Grand Teton

My older brother Mike taught me to explore the wild, find God in nature and be willing to push into the realm of fear. He told me that some of the most defining moments in life are often associated with high levels of fear, even brushing shoulders with death. Maybe it was the reminder of our mortality, or that death helps focus our minds on the real importance of life. I tend to believe that only when the mind is super focused can God really speak to us. It’s only when we clear the clutter of the world can we see the reality of life.

Evelyn, my wife, Jeff, another brother of mine, and I made our way in a cramped car to the climb the Grand Teton on a warm summer day. I had been here before, years before. The mountains were as daunting then as they were this time. That may be one appeal of mountains, they don’t often change much, but we do. From a flat, dull road the peaks tower like gnarly teeth. The bluebird sky draped them in a comfortable hue almost begging for visitors.

Evelyn is a novice climber. She enjoys the sport, mostly enjoys getting to the wilderness I think, but it isn’t a part of her soul. Jeff is a sportler who can pick up on almost any sport easily. Climbing was a focus late in the game for him, but he seemed to pick up on it and excelled beyond beginner quickly. Though not an expert or pro yet, I certainly trust my life in his hands in the backcountry. As a matter of fact, there isn’t anyone I would rather climb with. So when planning this trip, it was a clear choice asking him to come.

We didn’t spend much time in the town, but got right to the Teton park. We stopped by Forest Service offices to get permits and prepare for the long hike in. We started as quickly as we could, enjoying the early morning temperature of the mountains. The smell of the forest was enchanting and took me to another world. I forgot the aches and pains of my knees or poorly fitting backpack as I took in deep breaths and turned my eyes to the canopy. The birds seemed to be the only creatures that didn’t mind our presence, since the only other animals we saw were hikers.

The hike was long, with switchbacks transitioning from forest to grass fields to boulder fields that hid the trail. The packs weighed on our hips and shoulders early on as we marched deeper into the Teton wilderness, leaving the other hikers further behind. As the trees fell behind, the house size boulders dominated the trail while the river ran beside us. The temperature increased as our elevation took breath from our lungs, and we quickly shed layers to keep cool. At one point, Jeff and I even stripped down to jump into the snow and ice fed river. After having my breath taken away, we ate. Taking breaks in an effort to maintain a pace that wouldn’t tap all our climbing strength, we pressed on through the trail that seemed to lengthen. Passing over one field of loose rock, we would find ourselves just at the start of another. The trail raised before us. Even at the point we thought we met the camp, we realized we still had hours to go.

Finally, we reached the saddle; the slope between the Grand Teton and the Middle Teton. It was a welcomed camp site and we embraced our sleeping bags and pads like long lost lovers. The dried dinners were amazing meals, and we took time to relax, breath, recover and gaze over our accomplishment of the hike. The view was amazing. Society had slipped out of view, mankind was limited to the dozen climbers and Rangers sharing the 100-yard campsite with the marmots who tolerated our invasion. I was there with family, but at times felt alone, but then other times, not alone enough. I am used to climbing solo, and climbing with a party brings new, but mostly welcoming, challenges.

The early climbing morning came and went. We lazily started our trek to the routes we were going to explore before a ranger stopped us. He warned us about the late start and lingering storm that may move in. We thanked him and moved along toward the ragged mountainside. We had a choice, and the guide in me analyzed the risks and benefits. I felt like Evelyn and Jeff saw me as their guide, hoping for a successful summit and safe return. I kept a watchful eye on the storm that was too far off to recognize, and plugged on. I was trying to decide between Owen-Spalding route that is ‘easy’ with uncomplicated retreats, or Exum Ridge that is the traditional, challenging route with limited retreats and big exposure. Once we got to the fork, I chose Exum and the others agreed. The storm was still afar off, without much movement and the barometer hadn’t moved too much for concern. On we went.

I was surprised at the skills that both Evelyn and Jeff showed. We took a comfortable pace as we went one pitch at a time. Passing over the boardwalk, the ledge, crux and on to the staircase, I started to recognize the speed and size of the storm approaching us directly. I picked up the pace, concern filled my veins displacing the acid that pumped through my muscles. We finally got two pitches away from the summit when the blue blanket in the sky was replaced by grey and black anger.

I hiked the pitch faster than I have climbed before as Jeff fought to keep pace on belay. I placed protection what felt like miles apart, but felt solid on the climb, only remembering three or four moves – my mind so focused. This is part of why I climb, this moment. In the hustle and bustle of daily life, we forget too many things about who we are. Nature has a way to refocus the mind and remind us how small we are, how fragile. And yet, it teaches us how significant we are. It teaches us that we are all made of star stuff, and everything is connected. Nature shows us that the cosmic power of the universe is within us, each of us. It is in the moments of pure focus that these lessons come spilling over. Your mind isn’t concerned about the stock market, or the politics of today. It’s not worried about what fight you were just in with a loved one, or that you were locked in traffic for hours just to have someone cut you off. Your mind isn’t thinking about these things in the pure focus of nature, because these things don’t matter. Your mind doesn’t really care. When the mind is totally focused, God has a chance to speak to you; and the only lesson that really matters in all this is LOVE. We are powerful beyond measure, and that power stems from love. That’s the main message God sends me, that’s the center I find again and again in nature. We are all connected, we are all in the hardness of life together, and we all need to love each other more. Nature has unconditional love for me, and teaches me to do better at that in my life with others.

Back to the climb: I reached the top of the pitch, looked down and yelled for my brother and wife to get up here. I could feel the storm. Nothing falling from the sky yet, but I felt the ions beaming in my ears. I knew it was about to get wild. Jeff arrived first, and I shrugged him away to prepare for Evelyn’s arrival. She came up, visually upset, and not sure what to expect. With the rocks humming with electricity and excitement, we shed our gear. I yelled to leave the rope, Jeff yelled to ditch the rest of the gear, his helmet included.

From the time Evelyn got to the top with Jeff and me to the time Jeff ditched his helmet there were two lighting strikes. They came with a haunting warning and blasted a cannon shock in the air leaving my lungs empty from the force of the blast. The light was blinding. The sound was deafening. The punch in the air was crippling.

Descending the side, we found a small rock crop while, it seemed, Thor was trying to take the mountain down. Another blast, then another. The rocks hummed just before the lightning strike, the hairs in my beard stood on end and my ears buzzed… then… the sky lit up, a blast pushed me to the rocky mountainside and it started to snow. Midsummer, just hours before with the sun on our faces, we now crouched between to wet rocks wondering if the God of Thunder would find us. Hiding, we prayed. I remember not praying for salvation, but hoping for it no doubt. I remember giving thanks. Not only for the magnificent days we had here, the awe-inspiring climb, the safe passage to this point, the family with us and the love we felt – but also thanks for all the moments in life that lead us to this point, good and bad. We expressed how grateful we were, how much we loved what we had, and how much we loved each other and the other family we left home.

Jeff shivered, coated in snow. Evelyn leaned against him, tucked her hands in her armpits and closed her eyes. I looked up and saw the blanket of blue again. I had the feeling that it wasn’t the mountain trying to end us, it was nature reminding us how powerful it is, how impressive it is, and how much we need to respect it. It was the universe reminding me, no matter how awful it gets, no matter how scary, there’s always a blue blanket of love there, and no matter what, it’s going to be ok.

We stepped out of the cropping. I was thrilled. We found our way down and lazily made our way back to the camp. Sitting there, we looked over the valley and horizon with gratitude and love.

Mike once wrote, “In climbing there is absolute simplicity and undisturbed focus that opens channels in the soul which allows it to be filled with an overwhelming sense of life around you, and overwhelming sense of God. I doubt there is any other way to produce such emotion – I suppose that is why mountains have always served important functions in the religion of humankind. I feel very blessed to have the opportunities that I have been given to climb. I think sometimes it’s difficult for others to understand – but for me – it is simply a way of life.”