FEATURED POST

The approach

I have no experience in alpine rock climbing. I’ve done plenty of multi-pitching at the Gunks and Cathedral, but not very much “adventure climbing.” The little experience I do have with “adventure climbing” has been one successful trip to the Dacks in the summer to climb Wallface. And even that was a wild success because my partner and I were able to find Wallface on our first attempt (much harder than it sounds) and managed to climb our route (The Diagonal) with only a photo topo. So going to the Tetons seemed like a really good idea, a nice starting place for a real alpine learning experience.

Whoops. Let me just start by saying that if you don’t plan on having an epic, you will may end up having one. And if you do plan on having an epic, you will probably get what you asked for. Looking back, I have no idea why I told my boss that I was excited to have an epic, even a small one, but I did. And I certainly got what I asked for.

The Grand Teton is the second highest peak in Wyoming, and the tallest in the Teton range, rising to 13,775 ft (4,199 m). While it certainly pales in comparison to true mountaineering peaks such as Denali or Rainier, it is certainly one of the most majestic peaks dominating the Wyoming skyline, and contains more classic routes (3) than any other peak in North America according to Fifty Classic Climbs of North America. Summer ascents are frequent and regular via the Owen-Spalding route, first climbed in 1898. We chose to do the Upper Exum ridge, which was first done by Glenn Exum, solo, in 1931.

As soon as you drive north out of Jackson, its there, staring down at you from almost every angle. The Grand is a captivating peak that commands respect. Upon getting permits, doing a “warm up” route (Baxter’s Pinnacale, 5.9), and packing all the essential gear, my partner, Drew, and a friend, Stephen, piled into our rental car to head to the trail head. Six hours, seven miles, and nearly a mile of vertical gain later, we were settling in to the Lower Saddle – a windy, barren homestead for climbers and guides heading up the Grand.

Sunrise on the Tetons

After waiting out two storms – one of which contained hail for 30 minutes – we made some quick freeze dried dinner and watched the setting sun cast brilliant beams of orange luminance upon our route up the Grand. From what we could make out, it seemed a relatively straight forward route from the ground. Simply hike into the left gully, go halfway up, come back down and traverse a second gully to the Wall St. ledge and then climb the rad ridge to the top.

WAY easier said than done.

The next morning at 4am, after a sleepless night in the howling winds, we began the hike up into the first gully, ahead of the guided parties. We were sure we were making good time. So certain in fact, that we missed the decent into the second gully, and had to back track past some of the guided parties to get to the right gully. By the time we had reached the end of the Wall St. ledge, the sun was just starting to peak out, and we could turn off our headlamps. It was about 5:45am when we reached the base of the ridge at the end of Wall St. Now that the sun was out, we could see the 1,500ft of climbing we had to do in front of us, as well as the churning storm sitting in Idaho. We pressed on, the day still being so early and us convinced that the forecast for the day, 10% chance of scattered showers, would hold.

Whiteout

We climbed quickly and made good progress despite some difficulties. Route finding proved to be tricky as it was not nearly as much of a “ridge” as it was a gully on the side of a ridge. After nearly 2 hrs of climbing, we started to collectively get scared. I had just lead a 60m 5.7 pitch with 4 pieces of pro (this pitch is not in the description, but in the variations described for the route as we later came to find out), we had not eaten much because we were trying to push faster to the top, and now that storm that was hanging out in Idaho was hanging out with us. So roughly 13,000ft up on my first alpine climb, only 700ft from the summit, I was stuck with my two partners in a total white out. Everything was becoming covered in snow and ice. We couldn’t see forward to the summit, and looking backwards to where we came from was almost as difficult. This, I thought to myself, is not a good place to be. Especially without gloves. So thus begins my first mountain epic.

We collectively decided that it would be better to descend as quickly and slowly as possible. There was no shelter up there. No rocks to hide under. No secret stashes of gloves. No hidden warming tents. Just us, some Gu Blocks, and our wet and starting to freeze ropes. We proceeded to gingerly descend the route I had painstakingly lead just minutes before.

The Author

Every rappel was an exercise in patience and luck. Every Dyneema runner slung block constriction was a feeble attempt to construct something “solid” to descend from. Each rope pull was a roll of the dice, hoping we didn’t get the snake eyes of a stuck rope. And each foot we lowered was a foot closer to having coffee and solid ground to stand on. For nearly 2 hours we repeated this process over and over. And all the while, the weather kept getting better and better. By the time we reached the rappel that took us down to the base of the Wall St. ledge, the weather had changed to brilliant blue clear skies. Knowing that the upper section of the route was still covered in ice, none of us even considered climbing back to our high point.

We safely made it back to the Lower Saddle at around 10:45am, where we promptly made instant coffee and took a nap. 4 hours later, and the same 7 miles out that we came in, we were back to our car, shedding our packs and the weight of the epic that we had just all been witness to. Only then to drive all the way back to SLC to catch a flight back to New York the next day.

Was it worth it? Definitely. Did I learn a lot? Definitely. Would I do it again? Definitely. Will I ever deliberately ask for an epic before I go on a trip again? Most definitely not.