The Summer Fling (The Final Date)

This was it. After carefully and cautiously reconnecting with the Tetons, I felt that we had finally had something; something special. Like all good relationships, we had made it through the rocky and awkward "get-to-know-you" phase,  succeeded through trials and tribulations, and now were truly in-sync, sharing a common rhythm in life, and thriving. I had come to know the peaks as a place of comfort and now it was time to see if I could go all the way, if I could enchain the major summits of the Tetons in one huge Grand Traverse.  

THE STATS

• TEN SUMMITS (plus many more sub-peaks)
• 13.5 MILES
• 20,000 FEET OF TOTAL ELEVATION CHANGE
• TECHNICAL CLIMBING UP TO 5.8
• ASCENDS THE NORTH RIDGE OF THE GRAND TETON (one of the 50 Classic Climbs)
• HAS BEEN CLIMBED IN UNDER 7 HOURS (Rolo Garibotti, 2001)

My partner for this epic excursion would be my good friend, Matt Zia, who'd been guiding for Outward Bound in the mountains of Colorado all summer and was hoping that long days with heavy packs and slow-moving kids had conditioned him for the fast and light alpine-style climb we were embarking on. This was also Matt's first time in the Tetons. Ever. And he was about to climb ALL of the Tetons. To say I was stoked/nervous/anxious for Matt would have been an understatement. But this dude has the ability to rally HARD and he can easily accomplish anything he puts his mind to. It was on! We huddled around a tarp, organizing our gear by headlamp and got stoked to blast off the next morning.  

Matt ponders the gear for our Grand Traverse attempt. We would shove all this stuff into our packs and carry it on our backs the entire time: self-supported and ready to spend as many days/nights as necessary to make the objective happen. 

And then, it was happening. Slam the trunk, shoulder the packs, lock the car and stash the keys.

WE'RE ACTUALLY DOING THIS.

The slog up the east face of Teewinot is pretty brutal. We were a hot sweaty mess by the time we hit treeline. 

The Traverse begins with 5500' of elevation gain and a whopping 34 switchbacks. We definitely counted every single switchback, ticking them off with enthusiasm as we rounded every corner in the trail. Eventually, we reached treeline and were hit full-on by the haze of wildfire smoke. Fires burning in Washington, Oregon and Montana had the NW corner of Wyoming under a thick blanket of smoke the entire time we were up there. As if the elevation gain wasn't enough, we also to contend with a faint tickle in our throats for the duration of the trip. 

Matt, stoked on finally getting into the Teton alpine. 

We reached (what we thought was) the summit of Teewinot, only to realize that the actual summit was a bit further north. Doh! We looked at the long ridge that would lead to the Grand, looked at each other and both agreed, "Good enough". We had a long way to go and there was no sense in wasting more time on the multi-spired summit of Teewinot.  

Matt downclimbs from our "summit" of Teewinot. 

From here on, the mantra was "forward, forward, forward" and we chugged along down the ridge to climb up and over the East Prong and Peak 11,840' to gain the Koven Col. At this point, I was back on familiar ground and we made quick work of the East Ridge of Mt. Owen and were soon on the summit of high-point #4!

From the summit of Owen, we faced the crux section of the entire traverse: The Gunsight Notch. Getting in and out of this low-point is notoriously confusing and anything but straightforward. We followed our noses off Owen and along the ridge, aiming for rap stations on the toe of the ridge right above the notch. Unfortunately, we hit it too high, and were forced to leave a sling and 'biner to rap into the 1st of 3 rap stations that led us into the Gunsight Notch proper. From here, Matt led out a pitch of "5.6" (that felt much more like 5.8), and I got to take the money pitch of 5.6 jug-hauling to the top of The Grandstand. Super fun chickenhead climbing, protected entirely by slung horns, took me on top of the last flat place between us and the Lower Saddle. 

I brought Matt up and we were both starting to show signs of fatigue. We looked around at the plush and plentiful bivy sites on top of the Grandstand and weighed our options. Our goal was to get to the Lower Saddle that night. It was now 4PM and we had the entire North Ridge of the Grand to climb, and the Owen-Spalding to descend before we could get to any decent camping on the Lower Saddle. The North Ridge loomed over our heads, looking cold, steep, and long. 

||| IT WAS DECISION-MAKING TIME \\\ KEEP GOING OR STOP HERE THE NIGHT? |||

After wavering for about ten minutes, Matt finally solidified it for us, "You know what? LET'S DO IT." I instantly agreed and it was settled. I took the rack, tied into the sharp end, and looked to push the rope through the first 3 pitches, so that we could simul-climb to base of the Italian Cracks. 

The beta photo for the North Ridge. Courtesy of Marck Thomas and INSANELY helpful!

Matt took over the lead and cruised up the beginning of the Italian Cracks. The wind had begun to blow, the sun was setting, and things were beginning to get truly epic. The challenge was keeping the feeling in your fingers. The route was characterized by spicy runout face-climbing with several overhanging steps to negotiate around/over. We may have been totally off-route, but it was definitely "heads-up climbing" to get to "Second Ledge", our escape route back to the North Ridge proper. 

Matt leading up a cold pitch on the North Ridge of the Grand.

The best part of climbing the Grand at sunset is that the summit is the last thing for hundred of miles to lose the sunlight. 

After A LOT of simul-ing along the ridge, we finally made it to the summit, just as the sun was beginning to dip behind the smokey, haze-choked horizon. It had been an epic day and we were so stoked to only have the O-S descent standing between us and our sleeping bags. Matt took a brief nap on the summit, I took a bunch of photos and sat there in silence. The waning light created an incredible rosy glow, but that also meant that darkness was imminent.  

Matt taking the standard-stoked-summit-selfie. This was his first time summiting the Grand! I reveled in my fourth successful summit bid of this amazing peak. 

The sun, the summit, the psyche!

After what seemed like forever, we rousted ourselves from our cozy little summit nooks and began the arduous descent off the Grand. Finding the raps felt very different as this was the first time I'd been on the O-S without snow this summer. It felt like a totally different world up there. We made the raps without incident and began hiking down from the Upper Saddle right as complete darkness descended. Of course, no day is without incident, as we realized when Matt's headlamp refused to work on the hike down. This slowed us down considerably, but we eventually arrived to the Lower Saddle at 9:30pm, 13 hours after we had began this morning. The longest we had stopped moving all day was no more than 15 minutes at any one time, so it had been at least 12 hours of consistent climbing. All of the bivy sites were taken, so we posted up next to a sleeping couple and ate our MountainHouse dinners at 10pm, relishing in the hot, salty goodness that those little pouches provide. We were destroyed, but slept well, knowing that the hardest part of the Traverse was behind us!

Matt enjoys breakfast from our bivy at the Lower Saddle, below the Grand. 

The next morning, we awoke to bluebird skies and little wind. I looked over at Matt, "How ya feeling?", "You know what? I don't actually feel THAT bad! We're gonna do this thing, man!". A huge surge of relief flowed through me, as this is where a lot of parties bail and decide to call it quits and head down Garnett Canyon. Instead, we brewed up coffee, ate some meusli, and laced up our approach shoes for another epic day of ridge climbing.

1st objective of Day 2: the North Ridge of Middle Teton. 

We cruised up the North Ridge of Middle Teton and were soon voyaging down the loose Southwest Couloir to the saddle between the Middle and South Teton. There were crowds of dayhikers at the saddle, making their own voyage up the Middle Teton, who gave us serious strange looks after seeing the rope and large packs on our backs. We met a really psyched Chilean dude, who was surprised to hear what we were up to. We gave him some beta for the Middle and then started heading up the 3rd-class slog that is the standard route up South Teton. Making this part of the trip for the third time of the summer, I realized how much I wish there was a cooler route up the South Teton. But, at the same time, I was also grateful for the brief mental reprieve from being in the solo headspace that so much of the Traverse demands.

Summit of the South Teton. 

From the summit of the South Teton, all that remained was the long ridge to Nez Perce. Having done this section a week ago with my bud, Fletcher, I knew what we were in for, but it was hard not to feel anxious while we stared east along the foreboding ridge.

Matt contemplates the toothy ridgeline to Nez Perce. The Icecream Cone awaits below. 

We descended into the notch between the South Teton and the Icecream Cone, and I gave Matt the lead for the 5.7 pitch that would take us to it's summit. The notch was dark and cold. I threw on my belay puffy and settled in. 

Matt warming his hands for the lead. 

The 5.7 pitch on the Icecream Cone. 

After summiting the Icecream Cone, we hurried along the ridge. Most of this section of the Traverse is 4th/5th class scrambling, so we threw the rope on our back and focused on the delicate smears and stems that allow passage through the cruxy sections of up- and down-climbing on Gilkey Tower. At this point, we were cruising and the routefinding felt easier having been there before. We were also able to improve upon the route I had taken with Fletcher by finding some quick rap's off of Cloudveil Dome. Finally, we were at the last section: the 4th class trail up Nez Perce. We dropped our packs and began charging up our final peak, feeling weightless without the 40 pounds on our backs. This cairned trail is a marvel of routefinding, weaving it's way through rockbands and avoiding the many gendarmes along Nez Perce's north face. We were able to mostly nail it, and the cairns finally led us to the top.

||| THIS IS IT, THE FINAL SUMMIT, MY LAST HIGHPOINT IN THE TETONS FOR THE SUMMER |||

From the summit of Nez Perce, you can see the entire route of the Traverse. It's hard not to stare. It's even more hard to think that you just climbed all of that.

After descending Nez Perce, we ran into a guided party (1 of 4 attempting the Traverse, we were the only non-guided party up there). We had heard that Mark Smiley was guiding a client on the Traverse from some of the other guides, and all trip, I had joked with Matt that, whenever we saw a boot-print, we were, "Following in Mark Smiley's footsteps!". Mark is famous for the objective that he and his wife, Janelle, committed themselves to several years ago: to climb the 50 Classic Climbs in North America (http://smileysproject.smugmug.com/). I totally consider him somewhat of a hero, so when we ran into him and his client, I was pretty stoked to chat with him. We filled up on water at the stream with them and discussed the route. He asked us about our rack, our rope, our tactics, and our experience. Then, he said, "Nice work, fellas, you guys crushed it!". I was unbelievably stoked and having a hard time hiding my fan-boy psyche, so we said our goodbyes and let that little ego-boost fuel our hike out of Garnett Canyon. The finality of it all suddenly hit me: this is my last time rock-hopping through the boulders in Garnett, this is my last time stumbling down the switchbacks, this is my last time feeling that surge of excitement you get on the home stretch right before getting to the Lupine Meadows parking lot....

We ended the adventure like all good adventures, with lukewarm beers on the back bumper of the RexTerra.  With shoes off, packs dropped, and a complete neglect for anything other than our beers and some tortillas chips we found, we basked in the glory that is "being done" with another trip-of-a-lifetime. We chatted briefly with some other climbers in the parking lot, got free hotdogs from an off-duty Exum Guide hanging out in his Westfalia Vanagon,  and shamelessly beamed our giddy grins at anyone who would look our way. After sufficient loafing, we got into the car, drove straight to Pinky G's Pizza Joint and feasted on pizza and beer. (Mark Smiley dusted us on the highway in his incredibly deluxe Sprinter, haha). 

Like all good summer flings, this one finally had to come to an end. I had truly fallen for the Tetons, and knew that I would always hold a place in my heart for those jagged, rocky peaks. But, there was change in the air, and I was, at long last, bound for the Northwest and the next chapter of my climbing trip. As I drove north through the Park on my way to Montana, I looked in the rearview mirror and lingered at the last look-out. 

Tetons: this is goodbye, for now, but if I'm ever lonely, I know where to find you.