Ascent of Grand Teton on 1992-09-13

Climber: Greg Slayden

Others in Party:Exum Group of 10
Date:Sunday, September 13, 1992
Ascent Type:Successful Summit Attained
Peak:Grand Teton
    Elevation:13770 ft / 4197 m

Ascent Trip Report

Saturday, September 12, 1992:

I arrived at the large Jenny Lake parking area and, as I had before the rock-climbing classes, changed into my "mountain clothes"--polypro, pile, Gore-Tex, and my rented shoes. I also got together my pack for the climb, deciding to use my new daypack because I would be spending the night in Exum's hut, using one of their sleeping bags, and wouldn't need any of my heavy overnight gear.

I went over to the Exum Guide Service headquarters cabin and, for the next hour or more just hung out as chaos swirled all around. Guides and clients milled about, and I never really found out what was going on as I checked in at their desk, got a hardhat and climbing harness from their storage closet, and waited on the benches outside. I met Dave, an older guy who was going up
"the Grand" by the direct Exum Ridge by himself with just a private guide, and Tom, a guide who was going to be private guiding two others up the regular Exum Ridge route. Apparently I was part of a group of three that would be guided up the regular Exum by a guide who was now up at the Saddle Hut--we would meet up with him there. While we waited for everyone to show up Tom
went through my pack to make sure I had all the gear I would need--the only thing he wished I had was a heavier parka, but I assured him I'd be fine with the polypro-pile-Gore Tex layering, since I had been skiing in frigid cold wearing that outfit, and besides, it wouldn't fit in my pack, and I didn't want to lug my huge Gregory internal-frame job up the Grand.

Finally more people arrived and checked in and got their gear together amid
the hubub--I saw Jack, the guide who had led my intermediate climbing class,
and he told me that Rex and Lorelei (the only others besides me in my class on
Tuesday) had gone up the Grand on Thurdsay, Rex to the top and Lorelei to the
Saddle. I was a little upset that I hadn't been around to Climb on Thursday,
especially since Jack, among others, had told me on Tuesday that any climbs of
the Grand were unlikely until the weekend due to snow on the rock. Also, as I
waited, I noticed the weather was deteriorating rapidly as clouds began to
move in, some obscuring the rock pinnacles above.

Once everyone was ready, we were told to drive to the Lupine Meadows
trailhead and re-form there, so I drove out from Jenny Lake, down the park
road south a bit, then on a horribly rutted and potholed road, just like the
one to the Climber's Ranch, which led to a big gravel parking area. Here I
got organized one last time, daubed on lots of sunblock (the sun was still out
intermittently) and waited for everyone once again.

My climb of the Grand Teton with the Exum Guide Service was extremely
confusing because there were six guides and nine clients on the mountain in
various combinations and sub-groups that changed constantly. Despite the
confusion, this was an phenomenal guide/client ratio--on my climb of Rainier
in 1991 the ratio had been about 4 guides for the 40 people in the group.

The following is a breakdown of the personnel on the climb and how they
were grouped (theoretically, anyway):

Group 1: A regular guided climb of the Grand, by the regular Exum Ridge

Guide: Jim Olson, who was already at the hut, having guided the day before.
A paraglider, he had once used the Grand as a launch site.

Clients: Two Harvard alums: Eric, a TV exec from New York,
and Peter, 28, a medical student at Johns Hopkins in Baltimore. Also, me, a computer programmer/mountain bum from Philadelphia.

Group 2: A second regular climb.

Guide: Ken Jern, a bed-and-breakfast owner in Jackson. He had been in a
bad unroped leader fall on the Grand earlier in the season.

Clients: Greg, a guy from Minneapolis; Allison, 20, his
daughter, a University of Minnesota student; and her younger brother, a quiet

Group 3: A private guided climb of the Exum Ridge direct route.

Guide: Steve Koch, a blond, ponytailed Californian whose claim to fame was
extreme snowboarding--he had shredded off the Grand Teton. He too was already
at the hut.

Client: Dave, a nuclear power plant manager from Surry, VA.

Group 4: A private guided climb of the regular route. This party had
just been in the Wind Rivers, climbing in the Cirque of the Towers, and was
now going for the Grand as a wrap-up of the week.

Guide: Tom Turiano, expert skier and Wind River guide.

Clients: A doctor from Bedford Hills, NY, and his tall blonde daughter.

Extra Guide 1: Forrest McCarthy, an apprentice guide who helped get people
up to the hut.

Extra Guide 2: George, a guest guide from Ridgway, Colorado, who helped out
on the climb from the hut to the summit. He arrived at the hut after most of
us did--I'm not sure when.

Everyone in the parking lot finally got assembled, and after I let Peter
have some water from the big jug in my car we were ready to hit the trail for
the 4,000 foot elevation gain, non-technical hike up to the Saddle and the hut
there. Tom was the only guide, leading seven clients, all but the other Greg
and his two kids, and the plan was for Forrest to catch up to us and take
everyone but the doctor and his daughter so Tom could concentrate on them, his
private clients.

So we hit the trail, which was flat at first as it would through forest,
and then started climbing steadily on long switchbacks. We all talked to each
other, mainly with whoever was behind or ahead of you in line. I talked to
Tom the guide for a bit--he was the main Exum guide for the Wind Rivers, where
he led occasional private trips, and I told him a little about my adventures
on Gannett Peak the previous week. When he asked where I started, and I told
him Elkhart Park, he made a nice game-show-wrong-answer-buzzing sound before I
could say that yes, now I know that it's better to approach from the

We all went up for a while at an easy pace until we came to a rest area at
the junction with the Foothills Trail. He we took a long break, eating some
food and drinking. Soon Ken the guide with Greg and his kids, Ken's clients,
came up and they too stopped to rest. (I didn't realize at this point that
this group was another Exum climb.) Finally Forrest, a short, powerful,
friendly apprentice guide with a blond beard came jogging up the trail, and
this freed up Tom to continue with the doctor and his daughter, who left

Forrest was now the guide for Eric, Peter, Dave, and me, and the five of us left the rest place next. Forrest's pace was much faster than Tom's had been, and although I had no problem keeping up, Peter and especially Dave did. We got him to slow down, and we settled into a grind-out-the-uphill mode. The trail switchbacked up through open forest and occasional field, and views of the incredibly flat fields of Jackson Hole, with several round lakes at its margin below us, began to open up. I talked to Peter during this stretch--I had been at Penn the same years he had been at Harvard, and we determined that we had even been in the same football stadium at the same time once. He had gone to med school at the University of Minnesota, and was now doing residency at Johns Hopkins in Baltimore.

After a bit the trail came more out into the open and started crossing boulder fields as it slabbed into a big ravine called Garnet Canyon. The trail, after crossing a section of of very huge, jumbled blocks, came out into the floor of the ravine near a little bit of grass near a brook. The sheer rock walls of the Tetons, crowned by pinnacles, towered on either side of us,
and up ahead we could see the Middle Teton, with its prominent black dike scarring its sheer face. Here Forrest called a rest, and we all sat down to
eat our lunch.

While we ate and talked Ken and his group (Greg, daughter Allison, and son)
appeared and rested nearby, and Tom and his two clients were also around
somewhere. After taking some pictures (Eric and Peter were especially avid
photographers) we took off again, the trail now very steep and rocky as it
switchbacked up the treacherous walls of Garnet Canyon, once going through a
very confusing jumble of house-sized boulders where the route was not obvious
at all. Dave was now having lots of trouble keeping up, and the rest of us
had to wait up for him often. Forrest and I offered to trade packs with him,
since his was kind of heavy, but he said he was fine. Ken's group and Tom's
group passed us at some point, but we still kept going.

I talked to Forrest for a bit on this stretch--he was only a junior,
apprentice guide, but still very accomplished. He had recently spent two
months climbing all the volcanos in Ecuador, and was planning an attempt on
the difficult north ridge of the Grand Teton tomorrow. As we climbed higher
what had been a partly cloudy but occasionally sunny afternoon degenerated
into totally overcast sky, and it got very windy. When we reached a turnoff
to an overhanging rock we took the short path left to a nice rest spot in
front of the rock. Here, as we rested and ate, it started snowing

We still had a lot of climbing to do, and after our rest the trail, now
more of a faint path, continued its unrelenting assault on the walls of Garnet
Canyon. The snow and especially the wind intensified, and when the clouds
engulfed us totally we were basically in a raging blizzard. The wind was so
strong it was blasting ice and snow pellets onto my one cheek, leaving the
other alone. I was glad that Forrest was guiding us--earlier I had wondered
about the Exum policy of requiring guides even on the non-technical climb up
to the hut on the saddle--as he continued to lead us forward on a route that I
would not have been able to follow in the white-out conditions. Dave still
lagged badly, but he kept plugging as we waited for him.

The weather got so bad at one point that Forrest said that the only reason
we weren't turning back was that the closest shelter was at the hut, not far
above us now, rather that the long retreat to the trailhead. The snow was
beginning to accumulate a little bit, and the wind was absolutely ferocious,
howling in relentless gusts, and hopes for making the summit tomorrow looked
very dim. I was warm and relatively comfortable in my clothes, and had no
trouble keeping up in the gale.

After more slow uphill progress in the fog we all finally made it to a
section of cliff that Forrest said was just below the hut (visibility was
about twenty feet in the snowstorm, so we had to take his word for it), and
the way up it was to use a very thick manilla rope fixed in place. As
Forrest, Eric, Peter, and I waited for Dave we heard voices from above--some
of the guides who were already at the hut had been waiting for us atop the
fixed rope. Forrest went up the rope first, showing us how it was done, and
Eric, Peter, Dave, and I followed. Up top I met guide Jim Olson, all bundled
up, who was helping people up, and once atop the little cliff it was a short
scamper to the hut.

The Exum hut was located in the middle of the flat, rocky "Saddle", a
gentle col between the towering peaks of the Grand Teton to the north and the
Middle Teton to the south, at an elevation of about 11,640 feet. Because it
offered a low and easy passage for wind across the crest of the Tetons, the
saddle was utterly, unbelievably, incredibly windy in the storm, with mammoth
gusts of 100 mph roaring through continuously. It took massive effort to
stand up or move against this wind for the hundred yards or so to the hut.
Once there I opened the door and jumped inside very quickly.

The hut was really just a sturdy tent, with thick steel poles and sturdy
canvas both bolted to a plywood floor, and it flapped and rattled like crazy
in the wind, making conversation difficult inside, but it was very welcome
shelter. It was only about 15 by 30 feet, with no furniture except a stove in
one corner. I found a unoccupied spot on a sleeping pad at the edge, and took
off my parka and rested amid the crowded hubbub of the cramped hut.

Everybody--all nine clients and six guides--was there. Jim Olson, the
guide for Eric, Peter, and me, and Steve Koch, the guide for Dave, had been up
at the hut for several days now. Ken Jern and his clients (father Greg,
daughter Allison, and a son whose name I missed) and Tom Turiano and his
clients (the nordic doctor and his daughter) had arrived before Forrest,
Peter, Eric, Dave, and me. There was another guide there, a visiting non-Exum
guide named George--I don't know exactly when or how he arrived. After an
hour or so Forrest left to return to the valley, deciding that his planned
attempt on the north ridge was off due to the weather. He was also done with
his job of getting people up to the hut. That left 14 of us to spend the late
afternoon and evening together in the cold, wind-battered hut (I had arrived
at the hut at about 4 P.M. or so, but the weather made it seem like late

For the next several hours we all just rested, made forays out into the
devastating wind (now accompanied mostly by rain), talked, got to know one
another, organized gear, and ate. Going to the bathroom was a big problem.
There was an outside toilet down on the Idaho side fo the saddle, but it was
totally out in the open, and the wind was a nuisance. The guides made batches
of hot water for us to add to food we had brought, and I had some nice hot
dehydrated beef in addition to my usual cookies and crackers for dinner. The
activity was pretty constant--people were always walking around, stepping over
people, organizing packs, getting more hot water, hanging up clothes to dry,
and running in and out of the hut, accompanied by gusts of wind while the door
was open. After the first few times that the hut's flapping got so bad it
honestly sounded like we were going to be blown off into Idaho, we all just
ignored the constant racket. The guides assured us that the hut would
withstand the assault.

I talked to George, the guest guide, a bit--he was from Ridgway, Colorado,
near Telluride, where I once lived, and he knew Sandy East, who had guided me
on a backcountry skiing trip in the San Juans in 1989. I also chatted with
Allison, a University of Minnesota student, briefly, as well as took part in
the general discussions floating around. The guides all had good "war
stories" about their many climbs and/or brushes with death.

After a bit it got dark, and it was time for everyone to go to sleep. The
guides said they would be up early to see about conditions for a summit
attempt, but at this point, with wind still seemingly threatening to blow us
away with every gust and the memory of the snowstorm still fresh, optimism was
not high. We all found pads from the floor and sleeping bags off of the rack
in the back of the hut, and arranged ourselves corpse-like on the hut's floor.
I found a spot in the corner near the door, and after more hubbub and activity
things finally quieted down and I tried to get to sleep.

I was very cold that night, and it seemed that my sleeping bag was kind of
skimpy, so I had to put on my jacket inside it to stay warm. I think that the
wind coming under the canvas wall of the tent may have been to blame. One
nice thing was that the wind noise was so loud that it drowned out any
snoring, and I could make all the noise I wanted without waking anyone. I
still slept fitfully, if at all. In the middle of the night I, predictably,
had to go to the bathroom, and I fortunately had an empty water bottle I could
use in my sleeping bag rather than braving the elements.

Sunday, September 13:

At 4 A.M. a whole bunch of loud alarm clocks went off in the crowded hut,
yet the guides were still slow to turn them off. People started stirring in
the pitch blackness, and finally a guide started up a kerosene lantern and
hung it from the ceiling. The wind was still howling outside, rattling the
tent, and it was bitterly cold out--ice crystals covered the inside of the
canvas hut, and everyone's breath was an icy cloud.

One of the guides ventured outside and returned to say that although it was
still awfully windy, and there was still an inch or so of snow on most of the
rocks, it was clear as a bell outside and that summit attempts were on--we
clients had all paid to get to the top, and they were paid to take us there,
and they deemed it safe to at least start. Therefore, we all started getting
ready while we waited for hot water to boil on the stove. Guide Jim Olson had
the quote of the morning when he was asked what we should wear: "Put on
everything you've got."

My breakfast was a bunch of Snickers bars and some dehydrated potatoes that
weren't to good with just hot water added to them--crunchy and gross. I then
followed Jim's advice and put on all my clothes, including my seldom-worn wool
balaclava and wool mittens. My main concern was for my feet, since all I had
were the tight and light rock-climbing boots. I put on two pairs of socks and
hoped for the best. I also put on a climbing harness and hard hat, and, since
I was among the first to be ready, waited while the chaos of too many cold and
miserable people in a cramped space milled around each other while eating and
getting all their stuff together.

This scene was cut short when the nordic-looking doctor guy accidentally
knocked the kerosene lantern on the floor, smashing it into a million pieces
and plunging us back into a darkness our few dim flashlights did little to
illuminate. Very shortly after this, at about 4:45 A.M., guide Steve Koch
asked Dave if he was ready, and he was, so they split first, accompanied by
guest guide George. Jim then told Eric, Peter, and me to get with the
program, upon which I went outside to show that at least I was ready. It was
excruciatingly cold once out of the hut, with the strong wind the biggest
contributor to a wind chill that must have been around 40 below zero.
Fortunately, Jim, Eric, and Peter soon joined me, and we started up the dark
bulk of the Grand Teton looming before us in the clear, starry predawn

Jim knew the way well even in the dark, and he really booked up the initial
rocky slope like a maniac, recognizing that the best defense against the cold
was to keep moving. I had no trouble keeping up, while Peter and Eric lagged
behind a bit, and when Jim and I rested to wait for them he asked me what I
had been doing to be in such good shape. I then discussed with him, over the
roaring wind, some of the highlights of my long vacation as we continued

All four of us soon reached a horizontal black dike where we were finally
out of the wind (relatively speaking), and here Jim called a rest and
apologized for his blistering pace, but getting some shelter was the key goal.
We then hiked uphill some more as the terrain got steeper and rockier. The
snow was mostly in the cracks between the rocks, and sometime on the rocks,
making things slippery, but it was generally not a problem. Jim once pointed
out to us the view to the west in the dark--virtually all of eastern Idaho was
spread out at our feet, clusters of lights marking the locations of the

As the first rays of dawn were becoming visible we came to the first
technical stretch, a short pitch of cliff where we didn't rope up, but still
had to be very careful on--Jim pointed out the large and obvious handholds and
footholds for each of us. Above this we continued hiking up treacherous,
snowy rock, and at some point not long afterwards our party joined up with
Steve, George, and Dave, who had abandoned the Exum direct route, and Ken,
Greg, and Allison, who caught up to our group. The guides had all decided
that given the conditions that the only way they were going to get any of us
up to the top was via the Owen-Spalding route, the easiest on the mountain,
rather that the Exum Ridge direct or regular Exum Ridge. So as it got light
out the party on the Grand Teton consisted of guides Jim, Ken, George, and
Steve, and clients Peter, Eric, Dave, Greg, Allison, and me. We assumed that
guide Tom, his two clients, and Greg's son were waiting down at the hut.

Once we were all together the climb became kind of a blur to me. I didn't
have to worry about route-finding, so I just did what I was told to by the
guides as they got us roped up in various combinations and had us scaling
several pitches of sheer cliff. The entire upper mountain was very steep, and
I had no idea of what direction we were approaching from or what our route
looked like on a map. I just climbed the cliffs when told, belayed others
when told, and tried to keep moving. I did well on the rock-climbing pitches,
not having any trouble, since they all had good holds. No one in our whole
group fell.

The worst part of the climb was the intense cold. Even after the dawn our
route was mostly in shadow, and when I had to wait around for others to climb
up, or else sit and belay, the wind and cold almost froze me to death. My
toes were very cold, but I kept wiggling them in their skimpy climbing boots
until they were warm. At one point my head was freezing despite my wool
balaclava and hard hat, so I tried to put on my Gore-Tex hood as a windbreak,
which required bare hands because I couldn't see the snaps on the back of my
neck and had to feel for them. Unfortunately, I froze my fingers totally
after less than a minute of exposure to the wind as I tried to snap it on, and
I had to get Allison, waiting in line for a pitch behind me, to help me. Once
on the hood helped a lot, and after a few minutes my fingers returned to

The one pitch I definitely remember was a crawl along a snowy ledge, with a
huge overhang above me and a huge dropoff below. I was glad that I was roped
up and belayed for stretches like this. At the top of the pitch after this
one, I suddenly noticed that I was getting way up there, and Steve Koch, the
guide I was nearest at the time, told me that we were basically there. I was
amazed, because I had been too cold and too busy to get either impatient or
tired on the climb. But a short scramble from the top of the last pitch
brought me to the small summit area of the Grand Teton, 13,770 feet above the
sea and 7,200 feet above Jackson Hole, suddenly spread out beneath me.

Soon our whole party was up top, and there was a nice ledge just off the
summit to the east, overlooking Jackson Hole, that was fantastic because it
was sheltered from the ripping wind and exposed to the morning sun. We all
sat down and rested on this ledge, warm for the first time since leaving the
hut. We ate, took pictures, admired the view, and expressed our amazement at
having made it in the frigid and snowy route conditions. The guides had been
up top many, many times, and it was no big deal to them, but the rest of us
went wild taking each other's pictures and looking out over sizeable chunks of
Wyoming and Idaho on the very clear morning. I made a couple forays to the
actual summit rock, windy and exposed above the ledge, and to the north and
south ends of the roughly boat-shaped summit, where I checked out the views of
the neighboring Teton peaks.

I had some pop-tarts and Snickers bars (which I had also been munching on
the way up) to eat, but the water in my pack was almost all frozen. We were
able to get some out of Eric's canteen, though. (I carried the only pack in
the group of Eric, Peter, and me, and it was very light.) After about twenty
minutes up top the guides said it was time to go, so we all packed up, bundled
up, and roped up, ready for the descent.

Going down was just as cold as the ascent even though it was now sunny and
warmer, due to the continued wind and the lower level of exertion that
generated less body heat. The first part was a steep hike down from the very
summit during which we walked carrying our rope coils, and my rope team was
slowed by Peter and Dave, who were not too good at rock-hopping. Jim, our
guide, seeing this, put me last so the slowpokes wouldn't get too far

After a bit of cold, steep, treacherous hiking with slippery snow underfoot
occasionally we arrived at the rappel point, where the guides were setting up
to lower us down a huge cliff one by one. We all had to wait while they set
up, and it was bitterly cold--the wind was particularly strong and we were
still in shadow. I started doing dances in place to keep my blood flowing,
and the poor guides who had to belay each of us on the rappel were really
freezing. When it was someone's turn to rappel, the guide up top didn't mess
around--he made sure we were tied in to the rope and basically threw us off
the cliff while shouting "Next!" I was glad I had done several rappels in
climbing school earlier in the week, because getting hurled off the mountain
and having to lower yourself down 200 feet is something that takes some
getting used to.

At the bottom of the rappel pitch Jim, Eric, Peter, and I regrouped and
started hiking down, and the whole rest of the way was just difficult hiking,
with no use of ropes. Our group was the first down, and despite the
treacherous nature of the footing, with steep rock and snow all over, we
carefully made our way down without incident. At the point where we had
climbed our first cliff in the morning it was traditional to use a rope for
the descent, but Jim had forgotten to bring a rope along and our group was way
in front of the others. So instead of waiting Jim guided us to a cleft in the
cliff band where there was a permanent fixed piece of webbing that we could
use to lower ourselves down. This presented no problems for anyone.

The final slope down to the hut was plain old steep talus, and Peter and
Dave again were having problems keeping up with the rest of us. They were
just not very good at letting gravity help them rock-hop easily down the
slope--instead they hesitatingly calculated every small step. Finally Jim let
me and other faster hikers go on ahead, and I cruised on down to the hut
alone, the first to arrive back.

The hut was locked, so I dropped my pack outside and went to the bathroom
in the open toilet behind the big rock (the toilet with the best view in
America, the guides called it). It was still awfully windy out, but not as
bad as before, and the sun had warmed up the saddle considerably. When Jim
arrived he unlocked the hut, and everyone went inside to rest as they
returned. Soon everyone from the summit was back in the hut: guides Jim, Ken,
Chris, and George, and clients Peter, Eric, Dave, myself, Greg, and Allison.
We ate lunch (although I had almost no food left, I didn't really need any),
rested, and talked about the climb.
The guides pretty much agreed that these conditions were about the worst
they had ever led a group to the summit in. One said that he did a summit
climb in a snowless January and had an easier time. Jim said that when we
started in the morning that he thought there was no way we'd make it, feeling
certain we'd encounter rocks coated with ice, at which point turning back was
the only option. The extreme wind, bitter cold, and pockets of snow underfoot
were all obstacles that most climbers of the Grand didn't even have to worry

After we returned all our technical gear to the guides to be locked away in
a locker outside the hut and generally got packed up we all headed down
towards the trailhead, once again in a bunch of separate groups. Guide Steve
Koch was responsible for getting Peter, Eric, Dave, and myself down from the
saddle, and after getting down the big fixed rope just below the hut we hiked
on down the path through Garnet Canyon. The views were much better than
yesterday, since there was now no white-out blizzard going on. At a rest stop
high up in the canyon we noticed the Wind River Range in the distance, domed
Gannet Peak prominent in its center. I knew enough not to take a picture of
this scene, realizing that it wouldn't come out at all given my camera.

Once we were down a bit the wind almost disappeared, and we had a pleasant,
sunny leisurely hike down to the trailhead despite our fatigue. Dave and
especially Eric slowed us down, but I didn't really mind. We took lots of
rests, and I talked to the others. Our guide Steve was pretty interesting--he
was a serious snowboarder who specialized in "first descents" of extremely
steep cliffs, chutes, and couloirs. He pointed out a chute in Garnet Canyon
to us called "Koch's Couloir" he had shredded, he told me he had lived in
Chamonix with the late snowboard daredevil Bruno Gouvny, and when I asked him
if he had been to Tuckerman Ravine in New Hampshire, he said no, it was too
wimpy for him, so he did Huntington Ravine instead, snowboarding down over the
ice-climbers who flock there.

When Steve found out Peter was in the television industry he started
talking to him about how to get commercial sponsorships and stuff like that,
because he was trying to get to Pakistan to snowboard off of a 8000 meter peak
and he needed to scrounge for money. He said his biggest expense was plane
tickets, and he complained that the fishing guides in Jackson Hole got more
money than the Exum climbing guides like him.

As we descended into the trees and started switchbacking down toward the
trailhead I talked to Eric a bit, and then Dave, and by about 4 P.M. we all
finally arrived at Lupine Meadows. Jim was there too, having caught up to us
after staying behind to clean up the hut, but everyone else was gone. We all
went to our respective cars to stash our packs and change, the guides having
told us that once we were down that was it, and there was no reason to go back
to the Exum hut at Jenny Lake. I said goodbye to Eric and Peter, getting in
their rented Ford Explorer, Jim, going off on his motorcycle, Steve, packing
up his VW bus, and Dave, wishing them all the best, and I left Lupine Meadows
on the horrible access road. Soon I was cruising back into Jackson, happy at
having scaled the second highest peak in Wyoming, having missed the first.
Summary Total Data
    Elevation Gain:7030 ft / 2143 m
    Distance:10.6 mi / 17.1 km
    Trailhead:Lupine Meadows  6740 ft / 2054 m
    Quality:7 (on a subjective 1-10 scale)
    Route Conditions:
Maintained Trail, Unmaintained Trail, Exposed Scramble, Rock Climb
    Gear Used:
Rope, Guide, Hut Camp
    Weather:Frigid, Extremely Windy, Partly Cloudy
GPS Data for Ascent/Trip

 GPS Waypoints - Hover or click to see name and lat/long
Peaks:  climbed and  unclimbed by Greg Slayden
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