Memorial Day is considered by many to mark the unofficial beginning of summer. It's safe to assume people who are feeling that summer vibe right about now probably don't live near the Tetons. In Jackson Hole, spring is just getting underway this time of year - and Grand Teton National Park is never lovelier than in the spring.

From mid-May until the end of the month, it's still blissfully quiet; the park is relatively empty. Big campgrounds like Colter Bay don't open until late May, while Signal Mountain is only partially open for campers until after the holiday.

You'll find the occasional bear jam, sure, but large crowds? Not yet.

In late May, aspens and cottonwoods are just beginning to leaf out. Blanketed in white, the mountains are at their most beautiful.

Green season, courtesy of prolific snowfall, is ramping up. The otherwise semi-arid landscape is magically transformed and will display lush greenery through the month of June - maybe even a little bit longer if we're lucky.

In May - and well into June - you can expect it to get quite cold overnight. When temperatures dip down into the 30s (or 20s) a ski jacket will come in handy if you're going to be out before the sun comes up.

You will encounter mud. A lot of trails will still have snowpack. If you didn't bring muck boots, you'll wish you had.

These conditions are probably not be the beach person's cup of tea, but it suits me.

I was in the park last week hoping to photograph the snow-covered mountains. They'll still be wearing white in June while the wildflowers are blooming prolifically, but it's inevitable that the melting process will soon begin to accelerate. I like to catch the peaks before that happens.

(My main objective was to check on the status of both the deciduous trees and the wildflowers. Guessing everything might be a little bit ahead of schedule this year, I wanted to eyeball the situation.)

As is often the case, I didn't have a location in mind. I figured I'd just wander around a bit and play it by ear.

I ended up settling on String Lake. Stopping by in the middle of the afternoon and finding nobody there was a surprise. Even during the collar seasons, that's not a place I would expect to discover solitude.

Mount Moran looked spectacular from there. My favorite of the Teton peaks, naturally it always looks incredible to my eye, but its snowy shape reflected in the water was stunning. It'd be a great spot to capture the mountain lit with morning alpenglow.

But would I get what I was after? This being a relatively quick reconnaissance visit, my opportunities would be limited.

I chose that window to be in the park specifically because the forecast was promising. Naturally, the closer I got to the actual time period in question, the more slippery the forecast became.

Long story short, there was no alpenglow.

The most promising morning was, in the end, a letdown. As the sun rose to the east, enough light passed through the high clouds to cast just a hint of violet and pink in the sky over Moran:

But that was the extent of it. I waited, hoping for more of a slot to open near the eastern horizon. I waited some more.

Nothing.

The light disappeared completely. Then the sky directly overhead flattened.

Having spent nearly two hours at the shore, I decided that was enough. Time for coffee! While driving the nine miles back to Signal Mountain, I kept my eye on the sky. Surprisingly, some clearing was developing behind Moran.

I wasn't really interested in a blue sky, and I knew the sun would have risen too high if it eventually cut through the overcast, yet I returned to the lake. The air was completely still this time - even calmer than it had been just 35 minutes before.

Obviously the hint of color was long gone, but in this light the snow was more pronounced - both on the mountain itself and in the reflection.

These conditions only lasted for about 20 minutes before flat, high overcast moved back in.

This is not at all what I had hoped to capture, yet there are things about the images which work.

Would I have preferred alpenglow?

Yes.

Will I try again?

Yes.

But if there's one thing landscape photographers (and the Rolling Stones) know, it's this: you can't always get what you want.

So was this a bad morning? A waste of time?

I spent nearly three hours at this spot completely, blissfully alone: not a single person showed up. It was just me, Moran, and this beautiful setting.

Sometimes you get what you need.