Mt. Moran - Grand Teton National Park - August 2006

Joy and I climbed a lot of routes but Mt. Moran was probably the highlight of our summer. Of course, the company surely had something to do with it, but Moran is also a huge, spectacular mountain. I hope I can do the story justice because it is quite a story. Because it's a hard story to tell, make sure you watch the short video I made of our climb. Click here for the video (requires QuickTime).

At the end of our time in Jackson, we set out to climb the mountain with Joy's dad and mom. Initially, we planned on doing a two-day climb, as is standard, but a variety of situations led us to decide on a one-day ascent--a true challenge.

Mt. Moran rises approximately 6,000 feet above the lake.

The day before we spent time preparing for the climb, picking up canoes, packing food, organizing climbing gear, and getting as much information about the route as possible. We woke early, about 2:30 A.M., although I felt as if I never really got to sleep. I fitfully tossed and turned all night and felt nervouis like I was doing my first serious climb or race. When the alarm went off, I cursed the thought of dragging my body out of bed.

We grabbed our supplies, some breakfast food and set off to the trailhead. It takes about an hour to drive to the trailhead. Surprisingly enough, there was another party there, luckily for a different route. At about 4 A.M. we put our canoes into the first lake, String Lake. To approach our route on Moran we had to canoe across two lakes, with a 300-yard portage between the two lakes. The canoes sliced through the glass-like water as the oars broke the cold silence of the early morning. It was eerily amusing to be in such a dark and quiet place. On String Lake, we could see the bottom through the shallow water and ghost-like downed trees and logs appeared threatening. Joy and Meg shared a canoe and we were amused by their laughter as they hit a sandbar and struggled to push themselves off of it. String Lake went quickly and after some confusion about where to portage we quickly carried our canoes to the second lake, Leigh Lake. Leigh Lake seemed to go on and on, but we knew we had to keep paddling to stay on schedule. Wasted time here could put us in a hairy situation later with afternoon thunderstorms. The entire canoe portion took about 1-1/2 hours and the first signs of the rising sun began peeking through the clouds as we finished stowing our canoes and extra gear.

L: The morning's first signs of daylight. R: Early on the hike, with the tremendous Skillet Glacier in view above Meg's head.

The hike up Moran starts steep and stays that way. There is no casual flat section, just lung-busting, calf-burning elevation gain, straight up from the shore of the lake. Additionally, the trail is scrappy and barely deserves the name, "trail." But we plugged away, making just short stops for water, snacks, and pictures.

L: Hiking, hiking. M: The Teton Range and the Grand in early morning light. R: Meg and Ray, having fun with the West and East Horns behind them.

For our route on Moran,we gained about 3,500 vertical feet hiking to the CMC Camp, a popular place to camp on a two-day climb of Moran. Instead of resting and spending the night before going on as most do, we merely stopped to eat a brief lunch and get more water before moving on.

L: Joy, taking in the view of Leigh Lake. M: Having lunch at the CMC Camp. R: Rock scrambling on the "trail" above CMC Camp.

Above the CMC Camp, the hiking becomes more extreme and one has to negotiate small rock outcroppings which require some climbing skill. Additionally, the trail involves a lot of rock hopping and scrambling through large talus fields.

L: Ray, having fun. M: Ray with the West Horn in the background. R: Meg with a great view of the Black Dike.

The hiking ends at the top of a formation called the Drizzlepuss. Here, there are amazing views of the upper reaches of Mt. Moran, the giant hanging glacier below, and the entire Teton Range to the south. We could see directly across to the face we would climb, including the huge Black Dike, a protrusion of rock that literally juts out of the face of Moran. The Black Dike, which is visible from the highway below, is about 150 feet wide and stretches for miles, cutting through Moran and into neighboring peaks. Meg called the Drizzlepuss her stopping point, where she would leave the rock climbing to us "pros" and lounge in the sun reading the book (hardcover!) that I carried up the mountain for her.

L: Meg, peering over the edge of the Drizzlepuss and looking at our intended route. M & R: Views from the top of the Drizzlepuss.

From the top of the Drizzlepuss, we made a two hundred foot rappel to the base of the CMC route. The rappel is dramatic, overhanging in spots, and wildly exposed. From there, we began our climb, the CMC route. It is about 1500 feet long, comprised mostly of easy fifth class, with climbing up to 5.6.

L: A picture looking down from the Drizzlepuss after Mike, Joy, and Ray have rappelled down. M: A view of us climbing the CMC route from the Drizzlepuss, looking across at the face. You can see Ray at the bottom center of the image and Mike is towards the top of the image. R: A view of the upper face with the Black Dike showing prominently. I think you can spot us somewhere in the photo.

Joy, Ray, and I simul-climbed the 1500 foot route in two blocks. I led the entire thing, stopping just once to get gear back from Ray and Joy. For gear, we brought as light and simple of a rack as possible; half a dozen cams, a set of hexes, and two sets of stoppers. Simul-climbing is an every day kind of thing for Joy and I, but Ray, at 59 years old, had never simul-climbed and had climbed sporadically in the last five years. But, Ray performed amazingly, showing off the fitness and confidence he gained from the climbs we did in Rocky Mountain National Park a week earlier.

Above: Images from our climb.

Ironically enough, we passed a party of two male thirty-somethings near the top who had started from the CMC camp around the same time we left Meg and Ray's house in Jackson. They were quite astounded to hear that we were doing the one day ascent with a near 60 year old in tow. We topped out around 1:00 P.M., about an hour behind our intended schedule. The route proved to be much longer than expected, but the weather held and was beautiful all day.

L: Summit photo! To think we're only halfway done with our day. M: USGS elevation marker, proving that we were there. R: Getting ready to rappel.

A twisted fact of mountaineering is that while you are jubilant on the summit, you must also realize that you're only halfway done and the majority of accidents happen on the descent. We immediately recognized that our late arrival on the summit may mean finishing the canoe trip in the dark. So, after some speedily snapped photos, congratulatory hugs, and bites of energy bar, we turned around and headed back.

Rappeling is easy in a physical sense but takes time, so we hurried as fast as we could. When we reached the bottom of the face, we still faced re-ascending the Drizzlepuss. The climbing proved to be some of the most difficult of the day, both physically and mentally. We dispatched with the climbing as quickly as possible and found Meg anxiously waiting for us at the top. We all packed up gear and ropes as quickly as possible and started down the trail.

Above: Rappeling down the face. The Skillet Glacier is behind Ray and if you look close you might see the giant, car-sized boulders perched at the edge of the glacier, just waiting to be freed as the glacier moves and melts. Yikes!

For many of us, myself included, hiking down is harder than hiking up. How could that be, you might ask? When hiking down you place extreme stress on your legs as gravity wants to take you downhill, often at a much faster pace than your body can tolerate. Consequently, your body must work to maintain a comfortable pace. With 4,000 feet of elevation loss on a loose, slippery trail, descending Moran was a workout. By the time we reached the lake, our quads burned, our knees ached, and we were tired.

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Hiking down and looking forward to food!

At the lake, we quickly moved our canoes into the water, loaded up and set off. It was hard to know that as tired as we already were, that we still had at least 1-1/2 hours of canoeing and a portage to deal with before we could finally rest. All day we watched as little white caps rose from the lake as the wind whipped the surface. We were fearful that our canoe trip could take much longer if we had to paddle into a stiff headwind. Luckily, the wind had died down and we were able to move relatively quickly.

L: Almost done. M: Ready to canoe home! M & R: Canoeing across the lake.

While canoeing across the lake, it was interesting to see families and other groups canoe camping along its shores at designated campsites. The smell of campfires, warm food, and marshmallows wafted through the air, torturing our hungry stomachs but motivating us to paddle faster. We had already made plans to eat big, fat steaks once we got home and those steaks sounded really good as we hurriedly paddled.

After two lakes and a portage, we finally reached the trailhead, where we carried the canoes to our cars. Our tired bodies struggled to lift the canoes on to the roofs of our cars but we knew that once we did, our work for the day would be done. We drove home, arriving back at the Womack residence at 9 P.M., completing an epic and unforgettable 18 hour day in the mountains.