I want to thank American supermodel - Brooks Nader - for playing to my narrative that freezing January morning beneath the Tetons. She is very game; in fact, she may well serve as my enabler. Not many girls we work with could pull off that look in those temperatures. The Devil may well wear Prada, but Brooks wears very little, even when it is hellishly cold.
If the town of Zermatt in Switzerland has the Matterhorn, then Jackson Hole has the Tetons. Both communities stand guarded by Twin Peaks mountains so dramatically grand that there is an extra sense of excitement on arrival. To land at Jackson Hole airport on a clear day is a thrill, even for the most travel weary of passengers; there is as pronounced a visual overload as there is at any airport in America. When I think about the town of Jackson, I find it impossible not to think about the Tetons. To me they are coupled at the hip.
Grand Teton, at 13,775 feet, is the highest point of the Teton Range and it rises steeply from the valley floor 7,000 feet below. The amphitheatre has offered a great canvas for photographers to tell stories since the invention of the camera and we always work here fully aware that we are on well-trodden ground.
This January morning we brought a cocktail of props to the Tetons, including a rather special Ford Bronco. But there is a need to work quickly; as soon as the sun gains some height and strength, the light becomes a little harsh for me. The window is no more than 15 minutes and I think we were home in Jackson for breakfast by 9 am.
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