50 years. An insignificant blip on the geologic time scale. A substantial chunk of a human life. During my life, five decades passed between meeting and climbing the Grand Teton.
The Grand: just a little bump when viewed from Mt. Moran
I first set eyes on the Teton Range in Wyoming in 1968. Our family's unprecedented driving trip from Minnesota to California to visit my sister Jeanne in groovy Berkley. My dad at the wheel for every single mile; mom ( who never had a driver's license, though I learned later that she used to drive in the rural community where I was born! ) collecting desert and rainforest plants. With her careful ministrations, these stunned plants would thrive in the Minnesota backyard that experiences the same 4b planting zone climate as Anchorage, Alaska. I shared the back seat with sister Kathy, early signs of a librarian's organization in a cataloged plant list and location map. And for the first time, I touched alpine rock and snow, filled my lungs with rarified air.
The Tetons drew me back in 1974, the year after graduating from high school. With Eric, Mark, and Jeff, we tramped and slept along forest trails and exhilarated in the riot of wildflowers above tree line. We kicked steps into the lower reaches of a snowfield! Only our dreams and imaginations ventured higher with grand and vague ideas of crampons, axes, ropes. Carabiners! exotically intoxicating.
Eric, Jeff, & me
Standing: Mark, Eric, Jeff
I returned in 1977 with a geology field camp class, Jim B. and I accidentally descending off trail and making the rest of the class wait. I would come to test the patience of one of those classmates repeatedly over the next forty years. And more if she'll let me.
I returned the very next summer, this time fostering a blossoming romance with Lisa.
Wyoming drew me back yet again the following winter for a month of backcountry ski trips with Ken and another Robert. Three nights in motels, all the rest in snow shelters or under a tarp. The Wind River Range. In Yellowstone, we knew our last night was exceptionally cold by the increased number of times we woke up to eat snacks (turned out to be 37 below zero, Fahrenheit). And the glorious Tetons. I didn't know that four more decades would pass before my next communion.
Excavating Ken's VW Squareback after a multi-day backcountry ski trip
In 2018, I was back. This time accompanying one of the supreme gifts of that 1978 romance, our son Jimmy.
This is the story of our first climb in the Teton Range, Teewinot Mountain.
I met Jimmy and my daughter Molly in Denver on June 29th and we immediately set off for the Gore Range with a couple of Molly's friends. Sparkling alpine lakes and soaring peaks without the multitudes typical in other parts of Colorado. We heard that one hiker/climber who has climbed all of the "14ers" and 100's of other Colorado mountains considers it his favorite place. High praise, and deserved.
Following a late afternoon start (travel tip: don't forget insect repellent) and after a relaxing night:
and a beautiful hike:
we arrived at a campsite at Upper Slate Lake.
We all rested our weary legs, except for Jimmy, who took the opportunity to run (probably literally) up the prize peak in the area with the unassuming name of "L".
View from Peak "L"
On this trip, Molly broke in a new backpack I sewed for her,
literally...
I used some weak fabric for the top extension and realized it too late to change before leaving for the trip. Sure enough, it tore! Luckily it held together long enough to survive the hike out.
L-R: me, Molly, Dom, Lindsay
After hiking out the next day, Molly stayed with her friends in Denver, to do some of her architecture work remotely.
Jimmy and I started driving to the Tetons.
Sun getting ready to set behind the Teton Range
We stayed a few nights at the Teton Climbers Ranch. Cabins with mountain-hostel style bunks (see To Sur With Love) and what luxury: a shower and reliable hot water! But as with other climbing hostels, people arrive and depart at all hours of the night.
And... oh what a view.
Here's the view from the porch. The Grand Teton is behind the tree on the left. The visible mountain is Teewinot Mountain and our destination to warm up for The Grand.
So on Tuesday July 3rd, 2018, fifty years after first visiting these mountains, forty years after wooing my wife here, Jimmy and I set off from the Lupine Meadows parking lot for the classic East Face Route. My dreams of a Teton Range summit less than five miles away and 5,700 feet above.
July 3rd means summer picnics, swimming in lakes, and knee-high corn. Some places. On Teewinot, the snow lingers after an especially wet winter. Because of the snow and ice, professional guides on the Grand Teton are roping up with just a single client rather than the usual three. We (or rather Jimmy) decides that stiff soled mountain boots and crampons are the footwear of choice for the anticipated conditions.
Follow these links if you're interested in route information or trip logistics: Teewinot trip report and another (sobering) trip report
The first part of the trail ascends gradually across the valley floor. Legs swish sage brush, releasing a tangy perfume. Headlamp and eyes alternate between feet and distance to navigate rocks and avoid the sting of willow branches. My body appreciates the gentle warm up.
We reach the forested foothills, and begin climbing back and forth up numerous switchbacks. We take a brief stop to remove a layer of clothing and guzzle some water. I transfer a snack from my pack to the kangaroo pocket on my anorak. The kangaroo pocket makes it easy to grab a handful of gorp even while climbing.
I sewed my trusty red anorak in the 70's, for the backcountry ski bum trip I mentioned previously. I've worn it for pretty much every outdoor adventure over the past four decades. The faded color, stained pockets, mismatched thread used for repairs, and frayed edges are testament to many happy days and nights.
Still following a distinct trail, we skirt along the right of a forested ridge and the magnitude of this climb opens up before me. The summit lies somewhere up to the right. What captures my immediate attention however is the snowfield. This is a seriously steep bit of slippery, and probably too steep to self-arrest if I fall.
We take out axes, put on crampons, and rope up. Jimmy leads out and I go into locomotive mode: plunge the axe, step up, kick, step up kick, breathe, breathe, breathe. Luckily, the conditions are great for plunging and kicking.
After crossing the snowfield, we remove crampons and start scrambling up rock.
I rely on Jimmy's divine ability for route finding. I also rely on him when we rope up as the rock gets steeper. This route is rated as fourth class, but I'm a wimp. Sometimes we simul-climb, sometimes Jimmy gives me an old fashioned hip belay.
I see another climber when we're maybe two thirds of the way up the steep part. He's just coming onto the first snow field leaving the hiking trail. As we climb, I catch glimpses of this other guy getting closer and closer while I bellow like a race horse with every step. It's educational for me to watch him climb, because it gives me insight as to how Jimmy climbs mountains when he's not dragging up his old man.
Shortly before we arrive at the summit, the other climber passes us, jogs along the exposed narrow summit ridge, and hops to the tiny pinnacle. Here he is scampering back off the top. I traverse the exposed ridge "au cheval" (a French climbing term referring to the body position when riding a horse: think butt scoot ; )
Another climber on the summit of Teewinot, The Grand in the background
So, decades after first falling in love with the Teton Mountain Range,
Waffle stompers and my trusty red anorak
I arrive at the summit of Teewinot Mountain, the first of three warm-ups to the Grand.
Thank you Jimmy, Thank you Lisa, Thank you Molly, (and thank you trusty red anorak)
love, dad
