Showing posts with label fifty classics. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fifty classics. Show all posts

Sunday, October 18, 2015

The North Face of Mt. Edith Cavell - Classic Climb #46

Janelle following one of the crux pitches.
“Oh the North Face aye, that’s a pretty hard route, and it is not in good climbing condition now” the gear shop employee said with a hint of who-are-you-and-do-you-have-the-search-and-rescue-number-on-speed-dail. It was 2010, our project’s first year. Janelle and I had just climbed Mt Rainier’s Liberty Ridge, Liberty Bell, Mt Shuksan, Mt Sir Donald, Mt Slesse and Mt Temple in about a month. We were hot with successful summits and it felt like we couldn’t be stopped. That is, until we drove up to the tourist lookout at the base of Mt Edith Cavell located 15 miles (25 km) south of Jasper, Alberta.

The North Face Route goes right up the center of Mt Edith Cavell
The 5000 foot (1524 m) North Face loomed over us. Its diagonal rock and ice bands, stacked one on top of the other all the way to its broad summit, at 11,033 ft (3,363 m), were scary looking. We were intimidated. The gear store employee’s remarks, and Internet trip reports did nothing to help our stoke level.

It’s difficult to find route beta that made us all excited to jump on it. Reports of avalanches, loose rock, unprotectable shale strata bands, bad weather, cold temps and constant rock fall where common place to others’ experiences. When combining these factors with the local’s look of hesitation, we got scared off. We chalked it up to “not being in good climbing condition” and headed south for lower hanging classic climbing fruit.

Mark on the approach.
The next year, 2011, we were in the area, driving south from the Lotus Flower Tower. We pretty much just kept driving, as the mountain was again reported to be “not in good condition to climb”. The following year, 2012, we were able to successfully climb Mt Alberta and Mt Robson, both of which are in the neighborhood. Edith Cavell was next, but we were exhausted from those stressful climbs. We were therefore relieved to hear that a massive serac from the Angel Glacier had broken off, and crashed into the alpine lake at its base. This caused a tidal wave that took out both the parking lot and a couple pit toilets. Thankfully, no one was hurt as it happened in the middle of the night. But the access road was now closed. We drove south yet again, having not even touched the mountain.

The seracs that make the approach a little more sporty
It was easy to notice a trend…the North Face of Mt Edith Cavell is never in perfect climbing condition. If it’s dry, the rock fall hazard spikes. If it’s snowy, the avalanche hazard spikes. Heck, a tidal wave can hit you. And it’s always cold. I concluded that in order to climb this bad boy, we would simply have to go for it. We would rely on our skill, judgment, and past experience to navigate any hazards the mountain threw at us. This is a mindset known as alpine climbing.

Janelle arriving a the bivy spots on the shoulder of the Angel Glacier
Our strategy would be snatch and grab. Fly in, climb, fly out. So we started watching the weather online, and blocked off chunks of time we could make it happen.
The first two blocks of time in May and September pasted with crappy forecasts. October 3-6 was our final block of time. On Friday October 2, I picked up Janelle from a weeklong retreat and training seminar. [She is training to be a personal development coach. You can hire her to help navigate life’s obstacles and make positive changes]. I greeted her with a big hug and kiss and said, “it looks good, so we should fly tomorrow.” That night we purchased tickets, and the following afternoon we were driving a rental car towards Jasper National Park. It was crazy. [Saturday afternoon is great time to fly, as we got non-stop round trip tickets from San Francisco to Edmonton for $409 each].

Crossing the Angel Glacier
The forecast predicted two clear days, Sunday and Monday. On Sunday we hiked part of the semi-technical approach, and went to bed around 8PM. The alarm went off at oh-dark-thirty Monday morning, and we drove to the trailhead. Having come straight from climbing in Yosemite the previous week, we jokingly wondered how many people would be queued up at the base of the route. Ten minutes out of the parking lot we stopped to shed our jackets. Lights from behind me caught my eye. Was that glow from the lights of Jasper? No, it was Northern Lights! We watched in amazement as the greens, muted yellows, and even reds dances across the sky. It was surreal, especially as this was my first time seeing them.

The lower third of the face
While picking our way up the 4th and 5th class approach we might of gotten a bit off route. It turned into 5.6 climbing pretty quickly on snowy rock. Climbing by headlamp, in mountaineering boots and a pack with verglass got my heart pumping a few times, but we eventually made it up to the Angel Glacier. The alpine glow was touching the top of the mountain and the walls of the amphitheater that circled the glacier. This is a special time for any alpine endeavor. Getting up so early is always hard, but being up for sights like this makes it worth it.

Working through the snow covered strata bands
Crossing the Angel was straightforward, breaking trail through boot-top deep powder. That was about where the simple terrain ended and things got steep. Much of the lower third of the mountain had a slope angle of roughly 40°-50°ish, and four inches of powder on top of mostly supportable old snow. This made travel quick, so we simal-climbed. There were a few rock chokes where the snow covered the rock but was unfortunately not supportable. One ice tool would be hooking on a rock edge and the other would gain a positive ice placement. Same with the crampons, one on rock the other on thin ice. Janelle was out front and took us through the first two near vertical rock chokes. I took over and continued to sniff out the route up through the bands. We knew the snow band that crosses the entire face was a good waypoint to get into the more serious climbing out on the main central buttress. Up left, up right, or traverse right then up? Tough sayin’ not knowin’. I choose poorly and got to climb a bonus 170-foot (50m) pitch of 5.6 climbing covered in snow and ice. I do not know mixed climbing grades very well, but I would guess it was in the M1-M10 range. Climbers actually skilled at mixed climbing would make short work of this bush league level climbing. I on the other hand took my time.

Mark on the first of the crux mixed pitches
Three factors kept me moving slow and deliberate. One, the pro was thin and the rock was broken. All the cracks were filled with snow and ice or simply not present. This required some unnerving runouts and it took FOR-EV-VER to build legit anchors. Two, I had not packed our proper ice climbing tools. Instead we had two CAMP aluminum axes (Corsa Nanotech and Corsa) and two Petzl Sum’tec. These CAMP axes are great for ski mountaineering or glacier slogging, but not designed for the terrain we were on.  The leader used one Sum’Tec and the Corsa, so at least they had two steal pick tips. I don’t know why I didn’t pack the CAMP X-Mountains and Cobras when I was loading the van for this extended road trip in back September. I underestimated the terrain we would be getting on I guess. And third, this was my first time mixed climbing since Mooses Tooth in May. Talk about getting the rust off. All that to say, these next three pitches were tedious.

Leader had the tools on the left and follower had the two on right
Every pick placement was tested, every foot placement second-guessed, every useful edge excavated. Swing, pull, grimace, kick, kick again, place front point on quarter inch edge, move up, breath, excavate another snow patch, and look for a crack to fill with a cam or stopper. This was the routine. I had to pause a few times to shake out the screaming barfies. I hate the screaming barfies. It is definitely the worst part of any winter climbing adventure.

Looking down from the top of the crux pitches.
Janelle was not thrilled about the hazards, but hung in there. She was bummed that the icy conditions were outside of her self-preservation comfort bubble. Pulling up to the first belay she teared up a bit, saying, “sorry babe, but I’m not going to be able to swing leads on this part.”
“I know, I wouldn’t want you to. This is dicey. You want to keep going up?”
“Yep…I definitely don’t want to try to rap down from here.”
“Me neither…let’s keep moving.”
Unfortunately, the belays did not provide too much protection from the ice, snow, and rock I inevitably knocked down. So Janelle resorted to putting her pack over her head like a shield, Wonder Woman style. Now, come to think of it, I don’t know how she did that and gave me a proper belay? Thankfully, I did not fall and she did not get hit with anything too big.

Looking out on the amazing Canadian Rockies
The weather was bluebird and the air temp was manageable, even in the full shade of this Canadian North Face as we carried on. The alpine lake below got smaller and smaller. After three rope-stretcher pitches of crazy steep climbing the slope angle mellowed from vertical to only near vertical. Janelle got back on the sharp end through this terrain that was 90% steep snow and 10% near vertical rock. We were still a couple thousand feet from the top and the sun was well on its way to the horizon. The unrelenting technical slopes went on forever, but we kept pushing.

Working up the final snowfield to the top
We transitioned back to simal-climbing for the final 1000 feet (300m) with Janelle out in front. Yvon Chouinard’s 1961 first ascent report warned about the scary shale strata band just below the summit. He had to paw through choss to gain the summit ridge lip with no protection for 80 feet (23m). With the snowy conditions we did not have to climb through choss, but did have to negotiate very steep snow. Janelle placed pieces in the rock outcroppings where possible, but they were few and far between. Two full rope lengths below the summit ridge I came to the last cam and unclipped it. From there on, with Janelle 200 feet (60 m) above me, nothing held the rope to the mountain other than our crampons and ice axes. The 5000 feet of exposure below felt even heavier. Right below the summit ridge the slope angle went from 60° to about 75°. All I could do was watch and pray as Janelle dug a vertical trough through the snow. As she dug in and stepped up her helmet knocked into the snow above her. It was steep. Thankfully, she was able to place a screw in marginal ice, the first and only of the climb. This, of course, gave us a slightly elevated sense of security. Ten minutes of trench digging and fighting this very difficult section allowed her to crest the ridge and move out of view. Looking out I scanned the entire Canadian Rocky Mountain range in beautiful evening light. My wife had just pushed through her fear boundaries on a serious north face…totally awesome. 

Janelle launches from the final proper belay
A minute later I felt the rope go snug, that comforting I-am-now-on-a-real-belay type of snug. I plunged up through her foot buckets and we were on top together. It was surreal. Just two days prior we were in California getting sun burnt, to now on the top of a classic Canadian 11,000er in October. But the celebration was brief on the true summit, as we needed to maximize the distance we could travel down the West Ridge before we had to get out the headlamps.
On top…so stoked.

The descent was lame. So long down the West Ridge. It took about eight hours. Only 45 minutes of that were spent stationary. First, down the rocky ridge. Then down thousands of feet of loose scree and talus, and finally wrapping around Edith Cavell’s large sister peak to the road. The final 1.2 miles (2 km) back to the parking lot is along the paved access road. With no roots to trip over, we turned off the headlamps and walked by the sliver of moonlight. The steep North Face loomed over us again, the same as it had in 2010. Walking in the dark directly towards the face, looking at what we just climbed, it was like getting an alpine victory lap. Now the view came with a true sense of accomplishment. We had successfully scaled its steep bands safely even though it was far from being in, “good condition for climbing.”

It was 3AM when we got back to the car. Our feet were shot, we were exhausted, but the adventure wasn’t over. We still had to get back to Edmonton to jump on a plane by noon. We raced back to the airport using the thrill of success, and a healthy dose of caffeine, to keep us going. Fifty classic climb #46 is now complete.

Beta:
Time:
4 hrs - car to Angel Glacier bivy sites, route finding in the dark.
12 hrs - Angel Glacier to the Summit
7.75 hrs - summit to car, which includes 1 hour of non-productive descending (resting and route finding) down the West Ridge, and a 2km walk back up the road. The East Ridge is the way to go in summer conditions. The West Ridge is not a simple mindless walk off, especially in the dark. East Ridge is reported to be technical, but I think totally worth avoiding the long long slog/scramble down the West.

Gear: two Sterling Photon 7.8mm 60m ropes (one single rope would be fine, but we thought we might have to bail, so brought two ropes), BD C3 000-2, BD C4 .3-#2, BD stoppers #4 - #8, and the 4 biggest BD micro offset nuts, 4 alpine draws, 4 quickdraws, 4 over the shoulder slings, steel crampons, technical tools, tethers, one 16cm ice screw (placed once), no pickets, MSR Windburner stove, MHG flat tarp, satellite phone, 40 oz of water each, eight 150 calorie snacks each, three pair of Arc’Teryx gloves, Gore-Tex layers, the best Arc’Teryx clothing in the world, helmet, headlamp, and courage.

Strategy:
Scout the approach to Angel Glacier in daylight, maybe leaving a fixed rope where it would help. Climbing the route with bivy gear would be lame. But if you decide to bivy on Angel Glacier, I would consider climbing back up after the climb to recover the gear…but that might be stupid.

Resources:

Other trip reports (don’t let them scare you off, the climb is awesome):

 
Edith Cavell's North Face profile, the right side of this bad boy.

Monday, October 14, 2013

Waiting On Fairweather

14,500 feet on Mt. Fairweather
In June we headed for Mt. Fairweather (15,325'), located a mere 13 miles from the Pacific coast in SE Alaska. The Carpe Ridge is the "classic" route on its South Face. This snow, ice, and rock route ascends a little under 11,000 vertical feet from the glacier camp. It's huge! I would equate it to a remote, steeper, rockier, longer, Liberty Ridge on Rainier.

Mt. Fairweather is "A"
Having a third person would be safer on a big mountain like this. It would also add to the fun level and make for better filming. We recruited our friend, Jed Porter, who is a fully certified (IFMGA) mountain guide from Bishop CA, which turned out to be a very good addition to Team Smiley.

FlyDrake.com, he is the man with the plan there in Haines
The three of us met in Juneau. Janelle and I flew from Anchorage, where we had just finished climbing the Moose's Tooth. Jed flew from Florida, where he had just finished lounging on the beach with friends. From Juneau, we took a six hour ride on the Alaska Marine Highway ferry to Haines. There, a facebook friend's daughter picked us up from the airport and shuttled us 10 miles to the tiny municipal airport, home of the very famous, Fly Drake charter air service.

Every bad weather day had a couple hours of blue where we could soak up some UV.
Drake Olson has been an Alaskan bush pilot for many many years. Prior to taking climbers to remote mountains and skiers to some of the steepest powder spines in Alaska, he was a professional race car driver for Porche. Drake is pure Alaskan through and through, and a real riot. We pulled up in the truck and he was sunning himself just outside his hanger. [check out the video to see how that went down]. This airport was perfect. No TSA, no lines, no automated voice telling us that the National Security Level is, "Orange". It was awesome. We pulled the truck right up to the plane, dumped everything out.

The Carpe Ridge from 4,600' to 11,000'. The remaining 4,000' is out of view from this angle.
The sky was blue, very rare in these parts, so we wasted no time packing the plane. We had a ton of stuff. Our lofty plan was to fly into Fairweather, and after climbing it we would "bump" directly to Mt. St. Elias with a different pilot, Paul Claus. After climbing that mountain, Paul would then take us back to his lodge in McCarthy, AK. This would save a lot of transportation expenses if it worked. All that to say that we required two flights into Fairweather. Jed went first and two hours later Janelle and I flew in and joined him on the Fairweather Glacier at 4,600'. The flight in was amazing to say the least.

Experience has taught me that if the sky is blue in Alaska, and you're not climbing, you are behind already. I was antsy. Should we start climbing right now? Forget setting up the basecamp, lets start climbing! Janelle and Jed were the voices of reason, and we set up camp, packed our climbing packs and tried to sleep. 24 hours prior, Jed was on a beach in Florida, now we were 8 hours away from climbing a 15,000'+ mountain.

Pacific Ocean is only 13 miles away.
4:00AM the alarm went off. The sky was still clear as we approached the base of the route. The long Alaska summer day had already begun. The first section of the route took us right under serious serac fall potential. Aside from getting an early, cold, start and moving as fast as possible, there is little one can do to mitigate this hazard. Above that there was some loose rock climbing (5.3), a little waterfall crossing, and then back on a long snow ramp.

Dont like a hold? Just throw it out of the way.
This snow ramp was horrible. Breakable crust FOREVER. The crust was strong enough to hold our weigh for exactly .46 seconds. Once it broke, my leg would drop into the hole, scraping my shin on the crust on the way down. Sometimes sinking up to the shin and sometimes up to my hip. Time and time again, step after step, it went like this.
1. Lift foot out of previous hole, step forward.
2. Shift weight to higher foot slowly, staying on the surface.
3. Have time to think half of this thought, "hey I think its getting firmer"
4. Break through up to shin, knee, hip, waist.
5. Repeat steps 1-4 a billizon times, up 3,000 vertical feet

Basecamp is the little black dot, center in the shade on the lower glaicer

There was another steep rock band with some fun challenges, both low angle ice and some proper rock climbing. We moved quickly though these sections as it was such a welcome relief from the breakable crust.

One of the only pitches we used a proper belay. Short (5.7c) layback moves. [Janelle then downgraded it to 5.7a, but she was on top rope, pissed me right off.  It's totally 5.7c with Spantiks, no heel spurs. If you have heel spurs, it probably feels like old school 5.6d, but Im not one to judge....unless you disagree with my omniscient grade identifying abilities, then I'll tell you you're wrong...& stupid].
Around 8,000' a steep snow ramp (approx. 35-45 degrees) took us to our high camp location at 10,200'. The sun was out in full force now and it was getting hot. We were really happy with our progress, getting from 4,600' to 10,200' in roughly 6 hours. At 11:00AM we had to make a decision. Set up camp, and go for the summit in the morning, or set up camp and keep going to the summit now while the sun was still out? We still had another 5,000 feet above us, and we were feeling tired, and unacclimatized, so we opted to go continue the morning. That afternoon we lounged in the tent, sleeping away our good weather.

The following morning, we were up again early. Dark clouds had moved in over the tops of the mountains in the distance. We could not see our summit yet, but figured it too was cloud capped. Maybe they would blow off? We had only brought three days of food with us, so we went for it, hoping the skies would clear.

Full whiteout conditions. Waiting for things to clear at 14,200' on our first go.
Very quickly we climbed into the cloud and the visibility went to crap. Walking around in a gigantic ping pong ball filled with smoke is what it was like. We had our GPS app (sweetest app ever, and total game changer Gaia GPS), which helped to keep us on the ridge. Unfortunately, it was worthless at steering us clear of unseen crevasses and seracs.

Through the clouds I caught glimpses of both. Wanting to avoid them I lead the team far to the left, NW, of the Carpe Ridge to a solid, but steep snow ramp. This took forever. The snow was knee deep or worse. 98% of the time the visibility was less than 100 feet.  2% of the time the clouds would shift just enough to get a view of what lay ahead, and that keep us moving forward. We climbed a 60-65 degree snow/ice slope to gain the ridge again. Swinging my tools into the slope I thought, "this isn't going to be very fun to descend. Too hard to down solo and not hard enough for V-threads."

Above high camp. This route has tons of this steepness (35-45 degrees).
Once on the ridge, at 14,000', the wind picked up significantly. Gusts of 40 mph wind will knock you down, steady 40 mph wind is manageable. This was steady 40 with gusts to 60. The snow was getting picked up and blasted into our eyes. Any straps on our jackets or packs that had a loose end turned into little whips. It was full on. We kept walking uphill.

At 14,300' we encountered the ice "Nose". We would have to stop and belay. The wind was blasting us. Huddled in a semi filled in crevasse, squinting at each other, knowing each others thoughts. It was grim. Jed took the lead and climbed up around the corner to see if the terrain would mellow out. We knew that belaying was going to make us too cold. The terrain did not mellow, and belaying would be needed. The nail in the coffin. We descended back down a couple hundred feet to a little wind pocket eddy. The air temp wasn't that bad out of the wind, so we sat on our packs for an hour, hoping for improved conditions.

I started thinking about how to get down. Our tracks were getting filled in. It would be difficult to backtrack. We gave it one more attempt up to the Nose, but it was futile.

Walking back down was just as epic. We couldn't see anything in front of us. I had to walk like a drunk blind person, feeling my way inch by inch. Using my hiking pole to see if the next step was up down or flat. Nerve racking.
Iconic knife edge snow ridge at about 11,000'

At 12,000 feet we exited the cloud cap, and it was actually a nice day from that elevation and below. We went from "full on survival mode" to "casual day in the mountain" simply by being able to see.

We went back to our high camp and slept. The following day we descended the remaining 5,600', through more waist deep breakable crust, to our basecamp. At one of the rappels Janelle asked me, "do you want to try this again?" I said, "you can't ask me that now! I need a couple days to forget about these horrible snow conditions."

The following day was nice, yet there was still a cloud cap on all the mountains above 13,00'. After that, the high pressure moved out to make way for the infamously bad weather this area is known for.

Tent bound for 11 days. Rummy 500 became rummy 5000.
For 11 days we sat in our tents, killing time. Many people ask what we do to pass the time while tent bound. I think it's probably similar to being in a nursing home. You have to turn the small everyday activities into individual major events. Things you normally do while multi-tasking (eating, pooping, grooming, etc). That, and try to sleep as much as your body will allow. For me, that is 13 hours/day. We also had an ipad, two computers, lots of movies, angry birds, some shooting game that I mastered, and a sweet Goal Zero battery and solar set up to keep the juice flowing.
Unlike a nursing home, we had a finite amount of food...oh, and we were not forced to drink cranberry juice.

Everyday there was at least an hour or so to get out and walk around. I skied "crop circles" into the fresh snow around our camp, breaking trail in an ever growing circle, lap after lap until it looked like a circular plowed bean field. Then it would snow, effectively shaking my giant etch-a-sketch, and I would do it again, making a fun new shape.

You are looking at a big mountain south of Mt. Fairweather. [In real life it is not black and white, I made it look like that using my computer.]
Day 14 on the glacier we started walking uphill again. We were well rested after 11 days in the tent (understatement). We reached the same high camp at 10,200'. Day 15 we climbed to the summit under some of the most perfect conditions that mountain might ever get. We could see all the way up and down the coast. We could see St. Elias to the north, Glacier Bay to the southeast, and I think we might have got a glimpse of Russia. I'll have to confirm that with Tina Fey of course.

The man, the machine, thee Jed Porter.
The summit was amazing. We topped out eight hours after leaving our high camp. In hindsight, it was a really good we had not tried to push it any higher on the first attempt because after the Nose pitch there was still a bunch of climbing to be done.

Heading down with the Pacific coast running endlessly in both directions.
The only bummer was that we had burnt through our food supplies, and Paul Claus was not willing to fly anyone into the range without at least two weeks of food. St. Elias would have to wait. Drake picked us up on day 16, and 45 minutes later we were back on the warm asphalt in front of his hanger, sunning ourselves, talking climbing, and eating cheesy quesadillas.

Summit oxygen deprivation at 15,325'

[to see the video of this climb, which happens to be my current personal favorite, please visit our website: www.smileysproject.com, or click play below. Play it big, its better!]
Check out our facebook page as well.
Here is Jed's trip report. He is an entertaining writer.




Sunday, September 15, 2013

Mt Stuart's North Ridge - Complete

The North Ridge of Mt Stuart is a gem. This climb, when done from the bottom of the ridge, is over 30 pitches of high quality moderate climbing. The first time I did this route in 2005 my partner and I epic-ed and had to sleep on the summit!

Much experience has been gained in the last 8 years and this go we had a fun time with a couple friends, Alec and Ian Lovett. This was one of their first big alpine rock routes and it blew their hair back. It was fun to show someone a quality route like this.

Since the web is crawling with beta on the North Ridge of Stuart I am choosing to not add to that. Instead, here is a photo documentary of the experience. The video I made will also shed some light on just how cool this route is.  It should be on every Washington climbers list, and maybe every climber in North America.

You can see the video of the climb on Epic TV's video player

Join the Facebook page for even more fun

Hiking in from Leavenworth - Took a few hours to get to the base.

Where did the trail go?


Janelle on the first 5.8 pitch on the Lower North Ridge. Splitter!

Working our way up the great long lower pitches.

Ian Lovett enjoys the last sun rays of the day.


From our bivy site, an amazing night. Carrying bivy gear is never fun, but views like this make it worth it.

Enjoying the night

Day 2,  Ian Lovett.

Which way to go? Oh yeah, stay on the ridge.

Alec crushing it in his approach shoes

Ian palming the North Ridge's knife edge

Classic shot of the slab that leads to the 5.9 Great Gendarme.  
Looking back from the Gendarme area.

Money Shot.

Above the crux, Janelle works across on yet another beautiful finger crack.

The crew on top, after the sweet climb. (L-R) Mark Smiley, Janelle Smiley, Ian Lovett, Alec Lovett.