A picnic is a feast of geography, in which human power, self-reliance, and myriad snacks carry you across leagues of water, land, and sky.
The first was the Grand Teton Picnic, completed in July 2012 after I squandered years wondering if I could. From Jackson I bicycled to Jenny Lake, swam across, climbed the Grand Teton, demolished half a pizza, and returned the same way.
Inspired by the experience, a handful of friends joined me for a Grand picnic the following summer, provisioned with pizza, chicken broth, pickled cucumbers, boiled potatoes and jelly beans. Now the idea has spread to more people, more lakes and more mountains in the Tetons and beyond.
All the main peaks in the range have now been included in picnics, some via multiple routes. Mt. Moran is the apex for two picnics: the Moranic, which crosses Leigh Lake to ascend the CMC Route, and the Moronic, which crosses Jackson Lake to attack the peak via the northeast ridge. Most impressively, in 2017 Ryan Burke completed the Grand Traverse Picnic, traversing thirteen Tetons and swimming twice across Jenny in two days. Oh the superhumanity!
Is picnicking contrived? Isn’t every sport contrived, except chasing meat with spears? I would say picnicking rejects contrivance, seeking the fairest means of embracing landscapes in all their depth and scale.
Picnics have been savored in Montana, California, Idaho, and Colorado, but such adventures need not be limited to mountains, lakes, swimming, or climbing. Your own picnic in your own location could include roller-blading, bleacher running, and kayaking. Ice skating, cross country skiing, and fat biking. Stand Up Paddleboarding, skateboarding, and surfing. To me, the essence of a picnic is that it’s human-powered from start to finish, and something about it scares you.
Last summer I finished my most outlandish meal yet, the Hoodnic, or Mt. Hood Picnic: I swam back and forth across the Columbia River (the part that scared me), biked 35 miles to Mt. Hood, climbed to the top (for a cumulative elevation gain of more than 11,000 feet), skied back down, and rode back to the Columbia. There are innumerable magnificent picnics we could have. The possibilities tantalize, even as they terrorize.
A picnic is most rewarding — life-changing even — when it forces you to train, plan, fret, organize, assess, and then leaves you in the dark next to a freezing lake where you have to decide if you’ve got the cajones to keep going. In the banquet of picnicking, as in any worthwhile adventure, the transformational seasoning is uncertainty.
Here’s to your own daunting daydreams,
David
Images of the first Moranic by David Stubbs