On May 1st, 2025, I made the first ski descent of the North Face of Wanda Pinnacle. This was my first Teton “first descent” – it went swimmingly.
The North Face of Wanda Pinnacle (USGS Peak 10,950, east of Mount Wister) has been on my mind ever since I made the second descent, and first solo descent, of the North Face of Mount Wister last April. The two faces stand side by side, both facing Taminah Lake and draining into the North Fork of Avalanche Canyon, featuring massive cliffs, technical skiing, and savvy ropecraft. Some may say that an 800 foot ski line terminating in a 200+ foot cliff is contrived – why bother? Well, my experience on Wister answered that question. For me, the value of a technical ski mountaineering descent has little to do with the ratio of skiing to rappelling. I’m drawn to improbable faces, such as Wister and Wanda, by unique positioning, novelty, and the intense zen-like focus precipitated by such immense exposure. Furthermore, I actually enjoy the added complexity of anchor building and rappelling. I do not view ropes as a chore. I see them as part of a grand symphony – another piece of the puzzle.
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On May 1st, 2025, Mike Parri and I skied the South Teton’s venerable Southeast Couloir to Taminah Lake. The snow in the Southeast was variable chunder off the top, but excellent powder in the narrows. Therefor, despite it being well after noon on a warm and sunny May day, we deduced the shaded North Face of Wanda Pinnacle was likely still a powder stash. Surfaces sure looked smooth. We trudged up the North Wister Glacier to the col separating Wister and Wanda, happy to find progressively drier snow the higher we climbed. At our branching point for Wanda, Mike decided he wasn’t up for a steep first descent at the bookend of an 8,000 vertical foot day. However, just like any good friend would, he offered to wait below while I pursued my dream. I obliged.
I gained the highest snowpoint on Wanda, east of the summit pinnacle, via the north side of the West Ridge. While stamped 5.1 in the Ortenburger-Jackson guide, the climb was mostly steep snow with a few short steps of low angle fourth class mixed climbing. To be respectful of Mike’s time, I did not attempt the short rock pitch defending the summit. After scoping the face and identifying a few bearings, I clicked into skis at the highest snow point and casted off.
Despite a relatively short length, the expanse of Wanda’s North Face is disorienting. A general convex nature haunts the entire line, making scouting difficult from above. The crux lies just above the cliff, where a thin and subtle traverse provides passage from the upper face onto a tiny apartment sized snow patch. Locating this patch is crucial, as a rappel from anywhere else would exceed 60 meters. Furthermore, the beauty of a descent this short lies in maximizing every inch of skiable terrain. Without the patch, the ski descent simply wouldn’t be complete. Twelve inches of medium density sun softened powder accompanied my entire journey, a perfect interface for steep ski mountaineering. Consistent 45 degree hop turns led to the traverse, which I located perfectly with assurance from Mike below. Gaining the patch involved some wonky side slipping on fluted blue ice, but eventually powder returned. Within spitting distance of the cliff, indecision seized. Every fiber of my body wanted to continue side-slipping to where I would build my anchor, but there was still room for two well placed turns. I’ll remember those two turns forever – the mystical feeling of magnetic dead-stop jump turns while craning over a 200+ foot cliff – the feeling is impossible to describe. 30 feet of edging over thin talus led to a nook of orange granite with abundant cracks for anchoring. Two wires and a knifeblade later, my skis were off.
I ended naming the line Air Traffic Control, paying homage to Mike who provided both emotional support by his presence, and confirmation that my rappel rope touched the glacier below. The Beal Escaper has truly revolutionized ski mountaineering. The ability to carry a single 60 meter rope to complete a 200 foot rappel makes remote lines of this nature exponentially more appealing.
It’s hard to describe the equally exhilarating and isolating feeling of skiing into a technical descent with no beta, promise of an anchor, or reassurance that any human had passed through the cryptic terrain I was currently deciphering. Being solo, and having a 200+ foot cliff lurking below, compounded the tension. The whole experience felt like a lucid dream… a rather pleasant lucid dream.
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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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