Dan's Drip

Dan's Drip

This past weekend, local mountain enthusiast Dan Zimmerman was killed in an avalanche on the rolling flanks of Mt. Cashmere. Dan and I were only long time acquaintances, but we did share a common passion for the peaks and valleys of the Stuart Range. While Dan shredded down mountains, I clawed up them. We ran into each other often in the Icicle, always translating shared condition reports into our respective dialects of climber and skier. Dan wanted white smoke and I wanted blue ice. We both wanted days high in the alpine with our friends.

My canyon wanderings the past few days have been quiet and reflective. Dan's spirit has moved on, softly blowing through the pines, down the rushing river, and up into the rimed peaks. The Icicle won't be the same without him.

A finger injury has kept me resting the past few weeks. Although I can't crank on the rock right now, I can swing a tool, so I have been prowling the cold corners of the Icicle for thin ice and mixed routes. Yesterday, I followed a thin runnel up a rock face, into a corner and over a scratchy roof, establishing a fun 100 foot M5 R pitch. Located above the Snow Creek trail, this line defines the "here today, gone tomorrow" nature of ephemeral ice lines. Five days ago it wasn't there and now it's on the way out.

It's not an incredible effort or a climb of any importance, but to me it will always be known as Dan's Drip. Life, like ice, is so fragile and temporary. When a climb melts out we don't forget the line. When someone moves from this life to the next we remember them forever. RIP Dan.

Back To The Lake

NE Buttress time...

Since I returned home from Patagonia, life has resumed as usual. Of course "usual"means climbing all the time, watching the weather constantly. and jumping at the windows of opportunity. Last week high pressure pushed away the clouds and inspired Dan Hilden and I to have a look at a few lines we had in mind on Colchuck Peak.

Getting started on the NEB

Our first priortiy was the NE Buttress of Colchuck Peak, a climb that has been on mind for a few years now. A firm approach under stars brought us to the base of the route with the first light. Our chosen start is a cold place with no sun. The snow was marginal and the ice thin, but we made progress, aiming for the ramp that cuts the face. Although we were making headway it was not fast enough to race the coming of the icy night. Unprepared for this, we turned tail and bailed quickly and safely. Although I was dissapointed in my tactical decision regarding no bivy gear, it had been a fun experiance on a cool winter project.

Good ice on the starting pitches of Colchuck Peak's NE Face

That night we left the gear under plan two, a winter ascent of the NE face of Colchuck Peak. I have never heard of anyone doing the NE face in any season, although a summer route from the 70's winds up moderate and blocky climbing directly to the main summit. The last few winters I had noticed appealing ice smears leading to classic mixed climbing on the broad face. I don't know if our route followed the summer route exactly, but it was quality and fun.

Spindrift and ice on the NE Face

The first 400 feet were stellar alpine ice. It felt so good to be climbing easily and fluidly, especially after the tedious nature of the previous day's leads on the NE Buttress. After the ice we crossed a snow field up onto a rocky ridge. Traversing mixed climbing brought us to a steeper gash of frozen moss, powdery snow, and solid orange granite. Out of the gash a thin ice step led us onto a ridge falling from the summit.

Fun mixed climbing

A burning sunset lit the North Casades and Stuart dominated the shadowed valleys. I stared in awe as I belayed Dan up. "Where are we?" he asked, swinnging to the belay. I too had hoped the summit was closer, but reality was a wide crack and more traversing mixed climbing in a dark, cold world. Our headlamps bounced around the face as we connected features to the summit.

All the way down the glacier back to camp I felt the buzz of our adventure and savored it. The experiance had been perfect, a balanced outing of challenge and enjoyment. I would highly recommend the NE Face of Colchuck Peak as another awesome winter route to consider in the Stuart Range.

Type 1 Fun On Aguja Innominata's West Ridge

The West Ridge of Aguja Innominata (700 meters, 5.11a)

"I haven't worn rock shoes for the last 90 pitches I've done in Patagonia."

"That's crazy," I reply to Mike, my eyes scanning the golden towers exploding above my head. We are both salivating at the massive rock walls above Nipinino, the main base camp in the Torre Valley. Temperatures remain warm even after the sun sinks into the ice cap. Our bellies swelling with pasta dinner we organize our gear for the next day. This time, boots, technical crampons, and ice tools aren't part of the equation. Our cold line on Mermoz seems a life away and psyche is high. It's time to go rock climbing.

The Fitzroy group shadowed on the Torre Glacier

The next morning we leave camp with the first pale light. Up and down, we roll over the dry glacier before climbing the entrance ramp that gains the west faces of Poincenot, Aguja Innominata, and Exupery. We have chosen to spend this warm, even hot day dashing up 700 meters of amazing granite on Aguja Innominata's West Ridge. In a go for broke fashion we stuff bars into our pockets, clip half liters of water to our harnesses, and start charging up the winding rib. We hope the snowy descnt gully will be soft as mush later in the afternoon as we haven't even brought our approach shoes along.

Pinch me, I must be dreaming. The "railroad track" cracks (5.10d)

A long simul block leads us to the "railroad track cracks", the defining feature of the ridge's lower buttress. With absolute joy I climb the beautiful splitters for an entire ropelength and bring Mike up behind me. The following pitches stretch the rope and the fun factor. We hoop and holler at friends on Exupery. Far from suffering, we peel off layers as the sun comes around and then simul endlessly through the middle portion of the ridge.

No suffering here...big fun on a big roof (5.11a)

By early afternoon, Mike is leading us to the summit. The 5.10 cracks in this section are without rival. Golden scalloped stone cradles the world's most perfect cracks. The Torres shed ice in booming symphony while the sky paints itself blue as the deep sea.

The summit is an airy, but windless perch. We enjoy ourselves and take pictures of future objectives. Scorching hot rappels land us in soft snow, and soaking wet rock shoes back to the base of the route. Checking the watch I am excited with our 12 hour round trip. Rarely do big routes go so smoothly, especially in Patagonia.

Jardines Japoneses: A New Route On Mermoz For Team Washington

On December 26th, Mike Schaefer, Colin Haley, and myself completed a new route on the east face of Mermoz. A few weeks prior I underwent my Patagonia baptism on the same feature, the driving snow and bitter cold stopping Mike and I seven pitches up.

Colin and I enjoying the fine mixed moves of pitch 3 (m5)

With the next window of good weather and more reasonable temperatures, we sped up to our high point before tackling the crux rock exit to the upper Argentine Ridge. Full on alpine trickery had the three of us swinging between crack systems searching for a reasonable way up. After an exciting whipper and jedi route finding Colin finally planted us on a huge ledge where we ditched our tools and reminded each other to mentally block out the wind. Sure, it was blowing hard, but it couldn't stop us from going to the top. We were fired up.

Does it get any better?? Pitch 6 (AI3)

I slipped into my rock shoes and raced as fast as possible up the summit tower. Six pitches of pleasant jamming later and an easy ridge traverse planted us on the summit block, the shrieking wind helpless against our enthusiasm. My first Patagonian summit felt extra sweet since it was a moment I had waited for since 2008, the same year I came to Chalten only to watch one of Patagonia's best weather windows ever slip by as I battled pneumonia.

To the top!

I've realized in my time here that the descents off these towers defines the difficulty of the experience as much as the steep ice and technical rock that guards each summit. I have done routes of similar difficulty and size elsewhere, but walking off the top pales in comparison with travel back down the route, all the while battling relentless winds that throw your ropes straight out from the wall.

To the bottom!

Our descent was challenging, but we finally made it down to the glacier. Unfortunately, our two half ropes suffered greatly, one core shot and part of the other buried under a ton of snow and ice after a piece of the bergshrund collapsed under Colin's feet. "It ain't over until it's over," was a statement that echoed in my head during the isothermic snow slog from hell back to our base camp.

"Jardines Japoneses" is fondly named after one of the best rock pitches in the world (in our very biased opinions!) found at the Lower Town Walls at Index. Washington represent!

Welcome To Patagonia

On a calm, clear day its hard to imagine the intensity of climbing in Patagonia. The rock is splitter, the ice bullet proof and the protection plentiful. When it all goes right its absolutely phenomenal climbing. What Mikey and I have experienced the last few days is more like excruciating battle. Just arriving at our base camp at Paso Superior was difficult. Between scary wind gusts we dashed across exposed snow slopes, burying our axes and laying on the slope when we felt we could be flicked off the ridge. The power of the wind here is humbling and by the time we were at base camp a deep respect for the serious nature of this place had settled deep in my gut.

The alarm in our snow cave beeps at 3 AM, but it is not until 10 AM that the forecasted clearing shoves aside the dark clouds. Soon we are on the glacier, making our way towards the route, a day and a half of good weather still available; supposedly.

Amazing climbing, bad weather!

Easy mixed climbing, a challenging gash, and aqua blue water ice pulls us up the wall. The climbing is incredible but by 8 PM the snow begins a soft dance around us. Pushing on into darkness, the climbing gets better, but the weather worsens. The cold settles in and we battle to fight off numbing toes and fingers. While people stumble from the closing bars of El Chalten we make ramen and try to stay afloat in the smothering spindrift.

Amazed and a bit perturbed, Mike and I watch our belay and each other blend into the crystalline whiteness of our vertical world. We are seven rope stretching pitches up a new route on Mermoz, standing on a minuscule foot ledge while the weather crumbles into a blanketing storm. I'm the first to say it. "I don't think we can do this anymore." A ghostly cloud of snow rolls down the couloir and buries us again. Behind thick clouds the sun comes up, but with new light we pull out our second rope and begin the journey down.

Mike leads the rappels as the waves of spindrift pound harder and tougher. My fear elevates with the strength of these dusty avalanches, the route we came up barely visible under all the new snow. As a Patagonia newbie I am truly blown away.

It's over!

Our relief at finally touching down on the glacier is short lived. The milky white out has me stumbling blindly through crevasses as Mikey directs my swaying movement towards the Paso. Finally, after a couple of tense hours we collapse in our snow cave amidst a pile of frozen gear. I brew coffee while Mikey sleeps under a wet bag atop a frozen back pack. Eventually we manage to stumble the eight miles towards town, the prospect of food fueling our tired muscles.

Sitting here now, reliving the experience through words, I realize how excited I am to head back up and finish the route. I've always been amazed at how the inspiration of the mountains can demolish the worst of memories. Like the Balti poet Bowa Johar wrote, "All is temporary. The sky outlives everything. Even suffering."

Going South

Huge Thanks for the folks who made this trip possible! Patagonia, Powerbar, Tendon Ropes, Petzl, and Icicle Ridge Winery...none of this happens without you!

My fingers ache and my heart beats quick. The packing and cramming is over and psyche is erupting like a volcano. It's officially Patagonia time.

Tomorrow I board a jet plane, cross my fingers, and push towards El Chalten, Argentina. If everything goes smoothly (it certainly may not, but that's part of the fun, right?) I should arrive by mid day Wednesday. It's hard to believe the time to depart is finally here. The training, the working, and the dreaming have given way to the reality of a windswept collection of rimey spikes way down south.

For me, a trip of this magnitude does not fall together easily. In my climbing, as in my life, I have formed special relationships that see me through challenges big and small. None of us can make it alone, that's for sure. I wanted to not only thank all my supporters, but also to specifically point out what they do for me.

Patagonia: While my cams and biners may last a decade, my clothing surely does not. I came into this winter with tattered jackets and blown out layers. One of my largest concerns after Mike Schaefer invited me on this trip was my clothing. Great technical wear is a must, but it's really expensive! Patagonia calmed my anxiety and threw down the best jackets and pants I've ever worn.

Tendon Ropes: Like clothing, ropes don't last forever. I am proud to use Tendon Ropes not only on this trip, but on my daily jaunts to the crags and peaks around my home. A good cord is imperative, especially in a place like Patagonia where wind and coarse granite tears at your line constantly. I am bringing a 9.7 Master down with me, just one great rope in Tendon's line of stellar products.

Powerbar: Anyone who pushes themselves athletically appreciates a tasty and effective bar. As my climbs grow bigger and my training more intense, I have focused a lot of time on finding the best way to stay energized on the go. Laura Omeara, a friend, a Powerbar devotee, and an amazing triathlete (fifth lady overall at the 2010 Ironman Canada!) helped provide me with the best product to push me through long training runs and big routes in wild places.

Petzl: Without a doubt, Petzl creates incredible ice gear, slick low profile harnesses, and amazing hard wear. I love their equipment, but am even more thankful for their generosity in helping me on all my expeditions. They never hesitate to get me what I need and their enthusiasm is infectious.

Icicle Ridge Winery: My biggest supporters (and my employers), Icicle Ridge Winery has set the foundation for my lifestyle. Their flexibility has allowed me to live a climber's life. Not only do they go above and beyond to allow me a schedule that allows me to train and climb, they are friends I cherish and just thinking of them fills me with strength when the going gets tough. Love you guys!

Ok ya'll. It's off to the races. Stay tuned.

Patagonia Dreamin'

Grapes, rocks, and ice. The simplicity of my recent life has left me with little blogging content and even less time to jot notes about what I've been getting into. But that's all about to change...

On December sixth I leave for Argentine Patagonia for a month of climbing with my good friend Mike Schaefer. This trip is aimed at redemption, as the last time I was down south pneumonia kept me locked in Chalten. A prisoner of my health, I never even touched boot to the approach trail.

To say I've got a fire burning is an understatement. Dreams of Patagonia swirl in my brain and push my training further. Each day, after ten hours of crushing or pressing the fruit of the vine, I slip my shoes on and run into the night. Quiet forests transform into granite giants littered with ice runnels and splitter cracks. Instead of the soft strike of my running shoe on pine needles, I imagine my crampons crunching up a glacier. When I test my fingers and endurance at the local climbing wall I focus my mind on the long pushes ahead, where you climb all day and night, and then keep going.

Home on the range...my beloved training grounds

Working six days a week leaves little time for the mountains, but I have been making use of my one day, testing my mettle against bad weather and crappy conditions. Last week I made my 14th ascent of Dragontail via the NE Coulior and a few days ago Dan Hilden and I climbed to an 8,000 foot saddle between Colchuck and Argonaut's summits. Wind loaded slopes caused us to say no to our original objective, but we still got out and sand-blasted our faces in ferocious winds and blowing snow.

Descending from the Argonaut-Colchuck col in high winds

One more item of note: Anyone who knows me understands that I am NOT a gear head. I climb with simple equipment, always relying on my personal fortitude rather than the latest and greatest. That said, the kind folks at Patagonia (www.patagonia.com) have provided some incredible layers I have been testing the last few weeks. The Nano Puff Hoody, the Micro Puff Hooded Jacket, the M10 Jacket, and the Alpine Guide pants have redefined comfort for me. Going to Patagonia with the best outerwear is surely confidence inspiring!

Testing the new gear (and myself) against pounding spindrift on D-tail's NE Coulior