• By David DeFazio
• Photos by Jay McLaurin

I can’t tell you how many times I stood atop Snow King after a pre-dawn skin and wondered if this would be the year I would ski the Grand. At times I would think about my first ill-fated attempt in late May of 2006 when Exum guides Mark Newcomb and Bill Liberatore had inherited me after Doug Coombs’ tragedy in Europe. Everything had been wrong.

Doug’s passing had cast a long shadow over the entire idea. More material to the attempt was poor snow cover and many nights of above freezing temperatures. Add four inches of graupel, a breakable crust, and questionable weather to the equation and the grim reality of failure loomed large. Not to mention the boring tent-mate who’d driven from Casper to share the attempt. I think he muttered ten words over two days. Needless to say, it came as no surprise when Mark called it off at the top of the Chevy when he saw the flume-like runnel in the Ford Couloir and the black storm clouds hanging over Mordor to the West. We retreated…and I would have to wait another year.

On some bitterly cold mornings on the King I would reflect upon the frustrating end to my second hopeful winter. Enter Nat Patridge, a long-time friend from St. Lawrence and well respected Exum guide. We developed a plan early in the 2006-2007 winter season and I dedicated myself to training with Bill in the Tetons. I became more comfortable with ice axes, crampons, ropes and other gear and learned to trust their integrity. I reached some of the lesser peaks and developed a very good relationship with Bill along the way. But come February, 2007, it got really warm. The mountains began to shed and my shot at the peak melted away. Nat, Bill and I met at the Q and made it official; we would have to wait another year.

With the 07-08 season came a greater resolve to ski the Grand from brass cap to Bradley Lake, no excuses. I attacked the King more frequently and with greater focus. I’d look over my shoulder at the Grand and watch the sun illuminate the summit at dawn. For some reason, I’d then text Nat and Bill to let them know I had trained before work. I also chose to frequent Mountain Athlete where I’d see Nat leave as I began my hour long suffer-fest. I guess I thought I had something to prove to them when in reality I was waiting to prove something to myself. It was Tuesday afternoon, February 19th, when Nat called me at my office. “What are you doing tomorrow?” he asked. The conversation immediately sped my heart-rate and sent me scrambling to move appointments around. It was on.

I arrived at work Wednesday morning ready to go, but first had to argue a motion in Federal Court. The hearing was brief, for once, as the loquacious opposing counsel was reigned in for a change. After the gavel fell, Bill was at the office ready to drive to the Park and, “take a walk.” So we began our six-hour, scenic slog to the lower saddle for a night of rest. After meeting up with Nat and setting camp, we cooked freeze dried whatever and ate out of the bags they came in, sucking Gu for dessert. I was nervous about the next day and didn’t care what I ate as my appetite didn’t join me for the walk. After eating, I poked my head out of the tent and watched the full lunar eclipse over the Gros Ventre. What a bonus. However, the minor significance of the eclipse was shadowed by my thoughts of what Thursday held in store. The sky was clear, the snow looked good, and the wind was still. No excuses.

A muted beep of an alarm sounded at 3:30 am. Nobody sprang from their bags, but we certainly got moving. This was the day. Breakfast was boiled, camp was broken, and gear was assembled and attached. We departed at 5 for the Stettner. The next few hours were amazing. As sunlight filled the canyon behind us, we made our way up five pitches of snow and ice. Nat and Bill proficiently led the way as I attempted to follow their graceful moves up, and over, what I would have at one time considered impassable ice and rock obstacles. After a few hours, and one conspicuously absent chockstone, we made the East Snowfield and booted to the summit. It was 11:15am and it was bluebird on top of the Grand.

There’s a big difference between turning it downhill on the King and turning it downhill on the Grand. It seems like you can fall off the mountain in any direction; and that is a gripping emotion. So we took our time and made calculated turns down the ridge between the snowfield and the Ford Couloir. After I was able to relax a bit (and I mean just a little bit), I realized the perfection of the day. We were skiing boot deep, cold powder on the Grand! Holy shit!

The conditions continued into the Ford where the pitch tipped up a bit. All moves were positive. After a few more turns, my friends put me on a rope and I skied on belay down to the first fixed anchor above the Chevy. This was not the runnel-carved, crusty couloir that we had observed two years ago. This was awesome.

My focus continued, but my nerves calmed as I rappelled down the Chevy and through the bottom of the Stettner. Smiles began to flash between us and we realized that the truly dangerous component of the journey was behind us. We put our skis back on and descended the Tepee Glacier. With the exception of one small section of frozen snowballs, we skied powder into Garnet Canyon and through the trees to the lake. My eighth wind kicked in and we made the final push to the parking lot where Nat and Bill had a cooler of Gatorade and Heinekens waiting for us. We made it! And a 15 year-old dream had come to fruition.

I’m going to head up the King tomorrow morning to bring the adventure full circle. I wonder how the Grand will look this time after I strip the skins off and turn it downhill.