The Micro Canyon Mishap

Senior year of my Undergrad Chemical Engineering degree, the final semester, finally allowed me a bit of time to get out and breathe outside. Up until then i had been doing double duty working 30+ hours a week and pursuing 2 degrees without much time to get out and explore.

Arizona is an amAZing and beautiful place, but it is a land of stark beauty. Most of the plants have heinous thorns that shred skin, animals are poisonous, the terrain is quite rugged- steep loose mountains or flat open desert, and there is a general lack of water (its the desert). My childhood years were spent exploring the lands of Central, Northern, and Southern AZ as a boy scout, i had grown up learning how to move through this terrain, learning how to navigate by terrain features and a compass, getting lost then finding my way back. As a teenager my attention was drawn elsewhere by the typical teenager distractions, Playing on my HS football team, going to parties, homework... I very infrequently got out to go camping or hiking. I forgot what that side of myself wanted. In college i found that side of myself again. As a way to de-stress after school and work, I would often go for a run by Tempe town lake or through Papago park. Occasionally i went farther afield, into the Mcdowells, Flagstaff, Sedona, or the many canyons and mountain ranges throughout the state. They became a bit of a sacred place for me. A place to get away from the obligations and business of the city.

The Superstition front at sunset after climbing a few years ago. This series of spires and cliff faces is probably one of the more photographed areas in Arizona,, yet it is one of the least recognized.

One spring Sunday morning, after a rainstorm had moved through, Andrew, and i decided to head out to the Supersitition mountains, a range of complex terrain that is the remnants of three separate volcanic events that resulted in innumerable canyons carved into the welded volcanic tuff (thats the type of rock). The rock is porous and unique,. On our drive in, Andrew and i, both fans of water peeping looking at rain fed waterfalls and water features, were amazed at the amount of water that was flowing through this normally dry place. The area was astoundingly beautiful with waterfalls everywhere. Our plan for the day was to run through the north fork of Tango canyon in the fish creek area. I knew this canyon would have water flow from the recent rains, however it is usually a class A or dry to non-flowing canyon so i was not anticipating any major issues, we had gear and wet suits to get us through whatever we needed for the day. We got a late start, and were walking in to the canyon at around 11 am. I wasn't expecting an issue with this as the round trip for this canyon  should have been around 6 hours, plenty of time for us to run through and get back to the car before sunset. 

Rare waterfalls along Highway 88

The superstition mountains got their name from a number of stories that early phoenix settlers heard from the Pima Indians about people venturing into these mountains where they heard strange sounds, became completely and hopelessly lost, or died from any number of ailments. It is easy to see how they got their name, the terrain is rugged and complex, with inconsistent cliff bands that come and go among convoluted and vertical terrain choked with thorny cat claw and cacti. For those who are not familiar with the range, i can guarantee everyone has seen a picture or painting of these mountains. I myself have seen adds featuring these cliffs as far away as in a German newspaper ad, or a Costco sleeping pad box, or an airplane magazine backdrop. They represent the quintessential "desert" landscape of the southwest.

At the time, Andrew was still pretty new to the outdoor life, i had taken him through a canyon or two. We were still relatively new friends that had met in my engineering program at ASU, and in general Andrew was reliant on my abilities to navigate through whatever activity we had chosen for the day, he was more or less just along for the ride

Side bar, just before pulling in to the parking area, there was a Gila monster waddle-running long the road, Love those guys!

We left the small turnout off of the old Apache trail dirt highway and began the journey. The Canyon floor quickly dropped away as we headed up to the top of the Horse Mesa flats. Andrew marveled at the water. Here you could visibly see how a river forms. The recent rains had left the ground soaked and water was springing out of the rock everywhere, these trickles began from nothing but quickly converged and in a few hundred yards became a small stream, then a medium stream, growing as they progressed back down a few thousand feet to the canyon bottom to join the gushing flow of fish creek. Following a GPS mark on my phone, we bypassed the heads of canyons that i assumed were Romeo, Sierra north and South forks, and headed towards the GPS point for what should be the Tango canyon drop in. At the time, Phone GPS units were pretty inaccurate. Couple that with complex rocky terrain that messes with GPS signals and I never got closer than a couple hundred feet away from my waypoint. This inevitably led to us dropping into a canyon one drainage too far north and unknowingly starting what would become a bit of an epic. 

En route to the top of Horse Mesa

Dropping in was beautiful in a way that the superstitions only can be, with water pouring out of the porous rock all over the place and vegetation fresh and green. The recent rains had compromised a lot of the slope stability though and large rocks were easily moved. Just before reaching the canyon bottom, I jumped across a small side drainage. I came so close to landing the jump, one foot was firmly on the other side of the drainage. As I came down, the boulder that i landed on gave way and my right foot rotated. I came down hard on my foot and not in a good way. I landed on the ground with the bottom of my foot more or less facing up at me. Instant pain and an utter lack of stability, i immediately stopped, took my pack off, and sat down. I have had plenty of ankle issues in the past, and gotten my share of severe sprains. This was a bit more than anything i had experienced. This was the hindrance that started what would become a much more epic day.

After wrapping my ankle as best i could given that all I had was a single roll of kurlix (now i always carry an ankle brace because i know i am prone to ankle injuries) Andrew and I set off down the drainage, what we thought was Tango Canyon. At this point we had dropped down a few hundred feet into a drainage, and in my mind the fastest and easiest way to get out was to go down. The terrain we had walked up was steep, hot, loose, and not a great option for a sprained ankle. Most canyon bottoms are relatively flat and I knew fish creek should be relatively flat and facilitate quick travel. If only…

The bottom of Fish creek several miles downstream from micro canyon on a later return trip, choked with massive boulders and vegetation.

The canyon bottom was typical of nearly every drainage I have come across in the desert, choked with large-ish boulders and thorny plants, what set this apart was the water flow. As we descended the water flow gradually picked up, carrying the recent heavy rains out of the mountains and down to the desert floor. Hours of boulder hopping in and out of water and we were seemingly exactly where we had started. Perhaps the canyon walls had grown a bit steeper and were a bit higher, but otherwise there was no apparent progress. The boulder hopping wasn’t supposed to take too long, maybe 45 minutes. Was I really moving that slow with my injured ankle? It didn’t feel like I was dragging, but sometimes it is hard to tell. Around sunset I started to get a bit more nervous. Clearly we were not in the right canyon. I pulled out the Topo Map I had printed to determine where exactly we were. From my best guess, we had gone one canyon too far. The interesting thing was that this canyon, according to the topo, did not seem to connect to fish creek, but rather dead-ended in a basin just short of fish creek. That section would be interesting, I thought. It turns out it was just a resolution issue on the map, and the soon to come narrows were to narrow to represent themselves on my Topo. The distance of this canyon also stood out to me, it looked to easily be twice the length of the others. I wasn’t exactly sure where we were within the canyon but had an idea. I did my best to commit the map to memory and put it away. We continued down.

Our planned route in red, with our actual route in orange, the X denotes the location of the incident.

Right around dusk, a wall began looming in front of us and I heard the faint roar of water rushing over a cliff. Things were about to get exciting! We had just taken out the head lamps. I had the foresight, luckily, to bring two along with me, both of which were water proof. Unfortunately I hadn’t though that much about it and one lamp was running quite low on battery charge.

As we continued into the basin I had seen on the map, I began to notice a crack that seemed to split one of the walls, The exit! Follow the water! That was our ticket out to fish creek and a relatively straight forward path to the car! Of course, things always go wrong at the worst moment. Right as we had entered this pseudo-slot canyon in the superstition wilderness, the headlamp I gave to Andrew died. With no real spot to pull over and utter darkness when I turned out the one remaining light, Andrew and I sat down so I could think about our course of action. Ahead was the literal black unknown, a canyon of unknown length and difficulty that was flowing with water. An unknown number of cliff drops. Behind was a VERY long trip up and over a mountain and convoluted drainage system back to the car that would be very difficult in my current state.

“OK, Andrew here is what we are going to do” I started mapping out to Andrew, I wanted to make sure we were 100% om the plan because there wasn’t much room for error.

“lets open your headlamp, remove two batteries from it and memorize the orientation that they need to go back in. Hold them in your left hand and the head lamp in your right. I will turn off my light, remove two batteries, hand them to you. You will hand me your two batteries. We put the swapped batteries back into the headlamps and we both have light!” We turn the lights out. The blackness is stifling and instantaneous, the world has blinked out of existence, gone with the light. The moon wasn't out that night, but even if it was it wouldn't have helped due to the narrow, high walls and the adverse orientation of the canyon for light from above. It seems the only thing that still exists is the dull roar of water flowing over a cliff and through the boulders.

We execute. This is an interesting trick that can help if you need it to. The battery that is dead usually still has just enough juice in it to add enough voltage to help run a light, it just doesn’t have enough current. Essentially you use that voltage from the dead battery and the current from the live ones to give the lamp just enough energy. It kills your two live batteries much faster but we just had to make it back to the car, two lamps were much desired over trying to pick our way out with only one.

With the lighting situation sorted, we turn and head into the unknown, unsure what we will find. My only consolation was that, when I was looking at the topo, there didn’t seem to be a large elevation difference between the seemingly stranded basin and fish creek. I was hoping that whatever we would come across could be surmounted with a 200 foot rope and whatever else I had in my kit. 

Descending into the truly unknown was an interesting and thrilling experience. I literally had no idea what would be in store for me outside of the 20-50-foot bubble that I could see with my dim lamp. We quickly came upon a drop off I looked over the edge, it seemed to be just a bit too long to down climb easily and safely, maybe 15-20 feet, especially since we couldn't see the bottom very well. With no readily visible anchor to use for a rappel, I wrapped a loop of webbing around the largest rock I could find a few feet back from the lip. I stacked the remaining large rocks that were in the canyon and were easily accessible on top of the first, creating a deadman anchor. Hopefully its namesake was not foreshadowing what was to come for us. I helped Andrew rig up his rappel and took my place as meat anchor back up. I sat on and in front of the makeshift rappel anchor we had built to give it a little extra support, so we could test it and if something failed I could still save the anchor and allow Andrew to safely make it to the bottom. Everything held, I rigged up, and we dropped in. There was no more cliffs that I could see that we would have to descend so I pulled the rope We were now fully committed to the unknown, to going down to get out, or else we would have to find a place to wait for sunrise within the slot canyon.

Micro Canyon on a return trip earlier this year with pristine emerald colored water and in a completely different state of mind.

Naturally, just out of sight, was another drop as a result of a chockstone, lightly overhanging as a result. It looked climbable and seemed to drop into a decent pool. We decided to down climb this one. I went first this time. On my way down, i slipped on the slick rock due to my week injured foot and did a mid air cartwheel. Luckily my injured ankle went into the dead space underneath the chockstone, and the pool was relatively deep. "cant be doing that"  i silently scolded myself, i didn't want to get any more injuries that would further complicate our walk out and was damn lucky the drop ended in a decent pool. Andrew came down relatively without issue. 

A slight bit of light seemed to be looming ahead. Usually the end of the slot means the end of the fun part of the day; today the end of the canyon came with relief that we would soon be at fish creek and would have a relatively straight forward, if long, walk back to the car. 

Its amazing how quickly you can get turned around in the dark with high foliage surrounding. We left the stream that emerges from micro canyon for some easy looking walking along the stream. We happen upon a stream that appears to be larger than the one we have been following. A light immediately goes off in my head "Fish creek, turn left and its a straight shot to the car". I mention this to Andrew and he immediately disagrees, questioning our directions. Fair enough, we reverse course, head back to the first bit of water. I note the direction of flow. We turn around and head back to the second stream, i note the direction of flow. They seem to be flowing towards each other. 

"This is fish creek! Its gotta be!" I say

Andrew still questions, so we go downstream a bit on fish creek, and quickly come upon the micro canyon stream entering on the right now. Satisfied, Andrew and I reverse course and begin plodding up fish creek. It is now likely 10pm.

What followed was a long mixture of bitching, grunting, swearing at plants, and the occasional rest to eat some of our dwindling food supply. Fish creek was quite swollen with runoff, travel upstream was not easy and was generally mid calf to mid thigh deep water that was moving swiftly in the opposite direction of us. About every 200 yards or so, we would get fed up with fighting the current, get suckered into a nice looking beach or hole in the vegetation and commit to walking on shore. This would go great for about 100 yards before it inevitably devolved into wading through cat-claw acacia and any other manner of sharp, thorny plants, which we would tolerate for a few hundred feet before deciding "F-this, I am going back to walking in the water". We repeat this for what seems like an eternity.

Looking down at Fish Creek on our climb up. The terrain down in this drainage was our path through the desert and our ordeal.

After hours of walking by faint headlamp and moonlight through the winding fish creek canyon, i notice the walls are starting to recede. A short bit later, i see a slope that I recognize from earlier in the day.

"The car up on top of that hill." I mention to Andrew, he doesn't believe me. I say lets go check it out. Sure enough, we surmount the bank of the creek and see the glint of the 2 AM moon high in the sky, shining on my BMW, parked along side the Old Apache Trail highway.

Andrew seems almost on the verge of tears with disbelief that his trial is over and gives gives me a bear hug, relieved that the trial is over. We saddle up and roll out. Instantly, i can tell that my hurt ankle is missing the cold water. The saving grace of walking through the complexities of fish creek is that the cold water inhibited swelling and allowed me to continue moving. It feels very hot and is starting to lock up without bathing in that cold water. Going up "the big hill" We pass a Penske truck coming down, the breaks are struggling and smoking. They have GOT to be up to something i think as we pass. Why else would they take a dirt highway at 2am? We hit the pavement again and I see a Sheriff's Truck with lights on heading the other way. I pull over as does he.

"Hey, i am looking for a Sean and Andrew, that you two?"

"Yep that's us" i replied from the other side of my car. I can tell already that my ankle is shot and can no longer stand on it.

We talk shortly about what was going on. I guess in our absence, Andrew's mom had been freaking out. She coordinated with my parents, she called the police, and this was the initial response out to find us. Likely they would call in SAR in the morning if we were not found. He asks if we have any immediate medical needs, we say no, we were just running late.

"I think you should keep going down the road though, we passed a Penske truck headed down the hill that wasn't looking too great and will probably get stuck." I mention.

Since he is out here already, he continued on to check it out.

Andrew and I head back into town and part ways. I am told he had the best What-A-Burger of his life that night at 3 am, relishing in the stark dichotomy of the last few hours.

I awoke the next morning to a few figurative fires i had to fight. My ankle is easily the size of a softball or larger, i can't weight it and i have to ride my bike to work, i have no crutches. One of the few benefits of going to school close ish to home is that i can strategically call in a parent for help. I discover that several others were alerted of my absence that night including my dad. They were prepping to go out and search. At dark. In terrain they were unfamiliar with.

In the event that anyone you know goes missing and their overdue time is after the sun has set, PLEASE DO NOT go out and try to find them unless you are very familiar with the terrain, highly practiced in night travel, and are carrying everything you need to spend multiple nights out. When I began talking with them, it was clear that this was not the case, and it would probably have resulted in several more rescues being required had they have gone out. The thought was much appreciated, but heading out at night in complex terrain will likely not help anyone. This is why SAR generally does not initiate searches at night unless they have:

• Already made contact and have an exact location or a very good understanding of the terrain
• Can see or communicate with the rescuees
• Are extremely familiar with the terrain
• Are doing a cursory search along a main corridor or main trail

The last thing you want if for a potential helper to become a victim themselves. This is taught in all rescue and first responder classes. If the scene isn't safe (that could mean it is night time and you don't know where you are going) find a way or wait until it is!

To end this on a bit of a lighter note, here are my repercussions from our little excursion:

The following day was a follow up for my Senior year capstone project with my team and one of my professors. When i stumbled into the room on crutches, and, i should note, absolutely covered in scratches from those oh so lovely thorny bushes and cat-claw acacia, everyone had a nice deer in the headlights look. My professor takes one look and just says "what the HELL happened to you??"; everyone had a good laugh.

At first glance, my mom immediately says we are heading straight to the hospital after i get out of class. My ankle is bad but i didn't think it was thaaaat bad, and wasn't planning on seeing anyone. Sure enough, when the doctor walks in he says:

"What happened to you? You get mauled by a horde of cats???" I guess the cuts are pretty noticeable, i mean i must have at least 200-300 of them peppering my skin. An X-ray doesn't show a break but based on how everything looks, my range of movement and control of the ankle, and physically feeling my tendons as i flex, he suggests that i have likely torn nearly all of the muscular attachments in my ankle and apparently I am super lucky i didn't do any more because it would have needed surgery. It would be about 5-6 months before i could run again easily, 8 before i felt back to 100%, but only 1.5 moths before i went skiing!

No Bad Days

I am going to preface this with two notes: 

1. Nothing in particular triggered me to write this (i,e, no nothing bad happened) i was just out walking in the mountains and thinking/listening and was inspired to write this 

2. This post is very different from the rest. No trip report, no crazy adventures recounted here, no mountain stoke, and i am not trying to grandstand from a point of privilege, just some thoughts i had alone on the skintrack that might make someone else think. Or maybe they will make everyone think i am crazy. 

I might not say this often (I am sure anyone who has spent time with me out sin the wild can infer this though) but there are two things that i strongly believe in:

1. There are no bad days

2. If you want something, you have to work for it

There are no bad days. Real quick here i am going to get technical, something that annoys a lot of the people i tend to spend time with and say: the day is an inanimate idea, it is neutral so it can never be good nor can it be bad because it can't decide, it is just what WE make of it. There are no bad days, it is just a matter of perspective.

​​ Dawn patrol skiing before work is a great way to start the day. It doesnt matter what happens for the rest of the day because i got to watch a stunning sunrise and ski some of the best snow and terrain around!

The impetus to write this came from a solo tour up Patsy Marley. The wind was gusting at 45+ and transporting small amounts of snow - just enough to get in your eyes and feel like needles on exposed skin, clouds were descending and it was nighttime. Snow was safe but just because it had been so long since it snowed that everything had settled and definitely been skied out. In salt lake, this would be considered a bad day, a day not worth going out because we are so lucky to have consistently good snow conditions. As an Arizonan though, even this week old corral reef of a snow surface that was jacked by the wind was better than what we had in Az, there was snow at least. I consider myself lucky that i am able to go out and walk in the mountains in a safe manner after work, even if it is by myself on "bad snow", rather than drive 4+ hours to get in a small amount of skiing on simultaneously warm and icy snow that is almost always thinly covering rocks. There are no bad days.

 Even when the wind is blowing so hard you cant stand upright, there is so much snow in the air that you feel like you are drowning with every breath, and mother nature is seemingly hell bent on wiping any trace of your existence off the face of this earth; there are no bad days. Days like this offer important formative experiences, they try who we are, try bonds between friends. The result is something that is much stronger, much deeper, more involved, more of a basal human connection than what existed before. Life and the memories that come from these days are far more vivid than a day spent on the couch cocooned in a controlled climate and comfortable. They might not be comfortable days, sometimes you just have to sit back and laugh about how fucked up the situation is before figuring out what to do, but we definitely learn and grow from them. There are no bad days. 

​​ Lonely and windy day out in the Wind River Range. Conditions weren't ideal but smiles were had

​​Weather is shit, sure... definitely not a standard vacation, but even so we are all smiles! Clayton enjoying some fresh snow

Early in 2017 my girlfriend and best friend of 8 years (more than a quarter of my life until that point and someone i was soon expecting to get married to) suddenly and unexpectedly ended our relationship without giving any reason. I was absolutely devastated in a way that i had never experienced. Even that day, one of my worst, was not a bad day. Even the days that followed, which found me sitting alone in my car in a remote area of the Wasatch range thinking about life, what i was doing with it and if i even wanted to live anymore, it wasn't a bad day. Don't get me wrong, it was very very far from a great day, i was in a very dark place, but i learned a lot from this experience. I was forced to open up more to friends and family, something i am notoriously bad at. Something i am working on changing a bit through this medium. I had the mentality that no one cared for me but learned that this was not the case. I was forced to look at my life, evaluate what was me and what had been formed as a part of that failed relationship. I was forced to evaluate what i wanted out of life in a way that i didn't have to before. There are no bad days. There are days that try us to our core, that push us harder and farther than we expected we could be pushed, sometimes we don't come back from them, but there are no bad days. It is all in how we look at them.

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20+ hours, many thousands of vertical feet, and only completing about 2/3rds of the route that we wanted to do, but it was still a good day, thanks Vlad!

I could go on with other experiences and how they changed me or what i learned from them, but instead i will bring it back to the beginning. I thoroughly believe there aren't any bad days.  Here in SLC it is pretty easy to get on the 'gram or facebook and see all the rad things that everyone is doing and be overwhelmed. For anyone it is easy to get overwhelmed by work and life. Things aren't always as extreme as what i have said above. Life can be a bit bleh, but there are no bad days. The day is what you make of it. For me, that means getting out whenever possible, even if the weather isn't cooperating and the windchill is in the negative numbers, the snow is icy and windjacked, or it is raining. Even if i have no one to go with, i try to get out whenever possible because moving through the mountains and desert landscapes of the west bring me joy. Sure it means i spend a lot of time alone out there, but it means i have a lot of time to think about whatever i need to. In the case of that night on Patsy alone and in the wind, it meant collating my thoughts and galvanizing myself into being a bit more vulnerable and writing this.

If you are stuck in the doldrums at work or in school, the psych is low, or you are just kind of blase floating through life, go and do something to make today a good day. Go for a run, go climb a mountain, read a book, make yourself a fancy coffee, do something small every day to make it a good day, focus on the positive and make sure you are doing it for you, not to impress whoever else. But on those days where everything seems to be working against you and you can't get a win, rather than see a hopeless abyss, try and look at it from the other  side. How much you will grow and learn from this experience, even if that means never doing whatever it was again. Plus, it might make for a good story! There are no bad days. 

If you are really in a bad place. Please reach out. To me, to a friend, to your mom, your dad, a sibling, someone. Go for a run, a hike, grab a coffee, play a video-game, read a book, do something to help yourself out. Things wont change by themselves. To leave everyone with a quote that isn't mine but that i really like: "we are the stories we tell ourselves, make it a good one!" Have a good day!

Goals and Failure on the Grand Traverse

The Tetons hold a special place in the lives of many north american climbers; i am no different. The first "big" alpine objective i ever attempted was on the Grand Teton shortly after moving to Salt Lake. Since then, i have been back a few times to climb or ski in the park. Each time, I am amazed at the progress i have made in my fitness and climbing competency. What once was inconceivable in a day has now become just one step in a much larger objective. What remains constant is the astounding, overwhelming beauty of the place.

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The beautiful and amazing north face of the Grand Teton

At the beginning of this year, on a bit of a whim, i set 3 goals for myself. Complete the WURL in salt lake (haven't tried it yet, hopefully i will before the snow starts), Climb the Original Route on the Rainbow Wall in Red Rock, Las Vegas (a 14 pitch 5.12 that is amazingly beautiful but so seemingly far out of my reach that this was more of a moonshot), and complete the Grand Teton Traverse in one push under 24 hours. All of these goals were past the edge of what i perceived my limit to be, but hey that's the point of goals, right? To push you to be better. Of the three goals, i thought this would be the most achievable. The WURL involves 36 miles of "running" with 20,000 vertical feet of gain over a rocky ridge line. I hardly lead 5.12 in the gym, let alone even thinking about leading 5.12 on gear in a remote multi-pitch setting similar to what is required for the Rainbow Wall. The Grand Traverse, however, was "only" 14 miles, ~13000 vertical feet of gain, with climbing up to 5.7 on the north face of the Grand Teton. I have done 10,000  plus foot vertical gain days hiking on skis with relatively little problem so i thought this would be the easiest to start with.

The route goes roughly as follows: East face of Teewinot (~6000 ft of gain class 4 climbing, though i have yet to find the truly 4th class route), Peak 11840, East Prong (both 4th class) Mt Owen (5.4), Grand Teton North Face from the gun-sight notch (5.7 ish, generally 6-7 pitches of roped climbing), Middle Teton North Ridge (5.5) South Teton (3rd class), a bunch of small peaks including: Ice Cream Cone (5.7) Blob, Gilkey, Spaulding, Cloudveil (4th class), and finally Nez Perce (4th class) linking all of the Tetons, and several other major peaks in the central Teton range into one loop that remains above 11000 feet for nearly its entire length. It links some amazing peaks and classic climbing through the heart of the Teton range.

This climb is plagued by the alpine catch-22: The more you take with you, the longer you will take to do the route, therefore the more safety margin you need on route due to being exposed to the risks of climbing for so long, thus requiring that you take more gear to be safe. Its a vicious cycle. We suffered a bit from this because of the time of year. The first attempt was early august, which was still considered "early season" due to the snow this year. The second attempt was early September after the first snow of this year and was probably "too late". There is a sweet spot of minimal gear requirements and maximal speed/efficiency/safety sometime around the second or third week of August. For both attempts, an ice axe was brought with, and if nothing else, helped ease the decent and make it more fun (glissading is WAY better than walking down the loose boulder fields in both forks). 

On September 8th my alarm went off at 12:30 am. Wohoo! Almost 3 hours of sleep! Adam and i wrap up our bivys, head over to the car to get some coffee started, pack some last minute items, and eat breakfast. By 1:15am we had started up the Teewinot trail. The trail is pretty obvious until it hits a snow band. After that the scrambling begins and i have yet to find the true 4th class way up this peak from the east. Adam and i negotiate the 4th class terrain with the occasional 5.5+ sections in approach shoes in the dark. At least with the stifling darkness we cant see how high up we are. We got to the top of Teewinot by 4:30am, still a long time until sunrise but that is OK because we still have a LONG way to go! The summit didn't afford much in the way of views, probably because it was still ~3 hours before sunrise and there was no moon, but we were greeted with a constant flash of lightening far to our north in the Yellowstone area. Looks like it will be an exciting day!

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Adam riding the summit of Teewinot at 4:30am

​​Looking back at Teewinot from east prong at sunrise

​We quickly made it down then over to peak 11840. In early august i did the loose walk around, this time we opted for the rappels off the backside. I am not sure which i think is better. Time wise, they are pretty close, but i guess going up and over the top saves a little bit of energy from not walking? I suppose if you had the walk around dialed it might be quicker though. Moving over to east prong it becomes apparent: no one has attempted the traverse, even the cathedral or the Teewinot-Owen, since the snowstorm at the end of august 2 weeks prior, so we get to set the trail through the snowfields! Its a good thing we brought the ice axes!

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After crossing the Koven Col, the weather we had been watching roll through to the north finally makes its way into the Tetons. It looks like we hit the "20%" in our 20% chance of rain. On a positive note, the precipitation didn't come down as rain! Adam and i look up as the clouds roll in at sunrise to see a wave of graupel swirling though the air about to engulf us. Maybe i am a bit masochistic or just crazy, but i think it is really interesting being in the mountains, canyons, or really anywhere, when some "less than ideal" weather rolls through. Places just seem so much more vivid and alive when weather rolls through, like i am witnessing a secret side of the mountain that is held back from those who only venture out in the sunlight and blue skies. We paused, Adam remarks on how amazing the swirling clouds of graupel are (you can actually see the graupel swirling, thrown every which way by the winds, it was really cool, maybe i am just nerding out on the weather a bit though). I urge us to keep moving because it just got really cold, windy, and now with the precipitation everything is getting wet. At the very least, i know there are some sheltered spots closer to the summit of Mt Owen that we can hunker down in if we need to. The snow and ice covering rocky sections on Mt Owen made a usually casual section a bit more spicy but beautiful nonetheless. By the time we were at the base of the Koven chimney (route to the top of Mt Owen), the weather had mostly blown through, leaving us with some stout winds, cold temps, and wet cloths, gear, and rock. After a quick summit, we returned to a sunlit wind sheltered spot for a nap/warm up while we waited for the north face of the Grand to dry a bit, we are 8 hours in to the traverse (slowed down by adverse weather) and still had a long way to go, so a short nap to wait for better conditions was welcome!

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Adam pointing to where we will be going soon! Its gonna be exciting!

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Me looking up at a moody Grand Teton as the weather rolls in

With clear skies and strong winds, we dropped into the notch on the south west side of Mt Owen and quickly made it to gunsight notch. In August, i got to lead all pitches on the north face of the Grand, so i let Adam do the honors this time. He threw on the one pair of rock shoes we had brought with (just in case the north face was too icy and we had to climb a more difficult route) and set off out of the gunsight. With a single 60 meter rope we were able to get through all of the technical climbing and up to the 4th class section leading to the top of the grandstand and the beginning of the north face proper. There were some sweet ice flows forming on the north face that i would love to find more information about. "what are we doing?!? we should be over on that ICE!" Adam exclaims, but those weren't our objective for the day and will have to wait for another trip, plus we don't have the gear which makes saying no to the temptation easy. The north face was in less than ideal conditions. In a lot of places, there was an invisible thin and glassy layer of ice covering the rock which made for some tenuous climbing, especially in approach shoes.

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Me Rappelling into the Gunsight Notch

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Me climbing near the top of the technical climbing on the Grandstand

Near the summit, what was a visibly clear sky turned out to be clear to the north, with a snow squall approaching the peak from the south-east. As Adam topped the "boulder problem in the sky" a short boulder to make the top out on the summit of the grand more fun, i heard a strange noise. It sounded like pressure was releasing from something in my pack; i didn't think much of it at first. Adam started hearing it too, so we immediately threw our packs which both featured a lovely lightning-rod esque ice axe begging for a strike, and hid under a boulder as the snow squall rolled through dropping more graupel. The storm didn't seem overly electrical but that is the only thing we can think was causing the really strange noise. In 5 minutes, it was over, the skies cleared, and we were on the summit. 

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Adam looking out over his kingdom, On the Summit of the Grand Teton

The mental crux of the grand traverse is definitely leaving the lower saddle (after the "cathedral traverse'). The trail is so enticing and the trip back up Middle Teton (while only ~1300 feet of vert) starts to look disheartening. This is where Vlad and I turned around in early august. We got the benefit of a high snow year at that time and were able to glissade most of middle teton glacier and the snowfields below to avoid walking most of the descent. After a quick break to refuel and refill water, Adam and I say no to the easy out and continue up and over Middle Teton. The ascent went quickly, however the 5.5-6 section leading out of the black dike notch and onto the "summit" ridge was a bit of a mental crux. Soloing heady 4-5th class terrain for hours in the dark, then in the snow and rain mentally takes its toll. The steep and fractured pitch of rock definitely put me on high alert, especially since Adam had run ahead as i took a moment to relieve myself halfway up the route. Standing alone on the summit of the Middle Teton late in the afternoon in the now beautiful weather was a real treat though, and made the trip up the ridge 100% worth it.

Looking at the loose and rocky descent and subsequent potential ascent of South Teton soured the moment a bit; the ascent looked a bit longer than i had hoped. I though i was out of the woods and over a LCL strain in my left knee that resulted from overuse/the last time i attempted the traverse but on the descent it really started acting up and becoming a bit unstable/painful to walk. Disheartened due to the long distance still to go to get to South Teton and the ridgline that followed, and taking into account the time of day, speed at which i could move, pain in my knee, and technical difficulty that still remained i made the call to Adam that i didn't think we should continue. The time has come and i admit to myself that i am just not good enough to complete the route in a day.
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Vlad descending Middle Teton Glacier in early August. Everyone was wondering what we were doing out on the snow including a question "what is that orange spike thing for??" Oh the ice axe? its for having fun!

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Backing off is something i struggle with sometimes, did i make the right call? Am i just being a chickenshit and backing off, taking the easy way out? In February i was in Canada attempting a winter ascent of Mt Sir Donald when another friend, Teddy, and i made the call to bail about 1500ft from the summit with daylight left. Technically i think we definitely could have made it to the summit and back but we would have been risking a night out in Canada in February. I have been kicking myself a bit ever since for backing off. Now i was faced with a similar situation. There was still light left, we still had strength, but i could tell the state of my LCL was deteriorating.  I think i could have "toughed it out" and completed the traverse but that would have put us on the ridge line in loose and unknown 4th-5th class terrain tired and in the dark. I am sure we could have finished the route but I guess on a base level i didn't want to risk a substantial injury and complicated descent and missing out on ski season in order to finish the goal. I think i made the right choice? It is an iterative learning process and I am still trying to figure out where to draw the line between pushing myself and doing something stupid. But we were so close to finishing!

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Descending to the Meadows in Garnet Canyon in early August. The south fork looks like this, just ~3 miles longer and less fun.

Descending was a bit painful. The LCL issue really only manifested itself when walking on rocky terrain going down. Which is all the descent through the south fork of Garnet Canyon is. For Miles. Adam and I got a bit of glissading in, I got to get a bit of skreeing in (scree skiing) because it was the faster and easier way down for my knee. Around dusk we made it to the meadows, which remain mostly covered in snow from an absolutely massive avalanche that occurred sometime in February, the remnants of which contributed to the decision a group of friends and myself made to back off from skiing the hourglass couloirs on Nes Perce. Around 10:30 we made it back to the car, exhausted from the 22 hours of movement, countless feet of rock climbed, then descended, and a full value day in the mountains. And to think, people do this shit in 6 and a half hours! THat is absolutely mind blowing! Definitely, hats off to Rolo garibotti and Nick Ellison (current speed holder), that is an inhuman effort to put up that kind of time on the route!

Time for some left over pizza and beer!! In the morning we won't relax, hang out, and say hi to bears like I did in August, Adam is on a time crunch and has to get back to Salt Lake to study for school, that's dedication!

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 Good Morning Bear! A bear says hi as I while i was trying to put shoes on after a quick dip in Jenny Lake

Did i mention the attempt occurred right after my birthday, on my first day of 28? 28 didn't start off as such a smashing success as I hoped it would. Rather it turned out to be nothing but failure, I guess it can only get better from here though? Hopefully after another year of ski touring and training, i will come back and crush it next year! I am hanging up alpine climbing for the season, its time to run off to the desert for some towers and big walls! Zion here i come!!

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The north face of the Grand shrouded in clouds as a storm approaches

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Waking up in my bivy to an outstanding view of Teewinot, couldn't ask for a better view