After the heady experience of organizing the soon-to-be-famous HACE Club, we began planning for our first big adventure... our maiden voyage as it were. After much deliberation we settled on a suitable target: The Grand Teton! At 13,770' above sea level, and 6,500' above the valley floor, "The American Matterhorn" seemed the perfect choice.
As we worked through the initial planning phase, one glaring fact stood out: we had no skills! Sure we could all deftly work a remote, Todd was able to wiggle his ears and eyebrows separately, Dan was pretty good at Scrabble, and I held the grade school record for longest sustained "snot-bubble" (unintentional category). And yes, we all knew that carabiners look cool and you can hang gear off of them, but true climbing skills... nope, nary a one!
The solution? Bring someone along who has real mountaineering skills. Lure them in with the promise of fame and a "free" apprentice membership in the HACE club (priceless)! Our brother-in-law, Craig Herd fit the bill.
That settled, we made final preparations and met in the Lupine Meadows Parking Lot at the designated date and time. Craig brought a young friend, who we still believe was carrying a pygmy in the largest pack most of us had ever seen. Due to our stellar conditioning and indominable spirit (and the fact that the trail to the Meadows was relatively easy), we made short work of that part of the approach. From the Meadows up to the Morraine was strenuous. Camp was made, meals eaten and then off to sleep for an early summit attempt.
Summit day! Up early, quick breakfast, ropes and summit packs prepared, shakey nerves and weak knees bolstered with oatmeal and hot chocolate, and off we go. First we negotiate the Hanging Rope (though I don't think anyone was ever hung there... much easier to just shoot them), then to our first stop, the Lower Saddle, where we take turns and pictures in the nearly two-mile high, open-air outhouse (pictures of the expansive view to the West, not of anything going on in the outhouse), then onward and upward. The further we go, the higher up the mountain we get. In the thin air at 11,000 feet-plus, obvious things become very obvious.
After the Upper Saddle, things change. We realize that there are many places here where a misstep could be fatal. As we move through the Belly Roll and prepare for The Crawl, clouds come in quickly and obscure the 2,000' exposure down into Valhalla Canyon. Thunder crackles below us and lightening ushers in rain, snow and hail as every climber on the mountain either hunkers down to wait out the storm, or hastily gathers ropes and gear and scoots on down to safety.
The Grand was not yet ready to give up its prize. Maybe we were too arrogant... too sure of ourselves... too confident in our marshmellow-like coating of invicibility. Maybe this first attempt was a test... a test to see if common sense would prevail and we would descend before we met disaster... a test to see if we would discard our new-found persona of HACE Club members as quickly as our sullied underwear after the first crash of lightening.
Whatever.
We would spend the next year lamenting our failure, collecting our wits, rethinking our route, and coercing our "apprentice" to again lead us to the alter of the Grand.
"This ain't over....."
Summit day! Up early, quick breakfast, ropes and summit packs prepared, shakey nerves and weak knees bolstered with oatmeal and hot chocolate, and off we go. First we negotiate the Hanging Rope (though I don't think anyone was ever hung there... much easier to just shoot them), then to our first stop, the Lower Saddle, where we take turns and pictures in the nearly two-mile high, open-air outhouse (pictures of the expansive view to the West, not of anything going on in the outhouse), then onward and upward. The further we go, the higher up the mountain we get. In the thin air at 11,000 feet-plus, obvious things become very obvious.
After the Upper Saddle, things change. We realize that there are many places here where a misstep could be fatal. As we move through the Belly Roll and prepare for The Crawl, clouds come in quickly and obscure the 2,000' exposure down into Valhalla Canyon. Thunder crackles below us and lightening ushers in rain, snow and hail as every climber on the mountain either hunkers down to wait out the storm, or hastily gathers ropes and gear and scoots on down to safety.
The Grand was not yet ready to give up its prize. Maybe we were too arrogant... too sure of ourselves... too confident in our marshmellow-like coating of invicibility. Maybe this first attempt was a test... a test to see if common sense would prevail and we would descend before we met disaster... a test to see if we would discard our new-found persona of HACE Club members as quickly as our sullied underwear after the first crash of lightening.
Whatever.
We would spend the next year lamenting our failure, collecting our wits, rethinking our route, and coercing our "apprentice" to again lead us to the alter of the Grand.
"This ain't over....."
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