Moose's Tooth via the West Ridge - Alaska

Mooses Tooth's West Ridge

Janelle and I were very excited to get back into the classic climbing circuit for the fourth year in a row_, after an amazing winter overseas. We had spent 90 days in Europe, where Janelle competed in several countries with the best ski mountaineering racers in the world, while I made videos of the experience. The videos can be scene here (episodes 1, 2, 3, 4 & 5).

In May we flew back to the States, and had 13 non-traveling days to pack and prep for our expeditions to Alaska. This was definitely not enough time, but we made it work. Most of the time I feel like a professional packer, always lugging around at least two fifty pound duffle bags and a way-to-heavy carryon. Life is so rough =)

The first climb on our calendar for the year was the West Ridge of the Moose’s Tooth. This would be our second attempt. In 2010 we tried to climb it but got turned around largely due to Alaska sized intimidation, and horrible snow conditions.

This year we had a plan, and a bunch of experience to draw on, to make the climb go as smoothly as possible. We flew into Anchorage where our ever-faithful Anchorage hosts, Bob and Celia Lohr, picked us up from the airport. The forecast was looking bad so we delayed for four days in Anchorage. After the delay we stocked up at Costco, and made our way to the quaint tourist town of Talkeetna, AK.

walking up the Ruth Glacier....forever!

Talkeetna Air Taxi is the best in the business, flying hundreds of climbers all over the range every year. The added bonus is that they keep track of you while you climb. Having eyes in the sky is a true comfort. We got to fly in with Paul Rodrick, the owner, which is always a treat. He landed us on the Ruth Glacier and we were at the base of the West Ridge two hours later. It was awesome.

Our base camp duffels were flown to a different location by a friend and fellow mountain guide, Kurt Hicks, who was flying into the Root Canal campsite. That would be the finish line after climbing the West Ridge. This very conveniently removed the need to cross through the dangerous icefall that connects the Ruth Gorge to the Root Canal. We had traveled through this serac zone twice in 2010 and had no desire to repeat it.

The snow was deep as we made our way up to the high camp, which was slow going.  The camp site, located at 7,800',  is one of the most beautiful in the range. The only neighbors in this neighborhood are Denali, Huntington, Dan Beard, and several other striking peaks. It had taken us about 8 hours to travel from the landing strip to this camp.

the access couloir had perfect snow

The next morning we woke up around 6:00AM and started climbing around 7:30AM. The lower parts of the access couloirs were in great condition. Firm pick and crampon placements allowed for quick movement. As we approached the ridge, the snow got deeper and softer. The hairs on the back of my neck started perking up as we traversed this 55-degree face. Thankfully everything stayed in place and it reached a notch in the ridge.

forboding-ness

Reaching the notch, we got our first look at the foreboding North Face. The entire upper half of the face was covered in huge snow mushrooms that ran the entire length of each snow spine. Below that, the glacier drops off a vertical wall for several thousand feet to the glacier below. Along the skyline the West Ridge, our route, weaved up and down like the crooked spine of a snow-breathing dragon. The cornices were both large and intimidating, and we would have to navigate them for more than a mile. Taking photos of this view was spectacular in an eerie sort of way. Probably similar to capturing a beautiful photograph of a tidal wave, right before it hits you.

tough knowing where the cornice is overhung

We dropped down from the ridge, picking our way along, paying very close attention to where we were relative to both the rocks on our right and the cornices on our left. As it turns out, our high point from our 2010 attempt was about 20 mins of climbing away from the West Summit. Attaining this high point we had an even better view of the West Ridge route. The steep corniced slopes coming out of Englishman’s Col were in perfect view. Perfectly scarey-knarly-intimidating-steep-snow view.

climbing out of Englishman's Col, first mega crux

“How in the world are we going to get up that?” I thought. Janelle and I discussed possible options of how to best climb this 500 foot section of terror. We down climbed and then rappelled into the notch where the route Shaken Not Stirred meets the ridge. We knew there were an established rappel anchors down the entire route, making it a possible bail out option. Directly up from that was this super scary face, creating a gigantic mental fork in the road. Do we turn right, rapping down Shaken Not Stirred, to a comfortable base camp where chips and salsa were waiting for us? Or do we stay the course and tackle this daunting snow wall? I’d be lying if I said the pull to bail was non-existent. Blue pill red pill, which will it be? Janelle kicked in a descent belay spot on the other side of the ridge and I started up the pitch.

Peru or Alaska? More cornices, loose snow, walking over air

It was slow going as I could not afford to fall. Every step had to be spot on. Every tool placement had to be spot on. Janelle called up, “half”, meaning I had gone 100’, and I placed a picket. Above me was and overhanging cornice. I had to excavate a trench and then climb through it. 180’ up, with only one lame picket 80’ below me I cut out a ledge for a belay. This was probably the worst belay anchor I’ve ever made. Totally not AMGA passable. The snow is loose, I’m standing on a corniced snow pillow, 60-70 degree slope, with buried ice tools in loose “snice” (snow ice combo). The only thing providing significant holding power is the fact that I’m straddling the snow in a way that provided some resistance to downward pull. I yelled down, “climb on….carefully!”

Janelle made it up to me with no falls, and took the lead over the next roll. She made short work of it, fighting through the loose steep snow. We swung leads again, and got into a rhythm of fighting through these cornices. Creeping ever-so-carefully along this sleeping dragon’s spiny back, trying very hard to not wake her.

Look back where we had traveled, Denali in background

As we descended down to the final col, which is the top of the uber classic “Ham and Eggs” route, we were able to let our guard down a bit as the terrain mellowed. Walking past the top of Ham and Eggs there was another slight mental tug to pull the eject cord, and rap the route. The tug to get to the main summit was much stronger thankfully, and the weather was holding, so we continued up the final ascent. This section of the route was more of the same. Playing the game called, “where to walk so I don’t die” as we traversed the backs of these cornices.

La Cumbre - The Summit

We reached the summit 12 hours after leaving our high camp on the Moose’s back. It was a spectacular evening in the Alaska Range. Windy yet beautiful. The top of the Moose’s Tooth is actually a big cornice, so the true elevation of the mountain likely changes on a weekly basis. Being an idiot, I wanted to touch the very top. Janelle just shook her head as she belayed me up. First walking, then using my ice tools in the cane position, then on my knees, and for the last six feet on my belly as to distribute my weight as best as possible. I picked my head up and could see unobstructed 360 degrees, the tippy top. In hind site that was probably stupid to climb a big cornice like that, but whatever.

Rapping down Ham and Eggs- Root canal airstrip lower center of photo, fishhook shape

Many many rappels later, around midnight thirty, we walked into the Root Canal campsite. Our buddy, Kurt Hicks, had heard us coming down and put out our base camp duffle, a thermos of hot water, and a bottle of whisky. I read his accompanying handwritten note by the dim Alaska midnight light, “Way to crush Smileys! See you in the morning.”

Root canal camp, with entire West Ridge in view.

The video we made of this climb will be released Sept. 2, 2013. And can be seen on the main website: www.smileysproject.com

If you would like to follow the project in real time via facebook please like us here: https://www.facebook.com/SmileysProject

High on Adventure, Low on Quality (Mt Robson, Wishbone Arête)

"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.

 Short story shorter, the lack of freezing temps turned us around at the base of the Kane Face the following day, and we walked all the way out. I was totally bummed, and Janelle was totally over trying to climb this scary mountain that is really not that classic. The stoke was at an all time low. That is, until we met back up with Reiner.

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.

 Back on the rock above the coulior, we took a break in what was obviously a bivy site. This is where Reiner found an old plastic tube with a metal screw-top cap. The clear plastic tube was cloudy from what looked like decades of Mt Robson abuse. Inside was a little wishbone, and a dried apple core. Curiosity led us to open the tube (it broke easily while trying to unscrew the lid). Inside was a little pencil, a chicken wishbone, silver and orange paint chips, and the apple core turned out to be a rolled up damp note! Concluding that the note would be worthless if we left it there, Janelle tucked it into her pack. We left the broken tube/cap and the wishbone right next to several rusty tuna cans. Maybe if someone is up there epic-ing they can get the calories they need by chewing on the bone marrow of the wishbone?!

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

Second Half of Half Dome

Expectations are ever present when returning to a previously attempted climb. In 2010 Mark and I tried to finish our climbing season in Yosemite, CA on the picturesque Half Dome. We were unsuccessful. I was tired from a demanding summer full of adventures and planning and was not too thrilled to jump on another climb, but I knew it meant a lot to Mark, so off we went.

To get to the base of the route we scaled up steep rocks slabs.  Followed by even steeper pitches, including hand over hand rope moves, all this while carrying a heavy haul bag. This was on Mark’s back because the shear weight of it was beyond my ability to carry. We thought it would be a good idea to spend the night half way up the route, which meant we had to haul all our equipment up the wall. Four pitches up and many hours later we had not moved very far up the wall. Our bag was getting caught on everything; we were not going to make it to the sleeping ledge at the pace we were going.

So we bailed.
Not a word was spoken the rest of the day.
It was not Mark’s idea to bail.

Like last year, Half Dome was the final climb on our schedule for the year, but we were both ready to finish the climb this time. We had to get up 23 pitches using only 11 hours of daylight. This race would be demanding.

We started climbing at 4am. To save time, we each attached ourselves to a fixed rope with a Petzl Tibloc (a simplified ascending device) to self-belay ourselves. Without a proper belay, we had to be in the mindset that we were basically free soloing the first five pitches. If one of us did  fall the Tibloc would bit on the rope, and arrest the fall (hopefully). It was too scary to trust it, so we climbed like we were not going to fall.

Right off the bat I realized my shoes were too big…. What? I had worn them before several times, so why now were they too big? I started slipping and sliding around in them so I put on my socks to fill the void. It did work but I felt my precision was off.

After we ran out of fixed rope we started to pitch it out and do a little simal-climbing, where both climbers move at the same time.  As the route wondered the quality of the climbing deteriorated. Once we arrived at the chimney pitches the climbing improved again, and it was really exciting and airy climbing. Luckily, I was leading so I didn’t have to carry the larger backpack up the tight squeezes.

There were some interesting pitches as we approached Big Sandy Ledge (which was not as big as expected). Followed by the more demanding Zig-Zag pitches. Mark took off from the ledge placing tiny pieces, and clipping the amazing amounts of fixed gear on route. I followed with amazement knowing this route has been freed. It was now my turn to lead out on the “Thank God Ledge!”

I started out thinking, “I can do this, this is not too bad.” Then the 10 inch ledge narrowed to 8, then 6 inches about the same time the wall pushed out to vertical, and then a little past vertical. I paused, turned around and told Mark I was tired of being scared, but I also knew it would not be any easier to follow. With some angry aggressive words I crawled across the tiny ledge to where it finally got wider, and therefore more secure.

Mark finished the last couple pitches to land us on the top right as the sun set. We did it, we made it up the Regular route on Half Dome in 14 hours! What a summit, and what a great way to finish 2011. We found our way down the in the dark back to the base where our sleeping bags were waiting for us. I had expected better quality of climbing, but I was overall extremely impressed with the rock, the climb, and the entire experience of climbing such an iconic piece of rock.   

Devils Thumb via the East Ridge

Only a handful of climbers have set eyes on the Devils Thumb. Even fewer have put their hands on this stone. The weather is notoriously bad there. Some climbers have flown up from the Lower 48, only to sit in Petersburg for 10 days, waiting on clear skies that never came.

Pointing Lulu north, we drove for 2.5 days from Seattle to Prince Rupert, BC where we got on a ferry to travel the rest of the way on the Alaska Marine Highway. At 3:00AM we arrived in Petersburg. The sunlight was already beginning to grow on the eastern horizon, and Devils Thumb was out. It was the start of a bluebird day. At 8:00AM we stopped by the Temsco hanger to see if we could fly that day. The lady in the office called the pilot, Wally, who told us he could go at 2:00PM!

Amped, we went into town for some breakfast and to get geared up. Taking over three spaces in the harbor’s parking lot, we spread out everything and stuffed it into two duffles, two packs and a couple other random bags. The climb would only take one long day. Regardless, we took food to be on the glacier for twelve, which would hopefully be enough to wait out the bad weather, complete the climb, and get out.

The heli flight is a really efficient way to blow 600 bucks in 29 minutes, but it is totally worth it. Like a nature viewing three-ring circus on crack, the varied landscapes flew by. Passing over an inlet, then deep forest, followed by glacier, these views fit the bill for what a Jack London Alaska should be.

After landing we pitched the tent, made dinner and went to bed at 7:00, hoping to get an alpine start the next morning. Around 10:00 that night I woke to sound of rain hitting the tent. Welcome to the Devils Thumb.

For the next three days it rained and snowed. The emotional swing one goes through by sitting still for that long is amazing. After sleeping for 12 hours, you cannot sleep anymore. Thankfully we had cards, an ipod, and books to pass the time. The rain came in waves. We would peek our heads out during the lulls, and getting out only when the call of nature became a scream.

On the fourth day the clouds began to break in the afternoon. Blue sky is so glorious after that long living in a milk jug. This far north the sun is up nearly all day, so we were able to take advantage of the sunshine to dry out everything. Ropes, clothes, sleeping bags, and climbing gear where spread out on top of the tent to let the sun work its magic.

I barely slept that night. In the last three days I had gotten about 30 hours of sleep, and now the stars were out over the Devils Thumb, I was just too excited.

At 1:30AM the alarm went off. An hour later we were walking across the glacier toward the start of the East Ridge. There was a breakable crust layer on the snow, which made for slow going, but I was amped and charged through it to the rock.

The first selection of rock was totally crap. The rock was loose, covered in frost, muddy and downright scary. I had to pick my way up very slowly as to not knock down any rocks on Janelle. When we gained the ridge, and the early morning sunlight hit our faces, things were better. Janelle was not having the best time though. Her pack was heavy, making it hard to climb. The fact that we kept our mountaineering boots on made it even harder. We pushed on, simal-climbing half way up the first tower. When the hand-holds got thin I decided to make an anchor and pitch it out. On top of the first tower we went back to simal-climbing.

The traverse into the base of the second tower is pretty spicy, knife-edged awesomeness. I had the GoPro rolling for the whole thing, so check out the video for a real “description” of that section.

At the base of the second tower we put on our rock shoes for the first time. That made the world of difference. Angling up and climbers left (south) I picked my way though what looked like the path of least resistance. 2.5 pitches got us back to easier terrain. At the gendarme there was rime ice choking the path on the ridge, so we wrapped down 200 feet to the south. This put us on extremely loose rock. To make matters worse the rime ice we were “avoiding” going this way was now directly above us. The hot sun caused several chucks to fall on us. That and we had to climb through a significant section of wet rock from this ice melt.

Once back on the ridge the terrain was straightforward. Back to simla-climbing, we progressed quickly. At this point Janelle was really shaken from everything. It had been harder than 5.6 climbing on loose wet cold mossy rock, with a heavy pack for the majority of the climb. Not a girl’s favorite thing. I was still going strong, but feeling Janelle’s fear more and more as we got higher. On the last pitch of the route, on the summit ridge, she broke down. “I’m done”, she said. She was ready to get off this thing.

I couldn’t believe it. We were literally within 5 minutes from the summit. The Canadian side of the summit ridge was totally covered in snow, more moss, and ice, making it slow going. We had climbed the route, but I wanted to touch the top. I’m a dude. I need that definitive end point where I can brag to everyone that I “did that.” Janelle did not need that. In her mind we were there, the clouds were moving in, and she had had enough.

I shouted down to her that she could stay where she was, and I would un-rope to scramble to the “tippy top” (as we called Columbia Crest on Mt. Rainier). With the response I got, you’d think I just said I was going to cut off her toes with a dull knife. “NOOOOO, please don’t leave me here alone, Mark!”

I had to make a decision. Touch the top by unroping, getting that “I did it” feeling and hurt my marriage, or turn there, join my wife and comfort her. I contemplated the decision for nearly 10 minutes.

Finally, I decided that my marriage is more important than standing on that little chuck of rock, just a little higher than where I was. I built an anchor and rappelled down to Janelle. Her hands were shaking from fear. This climb had really gotten under her skin. I felt bad. I knew she wouldn’t be talked into going higher, so we rigged the rappel and headed down into the cloud that fully blanketing the south side of the mountain.

Ten rappels later we were back on the glacier, and heading to our tent. It was too late for a heli flight out that night, so we cooked dinner and went to sleep. The following morning we woke to clear skies.  At 9:00AM Wally picked us up and at 9:30 we were back to Petersburg. Heli approaches are so cool. I want one for every climb I do.

Will we go back to touch the top of this mountain? Maybe. I'd like to at some point. Its one of the most beautiful places I've ever climbed, at least when it wasn't raining. I would go back to climb a different route, to explore something else I have not seen before.  There is so much untouched rock out there, and just looking out onto the horizon, seeing all the truly jagged mountains, how could you not want to go back.

The Great Tyrolean Traverse

Our time in Yosemite had been great. Following a few rainy days, we decided to have a “light output” day and give the Lost Arrow Spire a go. Turns out, the hike up to Yosemite Point took just about as much
time as the climb itself.

Let me paint the picture. The walls of the Yosemite Valley are about 3000 feet tall. The Spire pulls away from the wall right at the top,
creating this 200-foot tall rock finger island that towers above it all.

To complete the route, and do the tyrolean traverse back across (traverse through air between two high points), you need three ropes. If your ropes are different thicknesses (like mine) you need to follow the geeky 18-step process below.

Rope A = thickest, Rope B = thinnest, Rope C = medium.

1. Tie the end of rope A to the anchor on the Valley rim (this is the starting point).
2. Rappel down all 200 feet of rope A to the notch between the rim and the spire.
3. Tie the end of rope A to the end of rope B, and the other end of rope B to your harness, which creates a 400 foot leash, connected to the top of the Valley rim.
4. Use rope C to climb/belay like normal. Ropes A and B are being trailed by the climber as you make your way up the Spire.
5. Once on top, pull in the slack of rope B (the leash) to get to rope A. Rope A is now spanning the gap between the rim and the spire.
6. Thread the other end of rope A through the anchor on top of the Spire and tie a tied off truckers hitch on rope A to secure it across the chasm.
7. Climber 1 hooks up a mini-traction to their harness and the rope.
8. Rope B is attached to the climber 1, and put on belay by climber 2.

9. Climber 1 uses a jumar (rope ascender) to pull themselves across, while the mini-traction makes it easy to gain ground (one way cinch) as you go across.

10. Once climber 1 makes it back to valley rim, and are off belay, climber 2 unties the truckers hitch on rope A.
11. Climber 2 ties the end of rope A to the end of rope B and C (B was used to belay climber 1 across).
12. Climber 1 pulls rope B across, which gets the other end of rope A to the valley rim, where climber 1 is.
13. Climber 1 ties the end of rope A to the anchor. Now, both ends of rope A are on the Valley rim side and rope C is spanning the gap as well.
14. Use rope C to shuttle the gear (and camera) back across the chasm.
15. Rope C is then tied to climber 2 and climber 1 puts them on belay with rope C.
16. Climber 2 attaches the mini-traction and pulls himself across the chasm, while being belayed by climber 1
17. Once across, untie one end of rope A from the anchor and pull the other end of the rope, causing the rope to go through the anchor on the Spire and back to the Valley Rim side.
18. Coil all the ropes, high five, walk back down to the Valley floor to celebrate and eat chips and salsa.

All that to say it's pretty involved. There are other ways to do it, but this worked for us. The exposure is amazing. We were there in the fall, so Yosemite Falls was more of a trickle. Regardless, it was beautiful.

That wrapped up our climbing season for 2010. 27 classic climbs completed, we were still married, and even enjoyed one another’s company!

After a winter of working hard in Crested Butte to beef up the bank account we started the 2011 season with a climb of the notorious mudstone tower north of Moab, Utah, called the Titan. 900 feet of crumbly mud up the highest sandstone tower in North America! That’s next…..

The Big Ditch

Shortly after our pilgrimage to South Lake Tahoe, we had an engine idiot light illuminate on the Lulu's dashboard. Not knowing anything about cars, or how to fix them, we are pretty much at the mercy of the Dodge dealers' prognosis. That led to a rental car and our first (and only) hotel night stay that year. The hotel's bed was not nearly as comfortable, but the long hot shower and hours of mindless TV were pretty nice.

Four days of doing nothing and we were ready to charge again. We picked the van up and headed for Touloume Meadows, on the west side of Yosemite NP. Fairview Dome was in our sites, but the sun was threatening to disappear. We packed quickly, threw in the headlamps, and jogged up the approach trail...at least while camera was recording.

This climb is extremely straightforward. Janelle and I were on a roll, so we were able to blast through the route in a very timely fashion. Getting to the top before we knew it, we were greeted with a spectacular sunset over the Sierras. Making it back to the van a good bit before dark was a real confidence booster. We had just completed a sizable climb in a few hours!

That evening we dropped into the Valley. The Yosemite Valley is where rock climbing in the States was born, has grown, and continues to thrive. The most dangerous part of the experience is standing at the El Capitan observation pull off. This 3000' vertical chunk of geology is mesmerizing. So mesmerizing that all of the drivers are looking at it, opposed the road, so its best to stand clear when taking photos.

There are seven classic climbs representing the Valley, which is not over doing it at all in my opinion. We had climbed two of them during past trips (Royal Arches and Middle Cathedral Rock). These are the easiest of the seven, so we had our work cut out for us this time. We did some warm up climbs and then jumped on the Steck-Salathe Route on Sentinal Rock. It is known for its chimneys. Anyone that has ever climbed a chimney knows very well how fun it isn't to wear a backpack during the experience. We opted to leave the 5 pound camera behind to keep the pack sizes as small as possible. It took an entire day to get up the route. That left the night to get down. At the summit the sun tucked behind the horizon, and we dug to the bottom of the pack to get out the headlamps. Turned out, I had left mine in the car.

Not to worry though, I had brought my cell phone (best piece of first-aid equipment we own). With the dim light of the screen, and Janelle's headlamp, we picked our way around the rocks and scrubs. This descent is pretty gnarly the lower you get. At times, I had to put the phone in my mouth so both hands could grab onto the plant life, which suspended me over the darkness that felt really really steep.

Then, I had a eureka moment...remembering that I had downloaded an app on my phone called, "Flashlight" AMAZING! This app turns on the LED bulbs, used for the camera's flash, there are even three brightness settings! By this new found bright light we made our way back down to the trail, and back to the van.

The 5 day forecast was calling for two days of nice weather and then turning to cold crappy weather. The route on Half Dome is on the North side of the Dome, so it receives very little sunlight. We had climbed plenty of cold rock already, and the thought of doing that for 2000 feet made us motivate to get on it asap.

Janelle had reservations about getting on a wall that size, since we had very little, okay zero, big wall experience. Her thought was to do some practice walls to get our systems dialed before attempting it. My mindset was to figure it out as we go. These two mindsets are similar to oil and water. Being the man in the relationship, I forced my way and the next morning we were heading up hill.

The approach is steep and gruelling, up the "death slabs" of granite. The haul bag was probably 1,000lbs (I didnt weigh it, just an educated guess), and that made it a little harder. Four people were at the base of the route when we arrived, prepping for the following day. We decided to fix ropes up the first two pitches that evening. This gave us something to do, and a jumpstart for the following morning.

The big question on this route is, one day or two? If you climb it in one day you dont have to haul a big pack, but you better be a fast climber. We decided to do it in two days, which meant we had to haul. Hauling sucks. "Figuring it out as you go" is very slow. Having a climbing partner that is not really into it, because she was forced into it, does not help either. After 4 pitches we had lost steam. Each pitch was taking forever. We did the math to see how long it would take to get to the top: Forever X 23 pitches = too long. So we bailed. I was pissed. Janelle was pissed. We did not talk the entire 3 hours it took to get back to the Valley floor. Turns out, I put on my grumpy pants when I fail at an objective.

Next post will be on the Lost Arrow Spire and Round II, 2011 plans.

It Takes Nuts to Climb Mt Whitney

California - where the gas is stupid expensive and the alpine climbing is simply off-the-hook good. The High Sierras are home to some prime time routes, of which I’ve only done a handful, so I was excited to get back there.

The drive from CO to CA is a long one, so we broke it up with a stop in Moab, UT to climb sandstone with a couple Crested Butte friends. From there to Mt Whitney we passed the time by listening to a book on the ipod. I just don’t understand why Harry and Hermione don’t get together, they seem perfect for each other.

Wanting to bypass the annoyance of getting an overnight permit we decided to climb the East Face of Whitney in one long day. We had created a routine of reading the chapter in the Fifty Classic Climbs of North America book to pump us up for the climb. Every chapter has an Equipment section at its end. “Chocks work extremely well, and a selection of 6-8 is sufficient.” We decided it would be fun to do this climb old-school style, and heed the author’s recommendation.

That night we tried to sleep at the trailhead, but the constant stream of fellow hikers getting an “alpine start” put a damper on our effort as they excitedly walked by the van. We finally got up at 4:00AM and hit the trail an hour later.

I had been here to climb the East Ridge a few years prior, so finding the way was not a problem. The fire red morning sun kissed the pale cliffs that make up the range as we made our way up the nearly unbroken granite slabs. We were wearing shorts, a privilege one can experience in the alpine environment few other places in the world, so the sun provided a welcome increase in air temp.

As we scrambled up to the base of the route we heard voices….crap. Not that having other people on the route was unexpected, rather it would slow us down and we didn’t really bring enough clothing to spend the night. There was a party of three finishing up the first pitch, and another party of two waiting to begin. We surveyed the scene, dropped our packs, and began shooting the bull with our newly found climbing buddies.

The climbing on the first pitch was pretty chill. That is, if you don’t look down. If you decide to look down, your stomach might drop a little because there is nothing but air for about 1000 feet. As Janelle led the first pitch there were several fixed pitons along the way, so our stoppers (chocks) were not needed. Once across, we passed the first two guys as we simul-climbed the next several hundred feet. We then did a short pitch to get up on the ridge that divides the two faces followed by a scramble down to a big sandy ledge.

That is where we caught up to the party of three. We perched ourselves on a two foot wide ledge and pulled the parking break. Hanging our feet over the abyss we meet our new friends. They were a married couple who were professional photographers from Italy, Dan Patitucci, here to get some photos of their backpacks in action. Awesome! What a perfect job. Their buddy was having trouble with the next part of the route, so I had time to pepper them with 101 questions about their job.

We eventually got going again, but not before seven other climbers were on the route with us! Welcome to California climbing. The next part of the climb was more like scrambling, so we un-roped and cruised up until the terrain got hard again. During that time Janelle started getting quiet. Anytime that happens I know something is up. Roped up now, I led a full 60-meter pitch and made the anchor. By the time Janelle got up to the belay she felt horrible. The ugly hand of altitude sickness was squeezing her head pretty hard. She bit the bullet, took the lead, and charged for the top. As we pulled away from the other climbers we had about 10 minutes of personal alpine experience, that is, until we got to the summit.

There is very little distance from the end of the technical terrain to the true summit. So you pull over the last big boulder and it’s like you are instantly teleported to the Verizon Wireless store the morning that the iphone goes on sale. People are everywhere. Nearly everyone looks at you slack-jawed, wondering where the heck you came from. “How did you get up here?” is the popular question.

Janelle continued to feel like poo-poo, so she lay down to sleep off the headache. I soaked in the victory and yet another spectacular view. Do you realize just how unbelievably beautiful this country is? Amazing.

We joined up with the crew from Italy on the descent, and the 101 questions turned into 404. I really enjoy talking to people who make a successful living “by their own boot-straps” while still pursuing their passions.

Miles later we were back at the van. We soaked our feet in a snow fed stream, ate chips and salsa, busted into some yuppy cane sugar soda from Whole Foods (Janelle is trying to kick my Coke habit for me), and life was good.