The West Couloir of Teewinot Mountain is a stellar 5000 foot technical ski adventure on the dark side of the Owen-Teewinot Cirque. On April 11th, 2024, Mike Parri and I caught this elusive line in excellent, nearly ski-through, spring powder conditions.
The West Couloir of Teewinot Mountain came into my purview when Carl Osterburg, Ryan Corley and I skied the Northwest “Evil Twin” Couloir in 2022. The two couloirs form a classic “Y” shape, and as we skied beneath the West I remember staring up and noting three things: how steep it looked, how tight it looked, and how much more snow it would need to be desirable. Geologically the couloir is undeniably attractive, one of the very few pure west facing alpine couloirs in the core range. Furthermore, unlike the vast majority of Teton descents, this beast offered quality fall-line skiing for over 5,000 feet – in line with its revered neighbors the Northeast Snowfields, Diagonal Couloir, Tallboy Couloir and Northwest Couloir. This zone, the Owen-Teewinot Cirque, is home to some of the most badass ski objectives in the range, and the West is no exception. The steepest nooks hit fifty degrees, the tightest crannies converge on fifteen feet, and a closeout chockstone above a dogleg runout keeps turns honest. A rappel or substantial down-climb into the line itself makes the whole scene feel extra committing. It is without a doubt one of the best lines I’ve skied in the park.
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We approached via Bradley-Taggart and the standard winter Delta Lake contour, with a fairly casual sunrise launch. We elected not to bring bicycles despite the park road being plowed – Mike’s bike was still in storage – a decision that would haunt us later that afternoon. The sun turned the corner of Teewinot’s southeast ridge with ferocity, but despite its direct rays the bullet hard Teton Glacier resisted softening. We followed a boot-pack to the near summit of Peak 11,840 via the snaking Southeast Couloir, a line I’ve now climbed twice and hope to ski someday. Having not spent much time in the alpine this season Mike put forth a valiant effort, yet our late start rendered isothermal conditions by the time we topped out the couloir around noon.
From the shoulder spanning Teewinot and 11,840 our line was prominent and striking. A chockstone at the bottom promised to keep things sporty, but all in all the descent looked in great condition, and maybe even ropeless condition. In a TetonAT.com article titled Off The Couch – written by Christian Beckwith about he and Mark Newcomb’s descent – they were able to down-climb into the line and down-climb past the chockstone, but tales of barely covered granite near the chockstone in generally no-fall terrain makes a cord feel prudent. However, we knew not of this beta at the time of descent and were engaging in the purest distillation of on-sight skiing. Neither of us had been up the southwest shoulder of Teewinot and our plan was simply to somehow, someway, find our way through the maze of fractured granite pinnacles that both guard the couloir and compose the impressive crown-like head of Teewinot Mountain, and slide down its shady annals on a pair of skis. I was excited – Mike may have been skeptical – onward and upward.
We ended up climbing to the top of the shoulder snow-line, where one of the many attractive notches in a jagged western cliff-band seemed a decent place to scope the couloir. A fixed sling anchor and crusty signs of past bootprints indicted we had found the gold, and a 20-ish meter rappel dropped us down potentially downclimb-able but viciously exposed ledges into the top of the couloir. A short 100 foot bootpack brought me to the truest top of the couloir, while Mike elected to ski from the point of rappel. The turns off the top were sun-softened wind buff – not charging snow, but excellent for linking controlled jump turns. Two chokes present relevant exposure and represent the main difficulties. The first easily went ski through with a brief side slip, and dropped into a shaded belly that offered a great entree’ of high alpine powder skiing. A few hundred feet lower we started passing fixed rappel stations, but an extended snow-line beckoned investigation of a ropeless descent. I ended up leading this pitch, through a sustained 45-50 degree hallway the magical width for dead stop jump turns, but nothing more. As I approached the chockstone the exposure became eminent and the feasibility of a ski-through escape dropped off the table. The wedged boulder was flanked by a body-height snow wall funneling into a narrow slot unfit for freeride antics. I panned for fixed anchors or viable cracks to no avail, making ninja turns to within spitting distance of the chockstone until a small savior alcove presented itself with a plethora of anchoring opportunities. Mike followed in remarkable style given his lack of exposed ski experience, also indulging in every last turn before reaching the edge.
We left an anchor of a large angle piton, knifeblade piton and small nut, and did a brief five meter rappel over the bulge and into a protected cave. We considered downclimbing, but feared a hidden ice runnel or polished slab hidden beneath the snow surface, and the massive swath of snow and chossy granite above us was beginning to get blasted by the unforgiving spring sun – the rope seemed a prudent way to guarantee safety. Below the rappel our couloir dumped us into the cirque, with options to delve immediately left into the Northwest Couloir or set off an exploratory sabbatical down a scree gully on skier’s right. Having already skied the Northwest, I was eager to forge new terrain and Mike obliged. We connected intermittent snowfields and gullies flanked by talus reminiscent of face skiing in the Lost River Range, with one short crux of 50 degree blue ice passed via dry skiing tactics on edgy slabs. Eventually we got funneled into the Northwest, and my prior experience guided us through this zone via an exit ramp on skier’s left above the ever present terminal cliff, sans rappel. The chalky powder of the previous 2000 feet relented to pleasantly firm dust on crust skiing for 1000 feet, and another 2000 feet of corn to Cascade Creek. This was the finest top-to-bottom ski conditions I’ve experienced in this cirque, and we made sure to savor every last bite.
There’s not much more to say about this outing. It was an all-time day out with a good friend, in a seldom visited nook of Grand Teton National Park connecting granite hallways and intermittent snowfields for an unlikely descent that rivals most anything I’ve skied in the range – no joke. Bonus points were awarded for a post-sunrise start – given the pure west aspect and a high southerly couloir wall we still enjoyed cold snow despite a 2:00 PM drop in – and a stimulating mix of steep skiing and route finding without much rope work. Those same bonus points were stained by Mike’s lack of a bicycle – the skate back from Jenny Lake alongside the park road was nothing short of soul crushing, never mind hip flexor intensive – but that’s our problem. When the stars line up, spring skiing in the Tetons is hard to beat.
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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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