Middle Teton Attempt

Peak season on the Amphitheater Lake trail was busy--as expected--and we probably encountered forty people in the first three miles.  The boys knocked out the miles quickly, and we soon found ourselves taking the spur into Garnet Canyon, where the crowds quickly disappeared and we passed only a handful of climbers hiking out.  

In the Meadow we found a couple other climbers' tents, and our own spot in the lee of a large boulder, next to a rowdy stream.  The boys set out to explore the talus and boulder fields, and I spent a couple hours scouting up the south fork of the canyon that we planned to ascend the next morning.  The sunshine and balmy weather held, and we all enjoyed some quiet time amongst the summits and refreshed some basic snow travel skills with the boys.  

A couple groups passed through after successful ascents of the Southwest Couloir, and it looked like would have no problems with conditions on the route.  We settled in early in anticipation of a pre-dawn start to give ample time to ascend with the kids, and hopefully beat any inclement afternoon weather.  At o-dark-thirty we roused the boys and started up the south fork of the canyon.  Navigation was pretty straight-forward, with most of the effort spent avoiding the steepest snow, the largest boulder fields, and seeking the most efficient route.  We were generally successful, and made decent time for a group of middle-aged weekend warriors with eleven and thirteen year old boys.  As the sun rose we found ourselves looking across to Nez Perce peak and a pink morning sky that made me a bit nervous.  

As we attained the saddle between the Middle and South Tetons at 8:00 am, clouds began to settle in from above and temperatures dropped precipitously.  A few short minutes later visibility had dropped to ten or twenty feet as we entered the white room.  We opted to hunker down for a quick snack and wait out what we hoped was just some passing morning clouds.  

Fifteen minutes after settling in, I heard what I thought was a passing airliner, but could have been distant thunder.  Our ears perked up and a few minutes later we heard an unmistakable but distant thunderclap.  With a second and closer repeat, we quickly made the frustrating but clear decision to descend from our exposed position on the saddle.  Within only few short minutes the distant thunder had become bright overhead flashes of light followed by cracking thunder as we were rapidly hopping down the boulders below the saddle.  Concern quickly turned to genuine alarm and a real bit of fear as I realized that my ice axe was buzzing and crackling like a Tesla coil.  Expecting the real possibility of an imminent nearby lightning strike, I quickly instructed my wife and kids to drop their axes and disperse into squatting positions.  

Although my wife and I have decades together amongst summits from the North Cascades, to the Selkirks and Sawthooths, to the Winds and the Wasatch; with some recent years trekking, marching, and scrambling our two boys through the mountains, I had never until that moment confronted real fear for the safety of my family.  Weathering a mountain thunderstorm from the confines of a well-placed tent can be exciting and fun; hiking across high and open terrain as lightning flashes around your family and induces a charge in your metal tools is not so enjoyable.  The imperative was to drop some elevation and find some relative topographical safety from the storm.  As driving horizontal hail and sleet arrived and the lightning tapered a bit, we took the opportunity descend, alternating rapid travel with dispersed squatting when the lightning resumed.  Progress seemed painfully slow, but we eventually descended to the deeper confines of the lower canyon and a margin of additional safety from the lightning strikes.  

Back in Garnet Meadows the clouds passed in and out, sleet and hail continued intermittently, and thunder rolled above.  It was late morning and we decided to wait out the storm in the tent, not completely abandoning the idea of a second attempt if the weather fully cleared.  The anxiety and alarm of the morning faded and we enjoyed our time napping, reading, and chatting.  

As midday passed the mountains continued to put on an impressive display as the thunderstorm continued amongst the summits above us, punctuated by some impressively loud rockfalls, and some truly magical intervals of sunshine.  The few other climbers camped in the Meadows had departed and we had the area to ourselves.  We knew we would not be making a second attempt at the Southwest Couloir, but it was impossible to not find satisfaction and joy in our circumstances.  

The day passed on and we opted to stay through the night, gambling on better weather for a hike out the following day.  Our gamble came up a draw, with a cold morning and snow in the air--but without thunderstorms.  I whipped up a warm breakfast and hot drinks, we broke camp and maneuvered out through the boulder field under a light snow.  

A failed summit attempt but a memorable and happy trip to the mountains.  I think we shall try again next year.