John Muir once said, “The mountains are calling, and I must go." From the first moment I laid eyes on the Tetons, I’ve felt that call. And I know I’m not alone. In 2024, an estimated 3.5 million visitors flocked to Grand Teton National Park. This year, I made two trips—once in June for my friend Janet’s memorial and again in July, hoping to climb the Grand. I’ve been trekking these paths for nearly 30 years, and I can honestly say I love the Tetons. It was my first National Park, and everything I see now is, in some way, compared to it.

I am already planning my trips for 2026 and hope to make yet another trek out West. However, there’s one place in the park I’ll no longer be photographing in 2026— The Mormon Row, famous for the iconic TA Moulton and John Moulton Barns. OK. I need to come clean. This is mostly hyperbole. I cannot guarantee that I will never shoot these barns again. I am trying to draw attention to a serious problem. These barns while truly stunning - have been beaten to death. A trip to the Tetons has almost always included at least one visit, and sometimes multiple trips to the barns. They provide a perfect photographic anchor—both at sunrise and sunset. Situated with Sheep Mountain (aka the Sleeping Indian) in the background, they hold a prominent place in many of my images, as they’re some of the only truly interesting subjects when looking east (which is how I usually shoot sunset). But these barns have been loved to death—and unfortunately, I’ve contributed to that. I’ve brought friends there. I’ve photographed couples and even shot bridal parties on those grounds. Over time, I’ve noticed more and more signs of the toll it’s taken.

I’ll admit, I felt conflicted about visiting this year when I brought my friend and climbing partner, John, to the barns. And then as we were doing our thing, I fell with about $8,000 worth of camera into a gopher hole at the Pink House with the Outhouse. Before anyone asks - not golfers. Gophers. Or ground squirrels. Some kind of vermin that has just become profoundly abundant. Fortunately, it was only my feet that had gotten soaked and muddy, and more importantly, there was no damage to my gear. Most thankfully, John didn’t see it—he’d probably have made a video and shared it on Facebook. But in that moment, I knew it was time to stop. Not just because it had become unsafe, but because the ground cover had deteriorated beyond recognition. It really looks like crap.

So, it’s more or less over for me. I realize this might sound like a grand proclamation and perhaps a bit elitist as I certainly have captured plenty of images of these barns. And yes, I’ve gotten some beautiful shots that I believe are lovely enough to hang in a gallery on Cache Street. But it’s come at a cost. The heavy foot traffic is evident, and the land is visibly degraded. What was once a pristine landscape is now a textbook example of soil compaction and vegetation loss. The ground cover, designed to withstand wind, snow, and grazing, has been destroyed by the thousands of boots that have trampled over it. This leads to erosion, uneven surfaces, and a cycle of mud and ruts that make the area dangerous to walk on. It’s human impact, plain and simple, and it’s visible in the landscape. Over the last several years, I’ve had to clone in grass over large sections of the scene. But at what point does that stop being photography and start being graphic design? I don’t mind removing the occasional power line, but when does it cross the line from art into artificial manipulation?

It’s not just Mormon Row that has been over-tromped upon, but I really do feel that they have taken the brunt of the damage in the Tetons. These barns, flat and easily accessible, are photogenic year-round, which leads to endless photos on social media and postcards. But this creates a problem, as a small area takes on the impact of tens, even hundreds of thousands of visitors, while the surrounding land remains relatively untouched. Mormon Row was once a farm, not a stage. Now, it’s treated like one. If I see a bison herd in front of it or something else that is really awesome that I don't have....well obviously this resolution will go right out the window, but short of that, I can honestly say, I am done.

Sadly, infrastructure in the park has not kept pace with the growing popularity of these locations. While Mormon Row has been iconic since its inception, the sheer volume of visitors today far exceeds what the park was designed to handle. The National Parks are underfunded and overused, meaning trails aren’t extended or rerouted quickly enough. While some areas post “please don’t walk here” signs, they often lack clear alternatives. Also, I believe the TA Moulton Barn sits on private property, so I’m not entirely sure how that impacts the situation. Protective barriers are avoided to maintain a natural look, and restoration work only happens after the damage becomes severe. Mormon Row feels treacherous because the system has not acted fast enough to address these issues.

So here we are. I can’t help but feel that the sheer volume of visitors, coupled with a lack of adequate funding and maintenance, has overwhelmed our responsibility to steward these spaces. Preservation has given way to accommodation. Experience now outweighs ecology. Everything has been designed to exist for us, not with us. It’s heartbreaking to witness. The National Parks are our nation’s greatest gems, meant to be shared by the public, but unmanaged mass visitation is causing irreparable harm to the very places we cherish. This isn’t nostalgia or elitism—it’s the grim ecological reality. Some places have been loved past the point of safety, and Mormon Row is a stark example of that truth.

I am going to keep coming back and looking - and hopefully the Parks department will do something about these spaces. I'd hate to think that this is my last dance, but for now, I am only going to fill the memory cards between my ears.