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.