Radnut Admin Explore Grand Targhee Resort
The road to Grand Targhee begins with an absence. In June 2024, a section of Wyoming Highway 22 simply disappeared, tumbling down the mountainside near milepost 12.8 as if the Tetons themselves had grown tired of human presumption. The temporary solution—an 11.2% grade with hairpin turns that would make a mountain goat pause—serves as an inadvertent gatekeeper. Those who brave it find themselves participating in an act of pilgrimage, one that leads to what might be called the anti-Jackson Hole: a ski resort that doesn’t know it’s supposed to be famous.
A Tale of Two Mountains
While Jackson Hole preens in the spotlight of skiing’s global stage, Grand Targhee cultivates its anonymity like a rare alpine flower. The difference between the two resorts, separated by the mighty wall of the Tetons, is not just geographic but philosophical. It’s the difference between performance and presence, between showing and being.
The Gillett family, who acquired the resort in 2000 for $11.4 million through their entity GT Acquisition I, LLC, seem to understand this distinction. Under their stewardship, Targhee has grown like a tree in good soil—steadily, naturally, without forced acceleration. Their 2018 Master Development Plan reads less like a corporate manifesto and more like a letter to future generations, balancing ambition with respect for what already exists.
The Mountain’s Grammar
The mountain reveals itself in layers. Mary’s Nipple, accessible by a short hike from the Dreamcatcher lift, stands as a testament to the resort’s philosophy: rewards come to those who make the effort. The name itself, like many features in the American West, carries a hint of irreverence, a touch of the pioneer spirit that still animates these slopes. Ski patrol veterans, when asked about their off-duty runs, speak of Powder Cache Glades with the knowing smile of someone sharing a family recipe. “This mountain has a soul,” one says, and the statement hangs in the crisp mountain air like a declaration of independence from the increasingly corporatized world of winter sports.
A Landscape of Stories
The terrain—2,602 acres of it—unfolds like a narrative. Take The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly, a triple-threat run off the Blackfoot lift that reads like a short story told in three acts: the opening cruise, the complicated middle passage, and the resolution that leaves you changed, if slightly breathless. Das Boat, a steep chute that demands both technical skill and philosophical acceptance, serves as a reminder that the best lines are often the ones that make us question our choices right up until the moment of commitment.
Summer’s Different Rhythms
When summer arrives and the snow retreats to the highest shadows, Grand Targhee transforms but doesn’t fundamentally change. The mountain bikers come, following 70 miles of trails that range from gentle meditation to technical poetry. The fishermen appear on the Teton River, the Henry’s Fork, and the South Fork of the Snake, practicing their ancient art in waters that seem to flow directly from the pages of Norman Maclean.
Monday Nights at Dornan’s
The mountains that divide these valleys also create their gathering places. Cross to the Jackson Hole side, especially in the warmer months, and you’ll find yourself drawn to Dornan’s in Moose, where Monday nights have become sacred to those who understand these peaks’ pull. Here, the Hootenanny unfolds weekly under the stewardship of Bill Briggs, whose presence carries the weight of both history and legend. Briggs, who in 1971 became the first person to ski the Grand Teton—a feat that redefined what was possible in American mountaineering—still emcees these gatherings, his voice carrying the authority of someone who knows these mountains in both their fury and their grace.
The Hootenanny itself feels less like a scheduled event and more like a weekly reunion of mountain souls. Local musicians share songs that echo off the Teton walls, their music carrying stories of peaks and valleys, of triumph and respect. It’s become a pilgrimage of sorts, a place where everyone who holds these mountains in their heart must come at least once, though once is rarely enough. In Briggs’ continued presence, and in the weekly gathering of those who live in the mountain’s shadow, you find something increasingly rare: a tradition that hasn’t been curated for tourism but simply endures because it must, like the mountains themselves.
The Practical Matters
The resort’s lodging options—Sioux Lodge Suites, Teewinot Lodge, Targhee Lodge—reflect the same unpretentious functionality that characterizes the mountain itself. They’re places to rest, to prepare for the next day’s adventure, not destinations in themselves. The nearby towns of Driggs and Victor, Idaho, provide alternatives for those who prefer their accommodations with a side of local color.
Getting here requires intention. Jackson Hole Airport (JAC) serves as the primary gateway, though some choose Idaho Falls Regional Airport (IDA), each offering its own equation of convenience versus scenic reward. The drive, especially in winter, demands respect—a fitting prelude to a mountain that has never confused accessibility with compromise.
A Mountain That Waits
In the end, Grand Targhee stands as a reminder of what skiing was before it became an industry—a way of moving through winter landscapes that somehow makes us more fully human. Its untouched powder, its community of dedicated locals, its resistance to the siren song of luxury amenities, all speak to a deeper truth: that the best experiences are often the ones that don’t announce themselves as experiences at all.
The temporary road that now leads to Targhee, with its steep grade and demanding turns, serves as an apt metaphor for the resort itself. It requires something from you—attention, respect, perhaps a touch of courage. But those who make the journey find something increasingly rare in the modern world: a place that exists primarily for itself, content to be discovered by those who understand that the best destinations are often the ones that don’t try too hard to be destinations at all.
