Jackson Hole, WYO.-When is it time to leave Jackson Hole? 

This question came up a few times over the weekend, and I feel confident that many in the valley have thought this at one time, if not frequently – and there’s a good shot that you, like I, left for a period before making plans for permanent residence.

Two primary reasons for leaving are 1) it’s heartbreaking to make new friends every season only to lose them to better opportunities elsewhere, and 2) better opportunities elsewhere. 

A depressing extension to the first reason is the loss of a soul mate or two, which are difficult to find. The summer I arrived, I met a girl I cared about – she left to finish college and never returned. Then, the friend with whom I moved to Jackson departed after two years, and I succumbed to ambition after five.

I’ve always said that one has to earn a full-time life in Jackson by being comfortable with what’s available, in work as much in housing, clothing or nightlife, which recalls my frustration with some long-time homeowners who classify themselves as “working class” yet can’t see past their nostalgia to the realization that if they arrived in the valley today, they probably wouldn’t be able to buy. 

In a conversation on the topic of leaving, last weekend, at Lyndsay McCandless Contemporary – we agreed that it’s difficult to find people with whom to discuss and enrich our esoteric interests (i.e. to find soul mates). Plenty of folks are knowledgeable in other areas, but where is the joy of learned debate on a topic of little interest to anybody else?

A second conversation took place at Jackson Hole Mountain Resort after my lady went skiing for the first time. Upon learning that a Powder Shots photographer had caught her ripping Lower Werner during her lesson, I wanted to see for myself how her day went. The photographer – T, I’ll call him – had moved from Carlsbad, Calif. six months ago, and he said that rent and the regular farewells sometimes made life in Jackson difficult. 

T’s description of living with four other people in Rafter J recalled for me a year in which I lived with three friends – potluck dinners, movie nights with the girls next door, social and political debate, guitar playing in the living room, arguments with our downstairs neighbor. All-in-all, an evocative time I will never repeat, in part because two of those guys have moved.

But I’ve left something out: the immense beauty and accessibility of Western Wyoming played a role in both conversations I had about moving. My landlord summarized the feeling when I ran into her on the slopes, Saturday:  “Today, I’m so happy to be alive.”

No doubt, I felt the same – another viscerally fulfilling experience that might polish the edges of a meaningful life. The joy wells so that one’s eyes water – how could it not be meaningful?

On the other hand, freeriding could very well be escapism, something concrete in a world of metaphysical and ethical questions, civic ones too. For me last weekend, Bernie’s Bowl laps were an escape full of meaning. Tending to be cerebral, I appreciated the occasion to get out of my head, which also unfortunately made vulnerable my heart when later considering the many friends with whom I’ve ridden and now rarely talk. 

But to end optimistically, I’m confident in my lady as my new riding partner, and in lieu of esoteric conversations on Kafka or meaningful (rather than polarizing) dialogue on development, I’m willing to spend some time on the immense beauty and accessibility of Western Wyoming – the reason we stay here. PJH