What a captivating and mystical place! A place that has and will continue to be an annual pilgrimage.
Having learned many of the intricacies and tricks of Yosemite last year, this trip has been a little easier. After camping on an old forest service road just outside of the park, Joe and I drove in at 3 AM and bivvied at the Camp Four kiosk. Since Camp Four is the only walk-in campground in the valley, it is a first-come first-served site only. I learned last year that it is imperative to get their early, since only the first few people get in during the crowded season. We set up shop under the kiosk at 4:15AM and it wasn't long before other hopefuls were waiting behind us.
Unfortunately my camera battery was dead for this initial time so there are very few shots of my friends. All photos came from them.
A lone climber waiting to gain access to the Shangri La that is Camp 4.
Camp 4, the central climber hangout in Yosemite.
After we registered and set up camp, it was off to the crags. A few warm ups on the Swan Slabs had us ready to tackle Commitment, an ubber classic Jim Bridwell 5.9 three-pitch climb at the Five Open Books.
Leading the crux pitch of Commitment
Joe, stoked as always!
We then met up with fellow Alaskans Rob and Lee to plan our climb the following day on the South Face of Washington's Column. An early morning jaunt to the base got our blood flowing. As expected, the route was already occupied by other hopeful senders and we were third in line despite our early awakening. Rob decided to bail, so Lee and I continued as a green duo. We made it to Dinner Ledge by late afternoon after MUCH waiting for other parties ahead of us. Optimally we would have fixed lines to pitch five, but we only fixed to the top of pitch four, just above the reachy bolt ladder on the Kor Roof.
Improvised poop tube. Don't ask.
Starting the second pitch
The next morning we awoke early but still had to wait in line for the party ahead of us to progress. The haul bag was left at the ledge and we pushed for another three pitches before calling it a day and retreating. It was just too slow and crowded. Oh well, we had a lot of fun and the climbing was exciting without being too hard.
Seconding through the Kor Roof Jugging pitch six
The next day I basically chillaxified and hung out for most of the morning. In the afternoon I was doggedly convinced to climb Nutcracker with Joe and some other guys. I wasn't at all stoked, but slowly got in the mood as the climb progressed. Joe was super new to the trad game but led the crux fifth pitch mantel with ease. He did however drop one of my favorite pieces, the #2 Black Diamond C3, and it fell all the way to the base of the climb. Tisk Tisk, Joe!
The following morning we returned and were miraculously able to find it after hiking up a 3rd class gully. Booty!
A friend had his car broken into by a hungry bear. Bust out the duct tape!
After that I took Joe to another ubber classic, Bishop's Terrace. It might be my favorite 5.8 in the world! He seconded it like it was cake! Strong guy, that Joe! He quickly got the hand jam technique down and made it look easy.
Feeling strong and situated, Joe and I aimed our rope and rack at a bigger piece of stone, the East Buttress of Middle Cathedral.
Another early start and we were at the base by 7:30. We waited for the other even-earlier birds to get ahead and were on route by 8:30. Joe linked pitches one and two, then I linked three and four. Joe nailed the fifth pitch bolt ladder to 5.9 section...then dropped his belay device! JOE!!!!
We continued to the top with a bunch of stellar 5.7/5.8 pitches on superb rock. El Cap dominated the skyline behind us the entire time and the weather was utterly perfect. A few minutes looking for the descent trail and we were plodding down the mighty chasm between Higher and Middle Cathedral rocks. Three rappels brought us back to the trail and from there it was just a short walk to the car.
Lower Cathedral Spire
The forecast took a big nosedive with heavy rains and flood warnings for Tuesday and Wednesday so yesterday we packed up and bailed! Camp Four climbers scurried out like roaches when the lights go on and everyone evacuated in a mass climber exodus towards San Francisco and other Big City safe havens.
Joe and I dropped off our new friend Ian in Sacramento then bee-lined it back to San Francisco to warm beds and laundry at Grandma Kluberton's house in San Mateo. Back to the Valley as soon as the massive tempest lets up!
The past year had been boiled down and rendered into the monumental moment before us. Crampons clicked on, backpack straps tightened and deep breaths echoed throughout the upper fork of the Big River Glacier. Seth and I looked each other in the eyes under the pre-dawn purple sky. “Hey man, this is it” I said, eyes focused and intent. We bumped fists and he nodded. “Let's get it.”
The Revelation mountains, a sub-range located at the southwestern most portion of the Alaska Range, were first explored in 1967 by Dave Roberts, Art Davidson and friends. During their 57-day stay, they climbed a handful of beautiful peaks and named many others. Since their visit, less than twenty parties have ventured into these formidable mountains. With peaks ranging from six to almost ten-thousand feet, the Revelations are not high by altitude standards. However, their vertical reliefs are often huge and many are reminiscent of their northern brethren, the Kichatna Spires, some seventy-miles away.
Aside from the obvious positive qualities of such an untamed range, the Revelations are known to be capable of producing some of the most heinous weather imaginable. Likewise, simply getting to the mountains is exorbitantly expensive and few pilots are willing to even fly there.
This was Seth and my second trip to the Revelation mountains. Last season the two of us along with Steve Sinor made a foray into the rarely visited alpine mecca.
All of us instantly became infatuated with an unclimbed 9,250-foot peak apparently called the Ice Pyramid. We made two attempts on its prize, the southwest ridge, but turned around on the eighteenth pitch on day three when it became apparent that we were crossing a point of no return. Regardless, we left with the first ascent of a beautiful 8,385-foot peak we named the Exodus. It was however, a mere secondary consolation to the Ice Pyramid. From there on out, the Ice Pyramid filled our heads with aspirations by day and occupied our dreams at night.
The Ice Pyramid from the northwest. The southwest ridge is on the right skyline, somewhat foreshortened and convoluted by the south spur behind it
Thanks to a Mugs Stump Award we received a second chance at the peak, this time unfortunately without Steve. Seth and I flew in once again with Rob Jones of R&R Guide Services, one of the coolest guys I've ever met and definitely the air master of the range.
As we roped up on that culminating morning, Seth had that familiar expression on his face. He looked at me, but through me, his mouth slightly open and teeth biting his tongue. He was focused and concentrated, completely in the zone. Such a sight made me smile and propelled my confidence all the more. The first few pitches put us a good distance off the ground and Seth's block seemed to pass with finesse and ease. On our second attempt the year prior, we had climbed ten pitches the first day, a mere five the second and three the next before bailing. This year we aimed to climb fifteen pitches on day one and make it to a bivy we called the cave.
Seth seconding on day one
Seth leads out on day one
So far things were looking up. Pitch after pitch and hour after hour fell behind us as we cruised the known terrain. After nearly 14 hours on the go, we pulled into the cave and took to relaxing. The Alaskan sun was still high in the sky at 7 PM and even at ten it showed no signs of disappearing any time soon. The next morning we were up at four and on the go soon after.
Seth climbs a short rock step as a fighter jet zooms by overhead
Looking down one of the rock steps as Seth climbs up
Drying out gear at the cave bivy
Cave Bivy
Seth on the route's rock crux on the morning of day two
A short, awkward move out of the cave led to one of the crux pitches of the route. Since I had led it last year, Seth took it this year just for fun. We quickly reached our previous highpoint and bypassed it by traversing under a series of gendarmes. Deep and unconsolidated snow over slab still took forever to overcome. More vertical wallowing under a massive cornice put us into the sun where conditions rapidly improved. Seth climbed a steep snow pitch to a knife edge ridge, where several long blocks of steep simul-climbing interspersed by short rock steps put us directly under the summit ridge. At a phallic looking outcrop we called the wiener rock, I belayed Seth up and then beyond. He burrowed through the cornice and hauled me up. The Ice Pyramid, an object of obsession and dedication, sacrifice and commitment was ours.
Seth coming up with the entire southwest ridge spanned out below
Seth just on the other side of the summit with Mount Mausolus in the background
Sweat dripped into our eyes as the sun beat down upon us. A panorama of breathtaking unclimbed peaks pulled our eyes in every direction. The southwest ridge lay below like a semi-coiled snake in the ready-to-strike position. With such a beautiful day, we decided to enjoy lunch on a flatter subsidiary summit where we unroped and proceeded to walk to a flat spot overlooking the Swift glacier. Following Seth, I suddenly found myself falling. Arms and legs instinctively braced wide and in an instant I was eye level to his boots. I figured I had simply fallen into a rock moat, but quickly realized the contrary. Cold dry air blew up my face as my legs kicked into nothingness. “Shit! Seth! Oh my God! I'm in a Crevasse. Help!” He briefly stood there, not quite sure what to do. My crampons kicked into the side walls and I tediously heaved myself out. My heart rate slowed to only about 180 beats per minute and the trembling in my hands soon subsided, but the incident had left me shaken. The fact that I was unroped told me that I was very lucky to even be alive. After a while, we climbed back down the other side where we made several rappels to a small bivy platform.
The crevasse
A closer look into the icy gape of the crevasse
Prepping to rappel in the morning
In the morning after more three rappels, I thought back to the previous year. A stuck rope high on the northwest face still resonated loudly in my head. A new thought, “Seth, we can rappel into this couloir on the southwest face and down climb the whole thing, then be off this mountain in two hours. What do ya' think?” Though tempting, it was exceedingly risky since it would put us in a different valley and the threat of rockfall was ever present. Seth cautiously took the bait and we rapped over the edge of the southwest ridge, a point of no return. Two more rappels put us on fast terrain and we down climbed the entire couloir in less than two hours. The whole time, fighter jets from Anchorage's Elmendorf Air Force base flew low over head. Needless to say, our guests kept us terrified as their near sonic booms sounded just like eminent rockfall. Both of us breathed a sigh of relief once out of the gully.
A fighter jet buzzes our basecamp at 400 MPH
A crucial pass, one we thought Dave Roberts had taken as part of his “Butterfly Traverse” in 1967 proved to be nonexistent from the Swift side. When we got to the top of what we thought was the pass, we found only a rock wall of completely shattered shale on the other side. An attempt to traverse a shale band set off a slush avalanche that took everything over a cliff. “Shit,” I said, “what now?” Seth had that same look on his face, but this time the intense concentration seemed to be lacking. The confidence had been replaced with wariness and trepidation. “Ugh, I don't know. Let's go down and see what we see from the bottom,” he said.
We had enough food to camp out and decide in the morning when the snow was firmer, so we set up the tent and contemplated our options. It seemed as if the Ice Pyramid was playing a game with us. What had been a difficult but relatively fluid climb had become marred by an unnerving descent. “Hmmm, I wonder how many days down the river Lime Village is,” I thought. The answer...120 miles by river. “Well, I guess we'll try again tomorrow,” Seth said.
During the evening we pondered Mount Mausolus to the south, which Dave Roberts accurately described as a “hopeless labyrinth” in the 1968 American Alpine Journal. In the morning, exhausted but determined to find a way over the pass we tried again. It just didn't seem to make sense. The pass was beautiful from the Big River side, but on our side it appeared to be a 400-foot cliff. What was the deal here?
As Seth and I got to the top of the shale pinnacles, we were enveloped by a localized whiteout. “Dude...what the...” I said as I shook my head and threw my arms up. “Just let us go!” We both knew that we couldn't be more than a few pitches above our skis and that no matter where we were, the rock band was minimal. With a short clearing in the clouds we peered over and saw the glacier about 500-feet below. Several manky rappels brought us closer to salvation. At the third rappel off a dead-manned picket, 30-meters followed by a 10-to15-meter rock band was all that separated us from the glacier. “That picket is bomber,” I thought, “I hope.” Sure enough, it held and a sense of completeness filled my body as I touched ground. Seth later told divulged that the picket shifted about three inches as I went over the vertical section. He came down and then we hiked to our skis and excitedly skied back to camp in a whiteout, still feeling the mountain's pull on us.
For the rest of the trip we toured the Big River complex and scouted other options. All however, paled in comparison to the Ice Pyramid. After a few days, Seth and I decided the next best route was yet another on the Ice Pyramid, a wide gash on the west face we called the Cataclysmic Couloir. 2,500-feet of steep snow and aerated ice culminated into the northwest ridge where an icy wishbone arete loomed omnipotently above. We made good time up the couloir, climbing it in two 1,000-foot blocks followed by several pitches of belayed and simul-climbing.
Seth leading out in the upper parts of the Cataclysmic Couloir
A look down from the top of the couloir
At the top of the Cataclysmic Couloir where the wind was blowing like hell. The Big River Glacier is visible below
Going down
The glaciated ice above looked to be AI5+/6 and with only four ice screws and a picket belay, bailing seemed the only logical option. After five picket and crappy v-thread rappels we hastily down climbed the remaining 1,700-feet. With one final look at our prize and an amazing ski back to camp, we decided to pack up and head out.
A look down the Ice Pyramid's north face from the top of the Cataclysmic Couloir
Gettin' the goods on the way back to camp
Over the next three days we scoped future objectives and relaxingly hiked 21-miles down the Big River to Rob Jones' lodge.
Seth enjoying the sunset on the hike out
6000-foot tall death-served-cold route, anyone?
The western rampart of the monstrocity known as Mount Hesperus, the tallest peak in the range
For us, the Ice Pyramid represented not only the culmination of a year of training and obsession. It represented a dream come true through sheer will, faith and the support of the Mugs Stump Award. The southwest ridge of the Ice Pyramid (Alaska Grade 4/5 5.8 60-degrees 2600') definitely brought out the best of both of us. Without a doubt, this was the most lay it out there, remote and consistently challenging climb we have ever done. Its ascent, as well as the descent demanded everything from us. Nothing came easy and the reward was well worth the effort. So, to Michael Kennedy and everyone else involved in the Mugs Stump Award: thank you for the opportunity to fulfill a dream! A big thanks also goes out to Black Diamond and Petzl for their support!
For quick access to some great ice climbs, there's no place better than Eklutna Canyon. While most of the climbs are typically mellow in nature (WI3-4), there are lots of options to explore and the setting is beautiful. Lately we've learned that there is lots of potential for dry and mixed lines on the steep walls of the canyon.
Recently a local climber established a really pumpy seven-bolt drytool route at the back of the canyon. Like a vanerial disease in a hippy commune, word quickly spread about this supposed new route.
After pulling out of work early, photographer-extraordinaire Matt Hage along with his lovely assistant "Super" Ags Stowe accompanied me to the canyon. Perhaps they hoped to get some good shots and maybe witness a little carnage amid the myriad of crumbling rock, fracturing ice, ropes and sharp pointy things.
The route was indeed pumpy and I did my fair share of hangdogging the first time. On the second lead though, I only fell once. Perhaps next time the climb will go clean!
All photos courtesy of Matt Hage. Please check out his website at HagePhoto.com
Ags looks normal but I look all fat. Damn Matt's weird lenses!
Scratching up the lower section
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Spring time in Alaska seems to surprise me every year. It's dark, cold and I'm lethargic...then suddenly it's seemingly always light, warmer and I'm full of energy. Essencially, I go from being the deflated balloon to being an adventuring fiend!
It's pretty damned cool to be able to get out of work at 7PM and still have time to go for an evening ski or ice climb. Here's a few shots from an evening ski on Peak Two in the Chugach front range.
Mount Redoubt's ash cloud to the south west.
Matt always provides ample entertainment on our outings
Super Ags kicks a great trail and is one tough chick!
Sunday, March 15, 2009
The southwest ridge of Peak 11,300 has long been a desired route of mine. Several years ago two friends made a late winter ascent, climbing the route in six long days.
"We were slow, you can do it much faster for sure!" they said.
When our pilot friend offered to fly us "anywhere we wanted to go" it was hard to resist. Seth and I quickly jumped on his offer and settled on a trip to the Ruth for some late winter exploits.
It isn't often that an *almost* free trip to the Alaska Range falls into one's lap. We quickly learned that free doesn't always come without a price.
Conor "The Man" McManigan on the flight in
The Broken Tooth
The stunning UNCLIMBED East Buttress of MT. Johnson.
Peak 11,300's SW Ridge
We equipped ourselves with an arsenal of warm clothes that would lift a Russian's brow and ran up a hefty Costco food bill.
The weather gods appeased us and granted us with a solid week of stellar bluebird weather and astonishingly moderate temps ranging from -10 to 10F at basecamp in the west fork of the Ruth.
Despite the temps, the snow was extremely unconsolidated and dry, as expected. Our pilot's ski dug in on the turnaround and became hopelessly stuck. Hours and hours of digging, wedging and improvisation finally dislodged the plane. The strut on the wheel bent which caused the ski to edge in to the snow. Hmmm, was this a sign?
The Rooster Comb
With that near miss behind us, we hastily broke trail up glacier. The firing squad of gravity-defying seracs on Huntington's North Wall hurried our movement to the base of the ridge.
Beautiful winter light over the North Wall of Huntington
Up on the route, everything looked good. We knew that in typical spring conditions the route can be done in two-three good days. We packed five days of food and fuel, knowing the deep snow would dramatically slow us.
On the first day we made quick time up the approach gully. Snow ranged from waist or more deep snow to firm neve. Still, with so much snow on the route, every move seemed to take five times longer than it should have. Locating pick or protection placements turned into grueling minutes. The 35lb packs bogged down with cold weather bags, ample fuel and food, etc didn't help.
Our goal had been the first col on the first night...roughly one third of the way up the route. On the first day we made it half the way, to the boulder bivy just below Flake Gully.
Seth on one of the mixed pitches
Seth at the boulder bivy
"Ugh, this is painfully slow," we thought. "We have to move faster tomorrow!"
The next day required full on snow trench warfare against Flake Gully and the subsequent mixed pitches beyond.
Swing, swing, bash, bash, scoop, swing, drag, place. Step up, sink down. Repeat. Look back and see five minutes had advanced us three feet. "WHAT!"
The North Wall of Huntington
Day two came and went with not nearly as much progress being made as we had hoped. Despite continuous 55-58m pitches, we just didn't seem to be getting anywhere.
"Hmmm, so tomorrow we'll make it to the first col...on day three. One third of the way up the route..."
"Yeah, but what if the snow gets better up high and we can move faster?"
"What if it doesn't?"
Seth contemplates the future while water boils on the second night. Notice my mittens acting as booties!
We battled the decision on the morning of day three just below Thin Man's Squeeze and bailed. The descent down the south ridge and under the hanging glacier with waist deep snow didn't sound appealing either.
On the way down a friendly raven followed us and cooed as if to say we made the right choice.
We got back to basecamp only to find that this same lone raven had destroyed our camp. That damned bird had tunneled, literally tunneled under our duffel bags and gotten to our trash bag. He also managed to unzip my bag and pull my jacket and spare clothes out. We knew ravens were notorious for invading camps and even digging, but in early March??????
The raven's revenge
We called Paul Roderick from TAT and asked for a pick up.
"Sure thing. I'll need a six, no wait - eight, no wait - thousand foot runway with a big turn around."
Five hours later Seth and I had a stellar 12'x1000' strip flattened out. Paul arrived in a jolly mood and whisked us away with ease.
Despite not getting to the top, or even close for the matter, the climbing was amazing and very fun. The imposing North Face of Huntington, Rooster Comb and South Buttress of Denali provided incredible vistas throughout our week.
It was a pleasant experience to be completely alone in the Ruth. We learned that Masatoshi Kuriaki, the Japanese Caribou soloist, is bailing from Hunter's West Ridge due to the same deep snow conditions we had. He has already climbed both Foraker and Denali solo in the winter and needs only Hunter to complete his quest. We wish him a safe descent.
Hopefully we can go back this spring and tackle the route in better conditions.
It was a treat just to be in the Range for a week.
This season my focus has been to not only climb harder and faster, but to tick off as many climbs that I haven't done previously as possible.
So far this season, I've ticked off -Hollow Icicle -PFM Route -Dreams of a Brown Moose -Bullwinkle -Avalon Falls
One that I've always wanted to check out but requires a burly approach are the Hurdy Gurdy climbs in Eagle River.
Richard was going out there with a few friends this weekend and invited me along.
The approach starts with just under a three mile ski, followed by another 1.5 mile bushwhack up a small drainage that gains more than 3,200 vertical feet. The approach alone took 4.5 hours. While the others climbed Piece of Cake, a fat 325' WI3, Richard and I traversed over and climbed Fruit Cake, a solid WI4.
Armed with an arsenal of 10 screws, I set off and climbed through lots of steep alpine ice that was brittle and often aerated. It took lots of time to lead through the funky ice. I got to a spot that looked good for belaying...and it wasn't. I put in a 10cm screw and equalized it with a worthless spectre, then climbed up another 20' of vertical ice. With one long screw left, I constructed a V-thread (that was hard as hell to make since my abalokov didn't want to grab the webbing). Then that was equalized with my last screw.
Richard is barely visible way down there
A view down from the hanging (uncomfortable) belay
Richard followed up then lead another 40' of slightly better ice.
We decided to traverse a snow ledge over to Piece of Cake and rappel from there. Richard lead out and protected the running belay with slings wrapped around finger-width alders. Three rappels brought us down to the bottom, where our friends met us.
Sadly, one of my poles got caught on an alder while traversing through them and got pulled off my pack without me knowing. We gathered our things, then started the hike down and out.
The whole day was about 13.5 hours...a long day for a little ice.
The point of the day was to work my legs and climb some new ice. Mission accomplished!
After that, we had a midnight dinner of moose spaghetti at Richard's and then happily turned in for the night after a long day!
After a long cold snap followed by a long warm snap, the ice around southcentral Alaska is finally looking good again.
Lee and I took advantage of the conditions and headed out to the highway for some steep drips. Neither of us had ever climbed much on the PFM Wall, so we started there. We've always wondered what PFM stands for and our friend Matt thinks it stands for Pretty Fucking Miserable. Despite his guess, it was nothing but stellar on Saturday for us.
The first 30 feet are dead vertical and contain mostly candlesticked ice with occasional spots for pro. Luckily, I was able to reach the third bolt to stop a groundfall right off the bat. There was a small hole where two converging drips came together that allowed me to chicken-wing with my left arm as I put in my second screw. That was a first for me, I've never chicken-winged on an ice climb before. It was almost fist-jammable, but not quite. Above that, the climbing eased a little bit, but still proved thin and aerated in spots.
The south facing aspect of the highway means that it can get lots of sun. Half-way up the climb, I was so hot I shed my coat and continued up in my poly-pro top. You can see in the photo that I was all black: stealth mode!
Lee followed up like a champ, then we rapped off and did a lap on Roadside Attraction, which was also stellar.
Here's a cool video sequence I put together from Lee's photographs.
On Sunday while everyone else was watching the Super Bowl, Lee, Matt, Agnes and I skied at Alyeska.
The next day we went back to the PFM wall so Matt, a professional photographer, could snap some shots. It was not a very nice day and his guess of what PFM stands for seemed to fit.
I broke a crampon on lead and encountered several other problems that forced me to lower down. After fixing the bugs, I re-climbed the route to the top.
A lone climber waiting to gain access to the Shangri La that is Camp 4.
Camp 4, the central climber hangout in Yosemite.
Leading the crux pitch of Commitment
Joe, stoked as always!
Improvised poop tube. Don't ask.
Starting the second pitch
Seconding through the Kor Roof
Jugging pitch six
The following morning we returned and were miraculously able to find it after hiking up a 3rd class gully. Booty!
A friend had his car broken into by a hungry bear. Bust out the duct tape!
Lower Cathedral Spire
