ABIGAIL:
It’s 6:00 AM and we are finishing up breakfast at the Climber’s Ranch. After a few days of meeting new people, checking the weather window at the Jenny Lake, and climbing Baxter’s we are excited to get going. Although this is my first alpine adventure I have been climbing since I was very young with my siblings and father in the Midwest and Colorado. Living now in the Roaring Fork Valley I’m fit from trail running and climbing up in Independence Pass. My father works out in his basement in Iowa and scales block retaining walls with a Culligan water jug tied to his back.
The idea of climbing the Grand with my dad had been discussed often and much to my excitement, schedules worked out so that we could meet in Snowmass and drive up together. He has experience (including a Yosemite big wall solo and one of Beckey’s one hundred favorites), but you wouldn’t know it from talking with him. I’d done the First Flatiron with him several times, routes in Eldorado, and countless trips to Mississippi Palisades. There, I remember ‘belaying’ dad – more worried about the others around me. With more experience on my own I am ecstatic that Dad wants to do this with me! To get ready we did a few routes up the Pass and then Baxter’s on top of which we watched a guy pop the question to his surprised girlfriend who said yes.
The hike up was beautiful and seemed to fly by. At the Lower Saddle we found a site, put our gear down, explored a bit, and exchanged pleasantries with other groups. The bathrooms up there? What a view! I do know my way around a Jet Boil and felt good about my contributions in that area – delicious Kraft Mac and cheese with tuna. Just like home! Got it all cleaned up and stowed by dark then layered up and got in my sleeping bag. Dad quickly dozed off, but I stayed up wondering if I was warm enough.
A starry sky disappeared and conditions escalated into lightening and thunder and snow. In August? The wind intensified so much I found myself managing the integrity of the tent with Dad still asleep. I ruminate worst case scenarios for what seemed like hours. Is this how I’m going to go out? At least I’m not alone. “Are we going to die” I asked. He said no and I trusted him. My gut feeling was that we’d head down in the morning.
At about 3:30 AM I woke to calm and a clear sky freckled with stars and two groups hiking up by headlight. I couldn’t believe it. We were going to the top! I woke Dad and think he was shocked too. Our goal was the Complete Exum, something Dad thought would be doable for a beginner as well as for himself not having been back to the Tetons for a while. We started up with a few other groups and all somehow missed the start of the Exum. We charged on with a group which had left their cars early that morning and said they’d be pleased to lead us to the start of the Owen Spaulding. I started noticing that we were getting pretty high and it was at this point that I learned the term verglas. Despite their initial excitement, the group in front turned around. I wondered if we would too. I knew it was a possibility, but deep down thought “Dad can do it, let’s go”.
We get our cramp-ons attached and press forward. As Dad leads the Belly Roll a group of guys my age pulls in behind us in shorts and running shoes. They too had left the valley floor in the early hours. I wonder about their plan as I hear the leader teaching his friends how to belay. They were jovial and offered to take some Instagram pictures. When I get up to Dad, I tell him about my exchange. He was not thrilled and quickly figured that if they continued he’d be leading us all. Dad suggested they turn around. They don’t.
After few pitches we were at the base of the Owen Chimney I look up and try to understand how we’re going to get up it. Again I thought “I’m with Dad, we’re going to be fine, he’s awesome”. I imagine him in the ‘60s and 70’s. I wonder if he feels awesome. He looks serious and I get a pit in my stomach as he starts up while my hands are warming in my armpits. Two pieces of protection are what are holding me in to belay him up the icy chimney. I look down at the crusty snow and then out to the plains below. I can’t believe that it’s summer and I’m frozen. How the hell am I going to get up this icy mess? Later I will learn that when conditions are such this chimney is considered stout.
The group behind came up and hooked into our system. They were clearly struggling. Dad had told them that we would belay them up to the top of the chimney which would put them close to the rappels. They should then head down. Trailing a rope and struggling through the icy pitch I feel so proud of Dad. It was hard! He groans as he pulls them up and I tell him that he has two at the same time. He swears, but I could tell was happy we were both where we were.
I can feel the summit. The boys arrive and dad motions to a guided party at the rappels and repeats his advice. I can tell Dad feels responsible for them, but also relieved they made it through the last few pitches under his wing. He now feels guilty, but knows it’s the safe decision. We leave them behind and start the last few easy rope lengths to the top.
On the summit, I feel so happy and lucky to have a father like mine. I can’t believe what we just went through and I’m stoked. We take some pictures and head down. To my surprise I had enough service to text Mom! I look down and see our small orange tent. Dad makes sure to tell me that we’re not done yet and I realize he’s right. Images of falling flash through my mind. I’m glad Dad double protects me as I move to the start of the long rappel. Once down, we laugh at our route finding problems many hours before.
At the tent, we pack up and start hiking. I can tell Dad is wiped out. I take the heavier load knowing it’s the least I can do. I’m so thrilled still! As we make our way through the meadow a rescue helicopter flies up and then down the valley. We later learned that it was a couple we met the the Ranch and that they were seriously hurt.
As it begins to turn dark I am feeling good, but I know we have a long way to go. Each time we stop to drink I notice Dad doesn’t. I knew he was exhausted and I feel the changing of the guard. It’s my turn to lead. I know it will be important to get through the talus field before dark. We just make it as I turn on my headlight. Dad says “I’ll go by moonlight”. I wait for him at each switchback. At one I see a set of bright eyes looking back at me. Like always, I think It’s going to be fine. Dad’s groaning, but we get to the car safely and I can’t wait for the next adventure.
DAD:
Trouble with taking time off (It’d been four decades since my last trip up the Grand) is that you fall into the riding a bicycle paradigm – as in you’ll never forget how to. It’s true enough for the basic kinesthetics, but not so much for anything else. I’d climbed enough in the intervening years to know that my head was right and was in decent shape for a senior citizen, but recent ascents had been short and facilitated by Aleve. I should have felt out of place after noticing the young couple in the Ranch bunk below watching Harry Potter on an IPad the night before we hiked up.
The prospect of gaining that point in the sky with my youngest was something I’d thought about for years. I read ANAM and have always had mixed feelings about taking my kids climbing. In dark moments I think of the Ian McEwan short story in which a father, crossing the street toward his apartment building , wonders what he’ll say to his sleeping wife having just watched their young son’s face recede in the back window of a stranger’s car. I always recover and go along with Jung in believing that a parent’s biggest influence on children is that of their unlived life. I take them out, have fun, they go on and “do their own thing” with no cathected nonsense from dear old dad. That’s been the plan.
Well, the hike up was brutal made all the worse by the size of my rack. I planned to do the complete Exum and intending to sew the thing up with a stitch every foot or so didn’t want to run out of stuff. Made it to the Lower Saddle and set up camp as clouds began to loom off to the southwest. My last stove was an Optimus 8R and I was thus amazed at this Jetboil thing that daughter Abigail brought along. She was finished cooking in the time I figured it’d take to pump, prime, and find a match.
Ground shook that night in a storm so violent that Abby asked if we were going to die. I assured her we would not and in fact slept the more soundly with confidence that we’d have a good excuse to hike down the next day. “Yup, stormed off”. Sometime later though she woke me with the news that the stars were brightly shining and at least one group was making its way to the Upper Saddle. I looked out and sure enough the sky was brilliant and headlamps snaked above like the Ave Maria sequence in Fantasia.
Oh boy. We brewed, geared up, and took off. Fell in right behind a group that had left their car in Lupine Meadow but a few hours before and were headed for the Upper Exum. I was impressed. Hmm. “Abby, why we don’t skip the Lower, and just follow them. They obviously know where they’re goin’ and our chances of getting off route minimized…” Would not have been my plan in days of yore, but felt safer, more conservative.
We all made what felt like very good time and I assumed we’d soon reach the spot to cross the gully to Wall Street and rope up. Nope. Missed the turn. I’d switched off my mind and blindly followed. Great. “We’re almost to the start of the OS” one of those in front said. They talked briefly and decided to proceed. Hmmm. My legs were definitely feeling their age and I didn’t want to back track. We’d still make the summit. Not much further though we began to see ice. Lots of it. The Belly Roll was covered and I knew what the conditions ahead would likely be. Group ahead turned around.
I thought about it for a few moments. “Dad?” I told her to put on her crampons and could tell she relished the idea never having done any real mixed climbing. It’d been a long time for me. I didn’t have an axe, had helpfully intended to bring along my Alpine Hammer, but still felt comfortable moving ahead ever holding retreat as a viable alternative. While accumulating resolve a group pulled in behind us obviously nervous and even less well equipped than were we. I suggested that they go down. “Can’t be that far to the top” one replied.
The leader did indeed follow Abby up to the stance below the Owen Chimney which was iced worse than a basement freezer. He set up a belay which seemed to comprise of one small stopper in a frozen crack. I told him I’d pull him up to the bottom of Sargent’s Chimney where they would find the rappel route to safety. The Owen Chimney was very difficult without tools and would have been impassible without crampons. The first pro was a rusty fixed pin. If I came off and it pulled I would land points first on my daughter’s head. Able to keep evil thoughts at bay, I soon reached a good stance with easier terrain in sight. Abby came right up trailing his rope, but it took well over an hour and a lot of hauling for our new friend to appear.
The second (of four) was shivering and had never before even been on belay. The next bit wasn’t steep, but there was ice and snow between the belay stance and safe passage to the rappels. I felt a twinge of guilt leaving them to face it, but knew it would likely take several hours for that group to be ready to proceed. There were no clouds in the sky, but my gathering humility allowed me no doubt that we should move on. The leader was appreciative of services rendered and was sure “I can lead that no problem”.
We quickly made the following few rope lengths to the summit. Abby led the last and as I approached felt my heart fill. Taking photos I thought of the one on my desk back home of the two of us at a dad daughter dance some twenty plus years before. We took in the view and a snack, but didn’t linger so to join ropes with a pair (who laughed at the dull clang of my hexes. Doesn’t anyone use them anymore?) just ahead to expedite the rappels. I belayed Abby across a chute to the horn at the top of the first and watched carefully as she set up. Off she went with just enough meat on her bones to weight the device down the rope, wafting over the abyss like a dry fly above a dark pool. I hoped there was nothing hungry lurking below
At the Upper Saddle I winced at how small our tent looked so very far away knowing that distance was only a fraction of the geography between us and my truck. I was tired and could barely coil the rope especially since that task must be done differently now with the new long ones. Really? Fortunately Abby had plenty of steam left and kept far enough ahead to find the way through the meadow to where the trail would be easy to follow in the dark.
Two times before dusk a helicopter went up the valley and then back down with a stretcher swinging beneath. That sight is always a call to consciousness and this time almost excruciatingly so with the thought that it might be those we had helped almost to safety. If I’d have refused they would had to have retreated. If I’d given them a belay half a rope length further they’d easily have made it to the rappel route. We learned the next day that it was the pair that thought they were in Hogwarts . They were in serious condition, but my selfish first thought was that I had played no role in their demise.
Abby used her headlamp while I made my way under the clear light of a full moon groaning with each step. She would wait at the end of every switchback and at the last, just leaving Garnet Canyon, she pointed and turned her beam toward a bear staring back at us Cheshire Cat like. I was way too tired to be scared and took great relief remembering the old joke – knowing that she’d long been able to out run me. Bear didn’t move and we made it back to the truck at right about midnight.
