I love snowmobiling! Six of my church buddies who’d never been on a sled joined me in Jackson Hole, WY, for two days of jaw-dropping beauty, exhilarating speed, and moments of courage. Huge thanks to Jackson Hole Adventure Rentals (Alpine location) for great sleds, a fantastic location, and the freedom to rip it up.
I’ve snowmobiled in 4 time zones across 3 countries, but I had never taken a sled airborne until February 27, 2021. What. A. Rush! All of my internal warning lights and buzzers were buzzing at this moment—because I had also never landed a flying snowmobile before. I was the first in our group to get my sled off the ground (hard to tell from this angle), but I was the only one all weekend not to stick the landing.
On our first day of riding, this is where we turned around to head to the shop. See these smiles? That’s why my heart so enjoys inviting my friends to join me on adventures. These boys now have memories they’ll reference for the rest of their lives. We’ll have jokes for years. I’m ridiculously rich in the friendship account, and weekends like this accrue huge interest to the value of those relationships.
We came to Jackson Hole to traverse the Grey’s River trail system. When we got to our first crossing of Grey’s River each day, we stopped and prayed not just a benediction but also a request for supernatural vision, for expanded wonder, for unavoidable worship. When we got back to this bridge at the end of our second day of riding, we huddled in prayer again to thank God for answering all of those prayers. God filled our souls, rejuvenated our spirits, and revealed his ridiculous goodness to us.
I invited lots of buddies on this trip, knowing only a few would be able to leap the hurdles of scheduling, finances, vacation days, etc. I didn’t know who’d say yes. These six dudes were the ones sovereignly planned for this trip. We easily gained consensus at every decision or easily fell in line when someone would take the lead. We celebrated each other, deferred to each other, and fanned the flames of wonder and excitement in each other.
We took turns dropping off this tabletop and then blistering up it to jump off it. We played like kids, goading each other to go faster, bigger, higher. My rib cage was bursting with joy, watching my buddies push themselves.
One of Ansel Adams’ most famous photographs was snapped on this bluff, looking at these same Tetons. Though tired from a long day of riding and digging out stuck sleds, my friends rose two hours before sunrise to join me on a drive up to the Snake River Overlook to watch the moon set behind the alpenglow of the sunrise. Back home, I see the sunrise most Sunday mornings in the parking lot of my church. Despite cold toes on this -3ºF morning, my heart was warmed to share this view and this moment with four of my parking lot teammates.
Prayer feels different when offered in a physically-connected manner. We huddled like this at the prayer bridge over Grey’s River at the start of our second day of riding. That prayer set the tone for our attitudes and awareness. We rode a lot of the 102 miles we covered this day with our heads on a swivel, absorbing rugged beauty.
We encountered literally hundreds of elk from our snowmobiles—sometimes in the path right in front of us. We missed out on moose and bison, but these hardy creatures captivated our attention. These resilient creatures brought our sleds to a stop multiple times.
When we weren’t riding atop river banks, we broke open into gorgeous valleys or charged up winding hill climbs or frolicked in open fields. Every direction we looked offered a different variation on the same thematic elements of beauty—unique outcroppings, diverse ridgelines, unpatterned timber, rolling paths, and changing weather.
On this trip, Ron DeVos was the man. You should’ve heard us yelling in celebration before he even landed this high-speed jump—some of us with arms raised. Ron may not have earned a laurel from Caesar for this jump, but he received the effusive praise of his friends with this single act of bravery. He had the longest, heaviest sled; and he got it further off the ground than any of us got ours.
I get a kick out of this freeze-frame from my jump video. It looks like I’m surfing with my feet on the side rail.
I almost caused what would’ve been a dangerous accident, when Dave stopped in front of me. At times, I struggled to stay attentive to the trail and rider in front of me—distracted by my surroundings. We traversed miles and miles of remote, barely-domesticated wilderness. Nature continued on with its determined pragmatism, unphased by the loud brappp-brapping of us intruders.
I got this machine up over 80mph at least five times, topping out at 84mph—all on a road with speed limit signs that read “35.” The frenzy of those moments juxtaposed quiet solitary moments like sitting here, waiting for the riders behind me. We didn’t have music in our helmets. If we had, the abrupt shift required from my Adrenaline Rush playlist to my Desert Devotions one would’ve been jarring. It’s strange that you can feel loud accomplishment and tranquil worship in moments that adjacent.
We spent the day we should’ve been acclimating to altitude digging out each other with our bare hands. As a good leader—haha—I went first … in getting stuck. Turns out, we weren’t ready for hill climbing just yet.
We were beat after the first day of riding, as our inexperience led us to moments of sunken sleds (usually on hill faces) that required great efforts of digging and packing, lifting and turning sleds in powder that got as deep as our waists. Formo and I sunk ours twice. Dave and Ron sunk theirs once apiece. Jeremy, Joel, and Adam proved their friendship with sacrificial climbing at altitude to claw at the snow and yank on heavy handles.
We stopped for lunch and fuel at the Box Y Ranch. It’s wild to eat at a restaurant where the only vehicles in the parking lot are snowmobiles.
The thick-fur horses at the Box Y Ranch grazed in open fields, which left their trailers for these wild horses.
Our outfitter recommended we try to make it to this ridge top. He promised sweeping views. As you can see, he wasn’t wrong.
If snowmobiles pulled into Sheetz back home, I’d do a double-take. Out in Wyoming, sleds at the pump is part of winter life. I used the most fuel in our group. Haha. 15.9 gallons from 13 hours of riding. Turns out, you don’t get great gas mileage running more than double the speed limit.
On our second day of the trip, Jeremy headed off to snowboard the steep slopes of Jackson Hole’s legendary Mountain Resort. We rendezvoused for dinner, where the portion sizes challenged all of us. Jeremy usually has enviable portion control and is very particular about his nutrition. His splurge for a rack of ribs didn’t seem that extraordinary until the server dropped this monstrosity over his shoulder. Suddenly, Jeremy’s brief departure from self-control hit him regret.
This is the face of a man who conquered a challenge but wish he hadn’t engaged it in the first place.
I prefer Tarmac strolls over jet bridges as a rule—even more so when snowcapped peaks guard the far side of the runway.
It seemed fitting that we and the moon said goodbye to Jackson hole at the same time.
One of the parts of organizing adventure trips that charges my batteries is watching relationships grow in real-time. It’s wild to feel your friendship deepening as it’s happening. It’s pure joy for me to watch my friends going through that process right next to me—and knowing that I got to play a small, catalyst role in that connection. On this trip, I particularly enjoyed watching Ron and Dave hit it off. Both are endlessly curious. They ask good, clarifying questions. They both readily share what they’re learning, and neither shy away from inquiring into “the thing behind the thing.” We prayed often on this trip, and it was good to listen in on their conversations with God.
