Attempting the Grand Teton

Yes, attempting. When the Scouts did a fundraiser featuring a silent auction, I felt like I should contribute something. Having no useful work skills or products to donate (I suppose I could have donated a free plutonium urinanalysis) I put down a climbing trip. I was anticipating a few hours at Ross Park or something simple, but Mark Taylor had his sights on the Grand Teton.

Nate wanted to come along too, so we made plans for the three of us and set the date. Mark's wife, Tina, wasn't too thrilled about the trip and for a while I felt like the kid your mom wouldn't let you play with. Although Mark had never climbed before, he's a marathon runner and more importantly, a good sufferer.

So Wednesday evening we drove to the trailhead and piled into the back of the truck to get a few hours of sleep. Technically, it's illegal to "camp" at a trailhead in the park, hence the pickup with the shell. Just as we were drifting off, we heard a couple of Bigfoots calling to each other. Or so we imagined, it was the strangest cry I've ever heard. We have no idea what it was.

We got on the trail at 3:22 a.m. and made good time up the canyon. Just below the Lower Saddle, we met the first of several groups coming down. Their reason? I quote: "The wind is f-ing POUNDING up there!!!" We decided to check it out, and sure enough, it was incredibly windy and cold. With low hopes, we headed to the Upper Saddle where our climbing route began. It was obvious we weren't going to be climbing, we could barely hear each other from 10 feet away. So we scrambled to the summit of the Enclosure, a 13,280 foot spur peak named for the nest-like arrangement of rocks built by Native Americans way tougher than most climbers today.

A group of experienced climbers with warm clothing would have been fine to go for the summit. We were not that group, and we all felt fine with the decision to bail. We'll just go back next year. Mark's less experienced with the phenomenon of forgetting how worn out and tired you are toward the end of a climb, but Nate and I promised him that, like childbirth, he would forget the pain and want to do it again.

When we got home we looked at the data from the weather station on the Lower Saddle. During the time we were up there it was 39 degrees, steady wind at 45 MPH gusting to 60 MPH. 2000 feet higher at the Upper Saddle was worse than that.