The House of Rock: Exum Mountain Guides

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Outside Magazine April 2004

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The House of Rock (cont.)


	From left: Chris Morris lead-climbing on the Exum Ridge; scoping out the rappel (Kurt Markus)

CLIMBING THE GRAND is a two-day proposition: one day hiking to Exum's hut on the Upper Saddle, where you spend the night, and the summit day, which typically starts between 3 and 4 a.m. Morris, Chuck and Hillary Procknow, and I are all up by 3. We ram down some food, gear up, and are en route by 3:45. By the time we're across the Wall Street gap, dawn is breaking in lavender striations across the eastern horizon. Just above the first pitch, a tawny stretch of 5.4 rock known as the Golden Staircase, Morris yells down to Chuck and Hillary.

"You guys need to be making your transitions much faster, OK?"

No response. In the darkness below, it's impossible to see what's causing the holdup. Morris raises his voice a notch and yells again.

"Chuck, are you climbing?" Pause. "No? Well, get on it!"

For all his spartan professionalism, Morris is not a climbing fascist. He intersperses his reprimands with frequent compliments, telling Chuck that he's "climbing like a badass" and christening Hillary a "Teton wild woman." Coaching clients while at the same time tuning in to all the various factors around you—weather, rockfall, other climbers—may be a guide's most important skill.
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"One of the things about the guides who don't make it here is that they lack a certain quality of heightened awareness," says Jack Turner. "It's not as though they're not careful, but sometimes you just pick up on what Wittgenstein called 'fine shades of behavior,' little things that would pass by the casual observer—like the manner in which someone double-checks to make sure that a knot has been properly tied—in which they're not being as careful as you think they should be. These are vague issues of judgment and trust—very subtle, very fine, very delicate shades of behavior. Vibes are what I call 'em."

The challenge, of course, is to strike a balance between drill-sergeant seriousness and inspiring support. Rookies are evaluated on many criteria, from technical mastery to how they get along with the senior guides, but the most important may also be the most subjective: the Turnerian vibe—an almost intuitive sensitivity to the circumstances of each climb. It's a quality that the Exum guild observes closely, if discreetly, and it can have a lot to do with getting a second-year invitation.

"I never felt like I was being scrutinized, ever, but you know they're watching you, making their evaluations all the time," says fifth-year guide Brian Harder, 42, recalling his first season. "There's a large number of aspiring guides here, and a few weeks into the summer, you just stop seeing one or two of them. You never really know why."

Following Morris up the Grand, we've shot past the Friction Pitch, where the Idaho climbers were struck by lightning. At 9:30 a.m., we top out on the blocky summit, shed our packs, break out our energy bars, and gaze north toward Yellowstone through a light scrim of sleet. Barely five minutes pass before Morris issues the order to rope up.

"I don't mind telling you guys that I don't like the look of this weather," he announces. "Let's move."

The descent follows the Owen-Spalding route, which involves a scramble down another ridge with some dicey loose rock and a long 120-foot rappel off an overhanging cliff. At one point a rope team appears below us, led by a guide from Jackson Hole Mountain Guides—another Teton outfitter—and they make a dash to reach the belay station before we do. In the process, a client on that team kicks loose a small rockslide, which peppers the rappel chute, where a third team is descending. No one gets hurt, but Morris is furious at the guide. "Fucking asshole," he huffs, breaking Exum's no-profanity rule.

We reach the Lower Saddle without further incident, snatch up our gear, and race down Garnet Canyon to emerge three hours later at Lupine Meadow. This is Morris's final climb of the season; he's cutting his summer short by two weeks to return to Boulder for his wedding celebration and to start an off-season business as a personal trainer. While Hillary shakes Morris's hand, Chuck thanks him profusely, apologizing about being slow.

"What I always say," Morris responds, "is that it'd be like me trying to walk into your office to do your job. You gotta realize, man, I'd bankrupt your entire company in about two hours."

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