Mr. Henderson

Henderson Ridge reminds me of Shoe String Gully. It’s a place to go when no climbing partner can be found. Both places offer a long approach, neither really warrant roping up, but both offer enough exposure to bring a little thrill to ones day if the conditions are a bit off.

The first 600 hundred feet is easy, textured, solid rock. The next 800 feet is a bit of a scramble through an assortment of fourth and fifth class route options. I crossed over North Gully at the first practical crossing just above the “diving board”. Speed was not my focus, but I was able to make the car to car loop in five hours which included a twenty minute lunch and a little hustle.  Overall a pleasant day out.

Intuition and Desire

Suffering loomed on the western horizon. Paul and I were approaching Irene's Arête, our last objective of the trip, and my ideal forecast did not call for clouds, rain, hail, lightning or even doubt. While the clouds blew through and didn't amount to much more than a brief shower, my doubt accumulated. The thought of climbing through, or waiting out, another storm on the side of a route, did not sit well with me. After two relatively big storms on Wolf's Head and the Upper Exum, I really wasn't liking what I saw through the high mountain passes blowing our way.
Of course weather is always an uncertainty climbing on the eastern side of cliffs and big ranges, but add to that our lack of a solid cell signal limiting our ability to get a reliable forecast and the uncertainty in the sky builds in your gut...at least it does with me. When feelings like that surface for me, I tend to over analyze. Perhaps I was just scared. Perhaps I was just exhausted. Or perhaps I was really trying to trust my intuition. I'd had similar premonitions before getting on Wolf's Head and the Grand, but I'd suppressed them enough to allow us to continue upward and push through the adversity we would face. This time, I wasn't ready to do that. I kept hemming and hawing, internally and externally until Paul recognized my reluctance.
"Dude, do you want to bail? Cause it seems like you want to bail." I nodded my head. I was working up toward a decision.
"Yeah," I replied. "I think I want to bail."
We waited it out for another 40 minutes or so, but my mind was already made up. I felt bad for not allowing Paul this opportunity to climb a route I know he really wanted, but it wouldn't work if we weren't on the same page. We started the hike back to camp and into the sunshine. The majority of the clouds had blown through, and the route looked perfect. But by the time we arrived at camp and pulled our sleeping pads out of the tent to catch some rays, a few sprinkles turned into a steady rain for the next half hour and sent us to the shelter of our tent. I felt a little better, but I knew that the rain wouldn't have been a big deal if we'd kept going up instead of down.

Bailing is always tough. I battle with feelings of fear, discouragement, disappointment, and lack of mental fortitude. I try and balance those feelings with other, more positive things though. Climbing, like life, is all about learning-about self, others and the environment. I also know we get caught up in comparing our abilities and exploits to others. I strive to learn more and compare less. Those feelings of discouragement and disappoint really only materialize for me when I think of what other people would do in my situation. Ultimately, it doesn't matter. I climb (or don't climb in this instance) for me.

So now that Paul and I are sitting on a bus, heading home on our last leg of our travels, we know there are a lot more routes out there that we want to climb. We will always temper our desire with our intuition, as both are key aspects of staying safe and staying strong in the mountains as well as in our friendship.  B. T.

Photo taken from: Clouds365

Experience: The Best of All Teachers

What we learned...

Packing

We arrived at the Big Sandy parking lot at around 8:00 PM.  The light was growing thin and the mosquitos were growing thick.  Nothing like packing in a cloud of bugs.  A couple of hours earlier we passed a gas station that was free of mosquitos and had plenty of space for us to spread out and pack.  But it never occurred to us that we could pack before we arrived at the trail head.  From now on the pre pack option will always be considered.

Weather

Prepare for the worst and when the worst happens hunker down and wait. This is the best advice I can give concerning weather in the Cirque of the Towers and the Tetons. Weather is difficult to predict in ranges that block the horizon. Always be prepared for rain, hail, lightning and temperatures below 40 degrees. In most of the guide books I read the majority of the rain, hail, lightning and low temperatures happen after 2:30 in the summer time. But there are exceptions to every rule.

Light and fast

The approach into the Cirque is ten miles. The first six miles are easy and the last four can be challenging especially if coming directly from sea level. Since we arrived at the parking lot at the trail head at 8:00 PM we broke the hike into two days. The first six miles we did at night to get to Big Sandy Lake. The next morning we finished off the hike into The Cirque and set up our base camp by noon. If climbers are interested in spending multiple days in the Cirque the load will not be light. Bear canisters, tents, food, fuel and other essentials are necessary items to have back at base camp. We splurged and brought in a one person tent and a two person tent. The two person tent was our bug free hangout area. This made our down time in camp a little more bearable when the bugs were in full force. It was also nice to not have to share a tent for six nights with each other after several days of freeze dried meals...

The approach to Pingora was about an hour. We brought two small packs, two ropes, an alpine rack, climbing shoes, one belay jacket, one wind breaker, two liters of water, and some food. We both wore polypropylene tee shirts, fleece hoodies, our harnesses and helmets and light quick dry pants. We left one pack, a liter of water and our approach shoes at the base of the climb. Since the weather was nearly perfect we never used the belay jacket or the wind breaker. The approach to and from thee climb, the three pitches and our thirty minute summit picnic was completed in under six hours. We packed the same for the next two climbs, but we had to carry extra water and our approach shoes since we would be needing these items for the descent and would not be rapping down to the beginning of the climb.

After two epic weather events (one on Wolf's Head and one on The Upper Exum of the Grand Teton) we took a hard look at what we would bring the next time we went into the high alpine environment. In the future I think we would bring two belay coats and some light weight, water resistant pants and jackets. Although it will add a little weight it will dramatically reduce the amount of suffering involved with waiting out a weather event. The route’s we chose were not technically difficult and we felt that the extra weight would be easily manageable.

The Right, Wrong Decision

When Brian and I applied for our America Alpine Club's Live Your Dream grant our objective was, to develop a more efficient, light and fast style of alpine climbing. After three climbs, two in the Wind River Range and one in the Teton Range, we have had mixed results in the light and fast category, but we have made tremendous progress in the shit hits the fan category.

Our first climb up the South Buttress of Pingora was probably our most efficient. We completed the climb (from tent to tent) in under six hours. The approach, the three pitches, and the descent went quickly. Even though we had only been at altitude for two days we moved fast and climbed well. All in all it was a great warm up climb. To a certain extent it was like any other day of climbing. We had fun, we enjoyed the incredible granite of the Wind River Range, but I am pretty confident that neither Brian or I felt particularly challenged nor did we learn a great deal from the experience. Little did we know that the next two climbs would push our alpine comfort level far beyond what we had previously experienced.

In Brian's July 10th entry he described the less then ideal conditions that we encountered while on Wolf's Head in the Cirque of the Towers. Our tent to tent time on that particular day was fourteen hours. During this time I think it is safe to say that we learned more about mountaineering than either of us had in any other climbing experience in our lives. A soaking wet approach, two hail storms, and a few solid dustings of rain made a relatively non-technical climb a technical one. We developed real team work, we learned to trust our feet on even the slickest rock, and we sharpened our communication skills between partners and between climbing groups. In this particular climb efficient, light and fast were relative terms. But luckily for us our high alpine education that we received on Wolf's Head was just the beginning of what lay ahead.

After seven days we left the Wind River Range and headed to the Teton Range in hopes for better weather. On July 10th, after a little blogging, we threw on our packs and headed up to The Meadows to camp for the night. Our plan was solid - an early push up to the lower saddle, then over to Wall Street and then after some easy pitches of climbing and fifth class scrambling to the summit of the Grand by noon. The Upper Exum Route looked to be a solid day out.

The first seven hours of our day went pretty well. We were making solid time on our hike up to the lower saddle and made quick work of all the fifth class scrambling just before we hit Wall Street. The skies seemed relatively clear and the only challenge that we faced at all was some tricky route finding just before we hit the Friction Pitch. The climbing was easy and the rock quality beautiful.

Just before 10:00 AM Brian began to express some concern about the clouds to our west. By 10:45 Brian and I were both looking back and up at the dark skies behind us with growing apprehension. At 11:00 AM we reached the V Pitch - the final technical pitch of the route. At this point we both knew that it was just a matter of minutes before Mother Nature was going to open a can of whoop ass on us and we had decisions to make. I wanted to push forward through the pitch and then find cover near the summit. Brian wanted to find shelter immediately. Just as we began to debate the issue we received a warning that put an immediate end to any further discussion. The warning was neither subtle nor avoidable.

As the hair on my head and arms began to stand the sound of the gusting wind was replaced by a distinct and sharp static crackling. Our gear, the rope, the wet rock, the air and our bodies were all one. We were all joined together through a common electrical charge.

The debate was over. Brian did not need to say another word. I stripped off my harness and dropped it to the ground and began down climbing with a sense of urgency that I had never experienced before. All I wanted to do was distance myself from my ten pound metal skirt and the sixty meter rope I was attached to as quickly as I could. The thirty feet of wet fifth class rock that separated Brian and I disappeared underneath me as I scrambled down to Brian's side under a large boulder just to the side of the route. We looked at each other and laughed. What else could we do?

After two hours of hail, rain, thunder and lightning we were soaked, frozen and relieved. We (and our gear) had survived a vicious, high alpine electrical storm that rivaled any that either of us had ever experienced. As soon as the storm began to clear we began to move. We had no idea if the storm had just paused or there was more to come.

I hammered up the V Pitch, brought Brian up and we reevaluated our situation. After a brief discussion we moved east to the edge of a large outcropping of rock. I again started to scrabble over easy terrain until I could see the summit of the Grand 100 feet up over more fifth class rock to the east. To the west and south two separate, ominous, swirling black cloud formations lingered. I could also see the first rappel station at Sergeant's Chimney another 100 feet below me. This is where I made the right, wrong decision. I chose the belay station over the summit.

I down climbed, built an anchor, belayed Brian over and we discussed what should happen next. We both agreed that the sky still looked unstable and that the safest option was to retreat. Within minutes Brian was at the anchor and we were on our way down. Once we finished our first of two rappels the weather began to turn for the better. The sun began to peak out through the clouds and the confidence that I had about our decision only moments ago began to diminish like the passing storm. We were safe, we did everything right, but we did not step upon the summit of the Grand Teton.

Wolf's Head

Pablo and I have been relaxing and getting town stuff done since we arrived in Jackson, Wyoming this past Sunday night. We hiked out from the Cirque of the Towers in one push on Sunday morning and were exhausted after a productive trip into the area. We'll write more as time allows, but for now, we'd like to share our experiences from the East Ridge of Wolf's Head, one of the 50 classic climbs in North America.

After getting into the Cirque and climbing the South Buttress of Pingora on July 4th, we took a rest day in preparation for climbing the E. Ridge on Wolf's Head the following day. We awoke to auspicious-looking skies but decided to at least get to the bottom of the approach and see how things looked from there. Hiking out of camp for an hour put us under the base of the "grassy ledges" approach, which looked wet but doable. Most parties just scramble up here to the saddle between the Tiger Tooth and Wolf's Head, but because things looked wet and greasy, Paul and I opted to rope up. Turned out to be a good call. We sketched our way up wet rock, through water pouring over our heads, and finally crested into the sun and within view of the start of the route. We were psyched to be in the sun and on dry rock! Unfortunately, that would be short-lived.

I led up the first pitch, which included the "Sidewalk," a 24-inch wide fin of rock with 600+ feet of air on either side. Paul took the next pitch with sunny skies above, but as I started to follow, the clouds were building and the nearby summits were beginning to be shrouded in heavy clouds. Knowing we had to keep moving, Paul and I swapped leads along the ridge, figuring out which way to go around every tower that was thrown at us.

Before long, the valleys below were obscured by fog and mist, and we started hearing the first few pieces of hail landing on our helmets. Bailing and rapping weren't much of an option, so we continued on through the varying types of precipitation. We found refuge at belay stations below big roofs and in caves on the route while waiting for the party in front of us that was doing the lions share of the route finding. They, like us, found little comfort in the deteriorating weather.

Just before I reached the top of the crux pitch the skies opened. Heavy, wet slush poured down and soaked the rock and all of those on it. As I straddled on a small rock perch Paul followed with our pack. The rock was soaked and the climbing was awkward. We attempted to lower a loop to haul the pack through the top of the pitch to no avail. Finally, Paul grunted his way through the tight overhang, straddled the perch behind me, stripped me of my gear, and cruised through the next pitch.

My next lead was a tricky one, especially in the rain. It was a very exposed hand traverse on some very greasy rock. Some small chicken heads lead my feet down to a tiny belay. Once Paul arrived he built an anchor above me, racked up, and pulled his way up through a short pitch, and disappeared. A few minutes later I found myself squeezing my way through a tunnel. I emerged out onto a large, sunny ledge. I felt as though I had been shoved through a birth canal and landed in a tanning booth. The sun was bright on the northwest side of Wolf's Head and we were now a couple easy pitches away from the summit.

After some high fives, pictures, water, and food the four of us began our journey down. Five repels and a few hours of scrambling led us back to our campsite. We were "home" and feeling pretty good about how we handled a very difficult fourteen-hour day.  
- B.T