Continuation from my trip to the Tetons in July 2009.
Crawling to my feet, I cautiously worked my way around the boulders, and then headed far up onto the scree where the snow ended. I was taking no more chances. I marmot barked out its displeasure as I climbed into its territory.
I circled the basin, maintaining my elevation above the lake for safety, and came to a large boulder blocking my way. Of course, I opted to climb over it instead of easily going around. It took two moves to get on top where I found myself suddenly face to face with the marmot. It looked completely surprised. Neither of us moved for a moment. It was close enough for me to have reached out and touched it. Realizing this, it grunted and shuffled away slowly. I pulled myself fully onto the top of the boulder and sat down. The marmot disappeared down a crack. But seconds later it popped its head out and watched me. Finally it climbed back out completely and we shared the warm rock together, mere feet apart.
I came across a trail, a real one carved into the wet soil, that led up to the saddle I was meandering towards. I had studied the map back at the hotel. I knew the other side was steep, but it looked passable enough.
The wind blasted me as I stood in the saddle and stared nervously into the next valley. The pass was not just steep, it was cliffs. Better yet, icy cliffs.
I followed the trail as it wound treacherously along one cliff top then the next. At this point there were trees to cling to. But the treed slopes quickly thinned to solid cliff. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I thought of turning back on many occasions. But back was now a long fight up. Besides, I’d come up that way and below me lay an unexplored, untouristed basin. And you know how I love to explore…
I lost the trail. There were no markings on the solid rock, and the footprints in the snow were very intermittent. Somehow I shimmied down a crack and along a rapidly narrowing ledge I sincerely thought was the trial, well, possibly…until the ledge ended in a wet curving slope that then dropped ten feet to another wider ledge. Yeah, this definitely wasn’t a trail. Again, I could turn back, try and shimmy up the crack without protective climbing gear, or I could tempt fate by climbing down. There were no clear holds close by, but an nice series out a ways on the cliff face. The ledge below was wide, and not too far down. I really hate backtracking…so I jumped for the holds. I made it easily, but my shoes couldn’t register and I gave up quickly and lowered myself with my arms. I caught my breath, trembling slightly, on the wide ledge. How did I end up stuck on a cliff in an area where very few people ever come?
Luckily this ledge networked with others and I find myself on the trail again. As I followed it I quickly realized it had no intention of weaving down into the basin and to the lake below. It maintained its elevation high on the ridge wall, skirting the basin up to the glacier that rests below the Grand Teton. I was not where I wanted to be. I was on the trail to summit. The snow was packed and my shoes couldn’t dig in enough to keep my footing. I slipped several times. The slope of the snow was by far the steepest I had ever tried to tackle. I was still high enough up to be very nervous and there were obvious cliffs below me if I slid far enough, which on this slope I figured I would. But how do I get down off this infernal wall? I cursed myself for not wearing my better hiking boots; I was in my old flimsy cross trainers. I cursed myself for mocking summiteers with all their gear. I had been one to state loudly that the guide books said you could summit the Tetons without ropes or axes. It is not that tough…and I was still on non technical terrain.
But walking the slope now, I realized the handiness of such items. My pulse was racing and I was sweating from the tension. Every step might send me to a fateful drop. If I had an axe and some crampons, oh man, that would be heaven. How did I get into this type of snow and ice with totally inadequate footwear?
However, I did have my SOG knife which I quickly unsheathed. It was dangerous, but it could bite into the snow and hold me when I slipped.
My plan was to continue along until the cliffs safely ended and the slope lessened as the basin curved.
Even stepping where others had trod, the slope was too much. I made my way, my knife digging in and holding me several times. One time, however, I lost both my feet. I hung from my knife as I clawed at the snow with my other hand and kicked with my legs. The knife suddenly gave way. I shot downward. I spun onto my back and thrust the knife into the snow. It skipped across the surface; I was moving too quickly for it to penetrate. Below me, and coming up fast, the snow ended far sooner than I would like. With both hands I frantically worked the knife. I was able to dig the blade in and keep it in. The torque on the handle was incredible and it was all I could do to keep the knife from twisting out of my grip. Between my heels and the knife I slowed quite nicely. But not before the snow stopped. Suddenly I was sliding along rocks and dirt. The knife scraped and caught stone and skittered out of my hands. I actually laughed at this point. I was moving slowly, but the slope was so steep that even out of the snow I could not stop myself. It is amazing how, even moving so slowly across rock, momentum can keep 165 pounds from stopping. When I noticed the drop off below me, I stopped laughing. I clawed at the rocks and focused on jamming my feet into anything that would stop me. By the time I reached the cliff I was moving at a crawl. I had time to think “No, no, no, come on, no!” before momentum carried me over the edge. I dropped…three feet. It was actually perfect: I was able to just put my legs down and stand up. I ran another fifteen feet down the increasingly grassy incline and finally stopped against a large rock.
I was finally off the cliffs and free of the snow. I was shaking badly, but was laughing. What a rush. That had been crazy fun—well, perhaps just crazy. My hands throbbed and were bleeding badly from hundreds of little scrapes and cuts. I was relieved to have sustained no knife wounds.
I looked up at my path. Now, this all happened much quicker than you can ever read. This whole episode may have taken ten seconds. I had slid about forty feet in the snow, another fifteen on the rock and dirt, and then the ledge. God’s hand was immediately evident. The drop off was three feet where I went over it. Five feet to the side, down slope, it was eight feet. And it quickly grew to about thirty or more feet as it pulled out of the scree slope and the basin descended to the lake still far below me. Sliding any time earlier would have so easily ended very poorly.
I stumbled back up and recovered my knife. I felt a surge of pride when I found it no worse for wear. Yep, that is a good knife. I’m sure we will have many more adventures together.
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