Before we could start the approach a troll in a ranger suit stumbled out of the bushes. He saw the tools of the alpine trade and asked "So where can I scrape you guys off of this afternoon?"

This guy was about five feet tall with a dirty beard down to his chest and a tin coffee mug almost as big as he was. I respected him immediately and not because of the ranger suit. We told him our plans and he wished us luck. My day was off to a good start: Derrick had diarrhea and a ranger troll was on our side.

The four-mile approach went quickly, the packs were light and the conversation heavy (women and climbing). Soon, The Snaz came into view. The route ascends a shallow dihedral in the center of Cathedral Rock. The ten-pitch line was first climbed by Chounaird and Hempel on August 4, 1964. Today most climbers rap after the seventh pitch due to the loose conditions of the final two-hundred feet.

The first pitch went quickly, as did the second and third. I was feeling comfortable in the mountains and climbing with a helmet and pack felt better than climbing barebacked with quickdraws. Sorry to all you sporto's, but I've seen the light.

It was the fourth pitch that made me the man I am today. This pitch consists of an awkward roof, followed by seventy feet of 5.9 off-width and finishes, amusingly, with another considerable roof. By the time Derrick had started up that pitch, an older couple from Seattle had caught us. It seemed to take Derrick an uncharacteristically long time to lead it, but I was busy talking with the fifty-year old couple with whom I shared the ledge. They were incredibly trad, I think I saw her eat sunscreen. Anyway, Derrick rigged the belay and soon I was negotiating the first roof, pack and all.

The first roof went fine, but it soon became evident that I had never climbed off-width. I grunted a lot, and at some point I was probably cursing my parents for conceiving me, but I never fell out of the crack. Oh yea, and the fifty-year old woman from Seattle was leading it at my heals. By the time I climbed out of the off-width to the second roof, no jug was big enough. I couldn't have held onto monkey bars at that point. I took a little break, then pulled the roof and waited to puke.

After the fifth pitch dark clouds were creeping down the canyon and my ego had no problem calling it a day. We rapped down with a few rain drops and arrived at the car two hours later. By then the August sun had burned off the clouds and it was hot. We felt dusty inside and out. On to Jenny Lake.

There is a small pebble beach on the eastern shore of Jenny Lake where tourists like to swim, especially during the warm days of August. As far as I knew, Derrick and I were the only climbers at the beach that day. We had every right to get naked and go swimming. This is not to say that only climbers can swim naked-everyone should do it-it's just that people who have just climbed part of The Snaz are more likely to take advantage of this right.

After swimming that evening, Derrick and I were in a rule-breaking mood and as sleeping in the parking lot bushes was against the rules, it seemed like the right thing to do.

The plan for the next day was to get an alpine start (4 a.m.) and do the Upper Exum Ridge of the Grand Teton in a day. At eleven-thirty that night I was still awake in my bag, listening to the shouts of joy from people coming off the trail after completing whatever route they had been on that day. My mind raced under the stars, and thinking back, the ambition to stand atop the Grand Teton was what started me climbing. There is an Ansel Adams picture of the Teton Range in my parents living room and much time has been spent staring at that photograph. I would look at it and imagine myself on the left skyline of the Grand. Laying in my bag I realized that in four short hours that is exactly what I would set out to do. It was not a stretch to think that the next day of my life would be one of the more important ones.

I woke up to pee and realized it was time to go. Ten minutes later Derrick and I were on the Garnet Canyon trail, eating breakfast as we walked. The enormity of the day set in and I was grateful for the darkness that concealed the forbidding route. From the trailhead, one must gain 4800 feet in seven miles to arrive at the lower saddle between Middle and Grand Teton. As we reached the boulder-field that is the entrance to the hanging Garnet Canyon, we could see spots of headlights making their way up the final thousand feet before the saddle. Those people had a three-thousand foot head start on us, as they had camped in the Meadows above the three miles of switchbacks Derrick and I had just finished. I felt like shit. Out of gas and out of breath. I made Derrick stop. At the stream running through the Meadows I dropped iodine pills into my water bottle as I ate sardines on a blueberry bagel. Ten minutes later I felt like Superman. Two hours later we were passing those headlights, and by 8 a.m. we had reached the lower saddle. I won't even try to write about the sunrise that morning, go see it for yourself.

The next three hours of my life were three of the best. The Upper Exum Ridge (II 5.5) starts on a ramp called Wall Street and then climbs a series of cracks and chimneys composed of immaculate granite. We soloed fifteen hundred feet of low angle rock and reached the summit at 11:30 a.m. Ten people shared the summit perch with us that morning.

The descent was amusing as we all started down together. Within a family group of seven, only two knew how to rappel. Derrick and I whizzed down the lines ahead of that formula for trouble, then took naked pictures on the Upper Saddle.

Before the rain came, we were on level ground, seeing how many guided parties we could catch. By 4 p.m. we were in the parking lot, shouting with joy, just as those parties had done the night before. My dream had been realized.

More naked swimming then heavy rain came and Derrick and I had no place to stay. We lounged under an awning for a few content and high hours. The storm raged in the peaks. At seven that evening, we saw the wet and tired family group finally reach the parking lot. Derrick and I laughed as we watched them stumble into their cars, then realized that the joke was on us. They probably had a place to stay that night and we didn't.

It was still storming, so we drove around looking for cover, legal or not and definitely free. In true trad fashion we chose the underside of a bridge. We slept in the sand, highly illegal and very exhausted, accompanied by two disturbed Ravens.

I awoke the next morning thinking I had two more days to climb, but a call home revealed that my beautiful grandmother, Rosemary Powers, with whom I used to do things like watch The Price Is Right and stuff turkeys, had passed away. Nineteen solo road hours later, I was in Minnesota with my family. Grandma's are always more important than climbing.

During my drive home I had much time to reflect on the previous two days. These were my thoughts: as climbers we realize the importance of things like swimming naked and sleeping under bridges. We break laws that need breaking because we climb mountains that need climbing. If people take offense at our nakedness, or our rudeness, or even our stench, it is only because they wonder what it would be like. They will wonder, when they look at their pictures of the mountains, what it is like to be on the summit. This is what I learned during my forty-eight hours in the Tetons. And that you climb better if you eat sunscreen and have trolls on your side. Peace to all climbers and my Grandma.

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