Threading The Needle – A Stormy Descent of the Bubble Fun Couloir – Buck Mountain – GTNP, WY (03.25.24)

The Bubble Fun Couloir is on the short list of most demanding steep ski descents in the Teton Range – an 1,100 foot masterpiece that holds 50 degrees for hundreds of feet, pushes 60 degrees in hallway width chokes, and hangs dramatically above Avalanche Canyon with an eerie 200+ foot exit cliff. The stuff of dreams – or nightmares.

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A few internet articles have be written on the Bubble Fun, all telling tales of death defying side slipping through icy chokes, prolonged down-climbing, mid-run retreat, or severe difficulty in manifesting a suitable anchor from the classic compact granite so inconveniently, yet commonly, located at the toes of these massive avalanche paths. The lore of this incredible line is born from these tales, further amplified by the dramatic appearance of the 1,100 foot hanging couloir visible from anywhere north of Burnt Wagon Gulch. I’ve been hunting this line for three solid seasons, stalking perfect conditions, because to test the sharpness of one’s edges, or stability of the snowpack, in the Bubble Fun is a fool’s game. In April 2023, my 400mm zoom lens revealed a pair of tracks in the beast. I know at least one other got it shortly after. This year it got skied at least twice before Hayden and I stumbled upon its entry. The bar is rising in the Tetons, and the once-in-a-lifetime lines of the 20th century are becoming attainable for many outside the realms of North America’s best ski mountaineers. That said, the Bubble Fun has still probably only seen around fifty descents, less if you account for repeats by the same person. In a range as popular as the Tetons, where the Grand Teton is getting skied an average of every second day all winter, that rarity means something. The line is steep and unforgiving, a relentless fall line descent through a tight hallway of 50-60 degree granite, spewing onto an exposed hanging apron requiring a 200+ foot rappel to escape. There’s quite literally no margin for error in the Bubble Fun. Unlike most descents in the Teton Range, this line shows its cards from afar. What you see is what you get, a terrifying, yet undeniably seductive, place to make a ski turn.

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In the days following Hayden and I’s successful descent I coincidentally stumbled upon a podcast from The High Route chatting about a rare ski traverse in the Eastern Sierra. One of the interviewees mused about the importance of preserving the “limited resource that is the unknown” – the birthplace of raw adventure – while still sharing enough to document an experience and inspire others. I resonated with that idea. While reflecting on my Bubble Fun experience, I think the magic was in the unknown. Dropping off the 11,943 foot summit of Buck Mountain with little more beta than “it’s really steep”, “it’s not always filled in” and “the anchors can be hard to find” let my youthful mind fill in the blanks, running wild with anticipation not dissimilar to a child on Christmas morning while my pitons jangled with each jump turn. Skiing a line top down, especially one of Bubble Fun caliber, is akin to onsight free-soloing in rock climbing. The skier needs to sniff out dangers while deciphering the riddle of the mountain in a dynamic fashion, with little reserve for misstep. To preserve that experience for the next descentionist, an integral component to the character of the Bubble Fun, I’m going to try and keep this article tastefully brief.

Threading the needle through two storm systems, Hayden and I reached the summit of Buck Mountain at 11:00AM. We left Moose-Wilson Road at 6:15 and held a determined four hour summit pace to the base of the East Face. We encountered unfavorable climbing conditions on the upper East Ridge, mostly knee-deep post holing through wind stiffened drifts that grinded progress to a crawl. Just as we neared the summit, jaws of an incoming storm snapped shut, and into the ping-pong ball we went. We talked about bailing on the objective, but the prospect of blindly skiing the East Face in potential wind slab conditions was a bit much to stomach. The choice was simple: Bubble Fun, or down-climb the East Ridge – we chose the former. Cautious turns off the top, on either side of the East Ridge, triggered a few small and highly reactive slabs, one in particular sheered with remarkable force and slid ominously down the East Face out of view. Snow totals from the previous 48 hours were about 4-6” in the top of the Bubble Fun, and 12-18” on adjacent easterly aspects, with about 3-4″ below 9,500 feet. The winds were clearly relevant overnight, yet almost non-existent as we got ready to descend – creepy in its own way. Flurries and dense fog swallowed the entire mountain as we launched cautiously into the steepest line either of us had ever skied. So long as we could navigate into the couloir, gravity would take care of the rest.

Gentle powder turns off the top relented to one of the steepest and tightest couloirs I’ve ever layed eyes on. The fall line snow surface was compacted slough on a chalky bed, a reliable yet tenuous interface for tight dead-stop jump turns. Occasional wind pockets sheered predictably, and were ultimately harmless provided extreme awareness and restraint when linking turns. About halfway down we encountered a rocky crux, which Hayden successfully slide slipped while I saved my brand new pristine Icelantic Natural 101 bases and down-climbed about 10 feet. We both side slipped another few body lengths, through presumably where Zahan Billimoria and Steve Romeo measured a 60 degree slope angle, until the granite opened up enough to justify linking turns without immediately railing tips into the couloir wall. Excellent powder turns were found whenever we were able to escape the direct fall line, and where the couloir begins to fan near the rappels. The final two hundred feet approaching the edge was some of the most cerebral and satisfying skiing I’ve enjoyed in my lifetime. Some extensive ski investigation within spitballs of a 200+ foot cliff was required to find a fixed anchor, which facilitated a convenient 60 meter rappel, including rope stretch, to the snowfield below. As we railed turns through 4000 feet of bottomless storm snow to the valley floor the Bubble Fun dissolved into the mounting weather, dissipating into a sea of whirling grey such that only the lowermost tongue of the hanging apron was visible from Avalanche Canyon. I almost had to stop and pinch myself… was that real?

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Reflection

Our Bubble Fun journey closed around the eight hour mark – and though I worried we may have trended light duty for not linking another descent with six hours of remaining daylight and only 4,500 feet of vertical on the legs, Hayden punched some sense into me – no, it probably wasn’t a good time to set a thigh deep booter in the Newc Couloir with spindrift pouring off the walls above. Scooping a latte in Jackson and making it home for an early dinner with the lady friend has its allure after an intense day in the mountains. All in all, the Bubble Fun was everything I expected and a side of fries. More than any descent I’ve done in the Teton Range, the upper couloir stretched my technical ski abilities. 50-60 degree dead-stop jump turns in compact snow amidst severe no fall terrain represented the next level in my personal ski mountaineering journey – the top of my pyramid per’ say. Much like a difficult onsight rock climb, I suspect my second foray into the Bubble Fun will feel much more casual – though the memory of my first two jump turns on the initial rollover, having little idea of what monsters lurked below and no tracks to follow, will be seared into my mind forever. Spring in the Tetons has officially arrived.

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Ten Thousand Too Far is generously supported by Icelantic Skis  from Golden Colorado, Barrels & Bins Natural Market in Driggs Idaho, Range Meal Bars from Bozeman Montana 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.