It is a little after eleven pm. I have been chatting to Diana and calling up Mike in Nelson; talking about skiing, and my car that is sitting there - broken down. I am a little worried about this house in Canmore, getting the renovations done on time and rented and getting myself away on this Bugaboo - Rogers Pass trip. The waves are beginning to crash around.
I spent the last three days up on the Columbia Icefields; forgetting about the tides. Letting the scenery overwhelm me - bring back the insignificance of self. The cliffs seemed to crash around. The mountains, once I would have thought them unclimbable, now I think of them in terms of commitment, exposure and the dreams of home.
I should have come up here before, and explore these mountains from, all sides before rushing in and attacking just one of those faces. To feel the mountain,m and understand where the energy comes from, instead of letting that power overwhelm, or battling without understanding. The climb was all that mattered - that name. Slipstream.
Early the morning before we had arisen at the Rampart Ck Youth Hostel, filled our bodies and driven about forty kilometers north up the Icefields Parkway. Wa;Walking into the Dome Glacier, and up the ramps to the start of Slipstream had been without significant concern. The walls suddenly moved in. Tim opened up his pack, three icescrews tumbled down the snow - lost forever; somewhere in that five hundred meter abyss. I couldn't believe it. What am I doing here. I just looked at him. What is going on? Tim looked a little sheepish as we continued to organize ourselves. I pulled the rope out and fed a line out to Time. Moments later he was falling past me. Pointlessly I tried to feed in the slack rope; only succeeding in jamming my hand between my belay plate and one of the belay screws that I had clipped as a first runner. I stared at that screw as Tim slid past me. "Don't pull out, Don't pull out" I imagined it cracking apart ice flying everywhere and our bodies tumbling over the snow and rock to the glacier far below. My eyes were still glued to the screw when Tim climbed back up to me. I have never,ever had anyone fall on me in the mountains, or on a multi-pitch route. I was just about out of my brain. "You don't do that, You cannot do that! What happened!" I saw quite clearly what happened. He slipped. How on earth does one slip while ice-climbing. I do not know. A tool pops. Thew ice fractures. But slip?
I asked Tim all those questions once again! I put some bandage on my little finger where an old cut that should have been stitched had reopened. My finger hurt like hell I could not bend it. I did not want to think about what might be wrong. Decisions had to be made. "are you feeling OK?" I asked Tim. "Sure" was the weird response. I felt like going down, but this climb was 'one of those climbs'. I jammed a glove over my fingers, and tried to hold my ice ax with my two good fingers. Mmm; could work. I was still annoyed with Tim. Stuff this. "if you want to lead every pitch, I will go on." I stated as the alternative. My brain and body were still frazzled enough. Somebody had to pay the price. "Ill still have to see how I go on this pitch, getting screws out and all that". I was feeling less like climbing as my hand began to swell, and pain slowly reached my brain. He agreed and set off again. I placed another belay screw and demanded he place a good close screw.
The routine settled in. Tim led up. I seconded and cleaned, always a little surprised that this "easy" looking pitch became quite steep. Every pitch surprised me the same way. A lot of sustained grade 4 ice. I led the last short pitch onto a snow ramp. I could see where a slab avalanche had pulled out slightly to my left but still above the route. Everything was solid now,and good steps had been kicked by a previous party. I was soon at the summit cornice trying to place a screw before topping out. The light was failing ; and so was I. All ,my screws had ice plugging them and my nerve was giving out. The last three meters moved out over an arete and onto a vertical face that plunged below; far more steeply than our gully. One hundred meters below, the face disappeared; as if overhanging and the glacier appeared far below. The clincher was a huge serac fall booming around the corner. Forget it. Tim, come here and lead this. I stood at the belay, once more looking at my screws, checking out this ridge of ice, and saying to myself "Please don't fall, Please don't fall" Over and Over. Tim was framed in the twilight. An incredible photo opportunity for the cameras that I did not bring and a hand that couldn't shoot.
The ice was little brittle but soon Tim was over, and I felt the end was nigh. I pulled my belay out in semi darkness and tried to force myself out onto the face. The exposure was foremost in my mind. I was in the most incredible place in the world. Hanging one thousand meters above the Dome Glacier, one tool in , and my other arm swinging wildly into the darkness trying to find somewhere that would accept this blunt piece of metal. Thank you for this top-rope, that will be fine, and I was on top. Time for something to eat.
We roped up for glacier travel and walked along the serac line to seek out this "one-rap; down-climb gully". The descent looked horrendous. A long rap over a cornice and what looked to be a huge serac band. Arriving over that obstacle, hard steep ice for another three hundred plus meters. No thanks. The previous party had not made this rap; their trail led elsewhere. Little Snowdome seemed to be a good possibility, and we found more tracks. Our minds were still totally without it, thinking that there would be a casual romp home. I peered over r the edge at the crazy rockies ridge line. No thanks. I found out l;later that there is a good snow descent down this way; we missed the gully. Hmmm. Maybe the serac rap is the best alternative. Tim was pushing for the Athabasca glacier, but in the morning. How I found this combination to be appealing I still do not know. Somehow decision making was at an all Tim low at 8:30 that evening. We prepared a bivvy and we st it out. Thankfully, surprisingly mild temperatures and a light wind prevailed. Our feet stuffed into Tim's pack. We waited. It will be light soon. Beautiful and warm. Clear and we will stroll out. Casual. Warm Sun. This is worth it. $ Am. Mmmm. A few clouds are rolling in. A little snow blowing. OH shit. 5 Am. It is a whiteout and we are moving. No further ahead than at 8 Pm last night. Tim still vows the glacier route. His first mountaineering route and I am still letting him call the shots. I too want an easy way out. I head off into white blackness. No compass. No map.. We were not supposed to be here, there were not any one pitch waterfalls still standing. Early March, and a month of above zero weather behind us.
I had brought all my gear with me in the car, in a little black bag. I have enjoyed these one-day car trips. Ski tours wearing cotton T-shirts and jeans with Gore-tex over them. Getting back to the car and slipping it off and relaxing quickly. Now where am I?
I am taking steps across this glacier; guessing where I am going. I do not want to head blindly into nowhere. I want a frame of reference. I have fallen half-in over six crevasses and cannot see them. I wanted to head out to the middle of the Athabasca glacier, but this seems ridiculous. A good gully ram,p system leads down; and I follow it. This is great. WE are cruising down. outa here. A little bit steeper. Some ice. Hmm. A cliff. Oh well; there is ice to rap from. Rap it. Half an hour later I am still trying to set up another anchor halfway down. The ice is about four inches thick and hanging out from the rock another four. I work something out, and delicately - why delicately? move off the prussik and onto my anchor. Tim comes down and we finish the rappel. Left a knot in the rope and had to cut it. Done. Check out the last rappel. Hmm it is quite a way. We need that fifty meters of rope. I race up and check out another gully, and another; even worse. This is getting insanely dangerous. Tim volunteers to leave his rope tied to the anchor to get out. This has to work. I want to live. This is our only exit. Already it is two O'clock. I do not want another night out here. We see a helicopter flying up the Athabasca glacier- the route we should have been on. The helicopter comes back down; the cloud layer is just above us. I guess they are searching for us. I suppose we are overdue. I do not want to spend another night out here. I had been fantasizing about crawling into my bed for hours\not. I wacked in a piton low down in this two foot wide gully.. A quick rap down this tied to the piton. One hour later Tim had freed himself of a prussik that caught on the midpoint tape. I was yelling obscenities as spindrift poured over me; and imagined myself hurtling off into space when I heard a loud crack and a huge roar above me. Somewhere a serac had broken free. I hugged the gully and prayed, "Please get off the rope Tim" I do not want to die. Get off the fucking rope." A few small chunks rattled past me. I waited. The avalanche must have scoured the gullies father over. Thank God. Now get off that rope. I continued yelling more and more unrestrained abuse down the rope toward Tim. Finally we were both off. Cut the last few meters on Tim's rope and tied ourselves to an end and walked down a flat glacier. Happiness is seeing friends after a long time. Thanks is having the Wardens waiting. Hunger is having two plates of "boy scout" pasta placed in front of me by the scouts at Rampart Ck Hostel. Pain is removing my glove off my hand and realizing how swollen it looks. Sleep is where it is at.
I wanted to forget about this climb, and imagine that it never happened. This was my last "waterfall" climb for the year. My fingers were not broken. I was much kinder to people. Tim left for Hueco Tanks in Texas three days later. I eagerly turned to completing the renovations on the basement of a house I was intending to be renting out by the end of the month. I intensely desired normality. Once again I felt I could be satisfied by an office job. This state of derangement could not last long.
I've had the priveledge of being up on this mountain a number of times. The classic NW Arete is an incredible day out when the weather is fine. Some hero has created a 25m raproute from the mid point on the ridge where the old ragtag collection of slings would tend to drop the rapline down the north face into the abyss. Lots of exposure and moderate soloing or short roped climbing. Speed is your friend on this climb. The route can be fast, or I'm sure it can be painfully slow. I remember talking to one party in early spring conditions spending 24 hours on the route in full epic conditions. I've also been on the summit at 9am from the car at Roger's Pass. Have Fun!
I had to speak to Andrew, we had to do a big climb before he left for Europe. Andrew, he ums and arrhs. A lot, about doing climbs, once he is there, it is total commitment. We did Mt. Temple last year, and Mt Fay, about a week ago. Good days. What are we going to do? I had a few ideas, Andrew was noncommittal. He wanted to do Robson. I had not even considered it. Maybe in a few years, besides there was only one route that I would consider, The North Face. When I realized that I was saying No to Andrew, I thought to myself, "steady on Man, this is just the thing you have been hanging out for. A real climb, a challenge, new territory, say Yes!" O.K. sure. Why not. let's do it. Robson. O.K. I'll see you tomorrow. We will drive up. Hike in, and climb it. Great. Ok. Sure. Ok. Tomorrow? Ok Spoke to Dave briefly that evening with a smile that nearly stretched past my ears. "I flew of Yam, and Lady Mac, yeah. And Andrew and I are going up to do Robson." Next morning, we drove off. The hike into Mt Robson is one of the most spectacular hikes you can do in the Rockies. I have never seen so many beautiful waterfalls, the zillions of kilometers we were supposed to do just flew past, and soon we were chatting to the Ranger about the conditions, our route, and the approach. He gave us a few ideas and a key descent route. Thanks. We snuggled into bed for a short but comfortable, spacious, and warm night under the stars. We woke at 5AM. Still dark. Stuff it. 6AM. Ok Let us do it. More weird rockies ledges. Traverse until it feels Ok, and then up. Repeat until at top of cliff. What is exposure? What is this huge goddam backpack doing on my back? On this cliff? We took a break from the rain and had lunch in a little cave. Cruised up the glacier following a descent track from some guys that had been here on the Fuhr ridge. Our plan was to get to bed early and head up the face by 10PM this evening. So we did., with a token three hours sleep.T he weather looked perfect. We worked out the bergschrund and just started cruising up the face, only vaguely knowing where we were going. It was interesting climbing by headlamps. The dawn provided a little variety, but the face just continued up.... The rock bands slipped in a little funky snow and ice. We still were not sure where on the face we were. Left or right? Oh well. Probably Ok. The face continued up. The pitches were just numbers, belaying was almost as difficult as leading. As always, eh? The face looked down...a long way. We continued up 15,16,17... We had a brief lunch on the face, and continued up, into the clouds. Mmmm. I guess it is called commitment. Mmmm. Commitment. I wonder if I have that stuff, my life does not seem to have it, is this different to life! Let us see? Up the face, Thank God. Onto the ridge. Oh my God. Yeah, the gargoyles. Yeah, this is supposed to be the crux. That cloud is kinda thick isn't? Mmmm. Oh well. What are these gargoyles? I cannot see for this snow being blown up into my face. Oh well. I suppose I can sit on top of this ridge looking thing and slide my bum across. I suppose I should be thankful that I cannot see down. It might be good psychologically to see forward, so I could see what I am getting myself into. Commitment. That word again. Time slips as we move ever so slowly through the wind and clouds. Thank God, the ridge eases off. We are on a broad snow ridge. All right? So where are we now? this could actually be the summit. Andrew took a few shots on the summit. Oh sure, a face in the clouds, looks cool. Good summit. Let's get down. the SE ridge should be over there somewhere, with the cornice on the left and the ice cliff on the right. it might be Ok. Why have I got the prussik in my hand flicking it out in front of me? So I can see! This is a bit of a joke. options come out brutally; do we continue down, to where? Dig a snow cave and sit out the night. Calmly, insanely, relaxed, we dug a hole. It is going to be cold. It was hard to get excited about this ditch in the snow, our home for the next twelve hours. We tried to syncopate our shivering, otherwise our shivers would crescendo and shake our bodies. Another does of pure sugar gave my body enough short term energy to fuel the furnace and keep the shakes away. How many hours have we been in here? Ten hours. Bursting out of the cave, we are met by cold, cold and visibility. We are out of here. A quick cold pack, thinking about that 6 pack that 's a waiting. The Kain/descent route was so obvious it made last night just that bit more frustrating. The cornices and cliffs on either side are also there, ready to accept that frightening step in a white-out oblivion. Safe, and ready to go home, we wandered. Just doing our job, getting our bodies to that green grass. Moments of mild ecstasy; the Kain face was snow; a fast run down, the crevasse fields were negotiated and the final pass to the Helmet completed. Descent. Descent. Nine thousand feet in that happy to be alive day. We met the ranger late that afternoon, he saw most of the lower part of the climb. He confirmed that the weather was shitty, although it sounded a little worse at the bottom. Valley winds; we could not care much anymore. We had climbed Mt Robson, has the mountain to ourselves, the mountain had us to itself. We climbed a route which stretched Andrew and myself just a little further, and it was all downhill from here to the roadhead. My secret, and now sickening plan to climb Mt Edith Cavell after Robson, went unmentioned as Andrew and I started driving back to Banff. The north face of Edith Cavell was snow plastered. Filled with our own thoughts, we made our way through the last moments of this trip.
