When the snow starts falling in Jackson Hole, it is high time for the “crazies” to hit the thinly coated slopes of Teton Pass in search of knee injury adventure.
On one hand, it is hard to fault someone for having irrepressible motivation such that they will risk their season for dirty turns. But on the other hand, such risk lends itself easily to criticism by those who think that turns through brushy, rocky minefields are not worthwhile.
The Resolution: taking that motivation and applying it to something other than the low-hanging fruit.

There are plenty of lines to ski with minimal risk at this time of year; however, one has to go farther, using more energy, to find them. There are a handful of lines in the Tetons on which one can find mid-season conditions in early November. The road is closed at Bradley/Taggart and there isn’t enough snow to skin the normal winter approaches, but that just gives you an excuse to make it a multi-sport day: hop on the mountain bike and pedal your skis farther into the park.

Two ski partners and I did just that last Wednesday. After pedaling through an inch of snow and slush, which unfortunately feels like sand under the tires, we left the road, stashed the bikes and began post-holing a certain canyon’s summer trail.

Picture this: A maze of talus and boulders in which there was just enough snow to cover both flat boulders and gaping death holes that would swallow your entire body and break all four limbs. This led to a very slow and gingerly walk probing with poles, testing every foot hold and still sliding into some of the mini crevasses occasionally.

What in summer or winter would take about 15 minutes to negotiate, took us about an hour and a half. This section was, by far, the crux of the 12-hour car-to-car day.

After a climb made difficult by the worsening storm conditions, we reached the top of the couloir. While the run was not a long one, the turns exceeded all expectations, with thigh deep powder and dropped-knee face shots on November 5!

I don’t mention any formations or lines here because 1) I don’t want to direct someone to an area they aren’t familiar with and 2) I don’t want to direct the masses to one spot, which inevitably happens when they know it has been explored. I post this because I am happy to share with those who have an adventurous spirit and motivation to get away from the road. Those who are willing to be on the move for 12 hours simply for the workout, adventure, and 25 turns in bottomless powder, know that there are rewards to be found out there.
I don’t post pictures of the turns because, frankly, we were too cold and tired to take the camera out for shots in near white-out conditions.

The slog was arduous to say the least, but isn’t that what most of us in this valley crave (to varying degrees) anyway? The trail might not be broken for you and you might not be able to ski your way to the valley floor (in fact you might have to break trail on both the way up and down), but the satisfaction of hiking or biking back to the car and realizing that you had the entire range to yourselves is well worth the travail. Days like these feel like the anti-Teton Pass vibe: the valley is not overpopulated and these mountains are not skied out.

Peter Griffin lives in a rent-free gnome shack in Wilson.

Because we here in Jackson see The Grand almost daily – while driving, while hiking Snow King, while strolling on the Elk Refuge Road – it’s easy to forget that the majestic mountain is a big deal. It’s on many people’s To Do Before I Die lists. Locals stare up at the golden granite hoping to touch it some day, visitors flock in from far flung places for a shot at its small, rocky summit. People climb it with their children, their parents, their best friends. And they always come back with stories. It’s a classic. Why, just a few weeks ago, reporter Kelsey Dayton documented a woman who summited the 13,770-foot mountain via the Owen-Spalding route that her great-great-grandfather Frank Petersen had climbed as a member of the first ascent party. Attempting to climb the Grand is no small feat. Below, Cloudveil-sponsored ski patroller Jennifer Homel describes her (budding) relationship with the mountain.

You know how some people dream and obsess about a lifelong goal that they hope to accomplish? Ten years ago they bought that one piece of gear that they will only need in one spot on that one particular trip, and they’ve studied maps and routes and photos and asked everyone they meet for beta just so they are ultra-prepared when the moment comes to fruition? Yeah, well, that’s not me. This summer, a river trip canceled, and I suddenly found myself with a week off in August and nothing to do. There was an Ansel Adams calendar hanging over my desk with an awesome photo of the Grand Teton, and I pointed to that. Why don’t we go there? To the top. You can do that in a couple of days, can’t you? Now, I’ve done a lot of cool stuff, like ski patrolling and whitewater rafting and hiking and mountain biking and camping … but never backpacking, and not much rock climbing either. But really, how hard can it be to carry 45 pounds of gear up 5,000 feet in six miles, camp at 11,600 feet and then tack on another couple thousand feet of climbing the next morning, before coming all the way back down to the car? Nevermind that the tallest peaks where I ski and hike in Utah only make it to 10,500 feet; I’m a pretty tough girl, and last winter’s fitness has gotta count for something! Proper preparation prevents piss-poor performance, right? So what does improper preparation promote? Piercingly painful pressure points from pushing too hard! Well, I didn’t make it to the summit … didn’t even get past camp on the Lower Saddle. Ouch. Failure like that stings, because it means I’m either out of shape physically or lacking the passion to persevere to the top. But guess what? It’s hardly fair for someone like me to achieve a goal like that, first try, with no preparation when it was a random, somewhat meaningless spot on the map to me. People who have dreamed for years about a single summit attempt – be it a Teton or Everest or Denali – deserve to make it to the top first try. The summit has emotional significance to them, and years of focus create an intimate relationship with the mountain that pulls them to the peak. Me? I just needed something to do and it was there; and hey, I got partway up it and it was beautiful just being there. Failing to summit was actually no big deal. Funny thing though, I’ve been having this dream lately … about a mountain I need to go climb. …

Jennifer Homel is a ski-patroller hoping to enjoy everything she can squeeze in to her one trip through life. She works at Brighton Ski Resort, Salt Lake City, UT.

What I failed to emphasize in Friday’s post about photographing beautiful people in our glorious backyard blooms is how fortunate we are to live in a place where our biggest problem on a weekend is fitting in all the sports we’re going to do.

Last weekend, choices were even more abundant than usual, with Yonder Mountain String Band and the Demolition Derby headlining the annual Teton County Fair. Most of us had at least one corn dog and a ride on the zipper.

While folks celebrated summer at the Watermelon eating contest at the county fair, others spent the sunny days fishing or playing at the river with their pups. Several friends went up The Grand on Saturday, while I marked my first weekend back to Jackson by a scramble up Teewinot, the smallest Teton, with my friend Dylan Taylor. Dylan recently moved to Colorado for a job, but was back for the weekend. The Tetons are addicting in that way.

Teewinot seems easy because it’s short compared to the other mountains; certain people are even rumored to have run it in 45 minutes, while the guidebook recommends 6 – 8. Still, inexperienced and experienced climbers have gotten struck by lightning, hit by rocks and cliffed out while trying to reach the peak’s 12,325 foot summit. Or while descending.

Approaching it as a conditioning climb after several months away from the mountains and the sport, we started around 7:15 a.m. and headed up the trail toward the 18 switchbacks, rock ledges and snow.

While the snow looked abundant from the parking lot, it wasn’t until we were knee-deep kicking steps and plunging ice axes that we realized how much more snow there is up there now than in Julys past. That and a ranger on backcountry patrol told us as much. And the Jenny Lake Climbing Rangers Web site reports “Deepening runnel from summit notch down the east face. Now a mixed rock/snow climb.”

After the snow, which froze our ungloved left hands that we used for balance, we scrambled up some fourth class slabs to reach the summit where we spent an hour taking pictures, wearing funny sunglasses and marveling at the Grand’s grandeur and the speed of a party of three on Mt. Owen’s Koven Couloir (Cloudveil jacket namesake).

The view from the one-person summit monolith is, as Renny Jackson and Leigh Ortenburger describe, “sensational.” The airy summit drops off sharply into deep mountain valleys of rock and snow and one has perfect view of the north and east faces of the Grand.

The way down was made a bit slower by the addition of Joel to our team. He had left his friend below the snowfields and continued up alone. Hailing from Louisiana and inexperienced with exposed scrambling, Joel opted to join our team of two for the down climbing.

Turns out Joel is a US Army employee living in Abu Dhabi teaching local upper class 20-somethings how to fly F-16s. He was hoping to do the entire 10 peak Grand Traverse, or at least sections of it. He settled for the one mountain on Sunday.

(Note: The missing tooth has nothing to do with climbing. Dylan is awaiting an implant. Tried to shoot a portrait of the three of us on the summit.)

Back at the steamy car around 3 p.m., we took off our shoes and chugged warm Gatorade.

Sitting inside on the valley floor today, my calves are burned from ankles to knees. Ice and aloe make sitting barely bearable. Sore quads and sleepy eyes hinder productivity.

But, the cloudless sky, the snow in July and the company of an old friend with a massive collection of Cliff shots make the recovery worth it.

Looking forward to the next burn.

Blog Manager Lauren M. Whaley was out of the country, sitting at sea level, from April 3 through mid July Acclimating is fun, but brutal.

One of the greatest parts of living here is what goes on “after hours.”

Most visitors will see us waiting on their tables, rowing them down the river, or answering questions like “when do the deer turn into elk?” we are envied because we are afforded a lifestyle where we get to be in the mountains everyday and passionately answer questions about our beautiful home, but it gets even better.

It’s the kind of stuff you can’t pay a guide to show you and you won’t get any information from your waiter.

It’s been snowing and raining for three days when the sun finally breaks. The aspens have turned from golden yellow to a crunchy brown and the mountains are coated in clean white snow. The temperature of the Jenny Lake has dropped below 60 degrees.

It’s your last day of work and you know the tradition: it’s time to jump in! Read More »