Finally Got 'Er Done: The Story of the FWA of Colchuck Peak's NE Buttress

 Colchuck's NE Buttress climbs the ridge dropping from the left summit

 

A calm, dark wind blows through the starry sky. From our vantage point Argonaut Peak, Sherpa Peak, and Mt. Stuart stand still and silent in the shadows of winter night. I let my mind relax and I absorb the view that I've seen a hundred times before. I'm not just looking at my surroundings, but rather feeling them to my very bones. My journey to this summit is a culmination of all the adventures I've had on the moutains that surround us. The stories, epics, and triumphs replay in my mind. I feel a peace. I feel at home.

Shaun soaking up the sun on Colchuck Lake

A day earlier, Shaun Johnson and I had left the floor of the Icicle Canyon and climbed upwards as pine forest gave way to thick fir glades. Bright sun lit our path and we sucked up the solar power. After a few hours we broke out onto Colchuck Lake, a frozen expanse cradled by 8,000 foot summits, sweeping moraines, and long, steady slopes.

Breaking trail through deep snow

 

I closed my eyes and let the sun dig in to me as we ate lunch on the lake. With many cold, hard moments ahead, I relaxed and simply enjoyed being alive.

Cresting the moraine in deep, unconsolidated snow

After redistributing the gear, we headed up towards the NE Buttress of Colchuck Peak, a route I had tried four other times to climb in winter. Above the lake, the deep unconsolidated snow slowed our progress. I knew the conditions on the climb would not be good. I thought about my other failures and decided Shaun and I needed to work with what we were given. The route was not in good nick, but the weather was beautiful and I was determined to keep moving upwards no matter what. With three days of food and bivy gear in the pack, we were equipped to see this mission through to the end.

Leading pitch two

 

Working with what we were given meant breaking trail through waist deep snow to the first technical pitch. Wading through the powder could have injected doubt into my veins, but I just kept my head down and tried to levitate up the loaded coulior to the base of the route. Our goal for day one was to make it to a bivy perch on top of pitch two. Putting this initial stretch of climbing behind us was crucial. These pitches are some of the most difficult on the route. A filter for what's to come, the snow covered black granite reveals whether you are up to the task or not.

Shaun standing on night one's bivy platform

Even though conditions were poor, I managed to climb the first two pitches with relative ease. Previous experiance helped here. The climbing was insecure and difficult, but I knew what to expect and where I might get some gear. We stomped out a skinny ledge for the tent as fading light cast a pink glow across the sea of peaks that filled the horizon. With the door shut, one could amost forget the 400 foot drop pulling at the edges of the First Light.

 Leading across the snow ledges that define the middle of the route

 

The next morning I found myself leading across the snow ramps that define the middle of the NE Buttress. Although they looked casual, the thin coating of snow was mostly unconsolidated and it took me a few hours to connect climbable terrain across the ramps.  

 Climbing the key corner pitch that connects weaknesses on the ridge

 

By mid afternoon, I was under the pitches I had wondered about for so many years. All my previous attempts had ended short of the key passage that snaked above me. The first question mark was a 5.7 slab. Easy in summer, but thin and run out in winter, this stretch put me on the tip of my mono point as I connected small patches of moss and snow. Finding a belay proved challenging, but I finally managed to secure myself under the summer crux, a 5.8 corner with a varied crack sunk in the back. Torques, moss sticks, and an aid move or two pushed me through the corner and on to the upper ridge. A happy feeling surfaced in my being. "We are going to send!", I thought. The sentiment was quickly squelched by my realistic side. We were still 400 feet below the summit in the dead of winter. A narrow focus returned to my mind. It's not over until it's over.

Leading out on the snow arete that defined the upper part of the route

I charged into the sunset, leading a long simul pitch through a sharp snow arete and into a gully of neve. Finally, some sticks and easy climbing! I daggered up the gash towards a belay.

A look back at part of the snow arete

 

Two more M5 pitches kept me in the moment. Darkness had overtaken us and my world was reduced to the orb of light that radiated from my headlamp. Sparks lit the air when my crampon points scratched the belly of granite we were stuck to. I grunted and tackled each bulge with aggression. I could feel the top in the blackness above.

 Our bivy near Colchuck's summit on the morning of day three

Finally, I was released to the summit slopes. With no where higher to go I sat in the snow and belayed Shaun as he worked his way to the top. I soaked up the scene around me as I pulled the rope upwards. Soon, Shaun's headlamp bobbed and weaved over the summit too. We had made it!

We took in the scene for many wordless minutes. I let myself enjoy the feeling of success that overwhelmed us. I recognized the hard work and progression that it took to get here. I thought over the day and the key moments that stood out. I gave thanks to the friends that shared parts of the journey with me.

And then I moved on. The multi year project to make the first winter ascent of the NE Buttress was over. Setting up the tent on the summit plateau, a content tiredness flooded through me. It was time to take this experiance and apply the lessons to another challenge.

Heading home, moving on

 

 

*An account of the first winter ascent of the NE Buttress of Colchuck Peak

*Summit was gained on March 9

*Ascent was made by Shaun Johnson and Jens Holsten

*M6 A1, 13 pitches

Familiar Faces and New Places

The last couple weeks have been a blur of fresh places and new faces. Familiar territory was navigated too. It was in "The Lab" that my last climbing binge began.

 

"The Lab" is the nick name I've coined for the Stuart Range. It is where I found my passion for alpine climbing and where I continue to work on my skills. Plus, a winter day in "The Lab" is always good for fitness. With a 20 mile round trip hike and 1500 foot faces laced with rock and ice routes, any day out in the range will make you sore.  

Psyched to have "The Lab" in my backyard. Word!

 

My most recent training mision took Chad Kellog and I up Dragontail's Gerber-Sink route, a direct and beautiful line. The past few winters the Gerber-Sink has been getting some attention and rightly so. It is a much better and more interesting climb than the mega-popular Triple Couliors.

Climbing an ice runnel halfway up the Gerber-Sink

 

Our summit marked my 17th time on top of D-tail. It's fun to realize how much this north face has molded me into the climber I am now. 

Always psyched for a cumbre!

 

As soon as I got off Dragontail, I hopped in Vern Nelson's rig and we headed east on I-90. Our ultimate destination was the Cody Ice Festival where we would be giving ice climbing clinics and I would be showing some slides from this year's Patagonia adventures. We made a quick stop in Hyalite Canyon on our way. We climbed the awesome classic, Cleopatras Needle (WI5, two pitches) and then kept the peddle to the metal, arriving in Wyoming late that evening.

Cody is a beautiful place with lots of amazing wildlife. In this shot I'm watching a big horn sheep herd cruise through the canyon.

 

We had one climbing day to ourselves before the weekend began and the Ice Fest would be in full swing. We chose to climb the amazing classic, Broken Hearts (WI6, 6 pitches). 

Soloing the fun lower pitches of Broken Hearts

 

We soloed the route except for the last two rope lengths which were steep, pumpy columns. The last two pitches of this route rarely form, so we felt lucky that the sixth pitch was standing and totally climbable (the 7th was not). The book suggests a WI6 rating for this stretch, but it felt like WI5+ to me (whatever that means!).

Vern on pitch 5 (WI5) of Broken Hearts 

Myself on the asthetic 6th pitch (WI5+) of Broken Hearts

Another cool shot of pitch 6

 

After our climb of Broken Hearts, the Cody Ice Festival began. It was a great weekend of meeting new friends and teaching clinics on awesome routes I'd never done.

Teaching a clinic on Chasing the Sun (WI4)

 

I had a really fantastic time climbing with my students. It was a breath of fresh air to connect with the community and to do so in such an awe inspiring environment. I expected Cody to be pretty, but the South Fork Canyon (where the ice is!) is an absolutely stunning collage of wind swept peaks and gnarly, twisting cayons. I can't wait to go back!! 

The South Fork Canyon as seen from Chasing the Sun

A Week of Washington Ice

As my ride home from the airport weaved through the Tumwater Canyon I saw it. Ice. Blue, green, or grey, it stuck to every slab and hung from every overhang. Climbing on Cerro Torre only three days before seemed like ancient history.  As climbers, we always pursue life in the moment. And now my moment was a fleeting cold front that had created good ice condtions in Washington. In South America, I had caught glimpses on Facebook of how my friends back home were climbing all the stuff I'd always wanted to, but never had been lucky enough with conditions to actually attempt. I had some catching up to do. Over a week and a half, I chased down the ice until it melted away. With work obligations, I wasn't able to make use of every day, but I did what I could.

 

Vern approaches Shitting Razorblades at Banks Lake

Vern and I spent a few days attacking steep, sketchy lines out at Banks Lake. I've only had the opportunity to climb ice at Banks one crappy (what do you know) day in the past. Vern and I struck gold. We were able to throw ourselves at many cool and spicy flows.

Vern on pitch one of Shitting Razorblades (WI4+)

And myself leading out on pitch 2 (WI5)

Myself leading H2O2 (WI5)

And The Cable (WI5)

Vern leading The Cable

We also snuck in a pitch near Jameson Lake. The sun had affected the climb, but even in it's snicey, horrid state, we still had fun.

Vern deals with some laughably shitty ice on Sundance Kid (WI5)

 

Of course, there was the mixed and ice climbing out the backdoor in Leavenworth. I climbed a few steep pitches and rambled up some scratchy gullies too.

Dan Hilden scrambling Chicken Gully

Leading out on high quality, steep ice: Plastic Fantastic Lover (WI4)

Neat ice designs on Clandestine Right (WI4)

 

Like I said, we chased the ice until there was nothing to go after. Kurt Hicks and I shared the joy of a classic Washington ice day. We drove hundreds of miles, found temps too warm for the main objective, tried to climb another cool route and bailed, swung up a rotten flow, and finished the day fording a cold river to approach another piece of ice that was falling apart (we also bailed). I appreciated the laughs we shared that day, but I'm sure glad I'm heading to Montana and Wyoming for some dependable conditions! Aaahhh, Washington.

 Trying to beat the heat on Desperation Gully (WI3 5.9), Mazama

 Cruising up The Standard (WI4), Mazama

 Crossing the Entiat River for a piece of worthless slush!

The one that got away...

Tour of Duty: 10 Days on the Front in Patagonia, Part 3

The 2012/2013 Patagonia season taught me so much about alpine climbing. Testing myself against the Torres for the first time was inspiring. The complexity of the routes on those ice capped spires requires a complete skill set, a brilliant game plan, and a lot of motivation.

When my good friend Chad Kellog arrived in Chalten the wind and rain was heavy. Soon though, a period of bluebird weather appeared on the Meteogram. Knowing we had the time frame to do something big, we chose to try the SE Ridge of Cerro Torre.

On our first go, poor planning and quirky strategy led to our demise 13 pitchs up. We had traveled through dicey terrain at the wrong time of day, let ourselves spiral into dehydration, not gotten adequate rest before the climb, and found the wet, snowy rock difficult and time consuming. To top it off, the distant headwall pitches seemed to be soaked with water.

When we arrived back in Niponino, we heard the good weather was supposed to hang around. All of the sudden we had another chance!

We raced back to town, intent on refueling and then taking a shot at Festerville on Cerro Stanhardt. Conditions had not been great on the SE Ridge and the approach to the Col of Hope was quite dicey. We had almost let it go...

Two days later we found ourselves, well, back at the Col of Hope! After staring at Cerro Torre while enjoying two days rest in Chalten, we couldn't not go back. The headwall appeared to be drying in the hot, sunny weather. We had to take another shot at the SE Ridge!

On our second go everything went much smoother. Conditions had improved dramatically and our knowledge of the terrain erased any routefinding issues. Adjustments in gear and tactics improved effeciency.

I led my 16 pitch block quickly and without losing much energy. The weather was downright hot and the rock was dry. By midday we had chosen a nice rest spot below the "Ice Tower" pitches. We certainly needed to refuel here, but a big part of stopping was to wait for the intense heat of day to subside. The gullies above us were spitting out alarming amounts of ice. We had no choice but to let the sun go down and the cool of night take hold.

Finally, the sun slipped low and the terrain above us quieted. Feeling psyched and ready to finish the climb, we powered out of our pit stop hydrated and full of calories. Chad led two pitches of easy mixed and ice. Suddenly, the headwall was right above us and the summit seemed so close. A rush of energy surged through me. I was estatic to be in such a sacred and wild place.

But my joy was quickly smothered by a cracking boom. 60 feet to my left, right above where I had just stood and removed a purple TCU, a van sized block of ice let loose and obliterated the steps Chad and I had just kicked. A sick feeling came over me. First off, I could have been crushed if my timing had been a bit different. Secondly, it was night. Spontaneous ice fall was what we had hoped to avoid by climbing this section in the dark.

Chad finished the pitch he was leading and another block of ice smashed into the path he had just climbed. I began to feel trapped in the gully. A large rock skipped down the slope to my left. I followed his lead with my head down. I didn't want to even look at the hanging mushrooms above me.

After a quick discussion we bagan rapping. It was clear by the amount of ice and rock fall around us, that it was much too warm to be hanging out under ice formations. This was suprising as we thought the night would cool off enough to allow passage. One hour after beginning our escape, a massive ice fall on the upper mountain shook the SE Ridge, vibrating the solid granite of the massive monolith we were clipped into. The roar and power of the event reinforced our decision to go down. I'm not sure we would have lived through whatever happened up there...

We rappeled through the dark, tired night. At one point we were so sleepy we each dozed off at different rappel stations! When I woke up I wondered what I was doing alone hanging off the side of a mountain in , "wait, where am I?".  Our back to back efforts on the SE Ridge were taking a deep toll. Even though we didn't summit, we had climbed over 50 pitches, hiked 40 miles, and slept very little over the last 9 days.

We raced the sun to finally hit the glacier. The approach to the Col of Hope had turned into a rubble pile over the last week of intense heat. It was a really scary set of rappels, but we finally crossed the bergshrund, coiled the ropes and began trotting away from the East face just as it began falling apart for the day. Whew!

On our way back to Niponino, I stopped many times to stare in awe at the peak that had beat us down and the summit that had alluded our best efforts. Deep down I knew we had made the right call to bail. To make this life of climbing sustainable you have to be able to let go when the hand of calamity is squeezing hard. To leave Patagonia on such a note has only heightened my passion for the mountains. I'm counting the days until my next attempt on the SE Ridge of Cerro Torre. The fire burns hot within.  

Many of these picutres were taken by Chad Kellog