One of the Teton’s lesser known but coolest winter activities is to spend part of the day at the Teton Raptor Center in Wilson. Click on my Jackson Hole Magazine article about the Center to learn more (and something about raptors while you’re at it.)
A Climb Through Mountaineering History in the Tetons
Sunday, August 26, 2012 Boston Globe
By Molly Loomis | GLOBE CORRESPONDENT
GRAND TETON NATIONAL PARK, Wyo. — The Tetons are the kind of archetypal mountains that etch themselves on your memory. Even if you don’t like climbing, they are unforgettable. Reminiscent of the Alps’ craggy outline, these granite peaks form a stunning, jagged skyline that rises abruptly off the sagebrush flats of the Snake River Plain.
The Grand Teton reigns as the range’s crown jewel, towering over the other peaks at an elevation of 13,770 feet. A climb up the Grand Teton is not only a great adventure but also a trip through the history of US alpinism.
I wanted to experience it.
GABE ROGEL FOR THE BOSTON GLOBE
The author on Grand Teton’s Lower Saddle before summiting the next day.
Less than a mile from our departure point at the Lupine Meadow’s trailhead, my climbing partner, Andy, and I set our packs down. It wasn’t that we were already tired — we still had 6 miles and 4,500 vertical feet of elevation gain until camp at the Lower Saddle. It was that a black bear and two cubs were in a pine tree right beside the trail. Watching the sow giving a tree-climbing lesson, I recalled hearing a wildlife biologist say that Grand Teton’s combination of accessibility, quality climbing, and wildlife is unparalleled. Andy and I hid behind a snowberry bush, watching for nearly an hour.
But we had a mountain to climb, so eventually we picked up our loads and began winding across a series of gentle switchbacks that led up a hillside of native wildflowers — arrow leaf balsam root, bluebells, and monkshood. Bradley and Taggart lakes sparkled emerald green on the valley floor far below us. Before long we rounded a bend into Garnet Canyon and the giant granite monolith of the Middle Teton, the Grand Teton’s southern sister, greeted us front and center — intimidating and inspiring all at once.
Two hours later after working our way through an idyllic alpine meadow, then the lunar landscape of the Middle Teton Glacier’s moraine, we set up our tent at the Lower Saddle, the classic camping spot for Grand aspirants. The peak glowed orange in the setting sun. This time, the view was simply intimidating.
It is not unusual to hear people refer to the Grand Teton as a “hike.” While there are routes that are reasonable for a fit, less experienced mountaineer, the Grand Teton is not a hike. All routes to the summit require ropes and most years park rangers recover the body of someone who couldn’t make the distinction between climbing and hiking. But there are options for adventurous, fit non-climbers. The summit of the Enclosure, a spur jutting off the Grand’s western flank, is attainable with a few serious scrambling moves.
At 3 a.m. a guided group wakes us heading up the Owen Spalding, their early start a technique for avoiding adverse weather. The Owen Spalding may be the Grand Teton’s easiest means of ascent, but that distinction doesn’t do justice to the thousands of feet of butterfly-inducing exposure on sections of the route such as “The Belly Roll” and “The Crawl,” or the ice-choked rock and cold temperatures that can be encountered any month of the year on this northwestern face.
The debate over who was the first to climb the Grand Teton is considered by some to be one of US mountaineering’s greatest controversies. William Owen ascended the peak via his namesake route in 1898 with three partners, but the mystery remains as to whether or not Nathaniel Langford and James Stevenson had beaten them in 1872. Climbing historians hypothesize that Langford and Stevenson may have been aided by a mass migration of grasshoppers that froze to the peak’s steep slopes. (Due to solar radiation, their dark bodies created divots in the snow as they melted that the pair used as footholds in their ascent. But the validity of their ascent remains debated to this day due to a summit description that subsequent teams deemed confusing and questionable.
We rolled back over for another few hours of sleep, the clank of carabineers and the crunch of footsteps serving as a lullaby. In just a few hours we would begin climbing up the Petzold Ridge, a prominent stepped ridge on the Grand Teton’s southern face.
“On belay, Molly,” called Andy, signaling that I could begin up the section of rock he had just ascended. “Climbing,” I shouted in response. I was about to launch onto what a friend had described as the “wear your adult diaper” move of the route: a careful step onto a wafer ledge hanging in thin air. I took a deep breath, delicately transitioned my weight onto my extended foot, and pulled up through the move.
Like the Owen Spalding, the Petzoldt Ridge is also steeped in history. Legendary mountaineer Paul Petzoldt, who established the route in 1924, not only introduced guiding to the Tetons in the early 1920s (after climbing the Owen Spalding at 16 in a pair of cowboy boots), but also helped found renowned institutions like Outward Bound and the National Outdoor Leadership School that are still in operation today.
As I climbed up through such unique features as large garnet chunks and a delicate granite arch, I considered what outdoor and experiential education would be like in this country without Petzoldt’s significant contributions.
After eight pitches, we finished the Petzold Ridge proper, but were still a ways from the summit. We traversed to the west, then linked in with the Exum Ridge just above the spot where in 1932, Petzold’s protégé Glenn Exum took his famous leap of faith through thin air onto a boulder while clad in football cleats. That daring move allowed him to access the Exum Ridge, now the peak’s most popular intermediate route. Exum went on to establish Exum Mountain Guides, which is still in operation and boasts a roster of some of the country’s most accomplished mountaineers.
Twelve hundred feet later, after a mix of scrambling and roped climbing up pitches of golden knobs, knife-edged prows, and cracks split through rock with laser precision, we arrived at the summit.
The rumpled topography revealed a sea of eight other mountain ranges encircling us and the Grand’s subsidiary peaks rose up to greet us. I peered over the edge of the blocky summit studying what I could see of the famed North Face, the North Ridge, and the East Ridge — all significant climbs. I was already planning my next ascent.
Friday, February 10, 2012
Writers on the Range; A service of High Country News
On Jan. 24, an avalanche raced down the slopes of Mount Taylor, a 10,352-foot peak in Wyoming’s Teton Range. You might think this is hardly worth mentioning, since thousands of avalanches scour mountainsides in the West each winter.
The Mount Taylor avalanche, however, has launched a flurry of debate in the world of backcountry skiing — a place where there’s no admission and few enforced safety regulations. Because even though the parking lot at the base of this popular backcountry ski area was packed with cars, the slide — which turned out to be massive — had been intentionally triggered by a local mountain guide. Luckily, no one was hurt, though someone might easily have been; hundreds of skiers were in the area.
Strange as it may sound to non-skiers, intentionally triggering an avalanche is a common safety practice in backcountry skiing. In theory, it allows an experienced skier to blunt the potential danger of a future avalanche from the relative safety of the top of the slope. With this in mind, Greg Collins, who had skied Mount Taylor hundreds of times, deliberately set off the avalanche. He publicly apologized later, explaining that he never expected the slide to be as big as it was. The avalanche tumbled over 2,500 feet before plowing over a creek often crossed by skiers.
“It would have been a fatality (if anyone had been there),” David Fischel told the Jackson Hole News&Guide; he had skied down Coal Creek shortly after the slide occurred. “I hope this will be a lesson for folks who ski up there. They put people like me at risk.”
But has any lesson been learned? Comments from people have poured in from the international backcountry skiing community, and they range from outrage and anger to strong support for Collins. Critics decry Collins’ actions as selfish and irresponsible — especially considering this winter’s unpredictable snow conditions — while many of his defenders say uphill skiers bear no responsibility for the people below them. Risk, they insist, is inherent in any wilderness experience. After all, as some have pointed out, “wild” is a part of wilderness.
But does skiing in heavily used areas such as Teton Pass truly constitute an outing in the wild? And where’s the line between pursuing your own goals and ignoring the safety of other people in the neighborhood? If this had occurred in a ski resort with rules and regulations, the answers would be easy. But it happened in the backcountry on public land, where we all have equal opportunity to recreate and where the only bosses are usually ourselves.
Moreover, the Tetons aren’t the only place an event like this has occurred. Utah and Montana have had similar incidents. If it hasn’t already happened in other mountains ranges around the West, it likely will, sooner or later.
Before anyone decides to ski in the backcountry, there are lots of questions to answer, ranging from choice of equipment to current weather and snowpack conditions. Yet there seem to be few rules for acceptable behavior once we’re out there. Of course, that’s why many of us are drawn to mountain towns where we can escape into crowds of aspens, not people.
But like it or not, the woods are filling up with more and more people doing their own thing. When that is combined with unclear ethics, such as the degree to which a skier is or isn’t concerned about other skiers, I’m reminded that Americans have become extraordinarily willing to sue each other. Are we heading toward a future backcountry filled with ski cops and a fat book of rules, or will we be forced to accept reduced access?
It is ironic that for years many skiers have fought to keep snowmobiles out of popular backcountry skiing terrain, in part fearing the hazard of a snowmobile racing up a mountain to “high point” and triggering an avalanche. Now, I fear, we have brought that kind of argument into our own ranks. Are we going to return to the days of tire slashing in the Tetons, as happened at the height of the skiing-snowmobile controversy? One blogger suggested aggressive bumper stickers might be a first step: “I intentionally kick off avalanches. Skiers below beware.”
Instead, why don’t we thank the powder gods that it didn’t take a fatality to get this conversation going? All too often in an event like this, tears drown out the sounds of dialogue. Let us hope that this avalanche — which harmed no one — will wake us up to our responsibilities as backcountry skiers. Let’s remember that although we choose to ski in a wild place, we are not always alone — so let’s make sure that our fun remains as safe as we can make it.
Molly Loomis is a contributor to Writers on the Range, a service of High Country News (hcn.org). She lives on the west side of Teton Pass in Victor, Idaho.
Southern Exposure in Climbing
Friday, July 15, 2011
By Molly Loomis
The Grand Teton’s Exum Ridge and Owen-Spalding routes are coveted climbs, and for good reasons—they’re aesthetic, fun, and provide the two easiest ways to the top of this iconic peak. But the Grand is home to more than 90 other routes, and multiple seasons can pass without a single ascent of many of these alternate avenues. Moreover, though snowfields and icy winds are still factors, some of these routes are among the sunniest on the mountain. Next time you’re heading up Garnet Canyon—the approach to the Exum Ridge and Owen-Spalding—consider one of these alternatives for an off-the-beaten-path adventure and quality alpine climbing.
Lower Exum Ridge (III 5.7)
Jack Durrance, Kenneth Henderson, 1936
In their focus on the summit, the majority of climbers bypass the Lower Exum Ridge, a solid 5.7, and scramble up another thousand feet of easy terrain to reach the Wall Street traverse ledge, gateway to the Upper Exum Ridge (II 5.4.) But in doing so, they miss six pitches of excellent climbing.
The route is best known for the Black Face, a gorgeous, 80-degree wall on the fifth pitch that delivers big-time exposure as well as plentiful placements for your hands, feet, and pro. Take note: In their excitement over the steep, stellar climbing, more than one climber has continued up too far, forgetting to begin a diagonal traverse to the right after ascending about 15 feet. Look for a series of pitons to know you’re on track.
As you dance your way up, look east at climbers ascending the Petzoldt Ridge—an unforgettable view. Continue up a corner system to Wall Street, the famous catwalk used to access the Upper Exum. Either descend via Wall Street or continue another 1,200 feet of easier climbing to the summit.
Numerous variations exist along the way, including Unnamed (III 5.7), Direct Start (III 5.8), and Direxum (III 5.9). Perhaps best known is Gold Face, put up by Renny Jackson and Jim Woodmencey in 1988. This 5.10 route ups the ante with the full gamut: a chimney and dihedral, delicate face climbing, and a 5.10- crack of varying size leading up through a section of gorgeous golden granite.
Direct Petzoldt Ridge (III 5.7)
Willi Unsoeld, LaRee Munns, James and Rodney Shirley, Austin Flint, 1953
This 5.7 variation to Paul Petzoldt’s 1941 ridge climb is said by one local guide to be “one of the best routes in the Tetons—as good if not better than the Lower Exum.” The route shoots up the ridge’s nose, passing a unique arch and a scare-yourself-silly pitch with massive exposure. For geology buffs, there’s the added intrigue of garnet chunks embedded in the rock. Keep your eyes peeled for the smooth, angular lines of these blackish-brown nuggets as you climb. The time to cowboy up comes on the second pitch, which forces you to put all your faith in a massive chicken head (match your feet) and gets your heart going with nauseating exposure. (“Bring your adult diapers,” recommends one climber.) The fourth pitch (or fifth, depending on which guidebook you’re using) ends just short of the Window, a granitic arch that’s an anomaly in the Tetons’ rockscape of cracks and pillars. Work left for the thrill of climbing over the Window on the sixth pitch. Once atop the ridge, rappel 30 feet into a notch and traverse west to join the Upper Exum Ridge directly above the Windy Corner.
A pair of alpinists nears the summit on the East Ridge’s prominent snow arete, a landmark visible from the valley for much of the year. Photo by Greg von Doersten
East Ridge (III 5.7)
Robert Underhill, Kenneth Henderson, 1929
As early as the late 1800s, visiting climbers were keen on conquering this striking ridge, which runs in a continuous line from the summit of the Grand all the way down to the southern extent of the Teton Glacier’s moraine. (Unlike the other routes in this article, the East Ridge is not approached from Garnet Canyon.) But early climbers, including experienced Teton hardmen like Paul Petzoldt and Albert Ellingwood, were stymied by the Molar Tooth, a huge tower about one-third of the way up the ridge. It wasn’t until 1929 that Robert Underhill and Kenneth Henderson solved the riddle and found a way around the Tooth, becoming the first team to summit via the East Ridge. Today, most climbers skirt the Molar by the Southern Traverse or the Tricky Traverse (both 5.7).
The first pitch beyond the Molar Tooth presents the East Ridge’s crux: a slick, bouldery move. After this, it’s onto a series of granite slabs up to the base of the Second Tower, which is bypassed on the north side. Continue up more slabs until the base of the East Ridge snowfi eld, where the ice axe you’ve lugged all the way up will come in handy. Even though the slabs are easy, belay and protection anchors are often marginal. A choose-your-own adventure among four different options awaits you on the final summit block.
This 4,000-foot ridge is a serious endeavor. Incoming storms from the west are blocked from view, so good weather, an early start, and efficiency are necessities for this alpine undertaking, not to mention good route-finding skills. It’s one of the longest routes in Grand Teton National Park, so a notch in your harness is well deserved after a successful ascent.
Keith-Eddy East Face
(III 5.10-) Jason Keith, David Eddy, 1991
First dubbed Ritual de lo Habitual, this six-pitch route ascends a crack system through solid granite on the east face of the Grand. With five of its six pitches graded harder than 5.8, the Keith-Eddy East Face route is more sustained than the vast majority of routes on the Grand. Hand and finger jams are the order of the day, but just to keep things exciting, there’s laybacking, a chimney, and a reachy bulge comprising one of two 5.10 sections. Many locals recommend leaving this route after the second big ledge (top of the third pitch) and traversing over to one of the Beyer East Face routes [5.8-5.9] for more consistent rock quality. Descent is possible via the Underhill Ridge rappels, but continuing onto the summit of the Grand completes a true alpine adventure. Multiple pitches of 5.5 to 5.7 cracks and then scrambling up the East Ridge’s slabs and snowfield await you. Depending on conditions, you may want to pack an ice axe and a set of crampons, along with a double set of cams for the rock section.
(III 5.10) Jim Beyer, 1999
Comprising the Teton’s adored golden granite and topped off with a sharp spire, this feature is located just southeast of the Underhill Ridge. Jim Beyer compares the route in diff culty and quality to Caveat Emptor, a classic 5.10 in the Tetons’ Death Canyon, and it gets raves reviews from locals who love the route’s unique viewpoint and interesting features. After ascending five pitches, you can either rappel or, if the weather is better than expected, continue to the summit of the Grand via the Underhill Ridge. Aaron Gams’ Teton Rock Climbs: A Digital Guidebook (a CD) provides the only available route beta.
Corkscrew (II 5.8)
Steve Wuncsh, Diana Hunter, 1969
Frequently overlooked by the masses en route to the Lower Saddle, the Corkscrew is located right by Jackson Hole Mountain Guides’ high camp—an area where top-notch granite abounds. This 5.8 route of cracks, dihedrals, and chimneys climbs five pitches up the southern side of the Watchtower. If the weather is holding steady, walk off the summit then scramble to the Red Sentinel, rounding out your day with a fun 5.7 romp up the spire’s Regular Route, described by longtime Teton climber Andy Carson as “one of the best towers in the Park.” It’s just two pitches long, and the final section includes straddling a knife-edge à cheval.
In the Tetons, snow can fall any month of the year, and violent storms regularly pinball around the high mountain cirques. If the weather is worst than expected but you still want to salvage something from your trek into Garnet Canyon, these climbs offer good shorter options.
SEASON AND SNOW: Depending on the aspect, snow may linger long into the summer—especially after this extremely heavy winter—and may fall any month of the year. Steep south-face routes are quick to dry, while snow and ice on ledgy, east-facing rock is much slower to disappear. If fi nishing via the East Ridge, consider bringing an ice axe and crampons for icy ledges and the snowfi eld that leads to the summit block.
CAMPING AND PERMITS: All of these routes can be climbed in a day, but if you’re looking for a more humane pace, stay overnight at the Lower Saddle or Moraine campsites in Garnet Canyon. Free backcountry permits are available at the Jenny Lake Ranger Station. As of 2011, food storage in either bear canisters or NPS metal lockers (available at the Lower Saddle) is required, with the exception of bivouacs on a few alpine routes. Contact Grand Teton National Park for addition information: nps.gov/grte
GUIDEBOOKS: A Climber’s Guide to the Teton Range, 3rd Edition, by Leigh Ortenburger and Reynold G. Jackson. Mountaineers Books, 1996. Teton Rock Climbs: A Digital Guidebook, by Aaron Gams. tetonrockclimbs.com, 2005.
National Parks: Grand Teton in Backpacker
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Wade through wildflowers, listen to wolves, and escape the crowded trade routes in this secluded corner of the park.
by: Molly Loomis
Grand Teton’s northern region might lack the famous toothy peaks of the park’s southern sector, but it makes up for that with profound solitude—grizzly bears, wolves, and bighorn sheep are often my only companions—and with wild, rugged trails often hidden by chest-high wildflowers, not to mention my all-time favorite view of the Tetons. Your ticket to this forgotten realm is a three- to 10-day (if you add side trips), 28-mile loop linking glacier-carved Owl and Webb Canyons. If you can spare more time, this circuit also offers ample opportunity for cross-country side hikes on the expansive limestone plateau that you top out on at the 9,840- foot intersection of the two canyons. It is a junction, by the way, that yields, on day two or three, one of this trip’s many fine views of those famous toothy peaks. Elbow-to-elbow with vibrant bluebells, bistorts, and asters— and not another human—you’ll stare south at 13,770-foot Grand Teton and the other Cathedral Peaks, taking in a vista that in 1905 inspired Theodore Roosevelt to urge the American people to preserve these unique mountains “for their children and their children’s children forever, with their majestic beauty all unmarred.”
To access the canyons, start at Glade Creek trailhead and hike 7.5 miles through rolling forest—or save yourself the walk by paddling .7 mile across Jackson Lake from Fonda Point at the Lizard Creek Campground. Moor your boat (and lock with a chain) near the Berry Canyon Patrol Cabin and head west on the Berry Creek Trail into Owl Canyon, thick with alpine fir, lodgepole pine, and Engelmann spruce standing over Monet-like fields of violet monkshood, fuschia fireweed, and snowy columbine. Be prepared for several (up to 18), mostly minor creek crossings, which swell with snowmelt thigh-deep in early summer. Roller coaster 3.8 miles along the canyon floor (gaining about 800 feet and losing 400) to the junction of Berry and Owl Creeks. Keep an eye out for bighorn sheep along the slopes of 9,772-foot Forellen Peak to the north. Geology buffs will enjoy a sight of the Forellen Fault running up and over the mountain—a geological contact point between the southern range’s granite and the northern’s limestone.
Find waterside camping on the benches above the creeks’ confluence, or continue up another seven miles to Moose Basin Divide. You’ll gain an additional 2,500 feet, most of which occurs in the last three miles. If you have the time, Moose Basin Divide warrants a layover day (or several). The wide-open plateau, spotted with sedimentary pinnacles towering skyward, abounds with off-trail options: Scramble up peaks like 11,355-foot Doane Peak, explore nearby canyons such as Waterfalls Canyon—home of several 250-plus- foot cascades—picnic at alpine lakes, or visit the limestone caves whittled deep by erosion into hillsides.
At Moose Basin Divide, the route begins descending the Webb Canyon Trail, losing approximately 1,500 vertical feet over three miles and traveling past sheer granite cliff faces down into thick fir, spruce, and pine forest. Just as you leave Webb Canyon, see if you can spot an old mine shaft dropping right into the creek—it is the source of much speculation about what the prospector was mining in this ore- scarce region. Less than a quarter mile from the Berry Canyon Patrol Cabin, the path reunites with the Berry Creek Trail. Retrace your steps back to your boat or around the lake to finish.
The Way Access the Glad Creek trailhead at the Flagg Ranch Information Station, 55 miles north of Jackson on US 89. To reach Lizard Creek Campground and the launch spot for crossing Jackson Lake, start at Colter Bay and drive north on US 89 for 8.7 miles, along the lake’s shore.
Book and Map A Climber’s Guide to the Teton Range, by Leigh Ortenburger and Reynold G. Jackson ($35, mountaineersbooks.org); Trails Illustrated Grand Teton NP ($12, natgeomaps.com)
Canoe rental Dornan’s restaurant in Moose, (307) 733-2415; dornans.com
Permits Reserve free (and plentiful) backcountry permits at the Craig Thomas Discovery and Visitor Center, (307) 739-3399; the Jenny Lake Ranger Station, (307) 739-3343; or the Colter Bay Visitor Center, (307) 739-3594. nps.gov/grte
ASK A RANGER
Q: Who built the enigmatic palisade on the Enclosure’s summit?
A: Atop the Tetons’ second-highest point, the 13,280-foot Enclosure, sits a circle of daggerlike rocks about three feet tall. These dozen or so stones have been there since at least 1872, when a trapper attempting the Grand made note of them. Where they came from is a mystery. “Some scholars believe it was a site for vision quests or boyhood rites of passage for one of the tribes in the area,” says Grand Teton Ranger Justin Walters. “Others say it was a rendezvous spot for traders, which seems impractical, or just a natural formation.” Still others speculate it was an altar or a blind for catching raptors. One legend has it that a chief promised a maiden a herd of horses if she scaled the peak, so she left the circle as proof of her success. While the circle remains a riddle, the summit itself—a spur off the Grand—is sacred to the Eastern Shoshone. They believe the Sun Dance originated on it when two boys on lookout there had a vision of mice dancing in a buffalo skull. Their jig became the Sun Dance, symbolizing the link between all life.
Climb it From Lupine Meadows trailhead, hike seven miles to the Lower Saddle (11,692 feet), ascend to the Upper Saddle (13,160 feet), tackling one class 4 chimney section, then scramble up scree 120 feet to the top.
Snap the Best Sunset Shot. Ever.
Two stupendous locations for extravagantly saturated photos
» Oxbow Bend
Sometimes an iconic image, like the one above, is just a few feet away from your car. For an alpenglow shot of the Tetons reflecting off lucent waters, head to Oxbow Bend, a U-shaped meander of the Snake River that got cut off from the main channel. Drive 2.5 miles east of Jackson Lake Junction on US 89. Pull off, and take in the surreal vista. To find sunrise and sunset times near Jackson, check the local newspaper or go to sunrisesunset.com, which also offers a smartphone feature that retrieves your current GPS position, then gives you two days’ worth of times.
» Lower Saddle
The sweetest sunset image in the park—and maybe the whole region—takes some sweat equity. Backpack seven miles and 5,000 vertical feet on the Garnet Canyon Trail to the Lower Saddle, the popular high camp between the Grand and Middle Tetons. Start early to arrive by dusk, when the Grand’s scepter shadow extends across the rosy plains—giving you a true sense of the Tetons’ intimidating scale. If you didn’t lug a tripod, improvise with rocks or your lap. (See page 92 for tips on shooting sunsets.)
Put Your Head in the Clouds
Want to summit the life-list “Big Tit” (the literal English translation of the French Grand Teton)? The classic Owen-Spalding route is the easiest way. Yes, it’s busy on weekends, but that doesn’t diminish its exhilarating exposure and airy views. After huffing 5,000 vertical feet to the Lower Saddle, you’ll scramble about 2,000 more to the top, climbing a 600-foot section of 5.4 rock with fun chimney and slab moves. For beginner alpine climbers, hiring a guide is wise, since routefinding is tricky and ice can up the difficulty even in July. Check out Exum Mountain Guides (exumguides.com) and Jackson Hole Mountain Guides (jhmg.com); prices vary with group size and experience level.
Elevation of Lupine Meadows trailhead
Elevation of the Grand Teton
Net vertical gain in about 8 miles to the summit