Horseback Riding in the Grand Teton National Park

Our rental car, a small black Sudan, skittered chaotically along a gravel road that branched off from the main paved road that wound through Grand Teton National Park. This unpaved gravel path took us ten miles up to Swift Creek Outfitters.

There are a lot of Outfitters in the Grand Tetons and other national parks. Though my mind immediately hops to the clothing stores of my youth “American Eagle Outfitters” and the like, the term refers to any establishment that can “outfit you” with everything you’ll need for an experience, especially an outdoor experience, like hiking or kayaking or (in our case) horseback riding!

It was my first full day in Grand Teton National Park, and one of my must-do agenda items for the perfect weekend in the Grand Tetons (as a mediocre, outdoors-person) was to get on some horses and ride up to a viewpoint that promised to show off the epic peak of those mountains against the blue Wyoming sky.

How we chose Swift Creek Outfitters for horseback riding in the Grand Tetons:

It was my cousin who picked this particular ranch. She a no-frills woman who doesn’t believe that a more expensive excursion will be a better one. After reviewing all the trail rides from all the various ranches in the Park, she chose Swift Creek for its high-quality website and lower price point than some of the fancier ranches.

Did I mention she also works on Park websites (and other websites)? A good website will always win her over. That, and an even better price point.

She recommended we bring cash, as she remembered them being strict on payment methods toward the end of their season, given they had to pick up and move most of the horses (a select few would remain for the hunting season) to Riverside, Wyoming for the winter.

Starting our horseback ride

We paid for the two-hour “viewpoint tour” at a little wooden stall set up in the middle of the ranch. There woman working was quick and efficient. We signed on the line (skimming the pages before doing so), paid, then made a pit stop at the trailor/bathroom that was located to the back right of where we’d paid.

When our bladders were emptied, we walked to stand closer to the horses, under the shade of a large tree.

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. 

There was another group who had checked in right before we had, and they were called over by a cowboy to mount their horses and head off on their chosen one-hour tour. After another ten minutes or so, a cowboy in a white cowboy hat, sunbleached jeans, and a checkered button-down shirt acknowledged us.

He asked us about our previous horseback riding experience. We shared that we’d ridden horses growing up (we both rode at a ranch out in Waimanalo on Oahu). My cousin had gone on a trail ride fairly recently, but I shared that I hadn’t ridden in years. I couldn’t tell if he was listening or not, but he repeated back “used to ride.”

Then he called over two other cowboys (one looked to be about 13-years-old) 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.

We mounted using green plastic mounting blocks and that was that.

My cousin also preferred this Outfitter because they were more lenient on protective gear like helmets. I, for one, am a big believer in helmets, but figured we’d be fine on this slow-moving trail ride.

Conversations with Our Teenage Horseback Riding Trail Guide

We were then introduced to our guide. He was a full-blown cowboy wearing a big ol’ cowboy hat which sat atop wavy, shoulder-length black hair. A knife with a big white, curving handle was tucked into his belt and he was introduced as 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 the flat lowland valley. To our left, the forest, lines of trees grew up on the mountain. To our right, only a few bursts of trees grew from the tall yellow grassy meadow. 

Dante got to talking after a while and asked us how old we were. When we told him our respective ages (we’re both in our thirties), he seemed to think us quite old and wise.

“Any y’all have kids then?”

No.

Then he asked how old we thought he was. 

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

“Late twenties?” I added.

“Just turned nineteen,” came the reply as he moved with the steady rhythm of his horse’s gate.

Realizing he was still a teenager helped soften the blow of his obvious surprise at our own ages.

From that point on, he had a lot to say. Gone was the quiet cowboy type, and in its place was the eager youth who was simply performing one of the tasks at his summer job.

He asked if we liked hunting. As a vegetarian, my answer was obvious, but I was glad that my cousin was there to say that she’d gone on an elk hunt the previous year. No frills woman, remember?

He was pretty stoked about that response and tumbled into an explanation about how much he loved hunting. He would do as many of these trail rides as he needed to just so he could enjoy the hunting season.

Then, of course, the subject of taxidermy was introduced to the conversation. My cousin had a friend who was pretty into taxidermy. This sent the teenager into a tailspin of excitement. He was super eager to learn this trade.

In my kook/vegetarian/mediocre/amateur outdoors-person mind, taxidermy referred to the little collections found in those curiosity shoppes in San Francisco. Usually mice or squirrels or small animals and often set up into little scenes. Sometimes beloved pets to stay with you forever. Gothic shit. I wondered what little scenes people were creating in Wyoming, and I was especially curious how Dante would stage his mice.

So I asked, “what are people taxidermying here?”

“Shoulder mounts, mostly.”

Ah, we were talking about two very different forms and uses for taxidermy. The ones he spoke of were trophies, not a way to keep beloved pets near him or create artistic scenes. I decided to just sit back and enjoy the movement of the horse and the beautiful scenery around me. I had nothing to contribute to this conversation.

Encountering a Lone Wolf in the Grand Teton National Park Valley

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 at it. My cousin and I followed after him, both experienced enough at riding to move at a faster pace, though cautious about the predator near us. 

“Have to chase him off,” Dante said as a way of an explanation.

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-mixed 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. 

I couldn’t help but feel sorry for the wolf. Sometimes, nature is terribly cruel, and I hated to think of him suffering, pushed out from his pack, eating horse poop to survive. I wanted to help him, but it was not the time and it was certainly not my place. The world is the world and it’s better to not interfere with what nature is working at, I suppose.

Horseback Riding Up the Mountain for Views of the Grand Tetons

It was only a short ride through the remainder of the valley, after which we turned to our left to enter the forest and begin our steady climb.

Behind my cousin, I couldn’t help but giggle as her horse tooted out gas like a bubbling machine all the way up. Listen, hot girls have tummy issues, and I felt that it was somehow propelling them (even if I was on the receiving end).

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

After another ten minutes or so, we finally reached the clearing at the top, and Dante hopped off his horse. He wanted to try to get the dog, Wiley, to hop up and sit on his horse for a picture.

“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, how differently we saw the world was exposed. The uglier, the better for me, as long as I’m saving an animal’s life. Still, I respected his upbringing, and interests, and values.

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). Now, 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. 

From the backs of our horses, my cousin and I took in the view. Wildfires had 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 taking some pictures, it was time to head back down and we started along the mountain path toward the valley. 

Dante let us trot a bit more once we were back 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 back to Swift Creek Outfitters, 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 into the central portion 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.