I was hoping to get up the Grand again this spring, and maybe a few of its neighbors in the Tetons, but our interminably rainy weather is putting a stopper on those plans.  So, before heading to Alaska to guide another Denali climb I thought I’d look back at a highly varied but pretty successful season.  Take a gander…

There are always lines that I wish I had ridden in a given season, possibilities that never came to fruition, but overall it was a good season.  And it’s not so bad having dreams to fulfill next season.  For now, I’m moving on to mountain biking and trail running until the snow flies again.  My sincere thanks go to Wagner Custom for supporting my drive to climb and ride with the best backcountry/alpine snowboarding tools imaginable.

Waking to starry skies was unexpected, and about the best thing we could ask for.  Evan Horn, Ben Jones, and I were camped at the base of the Skillet Glacier, hoping for a successful climb and snowboard/ski descent of this huge route.  Skinning across Jackson Lake the previous evening, we watched as the clouds thickened and dropped until we could only see the lower slopes of Mt. Moran to keep us heading in the right direction.  Light snowfall started as we pitched tents and intensified through the evening.  We listened to the snow hiss on the tent walls as we ate dinner and laid down for a few hours’ sleep, wondering if tomorrow’s objective would be snatched away from us by new slab formation.

The Skillet pours down from the summit of Mt. Moran (12,605′) on the northeast face, providing almost 6000′ of steep, perfect fall-line.  I had tried to get up it for a snowboard descent twice before, getting turned back by a storm 5 years ago, and by an insidious weak layer of graupel last winter.  Our unseasonably warm temperatures in the last couple of weeks here have pretty well gotten rid of this season’s long-lived weak layers, so we figured that conditions were prime for a successful descent, barring any large unanticipated snowfall.  Dozing off after a hot meal, my confidence was shaken by the flakes coming down outside.  But waking to starry skies, we were ecstatic to see a couple of inches of new, well-bonded powder on the ground.

We skinned out of camp just as dawn broke over the Gros Ventres and lit up the day’s enormous climb ahead.  Last night’s gift of powder also meant deeper trailbreaking on the uphill leg of the day.  With a light wind over the summit, 2 inches down low translated to 6 or 8 inches up high.

We were able to skin the first 2000′ or so, but pretty shortly traded skis for crampons and put in a bootpack for the remaining 3500′ of the climb.  Kick, breathe, step.  Kick, breathe, step.  Repeat.  Endlessly.  Rotating through the lead to keep relatively fresh legs up front, we didn’t set any speed records on this climb but it was somehow enjoyable to feel the honest work of it and breathe the fresh, thin air as we gained elevation.

And as we got higher, the wicked brutal heat that beset us midway up dissipated and a cool breeze blew down the couloir at the top of the glacier, otherwise known as The Handle.

The pitch got steeper for the final 1500′ up The Handle, culminating in a 10′ section of 55- to 60-degree climbing to crest the summit.

Wind plumes ripped off the rocks protecting the top of The Handle but we stood in a silent eddy in the sun, looking back down at nearly 6000′ of track that we had just laid-in.  Which would now be 6000′ of chalky powder turns–sick.  We rock-hopped over to the actual summit, a broad plateau with view of the North Face of the Grand to the south, Thor Peak and the Idaho Teton Valley to the west, Bivouac Peak to the north, and Jackson Lake and the rest of the Jackson valley to the east.  Just gorgeous.

To think that we fell asleep in a snowstorm but climbed this gorgeous route under bluebird skies.

I dropped in first, giving a few bounces as I side-slipped the entrance to try and clean off some of the sluff, but nothing moved.

The powder proved to be beautifully firm, solid edging and the 1500′ down The Handle flew by until I found a protected zone to tuck into and wait for Evan and Ben to arrive.

Once we were all together again, I led out for a 2000′ pitch of lovely softness down to our gear cache midway down the route.

The sluff started getting pretty big and pushy, but with such favorable riding conditions it felt good to open it up and outrun the cascade behind me.  Laying over big carves, the rock walls became a blur as I focused on getting the most out of these sweet turns.

The lower glacier started to get pretty sticky with the sun’s heat adding moisture to the upper snowpack, and we found that subtle changes in slope aspect to slightly shady gullies made all the difference in keeping the snow dry and fast.  Then right above camp it all turned to mush.  We relaxed a bit in the sun as we packed up the tents, listening to kiddy-pop on Ben’s AM-FM radio and downing quart after quart of water before the long slog back across the lake.

It took us 3 hours to get from our camp to the east side of the lake, longer than the previous afternoon but not bad considering how slushy the snow was over the lake ice.  (The lake was frozen rock-hard, it was just the snow that was slushy.)

Arriving back at the truck in the late afternoon, cold Budweiser and leftover pizza never tasted so good.  Especially having changed from wet ski boots into luscious flip-flops.  Mmm.

Sometimes you get it done in the mountains, sometimes you don’t get to do anything, and sometimes the consolation prize is pretty sweet.  On March 2nd, we left the parking lot at 3:30am under starry skies and a just-past-full moon, heading for the North Ridge of the Middle Teton.  We had heard that the technical challenges offered by the North Ridge were minor, and that it would likely be mostly a snow climb with a bit of ice to make it interesting.  Unfortunately, the only ice we touched on this day was in the skin track during the wee hours of the morning.

Skinning under a full moon is cool.  With headlamps off, shadows are so long and the muted glow reflecting off the snow provides a surreal lighting for travel through the lowland approach to the high peaks.  Partners are merely black silhouettes and the skin track is an ill-defined line across the crusty re-frozen snow surface.  Traveling across Bradley Lake and through the forest, we spent the pre-dawn hours quietly skinning through this dreamscape into Garnet Canyon.

As morning approached, the moon set and we were forced to turn on our headlamps for the last hour before sunrise, climbing up out of the forest and into the glacial basin of the Meadows in the canyon.  We stopped for a morning snack in the Meadows as the sun barely lit the eastern horizon and then bared our teeth for the icy, slick-as-snot-on-a-marble climb from the Meadows up into the North Fork.  The slope between the Meadows and the North Fork is about 35 degrees and faces south, so it bakes all day and then freezes overnight.  Skin tracks that get put in during the heat of the day get burnished to a high gloss with the water content in the surface snow and then freeze like glass.  Having forgotten to bring the ski crampons, we alternated between skinning and bootpacking as the snow conditions demanded on the climb up.  Skis on feet, skis on packs, skis on feet, skis on packs.

The sun rose as we cruised through the moraines in the North Fork and we were able to make good time getting to the Lower Saddle.  We could see the BIG red duffel bag with Exum’s high camp in it as we scrambled up the scree towards the base of the North Ridge of the Middle.  Surmounting a series of benches, we soon gained a view of the route and quickly ascertained that it wasn’t going to happen on this day.  There wasn’t a shred of snow on the ridge, and the access to the NW Couloir was dry as well.  Standing in the shadow of the Middle with a chill wind cranking over the ridge and no harnesses or rock gear in our packs, none of us felt inclined to tackle 2000′ of 5th-class rock.  So we punted and decided to seek out the Pinnochio Couloir, a 1000′ line from the base of the North Ridge down to the glacier below.

With a narrow entrance that goes at ~55 degrees, the Pinnochio is a super aesthetic line that we got a good look at while skinning through the moraines an hour earlier.

Finding the top proved to be harder than we expected; after scrambling up and then downclimbing a few short pitches of slabby rock on misguided routes, we finally crested the Pinnochio Pinnacle and gazed down into the couloir.  My 25-meter strand of rope barely reached down to the notch at the top of the couloir, but with a brief body-wrap rappel we each made our way down to the entrance.

I cleaned off the cornice at the top while Mark and Evan found a rock horn to sling the rope around for our second rappel of the day, getting beyond a rocky pinch and into the couloir proper.  Going first, I found chalky powder in the couloir with excellent edging, which felt good in what seemed a bit like an elevator shaft.  55-degrees and barely wider than the length of my board, the Pinnochio Couloir was pretty sporty!

After passing a particularly narrow pinch a hundred feet down, things opened up and I found really fun riding down to the mid-couloir rockband.  I pulled off to the side and yelled up for Mark to ski down to me.

We poked around a bit for a route to downclimb while Evan made his descent to us, ultimately deciding to pull the rope out again for one last rappel past the 15′ band of rock that blocked our path.  Mark slung  another horn, we rapped past the rock, and then ripped dreamy turns out of the fan of the couloir and down the glacier to the moraines below.  The sun felt pretty damn good after spending a couple of hours in the shadow of the Middle, so we took the opportunity to eat a big lunch before exiting the mountains.

More challenges awaited us on the way out, mostly in the variable and shallow snow conditions that we have this winter at mid- and low-elevations in the Tetons, but we eventually made it back down to the lake and cranked out the last two miles to the parking lot.  Though it was disappointing to get turned back from summiting the Middle, getting to ride the Pinnochio was pretty sweet and it was a fantastic day to be in the mountains with good friends.  Ultimately, the most disappointing part of the day was arriving back at the parking lot to find that somebody had taken the beers we stashed under the car to keep them cold!  So lame!

And so, we wrapped up the day with the standard trip to Dornan’s for a pitcher and some quesadillas while gazing back up at the Range through the gigantic bay windows behind the bar.  Another decent consolation prize.

I just spent 10 days in the Tetons teaching an instructor training seminar for NOLS, doing some really amazing riding while training a new generation of backcountry snowboarding instructors. With all the time we spent skinning and riding, my trainees were pretty impressed at the performance of my Wagner Custom approach skis, and how easy my transitions were compared to their splitboards. 50cm of new snow graced us over the first few days, and after seeing the start to our season’s snowpack it was really nice to see stability improve around here, opening up the big lines that were too dangerous before. On our last tour day I went down the far north ridge of Treasure Mountain with five of our riders to explore an avalanche path up there.

We made our way along the heavily corniced ridgeline under overcast skies, cutting one HUGE cornice to test the slope below–no reaction under hundreds of pounds of impact made us feel pretty good about the situation. Test pits near the starting zone of our intended path confirmed good stability, so we punched the gut in fast powder, riding one-at-a-time from safe zone to safe zone. (Practicing good down-guiding technique.) Big rooster tails ripping through little trees in steep terrain had everybody grinning and whooping, and the turns just kept coming. We finally reached the bench at the “bottom” of our run when I realized that we were standing at the top of a shot that I had been eyeing for a couple of years from the skateski track below. It was pure luck that we ended up right on top of it, with perfect conditions and a group of strong riders. Awesome.

The Boy Scout Couloir is so named because it is the only clean line through the 400′ limestone cliff above the Treasure Mountain boy scout camp. Steep, narrow, and perfectly plumb, the couloir is a deep and beautiful cleft through towering rock walls. Ultimately, the reason that I hadn’t ridden it before was because of the long access and the difficulty of finding it from above. But with us camped on the summit of Treasure Mountain, we were perfectly set up for a descent and didn’t even know it. It would mean a long skin back to camp, but what better way to wrap up this trip?

After describing the couloir to my tour group they jumped at the chance to ride it, so I took over the down-guiding and we rode up to the lip to scout the entrance. We found a little sneak above some rocks to access a dozen 50-degree turns into the meat of the couloir–beautiful. Once everybody was grouped up inside the couloir, I rode firm, fun powder to a good spotting zone just above the rock portal at the exit and gave the team the thumbs-up to ride it out one-at-a-time. They made fast, controlled turns, leaving cold crystal rooster tails, opening it up once they hit the fan at the exit. Once they were safely through and into the forest below, I aired off my perch and rode out to join them. Big smiles, lots of high-fives and general giddyness ensued.

We rode down through a bit more forested terrain to the bottom of the canyon and transitioned for the skin back up. After 8 days of winter camping, everybody was a bit fatigued and really hungry, but super stoked to finish the trip with a line like that. The 5-hour skin back up (splitboard skins can be a nightmare) took a circuitous route up Eddington Canyon and past the Eddington Chutes. (We had ridden those a couple of days earlier.) We watched the sun set over the Big Holes just as we climbed a bootpack through the rock band at the top of the Treasure Mountain massif, the sky turning lava red. Dusk fell into dark as we rolled back into camp, spent but happy, ready for a huge dinner feed and looking forward to going home to family and friends.

Skinning out of the mountains with our camp in the sled behind me, I became acutely aware of the caliber of the backcountry snowboarding program that we’ve created at NOLS. If you’re a snowboarder and you want to take your riding to the next level in the backcountry, I would definitely consider taking a course–you’d be amazed at the experience.