My eyes blinked open at the white, popcorn ceiling. I reached down and grabbed my phone off the wood floor; it was still half an hour before we'd agreed to wake up and start getting ready. The tiny screen flickered while I surfed the Internet. After checking my e-mail and browsing for a little while, I played some phone games until my bladder forced me to empty it. A little bit later I heard "Busterman's" alarm. I went back to the phone games till he came to make sure I was awake. I had sort of expected we'd be leaving fairly soon so I was surprised when "Busterman's" mom warmed some breakfast burritos for us and we had sort of a slow start. Eventually though we got on the road. It's a long drive from Loveland to the south entrance of Grand Teton National Park, a little over eight hours. "Busterman" started us off and I fell asleep sometime between Vedauwoo and Rock Springs. Outside of Rock Springs I woke up and searched for my wallet, because it was my turn to pay for gas. I groggily pumped gas as someone pulled in behind us. I watched as they failed to turn off their vehicle and all occupants piled out of the car. I'd finished filling up and got into the driver's side of the car waiting for "Busterman". As I watched the vehicle behind I noted the tall pretty girl who had stepped out of the vehicle. I then watched her lean against the tan SUV and light a cigarette while standing there next to the no smoking sign. "Busterman" opened the door on the passenger side. It's always interesting how incredibly dumb people can be and how that lack of intelligence may drastically effect the lives of others. I started the car and we were back on the road again. The winding hills blended together as we passed car after car and small town after small town. Eventually we caught a glimpse of the Wind Rivers, with both of us expressing interest in sampling the mountains of another range. Soon after the scenery started to change from sagebrush flatlands to pinyon and juniper forest. The hills became bigger till we were driving through a dark valley. We were so close I started imagining it would be around the next corner but even as we drove into Jackson Hole we had yet to catch a glimpse. Jackson Hole is a nice tourist town that reminds me a lot of Estes Park only with that distinctly Wyoming flair. Traffic was intolerable as RV's and trailers bumbled through town at a pace suggesting far less urgency than our own. Finally, we were out of Jackson Hole and we still hadn't seen any mountains. Did this place even exist?, I wondered. All of a sudden I saw it, just a short glimpse. I wondered if it was just me wishing for a place that I had yet to actually see but then we drove past another large hill and there it was sticking out stolidly from the landscape. I nudged "Busterman" awake and we both uttered expletives of amazement. Rolling into the parking lot we read the sign on the door. The caretaker was climbing and wouldn't be back till later tonight, paying for showers was on the honor system. It didn't say we had to pay for the cabin so we might as well figure that out later. Wandering around the ranch we finally found a cabin. A horrible smelling one, but at least we wouldn't have to stealth camp. After unpacking our camping gear we decided to get the climbing gear together. Gear logistics are always a leap of faith for me. If you leave something behind there's always a chance you'll be sorely missing it at some point. Our rope system for alpine climbing had become pretty standard since our last winter in Rocky Mountain National Park. We climb on one half of a half rope set and drag along a seven mil tag line. Not UIAA approved but it's alpine climbing. The rules of safety are a lot more flexible. We brought a slim rack of cams and a single set of nuts. There'd be no sewing it up this week. When we got to ice and snow gear we had a hard time deciding. We knew there had been snow but we weren't sure how much. There were no major storms in the forecast but the mountains are always unpredictable. In the end we decided against crampons and ice axes because the forecast and info we gathered from other climbers led us to believe we would be able to circumnavigate any ice or snow. After we sorted the gear we decided to explore for a little while. I gotta say, the AAC Climber's Ranch is pretty cool. People leave their extra food there so we had a nice selection of snacks before dinner while we relaxed in the library, which had a good selection of guidebooks, instructional books, and mountain narratives. There are pay showers, indoor bathrooms, and a nice kitchen area to clean your dishes. If one is still looking for some exercise there's a nice woody on the outside of the bathroom/kitchen building to get a good pump. Given all the accommodations it's relatively cheap, only $20 for non-AAC members. After exploring a little bit we started making dinner. I'm not gonna lie, I make a pretty damn good meal for something that just gets boiled in a pot. We had southwest chicken with some green beans and quionoa. There were a few other denizens roaming about eating steak with wine. They were all on a guided trip with Exum, one of the local guide services. It was interesting to hear that they all had very different backgrounds and experience levels. After a little more conversation and food we cleaned up our cooking gear and retired to the library where I looked over maps for a little while until I became bored and decided to go to bed. It was only about nine but the moon was coming out bright to light the mountains as I walked to our cabin. The door slammed into the bunk as I walked into the cabin, and an overpowering odor filled my nostrils. It wasn't the type of odor that comes from climbers. I started trying to find the cause of the odor as it seemed stronger towards the door than anywhere else. I moved the bunks and there it was; a dead mouse. The source identified, I sought a way to get rid of the awful thing. I went outside and found a stick and like a curious child went inside and tried to prod the minute carcass from the floor to it's final resting place outside. I retched a little as I flipped it towards the door. The overpowering odor and the bug crawling out of the small body were a little much. Scary runouts I can generally handle, nasty smells and crawling beetles covered in bloody goo, not so much. The odor dispatched, I climbed up into my bunk and turned my sleeping bag so my head was far away from the former spot of the dead body. "Busterman" came in soon after. He hadn't really noticed the smell and remained unfazed about the entire dead mouse incident. After deciding to get up with the sun around six I pushed images of the gooey mouse out of my head and tried to sleep. Once again I didn't sleep very well. The moon was intensely bright. So much so that I woke up a few times thinking we'd overslept. That anxiousness combined with my excitement and lingering odor made for a restless night.
- Me: Look at these idiots behind us.
- "Busterman": Hmm, we should leave.
- Me: I agree, I'd hate for us to get blown up before we get a chance to plummet to our death.
The Teton's really jump out from the landscape. With about seven thousand feet of elevation gain in less than seven miles it's one hell of a stairmaster. By the end of the trip my ass was worthy of GQ. Besides that, there are not really any foothills. One minute you're driving, the next minute their is a huge mountain range staring you in the face. I was a little surprised at how sharp it looked. I'd seen pictures of the Grand and it didn't seem so needle-like, but there it was sticking into the sky, steep and imposing.
We paid for entrance to the park and quickly headed toward the Jenny Lake Ranger Station. It wasn't quite five and I figured we could maybe get a permit and head up to the Lower Saddle that night. Unfortunately, we found out the permit office closed an hour before so, on the advice of the souvenir shop person, we went to the ranger station at the park entrance to see if we could get a permit there. Don't do this, they cannot issue backcountry permits for the zones in the main Teton climbing areas. After figuring out that the nearest campsites were full we decided to head to the American Alpine Club (AAC) Climber's Ranch. As far as sleeping accommodations went this was our cheapest, closest option.
"I'm going to climb the Grand!" I practically screamed into the phone. "Iowa" was not as happy that I was going to be gone but she was happy that I was finally happy. It had not been a sure thing. "Busterman" was good with his time away from home but I was worried things would fall apart with people covering for me at my jobs. The time of departure was getting closer and things came together and fell apart with each setting sun. The plan was to leave Thursday night after I got done work and to come back Wednesday night or Thursday morning. A full week of climbing in Grand Teton National Park! Unfortunately, the person planning to cover my shift had a problem with his internship and the night before I was going to leave I was still unsure if he would show up for me or not. I stopped calling people. I didn't want to know whether things went to hell in a handbasket after I left. I wanted to go climbing.By Wednesday night all my gear was packed. I put myself in charge of food and as I lifted that bag I lamented my need of tasty food and snacks. The food alone felt like twenty pounds and I hadn't even added in my personal camping and climbing gear. Thursday afternoon saw my seventy liter pack full to the brim and me tottering underneath it. The gear explosion was now finally cleaned up from the spare bedroom. We both decided to pack for early winter conditions since the Tetons had experienced what sounded like a pretty large snowstorm just a few weeks before our arrival. It is Thursday just before ten 'o' clock and I'm rushing through work. Deposit is done, e-mails are done, phone messages forwarded, floor cleaned, ropes tied up, and finally I walked out the door with minutes to spare before the clock struck ten. I called "Busterman" to let him know I was on my way. He wasn't quite finished packing but he had a little more than an hour before I met him in Loveland. I wanted to get the driving done with. "Busterman" was content to wake up early in the morning. When I arrived he was still packing. While I thumbed through the guidebook we decided to stay the night and leave in the morning.
I tossed and turned in the foreign bed, too excited to fall asleep. Our main goal was to summit the Grand Teton via the Exum Ridge (5.7 IV). We were going to simul-climb from top to bottom. When I'd first called "Busterman" I had illusions of doing the Grand Traverse (5.8 V) in a day; my eyes are always bigger than my stomach. After both agreeing on the Exum we decided we didn't care what else we did. Our main concern was weather since it was late in the season and the Tetons had already received some snow. My own main concern was my knee. I hadn't gone to a doctor because I didn't feel like paying a specialist hundreds of dollars to tell me what I already knew: It had to be a meniscus tear. The dull pain on the outside of my knee increased in intensity whenever I went to kneel or step up. The dull ache that would go away if only I would stop pushing so hard. That's what I get for trying to set speed records in the dark. If two hours car-to-car up Otto's Route on Independence Monument isn't a speed record then I don't need to know. Ignorance is bliss.
I lay there for hours with so many thoughts running through my head. What if it was too cold? Could my legs handle all that vertical? Who'd lead the crux pitches? How much gear should I place? Where would we stay? Would we be able to get a backcountry permit? Eventually the thoughts died down and I drifted into restless sleep with thoughts of climbing occasionally awaking me. We had made a small amount of progress on our Grand adventure.
I didn't start the week out on the best of feet. I had to move into an apartment because my boss rented his house out to someone who could actually cover his mortgage until it sold. I hate moving, which would be hard to believe since for the past two years I've moved almost twice a year. This time, though, I was keeping the same job and simply moving because I didn't have a choice. So after going to work I packed the rest of my gear and went to bed by myself. My girlfriend had left to visit family in Wyoming and I wasn't super excited to be sleeping by myself again.
I awoke early the next morning and had planned on doing the Y Coulior as a warm up for possible solo ice climbs later on. Arriving at the parking lot in full winter gear, I drove around the parking lot looking vainly for a parking spot. Finding nothing, I sat. Then I sat for a little while longer. I got there around eight and ended up sitting until half past eight when I finally found a spot. Slightly annoyed at this point, I stepped out of the car in full winter regalia and into the sixty degree weather before heading up past the joggers and fitness freaks. Few workouts compare to walking up The Incline, except of course if you're doing it with five pounds of shoes on your feet and thirty pounds on your back. In addition to the hard physical labor I was undergoing, I got plenty of weird looks from people who didn't realize it was a good forty degrees colder at the summit. That and I was sweating like a beast in heat.
I took a rest near the top of The Incline before deciding to move on. I decided to take the path that headed toward the summit as opposed to the path that met Barr Trail on it's way down the hill. After taking one wrong turn, I backtracked and made the correct choice until I came to another junction where I once again made the wrong choice and had to frustratingly backtrack a second time. I pushed on. The miles were slowly grinding underneath my heavy boots. I chatted with the caretaker when I eventually arrived there. For some reason it seems like there's always someone different there when I go. We talked about some of the accidents that had recently happened on the Y Coulior. I had heard of the gentleman who slid down and split his skull. I had not heard that he did not bring crampons or an ice axe and had apparently slipped when he went to turn around. He was also part of the military, so they made their mark on the mountain by flying helicopters all over the place. Someone also tried to kill himself by driving off the summit. Not the first time it's happened.
Rested and satisfied with the mountain's gossip, I moved on. A group of hikers passed by and wished me good luck on my objective. I knew I would find more solitude as I approached the Bottomless Pit junction. I also noticed a few footprints and began thinking of the accident the caretaker had described. I was prepared though. I had everything I might need. Conditions were supposed to be ideal so I pushed forward. Near tree-line, I was surprised by someone behind me dressed in light jogging clothes. They apparently wanted to check out the Bottomless Pit and decided she could catch up with me when the caretaker told her I headed this way. I felt a little bad for her following me because she was in tennis shoes and her feet had to be getting wet, but I didn't feel the need to make safety decisions for her due to her being ten years older than me and likely informed enough to know what the deal was. After a while of light conversation and increasingly difficult snow traverses, she decided to head back down the mountain and I continued on.
The path becomes very difficult to follow near the boulder field. The increasing wind was not helpful either. As I finally rounded the corner I was nearly knocked down by the full brunt of that wind. Leaning into the wind, I headed straight for a boulder that looked to be decent shelter. I checked my watch as I listened to the wind howl past me. It wasn't even three yet. If the wind died down then I could still keep my plan of sleeping on the summit. However, After about twenty minutes of waiting for the wind to die down, I decided my plan was blown and I should make camp. Funny thing about light fabrics and wind and being by oneself: It sucks! The bivy fabric flapped in the wind while I tried to hammer the stakes into the rocky, frozen ground. With the bivy finally stable, I went to find rocks to set on the stakes to make sure it didn't blow away. Continuing with my nightly winter ritual of cooking dinner and melting snow, it became increasingly difficult to keep the stove lit even behind the rock and protected by the wind screen. Eventually dinner was served and I was able to fill my water bottles with much needed water.
Earlier that month I had broken both the plastic straps on my water bottles so I decided to buy some new ones. I bought some made by Camelback because of the fancy hooks that looked like they'd do well for clipping to my pack without breaking. I was partially right. The straps didn't fit very well, but they were on there and not breaking and so that was OK. The problem came when I was boiling water and decided to put that water in my sleeping bag. It seems that the valve meant to let the air in and water to flow through the straw is not a one way valve. The wet suprise was not the least bit fun when I slid my feet into the sleeping bag. Luckily it's a synthetic bag and so it was more uncomfortable than dangerous. It dried up after a while. Unfortunately, it made the night a bit colder for my feet. I already have problems sleeping at altitude with the drier air and the hypoxia, but the cold feet made it near impossible to sleep. Did I mention the eighty mile an hour gusts of wind that sought to rip my bivy sack from it's small corner of the mountain?
Lying there, and listening to the howling wind, I tried to sleep. I sipped my water, shifted in the claustrophobic bag of fabric and looked for the first signs of the day. I must have finally fallen asleep because when I looked up the lighter color of the fabric belied the coming of the sun. I also noticed that the wind had turned to a mild growl.
Breaking down camp, I made some oatmeal and filled my water bottles again. I hate oatmeal so bad. It can be good when you add some maple syrup, some raisins, but this oatmeal had some peanut butter in it and that was it. Belly full and gear packed, I decided to get moving. The conditions were supposed to be ideal. A nice fifteen hundred foot gully full of ice and snow should prove to fall quickly under my crampons and ice tools. Shouldering my pack, I started through the boulder field towards the seemingly close snow gully. I tripped through the sugary snow for an hour and I felt as if I was running in place. Another hour of trying to pick the easiest path through the snow and I was finally at the base of the coulior. Now begins the fun...so I thought. I sat down to put on my crampons and finally get out my ice axe.
The snow, continuing to be sugary crap, provided time for me to practice my uphill swimming technique. The thing is that it's a general pain in the ass to deal with all the boulders when you can see them. It's torture when you can't. Eventually I reached some icey snow and began to make better time. I was also another couple thousand feet higher at this point and sucking wind like a fat man in aerobics class. It felt like I was in a huge fight. I was fighting the pack and gravity's pull on it. I was fighting the lack of oxygen. I was fighting the cold. I was tired and I just felt completely out of it. This was supposed to be fun but for some reason I just wanted it to be over. As I came to the crux rock band, I stopped to rest. The small amount of ice looked like a nice easy path but as I swung my tool I watched large pieces of ice shatter and slide down the gully. Perhaps this was a sign to climb the rock band. I was looking forward to swinging my tools into ice for the first time this winter but it wasn't meant to be, and so I traversed over to the rocks.
Nothing inspires confidence like climbing vertical gravel in your crampons all by yourself up a fifteen hundred foot frozen snow gully after hearing the last person there died when they slid to the bottom, bouncing off boulders all the way down. I haven't done any climbing in my crampons, so I was less than confident in my foot placements and doing this all with the pack on my back made it a wee bit difficult. In all honesty I thought I was gonna have a hernia. The holds were big but somewhat loose, and I felt the pull of gravity beckoning me to the abyss. Working my feet up, I peaked my head over the lip, grabbed my tool, and swung it into the snow. Ding....thunk..thunk...after several tries I found a nice spot in the snow that felt as if it would hold my weight, and pulled over the top. Safe at last, sort of.
Resting a minute, I stood up to take my pack off and get my mittens. Laying my pack on the snow. I slowly opened the top loader and pulled out one mitten, but then watched in horror as the other one slipped through my grasp and slid down the gully. Should I go get it? It cost more than I make in a day of work. It had taken me several hours to get to this point. I had just passed the crux. Maybe someone would find it and return it to me if I posted on some forums. Donning a single glove, I made my way up the last five hundred feet of the slightly less steep gully. I reached the rim at the end and sprawled on a large rock to enjoy the warmth of the sun. That warmth was soon replaced by a cold, blowing wind, so I made my way to the summit house.
Having not brought any money the last few times I summited the peak, I was prepared with two dollars just so I could get something to eat at the summit. Making my way inside I grabbed two candy bars thinking the final cost would be two dollars. I was wrong, they were more than two dollars each. Totally disappointed, I sat for a while resting before deciding it was time to leave. I felt completely uninterested in climbing anymore. I decided I didn't wish to stay another night, so I started the long hard trip to the bottom of the mountain. It is over seven thousand feet from the summit to the trailhead. That, and the climbing up the gully totalled almost ten thousand feet of elevation gained and lost. There was nothing for me to do but go, and so I went. The sun was warm and the snow was minimal while I headed down the Barr Trail. Passing the overlook into the south cirque, I saw a few bits of ice but there was not enough snow to make anything worthwhile so I continued on to Barr Camp. I was happy to know that they sold food at a reasonable price when I got there, and was able to purchase a candy bar.
I sat and talked with the caretaker again, and that made me feel better. I asked him to keep an eye out for my mitten if he headed out there and let him know that the conditions were not as ideal as thought. The bottom third was swimming, the middle was good, and the top third was thin with mostly rocks instead of snow. Then I got up. I knew that if I didn't get up I would not be able to convince myself to leave. I walked and I walked and I couldn't help but feel pitiful as my legs burned and my knees felt weaker and weaker. But I kept walking, and eventually I made it to the top of The Incline right after the sun set. I sat down and rested, looking out onto the city lights, and I couldn't think of anything but pain. Then I got up and walked down. One step at a time. I don't remember much of the rest until I got to the car except the pep talking I was giving myself willing my body down the hill. "Don't stop, don't sit down, keep moving, don't even think of sitting down, don't you fucking stop, walk, move, go, one step at a time." After more than an hour, I reached the side trail that led to the parking lot. I slumped into my car and drove home feeling defeated.
I want to climb big mountains. Alaska, Patagonia, the Himilayas. I want to do huge multi-day, committing climbs of high technical difficulty. How could I ever pull off something like the Cassin Ridge on Denali if I couldn't even climb a relatively easy snow coulior without dropping things and more or less becoming a gigantic cry baby. The weather was bad for a day and it put me off. The bad weather on Pikes Peak would be a summit opportunity in Patagonia and here I was wrecked to the core mentally and physically, practically crying as I made the last steps to the car.
It wasn't over yet. I received no sympathy from my girlfriend as I lay there shivering in pain. It wasn't her fault having never done anything like that. She asked me to help her carry some things for her, which seemed like a death sentence. My heart rate was already almost double while laying still. My breathing was like someone on a long jog. I was completely wiped. After taking a shower and laying for a while, I felt like I could get up and move around a little bit. This wouldn't prepare me for the next day however.
The next day I had to work, and so when I woke up and went to get out of bed...I realized it was going to be a horrible day. Every muscle spasmed while I turned and rolled onto the floor. When I say every muscle, I mean all of them. My feet felt like hamburger, my neck and head throbbed with dull pain. It was like the gift that keeps on giving as the week went on. Not only was I in horrible pain for the rest of the week but as we went to do some light hiking over the weekend I could not find my camera.
A few weeks later, after scouring the apartment and my things for the camera I decided to call on my warranty which I had purchased because of the condition advertised: "You say oops, we say no problem." I figured oops pretty much covered anything, but apparently I forgot to read the fine print. As I walked into the Circuit City store the counter person asked me to produce the camera. When I explained I did not have any pieces she said there was nothing she could do. Ever resolute and having faith in the system I went home and broke another camera which didn't work. After removing any identifying marks I went to another store and lied, telling them I dropped it down the mountain. They then told me that I would have to call the warranty. The warranty company said that they needed a piece with either the serial or the model number on it. Unable to produce such evidence, I asked for them to refund me the cost of the warranty which they said I would receive in six weeks. Take note, if you drop your warrantied camera into a crevasse, a lake, or somebody snatches it from you just suck it up because no one will replace it for you, at least not if you bought it from Circuit City.
In the end I lost about $250 worth of gear, returned $30 worth of gear (Mountain Chalet was great). Worse than that I lost my motivation and a little bit of my confidence. It's been over a month and the only climbing I've done is in the gym. I finally went to Rocky Mountain National Park to check out some ice and snow but that's another post for another day.
In the end of our lives we must all travel alone. We travel a well worn path without guidebook or map to a place that nobody knows. Left behind are the many connections we have made like spun silk cast out into space to those who knew us. The web is cut with amazing speed and finality as the rest of us try ineffectually to re-establish the connection.
I once again decided to start from the Barr Trail and as I drove down the highway I looked at the long gash that loomed over Manitou Springs marking the path of The Incline. When I pulled into the crowded parking lot I asked which was faster. The answer came that The Incline was faster and saved about three miles off the Barr Trail. Since I had a long way to go I decided it would probably be worth it. After an hour I was at the top, gasping, and sweating. Surely, I thought, I must be punishing myself for something. The Incline gains more than 2,000 vertical feet in one mile. The slope probably varies from between fifteen degrees to at least forty-five. After sitting for several minutes and feeling mentally pressed to continue I intersected with the Barr Trail and started the long miles uphill.
Making my way through the dark pine forest I realized the sun was setting behind the mountain and pushed myself faster. As I turned the ridge I came out of the trees and soon lost the trail but saw a gigantic granite face which made me wish for someone to go climbing with. Keeping to my current contour I soon found myself at what appeared to be fairly low angle slabs. My stomach churned as darkness fell. As I inched my way across the low angle slabs slowly became high angle slabs. Looking into the abysmal darkness which I had earlier noted as about 300 feet I turned on my headlamp and looked ahead. I cursed aloud as I looked at the wet, polished slab. I turned and slowly made my way back and carefully made my way back to the talus field where I picked my way over boulders and through scree while listening to a serene stream. I finally came to a flat spot and set up my sleeping arrangements. As I looked up to the infinite sky set against the silhouette of the surrounding alpine walls I felt a familiar comfort. The surrounding environment was indifferent to my presence. If I was crushed by a falling rock or simply failed to wake up there was no malice in it, I simply would cease to exist. With that thought I slid into my bivy sack and rested my weary muscles.
For quite some time I had been reading about ice climbs located near Corinthian Column but had never seen it. Now that I was looking down the northern cirque I could see it quite well. As I ascended I inhaled the smells of rock and dirt. I looked down on the clean pink slabs and across to the green ledges of mountain grass and flowers. As I looked up I saw mountain goats climbing fearlessly up ahead of me and so they led me all the way to the top. As I reached the top of the ridge I noticed the cars on the road to my right. Walking into the summit house it started to rain. My solitude broken, I felt somewhat angry at the hypoxic masses. What do they know of tired? What does she mean she can't breath? What a bunch of weaklings. I slowly calmed down and laughed at myself. People experience excitment in different ways, who am I to judge those who only wish to indulge in the summit and not the beautiful journey to get there. I sat and talked for a short while with the few people who asked about my hike up. While they all seemed impressed I saw no hint in their eyes they wished to try the same thing.
In the morning I awake before the sun. I bring my thoughts down to the level of what is before me, soft clouds and the advancing red and orange light. As the sun is about to peak above the horizon I look at the wall behind me as it alights in bright alpenglow as if on fire for a brief moment and then fades to a more neutral gray. I watch the clouds go by as the sun rises unabated and continuous. As the clouds burn off I urge myself to rise and after some internal cajoling I pack my things and head out.
One might ask why I chose to do something dangerous at all, let alone by myself. Sometimes we must enjoy an experience with others. To share the fear and the joy is to spread the burden or gift amongst friends. In solitude we bring the whole of the experience upon ourselves. Our decision making is not influenced or anchored by that of our cohorts because of their anxiety or skill. The inner turmoil of risking ones life is the essence of life itself becuase if one never chooses to risk a fall, how can they be sure they cherish life at all?