Spring Update

Leavenworth is a land of seasons. Distinct weather patterns sweep through each spring, summer, fall, and winter. They mold the landscape into something different than it was just months before, the dynamic environment making an outdoor amusement park for those who want to ride roller coasters of granite walls and icy north faces. Each week, I study the forcast with an excited eye. A plan of attack is molded to fit the weather pattern. There is always something unique to try. 

Jessica Campbell enjoying spring on Pumpline (5.11a)

May is my favorite month in the Central Cascades. The days are long, the Icicle and Tumwater Canyons are full of dry stone, and the high peaks are bonded in ice and neve. With a big trip on the horizon, most of my time has been spent at work trying to pinch enough pennies for the upcoming mission, but I have snuck out a time or two to enjoy the variety pack of upward movement presented in this season.

The opening moves on An Exotic Affair (5.12a)

On the rock, I have been steadily rehabing my finger and hand. Volume has been my main goal and many days climbing familiar routes at Index and in the Canyons has reconstructed a base of fitness and confidence. Highlights include a flash of Shirley (5.11c) at Index and the first ascent of An Exotic Affair (5.12a) at Careno Crag.

I don't remember the last time I got excited about doing a 5.11, but Shirley, a route with a bit of a reputation for scary, tough climbing, was one I had always wanted to climb first go. As usual, the climbing was not as hard or terrifying as people made it out to be, so the real battle was just getting over the hype and starting the climb. It went fine and now I have another classic pitch to add to the Lower Town Wall circut.

An Exotic Affair

An Exotic Affair is a testy piece high on Careno Crag. It climbs the first 30 feet of Exotic Dancer (5.10a) before setting off on a thin crack pasted next to a bald arete. Commiting moves and precise gear placements fizzle into a bizarre and very technical sequence past two bolts. The final pockets and edges to the anchor are some of the coolest holds I've grabbed in L-Town! The fact that two of the Icicle Canyon's best 5.10's (Exotic Dancer and A Swinging Affair) border my new route, makes this a crag worth visiting for anyone.

Starting the bizzare arete sequence on An Exotic Affair

In the Stuart Range, a low snowpack and unusually high temps have tempered the alpine ice season a bit, but last week, over a two day cold snap, Dan Hilden, Matt Van Biene, and I climbed the NE Coulior on McClellan Peak. An obscure objective, I had tried this obvious line a few times over the years. In the past, a large cornice that often overhangs the route had turned me around, but this time, it wasn't in it's usual position, and we flew up the awesome ice. Nothing beats traveling through the mountains when they are in perfect condition. Exceptional climbing and a massive glissading descent had us back at basecamp before lunch. That things had gone so smoothly on a climb I had failed on (more than once!!) was novel, but not suprising. Conditions are everything and our recent adventure on McClellan defined a perfect day in every way.

McClellan Peak from Snow Lake

Photo by Matt Van Biene

For those who flock to the Stuart Range for the more standard spring routes, consider adding the NE Coulior of McClellan to your list. It is a beautiful alpine ice route (in the right shape) falling straight from the summit ridge on one of the highest peaks in the state. Although we have never heard of an ascent of this feature, we are definetley not claiming a first ascent. Someone had to have climbed this before! It's just so darn stunning and incredibly obvious...watch for cold temps in the next couple of weeks and give her a go!

Dan on the second pitch of Mclellan's NE Coulior

Photo by Matt Van Biene

Following pitch two

Photo by Matt Van Biene

More amazing ice higher in the cooler

Photo by Dan Hilden

Dan cruising high on the route

Photo by Matt Van Biene

Sunny south side plateau on the way to the summit...the tower in front of us turned out to be a false summit, forcing us back into the shade of the north side for a cool mixed section

Photo by Dan Hilden

Creek Freaks

This past week, Jessica Campbell and I immersed ourselves in the red sandscape of Indian Creek. The Utah desert left it's mark on our limbs, our minds, and even our souls. What a special place.

The Creek!

For seven days we scampered up juniper covered talus cones, branded our hands in burnished splitters, and hardened our soft bodies on rope stretching swaths of ruby red wingate. Jess and I were both as off the couch as we have ever been. We felt weak and a bit out of touch with the stone. With only seven days to climb, I awaited a major beat down. Jess didn't know what to expect as she had only climbed a route or two at The Creek before. Needless to say, 150 foot physical pitches don't allow for easing into the game. The first few days were the bloodiest. The cracks peeled away our soft skin and our muscles cramped. I whipped off an old favorite, cursing the route I used to warm up on years ago. Jessica's ankles shook and swelled. Every move took us further into our pain cave, but also closer to the core of our desire. Our time was short, but we wanted to send a cool line or two. We had to brush away the rust, no matter the torquing cost.

Off the couch and onto the rock on 3 AM Crack (5.10), our first pitch of the trip

By day three I felt my body coming around. Jess started to get a grip on the techniques the parellel cracks of the desert require. We notched up the difficulty and started to dream of something more demanding.

Myself on the super classic, Spark Of The Tempest (5.11+)

Whenever I go on a cragging trip, my primary goal is to find a line or two that really inspires me. A route to dream about as I lay under the stars at night. A wide swath of stone with stellar rock, elegant moves, and a great position. A line I just have to do. On day six I let my inspiration take me to the chains of "Sparking Spurs". Although it wasn't a mega send, 140 feet of solid 5.12 above the wild west moonscape of Indian Creek seemed an effort to be psyched about considering how out of shape I was. Most importantly, I was thankful to be coming out of my injured haze and to be pushing myself on the rock again. Just to have the health to climb is something to recognize and never to take for granted.

A couple shots of Sparking Spurs (5.12)

Jake Tipton on Lone Spark (5.11-) and myself, high on Sparking Spurs

Meanwhile, Jessica proudly dispatched her first leads at The Creek and by the end of our trip was following 5.11+. Of course, the routes I suggested to Jess were all hard and full of difficult sizes. She never complained or wanted to choose routes that better fit her hands or style. I was proud of her good attitude and strong will.

Jessica readies her self for her first lead at The Creek, Run For Your Life (5.10)

Jess leading Wounded Knee (5.10+)

Despite all the great climbing we did during our week in the desert, the highlights were the friends, old and new, who we shared the walls with each day. For me, nothing beats choosing a cliff over black, dusty coffee, spending the day climbing beautiful line after beautiful line, and making burritos with other Creek Freaks as the silver moon rises. To share the joy of our passion with others absolutely has to be the pinnicle of our sport. I can't wait to sink my hands into those splitters again, cheers the day's climbing with warm Tecate, and watch as the Utah sun paints the sending light over each cliff and valley. Man, I can barely wait.

Jess and I on our last day...I don't wanna leave!!

River loved Indian Creek too! Jess and Rivs on a rest day in Canyonlands NP

Long Time, No See

Hey guys. I've definetely been a stranger the past month. Of course, I have the typical excuses. Work, injuries, and a sad lack of climbing top the list. Sound grim? It's not really. I love my job, injuries are part of being an athlete, and taking a break from the vertical always reignites my passion ten fold. I am psyched right now! Below is a small update of the past month or two, including a couple more notes on my trip to Patagonia.

Love my job!

After establishing Rise of the Machines on Poincenot with Joel Kauffman and Mike Schaefer, I had the opportunity to try Exocet on Cerro Stanhardt and the Canadian Route on Fitz Roy. Both ascents ended in poor weather. On Exocet, the weather was just too hot to be climbing ice and Joel got soaked to the bone as a result. On Fitz Roy, Chad Kellog and I also got wet, this time from the more traditional culprit, rain. The day before my flight out of Argentina I scampered up Cerro Solo, alone, admist misty clouds, sun bursts, and snow squals.
Mike jamming on the FA of Rise of the Machines

Joel starting up the AMAZING Exocet Chimney...let the soaking begin!

Approaching Cerro Solo

A nice day in the mountains...on top of Cerro Solo

When I returned home to the States I noticed a lump in the palm of my hand. It seemed to be affecting the movement and limberness of my ring finger on my right hand. Turns out I have Dupuytren's Contracture. Although this is not a good condition for a climber to have, I am determined to work through it. As a result, I have been resting the past month as I learn how to deal with the setback. Ok, I did make the FWA of Dragontail's NE Buttress and made an attempt at the FWA of Colchuck's NE Buttress, but that was it. Alright, i did get out ice climbing a few days too...but really, for the most part I've been chilling! This past week I have eased back into the game, getting some pitches in at Castle Rock and swinging tools in the Rat Creek Valley. It feels good to be climbing again.

Curt Haire swinging tools up Rat Creek

Leading out on pitch 2 of the 500 foot ice route Curt and I climbed yesterday

After I publish this post, I am hopping in the truck, picking up Jessica Campbell from the airport (fresh back from India!), and heading south. We're not fully sure of our plans, but my gut says we'll be climbing splitters in Indian Creek for the next few weeks. We hope to see some familiar faces out there!

The Yang

Dan approaching the NE Butress of Colchuck Peak
I never savor the taste of victory for long. An unexplainable drive forbids me to enjoy success. As I type this blog, the high pressure that we have been enjoying in the Northwest is melting into wet, heavy snow and iron skies. Only a few days ago I stood atop the NE Buttress of Dragontail, excited to have climbed a big route in the cold short days of winter. It was my first significant winter ascent since Cole Allen and I climbed the North Ridge of Mt. Stuart in January of 2009. And that's not for lack of trying! For me, winter climbing is the most elusive and curious aspect our sport. I beat my body against the toughest conditions in hope that every few years things will go right and a summit will be had.

Pitch one on the NE Buttress of Colchuck Peak

Only two days after summiting Dragontail I was back at the lake with Dan Hilden to attempt the NE Buttress of Colchuck Peak, a route that I had attempted three previous times in winter. We executed our plan on day one and climbed higher than we ever had, bivying on a chopped ledge midway up a large ramp system that forms the middle of the route. Excited that we had climbed through difficult terrain that had shut us down in the past, our feelings were positive and we felt confident. So far, so good.

Brewing up at the bivy

But the mountain had other plans and with the dark night came snow. All night spindrift pushed at the walls of the tent and the soft tinkling of icy precipitation would not stop. In the morning, a brief sun break lured us out of the bivy and onto the route. The few inches of new snow made the going even more difficult than it already was. Conditions were absolute crap and traversing unconsolidated snow over steep ramps was more exciting than it should have been. Dan led two "easy" (in summer!) pitches that took a couple hours each. Our slowing momentum was further hindered by the returning storm. In wind and pouring spindrift we made 7 rappels and bailed back to Leavenworth.

Dan on the lead shorty before we bailed

So now I sit at home, the excitement of success wiped away by more recent memories of standard winter suffering and dissapointment. The Ying (NE Butt of Dragontail) and the Yang (Colchuck) of winter climbing has been clearly displayed this last week. I wouldn't expect anything different.

Stick With Me!

Only have a minute here, but wanted to let everyone know to watch the blog in the next week...I've got the rest of my Patagonia trip to post up, as well as a great story from a recent FWA of the Northeast Buttress of Dragontail, one of the longest (if not, the longest) routes in the Stuart Range. Over a wild day and a half, Nate Farr, Colin Bohannan, and I completed this route in windy, but sunny weather. Gotta run and pack my bags for the next mission. Big weather window to play with here in the Northwest!! See you with more stories (they're adding up here!) in a few days...

Approaching the NE Buttress of D-tail

Colin surfing the heights

Myself all puffed up on route!

The South Face of Poincenot: A First Ascent Tale

On the approach to Niponino, basecamp for the route

“Dude, we shouldn’t brew coffee this morning. You know I hate to say it, but I think we should conserve the fuel we have.” I wince at my own words, but know the issues go beyond our ability to caffinate. Joel shakes our one fuel cannister next to his ear to gauge how much gas is left. We share a knowing look, start stuffing the packs, and prepare for a dry day on the desert of stone rearing above our heads. Mike scrambles over from a separate bivy and we share the news about the bunk cannister. A look of confusion blends into acceptance. I begin climbing the steepest part of the wall.

Two days ago, Joel Kauffman, Mike Schaefer, and I picked our way up the Torre Valley to a basecamp suitable for reaching our chosen line, a new set of cracks up the south face of Poincenot. Mike had been kind enough to share his first ascent idea with Joel and I only a few days after his arrival in Chalten. We traced our fingers over a high res photo of the mountain, wondering if we could climb what we thought we saw. Joel and I had camped near the route only the week before and could not stop staring at the wall, especially in the evening light. Mike’s specific details sealed the deal. We all felt inspired to have a look.

Day one finds us approaching the base and then climbing to a distinct ledge system a third of the way up the route. Joel races up the best climbing we could ever hope for. Mike and I hoop and hollar our way up splitter hand and finger cracks. We tackle overhangs on gritty jugs and dance across slabs on shiny ripples. So far, so good.

Joel an I at Bivy #1

Shock gives way to more shock. “Really, you dropped your boot?” My eyes follow the path of the flying footwear. Down the rock, the snowy approach coulior, and finally across a boulder strewn glacier. “We’ll find it on the way down,” Joel says. His calmness in the midst of a serious loss comforts me. Joel knows this game, so there is no reason to pester him with questions. Shit happens. No we have to decide our course of action. Once Mike arrives and we work though his own surprise, we decide that with the relatively warm weather, Joel can manage his toes. Luckily, he fits into my approach shoes. When I’m in rock shoes, he can wear the tennies. When I’m not, well, we’ll figure something out.

The classic nature of the lower pitches ends as abruptly as the headwall starts.My first lead on the wall proper is a flairing trench of kitty litter. Enough solid cam placements make it safe enough, but my heart skips beats on the way to the belay. I gingerly french free off a downward pointing, half driven angle after climbing an aider attached to an ice tool stuck in the trench. The artsy, but crappy stretch launches us into pitch after pitch of sustained, steep fissures. Unfortunately, the rock itself leaves something to be desired and both Mike and I constantly scrape at the cracks with an ice tool.

Myself leading on pitch three of the headwall

Damn, my waist hurts. My tongue stings with cracks of dryness. Mike is crushing through his block, managing complex situations with dialed ease. Now he has changed crack systems and the fate of Joel and I is simple. As we jumar past the first crack we block the thought of the coming swing. With a feature so splitter it won’t take nuts or pitons and a rack that must be preserved, there is no lower out option. If Mike says it’s safe I believe him without question. You don’t climb routes like this with people you don’t trust. Still, puffs of adrenaline accompany my being as it swings through space and then climbs the free hanging rope to the belay. Wildness surrounds me. A great void falls beneath my feet. Mike begins up his final, tired ropelength. “Doing great man,” I say.

Steep jugging!

I arrive at the top of the final pitch of Mike’s block. He is standing on the first ledge we’ve seen all day. Inspired by his awesome effort, I vow within myself to be strong into the darkness. The way shows itself easily, but not without some technical difficulty. 5.11 bulges challenge my wasting muscles. Still, I feel the passion within. This is what I came for.

Free climbing in my final block

At 1:00 AM I pull onto a ledge spacious enough to unrope. Easier terrain rambles into the darkness above. We coax water from the stove and I savor each chilly sip. There is not enough fuel to make our freeze dried meals, but water suffices. I fall deeply into sleep after the last grainy gulp.

The next morning Joel charges out of the bivy, inspired to finish our ascent. He climbs quickly and within one hour we are moving into the established terrain of the upper mountain. Joel fires to the summit as Mike and I try to keep our eyes open. I’m glad he’s feeling strong. The fatigue wants to overtake me, but I can’t let that happen. I squint at Chalten from the summit, so many thousands of feetbelow. There is still so far to go.

I lead the upper rappels. They are short and easy. It’s the least I can do for the team. Before we drop back into the steep wall we had ascended, I hand the gear to Mike, master of big wall rappeling. Deciding to finish the cannister, Joel makes water and some food. My thoughts swim in my dry brain, sludgy and thick. The water again rejuvenates. Mike takes one last swig and drops in.

Bivy#2

“Holy Shit!” Fear pushes at my soul. The biggest rockfall I’ve ever seen crushes terrain across the valley. Though it is far away, I taste the intensity on my cracked lips. Joel’s eyes scan the wall around us, a swath we did not ascend, but similar in it’s steepness. The rappel ropes stretch tight below to Mike. Working through a gigantic rock scar ourselves, we are all a bit unnerved. There is nothing to do but snuff the emotion and accept our position. This is no time to let the mind off it’s leash.

A look up the face during the rappels

By the time the sun is setting we are in the snow coulior beneath our route. Mike has done a brilliant job navigating down the wall. We plunge down isothermic snow, Mike and I in approach shoes, Joel with one boot and a rock shoe. We are zombies. It’s all starting to catch up with us now. We stop after leaving the snow to warm our feet. Our eyes are heavy and our steps unsure. Nevertheless, we keep sharp enough to pick our way back to basecamp through loose stone on black ice. The way is most painful for Joel, every step in his rock shoe a painful and touchy maneuver. Mike and I realize our hands are beaten and infected. The pain is zeroing in. Our moods are tense and dark like the windy night around us. We all recede into our own Hades, doing whatever it takes to stay upright in this evil land. Making our way down a moraine, Mike’s light catches an old plastic boot shell. It’s for the left foot and may provide relief for Joel. The absurdity of finding the boot digs out humor from the grave. We laugh deleriously as gusts of wind push us around. Unfortunately, the boot flops uselessly on Joel’s foot. Still, the way he throws it into the darkness and the jokes we make about the crazy find has us shaking with laughter. The healing power of a good laugh is just enough for us to sputter into basecamp. We lay in the sand. We eat a freeze dried meal. The journey is over.


FA of Rise of the Machines
South Face of Poincenot
VI 5.11 A2+

900 meters (750 new)

Big thanks to Mike Schaefer for the awesome photos. To see more of his great work check out:

mikeylikesrocks.com

Also, check Planet Kauffman in the coming days for more photos and more stories from Joel Kauffman

Vision Restored

"Accept your situation in the mountains and in life," I think to myself. Waves of puffy clouds spin over Fitz Roy and tumble across the lakes and deserts far below. Calm, warm air embraces my tired body, but my mind twists and my heart wrenches. With so much beauty around me the tightness in my chest makes no sense. My inner self asks, "What is your problem?"

Joel Kauffman on his way to Pier Giorgio

Two days ago, Joel Kauffman and I high fived on the streets of El Chalten after separate escapes from the spreading winter in North America. Blue skies set a frantic pace of stuffing packs and hitting the trail towards our first objective, a new path up a broad fortress of granite and ice called Pier Giorgio.

Fresh quads and calves carried us to the start of the glacier, where a pasta dinner and excited conversation accompanied fading light. Only a few hours later our boots crunched up towards Paso Cuadrado, a rocky barrier that had to be crossed in order to reach our route. Although Joel had been over the pass many times, I had never witnessed the view. A bowl of cracked ice and snow was hemmed in by the western breaches of Guillomet, Mermoz, the mighty Fitz Roy, and numerous other spikes of granite, and aqua ice falls. Of course, I was blown away.

Moving over Pason Cuadrado...what a view!
Photo by Joel Kauffman

Within a few hours we had chosen the smoothest path through a chaotic scene of hanging ice cliffs. Joel kicked up to the intimidating bergshrund, twisted in a screw and begain looking for a place to pull through the bulging snow. One half hour later he was only eight feet higher, digging a trench over the lip, searching for something solid to grab the tip of his axe. Although his effort was futile, it was a proud. The climbing looked desperate. My heart, so wonderfully inspired only an hour before, began to sink into despair. "This isn't how it was supposed to be," I thought.

Bailing always hurts, but the pain is sharper in Patagonia. Good weather can be rare and taking advantage of each clear moment is a must. After deciding to remove ourselves from under the warming, drooping bergshrund we sat on a patch of granite under Fitz Roy, roasting in boiling sunshine. All of the sudden our ice addled minds realized the weather window was actually one for dry rock climbing. Unfortunetely, we had only brought one pair of rock shoes into the range. Our heavy boots and serious crampons did not lend themselves to a light sprint up a rock ridge. Knowing we had played our cards wrong hurt even more. Unhappiness and negativity swirled in by brain. "This might be the only window I get and I blew it" or "Everyone else is sending" are examples of my unruly thoughts. Even the beauty around me felt like a terrible nightmare. It really seemed a taunting titty-twister of a situation.

That evening I lay in my sleeping bag questioning my unhappiness. Why couldn't I be thankful just to be here? Why did my ego demand I climb the right routes? Could I only love myself if I accomplished my goals? Why did I care so much? Over the course of the starry night I tried to find peace. I began to realize that perhaps my vision was out of balance. Was it not enough to have the good health to be here? Was it not enough to witness the setting sun meld into a jagged skyline of rock and ice? Didn't I already know the mountains always win? That when we do stand atop a summit, that it is not a conquering feat, but rather a gift from the mountain itself?

Vision...

Restored!!
Both photos by Joel Kauffman

"Look at this man!", I yelled down to Joel. He smiles knowingly. Two days after our discouraging failure, we've pooled our meager resources and chosen to climb an easy, but classy rock ridge up Aguja Guillomet. Although no where near the challenge we had originally sought, the route still brings me the head space I always strive to be in. Golden plates of tilted granite are broken by perfect fissures. The cracks take my hands like an old friend and lead me over pillows of rock, through breezy cols, and up laser incisions. The tightness in my chest is long gone, replaced by the feeling of freedom I always seek in the hills. Even though the route is not one I've dreamed of, I accept the gift of a summit and feel peace in my heart. My vision is restored. I can see again.