidermy as well. 

In my kook mind, this meant creating little scenes with mice or squirrels. 

“What are people taxidermying here?” I asked.

“Shoulder mounts, mostly.”

I realized that we were talking about two very different forms and uses for taxidermy and decided to just sit back and enjoy the movement of the horse and the beautiful scenery around me. 

Encountering a lone wolf

Another group passed us and pointed. 

In the grassy valley was a dun-colored wolf, trotting along. Excited to see the wolf, we were surprised when Dante began trotting directly for it. We followed after him, both experienced enough to move at a faster pace, though cautious about the predator near us. 

“Have to chase him off,” Dante said. 

The wolf had been chased out from his pack, likely because he was sick or weak, and had been following the horses around and eating their poop. 

A black husky-mutt had come along with the other trail ride and with a whistle, Dante called the dog over to us. He would accompany us for the rest of our ride. 

“If he wasn’t here, the wolf might have come closer. If there’s no dog, he’ll sometimes come up right near the horses,” Dante told us. 

We had chased him off into the small patch of trees at center of the valley. 

For my part, I couldn’t help but feel for the wolf. Sometimes, nature is terribly cruel, and I hated to think of him suffering, pushed out from his pack, forced to eat horse poop to survive. 

Up the mountain

It was only a short distance further within the valley before we entered the forest to our left and began the steady climb to the top. I was behind my cousin on the ride and we couldn’t help but giggle as her horse tooted all the way up. 

Hot girls with tummy issues applies to horses as well, I guess. 

The way was steeper than expected and the horses moved slowly up over branches, roots, and fallen trees. 

We finally reached the clearing at the top, and Dante hopped off and tried to get the dog, Wiley, to sit on his horse. 

This is when the kids’ youth really showed through. 

“Wiley’s a good lookin’ dog,” he kept saying, “I’m gonna get myself a dog. I want a good lookin’ one; a husky. I’d be okay with a mutt too but there are some ugly dogs out there. Wiley here is cool lookin’. I wish I could just have Wiley.”

Again, our differences were great as the uglier, the better for me as long as I’m saving an animal’s life. Still, I had to respect the difference in upbringings and interests and values between myself and my teenage guide. 

His grandfather had put him on a horse when he was five years old. His family was cattle ranchers in South Dakota. He’d left home at seventeen (not because they kicked him out but because he’d been ready to make a life of his own). He’d just turned nineteen. He loved to hunt and he needed a good dog that could be with horses and be out hunting with him. 

We took in the view. The wildfires clouded the sky, making it less of a vista than perhaps it would have been on another day. Still, the big Mount Moran was visible with the white patches of snow remaining on its peak and the shadows of crevices on the rock face. 

After some pictures, it was time to head back down and we started along the path toward the valley. 

He let us trot a bit more down on flat ground and we enjoyed moving a bit more quickly than the slow walk we’d kept for most of the two hours. 

Along the way, we saw the little black Sudan rental car, and waved to my parents who snapped a pic of us on our way back to the ranch. 

Just past the first paddock and back into the central part of the Outfitters, we dismounted, tipped Dante, and said goodbye to the horses, the dogs, and the experience as a whole. 

It had been the perfect first activity in Grand Teton National Park, but now it was time for some grub.