Trip Reports - The Grand Teton Trip -
Aug 24th Thru Aug 31st, 2002

Submitted by Quinton Howe:

INTRODUCTION

It would be nearly two years to the day, before I would complete this report. In part, because I am lazy when it comes to writing. It is something that doesn't come easy for me. I struggle incessantly trying to find the right words and sentence structure to convey what I'm trying to communicate. Also, because it opened an emotional wound every time I thought about it. It was only after successfully persuading my teammates to commit to a second trip that inspired me to complete it.

- Quinton Howe High Springs, Fl .August 2004

Enlarge photo

Aug. 24th - Sat.

See larger photo at Jenny Lake

It was already hot and humid at 11:30 AM as Brian and Eddie arrived at my house. Months of planning, discussions, reserving and spending had culminated to the moment the three of us converged at the back of the mini van. I stared down at the huge duffels containing everything we could possibly need for the upcoming epic challenge. Although hours had been spent playing out every scenario imaginative, in hopes of being as prepared as possible, I still felt like I was forgetting something.

We had to consolidate all our gear into the two largest bags the airline would allow, with overflow gear going in our carry-on. I was surprised at how hard that turned out to be. My largest gear bag seemed to be a bit over the limit no matter how I stuffed it. I was tired of fretting with it and responded with a final "Gotta have it" when questioned. There really was nothing in there that I felt I could leave out, so the airline would just have to deal with it (or charge me).

We surveyed each other's baggage comparing size, weight and ingenuity (Just like we do with each others backpacks).

Finally, we loaded it all in the back of the mini van and set out for Jacksonville Inter. Airport. My wife, Sandy, had volunteered to drive us to the airport, to avoid us having to pay for 8 days parking. Along the way, I reflected back to having procured our plane tickets & rental car contract over the Internet. With these two expenses paid, all we had left to purchase was two nights stay in a motel, food, gas, and incidentals.

I played over the logistics once again in my mind, searching for that forgotten essential. There was nothing. We were as prepared as circumstances would allow.

We discussed mindless and irrelevant topics along the way to pass the time. The normal confusion of where to go unexpectedly brought us to the curb along side the United Airlines entrance.

Sandy had originally planned to park, come in, and wait to see us off. However, in the inherit hustle and bustle of an international airport, we thanked her for chauffeuring us, then encouraged her to leave. The guys were aware of our "strained" relationship in the previous months, and there was a certain amount of underlying tension that simply could not be ignored. It saddened me to see the disappointment on her face as I said goodbye, and shut the door. But, we were ready to be on our own.

There was no one in line as we walked up to the counter and checked our bags. I don't even think they considered measurements or weight once we told them what we had planned. They just loaded them on the conveyor and wished us good luck. That, in itself, was good luck.

We now had about 2 hours on our hands, but we didn't mind. We were happy and free!

Eddie bought a cheap pair of sunglasses from a kiosk, on the way down to the terminal. We looked around a bit, then had a drink and discussed logistics to kill time.

The time came for us to board the first flight to Chicago O'Hare. We arrived without incident and scouted around for some place to eat. We decided on Chinese for supper. We leisiurly enjoyed our meal, and then decided we would mosey on down to the gate.

The hallway and waiting room was completely empty for some odd reason. We were particularly surprised when greeted by a flight attendant that knew us by name. She rushed us on the plane scolding us along the way. Eddie, not one to remain silent in such situations (or any other that I can think of) tried explaining to her that "we were eating…." As she interrupted in some familier accent, "You must ask yourself: Do you want to eat, or do you want to go to Denver?" Hummm…. Seems she got the last word on that one.

It was then that we realized the reason she knew our names was that we were the last three people to board the plane! I never knew planes sometimes leave early.

We arrived at Denver, and made sure we were at the gate early to complete our journey to Salt Lake City.

We arrived at SLC approx. 10pm MST, but it was midnight to us Easterners. We had been concerned along the way, about the airline losing our gear. The loss of a single bag would be a huge problem due to a fairly tight itinerary from here on out. Brian, the most pessimistic of the group, stood arms folded ready for battle.

All of our gear had made it, except for Brian's "most important *#!&*!#* gear bag" when Eddie suggested I go check on the rental car. There was no sense in all three of us waiting on one bag. Brian was beginning to lose his composure as the luggage conveyor thinned its load and began to show re-runs.

The car was ready for me when I arrived at the counter. I simply accepted the keys, located the car, and pulled around to the curb. Brian was smiling as he was lugging ALL his gear out just as I pulled up. Eddie smugly said he knew it would make it all along. Yeah, right.

It took some ingenuity figuring out how to get the three of us along with all our gear in the little Mitsubishi Integra. But hey, we were on a budget, and it was the best deal I could get at the time. We drove just outside of Salt Lake City to a Holiday Inn Express at the Park City exit. It was about midnight (2AM to us!) when we settled in for the night.

View larger image of trailhead

Aug. 25th - Sun.

We awoke fairly early, enjoyed a continental breakfast, and then headed out toward Jackson, WY.

We took several pictures along the way. I remember thinking about the song "Wide Open Spaces" as I peered out of the windows from our little transport. I couldn't believe how many miles you can see in clean dry air. It seemed as though we weren't moving as I gazed across the vast expanse. While listening to one of Brian's Allman Bros. CD's, I glanced at the dash and was shocked to see that I was driving 95mph! You really can't judge speed that well on an open road with no traffic, unless you look down beside the car. (At least that was the excuse I gave the guys.)

At some point along the way, we rounded a curve,,,, and there she was. I felt like someone threw a bucket cold water in my face.

Because of all the pictures I'd seen in books, magazines, and on the net, I recognized her immediately. Although, none of which did justice to the intimidating massif before my eyes.

A combination of awe and trepidation seemed to fill the cabin of our vehicle. We played hide and seek with her for a while around the twisty turny roads. We were being drawn in like a paper clip to a magnet. We ate lunch at a sports bar outside of Teton Village. After lunch, we headed to the Teton National Park to get a park pass. Instead of the usual $20 entrance fee, admittance was free this week, due to it being the parks' anniversary!

Once we had our pass on the dashboard, we were free to roam anywhere in the park we wanted.

We decided to push our luck and see if maybe we could get our camping permits, to avoid having to get up too early the next morning. Not only were we able to get the permits, but because of it being late Sun. afternoon, the Ranger had time to give us a lot of good trail info.

The mountain seemed to taunt us by making sure there were no excuses or encumbrances. We looked at Jenny Lake, took some pictures (of course), and then headed to the Climbers Ranch. We dropped our gear, went into Jackson Hole, and ate a steak. (Good 'ole Wyoming beef). After a good meal, we headed back to the Climbers Ranch where we bunked with Lloyd and some guy named Mike. (One of those guys sure can snore!)

Enlarge group photo

Aug., 26th- Mon.

We awoke around 7AM, took some pictures of "The Grand" in the morning sun, and then drove to Dornans to eat breakfast. It would be our last "good" hot meal for four days. It was a frosty morning, and we ate in a huge teepee for added warmth. We shopped around a little, and picked up a sandwich to take with us for lunch.

We went back to the Climbers Ranch, assembled our gear, and drove to Lupine Meadows trailhead. It was approx. 11AM when we hit the trail.

Our first campsite was reserved at The Platforms. The trail was steep in places, but well traveled and required no navigation. Everyone was doing well, but the effects of the altitude became increasingly evident around 8K'.We stopped frequently to take in the views, and oxygen.

Once we had reached Garnet Canyon, we were ready for a sit down lunch break. We had climbed to 9K' above sea level, about 3K' higher than I had ever been,,,, and I knew it.

We all found a suitable seat (rock), and began digging out the sandwiches we purchased earlier this morning. I was sure that I was eating a really good sandwich, but for reasons I can't explain, I had to force myself to swallow. Two small varmints that looked like a cross between a chipmunk and a squirrel approached us for a handout.

Predictably, Brian was the first to pop up and get going. Eddie stalled giving me opportunity to leave with him, but I was too disorganized. I told him to go ahead and I would catch up later. I forced down one more bite and tossed the rest to my chipmunk/squirrel companions. As they scurried off, I think I heard them arguing about who owed whom $5 on a bet they had going. "If I'd known that, I would have given it to the marmot!" I quipped.

For some reason, I had to practically re-pack my backpack. I can't remember what I was looking for, but I was annoyed by the thought of how typical it was for me to always be the last one to get my crap together. "I've got to do better," I said to myself, as I shouldered my pack. After about 5 min. in "catch-up" gear, I was breathing as if I had just completed a 100m sprint. My heart rate had slowed during the break, and my muscles were accumulating a surplus of lactic acid and a deficit of oxygen. "This ain't North Carolina," I reminded myself. Seeing Eddie just a little ways in front, I pushed on.

The trail followed the East side of Garnet Canyon with moderate inclination, and then turned West to cross a stream of glacier melt. Eddie waited on me to join him as Brian had already crossed and was locating our tent sites. After dropping his pack, Brian backtracked the short distance to the stream where we were trying to negotiate a dry crossing, and aided us by calling out the right rocks to step on. Once across, we climbed the bank to our first campsite in the Tetons.

I think we were all glad to shed our packs that afternoon. It had been the most challenging hike any of us had ever done, and we were tired. After a short rest we set up camp, rigged our food hanging rope, and purified water from a nearby stream.

I went on a short scout trip back across the glacier melt then up the trail towards our next campsite. I was amazed at the size of the boulders. Some of them were bigger than our rental car! "It's going to be physical getting through here with full packs," I thought. I was glad the next site was a relatively short distance up the mountain.

Brian was content to eat at camp, while Eddie and I choose a huge cliff that afforded views of Garnet Canyon and almost all of Jackson Hole. Brian joined us when he finished eating and we all sat there until after dark enjoying the views and the crisp thin air.

I don't remember much after climbing into my down sleeping bag, except for every muscle in my body being thankful.

See larger photo of Quinton

Aug., 27th- Tues.

Brian and I got up around 7:30 AM, Eddie a short time later.

We leisurely ate, and packed up. We knew our next campsite was just a little way up the mountain, and we were acclimating. We arrived at The Meadows campsite around 11AM.

After we set up our tents, Brian and I decided to hike up toward the lower saddle for acclimation and reconnoitering purposes. Eddie had a slight headache and elected to hang around camp.

We hiked up to The Caves campsite (where we had reservations for Thurs. PM), and then continued toward the saddle.

The weather was deteriorating.

We gained another 800 vertical ft. before the saddle came into view. It was amazing how much bigger it seemed from this location. I had wanted to get a better look at the moraine as well as make 11K', but the clouds were building and getting darker by the minute. We decided to turn back.

About 5 min. after making that decision, we began to notice these cute little hailstones falling around us. In another 5 min., and we were being pelted by much larger ones. Some the size of small marbles! Not to mention the most god awful lightening I've ever seen. I mean we were up there were the stuff is being made! The pain and fear provided ample motivation and stimulated us to move faster. We were completely exposed and had no choice but to take it! (We were wearing shorts and t-shirts because it was sunny and warm when we left camp……I know, I know!)

We finally reached The Caves campsite where we took shelter in a small cavern, along with an employee from the Exum Guide Service, named Heather. She was ferrying fuel up to their hut when the storm hit and was seeking refuge as well. The heat generated from running down the mountain soon began to dissipate from our muscles. After a while, our small cave became cold and uncomfortable. Heather offered her down jacket for the two of us to share. Meanwhile, she was emptying her pack and putting on everything she had as the temperature continued dropping. As Brian and I played "tug-o-war" with the little improvised blanket, the wind began to swirl and blow snow in on us. We fought to keep the snow from landing and melting on our borrowed shelter, but to no avail. There was simply not enough room in the tiny cavern to afford isolation from the elements. At this point, we had no choice but to start moving. The early signs of hypothermia were setting in, and the storm showed no sign of letting up. We thanked her for her generosity, then with stiff, shivering muscles bailed into the flurry with the same reluctance you have when jumping headlong into a cold spring. The grovel was as bad, if not worse than it was when we entered the cave. But, the lower we got, the less intense it became. It was noticeably warmer at the meadows, but still cold. We immediately donned our fleece and rain gear. Eddie was warm and snuggly in his sleeping bag when we arrived at about 2:30 PM.

The weather did break, and we had a few burst of sunlight to light up the snow/slush that lay everywhere.

The temperature began to drop, but only into the upper 30's. I was surprised we had not encountered any freezing temperatures, especially at this altitude.

The mission did take its toll on our bodies. The effects of which would be felt the next day on the way up to the Lower Saddle. However, a knee that had given me trouble in the past, withstood the rigorous descent with little objection.

We were spared accident and injury, and for that, I said a silent prayer of thanks that night. I would find out later, that another climber was struck by lighting in that very storm.

Enlarge photo of Brian and Quint

Aug., 28th- Wed.

From The Meadows, we awoke early, ate breakfast, packed up, and set out for the Lower Saddle.

Our epic scout trip the day before had warned how physical it was going to be with full packs. The terrain did not disappoint us. I found the moraine section to be very challenging due to the unrelenting uphill grind. Eddie led this section while Brian, and especially me, seemed to gasp for oxygen. It seemed like about every 15 min., it would start to rain/snow, and we would break out our rain gear. Then it would stop, the sun would come out, and we would be burning up from the radiant heat. So, we would take it all off, pack it up, and start out again. This cycle would repeat itself about three times before we got to "the rope". Eddie would later comment on how that section "wasn't too bad". Brian and I disagreed. We finally reached the large fixed rope that aids a particularly steep step located just below the saddle. This climb was made difficult by a combination of fatigue, heavy packs, and altitude over 11K'.

We were all breathing rapidly after this climb, but continued on up to gain the Lower Saddle, where we dropped our packs and began our search for a campsite. Eddie wasn't particularly pleased with mine and Brian's selection. He felt he was too exposed to the high winds that frequent the saddle. However, we successfully argued that it was the only site in which both tents could be together. Once we set up the tents, and rested a bit, we took some photos and did a little exploring. The views from the saddle were spectacular that afternoon, but the weather was disconcerting.

The Exum guides and their clients arrived sometime after we set up camp, and also expressed concern about the weather forecast. Although, the Rangers seemed apathetic as they stepped out of their sturdy hut for a smoke, in between card games.

I recall seeing a female client sitting on a large rock by herself, crying. Eventually, another female came to console her. In the distance, I observed as they sat there, arms around each other, a good 20-min before returning to the hut. I've often wondered what it was that she was so emotional about that evening. Was she disappointed in her performance? Did someone say something terrible to her to hurt her feelings? Or was it just an emotional release from extreme exhaustion? Regardless of what it was, that chic had made it to the Lower Saddle in ONE day, and that was something to be proud of in my book.

See larger photo of Quinton

Brian had hiked up to 12K toward the black dike earlier in the evening. But it was right before dark, before I felt rested enough to go up. Eddie caught up with me, and we took some more photos. But we mostly just admired the beauty of watching the sun go down from a place that seemed light years away from our normal and everyday lives. It was all but dark by the time we got back to camp.

I remember being surprised at how warm I was in the gale force winds while standing outside by the tents enjoying a "dip" of Skoal. I stayed outside, alone, for quite awhile after dark, listening. Listening to the Rangers, the Guides, Mother Nature, and myself. I was comfortable, but not content. The mountain had beckoned, and seemed surprised that I had made it this far. I was high on its flanks, but it still had the upper hand. It's rugged peak looked down on me as if it was considering my worth. I turned my face from its view, humbled by its presence.

For some reason I was not sleepy. But my legs were tired and sore. Back inside the tent, Brian and I discussed the logistics of trying to move up the mountain at daybreak. Eddie seemed content to follow along with whatever plan we concocted, but made it clear, that he would bail at whatever point he became uncomfortable. We all agreed.

I had a somewhat restless night with the wind, altitude, and anxiety. At this point, the idea of sumitting did not seem very realistic, and hadn't since we first "saw" the mountain. But I told Brian, that if I didn't at least head out, I would feel as though I had not given my all. He agreed, with some reluctance.

Note: We had, from the beginning, set our goal to make camp on the Lower Saddle. With this goal achieved, there were various levels of contentment, mine seemingly the least.

View bigger image of Lower Saddle

Aug., 29th- Thurs.

At around 4 AM, I heard the Exum guides talking to what appeared to be an almost comatose group of clients. I couldn't make out all that he was saying, but picked up on the phrase "and then we will assess the weather", 3 times.

As I peered outside one of the windows of the Vortex tent, I could see lots of clouds ripping northward overhead. It seemed futile to make an attempt at this time. How could you possibly "assess the weather" in the darkness and relentless wind on the Lower Saddle?! All I knew is, that at least for that moment, it was not snowing, hailing, or raining.

Before dawn, I could hear the team making their way back to the safety of the hut as some form of precipitation was hammering our tent fly. (It's hard to tell the difference when driven by strong wind).

At dawn, I was encouraged by the thinning clouds and drop in wind speed. We geared up, ate a breakfast bar, and set out toward the black dike. (A prominent horizontal band of black rock at the crest of the saddle, NOT an African woman with sexual preference issues!)

I set a slow pace up the crest of the saddle to give our muscles time to warm up, as well as to demonstrate caution and poise to my wary teammates. Eddie, the most inexperienced climber, was reluctant to tackle some of the more technical and exposed sections. But continued under a barrage of prodding/encouragement.

Once we were above the black dike, the whole climbing experience was turned up a notch. We were now approaching 13K, and the snow and ice from previous storms was prevalent on the rock. This made the footing and "holds" treacherous. That is to say, the climbing was not technical or even difficult, but required focus and vision. The penalty for a mistake at this point goes without saying.

There were other climbers making an attempt to move up the mountain that day, but not even the experienced were arrogant enough to admit a realistic summit bid in these conditions. Every now and then, someone would ask me, " Do you see those clouds over there?" I would answer, "Yes, I see 'um", with little more than a quick glance. "Keep climbing."

There was of course the usual confusion as to where the route was. It seems that, at least in this section, there is no "the" route.

I led one, I later found out from an Exum guide, was known as the "sack of potatoes" route. This section required an exposed hand traverse, then a crawl under an over hanging boulder, then a long step and reach across a deep gap. Here, I noticed a fixed sling. I offered to clip in and belay Eddie across, but was surprised to hear he was moving forward. I free climbed the next pitch, donned my harness, and belayed Eddie up. Brian free climbed next, all without incident.

I began to feel, for the first time, that we had the stamina and ability to actually make it! I felt stronger and more confident with each step, and the mountain sensed it.

"Do you see the clouds? What do you think about the weather?" I snapped back, "I'm sick of hearing about the *!@!^* weather!" I wheeled around then turned up toward the gully. Brian said, "Quint! I'm going down! And Eddie says he's going down too!" I said, "Well, I'm going up!"

See larger view of the Black Dike

It's hard to put into words the emotion I felt at that moment. A mixture of anger, frustration, and disappointment. Yes. But also, fear of not making the right decision. The fear of letting those emotions cloud good judgement. As I stared up the mountain trying to find an answer, it appeared. It was Heather! She was coming down the mountain at a blistering pace. I knew from our discussion two days earlier, that she was familiar with the mountain, and it's weather. I asked her what she thought about it and her advice was: "If I were you, I would head down now." In a moment, she was gone. I stood alone in that gully for a minute, staring down at my feet. I could not deny the fact that my own teammates had made their decision, and now experienced local climbers were retreating. I had to accept the fact, that turning back was the only prudent decision. It was one of the hardest decisions of my life. To be within 1K vertical feet of the summit, only to be denied access by the mountain, God, whatever. It was tough to accept.

Brian, having reached his decision before me, had rigged his rope and he and Eddie had already rappelled down the pitch we had just climbed. I clipped in and yelled "On Rope!" just before he did a pull down. As I backed to the edge, some other climbers in retreat asked me if they could "rap" down our rope. I was in no mood to discuss anything so I said "Sure". I told Brian about them as I was rappelling down. As I was de-rigging, Brian, anxious to get moving, yelled up, " Are ya'll coming or what?" Who knows what they were doing up there, but the leader yelled down, "Pull your rope". So he did.

I hung around a minute to make sure he had his rope coiled, and then proceeded on ahead to catch up with Eddie who had already started down. After a few minutes we were all three back together descending by reversing our route.

What had been a talkative group, now plodded down the mountain barely saying a word? With such little exchange, I wondered if it was largely due to my actions and response on the mountain. I was concerned that they felt I was mad at them for adamantly deciding to turn back. I wondered if they silently hoped that a storm would hit so they could justify their decision.

But I know, based on the available information at the time, it was the right decision. That it was I, not Brian and Eddie, who was wrong that day. It took the words of an experienced climber that day to make me see. And I thank God for placing that climber there, at that very moment, to make me see past the short term goal of maybe reaching the summit, in lieu of a much longer term goal of returning to my wife and kids with my teammates. The mountain will be there, waiting on a second attempt.

The hike down to our last campsite was uneventful. We spent our last night on the mountain at The Caves campsite, right beside the cave that had sheltered Brian and I two days earlier. It rained off and on that evening, so we cooked and ate in one of the caves.

Brian had brought a little musical birthday candle, which he presented to me in the cave, along with a celebratory cigar (It was my birthday ya know). After supper, we (Brian and I) smoked a cigar in honor of the occasion. Eddie mostly tried to stay in the conversation and upwind of the smoke.

The sky began to clear, and we enjoyed our last evening at altitude in the cool, breezy climate. It must have been close to 10 PM when we decided to turn in for the night. From the comfort of our sleeping bags, Brian and I talked a long time on topics ranging from the events of the day to the issues that awaited us back home.

I surmised that we tend to become desensitized to the rigors and hassles of everyday life, until one takes the opportunity to remove themselves from their selected environment and obligations for a time. It is then that we can reflect with unbiased assessment, the amount of satisfaction and happiness that truly exist in our everyday lives. I have often said that I couldn't see how I could ever be completely happy living in Fl. Every activity I really love, requires an environment consisting of close contour lines and sparse population. Latitude and longitude aren't as important as elevation gain and loss. Activities like rock climbing, whitewater rafting, snow skiing, mountain biking, and mountaineering, all require the force of gravity, or the challenge would be non-existent. They also contain a certain amount of inherent risks.

Why some of us take "unnecessary" chances, is a question often asked by more conservative minded individuals. Could it be out of arrogance, that we feel we can control any situation with enough gear and experience? Or, is it that we are simply willing to accept the consequences of some unforeseen catastrophe. On the surface, at least, I doubt anyone would agree with either explanation. But there has to be a reason, beyond shear foolishness.

I'm very much aware of a contradiction that seems to exist in my life. How I feel the lure of the "edge" in the pursuit of the varies activities I crave. Away from the security of the "middle" that consists of mainstream, safer hobbies. Accepting, and even desiring certain calculated risks. Yet being unwilling to risk sacrificing a job with good pay and benefits, in order to relocate and enjoy the opportunities to accept more risks.

I pondered these thoughts long after Brian's coherent conversation deteriorated to barely audible "uh-hums" and grunts, then drifted off to sleep.

Enlarge photo of Quinton

Aug., 30th- Fri.

We awoke around 7:30 AM (again), and began the process of breaking camp one last time. We were packed and moving at a fast pace down the trail by 9 AM. There were times when it took almost all of my remaining leg strength to avoid reaching terminal velocity. Defined, in this scenario, as the point when your body is moving faster than your legs can keep up. And it's just a matter of time before you succumb to an uncontrolled frontal nose-dive. Once, while discussing reaching this state, a friend advised: "The sooner you fall, the better". He had apparently experienced this unfortunate predicament on more than one occasion. He is also the one that was unlucky enough to be walking under a huge Pine tree, at the exact moment a squirrel chewed loose an un-opened pine burr. It fell approx. 50' and hit him squarely on top of the head! He dropped to knees, dazed and confused. Then, got up and continued on his way with little thought or investigation. It was as though he thought that sort of thing should be expected to happen from time to time.

"The sooner you fall, the better"….Hmmm. That philosophy goes against your natural instincts, I thought. However, I had to agree with the logic, that the longer you fight it, the faster you will be moving when you finally do succumb. And you will.

We made it all the way down to Lupine Meadows parking lot by 11:30 AM. There is a lot of difference when you have the gravity of a 60 lbs pack pushing you down the trail, as opposed to pulling back on you all the way up.

We stopped by the climbers ranch to drop off some extra food that we had lugged around for five days, and wished everyone luck.

The next stop was at Wendy's, for our customary off-the-trail lunch. As we drove back, I was saddened by the site of the big mountains of the Wind River Range growing smaller outside the window. But my spirits were lifted by finding a good deal for a room at the Marriott in downtown Park City.

After a long hot shower, a shave, and a clean change of clothes, we were ready for our celebratory dinner. No, we didn't summit. Nevertheless, we could celebrate the marvelous adventure, indescribable beauty, and the fact that we had been spared accident and injury.

We had an enjoyable meal and evening, then headed back to our room to ready ourselves for the return flight the next day.

Aug., 31st- Sat.

We had an uneventful flight back to JAX, with one short layover in Chicago. And no, we didn't see the snippy flight attendant that herded us on to the plane to Denver.

We arrived at Jacksonville International Airport at around 10pm EST (after crossing back through two time zones), and were met by my wife Sandy, and Brian's wife Patty. Yes, Eddie has a wife too, but she didn't care enough to come pick him up. Just kidding Denise. The fact is Eddie and I only live about three miles from each other, so we usually alternate meeting places.

I could not believe how thick and humid the air was when I stepped out of the airport into the parking garage at JAX. I'd like to see how those little chipmunk/squirrel varmints, that made fun of me on the trail, deal with this altitude!

Sept. 1st- Sun.

I awoke in the usual "funk" that seems to accompany the end of every trip. My wife suggested that I go get my pictures developed, hoping that would help. Thinking by seeing the pictures, I would somehow be able to go back, in my mind at least, I decided it was worth a try. It didn't work. In fact, I became more depressed.

I began a rough-draft trip report to get my thoughts down on paper before time had a chance to dull my memories, and the order of which they had come by.

I dismissed my feelings as nothing more than the symptoms of acute "Post Trip Blues" syndrome, then tried to re-adjust to the real world of a married man with three children.

CONCLUSION:

It would be some time later before I began to realize the full effect the mountain had had on me. I found myself looking back and pining away, for weeks thereafter. Several nights, I dreamed of being back. Always at, or near the base. Nothing in my dreams ever resembled the reality of the mountain, but I always felt that thrill of anticipation that I had unknowingly taken for granted. When I awoke, I would remain in a dull state of depression for most of the day.

We've affectionately referred to this state as "Post Trip Blues" syndrome. It usually last a couple days, or in some cases a week after the return of a long anticipated trip. But this was different. It had little, if at all, to do with our failure to summit, but rather the feeling of tapping into something that produced happiness, then had been shut off so abruptly. Kind of like altitude sickness, in reverse.

I struggled to focus my efforts on being a better husband and father, both of which needed improving. I rededicated myself to my marriage, and tried to get my priorities in the order they should have been all along.

We all had our issues to deal with, and it would be a long time before the three of us would get together again. On the rare occasions I spoke with Brian, I tried to convey the emotional impact the trip had had on me. He seemed surprised that I had been affected to that extent, but would always admit that he too would like to make another attempt someday.

Almost a year would pass before the big Backpacking magnet would begin to pull us all back together again. I never missed an opportunity to bring up the prospect of going back. The problem was, that out of the *four of us, Brian and I were the only ones with technical rock climbing experience. Additionally, it was a huge sacrifice on the part of our families to be allowed to tramp off for a week at the time. So "our" time was treated as a precious commodity, not to be squandered on repeat trips that served one particular interest.

Knowing that Eddie and Pic had no ambition to climb rock or gain summits, it would have been selfish for me to encourage a second trip.

I did it anyway. Not out of malice or contempt, but from a desire to complete what I felt was unfinished business.

In a private phone conversation, I appealed to Brian's affinity for climbing, and successfully persuaded him to commit to a second attempt. I needed to go back, and I needed someone I could depend on, as well as have fun with, to go with me. I didn't want Eddie or Pic to feel left out, but only Brian shared the common desire to summit. I couldn't ask Eddie and Pic to spend a week away from their families, as well as the money, to go along on a trip that was so goal oriented and personal. But I wanted to invite them; they are two of my best friends.

I told 'Wood first. Not wanting him to feel betrayed, I struggled trying to explain that it was something that I really wanted to do. I don't think he was all that surprised given the many conversations we had had since returning. The fact that we work together, train together, spend together, and live near one another, we have become good friends over the years. We have discussed our slight differences relating to backpacking endeavors several times. He loves the freedom and solitude spent in picturesque surroundings. He has often said how he would like to learn to fly fish, and bring home some outstanding photographs. I, on the other hand, tend to plan trips that push the very limits of our bodies and abilities. I have been accused of having masochistic tendencies by my route selections. Once I successfully lobbied to camp on an exposed ridge in mid Jan. with the wind chill at -37 Deg. F! (See the Black Mt. Crest trip report). Despite our differences of attraction, we each enjoy a little of what the other does, and therefore usually come up with a good "mix".

I remember trying to select my words to try to convey that I would like for him and Pic to go, but that I would in no way blame them for skipping out on this one. I tried to make it clear, that this time, the logistics would more tailored to achieving the summit, and therefore a little more serious. My decisions were at least in part influenced by a quote I had read by a climber named Mark Jenkins. He wrote: "There are only certain times in your life when you can do certain things. If you don't do them at that very moment, they pass you by forever and you and your life become something else". I had lived obsessed with the desire to go back for over a year by that time, and the feeling was still strong. I am sure that eventually it would have faded away, but I didn't want to become "something else".

Pic, the most affable of the group, had missed out on the first trip and was tired of hearing about how much fun we'd had. "Count me in", he said. It had been a long time since he had packed with us, and he didn't care if we were going to Indo-China, he was coming along. By then, Hollywood had had enough time to reflect and consider his decision. I guess the building excitement was too much for him to reject, so he jumped on board.

The mood was cheerful that evening. The thought of the four of us hiking in the Tetons in Aug. 2004 gave me that special something to look forward to, and I was happy again.

Reaching the summit will be Brian's goal and mine this year, but not at all cost. Being a little more familiar with the mountain, and knowing more of what to expect will be to our advantage. Nevertheless, it will, as always, be up to the mountain to decide whom graces her peak.

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