As soon as I entered Grand Teton National Park it became one of my favorite places in the United States.

I had just spent a few days in Yellowstone National Park in continual amazement of its natural pageantry, bizarre landscapes, geothermal activity, and abundant wildlife. Now, only 10 miles south, I drove into Grand Teton and was immediately greeted by countless golden-yellow quaking aspen trees, one of the most beautiful things in the world that are yellow. It was distractingly pretty, so I pulled over to the shore of Jackson Lake to take it all in. I exited my car, breathed in the purest air imaginable, and reveled in the explosion of color all around me—the yellow aspens, the green pine and fir trees, the blue sky, the white clouds, the orange butterflies visiting purple asters. I stood in the sunshine, watching the rainstorm brewing across Jackson Lake in darkening grays.

With an introduction like that, I knew the next few days would be spectacular.

Much smaller than Yellowstone’s 2.2 million acres, Grand Teton is 310,000 acres of nature’s best. Established as a national park in 1929, the park’s name derives from the French-speaking trappers who called the tallest mountains les trois tétons. Within its borders you’ll find more than 1,000 species of vascular plants, dozens of species of animals, and 300 bird species, plus fish, amphibians, and reptiles. I was excited to end my nearly three-week romp around the national parks in this region, including Glacier National Park in Montana and Waterton Lakes National Park in Alberta, here at Grand Teton, one of the top five things to see in Wyoming.

I was also excited to be staying in the park at Signal Mountain Lodge, right on the shore of Jackson Lake across from the serrated peaks of the northern Teton Range that saw their way into the unobscured sky. The lodge traces its roots to the late 1920s, when it provided accommodations for wealthy outdoorsmen. By the 1930s, it hadn’t evolved much beyond a trio of small log cabins without plumbing. Over the next 40 years, however, the private owners constructed more guest cabins, a general store, two restaurants, a comfortable lobby, and a gift store building that compose the lodge today. Famed for its views, Signal Mountain Lodge has also been acknowledged for its sustainability efforts, scoring the Environmental Achievement Award from both the Department of the Interior and the National Park Service.

I was spending four nights here, savoring the unparalleled scenery right outside my door. I was occupying the comfortably rustic central room of a three-unit stand-alone cabin. Every day I would retreat to my private little porch to take in magnificent views, marvel at the mercurial weather, and await visiting fauna, from chipmunks to white-tailed deer to dragonflies.

On my way to dinner the first night, I took a little stroll along the rocky shore of the lake. At 15 miles long and seven miles wide, Jackson Lake is one of the largest high-altitude lakes in the United States, with an elevation of 6,772’ above sea level. That keeps things cool—the temperature of the water averages below 60°, even in summer. I admired the massive peaks across the water and watched the sailboats floating in the marina, until my evening meal at the lodge’s The Peaks beckoned: roasted garlic soup with shaved Grana Padano cheese and ciabatta crostini; burgundy wine–braised bison with button mushrooms, carrots, pearl onions, and baby potatoes; and a slice of Kentucky bourbon chocolate pecan pie.

The next morning, an impenetrable overcast sky greeted me. So, with predictions for much better weather in the following days, I lingered over a leisurely breakfast in the lodge’s The Trapper Grill (an omelet with buffalo sausage, mushrooms, onions, peppers, and cheddar and jack cheeses; hash browns and a biscuit) before driving down US-89 to spend the day in Jackson. Along the way, I was mesmerized by the scenery. To the east, the flat valley stretches on seemingly forever. To the west, the jagged Tetons rise up dramatically from the valley floor. A dedicated bike trail runs through and from the park for 35 miles into Jackson—one of the world’s best bike rides.

Jackson’s a fun, albeit a bit touristy, town, and it’s home to the National Museum of Wildlife Art, which shouldn’t be missed. When weather doesn’t cooperate for outdoor activities in the park, it’s a charming place to spend a day.

I was hoping the weather would cooperate the following morning, but I rose early to find myself practically immersed in the thickest fog I’ve ever seen, completely covering the lake and hiding the mountains. By the time I finished my breakfast of sourdough stuffed with blackberry sauce and cream cheese, however, the fog had lifted, and I was energized to dive deeper into the park.

Driving through Grand Teton is a pure pleasure (and sometimes a bumpy trial). My first destination was Oxbow Bend Turnout, one of the most iconic spots in the park and a landscape artist’s fantasy. Professional photographers with their cameras and tripods and painters with their easels and palettes had already lined up on the shore of a backwater of the Snake River to catch the early-morning reflection of Mt. Moran in the waters. Named for western frontier landscape artist Thomas Moran, this massive mountain rises 12,605’ above sea level and commands rapt attention with its glaciers and gray face. Brilliant foliage was ablaze, ringing the placid water in full autumn fires of red, orange, and yellow.

Next I headed down a challenging gravel road to Two Ocean Lake, a quiet spot where I enjoyed enchanting lake reflections and noticed morning dew still beading the leaves of the trees surrounding me. Then I made my way to the Cunningham Cabin Historic Site—a lonesome 1885 cabin on a generous spread of prairie, with the mountains in the distance.

At the Snake River Overlook, the Snake River casually wends its way through the valley, leading your eyes to the Tetons. With no foothills approaching them, you witness their rugged faces in their entirety, from base to peak, in a magnificent display of billions of years of geologic activity.

The exceptionally bumpy gravel Schwabacher Road tested my grip on the steering wheel. As my car settled by the riverbank, I took a little hike along the Snake River, so clear I could see the rocky bed and hundreds of little slender fish flitting about. Here, I came across a small beaver weir, some ducks, and pink-purple milk thistles, all while enjoying the beguiling views of the mountains and a few glaciers.

Farther south, I explored one of the world’s best ghost towns—the abandoned Mormon settlement from the early 1900s with photogenic barns (the T.A. Moulton Barn is one of the most photographed structures within the park) and some rusting farm equipment set against the mountain backdrop and endless sagebrush.

I started to wrap up the day with multiple bison sightings and fantastic cloud formations. Just a couple of miles from my temporary home, I found the small and charming log Chapel of the Sacred Heart nestled in the woods, currently being visited by a couple of mule deer. I watched a soothing sunset before returning to The Peaks for dinner: potato and bean soup, pork tenderloin with pecan molasses crust, whipped maple bourbon sweet potatoes, and broccoli.

On my way to breakfast the next day, a sudden downpour caught me by surprise. I hurried inside the main building and stared out the picture window at the violent weather that came out of nowhere, thunder ricocheting off the walls of the mountains and rumbling all around me. Just as quickly as it arrived, the forceful storm passed, and calm and clear skies returned. The capricious weather keeps it all interesting here. Throughout the day, clouds present an ongoing show that shouldn’t be ignored: Docile clouds drifting by in long ribbons halfway up the faces of the mountains seem to separate the tops into floating islands, while fierce clouds cast the mountains in mysterious shadows and produce highly localized rainstorms. Rainbows follow storms. At sunset, against a peach and mauve sky, puffy clouds may scrape the peaks, remaining stagnant for seemingly endless amounts of time, anchored to the mountaintops and looking like the commencement of a volcanic plume.

After my breakfast of scrambled eggs, mushrooms, onions, peppers, tomatoes, broccoli, hash browns, feta cheese, and jack/cheddar cheeses, and a fresh-from-the-oven biscuit, I hopped in my car and spent a little time scrambling among the rocks of all shapes and colors and the yellow Billy Button flowers around Jackson Lake Dam, which, when it was built in 1916, increased the depth of Jackson Lake to 438’.

Then I steered onto the 21-mile Teton Park Road, one of the world’s best drives. Abutting and crossing over rivers and creeks, it runs closer to the base of the mountains than I-89, providing close-up views of the rocky mountains as they mightily rise up from the valley floor, their craggy peaks topped with snow and playing hide-and-seek with passing banks of clouds. Picnic areas along the way afford plenty of opportunities to enjoy a meal or a snack amid the grandeur all around you. Multiple turnouts provide glorious views, especially of Teton Glacier, Cascade Canyon, and Mt. Moran. Easily accessible trailheads that lead to more than 200 miles of trails enticed me to take a break from my car and go on a couple of hikes, one of my top five things to do in Wyoming. The first led to Jenny Lake, the second-largest lake in the park, with a depth exceeding 400’. The second was a 1.5-mile hike to Taggart Lake. This delightful trail through woods, fields, and mounds of rocks with undulating waves of sedimentary history ultimately rewarded me with an unbeatable view of jagged, snow-topped mountains, including Grand Teton (13,770’), idyllically reflected in the lake’s pristine water. I settled down here for a little lunch and was soon joined by some fearless chipmunks that climbed onto my backpack lying next to me and paid no attention to me, the blue dragonflies skimming across the water, or the bright red biplane flying far overhead.

Back in my car, I headed north and stopped at Menor’s Ferry Historic District to admire this remnant of homesteading and pioneer life in Jackson Hole, complete with barns housing old wagons, a replica of the original ferry across the river that Bill Menor built in 1894, a still-operating general store, a surprisingly spacious log cabin with a stone fireplace and a chair made from antlers, and the Chapel of the Transfiguration (1925), which has a rectangular window behind the altar that frames the Tetons beautifully.

When I returned to my cabin at about dusk, a deer was nosing around the steps, so we hung out together for a while. Then, after a refreshing one-hour nap, I drove up the narrow, winding, five-mile Mt. Signal Road that climbs 800’ to its climactic ending—the top of the mountain and great views at 7,720’. The unending glacial plain with the Snake River coursing through it was hypnotizing, especially as the sun set behind mountains and the moon rose from behind pink-hued clouds. A gentleman with a telescope was checking out the wildlife, and during the course of our colloquy we discovered that he had lived not far from me in New York for a year. Our common Brooklyn bond prompted him to generously let me take a few looks at the bison and the elk below, including two bulls in a tussle. Occasionally, I’d hear an elk bugling—a haunting sound I’m unlikely to ever forget.

I returned to The Peaks for a late dinner of sautéed Alaskan salmon piccata with asparagus, lemon, capers, and parsley over linguine; macaroni and cheese; and a blackberry margarita.

My last day arrived too quickly, and after breakfast I slowly made my way out of the park. Deer were snacking right outside the property of the lodge. I cruised at a leisurely pace through the park toward its southern exit, relishing every vista before the park was behind me and I was the better for having visited it.

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