The Grand Teton in a Day
15 miles, 7,539ft elevation gain in 13hr 30 min via Owen Spalding
We began in the dark.
Logan and I left our campsite at Gros Ventre (pronounced grow vont), around 3:30AM, and drove 30 minutes back into Grand Teton National Park to the Lupine Meadow Trailhead. We dressed and ate in the dark, smearing Jiff peanut butter on cold cinnamon raisin bagels while jamming our feet into our approach shoes.
I had no idea what to expect from the climb. We’d originally planned to take Upper Exum to the top, but last minute we decided on Owen Spalding; given that it was the less exposed route to the summit, he speculated we could do it without a rope and thus it would be quicker than Exum.
I was all nerves when we hit the trail with our awkwardly shaped packs, filled with extra layers, water, snacks and climbing gear.
Alpenglow lit the Middle Teton like a Himalayan salt lamp and the warm, late summer air smelled of crisped pine needles.
We meandered ever closer to the saddle in relative silence, I was nervously contemplating what sort of climbing we would do above tree line, while I hazard to guess Logan felt quite calm. In total, we would climb 7,539ft that day, but the hike to the first saddle made up the bulk of our elevation gain.
Logan had skied the Grand in the winter, but he’d never climbed it in the summer. And I was pretty glad he wanted to do it with me, even though this would be my first alpine climb ever and my fear of heights and exposure was sure to be a limiting factor where pace was concerned.
Eyes playing tricks.
We reached the first saddle and were greeted by a buffeting wind. I remember studying the climb before us thinking, ‘Well shucks, that doesn’t look so bad!’ But there is this tricky quality to giant mountains like the Grand, A) you can’t see the summit from the saddle and B) things are much farther away than they appear.
Maybe it’s a learned skill, to observe a mountain and comprehend its utter massiveness, to understand that the smallness of a person would surely be less than a spec on its flank.
But as Logan and I began scrambling through the boulder field just above the first saddle, the mountain unfolded herself before me, and I gazed up the gulley we toiled in to the steep granite height of her shoulders.
My neck ached from craning as Logan and I crawled and slipped our way across rocks and scree. My hands shook with anticipation and fear when I finally hauled myself onto the precipitous upper saddle.
I sighed shakily, “That wasn’t so bad? I thought it would be worse?”
Logan didn’t appear to register my need for reassurance as he contemplated our next move, “I don’t think we have reached the crux yet.”
The Crux.
The crux of the Owen Spalding route occurs right at its start and it involves navigating around an expansive flake of rock—a jutting slab—which bulges out over, well, nothing. When I looked down past my white knuckles and quivering toes, all I could see was air.
Nothing would stop my free fall save for the floor of the basin 1,000ft+ below. It didn’t matter that the flake had excellent hand-holds along its top, and solid options to smear my toes across its bottom. I was paralyzed.
“Ivey, you have to keep moving,” I could hear urgency in Logan’s voice, and felt it in his demeanor when he tried to move one of my feet with his hands.
I actually hissed at him, so locked in a vision of my own free fall was I.
The offensiveness of death’s close proximity was wholly overwhelming and suddenly I felt angry. Why weren’t we using a rope? What was I doing? There were tears, there was whimpering.
At some point, though, I made the necessary moves and traversed the flake of my own volition. Logan was very quiet while I composed myself.
“I want to use the rope,” I stated.
“Okay.”
Smoother sailing.
As it turned out, getting around the flake really was the hardest move of the entire route, and we probably could have used the rope there alone (for my peace of mind) and then continued on without it.
But after dangling my back side over the void my nerves were shot to bits and I desperately craved the security of the rope regardless of whether or not I actually needed it’s support.
The moves were straightforward once we cleared the catwalk—which concluded our traverse—and began climbing. The only thing hindering our pace was the line of other climbers we now found ourselves in.
I felt sorry for Logan; he could’ve flown up the route with confidence, free climbing all the way to the summit. And truth be told, I probably could have too, because at no point did I fall on the rope or overly struggle while moving my way up the granite. But fear told me a different story, and then shame had its way with me, and I had to work really hard to keep the narrative in my head from turning dark.
It is fun to spend a day on a mountain. Logan wants to be here with me. Logan doesn’t blame me for us having to wait in line.
I gave myself several pep-talks while shivering from the wave of adrenaline I was riding, and Logan and I chatted and joked to pass the time. There wasn’t anywhere else I wanted to be besides standing with him on that mountain.
To the top.
On the final push to the summit, I remember my hands flying over the rock, my feet barely touching ground, we were no longer limited by the rope.
I scrambled over one final boulder and was awash with satisfaction and relief when I saw the climb was over. Logan was there waiting for me. We had done it, and I wanted nothing more than to bask in the glory of our accomplishment and savor the moment.
The sun was shining, and another group of climbers mentioned it was rarely this warm on the summit, or any portion of the climb for that matter. They had their daughter with them and she couldn’t have been more than 5 or 6. I felt silly, then, for all my worrying on the way up. This tiny human was literally taking a nap, totally unperturbed, at 13,775ft.
It does no good to wonder what I would be doing today, had I started climbing at that age, but I found myself thinking about it all the same.
Getting back down.
Logan had a plan for us, we would down climb until we reached the bolts in the granite marking the rappel station, from there we would do just that, rappel.
I’ve gotten more comfortable with rappelling in the last 2 years, but in this case I wasn’t sure I if I wanted to go first or second—going first meant dropping into the unknown, going second meant getting left behind.
The length of our rope made the decision rather simple, though, as Logan was pretty sure it was too short for the full rappel; he felt he should descend first and establish a good stopping point for us.
I imagined myself rappelling right off the end of the rope and was immediately grateful for his foresight.
And so I watched him leave me. I was way up there, surrounded by a whole lot of air and steep rocks and I seriously felt like I was going to sh*t myself, like my bowels were just going to drop right out of me and I was going to collapse in on myself.
I think I remained externally stoic. I think.
Doing a free dangle.
I wasn’t sure I’d be able to hear Logan yell to me that he was off rappel, and so I wasn’t sure I would know when to go. But mainly I was fine with that because I wasn’t sure I wanted to move at all, staying very still sounded very nice because that was the opposite of falling.
Eventually the rope went slack and I knew it was time.
Logan had shown me how to make a back-up break, incase I let go of the rope (which isn’t that unrealistic given I felt on the verge of passing out). I began fumbling around, a mess of rope, fingers, and carabiners, trying desperately to get everything oriented correctly around and in my ATC so I didn’t die stupidly.
Once I had triple checked my work, I took a deep breath. It was time to weight the rope, so I leaned backwards over the edge.
My system held me and I began my jolting and slow descent, bouncing off the wall here and there, trying to enjoy myself and avoid thinking about the alternative to arriving safely to the bottom, assuming there was a bottom.
Logan saw me come over the outcropping of rock above him and cheered. I felt instant relief, but my knuckles remained bleached of all color in my death grip on the rope.
Just as I was starting to relax, the wall of rock before me disappeared and my feet swung into nothingness.
My stomach dropped and my mouth was dry as a desert.
“Do I have to do a free dangle?” I gasped.
“Yes,” Logan laughed. “I’ll pull you in, but can you hang tight for a picture first?”
After the rappel, we scrambled down through the same boulder field we’d ascended, and then we re-traced all those miles of trail to get back to the truck.
We covered the distance with all the energy we had left, pausing only once to filter water and plunge into the icy creek.
Logan put me in front for the hike out and I kicked it into my 4.5 mph gear to get us out of there as quickly as I could. Burgers were in our future, Logan had a head-cold brewing, and I was plain old tired and ready to sit down on a flat surface that I couldn’t fall off of.
I had the best time, and I feel so insanely lucky to have a partner who wants to do these sorts of things with me—thank you Logan! Much later, over burgers and fries, I asked Logan how he stays focused on a move like Owen Spalding’s crux. He told me he doesn’t look down, “If the move is within your skillset, just focus on the move, it doesn’t really matter what is going on below you.”
We did this adventure shortly after running The Rut in Big Sky, MT. It was an excellent addition to an already awesome trip!
