Fossil Mountain-Wind

Fossil Mountain-Wind
Summer 1999

by Elizabeth Bunnell

My tolerance for the cold is not good. I am never happy when I'm shivering and it's only a short time until I yearn continually to be in a warm, dry tent. Better yet, take me back to the car for some of the heat roaring off the engine. In addition to exhibiting an increased level of whininess when I'm cold, I also become uncoordinated, nervous about climbing, and forgetful.

All alpine caves are terribly cold, down in the 30s, and they're usually wet. Generally these caves are not profusely decorated, but tumbled stream passages have a hewn beauty that mirrors the harsh terrain above. My husband Dave had convinced me that the Fossil Mountain-Wind through-trip is a classic of alpine caving, and not to be missed, even by those who fear hypothermia. He said you could stay out of the water most of the time. The trip starts in an ice cave, taking the explorer to an increasing large stream passage, emptying out at the top of a 100-foot waterfall.
The trip to Fossil Mountain ice cave began with the steep ascent of a talus slope from a rocky canyon to the cave opening. Our trip leader, Rick Rigg, pointed out a place where an unspecified number of girl scouts was "fried" by lightning. Thunderstorms occur nearly every day in the Tetons, and accidents of this type are far too common.

Although a Forest Service sign warns visitors that climbing gear is needed to negotiate this dangerous cave, another caver, Marty, told us that a member of a local church group had been taking groups of teenage girls, dressed in shorts and t-shirts, sharing helmets, on trips through the wet ice cave. Dressed in layers of polypro, neoprene, and water-resistant coveralls, I was stripped of any excuse for the nagging certainty that I was going to freeze.

The ice formations of Fossil Mountain Cave are beautiful, forming rippled draperies, stalagmites, and a crystalline coating on the walls. Being a coastal Californian by birth, I was surprised to find out just how slippery ice really is. Several small descents brought us into a round room floored in ice flowing over the far edge in a fifty-foot wall. A frozen waterfall cascaded from above, splitting the drop into two sides.

We were rapidly approaching the point of no return. After pulling our rope down at the bottom of the drop, there would be no choice but to continue through the cave to its downstream opening in Wind Cave. Ice caves change quickly. A passage that is open on one trip may be frozen shut another time. A passage just beyond the drop is occasionally blocked, so one of our party went down to make sure it was open while the rest of us waited.

The local cavers had crampons, but the rest of us found the floor frighteningly slippery. I scooted on my butt and stayed close to the wall as I approached the rig point. The descent without crampons was a glorious, though ungainly, slide down a sheer wall of ice.

At the end of the room we pushed our packs through a low crawlway. It was a nice crawl, tight and not so wide that there was a wrong way to go. Soon I heard the water, removed from us by a wall of stone.

The third drop brought us down to the stream. Rather than carry extra weight, we hoped for the best and drank the water from the cave. From here onward I knew it would be a losing battle to stay warm, or even warm enough.

Each person has his or her own tolerance for the cold. Rick waded thigh deep in the stream, wearing only a sleeveless, shorty, "Farmer John" style wetsuit. I prefered to delay the inevitable, climbing above the stream, traversing on ledges. I soon realized that in spite of the finesse of staying dry, I'd soon be left behind if I didn't get in and wade. Even in a full wet suit, my head, toes, and fingers covered in extra layers of insulation, and wearing heavy, water-resistant, cordura coveralls, I felt cold already. The chill started with my feet and gradually seeped higher. Eventually I found myself wading up to my waist in barely melted snow.

Once wet I stopped thinking about how spectacular it was to be travelling along an increasingly powerful subterranean river. This is the first pull-down trip I'd ever been on and all I could think about was getting safely back to someplace warm. The last few roped drops were a mental ordeal for me as I tried to get my stiff fingers and numb brain to cooperate. I kept a safety on the rope while I checked all my gear a few extra times before descending. Having a rope pad to remove and replace at one of the lips slowed me down by several minutes in my impaired state of spirits.

Finally we reached the Birth Canal. In turn we wriggled headfirst down the snug, vertical climbdown. The downstream opening of the cave is at the end of a large, wide stream passage. The water was unusually high, and I thought I saw flashing light in the dimness. Then I heard thunder and realized that we were coming out on the side of a bare mountain in the midst of one of the typical afternoon thunderstorms. This seemed like a bad idea, but I wasn't eager to stay inside the cold cave in my wet clothing.

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email the webmaster Then I realized that one more obstacle lay between me and warmth. The way down the waterfall lay on the other side of what had now grown from a stream to a small river. The crossing loomed perilously close to the waterfall, which dropped a hundred feet before bouncing about 70 feet more over ledges. The alternative was to traverse the top of the cliff to a steep slope leading rapidly to our base camp. I could brave the high rushing water, wet slippery rocks, and a drop of 170 feet, or face the rigors of the unknown. Cold, cranky, and thirsty for hot beverages, I decided to face the unknown.

This route was not without its hazards. We had to start down by going up. A steep, muddy slope above a precipitous drop-off stands out in my memory. I clung to roots and shrubs. In the end we came down safely, I am here to tell the story, and I hope to do it again another year.

Photos by Dave Bunnell
Pages and their contents © Copyright 2000, 2001 by Elizabeth Bunnell, except where otherwise noted.

	Fossil Mountain-Wind Summer 1999 by Elizabeth Bunnell My tolerance for the cold is not good. I am never happy when I'm shivering and it's only a short time until I yearn continually to be in a warm, dry tent. Better yet, take me back to the car for some of the heat roaring off the engine. In addition to exhibiting an increased level of whininess when I'm cold, I also become uncoordinated, nervous about climbing, and forgetful.
All alpine caves are terribly cold, down in the 30s, and they're usually wet. Generally these caves are not profusely decorated, but tumbled stream passages have a hewn beauty that mirrors the harsh terrain above. My husband Dave had convinced me that the Fossil Mountain-Wind through-trip is a classic of alpine caving, and not to be missed, even by those who fear hypothermia. He said you could stay out of the water most of the time. The trip starts in an ice cave, taking the explorer to an increasing large stream passage, emptying out at the top of a 100-foot waterfall. The trip to Fossil Mountain ice cave began with the steep ascent of a talus slope from a rocky canyon to the cave opening. Our trip leader, Rick Rigg, pointed out a place where an unspecified number of girl scouts was "fried" by lightning. Thunderstorms occur nearly every day in the Tetons, and accidents of this type are far too common. Although a Forest Service sign warns visitors that climbing gear is needed to negotiate this dangerous cave, another caver, Marty, told us that a member of a local church group had been taking groups of teenage girls, dressed in shorts and t-shirts, sharing helmets, on trips through the wet ice cave. Dressed in layers of polypro, neoprene, and water-resistant coveralls, I was stripped of any excuse for the nagging certainty that I was going to freeze.
The ice formations of Fossil Mountain Cave are beautiful, forming rippled draperies, stalagmites, and a crystalline coating on the walls. Being a coastal Californian by birth, I was surprised to find out just how slippery ice really is. Several small descents brought us into a round room floored in ice flowing over the far edge in a fifty-foot wall. A frozen waterfall cascaded from above, splitting the drop into two sides. We were rapidly approaching the point of no return. After pulling our rope down at the bottom of the drop, there would be no choice but to continue through the cave to its downstream opening in Wind Cave. Ice caves change quickly. A passage that is open on one trip may be frozen shut another time. A passage just beyond the drop is occasionally blocked, so one of our party went down to make sure it was open while the rest of us waited. The local cavers had crampons, but the rest of us found the floor frighteningly slippery. I scooted on my butt and stayed close to the wall as I approached the rig point. The descent without crampons was a glorious, though ungainly, slide down a sheer wall of ice.
At the end of the room we pushed our packs through a low crawlway. It was a nice crawl, tight and not so wide that there was a wrong way to go. Soon I heard the water, removed from us by a wall of stone. The third drop brought us down to the stream. Rather than carry extra weight, we hoped for the best and drank the water from the cave. From here onward I knew it would be a losing battle to stay warm, or even warm enough. Each person has his or her own tolerance for the cold. Rick waded thigh deep in the stream, wearing only a sleeveless, shorty, "Farmer John" style wetsuit. I prefered to delay the inevitable, climbing above the stream, traversing on ledges. I soon realized that in spite of the finesse of staying dry, I'd soon be left behind if I didn't get in and wade. Even in a full wet suit, my head, toes, and fingers covered in extra layers of insulation, and wearing heavy, water-resistant, cordura coveralls, I felt cold already. The chill started with my feet and gradually seeped higher. Eventually I found myself wading up to my waist in barely melted snow.
	Once wet I stopped thinking about how spectacular it was to be travelling along an increasingly powerful subterranean river. This is the first pull-down trip I'd ever been on and all I could think about was getting safely back to someplace warm. The last few roped drops were a mental ordeal for me as I tried to get my stiff fingers and numb brain to cooperate. I kept a safety on the rope while I checked all my gear a few extra times before descending. Having a rope pad to remove and replace at one of the lips slowed me down by several minutes in my impaired state of spirits. Finally we reached the Birth Canal. In turn we wriggled headfirst down the snug, vertical climbdown. The downstream opening of the cave is at the end of a large, wide stream passage. The water was unusually high, and I thought I saw flashing light in the dimness. Then I heard thunder and realized that we were coming out on the side of a bare mountain in the midst of one of the typical afternoon thunderstorms. This seemed like a bad idea, but I wasn't eager to stay inside the cold cave in my wet clothing.
<<Back to trip reports Home Conservation Safety Meetings Caves Our Story Members Trip Reports Restaurants Links email the webmaster	Then I realized that one more obstacle lay between me and warmth. The way down the waterfall lay on the other side of what had now grown from a stream to a small river. The crossing loomed perilously close to the waterfall, which dropped a hundred feet before bouncing about 70 feet more over ledges. The alternative was to traverse the top of the cliff to a steep slope leading rapidly to our base camp. I could brave the high rushing water, wet slippery rocks, and a drop of 170 feet, or face the rigors of the unknown. Cold, cranky, and thirsty for hot beverages, I decided to face the unknown. This route was not without its hazards. We had to start down by going up. A steep, muddy slope above a precipitous drop-off stands out in my memory. I clung to roots and shrubs. In the end we came down safely, I am here to tell the story, and I hope to do it again another year.
Photos by Dave Bunnell Pages and their contents © Copyright 2000, 2001 by Elizabeth Bunnell, except where otherwise noted.