Adventure on the Grand
I saw it coming and by then it was too late. The bump in the road looked
like the pavement had melted and slid down the mountain to create a speed
bump about a foot tall. Behind the first one there were a few more smaller
ripples. I had finally picked up speed. My biking partner was ahead getting
the car because earlier I was moving too slowly and we had to be somewhere.
I was terrified to rely on the brakes of the rental bike. But soon after
testing them again and again, my overly cautious attitude turned into a
somewhat daring one. The brakes worked really well. At no matter what
speed, it seemed I would be able to stop. Mind you, I did not predict large
bumps would appear in the road.
We were near Grand Teton National Park in Jackson Hole, Wyoming. We opted to
try Black Canyon, the suggestion of the cool dude who worked at the bike
shop. “Yeah, real cool, real great biking. You'll like it, the best around
here,” he told us. I was with Brian, a friend who I did not know had a mean
talent for speeding down rocky canyons on bikes. "You can hitchhike to the
top," the bike rental man said.
Brian and I agreed, we better do it right and bike the whole way. However,
it was a monstrous climb. Constant up hill pedaling. I was dripping with
sweat. We managed to get to the top of Teton Pass, 8,431 feet. Fortunately
because we were somewhat in a hurry, we opted not to climb the additional
1,000 feet. I think Brian was disappointed we took the road back and not
Black Canyon. But there was no way I would have come out of that
mountainous, dirt and scree filled trail on two wheels.
I went right over the top of the first bump. Now airborne, I knew I was in
trouble. Images of landing like a stunt girl and sailing down the mountain
crossed my mind. However, I hit the second and third bumps with the front
tire and maybe the back tire too. My treasured center of gravity left me in
the lurch. There was no alternative. At some point I let go of the handle
bars and surrendered to the gods of gravity. The next thing I knew I was on
the ground catching the front bike tire as it came down on my head. That
part was like slow motion.
I was so glad Brian did not see me. I was so glad no one had seen the
mangled mess I was now in. Gathering my senses, I scurried to get back on
the bike as if nothing in the world had gone wrong, as if nothing at all had
happened.
At the bottom of the hill Brian knew. “You fell!” he said. “The helmet is
broken!” It seemed the front visor on my helmet was now wrapped around to
one side. I had never worn a bike helmet before nor had I ever in my life
fallen off a bike. I think the helmet was my savior.
My wounds ranged from a bloody knee to an imprint of the pavement on my hip,
to four scrape lines decorating one calf, to an ankle abrasion, to a cut on
the elbow surrounded by bruises, to two red scratches on both shoulder blades
and three bruises in the shape of a constellation on my bum. I figured I
must have tumbled and rolled like a stunt girl at the very least.
The next morning my father and I were in the car at sunrise heading toward
the Grand Teton. The plan was to hike eight miles to the saddle, camp over
night, and then scale the Exum Ridge to the summit of the Grand at 13,770
feet. This is a technical climb with ropes and the works. My father and I
had made the attempt last year and the year before without luck.
I will never forget last year being 50 feet from the summit and watching
lightning strike the Middle Teton right next door at eye level and only a few
hundred feet away. Not only were the carabiners (metal climbing clips)
buzzing, two climbers reported the rocks on the summit were humming. Next
the hair would stand on end and soon after: a bolt of lightning? Needless to
say, we turned around.
In the 50’s my father climbed in the Rockies with personalities like Willie
Unsoeld and Jake Breitenbach. Both later became famous for being in the
first American expedition to summit Everest in 1963. A photo of my father
was taken on the summit of the Grand back then and has long been the
inspiration to climb in recent years. Four years ago another picture was
taken of Dad standing on the same rock with my brother. It was now my dream
to stand there with him, too.
From the parking lot, it took my father and me six, almost seven hours to get
to the lower saddle between the Grand and the Middle Teton. We both must
have had at least 30 pounds on our backs, including a tent, sleeping bags,
cold and rain gear, harness, food for three days and rock helmets. (Climbers
often start rock slides!) Hardly able to move, we set up the tent and ate
some dinner while shooing away the begging marmots.
At one point the most persistent marmot disappeared. I was perched with my kn
ees up sitting on a rock. As I scanned the other rocks and the gravel
landscape around me in search of the little furry body, I realized he was
almost inside the bag of food that sat between my legs. My instinct was to
let out a murderous scream which frightened the little animal. He shot off
in a blur. My father looked concerned. I think I scared him too.
I hardly slept that night though the weather couldn't have been better. I
spun in circular twisting patterns in my sleeping bag trying to find the
elusive comfortable spot.
At 3:00 AM our guide, Gary, came to our tent. “It's now or never,” he
instructed. We couldn't have had a better guide. He is truly an impressive
man: a park ranger, a forest fire fighter, an emergency medical technician, a
wilderness medicine specialist and rescuer, and the father of two adopted
girls from China. Plus, he is a master of technical climbing.
Like most mountains, one must sneak up on the Grand Teton early in the
morning before her mood changes and the clouds and hail storms gather above
her. That morning by 4, we were heading up the steep and rocky hiking trail
toward the Exum Ridge. From there we would rely on ropes to catch any
otherwise fatal slip of the toe or hand. We wore headlamps in the darkness
of the chilly morning.
Some hours later the sun began to rise and we could at least see where our
determined little steps had taken us. The jagged peaks surrounding our gaze
posed in the yellow sunlight for our cameras. We were not the only ones on
the mountain that day. When the weather is good, some fifty climbers may
summit. The weather so far was excellent.
Soon it was time to put on our harnesses and tie into the protection of the
rope. The trail turned steeper and steeper until it became an incredible
climbing WALL. My mind transformed the mountain into one giant jungle gym.
Handholds and footholds kept us crawling vertically toward the sky, up and up
the ridge named after Glenn Exum who scaled it first in 1931. The first
length of the rope led us to a precarious spot among rugged rocks. There was
just enough room to sit. Exposure was an issue -- meaning don't look down.
A group of seven climbers were behind us pressuring from below to hurry.
Waiting for seven to pass would put us an hour or two behind. Meanwhile that
group had more climbers below them. I wanted desperately to rest, to take
pictures, to stop and sit a while. I felt like an eagle, protective of my
time with the mountain.
Other climbing parties with incredible skill forged new routes across
seemingly flat vertical surfaces, pinching at microscopic handholds with
their fingertips, balancing on their toe nails. They wore skirts of gear,
racks they call them, metal biners, camming devices, spring loaded wedges,
hexentric chocks -- all jingling at their waists. Rope was everywhere.
Amazingly no one was tangled up in it. Climbing is a gear intensive sport
and all for nothing -- that is, as long as no one slips.
I was amazed, proud, elated to ascend somehow clinging spider-like to the
granite. My new pants did well, comfortable, and not one thread out of place
after intimately dancing with rock.
Then finally after seven or eight lengths of the rope, intense climbing the
whole way and a few hours later, we reached a ledge. Any of a million rocks
could have dislodged, sending us and other climbers to the bottom in seconds.
My father pointed out how precarious the mountain was, one 13,000 foot rock
pile, each rock balancing on another.
We walked the length of the ledge and then it was another twenty-five feet
up. And then nothing. No more mountain. That was it. Only sky. We had
reached the top!
The view was incredible. A description would not do it justice. I heard
music. Jazzy, hip, groovy music played in my head a the sight of the
surrounding pinnacles of stone, all now lower than where we stood. My father
and I had our picture taken here, standing on the exact rock where he stood
in 1957 and where he and my brother stood in 1997. For that moment, I was
the luckiest girl alive. Not only did I have the world's most amazing
father, a dream had just come true!
Then it occurred to me. We still had to get down. As mountaineers say, “It
is optional to climb a mountain, however it is mandatory to come down.” The
weather was well disciplined. It was still sunny. Any other day and there
would have been a big storm brewing by now.
The thrill of the descent was rappelling twice. The longer of the two was a
180 foot drop. Holding and leaning back on the rope, I climbed out over the
edge of the cliff. The fun part was walking backward down the rocky wall
like Wonder Woman. Soon the surface tucked under and I was dangling freely
like Charlotte spinning her web. The grip of my right hand set the speed and
would, if clenched, stop a fall. The kinked rope pinched slowly through the
rappel device which raised the temperature of the metal at least 100 degrees.
What a feeling. Finally back at the camp we ate and ate. I don't think I've
ever done that much work before in one day. The marmots were hungry too for
the opposite reason. They were annoyingly lazy but very cute. As we packed
up our camp, tent and all, I found myself thinking about what my father had
said, “The world is held together by Velcro and zippers.”
The feeling of triumph is still with me today and so is the feeling of sore
muscles five days later! The biking bruises, scratches, scrapes, cuts and
imprints are all a deep and lovely purple.
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