"It's the worst route
I've ever done." Was Canmore local, Nancy Hansen's summation of her
experience on the Wishbone Arete on the South Face of Mt Robson. This, coming
from a very accomplished alpinist, who is the 1st (and only, I think) woman
that has climbed all of the 53 peaks in the Canadian Rockies that stand over
11,000'. I'm not positive on this, but I think that less than 10 other people
in the world can boast the same. So that report, coming from her, hit hard. In
fact, her and her husband, Doug, were climbing the fifty together too, and a
failed attempt on the Wishbone made Doug drop the pursuit entirely. He said he
never wanted to get back on that awful route. We had traveled a long way to try
this mountain for the third time, so these heavy, first hand accounts, made my
stomach turn.
In 2010, Janelle and I
hiked to the Forester Hut, only to be turned back due to warm temps, and utter
intimidation. Last summer we made the journey again to, "check things
out". There was way too much snow on the rock sections, and the rime-ice
gargoyles were even bigger than the previous year. So instead of climbing, we
decided to run to Berg Lake, to scope out an alternate approach to the Wishbone
Arete. 24 miles later our spirits were not boosted, as we found no easy ramp
system that would put us near the base of the route…or anywhere close. Now, in
2012, we were ready to give 'er another try.
As we drove north on the
Icefield Parkway, after talking to Nancy, the conversation was as lively as a
cemetery. It seemed like Janelle had already mentally thrown in the towel. Me,
the stubborn one, tried desperately to find the bright side of this dimly lit
situation. "Well…at least after climbing the Wishbone, every other route
we climb the rest of our lives will be better." Silence. "Just think,
we are going to climb the worst route in the Canada, and maybe the world. The
worst! That's kinda worthy right?" More silence. Things were not looking
good. I resorted to changing the subject to the amazing views unfolding through
Lulu's windshield.
Pulling into the visitor center, just off the highway, one is slapped in the face with Mt Robson's South aspect shooting 10,000 feet from the valley to the summit. It is the most impressive roadside mountain view I've ever seen. Janelle drug her feet getting out of the van. "Come on, lets go check the weather forecast, it will probably be crap anyway, so we won't have to climb." The door opened, and she got out.
The forecast is posted on
the main entrance. Clear and sunny across the board. Crap. No excuses now. We
then drove down the road to Valemount, where our friend, Reiner Thoni, lives.
Reiner was letting us borrow a couple bikes, allowing us to turn the 6
kilometer (4ish miles) hike into Kenny Lake into a ride. His parents own and
operate the nicest restaurant in Valemount, the Caribou Grill, and we had been
invited to stay with them while in the area. The upper floor of their home is
the restaurant, and the bottom floor is their living area.
In the parking lot we went
to work. Janelle prepped the food and I prepped the gear…in silence. The
following morning we woke early and started the journey.
As we pedaled along light
rain fell, so much for the forecast. At Kenny Lake we stashed the bikes in the
woods, and continued several miles to the ranger station located in the Valley
of 1000 Falls, where we asked the ranger for a conditions report. She did not
have good news. They had had record snowfall this past winter. Record snowfall
equals record run-off. The river we had to cross was still in its flood stage,
oh, and the water was about 38 degrees! We had not brought running shoes, which
meant a barefoot crossing. The stoke sank even lower. A few more miles brought
us to another ranger, a twenty-year veteran. He confirmed the bad news, and
piled more on. Things were grim now. On the creek bank, where the normal creek
crossing is, we stood and looked across 80 feet (24.39 meters) of fast flowing,
liquid ice water, roughly waist deep. I’m stubborn, but not that stubborn.
Throwing down the packs,
we had a family meeting. Janelle, a chipmunk, and myself. The opportunist
chipmunk said about as much as we did for the first five minutes. Mr. Chipmunk's
cheeks were bulging when Janelle broke the silence, "Why do we have to
climb this stupid route anyway. It’s totally not classic. Nobody ever climbs
it, and the Kane Route is suppose to be way better."
Long story short, we set
our sites on the Kane Face Route, which was another 6-7 miles (10-12KM) up the
trail.
Reiner has a pretty cool
thing going in Valemount, BC. For three months he works non-stop planting trees
in the rough clear cuts. He makes enough during that time to, more or less,
float the rest of the year. He ski tours non-stop, and is a very accomplished
randonee racer. In fact, he is the fastest rando racer in North America. He is,
what we call, good energy. After sharing our woes of defeat, he suggested that
we just hang out a few days, pick some huckleberries, and turn our sites to the
Japanese Route on Mt Alberta. He wanted to climb this with us. So that’s what
we did. [I’ll write about the Mt Alberta experience at a later date.]
Fast-forward 8 days. The
sun is still shining, and we are back on our bikes heading again to Kenny Lake,
with Reiner leading the way. The hike up to the Forester Hut, which took us 8
hours in 2010, took us only 4.5 hours this time. We got to the hut without a
hitch and started packing for the following day. The forecast was amazing, so
we decided to par down our kit even more. Opting to take only one sleeping bag,
one pad, and a little Nemo tarp for a tent. There were a couple other guys at
the hut, who snored, so we slept under the stars outside the hut.
The alarm went off at
3:30, and we were en route a little after 4. That far north, in August,
daylight starts early. We picked our way along the yellow bands by headlamp.
After an hour we had already past our 2010 highpoint, virgin terrain from here
up. We were all moving well, full of energy and a combination of nervousness
and excitement. Staying unroped to move quicker, we scrambled up the first few
thousand feet in only a few hours. The macro route finding was easy, as this is
a ridge climb. The micro route finding, on the other hand, was a different
story. Finding rock that actually stayed in place was a real chore. We climbed
side-by-side when possible to avoid sending rocks on one another. When the rock
got steep, we threw the rope on and I led a couple pitches of "5.7
dangerous". Then back to un-roped terrain.
The heavy snow that made
the creeks impassible, a curse for that approach, where now a blessing for this
route. A snow coulior was still intact just to the right of the ridge. Jumping
on this firm snow, we got a needed break from the loose-nasty rock. The ice had
some spice, several big rocks fell above and picked up speed on their way down
the 65 degree snow slope. Climbing quickly, and looking up constantly was our
only defense. This snow section took roughly an hour. It was a big aid in our
upward progress, as the rock to our left and right looked especially loose and
steep.
The rock ended, and we
were back on snow. Simal-climbing ticked off several more thousand feet. The
slope got steep and we switched to climbing in pitches. I was nominated to be
on the sharp end. It seemed like we were just a stones throw away from the
summit, but our altimeter watch kept things honest. We still had about 800
vertical feet (240 meters) to the summit.
Not wanting to mess with the super
scary Patagonia-like rime-ice gargoyles I traversed to the west side of the
ridge, looking for easy passage. Four traversing, slightly rising pitches later
I started straight up the 60-70 degree snow slope. The beautiful sunny day had
softened the snow considerably. I had to move slowly to ensure I didn't fall.
Once out of rope I dug into the snow to build an ice anchor. This was
worthless. There was no ice. I dug my tools deep into the snow, made a butt
bucket, sat in it, kicked my feet in, and put Janelle and Reiner on belay off
my harness. They quickly climbed up my foot buckets to my lame anchor.
"Sorry guys, no ice." Sobering looks all around. They kicked in,
drove their tools into the soft snow, and I launched for another pitch. When I
was 70 feet out with no protection, Janelle looked at Reiner and said,
"You can unclip from me if you want? No sense bringing us all down if Mark
falls." He laughed, and stayed connected.
I made it up to the
severally corniced ridge, and looked down the other side. This was epic! It
didn't look passable, and I started looking around for a good way to anchor
myself to go back down and try a different way. No ice here either. This was
becoming an unfortunate trend. The sun was now well on it’s way to the horizon.
A prompt decision had to be made. I hopped up on this knife ridge of snow. If I
was cool like John Wayne, in that moment I would have likely tipped my hat
forward, looked boldly into the camera and said something macho like,
"Giddy up" as I saddled up on the snow ridge. Instead, since I'm just
Mark, I said "oh please don't break, please don't break" many times
as I crossed the ridge onto the other side.
Now on the shaded east
side of the ridge I was able to find ice! I placed a screw and a couple really
crappy cams, and shouted "OFF" into the wind. Janelle and Reiner came
up, saddled up, scoochted across, and climbed over to me. "Wow, that was
really hard, nice work Mark." "Thanks, but its not over yet," I
said. Above us was an even steeper snow face. We were smack in the middle of
the Gargoyles now. I was able to place a stubby screw four feet above the anchor
before the ice disappeared.
I had just entered
unknowingly into the zone of vertical trench warfare. Every step took 12-15
foot kicks, needed to compact the snow. This effort would advance my body
roughly 3 inches (7.62 cm) upward. My arms "windshield wiped" the
loose snow in front of my face. Gravity took hold of the dislodged snow and it
fell thousands of feet down the slope. I then buried my arms and tools up to my
armpits to get some sort of purchase. These "handholds" held so long
as I only pulled less than 20 pounds (9.07 Kg) of pressure on them. Then it was
back to my feet. Sweep the area with my knee to clear snow, kick 12-15 times,
commit to that new step, back to the arms, clear snow, bury arms, twist tools,
and repeat...1000 times. This took me to the top of the first Gargoyle. More of
the same for a total of 180 feet (50 meters). When I finally pulled through the
vertical onto the slightly-less-than-vertical I was so relieved. I could now
get great foot and tool purchase, so I yelled down for them to simal-climb. I
had to make it to the other side of this last snow ridge so I could give them a
proper belay with a good braced terrain anchor.
Twenty minutes later
Janelle's head poked over the ridge I was belaying behind. Her eyes were wide.
"Mark, where did that come from?! That was insane!" "I know
right." Now, we were a stones throw away from the summit.
The next image will be
forever burnt in my brain. Janelle and Reiner took the lead walking on a rib of
clean snow to the summit of Mt Robson. The sun had set and the twilight was
surreal. Brilliant purples, reds and blues lit the background in a way that I
hope heaven is like. Their bodies were dwarfed by the huge views that wrapped
around us.
On top I quickly changed
my wet clothes for dry ones, put on all my layers, and we headed down. Darkness
turned on us about 500 feet below the top. We were back seeing only what our headlamps
could reveal, which wasn't much. Not wanting to cross under the seracs in the
dark we dug a snow cave and shivered for 4 hours until the sun came up again.
Crossing under the Schwarts
ledges is scary. The Schwarts ledges are formed by the edge of the glacier
coming to an abrupt end directly above a 200-foot rock cliff. This forms a 180-foot
tall ice wall, that cleaves off on a regular basis. One must walk on the rock,
under the ice face, in order to get past this section. I don't know why this is
a route up this mountain. Don't ever try this in the dark, or at all. I have
never had to roll the dice in the mountains like this. Thankfully we were only
exposed for about 10 minutes, but in my mind that is 10 minutes too much.
Back at the hut we lounged
around, soaking in the victory. Someone had photocopied the Alpinist
article about Robson and left it in the hut, which I started reading. The
Wishbone Arête had a page dedicated to it. I freaked out when it mentioned that
second party to attempt the route (unsuccessfully) had left a silver painted
chicken wishbone at their highpoint. "DUDE! We found their wishbone!"
It had been left there July 24, 1951. So cool! Reiner took the note to the
mountaineering museum in Valemount, and the wishbone is still up there.
Thankfully, I never will be. Every other route I climb for the rest of my life
will be better than that one. Now that's something to be pumped about.
Check out the video of this climb: www.smileysproject.com
'Like' the project's Facebook Page for live updates: http://www.facebook.com/SmileysProject
Video will be posted on Tuesday Oct. 30, 2012
