Ice Climbing & Mountaineering

To make it easier to experience America’s Great Outdoors, the National Park Service is waiving entrance fees, so visitors can enjoy all 392 national parks for free April 17-25.

In addition, many national park concessioners are offering special promotions that are certain to add to your fun.

Took advantage of a warm afternoon to swing tools at Hidden Falls. There was a party of two pulling their rope and packing when we arrived around 2pm; we had the ice to ourselves as the sun sank into the Divide. We each took a half-dozen laps, hooking wherever possible to preserve this super popular ice crag. Feels good to get out!

Took a hike today up into Glacier Gorge to swing tools and check out the Black Lake Area.  Super glad we didn’t take skis….would have been a scrape-fest.  And was, for the folks who tried.  All Mixed Up looks quite thin.  We climbed a sweet one pitch WI2-3 just below Black Lake, sticking to the left side.  I think the climb is named “Reflections” but it wasn’t the WI3-4 that Mountain Project claims.  Afterwards we checked out the Black Lake Slabs which appear to be in but thin, especially at the top.  West Gully looks pretty good.  We’ll definitely head back up there for some more winter fun.  Can’t hope for too many days with weather like today, though!

Yes, we threw ourselves against the flanks of Longs Peak in winter yet again, and as before were tossed away like so many rag dolls. We didn’t have much ambition this morning; had the weather been bluebird we may have perservered. As it was, though (windy, cool, snowy, windy, and windy) we opted to turn back around treeline after snapping a few photos. A great hike and an early morning, but no winter summit for us.

We went to Ouray last weekend to swing tools and visit with friends.  Drove down on Thursday in mediocre weather and spent the night at the Vic with Matt and Emily.  We climbed on Friday, meeting up with Dave Kast and his wife Kelly…friends of old from my very first days with the POC.  Kate and Brian drove down with their lab Lhotse on Friday as well.
Towards the end of the day, Matt and Emily went to check in to our rental house while Dave, Apryle and I got our last sticks for the day.  Matt called on the cell with with what we were sure was a joke: our house had been hit by an avalanche.

No joke, the rental house got hit by a big slide on Thursday, lost a few windows and was full of snow.  The rental agency moved us into a hooked-up condo, though, and we had no avalanche trouble for the rest of the weekend.

Highlights of the trip included excellent meals each evening, a keg of fine homebrew, telling old stories, and of course, swinging tools into steep blue ice. We didn’t climb too hard, but for the last day.  Apryle and I took turns dropping each other into Pic’ of the Vic and Five Fingers until we could hardly hold our tools.

All in all a great trip; can’t wait to do it again next year!

About a year ago, I got stranded in Colorado by a Christmastime blizzard.  So Matt Belfoure and I went mountaineering.  We woke early, drove to Guanella Pass, hiked the last three miles up the closed, snowed in road, then toiled across a neverending sea of willows towards Mount Bierstadt.  Postholing every step for nigh on two miles made us reconsider our ascent (not to mention the cold, low cloud ceiling, and blowing snow).  We left, cursed the mountain, and vowed to return more properly equipped at an equally stupid time of year.

Fast forward 53 weeks.  Apryle and I loaded the car with a winter expedition’s worth of clothing and gear and drove to Denver.  Emily had decided to join us this year, despite the unbelievably brutal forecast.  It was to be clear and cold, with a high of twenty degrees in Georgetown.  We anticipated temperatures in the zero degree range at the top of Guanella Pass and much, much colder on top of Bierstadt at 14,060 feet above sea level.

After a brief discussion, we decided to abandon hopes of extending the adventure along the Sawtooth Ridge to neighboring Mount Evans and stick to Bierstadt as our solitary goal.  Given the experience Matt and I had the year before, a single winter 14er would be plenty for our spindly frames.  Seven-thirty and we went to sleep, to fully prepare for the ass-whupping that lay before us.

We woke surprisingly easily at 3:30am and piled into Emily’s new Subaru.  The drive to Georgetown was short, only about 45 minutes in the predawn calm.  As we ascended from Georgetown up Guanella Pass, the temperature dropped.  Zero degrees.  Negative four.  Negative six.

We dressed and geared up in the car, all afraid of what lay in wait outside.  After struggling with fleeces, balaclavas, boots, gaitors, and gloves, the cold air was almost welcome when we tumbled out into the snowy darkness at 5:30 AM.  Within minutes, though, the reality of the cold started to sink in, and we moved quickly to strap on snowshoes in the frozen darkness.

The Guanella Pass road was snowed in heavily, and we sunk six to twelve inches even with our snowshoes.  Apryle, Matt (a machine incarnate) and I took turns breaking trail.  We labored up the road in the freezing cold, thankful for the relative lack of wind and eager for the subtle warmth of the winter sun.

As we crested the pass the sun was just beginning to rise, but the wind tore into us.  We took shelter in the Forest Service bathroom, a simple vault toilet blockhouse.  No heat, no seats, just a bit of wind protection.  We huddled in the crapper from 9:00 AM for about an hour.  Matt boiled tea and hot chocolate on the jetboil while I alternately warmed Apryle and Emily’s near frozen feet on my belly.  Emily wasn’t too happy about the conditions, not being particularly inclined towards the suffersome aspects of winter mountaineering, but agreed to continue apace and see what conditions lay ahead.

By the time we left the toilet, the sun was pouring down welcome warmth upon us.  Matt and Apryle had started ahead breaking trail while I helped Emily warm her toes.  Emily and I caught up to the trail-breakers just as the trail steepened.  The wind was ripping along the flanks of Bierstadt at 30-40 mph, and after about a mile through the willows Emily had had enough.  She began the hike down with Matt in tow.  Apryle and I plowed on upwards.  I was resolved to reach the summit; I did NOT want to have to go through this again.

Temperatures were in the high negatives as Apryle and I gained the higher flanks of the mountain.  We forged our way through the brutal wind towards the summit ridge.  We were both worked, and being slowly frozen by the razor-like winds.  As we neared the ridge, we engaged in a futile search for shelter behind rocks to eat and drink, but the relentless wind and blowing snow kept us moving.

Fifty feet from the summit, I thought we might not make it.  The wind was too cold, the slope too steep, and I was (in hindsight) starting to feel slightly altitude sick.  After literally thawing the ice off our noses, we agreed to make a last effort to the summit.

I felt no elation on top, just cold, nausea, and hunger.  We hadn’t eaten or drank significantly in hours, as the cold kept us moving.  The summit was oddly sheltered from the tearing winds we had encountered on the climb, but it was cold.  We later estimated the temperature to be around ten below when we hit the summit, not considering wind-chill.  I took off my right glove to take some photos and unwrap some candies, but only managed a minute or two before the cold overcame my fine motor skills and we decided to turn tail and run.

The wind was bad on the ascent.  It was indescribable on the descent.  What had been blowing us up the mountain now blasted us full in the face.  We took turns examining each other’s exposed skin for ice and frostbite, and I stopped every minute or two to warm my dangerously frozen schnoz.  We literally ran down the mountain, dodging boulders and plowing through snowfields.  We were concerned about the time, concerned about our skin, and worried that we would keep Matt and Emily waiting until the wee hours.

We made the descent in good time, dropping nearly 2,400 feet back to the valley, but climbing back from the bottom of the willows to the Guanella Pass road took all I had.  We stopped again in the crapper to eat, drink, and take some aspirin.  We were both weak with cold and exhaustion…but we had summited and the road was all downhill to the car.

Snowshoeing down the road was a blur.  One foot in front of the other, keep the nose warm.  Nothing worse for frostbite than refreezing.  What do you get from a frozen tomato, thawed, refrozen, then thawed again?  Sauce.

Despite having to break trail both up and down the mountain, we made it back down to the car in surprisingly little time; 5:30 pm, a twelve hour day.  Matt had watched us climbing, took some photos, and we estimated our summit at around 1:00 pm.  Turns out they hadn’t waited too long at all…and Emily was plenty happy to wait in the warm car rather than suffering up the mountainside.

Apryle came through the experience remarkably unharmed.  She had never experienced conditions so cold, and performed like a champion.  I was very impressed.  After a good night’s sleep she was nearly fully recovered.  I made it to the summit, but suffered moderate frostbite to the left side of my nose.  It is healing, but will take some time and may scar slightly.  It took me two or three days before I was fully recovered.  Matt was a machine, and I have no doubt that he could have summited if he wished….though the conditions were truly awful and I am shocked that Apryle and I had the resolve to continue.  Emily may be the only smart one…Bierstadt was a definite reminder of her distaste for suffering up steep hills in the winter.

All in all, it was a good experience.  I will stop short of calling it fun, but there is no doubt that it was rewarding.  I have never experienced a combination of conditions so awful.  I have been out in colder weather, stronger winds, heavier snow, and higher altitude…..but on Bierstadt we had terrible cold, gusty winds, blowing snow, and altitude all in one walloping package.  I feel that I am a better mountaineer for the experience and am proud of the accomplishment.  Even if Bierstadt is regarded as “an early winter shakedown” for expert 14er baggers.

Andrew, Matt, Emily, Phil and Apryle in Ouray, February 2007.

Jen came up to our house around 9:30am Sunday and JS Butler and his buddy Cliff arrived shortly thereafter around 10 am. We solidfied details about boots and extraneous gear as it would be Jen and Cliff’s first time climbing outdoors. We rented a pair of 13 and pair of 6 plastics from CMS for Cliff and Jen, respectively. I ended up wearing the toasty warm plastics and Jen opted for my less warm but more comfortable Nepal Extremes.

We decided to hike in to Jewel lake rather than Hidden Falls because Cliff was from PA and it would be a nice hike to Jewel even if we didn’t climb at all. We left from the Glacier Gorge trailhead around 11-11:30am. We took the shortcut trail and saved a lot of time. Despite her warnings of being slow, Jen hiked like a champ.

We got to the base of the climb around 1:30 and Phil set up ropes while we put on our harnesses, crampons, etc. We dropped one rope on the main flow and one off to climber’s left on a shorter, narrow, more vertical section.

I climbed first on the main flow. Then John took a run. Next Cliff took at try and did great. Jen and I went over the smaller, steeper flow and practiced swinging the tools. Once Cliff was thoroughly worked, Jen hopped on the main flow and slowly made her way to the top. John and Phil had a run up the steep flow and I finished up the day on the steep flow. I broke down the anchor and was going to rappel off some slings around a tree. Tossed the ropes, check with the ground-crew that both ends were touching, and began to rapel. About 15-20 feet off the ground, I found one end of the rope in my hand. I almost rapped off the end of my rope. After freaking out a little, I sunk a tool and climbed back up to a rock outcropping. Wedged between the rock and the ice, I pulled the tool, resunk it higher, and clipped in with the cordellette I pulled from the anchor. I untied from the rappel, pulled the rope till I saw both ends touching the ground (for sure this time), and (still with shaking hands) rethreaded my reverso to continue my descent.

Hiking out, we crossed back over Mills Lake, skirting the eastern side this time rather than the side directly beneath thatchtop. I put my foot through the lake but did not get very wet. We hiked out mostly in the dark, warm and tired from the excitement of the day.

Everyone climbed really well and learned a very valuable lesson – or I did, at least – ALWAYS watch for the ends of your rope while rappelling. Even if your buddy tells you they are touching the ground, ALWAYS watch. In this case, the long-end of the rope was looped around a bush about 10 feet off the ground. So, what my friends thought was both ends of the rope touching down, was really a loop of rope from just one side.

We had planned an epic weekend of skiing and ice climbing in Summit County. On saturday we headed to Lincoln Falls, on Hoosier Pass above Breckenridge, and climbed some ice. Apryle and Andrew swapped leads in the Bowling Alley, Matt and John flailed on their first top-rope attempt and improved dramatically thereafter, and Emily froze. It actually wasn’t too cold, compared to last year when Andrew, Apryle, John and I first climbed at the area.

At the end of the day I led a nice but chopped up flow to the right of a STEEP pillar. It looked a lot harder than it ended up being, but still I was happy to spend some time on the sharp end.

One big bummer from the day was that I cracked a tooth on a tortilla chip in the morning, so I ended up having my wisdom teeth out later in the week. Miserable.

Thursday night we packed some really warm clothes and some very sharp metal, scrounged for snack-type food items, and went to bed. The alarm went off and I was suprisingly wide awake. So awake that I looked at the clock to be sure I didn’t set the alarm incorrectly. Crap! It was only 1:33 am and I was having pre-climb anxiety. oh well. Back to sleep. Two hours later, repeat.

Left the car behind at the trailhead by 4:30am, Saturday. Hiked quickly but cautiously as the ice on the trail was tough to see with just our headlamps. Got quickly and uneventfully to Mills Lake in about 1.5 hours. Then the real hike started. Looking at the quarter mile elevation gain from the lake to the base of the climb brought back memories, painful memories, of hiking to MacGregor Slabs. I was able to site enough differences between this impending hike and the MacGregor Slabs hike, namely – snow, no snow; many downed trees, few obstacles; no switchbacks, steep switchbacks; and the real clencher: no bootpacked trail, very obvious trail. I prepared wholeheartedly for a hellacious approach.

Good thing I did not instead prepare for a tea party because we kicked steps, climbed over old, rotten fallen trees, and vege self-belayed ourselves up snow-dusted, ice-covered rock slabs. Shout out to those tough alpine tundra plants! Surmounting the last steep bulge, we could see out climb clearly: P1: thinner, low-angle ice up about 150 feet to a few options for belays; P2: three bulge sections separated by what looked to be fairly good rest areas; P3: steep snow; P4: fat, steep, sustained WI4 filled a narrow chute… looked beautiful. We scoped our descent, left and down, too.

We reached the base of the climb around 7:30 am feeling as though we had already climbed the mountain. We spotted a team of two coming up behind us and jinxed ourselves by hoping we wouldn’t get in each others way. As planned, I geared up and started climbing. The ice was thick enough to swing tenaciously but didn’t want a good screw. Even the stubbies were bottoming out, some with 2cm sticking out, others with a little more. It didn’t matter, I was psyched. I cleared a few tough bulges but the real challenge was getting my ice tool unstuck after getting a good stick. Twice during my lead I wasted so much time yanking, jerking, levering, etc. in a frustrated, fun-sucking, energy-sapping state of stuckedness. Of course, I was getting great advice from multiple sources – get above and pull up on the shaft, pound on the adze, lift up and out up near the head – of course all of which I was trying over and over again with no avail. Then it pops out. Always shocking when you’re perched somewhat precariously on an ice bulge, working with all the strength you’ve got to unstick your stuck tool, then for whatever reason, this slam does it and it’s out. You didn’t expect it to come out, and suddenly it’s out. But at this point you’ve almost resigned yourself to the fact that your ice axe is going to become a fixed piece on this route until spring. At which point, you’d have to make numerous slogs up that heinous hill to check the status of the melting ice before someone took your tool as booty gear. Anyhow, the tool decided to unstick itself when it was ready to keep climbing and, once I had regained composure after the rush of unexpected unbalance, the good tool, bad tool, and I climbed happily together once again.

I set up my belay right next to the leader of the twosome, who had meanwhile decided to take the more interesting left side instead of waiting and following us up the middle. Phil came up with no problems. Then it started to rain.

Party #2’s leader headed up left through the same ice we’d have to climb, raining down ice chunks of all sizes, shapes, and colors. OK, so they were pretty much all white except for a few blueish tinted dinner plates, but wouldn’t it be cool if ice were multicolored? Party #2 follower starts up and knocks off a huge piece, catches it between his knees, and lets it fall. No “IIIIICE”, just lets it fall. Phil promises him, “if you do that while I’m leading I’m going to come after you with my ice axes.” Wow, good. Way to put the smack down, Phil. Phil and I are freeeeeeeezing as we prance impatiently in our 5-inch-deep, 10-inch-wide platforms we’ve kicked at the belay. Phil decides it’s best if we wait for both of their team members to get well above us before we start up the same section. I decide it’s best if we get the hell out of dodge and find some way to bail. About 20 minutes later, Phil starts up behind ice-chucker guy.

Phil starts out shaky, making this 6-foot vertical bulge look a lot harder than I thought should’ve been, and placing a few more screws than I thought he should’ve for the anticipated length of his pitch. An hour later, I was a bit warmer and following up his pitch. It was tougher than it looked clearing that first bulge. Then I got to the second: an 8-foot, vertical curtain of ice, probably no more than 4 inches thick in spots. I vowed to ream Phil out at the next belay for climbing this intimidating section. It was as challenging to climb as it looked. Just over the bulge I got my tool stuck again. I could reach out and touch Phil at the belay and the snow slog ahead looked mellow enough so I kept going on lead with one tool up about 10 feet of low-angle ice onto a snow field. At this point, another party had shown up and were climbing side-by-side with us off to the left on some very mixed terrain. We all watched in horror as chunk after chunk of ice rained down on us from ice-chucker guy above. Phil and I decided to take the walk-off before the last pitch. The ice-chucker party finished up the last pitch as we were taking the walk off and the faster party next to us, Jeff and Dan, decided to do the last pitch.

above: the pitch we did not do.

We met up with Jeff and Dan on the descent. The descent was full of very loose, very low angle scree. Snow was wind-blown into the crevices between the rocks and, more than at any other boulderfield I’ve hiked through, your foot would sink down between the unconsolidated powder in an ankle-breaker of a second. We continued our descent quickly and painfully. Our bodies were starting to fight back- feet ached, stomach hungry, backs sore, etc. Despite the beautiful waning (or maybe it was waxing?) gibbous moon, we put our headlamps on about 50 vertical feet above Mills Lake so as not to kill ourselves on the icey trail around the lake. We talked non-stop on the hike back to the car, which is definitely one of my favorite parts of the trip. I was so excited to talk to Phil – to tell him how I felt and what I was thinking through every part of the day, and to hear how he felt and what he was thinking – especially as he was about to climb that flippin’ ice curtain

We got back to the car as two hurting units. Got home, showered, and picked up some take-away nachos from Ed’s. Laid out some of our more important metal gear to dry. Went to sleep.

We both learned a lot and all-in-all this was one of my favorite trips yet.