The canyon walls were closing in tight, the snow had iced up, and the pitch of the slope was so extreme that I could press my palm against it without bending at the waist. Below me the couloir stretched out like a runway, a vertiginous 700 feet to the valley floor where bright sun assaulted the open slopes. The steep south-facing sliver where I stood remained shaded.

I pulled my ice axe from its sheath, reached forward, and plunged it into the wall. I kicked my right foot into the solid surface, excavated a foothold with my crampon, and perched. My left foot followed. Three hundred feet above, the narrow slot spilled into Surprise Lake, a high alpine trough at the base of the day's prize: 11,572-foot Disappointment Peak. I was determined to not let that mountain's name become prophetic.

Of course, the fact that my harness was attached to a rope that was, in turn, attached to Christian Santileces, Exum Mountain's lead guide, inspired confidence. As he and I climbed in sync, with a little slack in the line between us, I felt like I'd been shimmying up couloirs my entire life. Falling was an afterthought, and even if I did slip, I trusted I could stop myself, plant my toes and ice axe into the snow, stick my ass in the air, and defy gravity. A week ago, before I'd started this mountaineering course in the snowy environs of Wyoming's Teton Mountains, I would've been paralyzed by fear. Four days in, however, and falling was an afterthought, and the conditions that had paralyzed me in the past—boot-packing up steeps, side-stepping exposed ridgelines—had become surprisingly commonplace.

When we topped out at the snow-covered Surprise Lake, I glanced up at Spoon Couloir, a gorgeous, 50-degree corridor of snow and rock hovering above the lake. I expected a surge of fearful adrenaline—I have to go up there?!?—but felt only optimistic enthusiasm. Christian broke trail to the southeast face, took off his skis, and began boot packing up a 60-degree face, and I followed.