Alpine starts are always painful, and this Monday was no exception. The trailhead for the ephemeral Colorado ice climb Vanquished is an hour and a half from my house, and the walk to the route takes about three and a half hours. Since we wanted to arrive at the base shortly after sunrise, I had to set the alarm for 1 a.m. That's just sick. But walking into the mountains in the dark is strangely pleasurable. The woods are full of muffled noises, and approaches seem to pass quicker when you can't see your destination in the distance. And then there are the sunrises, which are often stunning. Here's the east face of Taylor Peak lit up by the morning rays. Surely views like this make the early starts all worthwhile.
OK, that's the prettied-up, magazine-copy version of alpine starts. In truth, views like this make alpine starts somewhat worthwhile. Two mornings later, I'm still exhausted. And, yes, it was beautiful, but at that moment I was mostly just feeling tired from the hours of uphill hiking we'd done with heavy packs, and I was worried about the climb ahead, and my bowels were rumbling 
but I was too cold to do much about it. It was blowing so hard that my bare hands were freezing and I couldn't hold the camera still. I snapped a quick shot and stuffed the camera back into my pocket and my numb fingers back into my gloves, wishing the damn sun would hurry higher into the sky, but knowing that we wouldn't feel its warmth for another half a day on the cold north face we were about to climb.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Why Do We Have to Get Up So Early?
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Vanquished, At Last
Vanquished is one of those routes that every dedicated alpine climber in Colorado would love to do, but almost none has. Yesterday, thanks to a tip from Kelly Cordes, who had completed Vanquished two days earlier with Steve Su, I got to do the climb myself—or at least most of it.
Each spring, after a cold and wet spell, the whispers go around: "What do you think? Is Vanquished in?" I can't tell you how many times friends have walked in to Powell Peak thinking those white streaks might be ice, only to find they were powder snow over blank granite slabs. The trick is waiting long enough for the snow to melt and refreeze: Vanquished comes into good nick during those rare late May or early June cold fronts that dump lots of moisture and bring numerous freezing nights to the high peaks.
Yesterday it certainly was cold. After the four-mile walk to Sky Pond, Jack Roberts and I nearly bailed because the wind was howling and it was somewhere in the 20s. In mid-June. During the climb, we wore five layers on top, nearly full winter armor, and still we shivered. But of course this is what it takes to bring Vanquished into shape.
The key to the route is usually a thinly iced slab on the first pitch. Kelly had said this was the crux of his climb, and he sent me a photo with a possible alternative start. Even though there appeared to be more ice on the normal first pitch than Kelly had found, Jack and I were intrigued with the alternative, which looked difficult and wild. I started up the pitch and then bailed after the first third, scared off by unprotected moves over super-thin foamy ice. (If this pitch were at Loch Vale, 45 minutes from the road, it would be classic, but three and a half hours from the road it seems a lot more serious.) Jack managed to lead through and then carry on up strenuous liebacking and chimneying and a weird and insecure upper groove. It's hard to put a grade on this wild pitch because it wasn't as technically difficult as some things I've done, but it was very insecure and strenuous (especially placing the gear). Jack said it was like an awkward 5.9 crack that keeps coming at you. That sounds right to me. It's possible (but who knows) that this could be in shape more often than the usual first pitch of Vanquished, making that route more doable.
Above this the climbing was simply superb and very unusual for Colorado. Thin streaks of neve and ice wove through granite ribs and up short chimneys. It felt very much like the Alpine climbing above Chamonix, and not at all like Rocky Mountain National Park's usual snowed-up-rock grovelfests. But the Park returned with a vengeance at the top of the fourth pitch, where I started up a short bulge of ice barring the entrance to the lower-angle groove that leads to the top. Either the sun had hit the ice too much or Kelly and Steve had shattered it, but I soon discovered that the ice wasn't as solid as it looked. With my feet skittering on foam-ice and blank rock, I got high enough on the bulge to plant a tool well over the lip, into what I assumed would be nice neve in the groove. But then all the ice at the lip shattered around and below my pick. Luckily my lower tool was good, and together with a bunch of falling ice blocks I slithered back down to a stance. I tried a bunch of ways to get past this section, including aiding off a pathetic screw, but I couldn't reach any solid ice or higher pro. I brought Jack up, and we decided it just wasn't safe to continue, so we bailed from there.
Vanquished may hang in there for a day or two, but it's over 90 near Boulder today, so probably not. I feel really fortunate to have been able to climb this route, even though we didn't get to finish the last half-pitch, and I'm grateful to Kelly for the tip-off.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
76 at 8,848
Plenty of good climbers don't respect guided ascents of Mt. Everest. With all the ladders and miles of fixed rope, the performance-enhancing drug of supplementary oxygen, and the massive support teams, it's hard to see how a commercial ascent of Everest relates to traditional mountaineering. Greg Child has said, "I don't even call it climbing. I call it Everesting."
Yet among each year's dubious records and firsts on the world's highest peak come occasional climbs that are truly inspirational. It would be hard for the crustiest alpinist not to respect the climbs of Min Bahadur Sherchan from Nepal and Yuichiro Miura from Japan, who last weekend reached the top of the world at the ages of 76 (nearly 77!) and 75, respectively . Consider that the average life expectancy of an American male born in 1930, roughly the birthdate of these gents, was a little over 58. Consider, too, how few people you know at age 75 who are still super-active in outdoor sports, let alone capable of climbing a peak like Everest. Even with all the aid they received, it's a remarkable achievement.
Monday, May 26, 2008
Of All the Places I've Never Climbed...
...within half a day's drive of home, the Deep Lake area of the Wind Rivers is very high on the list. I've been to the neighboring Cirque of the Towers twice, but Deep Lake has its own fantastic group of granite peaks, including Haystack, Steeple, and East Temple. According to Steve Bechtel's new Cirque of the Towers & Deep Lake guidebook, the Deep Lake crags have somewhat cleaner rock and better weather than the Cirque, and, most importantly, they're closer to the road: just three or four hours' walk from the trailhead—roadside cragging by Wind Rivers standards. A trip to Deep Lake would be easy to combine with routes on Sundance Pinnacle and the southeast side of Warbonnet, home to the classic Black Elk. The Bechtel book's color photos have me drooling. Hmmm, must check my calendar for August....
Friday, May 23, 2008
Light and Slow
As Ben Gilmore, Max Turgeon, and Freddie Wilkinson were racing up the mega-classic Moonflower Buttress to the summit of Alaska's Mt. Hunter this month, they caught and passed a Japanese man and woman finishing the same route. Writing at the Hardwear Sessions blog (which is often excellent these days), Wilkinson describes his encounter with the couple at the Bibler Come Again pitch, the route's final serious technical passage—the Japanese were on their eighth day of climbing; Wilkinson and his partners had reached the same point in a day and a half. Yet, despite a somewhat shaky climbing style that reminded Wilkinson of his beginning clients back home in New Hampshire, the two seemed content and optimistic. And sure enough, they carried on to the top of Hunter, making one of the rare complete ascents of the 7,000-foot route. At the conclusion of his lovely short essay, Wilkinson writes, "This is probably one of the slowest successful ascents of the climb, and in my opinion, one of the proudest."
The Max Turgeon photo above, by the way, shows an infamous landmark on the Moonflower route: Mascioli's Mushroom, the snow/ice blob that fell off in 1997 and killed climber Steve Mascioli.
Saturday, May 17, 2008
Shoveling to Glory
This year, it seems, the shovel is the essential tool of the elite free-climber. First came Beth Rodden, who had to clear many feet of snow from the top and bottom of her new route Meltdown (5.14) in Yosemite Valley before she could redpoint it. And now here's Dave MacLeod, chipping away at what he calls the Snowpatch of Truth, on top of the Echo Wall, a crag of volcanic rock high on Ben Nevis, Britain's highest peak. MacLeod has been preparing for years to attempt a very poorly protected and desperately hard prow on the wall, and this spring he felt physically and mentally ready. The weather in Scotland has been unusually good. Just one problem: 
The Echo Wall is more than 3,000 feet above sea level, on the flanks of the Ben's Tower Ridge, which means for most of the year it's more likely territory for ice climbing than for a rock route. And a huge patch of snow on top of the cliff was melting in the warm spring air and pouring water over MacLeod's route.
Thus the shovel. Last week MacLeod spent four days straight shoveling snow and ice, four to five hours each day. That's after hiking a couple of hours from the valley floor and then soloing up much of Tower Ridge. By this week the route was mostly dry, and he could begin to work on the moves after a year away. The problem was he'd been beating up his body so much by shoveling that he didn't have much time or energy left for training—and this route is expected to be as hard as 5.14+, with potentially lethal falls in spots. On his blog after one shoveling session, MacLeod wrote, "So now it's after midnight but I have to make up my daily volume of climbing on the fingerboard. I'm not totally sure there is another way around this. I'm glad I've been doing so many long and physical days, though—it's really reminded me how much the body can respond to deal with whatever you ask of it. I feel good. So, after another cup of tea, I'll do my hangs, get some sleep, and head back into the north face in the morning. Thank god for iPod is all I can say."
I wrote a feature profile of MacLeod for Climbing last year and spent much time probing the origins and depths of his climbing obsession. But this project may top all previous excesses. I've been covering climbing news for a long time, but I've never seen an effort quite like this, and I really hope the good weather continues and MacLeod gets the chance to finish this one off.
Friday, May 16, 2008
The Sound of One Knee Popping
Ahhh, youth. Here's 17-year-old Pete Whittaker at the key move of Dynamics of Change (E9 7a), a recently completed "last great problem" on English gritstone. The next step? Stand up on that left leg. My leg would simply snap off at the knee if I tried this. 
The other pic gives another perspective on this serious and unlikely move—if Whittaker blows it, there's a strong chance he hits the ground. Tip of the hat for the photos to Hot Aches, which has the whole sequence online.
Friday, May 09, 2008
It Takes All Kinds
When I first saw the everything-offwidth website Wide Fetish, I figured this was the sort of labor of love Internet venture that wouldn't draw much of a following and would only rarely be updated—much like the Mountain World. But apparently there are masochistic wide-crack aficionados everywhere, slithering through the back alleys of America's crags. Wide Fetish, whose tag line is "Where the Glory Starts at 4 Inches," publishes trip reports, how-to articles, a photo and video gallery, and a reasonably active forum, though further investigation reveals that most of the posts are from the same few members of the wide-crack cabal. The head fetishist is none other than Russ Walling, the Californian behind Fish Products. What do you say to someone who likes offwidths and spends too much time on the Internet? Clearly, "get a life" is not sufficient. But maybe I'm just jealous. I may say I've never found an offwidth I liked, but really I've just never found many offwidths I could do.
Wednesday, May 07, 2008
Wednesday Morning Time Waster
This is an old video from the TV show "Verstehen Sie Spass," a long-running Swiss version of "Candid Camera." It's in German, but the thread is easy to follow. The producers flew a little snack and magazine kiosk to the upper Hornli Ridge of the Matterhorn and set up shop—they claim it's the first of a planned chain of mountainside kiosks throughout the Alps, like McDonald's. Soon, Reinhold Messner shows up and is flustered to discover that the shop is selling his books. Even if you don't get the jokes, the scenery is great.
Posts
