Punishing but rewarding. That sums up the long day that Jack Roberts and I "enjoyed" in the Indian Peaks on June 6. The target was the northeast face of Paiute Peak (13,088 feet). I've never seen a record of any ascent of this face, though it's quite likely that it has been climbed—it's a big target and not very difficult. But the face is hidden from the east, and the approach is arduous. The only practical way to get there during snow-climbing season is to climb over a high shoulder of Mt. Audubon (or its summit), descend into the Coney Lakes basin, and then traverse to the base of Paiute. This is not an easy thing to do.
Jack and I mounted our bikes at the gate on the Brainard Lake Road just after 5 a.m., rode to the trailhead, and then hiked up the east ridge Audubon to a saddle at around 12,700 feet. Because of some illness issues, we were moving very slowly, and it was after 9 a.m. before we crested the ridge. The view to the other side was stunning but discouraging: We would have to traverse nearly a mile across broken ridges and frozen couloirs, while descending more than 1,000 feet. To make matters worse, a brutal, cold wind whipped over the saddle.
Our hands were freezing, and we nearly bailed, but instead we decided to "take a look." In the end, it required nearly two hours of hard, somewhat dangerous work before we could reach the base of Paiute at around 11,500 feet. In hindsight, I think the best approach would be to continue over Audubon's 13,221-foot summit to the Audubon-Paiute col, and then descend to the north from there, or to drop straight down one of the Coney Couloirs from Audubon's east ridge and then walk up the valley floor to Paiute. Either way, it's a big approach. It took us more than six hours; a fast party would likely still need four hours.
By this time, the snow had softened significantly (much of the face was still in the sun until after noon), so we didn't need a rope as we kicked shin-deep steps up the central couloir. We had carried a rack because of the big headwall at the top of the face, and even just a few hundred feet below the top we still weren't sure where the route would go. But just when we were wondering if we'd have to escape by rock-climbing to the left or right, a hidden, body-length-wide slot snaked up to the left. We roped up partway along this for a short ice step and then carried on to the top, popping out within a few vertical feet of Paiute's summit. Good stuff! 
A long glissade, snowshoe trudge, and bike ride awaited. But it was all downhill now. By the time we reached the car, we'd put in a 12-hour day, of which less than two hours was spent actually climbing. This route may have been climbed before, but we think it deserves a name, and we propose the Ghost Dancer Couloir. It's a superb outing...for those who don't mind a little punishment along with their rewards.
Sunday, June 07, 2009
Ghost Dancers
Thursday, June 04, 2009
Sniglet
A friend—I can't remember who—once made up a great word to describe climbers' habit of testing out hand holds and finger jams on man-made structures. You know how it goes: You're walking down a city street or climbing a stair well, and casually, almost without thinking, you find yourself crimping the edge of a brick or slotting your hand in the crack between two concrete slabs. We all do it. Unfortunately, age and decrepitude being what they are, I can't remember the term he/she came up with.
Hand-jive?
Grappling?
Brailling?
Man, it's right on the tip of my tongue.... This is a sniglet that's sorely needed. If you've got a good name for this common climber behavior, let me know.
Monday, June 01, 2009
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Dodging Storms on Mt. Hagar
I wasn't optimistic when Mike and I drove up to Loveland on Sunday, hoping to ski a 13er called Mt. Hagar between rain storms. We had to hike through puddles and small, raging torrents of meltwater to reach the first snow. 
But higher up the snow was actually pretty decent, and though we had a brief rain shower and a longer snow/graupel event, we also had some blue sky and sun, giving us nice views of the surrounding peaks, including the craggy Citadel (13,294 feet).
On Mt. Hagar's 13,195-foot summit the clouds were thick, but we still hadn't heard any thunder, which was weird, considering what we'd see later. Mike went first off the rocky top and immediately buried an entire leg in waist-deep slush. After the extrication, we gingerly traversed away from the rocks and into a broad chute where there was better snow. Our first turns sent a slush river, three to four inches deep, streaming toward the bench 800 feet below, but underneath was a firm, sun-baked layer, and the skiing in and out of the flowing slush turned out to be fun rather than terrifying. 
Strangely, the snow just got better the lower we went, with a steep, 400-foot slope of near-corn at around 11,500. As we walked out, the rain started in earnest, but we still had heard only a few faint rumbles of thunder. Then, during the drive home along I-70, we entered one of the most violent thunderstorms I've seen in years—it dumped up to two inches of rain in parts of metro Denver. For whatever reason, we'd escaped it all on Mt. Hagar.
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Pillows
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Back in March, Greg Sievers and I did a probable new route on the north face of Andrews Tower in Rocky Mountain National Park. At the time (left photo), the cornices atop the initial gully were big enough to make us choose a cold day for the route and climb as fast as we could. Now, they're the size of dump trucks. Greg snapped the photo on the right during a ski tour last week, two months later. For scale, the distance from the bottom of the photo frame to the top of the cornices is nearly 100 feet. Those are some big pillows... but I'm guessing they wouldn't feel too fluffy on your face.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Skiing Mt. Toll
We got a late start, leaving the car at 8:15, and we weren't on top until after noon. The result? Wet, unpredictable snow that made for tough turns. Still, a great day out!
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Apropos of Nothing
Just the coolest backyard woodpile sculpture ever created. Alastair Heseltine is an extraordinary sculptor and basket artist from British Columbia. For a visual treat, page through all the photos of his work under the "sculpture" heading on his website.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
The Wildest Idea
The “First Look” department in the May issue of Outside has my story speculating about the possibility of a free-solo ascent of El Capitan—a buzz that surged in intensity last year after Alex Honnold’s free solo of the northwest face of Half Dome. The story naturally focused on Honnold and Dean Potter, who has begun exploring freeBASE ascents in Europe and North America (soloing with a BASE-jumping rig to give a possible second chance in case of a slip). Both men acknowledged they have pondered an El Cap solo, and both also indicated there was a very good chance they'd never attempt the feat.
Any time you feature such a dangerous act as free-soloing El Capitan—or the prospect of such an climb—in a high-profile venue like Outside, you will hear complaints that by “glorifying” the act you raise the chances that someone will attempt it, with the all-too-possible chances of fatal consequences.
When I interviewed him about El Cap, Potter told me, “The motivation should just be as pure as possible on this, and I think journalists might want to respect the mental process of a soloist, and not give them any extra motivation one way or another, and just kind of see what happens one way or another.” When he hears people ask him when he’s going to solo El Cap, Potter went on, “It doesn’t make me feel like, ‘Oh yeah, I should do it.' It makes me feel like a part of something that kind of disgusts me.”
But Potter and others are thinking about how and when someone might solo El Cap, and to me that’s a super-compelling story. I simply can’t imagine the skill, self-confidence, and self-control that would be required to free-solo El Cap, and so I find it fascinating to consider the possibility that any person might have what it takes. And as much as we abhor death and injury in climbing, the potential for such consequences is part of what makes climbing so compelling. Nowhere is that possibility more starkly illustrated than with free soloing. Of course I’d be horrified if someone died while attempting an El Cap solo, but I’d also be thrilled and inspired if someone succeeded. Like it or not, that contradiction is intrinsic to the sport.
Sunday, April 05, 2009
Alpine Briefs 3 Published
We published the third edition of Alpine Briefs last week. We exceeded our self-imposed guideline for sustainability—"maintain low expectations"—and went hog wild with good new content. Enjoy.
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