| Gannett Peak, Wyoming 13,804 feet |
Climbed 8/5/2005 |
Gannett Peak (on the right) rises above Floyd Wilson Meadow
By some measures, Gannett Peak is the most difficult highpoint in the lower 48 states. One reason is that the peak is difficult to reach: it is over twenty miles from the nearest trailhead to the base of the mountain, along trails that rise and fall over high mountain passes.
Profile showing the elevation gain and loss on the trail
To maximize our chance of success, we hired both a mountain guide and a horse-packing outfitter. Rather than lugging heavy backpacks, we rode horses for most of the approach, saving our strength for climbing the mountain itself. The outfitter also took care of feeding us. The horse-pack support was invaluable, but didn’t turn the trip into a high-society picnic. We still had to overcome disintegrating boots, personal doubts, and ravenous mosquitoes, not to mention the challenges of the peak itself. On the flip side, we were blessed with great weather and miraculous healing powers.
We flew into Jackson Hole the afternoon before we were due to start. We went to the Exum Mountain Guides office in Grand Tetons National Park to go over final details with our guide, Mike Ruth. When we arrived, Mike R was talking to Don Holmes, author of Highpoints of the United States. He had heard we were coming and stuck around to wish us well. Don also encouraged us to officially join the Highpointer's Club. After Don left, we looked through the food that Mike R had collected for the trip and took a quick look at the map for an overview of the route. We deferred the equipment review so that we'd have time to rent mountaineering boots for Evelyn. We had a nice dinner in Jackson, then drove across the northern edge of the Wind River Range to spend the night in Dubois (pronounced DU-boys).
Jackalope ridin' in Dubois
Day 1
The next morning we met Mike R at the Cowboy Cafe in Dubois. After a hearty breakfast, we drove out along a dirt road through the scrubby terrain of the dry side of the Wind River mountains. The horse packers were waiting for us at the trailhead. They collected our gear, loaded the horses, and introduced us to our riding horses. Evelyn was riding Blackie and Mike had Hondo. Our entourage consisted of five people (the wranglers Laura and Jonathan, our guide Mike R, Evelyn and Mike) and eight horses (five for riding and three pack horses).
We set out around 9:00 AM, bound for the Old Glacier Trail. Almost immediately we forded a river and started up steep switchbacks through the pine trees. The horses carried us slowly but steadily up as we gained over two thousand feet in the first couple of miles. The elevation at the trailhead was approximately 7600 feet, and we broke from the trees onto a high grassy plateau at approximately 9800. We had a wide view from the plateau, which stretched before us for miles. We occasionally got down off the horses to walk as the plateau gradually climbed to a pass at 10895 feet. Hail pelted us briefly as we reached the pass, and the spectre of thunderstorms hurried us on our way back down into the trees.
Evelyn rides Blackie across the plateau at 10,000 feet
From the pass we dropped down toward the Dinwoody Creek drainage, losing much of the hard-gained elevation. We wound our way past several mountain lakes tucked in amongst the trees, with imposing peaks rising behind them. The trail was impressively steep and rocky in places. We were glad to be admiring the beautiful scenery from the back of a horse rather than struggling up and down the trail ourselves. We did reach one section (the Honeymoon Lake switchbacks) that was too steep to ride the horses down; we had to get off and lead them down to the lake.
Mike and Evelyn at Star Lake
We arrived at the horse camp around 4:00 in the afternoon. We had traveled about 16 miles in seven hours of riding, with an elevation gain-and-loss of roughly 5000 feet. The camp consisted of several canvas tents surrounding a campfire. Our small band of adventurers joined a group of oil men who were on the final night of their annual fishing expedition. When we arrived, they had already embarked on their quest to finish all of their remaining liquor. Luckily, they were all happy, funny drunks, making for entertaining campfire conversation.
Mike sits at the campfire pit in front of our tent
The inside of our tent
Once we were settled into our tent, we unpacked our gear to determine which items we could leave behind for the summit attempt. This process caused Mike some stress. The postponed equipment check was coming back to haunt him. Over the course of the day, Mike R had told stories about clueless clients with too much gear. Mike L wanted Mike R to see him as a knowledgeable mountaineer, but he was afraid he appeared instead as a tourist or a rich guy trying to buy his way up the mountain. He didn't want to carry too much stuff, but he wanted to be prepared for any eventuality. He and Evelyn identified a couple of bags of unnecessary equipment: reading material, clothes for the ride back, and personal hygiene products.
Day 2
A moose joined us for breakfast the next morning. While we ate our breakfast burritos, a moose came into the corral to eat the alfalfa pellets left by the horses.
Moose comes to breakfast
We cooled our heels while the fishing group loaded up for their return to civilization. We set out on the trail mid-morning. At first the terrain was a repeat of the previous day, with switchbacks through the trees. We could hear the river off to our left. Soon, though, we turned a corner and the view opened up onto a beautiful, wide valley with a big meadow named, appropriately, Big Meadow. It was our favorite kind of a mountain landscape. Dinwoody Creek wended its way through grass, wildflowers, and low-growing willows.
Big Meadow
We rode along the western edge of the meadow, fording feeder streams and picking our way through old rockfalls as we followed the river gently up towards its source. At the head of the valley we caught the first sight of our destination: Gannett Peak.
The horses dropped us off at the southern end of the meadow in the early afternoon. It was as far as they could carry us. We had some lunch while we sorted through our gear one last time. At Mike R's prompting, we shed everything that wasn't warm clothing or climbing equipment. To make space in his pack, Mike L decided to change into his mountaineering boots and send his lightweight hiking shoes back with the horses; Evelyn, whose mountaineering boots were rented, decided to keep both her pairs of boots. We shouldered our still-heavy packs, bid adieu to the horses, and started up the glacial valley that led to the base of Gannett Peak.
Evelyn, with her full pack, contemplates the river crossing
The first task was to cross several streams and rivers that fed into the Dinwoody at this point. The trail did not lead directly to obvious crossings, so we had to bushwhack our way upstream to find fallen logs or non-submerged rocks to step across on. It was difficult to maintain our balance with the big packs on our back. Evelyn twisted her leg on one of the crossings. She soldiered on, but worried that the injury would prevent her from getting up the mountain the next day. As we completed the final crossing, Mike looked down to find that the Vibram sole was coming detached from both of his boots!
Do the flapping boots have something to say about our chances?
This moment was the low point of the trip. Mike had sent his only other footwear back with the horses. He was embarrassed about his ill-preparedness and felt certain that Mike R would see the mishap as the final evidence that we were not cut out to make the climb. He sat down with a desolate look on his face and a stream of obscenities coming from his mouth. Evelyn, meanwhile, was quietly nursing her injured leg.
After a long, silent consideration of the alternatives, Mike R changed into his mountaineering boots and let Mike L wear his trail shoes. Luckily the two Mikes wore a similar size. The crisis was averted for the moment, but what would tomorrow bring?
We continued up the valley for a couple of miles. Around 4:00, with rain imminent, we set up camp in a nice, sheltered area above the trail, about a mile short of the spot we'd hoped to reach. The rain started as we set up the tents. We climbed inside and waited out the storm, which lasted about a hour.
Our camp at 10,400 feet. Gannett is around the corner to the right.
When the weather cleared, Mike R went to scope out the route for tomorrow while Mike and Evelyn organized their daypacks for the climb. Mike clumped around camp in his disintegrating boots with the laces wrapped around the bottom to hold the soles in place. Mike R gave him the nickname Flapper. The wind died down, bringing the mosquitoes out in force — surprisingly, there were more mosquitoes up here than at the swampy location of the horse camp. We slathered on the bug repellent, used our headnets, and finally repaired to the tent. When Mike R returned, he cooked us Tasty Bites Indian food for dinner while we discussed the plan for the morning. We hung the food from the overhang of a large rock to protect it from bears and marmots, got everything ready for the morrow, then went to bed.
While we laid in our sleeping bags, Evelyn remembered a dream she had during a previous period of ill-health. In the dream, a pair of supernatural entities (like angels, but not human in form) had told her not to worry, and the next morning she was well. Now, with her leg still hurting and her fears about the upcoming climb, she conjured up her guardians and asked for help. Miraculously, the next morning her leg felt fine.
Day 3
We awoke under clear skies and the stars of the Milky Way at 3:30 AM. After a quick breakfast of oatmeal and Emergen-C, we turned on our headlamps and started on the trail. Mike R's thermometer said it was 35 degrees, but after only a few minutes we were so warm we had to strip down to our (long) underwear. Not long after that, we reached the first difficulty of the climb: the boulder field.
Mike's headlamp shines in the early dawn
The boulders ranged in size from a beach ball to a car. There were cairns supposedly marking the trail, but they were untrustworthy for choosing the best path. Because the rocks were deposited by a receding glacier, they were not all sitting solidly in place. Some of them shifted when you stepped on them. We were clambering over them in the dark, and Evelyn was not at all sure of her footing. She asked how long the boulder field went on for. Told that it was about half a mile, she said she wasn't sure she'd be able to make it and wanted to say so sooner rather than later. Mike R told her we had plenty of time and suggested that we continue slowly. Which we did.
We passed above Elk Lake and eventually came to a flat patch of snow at the top of the boulder field. The relief was short-lived, however, because after only a few hundred yards we started up a steep talus slope. The sun came up as we followed a creek to the base of the Gooseneck Glacier. At each rest stop, Mike L tried to guess our route up the mountain; Mike R would tell him he was wrong but not reveal the correct route.
The face of Gannett Peak. The peak is nearly two miles away.
Our route is on the left. We followed the creek to the glacier, climbed to the right
of the pointy spire (Gooseneck Pinnacle), then followed the ridge to the summit.
We put on our crampons as we reached the glacier. Mike L, who had been wearing Mike R's trail shoes, changed into his flapping boots and strapped on the crampons. The crampons held the soles in place. From this point forward, the route alternated between snow and rock. When we reached a rocky section, Evelyn and Mike R removed their crampons, but Mike L left his on. Mike R changed Mike's nickname from Flapper to Scratchy as he scratched his way over the rocks.
Mike wrangles his crampons onto his boots
The Gooseneck Glacier is named after the Gooseneck Pinnacle that rises directly about it. We contoured along the base of the pinnacle until we reached the snowfield that led to the saddle between Gooseneck Pinnacle and Gannett Peak. Halfway up there was a bergschrund, which is a crevasse where the glacier is pulling away from the mountain. A narrow bridge of snow crossed the crevasse. We put on our climbing harnesses and roped up. Mike R climbed across the bridge and up the snowfield, then belayed us as we made the climb. We stayed roped up as we climbed the rest of the way to the saddle; in fact, we stayed tied in for most of the remaining climb.
Preparing to rope up for the snow bridge.
For a sense of scale, look for the climber
in the circle at the top of the snow slope.
From below it appeared that the ascent would be comparatively gradual from here to the summit, but that was an illusion. We had a few more "pitches" of steep rock and snow before we reached the summit ridge. A couple of groups passed us as we made our way slowly up the mountain. We eyed the incoming clouds, fearing that the threat of thunderstorms would cut our summit bid short. We crossed from snow to talus field, then back onto the snow. The snow was getting softer as the day got warmer, and we sank into the tracks left by the climbers ahead of us. For the final push to the summit ridge, Mike R led us onto fresh snow, which was easier to climb despite being steeper than the standard route.
Rocks (talus) still to climb
Evelyn and Mike on the summit ridge
From the ridge we had a panoramic view of the western side of the range. The glacial landscape was stark and desolate, with more area above treeline than we had on our side. We followed the ridge past a couple of more boulder piles. At last, one of the piles was our destination. We had reached the summit. It was just after 10 AM, six hours after we had set out. We had gained 3400 feet of elevation in the space of a couple of miles.
On the summit: Gannett Peak 13,804 feet
The western Wind River Range
The clouds enveloped nearby Fremont Peak as we had a climber from New Mexico take our summit picture. We did not linger long to savor our accomplishment, lest a thunderstorm catch us still high on the mountain. Since the summit was one of the few places in the Wind River range with cellular phone access, Mike R called the Exum Mountain Guide office. They told him that the weather report did not call for thunderstorms, but you know how reliable mountain weather reports are. We had a quick snack, including Mike R's summit tradition of peppermint patties, then started back down.
Since he was at the end of the rope, Mike L led the way for the first section. We hustled across the summit ridge and down to the saddle below the Gooseneck Pinnacle. Above us, the clouds cleared away without giving us a drop of rain. Mike R belayed us back across the disintegrating snow bridge, then we trudged back across the lower glacier. When we reached the base of the glacier, we removed our crampons for good, Mike L included. (He put Mike R's trail shoes back on.)
Heading down. What appears to be gravel below is actually piano-sized boulders.
By early afternoon we were back in the boulder field, and we were hot and tired. Evelyn didn't feel much better about the boulders in the daylight. We took a break with Mike R providing an impromptu geology lesson. Mike R also administered his remedy for flagging energy to Evelyn: a Cliff Shot and a Red Bull. Although Evelyn did have renewed energy for the remainder of the hike — and got more confident about boulder travel — she felt naseous by the time we arrived back in camp. The sugar and caffeine overloaded her weakened system.
Evelyn, in her underwear, tries Mike R's energy cure
We arrived back at camp at 3:00, eleven hours after we had set out. Mike R and Evelyn took naps while Mike L taped up his boots with surgical tape. We relaxed and discussed our options for the next day. We turned in early.
Day 4
We were a day ahead of schedule. The trip itinerary calls for a "snow school" on the third day, where we would learn the basics of glacier travel. Since we have attended snow school several times, we proceeded directly to the mountain. The horses were not due to pick us up until the next day (Day 5). We decided to walk back to the horse camp, where we'd find our clean clothes and reading material.
Mike R slept in while Mike and Evelyn struck their tent and loaded their packs. Mike donned his taped boots. We marveled at the continued perfect weather as we walked down the trail. Just before lunch time we reached the dreaded river crossings. To avoid a repeat of her injury, Evelyn left her pack behind for a couple of them; Mike R carried the pack across. The Vibram soles of Mike's boots fared no better than they had the first time: they came off completely just as we completed the final crossing. Mike walked the rest of the way back to the horse camp with just the flat inner sole between him and the trail, earning him the new nickname Mocassin.
Ready for hiking
We ate lunch at the spot where the horses had dropped us. We shed our heavy packs, leaving them next to a tree stump for the horses to pick up the next day. We figured that anyone who had hiked in this far would be unlikely to steal anything that they'd have to carry out! With just our daypacks on our backs, we walked briskly along the edge of the meadow, chatting amiably about politics and religion. (Mike R had challenged us by claiming that only Europeans seemed willing to talk politics.)
An enjoyable hike along the river
Day 5
Jonathan headed off with the pack horses to collect our stuff. We grabbed our books and some snacks and took a leisurely walk upstream on the Downs Fork trail. We found a comfortable spot where we could dip our feet in the river and read. Meanwhile, Mike R climbed a nearby promontory for a better view of possible future destinations. In short, we did nothing.
Relaxing by the river
The new group arrived in the late afternoon. The pack horses arrived first, and we got to overhear the wranglers commenting on how much stuff the group had. Apparently overpacking is a universal condition for us non-professionals. And getting drunk is a universal condition for fishing expeditions: the group's gear included cases of wine and water-bottles filled with moonshine, and after dinner they bribed the wranglers to bring them back a case of beer from town. Most of the group was an extended family from North Carolina, but they also had a local fishing guide with them. The fishing guide immediately rubbed Mike R the wrong way. He was a blowhard who got louder and more obnoxious as he drank. The rest of the group, by contrast, got sullen and quiet. Later in the evening, the fishing guide and Mike R almost came to blows over a question of guide ethics. The fishing guide also reacted to a negative comment Mike R made about the Bush administration by telling us that his sometime client Dick Cheney is a solid environmentalist: if you failed to release a fish you had caught, he would report you to the authorities. Later still, the guide stumbled out of his tent mumbling something unintelligible and ended up sleeping on the ground near the stable.
Day 6
After a perfect breakfast of pancakes and fruit, we loaded up the horses and started on the trail. Our wranglers were Jonathan and his irrepressible brother David. Our riding horses were different from those we rode on the way in. Evelyn's in particular seemed less cooperative; he continually veered to the right. Mike's horse — believe it or not — lost one of his horse shoes on the Honeymoon Lake Switchbacks. What was it with Mike and shoes on this trip?!
Mike rides through the wilderness
We kept moving without a break. We could see the clouds gathering behind us as we crossed the high plateau, and eventually heard thunder. We raced the storm. It started to rain just as we reached the cover of the trees.
With the sky behind us looking like this...
As we headed down the final set of switchbacks, the rising dust mixed with the wet air to congeal into a brown fog. As usual, however, the storm was short. We had sun by the time we reached the trailhead. We loaded up the car, thanked Mike R for getting us there and back, and began the drive to Jackson.
On our way through Dubois, we stopped for malts at a convenience store that doubled as a jackalope museum. On our way out we saw Mike R on his way in. We drove the hour and a half back to Jackson. We pulled up to the motel where we had a reservation to find its rooms gutted and the office permanently closed. A sign directed us to the motel next door, which thankfully honored our reservation. After a hot shower, we returned Evelyn's rented boots and had dinner at a roadside diner. Back at the motel, Mike organized and packed while Evelyn got ready for bed.
The next day
Our plane didn't leave Jackson Hole until late afternoon, giving us most of the day to explore the area. We drove back into Grand Tetons National Park to take advantage of the morning light for photographs, then visited the National Wildlife Art Museum. We ate at the lunch counter in the back of an organic food store. We strolled around the touristified town square. True to form, Evelyn bought a cookbook and Mike bought topographical maps.
The Grand Tetons and the Snake River
We had one more Wyoming experience at the airport: our plane was delayed by the arrival of Air Force Two, carrying the noted environmentalist and former Congressman from Wyoming, Vice President Dick Cheney. We arrived in Denver a half hour late, which merely reduced our layover time but caused some of our fellow passengers to miss their connections and possibly vote Democratic in the next election.
Although our trip lasted only a week, we got a good taste of what Wyoming has to offer: mountains, cowboys, moose, Western art, buffalo steaks, hunters, game reserves, tourist towns, fabulous scenery, Dick Cheney, and drunken fisherman. We brought home memories and left behind a tattered pair of mountaineering boots.