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. 

The Summer Fling (part 3)

After climbing the Middle and South Teton (a romp that went delightfully well) I knew that I was slowly winning over the Tetons. The more we got to know each other, the more natural it felt: careening around potholes and pulling into the Lupine Meadows trailhead, the rhythmic march up the switchbacks, the sun's golden glow rising to illuminate the peaks above. Familiarity becomes fondness, fondness becomes infatuation, and before you know it, you're in love. However, I still had yet to explore an entire end of the range, and felt the draw of the Cathedral Peaks pulling me northward. 

Mt. Owen, the 2nd tallest peak in the Tetons. 

I decided an easy solo objective would be the East Ridge of Mt. Owen. The summit view would allow me to observe the backside of Teewinot and the cold north face of the Grand, a hallowed wall that I have always dreamt of seeing up close. So, I threw the crampons, axe, food and water in my attack pack, tightened up my Guide Tennies, and began the familiar walk/sprint up the switchbacks to the trail for Amphitheater Lake. Pretty soon, I had contoured around into Glacier Gulch and was standing on the Teton Glacier, the largest remaining patch of perennial ice in the Tetons. 

Looking up a runnel on the Teton Glacier. This baby was melting fast!

Once on the Teton Glacier, the route was laid out in front of me: climb steep snow up the Koven Couloir to gain the East Ridge, then take a left and climb to the west to gain the summit slabs of Owen.

Looking across the glacier at the lower Koven Couloir. 

Looking up at the Koven's steep snow climbing. 

I strapped on my crampons and began front-pointing up the firm snow of the Koven Couloir. It had been a while since I had climbed snow this steep, and I was instantly reminded of just how much fun it is to simply go straight up something! I methodically cruised up the couloir, freed by the simplicity of the movement: kick-kick-crunch, kick-kick-crunch. 

Stoked on snow climbing!

After I topped out the couloir, I was on the East Ridge proper and had a spectacular view of the rest of the route. I heard some voices above me and was baffled because I hadn't seen any sign of anyone in front of me the entire day. Pulling over a 4th class bulge, I was finally able to see a group of 4 (two guides and two clients) descending the ridge of Owen. As I got closer, I realized that one of the Exum Guides was actually my old NOLS instructor, Brian Smith, the dude who pretty much taught me how to trad climb! We chatted for a while, and he was super psyched that I was still climbing. Him and his clients had bivvied near the summit and were going to spend the rest of the day descending. When I told them that I had just left my car about 3 hours ago, his clients exclaimed, "What!?! You're crazy!". I laughed and continued scrambling the rocky ridge that leads to the snow collar on Owen. 

A panorama of the East Ridge of Owen. The North Face of the Grand lurking to the south. 

After some tricky route-finding to get from the snow onto the final ridge, I was spit out of some chimneys right below the crux of the route. In front of me was several pitches of pure 5.6 friction slab. In lieu of a rope (and a partner), I decided to bring rock shoes and some chalk, which significantly helped give me peace of mind on this section. I pulled a few moves of balancey and delicate climbing and was suddenly there: on the summit of Owen. 

 

Standard-stoked-summit-selfie. 

I gazed around at all the new terrain I could see: the multi-summited Teewinot to the east and the ridge leading to the Grand to my south. It's such an aesthetic and logical desire to want to traverse the entire ridge. I started taking mental snapshots in preparation for an attempt (someday) of the Grand Traverse. 

Looking back down the route towards Teewinot. 

The North Ridge of the Grand Teton, in all it's glory. 

 I hung out on the summit for about 10 minutes and then started blitzing back down the ridge, hoping to move quickly and pass the guided party before the rock-fall-plagued ledges above the Koven. I skirted around them without incident and downclimbed the Koven back to the glacier, where I was reminded of the harsh indifference of these mountains. Life and death exist in a delicate balance in these places, and one can't help think about the fragility of our frail bodies in comparison to these hard, cold mountains. 

A dead raven, half buried in the glacier, slowly melting out of its icy grave. 

I tried not to take this as an omen and carried on with my descent. Interestingly enough, about 15 minutes later, as I scrambled down through some glacial debris near the toe of the moraine, a couch-sized boulder let loose underneath my feet and crashed down the side of the slope, obliterating everything in it's path. I was unscathed, but from then on, chose my footsteps very carefully. In the end, I made it back to the car without issue, and was stoked on another epic car-to-car adventure in the Tetons. 

The route, according to my GPS. 

The stats: 7,500 vert gain, 13.6 miles, 7 hours and 28 minutes. 

11mph?!? That must have been that brief sprint down the scree below the Teton Glacier. 

With Mt. Owen behind me, I began to think more and more about the Grand Traverse. The Tetons had thus far opened up their weaknesses and allowed me passage, but did I dare try to climb them all in a single enchainment? Could this budding romance evolve into loving, committed relationship?

The Summer Fling (part 2)

Looking back down the North Ridge. 

My second date with the Tetons involved the range's less-acclaimed peaks: The Middle and South Teton. Familiar with the trail from Lupine Meadows, I raced up the switchbacks, legs churning and heart beating with  the anticipation and desire to be back on the rocky ridges and snowy notches of these mountains. The North Ridge of the Middle Teton proved shorter and far more friendly than I had expected, with only a few moves of 5.6 climbing. 

Looking up the Black Dike notch. 

After navigating several gendarmes on the ridge, I was deposited into a notch created by an eroding black dike. From here, blocky 5.5 terrain led to the final summit ridge and my second major high-point in the region.

Summit of Middle Teton!

I snapped some photos, accidentally tagged the south summit in an attempt to find the descent, and eventually made my way to the southwest couloir where a lot of slippery scree sliding brought me to the saddle between Middle Teton and South Teton.

Looking north to the Grand from Middle Teton. 

A look at the route up South Teton. Basically, just a huge Class 2 slog. 

Looking back at the Middle Teton from South Teton. 

Standard-summit-stoked-selfie. 

A nice panorama, looking north, with Idaho on the left and Wyoming on the right!

Idaho's got some nice lakes.

On the summit of the South Teton, I watched two guys head east, embarking on the final leg of the Grand Traverse. Sitting there on the summit, I thought, "You've still got some energy left, maybe you should just, ya know, tag-a-along...". It took everything I had to resist the urge, but the seed was planted and my summertime fling was evolving into a bit of an obsession. The gears were turning: could I link-up all of these peaks? Could (and should) I go for the Grand Traverse!?!

I debated my next move and went out for a different kind of date. This time, without the Tetons to keep me company... 

Arguably the best Pad Thai in Wyoming? I'd say so. 

The Summer Fling (part 1)

It's a storyline as classic and timeless as a Disney movie: an out-of-towner spends their summer in a new place, meets new people, tries new things, and eventually falls in love, knowing that it will all come crashing to an end when the summer ends and its time to leave.

Well, you could say that I had fallen, hard, for the Tetons. 

After leaving my life in Colorado Springs, I set out for Wyoming, hoping that adventures in the alpine would help shake off the dust that had accumulated from sitting behind a desk for two years. At first, this place was reluctant to open up, keeping Vedauwoo enshrouded in fog for the entirety of my four day stay, as I climbed between the drizzles and hid in the dry nooks of stacked boulders. With little luck with the weather, and coming straight from Colorado, I thought that maybe I just wasn't Wyoming's type. Maybe be she'd prefer something a little more western? I remedied the situation by driving straight to Martindale's Western Store in Laramie, Wyoming and equipping myself with a proper piece of cowboy climbing attire: the Stetson.  With this new look, attitude, and general openness to the Western ethos, I voyaged north to Jackson: the land of tourists, traffic, tolls, but also, the Tetons.

Still smiling after realizing we had to bail to the Jackson Hole Emergency Room.

The obsession began with a casual re-acquaintance. It had been three years since I'd last had the chance to tangle with the Grand and that first date had not gone as planned, ending with the rapid descent of a toaster-sized block, and then the rapid descent of my climbing party (lowering my friend Leland and his injured arm one rappel at a time). This time, I had to be more tactful with my approach, knowing full well that this range didn't just give in easily to the average come-on. I'd go it alone at first, just to see what kind of mood the mountains were in, just to see how it feels.





After a lot of thinking, I finally went for the Owen-Spalding and threw my crampons and axe in my pack just in case the Grand decided to give me the cold shoulder and show her icy side. It's a good thing I did, I remember thinking, as I sat on a snowy ledge below the Owen Chimney trying to shake the screaming-barfies sensation out of my hands. The crux of the route was stemming around ice bulges in the chimney while dry tooling with my mountain axe... Despite these icy affronts, the clouds lifted and I was permitted passage to the summit via snow-splattered slabs. It was my first time truly standing on the highest point in the Tetons (we had bypassed the summit in "emergency-evac-WFR" mode on Attempt #1) and the spiney backbone of the range arced to the north and south.

||| IT WAS LOVE AT FIRST SITE |||

||| I INSTANTLY KNEW THAT I HAD TO CLIMB ALL OF THESE PEAKS |||

After that 1st date on the O-S, I have left Jackson several times to explore the surrounding ranges, looking for rocks to scale (an awesome 5-day trip to the Cirque of the Towers, some limestone pocket-pulling at Wild Iris and Sinks Canyon), but as soon as that skyline comes back into the view, I get butterflies in my stomach. When the light is just right, the sun twinkles off the Grand's upper snowfield and catches my eye like the wink from a middle school crush in the lunch-line. Suddenly, you blush, look away, and pretend like you weren't looking. But, inside, you know you can't wait to look back!