I think Eliot is writing about the trip as a whole, and for the time being I will leave that to him. Not knowing where to start, I’m going to attempt to simply write about the part that effected me the most. No epics this time, but a success on the hardest route I’ve done this far, the Hourglass on Mt.Athabasca (III, AI3-4). For those of you who are interested in the logistics, what we learned, and the (so so) travel conditions on the glacier, I’m happy to write more. For the time being, let’s get to the good stuff.

We reached the base of the north face around 5am. Clouds from the white out still covering everything but beginning to be burned off by the rising pink glow to the east.

Eliot took off for the burgschrund. Our plan was to simulclimb as much of the face as possible, to get us up and past the rock bands, as fast as we could. The route offers the choice between climbing under large missile spewing rock bands, or huge, very menacing seracs. Eliot had never lead ice before, but has a very solid head, and has always been VERY good about honestly assessing his own abilities and comfort zone. We agreed that we would move together as high as he was comfortable, then he’d throw in two screws and bring me up, with us pitching out the rest.

The burgschrund was puckering, only about a meter wide, but with soft, unsupported snow on either side of it, and a 40 foot cave below. Crossing it was like climbing a muddy lose hill, trying to move up faster than the snow fell away underneath you. Both of us punched through, nearly getting to explore the depths of the cavern underneath the face.

My previous time on face, the surface had been a mix of supportive styrofoam snow and hard (but reliable) ice, it was now a 50 degree slope of unconsolidated powder. It was around 300 feet before Eliot encountered ice good enough for a screw, and we both whooped outload when he sank it. The snow here was simply evil. Around a foot of crap snow over aerated ice. You could chop down for good screws and tool placements or climb the snow and pray your feet held. It wasn’t as strenuous as climbing hard ice but was much more insecure. Each foot placement required four or five kicks to pack down enough snow to hold your weight, and the tools were good for balance only. When the fear got too overwhelming, I’d dig down in the snow to ice and sink a tool, just to have the feeling of a reliable placement.

The face is too steep for much in the way of dangerous avalanches, but as the top was in a cloud it was running with spindrift slides every thirty seconds or so. Lower down these were amazing to watch, nearly pleasant. As we got higher and closer to the rock they grew more frequent and intense, filling our hoods with spindrift and blinding us for a few seconds at a time. We ate up the elevation though, and Eliot put in a belay before the first rockband. We’d climbed 600-800 feet in just over two hours and we had passed the worst of the rockfall hazard. The sun hadn’t hit the rockbands yet and they’d been remarkably quiet. One ping pong ball sized rock had buzzed by my ear, but there were no close calls with anything big. Still, I’ll admit to having to chew back blind fear the whole time. We were making excellent time, but between the spindrift slides, the occasional ominous groaning of the seracs and the knowledge that we couldn’t back down the way we came, I felt like I was in over my head. Deep breaths though, we’re doing fine…fear keeps you focused.

7am now, and my lead, the first of two technical crux pitches. Some ice, just over sixty degrees to a rock band, with a few different options. Several interesting mixed approaches that scared me, a long traverse under the seracs and the funnel of the crux or a thin runnel I found through the rock step. It was a bulge about seven feet high. Vertical crap rock with snow plastered over the front and snow ice on the top. This lead to a belay just below and left of the hourglass feature that gives the climb its name.

Eliot followed and I stared at the crux. It looked as hard as anything I’d lead in crags. Twenty feet or so of clear blue ice, just off vertical and right up the funnel. A shelf of snow promised a rest after twenty feet or so and the angle backed off here, to perhaps 65-70 degrees.

Simply put… it looked hard.

I started thinking about the possibilities if this didn’t go. Normally you can rappel the entire face on v-threads, but several hundred feet of snow at the bottom would not permit a rappel and would require careful down climbing – probably not a realistic option if I was injured.

You can stare at a hard pitch forever waiting to be ready, but you never really will be. Eventually, it’s just time to go. Ready or not. A traverse ten feet or so right… I’d planned to protect the belay with a screw here, but the “ice” was like a snowcone, no chance for gear. Then onto the blue water ice of the funnel. A screw on each rope, two screamers, a few deep breaths and time to go.

I made a few moves and looked up to receive a face full of snow. I shook my head and took a breath, to be rewarded with another pulse from the funnel. Filling my open mouth and choking me, the tears on my eyelids threatening to freeze them together, even after I cleared the snow off my face. The avalanches came in waves though. A few moves at a time, then put your head down and ride out the pulses. The rhythm of climbing took over. Place a tool high, test it, step up, get a stable triangle position on the ice. Brace for the snow… repeat. Then I was to the stem, onto a snow mushroom and another screw. Trying to kick a ledge to get a crampon side rail in, rolling my right hip over to get the pressure on the ice… anything to rest the calves. Clip the rope, let a slide wash over me, I was off. Easier climbing now (65-70 degrees, OK ice), just keep moving. Part of me wants a screw, but my calves don’t want to stop. Over the lip of the hourglass, I lose site of Eliot, then I lose site of my last screw, at least 40 feet below. A few more moves and I’m on snow, I can kick the feet in and rest my calves. An anchor consisting of one 22 taken to the hilt, one half sunk 17, and a tool hammered in later, Eliot was at the belay. In light of the questionable anchor I’d belayed him off my harness and stance, and as a result hadn’t been able to keep the half ropes neat, resulting in something resembling a kitten with a ball of string.

Eliot lead through, it looked like it was only one pitch of moderate snow to the summit. It turned out to be two and a half to three. More simulclimbing, tired and cold, losing site of Eliot and not knowing if he was still moving or if I had a belay. Counting the screws I cleaned, waiting eagerly for him to be down to his last two, so I’d have a belay, and a rest. Then finally a view of him on the summit ridge, belaying from an excellent snow seat. The fear lifted and I ran up the slope with high dagger placements.

We topped out around 1pm, in a partial white out. Down the AA col descent and back to the car at 4pm, around sixteen and a half hours after we left. Not wasted like I was from other mountains, not even that sore. We got away with it. One of the finest climbs I’ve done so far. We made mistakes to be sure, (I dropped two screws and broke the bite valve on my bladder and could only drink at belays) and learned a lot from them.

I came back from pervious trips wondering if Alpine was really for me, this time I’m still thirsty.