Desperate Country: Seven Days on the Fence

Warm air rushed through the windows as my beater Subaru huffed and puffed towards Newhalem. In the trunk was kit for the mission. The stereo pumped out slamming techno and I gorged on pastries from the Sultan Bakery. Psyche was high. The following day, with Chad Kellogg, the gun went off and our dash through the Pickets began.

Chad approaches the McMillan Spires on day one

 

On July seventh at 3:30 AM we left the car with 35 pound packs stuffed with climbing gear, seven (to ten if you really pushed it!) days of food, a light jacket or two, sleeping bags, fuel, a stove, and a sill nylon tarp. We sweated buckets climbing out of Goodell Creek, but the way was clear and easy. Arriving in Terror Basin we re-hydrated and made good time on easy snow slopes to the base of the McMillan Spires. With knowledge from my 2011 Pickets enchainment and fresh bodies, we raced over all three summits and arrived at our bivy 12 hours after leaving the car. I felt really good about our day and enjoyed resting through the afternoon.

Chad navigates typically loose rock on West McMillan

 

Day two started with a taxing traverse of some small towers in between our bivy and Inspiration Peak. In 2011, Sol had navigated this section with relative ease, but I still struggled to find the way. When I did find the path I idiotically chose to make a long simul-climbing traverse with all 80 meters of our rope out. A bunch of drag later and some sketchy 5.10 moves in my boots and I finally arrived at the base of Inspiration's East Ridge. With a clean hand crack ahead we soared up and over both summits, descended, shot up the fantastic East Face of Pyramid, and scrambled Deganhardt to end our day. Tom Sjolseth spotted us on the ridge from his bivy in the Crescent Creek Basin and ascended to our camp to chat and take pictures of the beautiful sunset. It was great to have this unexpected encounter with a friend in such a spectacular place. After Tom began his descent, Chad and I settled in for a brisk night.

Chad steps out on day 2

Enjoying the best weather of the trip on day 2

photo by Chad Kellogg

Chad nearing the summit of Inspiration on day 2

Chad crosses a snow gully in between Inspiration and Deganhardt on day 2

At our second bivy just under the summit block of Deganhardt

photo by Chad Kellogg





Since we had failed to stick our plan on day two (we had hoped to make the summit of the Rake), we began early on day three. To regain our pace, we put the hammer down and climbed the East Ridge of Terror, The Rake, wound through numerous smaller towers, cranked out the 5.10 on East Twin Needle, scrambled terrifying rock on West Twin Needle, and then completed the technical crux our journey, monkeying up the mighty blade that is the Himmelhorn. By the time we rapped into the Ottohorn-Himmelhorn Col we had been on the move for 17 hours. I was astounded at how long we took to complete this section even though we were climbing well and I had traveled the terrain before. It was 1:00 AM before we curled up in the dirt. Dehydration dried out my tongue and torqued on my muscles. We were afraid to burn excess amounts of fuel to rehydrate properly at the windy and exposed col. In hindsight, we did have enough fuel to rehydrate here and it was this crucial mistake that cost us the final two summits in the southern portion of our enchainment. A cold and windy dawn had us struggling to stay warm in the early hours of day four and with a primal focus on getting more water in our systems, we descended the Mustard Glacier via a snow couloir on the col's north side and arrived at Picket Pass where we sat by a tarn and drank to our heart's content. The past three days of leading had me a bit frazzled and fried. A few times I questioned my sanity. Was I really putting myself in this position again? Why yes, yes I was.

Chad climbing Terror's East Face, day 3



Leading on the Rake, day 3

photo by Chad Kellogg



Cranking out some 5.10 on East Twin Needle, day 3

photo by Chad Kellogg

Climbing on one of my favorite routes in the Southern Pickets, Pyramid's East Face

photo by Chad Kellogg

The technical crux of our enchainment, The Himmelhorn's East Ridge

photo by Chad Kellogg

Chad wakes from a cold bivy at the Ottohorn-Himmelhorn Col on day 4







 

We left Picket Pass intend on using the latter half of day four to transition into the northern section of our journey. We hoped to climb Outrigger Peak, East Fury, and West Fury before lying down for the night. We ran into Tom and his partner Matt on top of Outrigger and enjoyed a social session on the summit. After a refreshing break, all four of us descended and then climbed to the summit of East Fury together in a thick fog that made navigation difficult. Never the less, we employed good beta from Tom and worked our way through worsening weather to a very cold and windy bivy below the summit of West Fury. The night passed somewhat excruciatingly as tough winds and moisture-laden clouds swept over the peak. The morning of day five brought some clearing, but rime ice lingered on the rock, as temps were slow to raise enough to melt the slippery nuisance. Finally, at 11 AM, we left the summit of West Fury and began moving down heads up terrain towards Swiss Peak. We both felt the loose down climbing and committing rappels in this section demanded much respect. The weather continued to be cold and unsettled. Chad had to encourage me through building doubt about our position. Our clothing was very minimal. If it started to rain or snow, hypothermia would come quickly on the exposed ridge. As on any grand adventure we were toeing the line of control.

Descending the Mustard Glacier toward Picket Pass on day 4

photo by Chad Kellogg

Chad and I on the summit of East Fury, ready to set off for West Fury in worsening weather

photo by Tom Sjolseth

Making it through a cold and stormy bivy on top of West Fury

photo by Chad Kellogg

Rigging a rappel amongst rime covered rock on West Fury

photo by Chad Kellogg

Chad heading towards Swiss after down climbing and rappelling off of West Fury, day 5

 

The remainder of day five was spent climbing around many pointy spires, summiting Swiss Peak, and climbing up and over Spectre Peak. Again, like on West Fury, getting off of Spectre was a dangerous exercise in uber-choss down climbing. We also made one rappel in this section. This terrain, though technically easy, was the most serious I've ever encountered in the Cascades. In very cold, windy, and foggy weather we climbed up towards the summit of Phantom Peak until we hit our wall for the day. Our camp that night was an exposed perch overhanging Phantom's north face. It was hard to keep our minds off the weather, but we managed to make it through another cold and hungry bivy.

Our bivy perched on the North Face of Phantom Peak, day 5

photo by Chad Kellogg

Chad brewing up at our bivy on Phantom

 

The next morning (day 6), like robots, we stuffed our sleeping bags and got down to business. Some morning clearing showed the long ridge ahead. Unfortunately, we knew the improved weather wouldn't last for long as a hazy ring cradled the sun and wispy clouds floated in the west. Knowing we had between 12 and 24 hours before the weather tanked, we climbed out of our bivy with focused determination. By the time we had summited Phantom and connected the ridge-line to Ghost Peak, clouds were bearing down on us. We were so intent on getting off the ridge that we chose to not scramble 20 feet of third class to the summit of Ghost. We just kept moving towards salvation.

Finally, as I was leading the last two pitches to the summit of Challenger, snow flakes started to fall. In the 10 minutes it took us to high five on the summit, make a short rap and walk over to our glacier descent, the weather gave out. We tried to make our way down the Challenger Glacier but were unable to see anything. A gentle ski run with easily passable cracks in good weather, we only found ourselves strung out over giant schrunds in a blowing mist. Our thin jackets began to get wet. I could feel my survival instinct telling me to abandon our descent before we were hopelessly lost and climb back to the rocks near the summit. Sure enough, just under the top of Challenger, Chad found a cave. It was a damn uncomfortable spot, but it was a key find for us. We huddled sleeplessly though the night, staying warm by fighting off the snafflehound from hell.

Rappelling off of Phantom on day 6

photo by Chad Kellogg

Scrambling towards Ghost Peak on day 6

photo by Chad Kellogg

Chad in deteriorating weather on day 6

Trying to get off the ridge, day 6

photo by Chad Kellogg

Chad and I psyched but cold under the summit of Challenger, day 6

photo by Chad Kellogg

Chad remaining positive through a cold night in a cave near the summit of Challenger

 

Day seven dawned beautifully, the breaking storm amplifying the magnificence of the sunrise. We quickly left our cave and descended down the glacier and onto Wiley Ridge. It felt wonderful to sit in the heather and not be exposed to the weather and other dangers that had mad the previous days so intense. All that remained between us and a bag of potato chips was a long, long walk home.

We spent the rest of day seven slogging out to Ross Lake Boat Camp. Even though only seven flat miles remained to our car, we had to stop. We shivered in the 70 degree weather and my stomach was twisted in pain. It had all caught up with us. I felt like I had predicted I would at this point. Utterly worked. Mosquitoes pestered us through our night in the dirt, but we were too exhausted to care. On the morning of day eight, after a couple hours of hiking, we stepped onto Highway 20.

Chad steps onto the Challenger glacier as the storm breaks on the morning of day 7

On Wiley Ridge, having escaped the Pickets

photo by Chad Kellogg

Back at the cars already dreaming about future adventures

photo by Chad Kellogg

 

Chad and I are absolutely stoked about or enchainment despite not summiting three of the peaks we had hoped to. We climbed nearly all day, every day, for seven days through demanding and serious terrain. We had minimal equipment, no cache, and no support. With the cold and unsettled weather in the latter half of the trip, it was a true challenge to keep the mind at bay (and get any sleep!). Looking back I see many mistakes and have learned many lessons that I hope to take with me to future objectives. As always, the path of growth continues. There is no crowning moment or pinnacle of achievement in this sport, but rather the continuing evolution of skills and consciousness.

 

I am so grateful for Chad as a partner. Only interested in the most outlandish ideas, I appreciate that our drive is to focus on objectives where success seems improbable. We always hope to travel the hardest, least traveled road we are able to.

 

I am also grateful to my incredible friends Sol Wertkin and Dan Hilden for our 2011 Pickets adventure. The beautiful moments from our enchainment have not been belittled in my mind. What a fantastic part of this journey! Dan's recent Alpinist article about our 2011 effort features more poignant thoughts about adventuring in the Pickets than I am able to come up with at the moment. It is a must read for sure!

 

And of course, a huge thanks to Wayne Wallace for not only being ok with me taking over his obsession with this objective, but encouraging me along the way. Thx Wayne!!!

 

Jens Holsten



Leavenworth Mountain Sports Shindig

Hey guys!

I'd be really stoked to see some familiar faces at Leavenworth Mountain Sports on the 26th of July. This is gonna be a good one (I hope!).

See ya there!

Alaska!

In my last post I highlighted a new route that Jared Vilhauer, Seth Timpano, and I established on Reality Peak. That route was accessed from the West Fork of the Ruth Glacier, but the majority of my two week trip was spent climbing and skiing around Kahiltna Basecamp. It was a blast hanging out and climbing with the like-minded folks there.

 

When I arrived on the glacier, my partner was already climbing, giving the Moonflower Buttress a strong go. Full of excitement, but partnerless, I rant into Clint Helander and found out he was looking for someone to climb with too. We were both in the mood for something mellow. Clint was still recovering from The Phantom Wall on Huntington and I was looking for a good warm up. It didn't take long to decide on Mt. Francis' Southwest Ridge. Close to camp and enticing to any climber's eye, the Southwest Ridge follows steep snow broken by fun mixed and rock steps. When we mentioned our intentions to friends Pete Tapley and Kyle Rott, they decided to join us. Party ascent!

 

The next day, at the crack of noon, the four of us started up the ridge in beautiful weather. The good conditions allowed us to simul solo and we had a blast romping up the ridge together. It reminded me of being in Joshua Tree, scrambling with my friends and enjoying the simplicity of unencumbered climbing.

The monkeys raging on Francis

Pete Tapley photo

Pete and Clint take on a 5.7 rock step on the Southwest Ridge of Francis

Pete on Francis' Southwest Ridge

Taking a break with the North Buttress of Mt. Hunter behind me

Pete Tapley photo

Pete and Kyle out for a cruise on Francis

Clint and I closing in on Francis' summit

Pete Tapley photo

 

After Francis, Jared Vilhauer (who had been on the Moonflower) and I spent a day climbing nearly to the summit of Peak 12,200. Although we didn't quite make the top due to funky weather, moderately spicy cornice work and schrund jumping made for a classic day of Alaskan mountaineering.



 

 Jared sets out on the West Ridge of Peak 12,200

Schrund jumping on 12,200!

Photo by Jared Vilhauer

Descending 12,200. We used an ice traverse on the north side of the ridge to reverse the section we had overcome with a wild jump.

Photo by Jared Vilhauer

 

A few days of skiing followed our climbing on Peak 12, 200. Then we headed up the East Fork of the Kahiltna to try a new route that Jared had seen while he was guiding in the area a few years back. We woke up after a very cold bivy, approached the route, and then bailed when the seracs we thought didn't threaten the route seemed to, well, threaten the route. We tried another line that day on East Kahiltna Peak, but bailed when a sluff pushed us around while soloing a couple thousand feet off the glacier. Feeling that it just wasn't our day, we rappelled and then skied back to basecamp, enjoying the nice cold snow and beautiful views.

Jared skis up the East Fork of the Kahiltna Glacier

Retreating from the face we wanted to climb in the East Fork of the Kahiltna

Photo by Jared Vilhauer

 

Jared and I spent a few more days in basecamp weathering a snow storm and letting things settle out. It was great to hang with friends and ski a few laps in the fresh pow, but when the time felt right we called Talkeetna Air Taxi for our bump to the West Fork of the Ruth. It was time for the main event!

Basecamp life

Photo by Jared Vilhauer

Pete Tapley about to drop into the local ski hill

Scoping, always scoping...

Photo by Jared Vilhauer

The Great One from basecamp

The Reality Face: A New Route in the Alaska Range

I stand in awe. Axes plunged before me and a knee pressed into the slope, my eyes dart between Denali, Huntington, Hunter, Foraker, and my climbing partners. A sea of clouds cradles a sparse scene of blue sky, the highest peaks in the Alaska Range, and Seth watching Jared cut away part of Reality Ridge with our mini shovel. Descending the terrain ahead won't be easy, but I'm ready to take it step by step. The rope pulls at my waist as Jared climbs out of sight. Seth and I pick up our tools and follow him down.

Three days earlier, Jared and I had been ski touring around the West Fork of the Ruth Glacier scanning peaks for climbable lines and for Seth Timpano, our friend who was scheduled to fly in and join us that day. By evening we had found both. The sunset cast alpenglow on the Mega Mid as we took off our shades, looked each other in the eyes, and committed to leaving for our chosen route the following afternoon. High fives sealed the pact as icy air drove us to our tents, one last night in the big bags calling our names.

The sun beat down as we skied to the base of what we were calling Reality Peak. Finding the sweat line, I kept a deliberately slow and consistent skinning pace. Seracs crowned the tight cirque. I kept my head down. I knew they were up there. It wouldn't do any good to look at them anyway.

Seth and Jared about to start the route

Leaving our skis and starting up the route felt like a refreshing drink of cool water. The sun had left the east facing aspect and the snow quickly refroze as we swiveled around and over the bergschrund. Jared punched a staircase up 2,000 feet of steep couloir and then brought us into the gut of the mountain via snicy slabs. We brewed up below a 1,500 foot rock wall infused with a sliver of silver ice, a windy path up an otherwise overhanging bastion of stone. A full moon, and then twilight swept over the Alaska Range.

Jared navigates the 'schrund

Seth climbs the initial couloir

Still night. A few lights flicker in the south to remind us of where we came from. Now, our reality is all encompassing. It looms above us, around us, and inside of us. Ice, snow, fluted ridges, a crashing serac in the otherwise silent evening; the landscape sets itself deep in my being. We have accepted this mission and our trajectory is set for up. Up towards the ice runnels, the snow mushrooms that crown the face, the corniced ridge, the summit, and even the stars. For now, there is no end in sight.  

Jared leading snicy slabs into the gut of the wall

Gear passed hands as the stove purred. I took a pull off my Nalgene and put Seth on belay. Ahead, steep ice broke through dense, Sierra like granite. We hooped and hollered through four pitches of the best climbing an alpinist could hope for. Sticky ice made for one swing placements. When the way looked tricky, a perfect path would present itself. As each rope length revealed itself, our excitement grew. The ice burrowed through tight runnels and then opened a bit as it cascaded over steeper ground. I grabbed the rack and started kicking and swinging up a series of curtains. A moderate pitch put me below a snicier, steeper section. With my first swing came my first cramp. How could I be cramping? Did I not eat enough? Did I not drink enough? It didn't matter. Fighting the pump, I overcame the steepness and fired in a belay.

Seth heads towards the goods

Photo by Jared Vilhaur

"Have another pitch in you?". Jared blows out an ice screw as soon as the question passes his lips. "I think so," I reply. Doubt dances through my words, shaking my voice as it taunts my confidence. I reach for a GU in my back pocket. My arm cramps. Oh shit.  

Myself leading a steep ice curtain on day one

Photo by Jared Vilhaur

The next pitch tested my arms again. I had to rest on my tools. It frustrated me, but I was cramping and couldn't afford to smash my ankles on the ledge looming just under my junky snice screws. Pulling onto easier terrain I ran the rope out and spent too much time trying to find a belay. Finally, a funky cam, a mushy ice screw, a tiny nut, and a pin came together to offer a safe anchor. I leaned my head against the wall and pulled the rope up as Jared and Seth climbed below. A new day was rising and sunlight crept down the mountain before washing over us. We stripped layers, had a sip of water, and started a beeline through steep snow and ice chutes. We hoped the ridge had a place to set up our First Light as brew-thirty had passed long ago. We daggered up the slope and wondered, "will it ever end?".

Seth climbing past wild flutings to reach the summit ridge

Photo by Jared Vilhaur

I'm knackered. How long have we been on the go? Jared checks his watch and waves his arms to ward off the cold. "17 hours". I should have ate and drank more. How many times do I have to learn this lesson? I stumble into the saddle atop the 4,000 foot face we have just climbed.

"Let's get that tent up."

"It's time to brew."

"You're fine now, but don't step over there. There's a crevasse to your left, a cornice on the right."

Weather's moving in.

Arriving at the ridge we find a pleasant surprise. A roomy col offered an un roped bivy. We set the First Light up and crawled in, away from the cold wind that had joined us for the ridge climbing to the summit. Misty clouds swallowed the surrounding peaks and by the time we were in the tent, the white room was in full effect. 24 hours passed in a haze of cramped sleeping, careful snow melting, and trippy dreams. Like the old childhood game, "Red Light, Green Light", we awaited our signal to move.

Our bivy as seen while descending from the summit

Photo by Jared Vilhaur

Finally, out of the mist, the final 1,100 feet of Reality Ridge snaked before us. We quickly left the tent and packed each bag with a puffy jacket, a liter of water, and a few bars. A partial set of screws and some slings completed our arsenal. We snapped the rock gear together, threw it into the tent, and zipped the door shut. Immediately, the old Alaska adage rang true that everything is more difficult than it looks and takes longer than it seems it should. Before Seth had even stretched the rope out Jared and I were walking backwards helping him out of a crevasse. We bobbed and weaved through sugar snow, ice ribs, flutings, and a lonely rock or two. The exposure, although camouflaged with misty clouds, felt like a monster swimming just below the soles of our boots.

Seth begins the journey to the top. Of course, it is not the highpoint in this photo!

Photo by Jared Vilhaur

"We're deep now," I think. My eyes trace our line of steps on the ridge. I know we will have to reverse every insecure step we're taking. This realization relaxes me and I smile. There is nothing left to do, but to do what needs to be done. This is what we live for.

Eventually the sharp ridge softened and a cracked dome was our last barrier. I lurched through breakable crust and finally pulled the ropes in, stacking them at my feet, as Jared and Seth stepped onto the summit.

"How many days are we into this now, three?" Jared snaps photos 10 yards away. "Something like that," Seth says, squinting through tired eyes. I draw a deep breath as I try to take as much from this place as I can. It's energy is powerful and fleeting.

Halfway there.

Contemplating the descent ahead

Photo by Jared Vilhaur

Before leaving the summit we confirmed with one another that we would have to down climb the ridge. Our team trust was absolute and despite feeling a certain terror, we descended with confidence. Night overtook us as we waved our arms, down climbed, and then repeated the cycle again and again. The air was bone chilling. Our gloves froze and our calves ached. We became especially good at reversing insecure snow mantels. After three or four hours we finally piled back in the First Light thirsty and tired.

Cumbre!!

"It's 12:30 PM right now. Let's refuel so we can leave by 2:00," Jared said. We all wanted to rap the face below us at night. We didn't discuss that we might lose the race with the sun. It wasn't worth it. We had to get off the mountain.

"This is mind blowing". I state the obvious to Seth as dawn creeps on an edge of sky. 200 feet below, at the end of the ropes, Jared digs to find ice. I still cannot believe the position we're in. 

"Off! Thank you! Look good man? I do. See you on the flipside." Seth raps away from me. I turn my eyes to the wall above.

No way we're gonna beat that sun.

Racing the sun on the descent

Photo by Jared Vilhaur

We did not win our race with daybreak and early morning found us trying to ignore the nearly 4,000 feet of sunlit terrain above our heads. Pieces of ice tinkled down the couloir. Despite oppressive heat, no one took a moment to delayer. We just kept going through the motions and playing our roles with focused determination. Adrenaline was starting to well up in me. Go, go, go! Just then, three raps from safety, a Talkeetna Air Taxi plane sailed by us. Someone was worried. Finally, I hucked the schcrund and ran with all my might from the wall that had held us hostage all night. Jared and Seth were a few hundred yards in front of me. I had to deal with the ropes. When I saw them make it to the rock buttress were we had cached our skis I felt relief knowing they were safe. And then I kept on running. 

My edge bites the snow and I turn. Jared surfs on his splitboard and Seth points his skis in a straight, fast line . The Reality Face falls further behind us. Back at camp, we dig up the beers and open a sacred bag of kettle chips. A few sips and stumbles ensue. Alcohol grabs a depleted body extra hard.

A plane swings into the West Fork. We load the bags as another passenger asks us what we've done. "Uh, a face back there. You can't really see it." The passenger looks us up and down and then gazes out beyond our pointed fingers. One last deep breath to take all I can from this place and I climb into the Beaver.

Never going to forget this one.

The Reality Face climbs the center of the wall in the right hand margin of the photo

Photo by Jared Vilhaur

 

An account of a first ascent on Reality Peak (13, 100 feet)

The Reality Face (5300 feet, AI5, exciting ridge climbing) was climbed by Jared Vilhaur, Seth Timpano, and Jens Holsten from 5/21-5/24/2013