From The Wind Rivers to The TetonsThere is a place where our continent is hydrologically divided east and west by a sharp alpine massif. Violently thrust thousands of feet into the sky by a collision of tectonic plates, these mountains are now a fascinating splendor for all who gaze upon them. Although this great mountain spine extends from Alaska to Patagonia we set our sights on the Wyoming sector called the Wind Rivers. This remote destination has been a personal favorite for my husband Zach and I. Combined we have been traveling there annually dozens of times as summer backpacking expeditions. Being two snow struck aficionados, it only seemed natural to attempt a splitboard mission there.
The idea was easily pitched to our friends Kordell Black and Louis Arevalo because they both had been enchanted with the range before and understood its pristine uniqueness. The top of the divide is quite far from any trailhead, about 18 miles any way you approach it. We loaded up our packs with enough food, sleeping kits, and shred gear to last a week and started the drive “rolling the dice” on snow conditions for late May. We came to the dirt road that switch backs about 4000’ up the hillside and to the Dickinson park trailhead. The further we drove the more we could see and we soon realized that the snowline had retreated far beyond what we had hoped for. We found tons of mud and inconsistent isothermic sinker patches of snow that made travel exceedingly difficult. |
Tetons |
Not ready to call it yet, we drove to another trailhead for moccasin lake because it started from the north. Optimistically we tied up our boots and strapped on our 60 lb packs and splitboards. Heading toward the ridge reviled the lines we had been dreaming of riding for years. As we crested the top we could see the next 15 miles would be the same dirt slush combo and being in snowboarding boots, it was time to re-group about our ambitions.
Together we decided that current conditions of mud and slush were the least efficient means of travel compared to any other time of the year. Just like that, my heart sank as I looked across the valley and I consciously detached myself from my aspirations, leaving the Wind Rivers until it comes into condition. The feeling was disappointedly mutual throughout the group as we returned to the truck only 3 hours later. We had the time, we had the crew, and now our plan B was emerging as liberation from our failed attempt. |
We crossed back over to the west slope of the continental divide in the truck on Togwotee pass in the Absaroka Mountains. After a couple hours of driving, the vertical summits of the Tetons faced strait at us with their impressive granite spires and revived our stoke for big lines. We positioned our camp so we had the ultimate gawking alignment and Louie pointed out the summit of Buck Mountain, our new ambition. We crawled into our bags in the bed of the truck that we had oriented toward a stunning sunset over the glorious Tetons and cozied up for the night.
A 4am start, a recently opened national park, and a renewed sense of adventure had us all climbing up our approach from Death Canyon with enthusiasm. “Direct is best”, I thought as we skinned and booted our way up the consolidated firm spring snow. Louie had the right ski crampons for job, the same ones we left at home after we deemed them extra weight when scaling down our packs for the Winds trip. They would have come in handy as we approached our exposed summit push with a slippery traverse. The chute we would ascend was tucked away in a north-facing nook and the snow was still firm. We put on our boot crampons and pulled out our axes, getting ready to climb. Just then a hello came from behind the cliff we were standing around. Jay, mutual friend of friends, greeted us. He had started from the standard Taggart Lake trailhead and we quickly found out that he was the one camped directly next to us. He left earlier and had us all gulping down our coffee a little faster as his headlights lit up our camp and he drove off toward the mountains in the pre-dawn darkness. This was a huge happenstance as there are so many summits in the Tetons and Buck is not the most popular. He joined us and we all made the push up the chute. Once on top of the ridge we thought it would be a simple walk to the summit. We soon found out just how narrow the ridge was as we walked next to thousands of feet of vertical drop off the north side. On the east side of Buck Mt. was an exposed ramp that we wanted to ride across and back to the chute we had just climbed. Every step up that ridge I was plunging my axe and crampons firmly, one mistake and this beautiful spring morning could be the last. 200 vertical feet from the summit we crossed a 40 degree snow chunk that sat on top of sheer rock baking in the morning sun. It was thin, the snow had become soggy and our boots punched all the way through to the rock. We were too late, even at 9am, and the mountains reaffirmed this by shedding wet activity all around. There was a small discussion about continuing on but the exposure was too great for the conditions and we hadn’t brought any protection. There was a nice little sneak through the cliff band 50 yards from the summit and we headed back for it. Every step downward was terrifying as the slushy spring snow caked the spikes on our crampons making them like blocks of ice on our feet. I took it slow, kicking the compacted snow out and plunging my axe spike into every crack in the rocks beneath. I dug out a platform in the recently softened, glop snow and put my board under my feet. I love the feeling of poise and security I get from strapping into my board; it’s like all my fluttering butterflies buckle up and get ready to ride. I dropped first, carving my board through the saturated spring snow across the ramp that hung over a 250 foot cliff below. Finally on top of the chute, I could ride down the fall line and find a safe vantage point to spot my friend’s descents. The tall, tight funnel of Death Canyon shelters the snow from the sun, allowing us all to ride nice soft snow the rest of the way down. Amazingly, Zach rode right up to the random tree we had stashed our hiking boots in and we headed back to camp. |
That night we choose another objective, Disappointment peak and the Spoon Couloir. The Tetons are so tightly vertical, that what a line looks like from one vantage point, may leave you guessing until you get right up and rub noses with it. Disappointment Peak sits directly below the Grand Teton and earned its name by some of the first adventures trying to summit the grand, only to find themselves on top of this peak with a 1000 foot drop off between them and The Grand Teton.
As we approached the Spoon Couloir we observed a 3 foot deep runnel right down the middle with a sizable cornice hanging from the top of the tight chute. Lucky there was a cliff and a flat area that the cornice would hit before it would fall onto us and our 3am start put us in the chute before we deemed it too warm. We climbed fast and efficient with our crampons and axes to minimize the time spent in the chute. Rolling over the lip and to the top put us high above Garnet Canyon with spectacular views of the famously beautiful central Tetons. The ride down was incredible fun in the fast carveable spring snow. There was just enough room off the sides of the runnel to point it, making the spoon couloir exceptionally exciting. We passed amphitheatre, and surprise lakes and dropped down into the nicely spaced pine trees below. The sun had melted out the south face of every tree-well keeping us all on point for the rest of our descent. The next morning we made a compromise and started at 3:30am. This would be our final adventure for the trip and we decided on the very esthetic west hourglass from Nez Perce (Ney Per-Say). The views of it just the day before let us know the snow went all the way through the line and it was ready for shredding. Hiking up Garnet Canyon, we yet again find our selves in the alpine wilderness and are abruptly reminded of this as we come upon a bear in the bushes, he seems unfazed by us a continues on his way. The water flowing from the mountain trickles along the snowy trail’s edge, and we stop to fill our bottles. Once again, random friends approach from below; this time it is Jackson Hole locals Giles and Tray. They had the same goal in mind for the day and we joined forces as we all started booting up the chute. The views from the top etched themselves into my memories as we all gazed onward from an exposed granite perch. All the many summits of the central Tetons gleamed in the morning light and the Grand Teton faced its beautiful Otter Body directly at us. Controlled, slashing, jump turns from heel to toe, at speed, down a narrow rock lined ramp, is how we play in this astounding range. A unique gem whose summits, glaciers, lakes, rivers, prairies, and animals live protected in a pristine wilderness. |