3000 kilometers in a rental car

5 Parks Canada Passes

1 broken bite valve

24 Gels

3 routes

June 23rd through July 1st, 2007

There are two attitudes a person can feel after a mountain. Either you: 1. swear off mountaineering forever and second guess your abilities and decision-making or 2. start planning the next mountain before you're even home from the airport. We started planning our next trip to the Canadian Rockies before we had finished hiking down the glacier from our final route. I will never be able to fully describe what an incredible place the Rockies are. The only way to truly understand is to go yourself and experience some of the finest alpine climbing around.

Our goal was simple: take 9 days in the Columbia ice fields, climb as many alpine-style mixed or pure ice routes as possible and not epic on a single one. We began on Saturday, with the 5 hour drive from the Calgary airport to the ice fields. Making a stop in the tourist trap of Banff, we picked up gas for our stove. Due to the Mason paradox (to never make the correct turn while driving) we ended up in the town of Golden BC, some 3 hours out of our way. The massif of Mt. Athabasca and Mt. Andromeda finally appeared in the sunset through the windshield. They seemed to tower over the ice fields parkway, looking both impossibly remote and imposing at the same time. We found a campsite at the climbers campground, several sites away from Sid, Joe Jr and Shane. I noticed Mason only brought sandals when he complained about the cold. When I questioned him, he said that the temps during the day had been in the 70's, when I pointed out that that was in Banff, several thousand feet lower, and that the temps at the ice fields had been in the 40's, a horrified look crossed his face. Not only was he going to have to wear socks with his sandals, he only brought one pair of socks, his one mountaineering pair. On Sunday, Mason, disguised as a German tourist, and I talked with the rangers, checked conditions and weather reports. All day long, rolling whiteouts and clouds obscured the summits before fading away like clockwork at 20 minute intervals. We decided to do our acclimatization route that night with the other Pittsburgh crew. We chose the Silverhorn route on Athabasca and planned on leaving for the moraine trail at midnight. On the trail by 12:40, we were climbing up towards the glacier by headlamp. The almost full moon was hidden by a low ceiling. Once on the glacier, we roped up and enjoyed excellent snow and travel conditions. Kicking steps up the glacier in Sid's footprints to the col at the base of the Silverhorn, right into a whiteout. It was 5am, we decided to descend if visibility had not improved within the hour.

By 5:30, the route was visible and Chris and I started up. We stayed roped up, with the intention of simul-climbing the entire route. I placed a screw at about 60m, kicking steps in good snow and plunging. We did not bring enough screws to safely simul the route, and should have unroped and soloed it. However, we continued on and made good time with Chris taking the lead up the last 60m of low angle snow to the false summit at 7:30 am. I felt the altitude, breathless and gasping at the top. Going from 1,000 to 11,400 in 36 hours did not make my body happy. We began our descent down the AA col, a longer but safer descent than the normal descent via the North glacier route. We reached the car at 11:30 am for a time of about 11 hours. We headed to the center to report conditions to the rangers before returning to camp to eat, drink and sleep. We awoke 15 hours later, on Monday morning, well-rested and ready for a more challenging route. Due to the the rolling whiteouts, we hadn't been able to see the upper slopes of the hourglass from the summit of the Silverhorn, so we only had the shitty telescope at the ice fields center to examine the face. “That looks like a goddamn windslab”, “Are those fucking flutings? This isn't the Andes”. We tried to make sense of the slopes above the crux. The snow looked loaded, bulging at the ridge line, with evil-looking flutings running vertically from the crux funnel to the summit ridge. Grant Sikkes, the only ranger who climbed wasn't there, he was off until Thursday. With the hourglass a no go, we turned our attention to the regular north face route. Again we were met with the appearance of odd snow accumulation and the formation of a sickle-shaped concave feature of snow from the rock bands to the summit. With no idea how stable or what the feature even was, we came down to the final option, the north face bypass. Another jewel of a route, it angles off the north face to the shoulder of the ridge and up a mixed gully to the summit ridge. The snow looked good and we decided to drive down the road to have a look at the gully on the backside. Disbelief. Shock, “Why is there a massive slab formed at the base of the rock bands?” The route would angle straight through the center of this snow slab saddled across the ridge. Dejected, we frantically began calling wardens, information offices and clubs to determine what conditions were like elsewhere. Same story from all: “Oh, nothings in, it's too early, needs another week or two to stabilize”.

We decided to drive back to Banff, if the alpine was out, then we'd find something to climb.

Concentrating on Mt. Yamnuska, a 1,000 foot limestone wall outside of Canmore. Chris broke down and bought the guidebook, we got bad directions and decided to head there the next morning. After driving around for hours, we finally broke down and asked one of the guiding services in Canmore for directions. Finally in the parking lot, we found ourselves with several other groups of locals, either rushing to get a couple pitches in before work or enjoying their day off. We soon discovered why the mountaineers from Canmore are so strong. The approach was hellish, 1,500 odd feet of elevation gain in about an hour of fast paced hiking. The trail was a switchbacked mix of scree and dirt, the wall loomed ahead. Eight pitches at the highest point, 1,000 feet of vertical limestone wall towered over us. We picked the classic Grillmair chimneys, a 5.6 line up the center of the wall as a good intro. We swung leads and struggled to get used to the rock, encountering tons of loose rock, weird pro and lots of runouts. Pitons are still considered acceptable pro for leading there and the guidebook recomends both the leader and second bring pin hammers to test, place and clean pins. We climbed our route in decent time, on all clean and fixed gear. The view from the summit was impressive, a large valley surrounded by peaks spread out as far as I could see. The descent was interesting, a walk off around the backside, down shitty scree covered trails. I made fun of Mason's choice in footwear again after he fell on his ass repeatedly. We decided to bail and try to change money in Canmore before the bank closed. After stumbling, sliding and falling our way down the trail, we finally made it out. We just missing the closing hours of the bank. We found a campsite in Canmore and started drinking beer. A lot of beer, to drown the sorrows of no alpine climbing. The next morning, we headed back to Yam, eying another classic crack climb. At the register, we came upon a pair of climbers “yard-saleing” gear. We found out their climb was occupied and that they were leaving most of their rack behind since their second choice was mainly fixed. Mason signed in while I bullshitted with the pair. Five minutes down the trail Mason turned to me and informed me I had just met Barry Blanchard, out for a 5.11d trad climb before work.

Half way up the approach trail, I stopped. I turned to Mason and asked if he wanted to just go back to the ice fields and talk to Grant. Find a mountain in shape. If nothing else, we'd play on the glacier, practice crevasse rescue, climb ice falls, anything, I just needed ice. We ran back down the hill, our minds set to return to the mountains. We got back to the ice fields in time to go talk to Grant.

To our horror, we learned that those were not flutings above the Hourglass, but was thin snow over ice. The sickle was ice and windswept snow over the regular north face, and the saddle on the bypass was thin snow over slabs of rock. We had completely mis-read snow conditions, errored on the side of caution and missed several days of excellent climbing weather. At first we could have kicked ourselves, then we realized we had made the correct decision based on the information we had. We agreed to take a rest day and attempt the Hourglass route on Friday night. We napped fitfully Friday, listening to the rain drum on the tent fly. We knew we blew the perfect weather, we just hoped the snow conditions hadn't gone to complete shit. We left early, reaching the moraine trail at a little past 11pm to wait for a lull in the rain to begin our approach.

We caught a window and began hiking up the trail, keeping a good pace up the moraine until running into slow traveling on the glacier. The snow sucked, it was wet, it was unsupportive, it balled up on our crampons despite plates. We had to knock our boots with our axes every several steps to keep from falling. Several times we agreed to bail if the snow did not improve soon. By the time we reached the ramp, a 40 degree slope with the perfect slide angle in perfect conditions, the had snow improved. We continued on, avoiding the worst of the ramp by Frenching up a bare ice slope. Whiteouts continued to roll in and out and we could see lights at the center, which would subsequently disappear into clouds. We reached the face at 5am, the sun hung below the horizon, the alpenglow lit up the sky and gave us enough light to begin climbing. I dropped my kiwi coil and began leading up the face to the Bergschrund. I moved up the 50 degree slope covered with completely unsupportive snow. I plunged tools until my fists were buried beneath the surface, repeatedly kicking my boots in until it would support weight, trying to get front points or side rails to bite into good snow buried beneath the powder. I reached the 'schrund at a point that appeared well-bridged from below. As I approached, the snow began to soften and I soon realized that the bridge was unconsolidated powder. I was now standing on the lip of a 3 foot wide gaper with a 40 foot cave underneath and no good snow to stand on. I traversed to the side and found some okay snow. I plunged both tools in decent snow above the 'schrund and tried to kick my feet in to get high, but I kept sinking deeper into the cave. I finally managed to get a decent foot to mantle up on my tools and plunge one high. I continued up the face as it steepened to 60 degrees. soon Mason was at the 'schrund, I looked down at the rope between us. I had dug down twice to try to find ice in vain. “Get a good stance in case I go in”, Chris yells up at me. “Fuckfuckfuck” becomes a mantra as I plunge a tool and pound it in with the hammer. I clip it and kick my feet in as hard as I can. I give Mason the go ahead and I watch as he almost falls through. Once he's clear I pull my tools and start up again. At 300 feet, I encounter ice; I chop down and find nice hard alpine ice. It takes a 22 easily, I clip a screamer in and give a cheer of joy, “We're not gonna DIE!”. Mason joins in for several seconds before we remember to keep moving. As I get higher, I get closer and closer to the rock bands. They stare menacingly down at me and I can see individual blocks. I can almost see them shifting. To the right, the seracs loom, the massive blocks are in focus now with each crack and cave visible. Spindrift blows down gullies in the rock bands and the funnel formed by the crux. It's almost pleasant as it washes over my back. I place a screw every 70 feet while Mason cleans the lowest. I climb past a jutting buttress of rock. I can see bright red cordalette slung around a refrigerator sized block, someone has bailed recently. Soon I am directly below a small rock band and down to two screws. I throw a 22 and a 17 in and bring Mason the rest of the way up. We had just simulclimbed 800 or so feet in a little over 2 hours. Mason gets the lead through the rockband, he had several mixed options or a long traverse under seracs to get to the belay below the crux pitch. He led up a body-length vertical bulge of ice and snow plastered over rock and up a short section of 60 degree snow and ice. We were now just below and right of the crux. Ten feet to our right was a beautiful wall of almost vertical blue ice, 20 feet tall with a snowy ledge at the top promising a rest before more 60 degree snow and ice to the summit ridge. We stared and stared at it. Mason looked at me and said that he was ready. He tried to protect the traverse from the belay but only found snowcone-like ice. Once he reached the crux, he placed two good screws, one on each rope and moved up. The mountain now dumped spindrift straight down the crux, I watched Mason take a pulse of snow straight in the face. He had to climb to the rhythm of the slides. One, two, three moves, then head down as the snow blasted over him. Soon, he had the belay in, if you could call it that. “This anchor is shit. Don't fuck up.” was the last I heard before I began climbing. Soon I was at the belay, and it was shit. I waled a tool in and clipped in to it along with the power point. We stared up at what appeared to be a pitch of easy snow to the ridge. We debated unroping and soloing it, Mason didn't think there would be any gear. I decided to lead up and if I could get gear in, then he'd pull the belay and we'd simul the rest. If I couldn't get gear in, we'd have to death-pact it or, preferably, I'd untie. I got a screw in good ice about 20 feet up from the belay, thank Christ! I continued up more 60 to 70 degree crap snow over aerated alpine ice and rock. Chris then pulled the belay. The distance to the ridge was still impossible to determine. I was running out of screws, placing my second to last one and continuing on. If I didn't hit the ridge while we still had two screws between us I would put in a belay and bring Chris up.

There it was, the angle backed off and I could see spindrift blowing over the crest. I plunged my tools into the crest, clipped in and kicked into a seat. Chris came up was next to me, we unroped and began the descent. Once at the AA col, we stopped to eat and drink. The col was already soft, we postholed down the slope in soggy snow, again the snow balling up on our poons. We scrambled down the moraine along the snocoach road to the parking lot. We reached the car a little after 4pm, making our car-to-car time less than 17 hours. We drank beer and ate Mountain House at camp. Still wide awake, we decided to cut our drive in the morning and head to Canmore for the night. We packed up, made coffee and headed east. We soon discovered everyone goes to campgrounds in Canmore on Saturday nights. No sites to be found anywhere. We ended up at the Alpine Club of Canada hostel, hoping to grab some sleep but the entire club was rented out for a wedding reception. We just crashed in the parking lot, waking up at 4 am to head to Calgary for our flight.

When we finally got home, I looked back and realized what we had pulled off. I've never felt better after a mountain. I'm ready to go back. I want more now that I got a taste of it.

Vital stats:

Siverhorn, II, 300m AI 2, 50 degree snow

Grillmair Chimneys, 295m, 5.6, 8 pitches

Hourglass, III, 400m AI 3/4