On March 9th, 2024, Bobbi and I were joined by three friendly Minnesotans for a long walk in the high alpine. Many people forget that a ski descent from 12,000+ feet in the Tetons actually can be mellow. This was also Bobbi’s first ski descent from above 12,000 feet, exactly one year to the week from her 2023 partial ACL and meniscus tears!
March began with an unrelenting onslaught of snow… like, almost too much. Carl Osterburg, Bailey Haus and friend Tyler were en route from Minnesota with ambitions to ski in high places, and we were staring down a questionable snowpack at best. However, by some feet of divinity the hundred-some inches of snow managed to fall right side up, stabilizing soon after the clouds parted. After two days on Teton Pass and Stouts Mountain the crew was jazzed for something bigger. On the morning of March 9th our alarms simultaneously sounded at 3:30, sending the house into frenzy. I’m used to waking up for winter alpine days alone, so the commotion of five people pouring cereal, brewing coffee and piecing together the lasts of their gear was a kinetic novelty. We caravanned to Grand Teton National Park as the Teton Range silhouette eclipsed the skyline. The parking lot was buzzing with fellow high pressure enthusiasts. Spring was truly in the air.
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Carl, a long standing compatriot of Ten Thousand Too Far and my right hand ski mountaineering partner before moving back to Minnesota two years ago, would play co-guide in our mission to send three new ski mountaineers to their first major winter summit and ski descent above 12,000 feet. Bobbi and Bailey had both done a smattering of skiing in GTNP, but Tyler was new to the west… and… to downhill skiing. As an elite nordic ski racer he packed ample aerobic capacity, but ski tenure was another story. The past two days had been Tyler’s first in fixed-heel skis, and a mere two days of telemark foolery backed those up, bringing his total downhill ski experience tally to four days. South Teton status? Well, when you’re a gifted natural athlete with the right support, anything is possible. Less than 24 hours earlier I watched, mouth agape, as Tyler railed impressive arching powder turns down Stouts with rental AT gear. Time to shoot for the stars.
Our approach went smoother than imaginable, through the Meadows, into the South Fork and past the Ellingwood Couloir by the four hour mark. The crew maintained impressive pace and confidence as we switched to crampons at the apron of the South Teton. Sadly, it quickly became clear we would be engaging in adventure skiing rather than our lofty dreams of powder, as southwesterly winds in excess of 70 miles per hour two days prior decimated most alpine aspects, including our faire du’ jour. I set the bootpack with Bobbi and Bailey in tow, while Carl hung behind to give Tyler a tutorial on self arresting. As expected, the couloir devolved to scoured talus in the upper reaches, requiring icy third class scrambling to reach the summit ridge. By hour seven our congo line of five had successfully topped the South Teton, smiles all around.
The skiing was marginal at best, stiff windboard off the summit, climax powder in the Cave Couloir and ski swallowing breakable crust in the canyon bottom. In this way our virgin crew got the authentic Teton ski mountaineering experience – seldom are conditions predictable in the wind tunnels of Garnet Canyon. Everybody, including Tyler, was able to make turns from 12,000+ feet beneath a dazzling bluebird sky that ushered a true essence of spring. For Bobbi, this week marked one year since partially tearing the ACL and meniscus in her left knee. Watching her throw jump turns down the 40 degree upper annals of the Northwest Couloir nearly brought tears to my eyes. For Tyler, well… he may very well have earned the least qualified no-falls South Teton ski descent in history. It’s no surprise Carl and Bailey’s ski abilities were up the task, and I got a particular kick out of some deliciously steep turns on the apron spanning the South and Ice Cream Cone. All in all, our motley crew was reunited at the car in under twelve hours, and sharing Thai food over smiles and libations at Chang Mai by sunset. The magic of the Teton high country never disappoints, and this particular day will burn bright for years to come.
Final Thoughts
After years of traipsing around these mountains it becomes easy to take the simple joy of a long tour and great vista for granted. As ski mountaineers, we often yearn to push technical difficulty as the primary metric of success – a steeper descent, a tighter line, a more coveted peak – more suffering. Watching the eyes of loved ones and friends alike ignite at first glimpse of the magical Teton Range plastered in white, the same commanding sights I first fell in love with as a young backcountry skier nearly a decade ago, keeps my perspective sharp. No matter the objective, conditions or result, every minute spent in these mountains is magical. Furthermore, using my skillset to open doors for aspiring backcountry skiers, and watch the subsequent smiles of accomplishment as they reach summits, and paint turns on snowfields they never knew attainable, is a genuine honor. Every minute spent with Carl and Bailey is always a blast, and meeting Tyler, let alone watching him succeed in a South Teton descent having only skied a handful of times, was the cherry on a delicious sundae.
As for the Northwest Couloir route, I’ve now skied and enjoyed it twice. It’s an excellent moderate adventure to a prominent 12,519 foot Teton summit, almost certainly the least technical descent from a 12,000 foot peak in the range. Even if you catch suboptimal snow conditions, the rime studded scrambling out of the couloir will make up the difference – truly a sight to behold.
Ten Thousand Too Far is supported by Icelantic Skis, Range Meal Bars and Black Diamond Equipment.
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DISCLAIMER
Ski mountaineering, rock climbing, ice climbing and all other forms of mountain recreation are inherently dangerous. Should you decide to attempt anything you read about in this article, you are doing so at your own risk! This article is written to the best possible level of accuracy and detail, but I am only human – information could be presented wrong. Furthermore, conditions in the mountains are subject to change at any time. Ten Thousand Too Far and Brandon Wanthal are not liable for any actions or repercussions acted upon or suffered from the result of this article’s reading.
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