Excursion Article Series 10.11.08: Taggart and Bradley Lake loop makes good winter escape

Caption: This was taken on a snowshoe trip into Taggart several years ago. The water half frozen is stunning.

Excursion: Taggart and Bradley Lake Loop
Length: 2 to 3 hours
Distance: 5.1 miles roundtrip
Difficulty: Easy
Directions: Head into Grand Teton National Park from south entrance. Drive to first major parking area on the left and follow well-established trail toward mountains.

This hike grew up with me. Either that or I grew up with it. All I know is that I used to be taller than it. Now it’s twice my height.

What I’m referring to is the forest around the Taggart Lake area. In 1985, the Beaver Creek fire swept through the forest east of Taggart Lake, creating an ideal climate for new growth. My artist father once did a painting of the fire that actually won him his first major art award in 1986, which he felt opened the floodgates for his career. So Taggart Lake has always meant a lot to our family.

As such, we have logged at least one hike into the lake per year for as long as I can remember. Back when I was taller than the forest, I remember cruising up the trail and lying in wait behind boulders and trees to “scare” my parents. I still question whether they were actually frightened when I jumped out from particularly good hiding spots and roared like a Lucky-Charm-fed lion. (Answer: no. With the benefit of hindsight I’m sure they were just humoring my tiny spastic self. They probably even knew where my hiding spots were before I ever leapt out of them.)

Anyway, I always found it hard to come up with good hiding spots in the area the fire swept through because I was taller than all the trees. Diminutive, tender saplings spread out around the trail with hints of the charred remnants underneath. Even at my own tender age I understood I would be sighted way too soon hiding behind such little trees.

Nowadays, very few people probably even realize they are walking right through a new-growth forest. Most of the trees in the fire-swept area near the lake now stand between 15 and 20 feet tall. And I thought I was doing well at 6 foot 5.

The last remnants of the fire are a few burnt logs that managed to keep their upright nature and stand as sentinels near the lake. What has never changed about this simple day hike is the amazing beauty at Taggart and Bradley.

My preferred method of travel is to head right at the first junction on the trail, which curves you up around the butte and across the creek. Following that up the hill, another junction awaits. The choices: Bradley or Taggart. I recommend heading first to Bradley Lake farther up the hill and circling back to Taggart and its young forest.

Bradley Lake often has waters so still you can see your reflection in them. Perhaps more important, you can see a good chunk of the Teton Range reflected. With fall creeping behind us quickly, both the air and the water have a crisp chill. In the air, the chill’s inviting. In the water, it’s a little much.

In fact, when I last did this hike, my wife and I made it a contest to see who could crunch through more icy mud puddles. If there’s any moisture on the trails, watch the downhill sections – they can be slippery. I found myself sliding down a couple blocks of ice disguised as muddy trails.

After Bradley, head back where you came from and then take the alternative route toward Taggart. Make sure and take a moment to look up Avalanche Canyon and check out Mt. Wister and the season’s last remnants of Shoshoko Falls coming out of Lake Taminah. The view is always worth a pause on this trail.

Reaching Taggart Lake, I recommend eating lunch on the narrow bridge that crosses the outlet at the southern end of the lake.

Though not as exciting as some hikes in the park, Taggart and Bradley are accessible throughout the winter and can be reached quickly and easily. And that alone makes it worth the winter trip.


Caption: Fresh snow on the lake and ice makes a winter wonderland worth playing in. I love Taggart in the winter.

Excursion Article Series 09.26.08: Delta Lake loop full of surprises.

Caption: I took this picture of me, believe it or not. I had to do this difficult 11-mile hike in four hours and still leave myself time to play. I set the camera on my high-tech tripod (also known as a small pile of rocks) and bounded over the rocks as fast as I could while counting to 10 with the timer in my head. This was the fourth of eight attempts. I was left pretty winded with a bleeding toe after all the scrambling and jumping. The reward of this picture was well worth it.

Excursion: Delta, Amphitheater and Surprise Lake loop
Length: Four hour death march to all day
Distance: About 11 miles
Difficulty: Expert
Directions: Take main trail from Lupine Meadows. Follow trail toward Amphitheater Lake. At the north end of the first switchback after Garnet Canyon Junction, follow faint steep trail down into trees and up to lake. (More directions below.)

If you don’t like a) route finding, b) boulder hopping, c) adventure, d) steep scree slopes e) mud or f) me, then you should probably opt out of this one right now. If you don’t like any of the things in a) thru e), then f) will be particularly bad off if you go.

I’ll go straight to e) before I come back to the rest. Delta Lake is fed by Teton Glacier and others that give off melt water throughout the summer. Of course, these permanent glaciers are fine sources of glacial silt – hence the name. Over the grinding course of their lives, these powerful glaciers happily reduce proud granite boulders into granite pebbles before taking even that minute dignity away from them and making a reluctant, silky sand out of them.

Then the melt water bears this grumbling sand downhill until it comes to a repository. As much of the granite silt that is able then jumps ship when the water slows and settles to the bottom in typical hard-headed granite fashion.

“If I can’t be a boulder, at least I can sit still,” the silt adamantly declares with a deep frown and folded arms. The finer silt that can’t lay down roots lends a brilliant turquoise color to the water in the lake.

With all the silt brethren united in strike at the western edge of Delta Lake, they create a perfect mud flat which opens itself to a new, unexpected indignity: my nasty bare feet slip-sliding across their collective heads. When viewed from above, this mud flat fans out in an arc from the lake’s source. It is easy to imagine a thousand-year stop-action movie of the deposit process.

All of this history is easily forgotten as I do my impression of a 14-year old gymnast rocketing off the line for a perfect pass. When I hit full speed, I gleefully slam both feet down and let the mud carry me as far as it wants. I paced it off afterward, and I was sliding as much as 35 feet. It brought new meaning to the word mudslide.

The setting couldn’t be more perfect. The Grand Teton herself cradles Delta Lake like a favorite child. The motherly mountain rises almost directly out of the lake, with Mt. Owen also standing watch. As much amphitheater as Amphitheater Lake has, it feels minute in comparison to the walls surrounding Delta Lake. The rough folds and dazzling colors of Teton Glacier are viewable from this proximity, and it seems it would be a short jaunt up the Grand from here – which I can assure is far from the truth.


Caption: A tribute to my Chacos, which take me everywhere I want to go.

The route to Delta Lake is sketchy. After leaving the main trail, the footpath becomes very faint, and is difficult to follow. Use common sense and a watchful eye to stay on the trail. A series of cairns leads over a boulder field sprinkled with wild raspberries that are miraculously still in season. After the boulder field, the trail resumes if you’re lucky enough to find it. Soon enough, the trail spits you out near a creek that seems to flow more underground than above. The roar of the creek is audible all the way up, even though half the time you can walk right up the creek bed without getting wet. Small half-underground waterfalls dot the final several hundred feet before the final rise reveals the paradise of Delta Lake.

Out of all the gorgeous backcountry lakes the Tetons have to offer, Delta may be my favorite. After sliding around, looking at animal tracks in the mud and wading in the lake, I reluctantly bid farewell to Delta Lake and headed up the steep southern scree slope separating me from Amphitheater and Surprise. After several stumbles and a lot of sliding rock on the slope that quickly gains more than 600 feet, I was for the first time in my life surprised to see Surprise Lake. I had been expecting to come out at Amphitheater first.

The fall foliage is stunning and the lakes even more so. Just take a chance and enjoy it, if you love a) thru e) like I do, then you'll thank f) for clueing you in.


Caption: This is a deceiving picture. Because of my tight time limit, I had little if any chance to relax at this, one of my favorite spots on earth. I was taking pictures and running to the next photo-op as fast as I could. Do this hike if you ever get the chance.

Excursion Article Series 09.13.08: Cache-Game bike race is easier with all your gears, just ask all the 40-year old women that beat me

Caption: My friend Grant heads up Cache Creek Road just before sundown. Pushing daylight's limits, we did most of the trail in the dark, making this the only usable photo I had.

Excursion: Cache-Game bike trail
Length: Two hours by day and four hours by night (not recommended)
Distance: About 10 miles one way
Difficulty: Intermediate
Directions: Go to the end of Cache Creek Road in east Jackson and bike down road past closed gate. Follow road nearly four miles before crossing Cache Creek and heading uphill to the south. Follow trail markers to parking area on far side. Game Creek Road feeds right onto bike path if you’d like to return to town that way.

Oops. Dropped it.

I picked my complimentary Power Bar up off the ground and took a bite after hardly brushing it off. I figured during the race I had already eaten so much dust it didn’t matter anymore. I took more time later brushing off the dusty Chacos I had worn.

Yes, I wore Chacos in a mountain bike race. I guess I was a hot topic of conversation among the hardcore racers wearing their stretchy pants and clip-in shoes.

Me, I just thought I was the only one relaxed enough to wear my normal wardrobe to a race.

I did all right at the start of the Cache Creek to Game Creek Mountain Bike Race back in July. Of course, the start of the course was flat, beginning at Mike Yokel Park and up Cache Creek Road. My high gears work just fine.

It’s the low ones that have a problem. My low gear on the front crank was out of commission due to lack of precious, enabling oil.
When we hit the four-mile uphill stretch, I watched an incessant parade of young, old, male and female pass me. None were exempt from “beating Mark up the hill” status. Stationed all along the trail, helpers kept telling me what a good job I was doing. After being passed (I’m nearly sure of this) by everyone else doing the race, I got fed up when a right cheery lass urged me on and told me how well I was doing. I pointed at my race number (168) and yelled, “No I’m not. See this number? That’s the same place I’m going to finish.”

I wish I hadn’t been so prophetic.

I think out of about 175 entrants, I only managed to beat the two women in the age 50 to 59 category (one of which I passed on the downhill) and the guy that had to change his tire mid-race.

Sweet, huh?

I take solace in the fact that I entered on a whim with my brother Jeff about three hours before the race actually began. It was my first mountain bike race, my seat went wacky on me and started angling up and my low gear was out. I think under the circumstances I should be proud of dusting (ahem) all three of those suckers.

To add insult to injury, I was like the only person that didn’t win a stinkin’ raffle prize. At least my brother shared the pizza he won.

On a less bitter note, I oiled my chain recently and tackled the trail again. It was a different trail entirely. With a functional low gear, a seat that was firmly in place and friends that weren’t worried about time, I enjoyed it much more. I even felt like a pacesetter. Gone were the four or five times I had to dismount to get to the top of a wussy incline. Gone was the burn of being a gear too high with a bicycle seat up my … you get the idea. I had fun the first time I went, but I enjoyed my second trip much more.

The only problem we had was being too lax. By the time we came out, we were in complete inky darkness. It’s an interesting feeling going downhill by feel, I assure you. None of us dressed warm enough for the crisp night air either.

During the race in July, my brother had passed someone, yelling, “On your right!” to make sure she knew he was there.

The woman responded, “Mountain lion on your right!”

He was so intent on placing better than 168th that he didn’t stop to see the rare mountain lion. But beware, the danger is there, and it was forefront in our mind the next month as we felt our way out and heard animals moving in the trees from time to time.

The six miles of downhill are beautiful: very few switchbacks on smooth singletrack with only a couple water crossings to slow you down. Just keep in mind they are faster and more fun by daylight.

Excursion Article Series 8.30.08: Hoback Shield rock climbing nearly kills me

Caption: My friend Tristan pauses to sort out a particularly difficult maneuver on Hook It, which Shane remodeled by incidentally pulling a 200-pound boulder down and sending it hurtling toward my head.

Excursion: Hoback Shield climbing wall
Length: Three hours to all day
Difficulty: Intermediate to expert
Directions: From Hoback Junction, drive 11 miles east on US highway 189/191. Park in small dirt pullout and follow trail on north side of road uphill to wall.

“Rock!” I heard from 50 feet above me.

As a belayer who has for a brief moment turned his attention to equipment, this is not a word you want to hear yelled in distress. I looked up in time to see what must have been a 200-pound boulder dislodge from the top of a “roof” and clobber my friend Shane Hogan. Since he was lead climbing, he dropped a good six feet before I felt his weight pluck me off the ground.

By this time, I had locked the rope in the belaying device, already in a full crab-style side sprint as far as the rope would allow to avoid my imminent demise. After the initial fall the boulder splintered with a thunderclap, spraying my shins with shrapnel. The boulder’s core smashed into the backpack containing the rest of our gear and continued on its merry way, tumbling down the hillside toward the highway.


Caption: My friend Shane tries to negotiate the wicked-hard Thousand Cranes. The few tiny handholds it does have have been polished to a fine sheen by thousands of climbers.

After the danger had passed, my immediate concern was for Shane’s wellbeing.

“You all right?” I asked the shaken, dangling climber.

To my surprise, he shrugged off his battle wounds with nothing but concern for me.

“I thought you were a goner,” he said while still hanging on his rope. “You ok?”

After I assured him I was fine, he checked the inevitable souvenirs the loose old rock had left him – scrapes, abrasions and tender spots. After perusing the damage, he resumed his climb to the top bolt – albeit a little slower than before.

He later told me the first thing to go through his head beside a swear word was: “My belayer’s head is going to be smashed. I just lost my belayer.”

I guess I’m just lucky the first thing to go through my head wasn’t a large slab of granite.
Oddly enough, this happened on the easiest climb on the entire wall. The climb, dubbed Hook It, is rated 5.7 on the Yosemite Decimal System, which currently tops out at about 5.15, where 5.10 was once considered impossible.

The class of a climb is indicated by the first number. Anything in class five is a true-blue climb requiring ropes, belayers and other safety equipment or a head made of granite. Since the latter isn’t really an option, go prepared. Every one of the dozen or so routes at the Hoback Shield is rated at 5.7 or above. The second number indicates the difficulty of the climb within the class. The higher the number, the sicker the maneuvers a climber will have to pull off to make it to the top.

We chose Hook It after being abjectly humiliated by Thousand Cranes, a 5.10a route on the far end of the wall. The holds, which are few and far between, are all polished limestone – difficult to grip even if you can find them. Even I at 6 foot 5 could not find the next suitable handhold to lug myself up. Out of the six preplaced bolts on that climb, I think we managed to make it to the second before handing the victory to the wall.
We were eyeing Hook It to begin with, but when we arrived it was occupied by a sobbing 13-year-old girl who couldn’t come to grips with cresting the route’s namesake, a protruding overhang, or roof, which requires a creative mind and some wacky positions to scale.

We watched as the terrified girl and several other climbers took stabs at the roof. Each used handholds and footholds on the exact boulder that later collapsed on Shane. In fact, the holds on the boulder were so large and the route so well climbed that no danger would ever be inferred by looking at the situation. What happened was a sheer fluke of happenstance.

I’m just glad it happened to us and not the crying teenager.

Though rated at 5.7, Hook It may be more difficult now due to our little remodel of the outcropping.

“I know some of the big holds that were there on top are gone now,” Shane said. “So good luck.”


Caption: Debris from the rock that almost took my head off rests on my rented climbing shoes. I was only wearing my Chacos for comfort while I was belaying.

Excursion Article Series 08.16.08: Huckleberry picking is for the bears - and me

Caption: This is the shot of my son Kael that ran with the article. Look at that hand-eye coordination! Such poise and self-control for an 11-month-old child.

Excursion: Huckleberry picking
Length: You name it
Difficulty: Mild to back-breaking labor, depending on quantity harvested
Directions: Pick your favorite haunt. The woods on Signal Mountain are a decent place to start. Beyond that, huckleberry patch information is proprietary.

Don’t read another sentence. Just go.

You read that one didn’t you? You’re wasting precious time! Oh fine, take the paper and have your passenger read this to you on the way if you must. You just need to go now, before you miss the whole season.

Yep, the huckleberry season is on, but not for much longer. Come early September, all that is generally left of the crop is a few sun-whitened huckleberry corpses to show the crop ever came. Last year’s drought conditions and early season frost pretty well annihilated the entire population of the tart, succulent berries. The only ones I managed to snag all summer, despite extensive frantic searches in my favorite huckleberry hideaways, were high in South Fork Cascade Canyon right next to an enlivening melt-water stream. That made them even more of a delicacy.

This year, the conditions are just the opposite. We had a perfect, albeit late, transition from spring to summer, and 50 plus feet of snow in the mountains has raised the water table far above expectations while making dangerous climbing conditions (umm…see my Teewinot article from a few weeks back) and making farmers dance happy little jigs around their traditional straw hats.

I like to think of Huckleberry as Blueberry’s younger, sweeter and more attractive brother. Even though he is often overlooked as the tagalong at parties, if you get to know him the older brother will find himself dejected and alone with his “unvite.” Indeed, the resemblance is striking. If you shrink Blueberry down to about a tenth his size and paint him deep purple, you’re basically looking at Huckleberry.


Caption: Kael's slimy fingers go back to seek out the next target. Yum.

A word of caution: bears like huckleberries almost as much as I do. In fact, the first time I ever saw a bear was while I was out picking huckleberries. I was harvesting on Signal Mountain after a day on the lake when I was about eight years old. My bucket was woefully empty due to my tendency to eat rather than fill the bucket.

As I sat amidst the bushes in contented silence I saw cars lining up along the road. I soon found out why they were stopping.

“Dude,” a shaggy individual yelled with surfer swag, “Look at that kid up by the bear!”
It didn’t immediately dawn on me that I was “that kid” by the bear. I was in my own world, and surfer-dude, with his sunglasses and knotted blonde locks, wasn’t invited.

I turned to search out the kid by the bear, and found a young black bear no more than ten feet away chowing on the patch of huckleberries I had locked onto as my next target.
Jerk bear, eating my huckleberries.

“Run kid, run!” blondie yelled.

Little did he know I had just learned bear safety in elementary school.

“No,” I told him with the confidence that can only come with childhood innocence, “I know what I’m doing.”

I could practically hear his eyes roll behind the sunglasses.

My teacher had told me that running away from the bear only excites it – fast food, if you will. She had said bears are just afraid of us as we are of them and will only fight if we give them a reason to do so.

So I made like a tree (not a huckleberry bush) and stayed as still as possible while I watched the bear eat. Soon, he trundled his way uphill in search of another patch to ravage.

That was when I got to make use of the other bit of knowledge I had gained: bears don’t run well downhill. I do, though. I barreled down the hill when I thought the coast was clear and didn’t stop until I had found my family.

Bear safety aside, Grand Teton National Park spokeswoman Jackie Skaggs said if you’re picking berries, you need to stick to berries you know are edible. Also, if harvesting within the park boundaries, there is a limit of “one day’s personal consumption” to avoid thinning out food supply for the animals dependent on it.

I guess that means I can only pick a truckload.


Caption: Kael sits on a log and enjoys the company of his blanket and a great harvest of huckleberries. I love the sly look on his face. It's like he's getting away with something. In fact, he probably thought he was passing one by us while he harvested things from the ground. We don't usually let him eat things he finds on the forest floor.

Excursion Article Series 08.02.08: Grizzly Lake: Leeches Lurk in Lake Shallows

Caption: My wife AmberLynn strolls along Grizzly Lake's shoreline. The lake has the smoothest, deepest mud I think I've ever felt lining it's shallows. Take one step too far and you're mucking your way out, possibly without shoes. AmberLynn wants people to know she's pregnant in this picture - hence the small pooch.

Excursion: Grizzly Lake
Length: Half a day
Distance: 4.5 miles one way
Difficulty: Mild/moderate
Directions: Park across from Red Hills Campground on Gros Ventre Road and head up dirt road to southeast. Trail spurs off of road a little way in.

The first couple miles on the trail to Grizzly Lake are to me a three-dimensional representation of governmental bureaucracy. As the crow flies, this hike would be half as long.

The trail starts out as a road leading in the wrong direction. Then a small sign points you off the road onto a narrow trail. The trail at first heads vaguely in the right direction before it starts zig-zagging around private ranchlands (see where I’m going with this?) Soon you start following a creek uphill. Crossing the creek, you head to the steepest part of the hill and switchback up it to the top of a ridge. The trail then follows the ridgeline all the way down to the next creek bottom, where you rinse and repeat. The infuriatingly placed switchbacks ensure you get as many ups and downs as the rides at Teton County Fair.

In short, the trail has more loopholes than trying to get an American Embassy placed in a Communist nation.

At least the destination is gorgeous. It looks like something you might see in Yellowstone – the forest gives way to clay-like mud that craters into a small lake. The shoreline disappears at a steep and steady rate into the water. If the lake were somehow frozen and inverted, I imagine Jackson Hole would have its very own ice pyramid.

The lake actually might be classifiable as a large pond. Soft mud surrounds the lake and clogs its shallows. The first time I went to Grizzly, my friends and I scouted around the lake to find a place to jump into the water without having to wade through knee-deep water and hip-deep mud. We finally found a place on the north shore where gravel coated the first few feet of mud so we didn’t sink as far into the quicksand/mud. From there, you can make a dive for deeper waters. Leeches lurk in the lake’s shallows, so be on the lookout if you decide to swim.

The water is surprisingly warm and smooth, a wonderful swimming hole. The unique mud and warm water, coupled with the fact there is little to no fresh water streaming into the lake make me wonder if it is spring fed.

Despite the relative lack of a fresh supply of water, the fishing is obviously good at Grizzly Lake. Occasionally an unlucky hovering dragonfly gets Hoovered into the lake by a lucky fish.
Unfortunately, wildlife doesn’t seem as abundant as the name of the lake implies. I’ve been to Grizzly Lake three times and never seen one dang bear. The first time I went, I did watch a bull moose sprint through the underbrush – an impressive sight that makes you recognize the need for those spindly legs. The second time all I saw were some cows. The third time I got to watch several blue herons swoop around some highland marshes.

But mostly all you notice is the wickedly tenacious mosquitoes and horseflies. Even with healthy doses of quality bug spray, by the time we made it home my 10-month old son looked like he had a nasty bout of chicken pox. Between the bugs and the thought of the unbearable trail back, we decided to take a shorter route to return to the car. Suffice it to say that it involved an overgrown trail in the opposite direction that I was acquainted with from former trips. We also had to wade across the shallows of the Gros Ventre River – not a recommended route. After our river crossing, we still had the minor problem of being miles away from our car on a nearly deserted dirt road with legions of bugs harassing us while night fell. My wife wrapped our son up in blankets to keep him away from the mosquitoes and sent me off to fetch the car ASAP.

With my family’s safety and comfort in mind, I made quick friends with the family in the first truck that passed me on the road. They graciously gave me a ride back to my car after I explained the situation.

Amazing how easy it is to make friends around here.


Caption: On the way out from the lake, the light was gorgeous on these tall weeds. AmberLynn's still pregnant in this shot.

Excursion Article Series 07.27.08: Teewinot attempt a little hairy after huge winter snowfall

Caption: My friend Howard heads up the trail to Teewinot at the break of dawn. Little did he know the disappointment to be found on the snowfields far above.

Excursion: Teewinot summit hike/climb
Length: All day
Difficulty: Expert
Directions: Park at Lupine Meadows trailhead and head due west on trail from parking area.

Teewinot: 1. Dudes: 0.

The score is not what I hoped for after my first summit attempt of Teewinot. Each determined step I kicked into the vast mountain snowfields brought me one step closer to the top. My friends Howard McIntyre and Tristan Nelson trailed after me digging ice axes in with every plodding footstep. We figure the glacier was as steep as 60 degrees where we needed to ascend. At the bottom, a morass of pointy rocks followed immediately by a cliff and more mean granite awaited stray footsteps. Without a perfect self arrest, the possibility of death or serious injury after a slipup is alarmingly, painfully obvious. Crampons and ice axes are a must.

Even knowing we got more than 50 feet of snow this year, I wasn’t expecting this at the end of July. The snowfield began parallel to the Worshipper and the Idol, two monolithic granite structures about two-thirds of the way up the mountain, and didn’t stop until the peak’s cliffs left it nowhere to go. (Note: if you don’t feel summiting is necessary, the Worshipper and the Idol is a great destination for a day hike. Though steep, the hike up the lower portion of Teewinot is scenic, passing a waterfall and plentiful wildflowers.) Last year at around this same time, the vast sheets of ice we plodded up were nothing but scree slopes.
Of our little party, none had summited Teewinot before. Howard attempted it once last year, though he had a difficult time finding the route on his drought-year attempt. This is a common problem for first-timers on Teewinot. The route is not easy to read, even from a guidebook. Or maybe it was just our guidebook. The map it had of Teewinot looked like it was drawn while the “artist” was having oral surgery. It looked more like a jagged dog fang than the mountain on which I stood. The route’s description was no better. It basically said to veer right around the Worshipper and the Idol and head to the top.

Great.

From just underneath the peak, the cliff faces look basically unscalable. The crude line representing a route etched in on our non-representative map did little to illuminate our understanding. If anything, it only confused us more after the many verbal descriptions we had heard of the perfect route.

After more than an hour kicking stairs into the steepest part of the snowfield, we were all itching for some solid ground under our feet. I headed for what looked like a perfectly accessible slab of granite that fingered out into the snow. When we finally arrived, it proved unreachable. The steep stone had absorbed the summer sun, melting out a crevasse in the ice and making it effectively unreachable.

Just before reaching the slab, Howard lost his footing on the improvised steps and began to slide down the abrupt slope. He plunged his ice axe deep and managed to hang on. He was even smiling afterward. Tristan and I may have been more shaken than Howard. Visions of Howard tumbling/sliding into the unwelcoming boulders below made me slow my pace and kick harder to gain purchase after that.

Now more aware the snow beneath us could give way in the heat of day, Howard and I traversed to the other side of the snowfield and found our way onto some rocks. Traversing is no fun on steep, slippery slopes, but the solid ground felt good. I have to admit I was a little anxious to reach it.

Below, Tristan indicated the only way he wanted to head was down at this point. He felt like he was tired enough that after the two or three more hours we figured we’d need to summit, his strength and judgment would both be impaired, making the precipitous descent even more perilous.

Being the unofficial leader of the expedition, I told Tristan we wouldn’t push him either way. I let him make the decision, understanding that with only three of us, we really couldn’t split up. Even so, it was hard to say we were going down when my feet said up.

I don’t regret the decision to stay together. It was the safest thing to do. The only disappointment is that this was my first summit attempt that didn’t result in a nap on top of a mountain. Despite all our time and effort, the mountain won round one.

Round two will be another story.


Caption: My friends Tristan and Howard plod up the wicked-steep snowfields near the top of Teewinot.