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

Home!

After a whirlwind of a last week in Patagonia, I've completed my travels north and am now safely at home in Leavenworth, WA.

Within 48 hours of arriving at my doorstep I had already snuck in a few ice routes.



Prework lap on Clandestien Right

This ice season seems to be better than most. The last time I remember conditions (they where even better!) like this was in 2009. Needless to say, I'm excited to take advantage of a fat year in L-town and work on some new and unique climbs.

Fist pump of psyche on the second pitch of Plastic Fantastic Lover

Make sure to check the blog in the next few days for Tour of Duty: 10 More Days on the Front in Patagonia: Part 3!!

Tour of Duty: 10 Days on the Front in Patagonia, Part 2

Shadows of flame danced on the corrugated metal walls of Planta Establa´s asado frame. Aromas of beef filled the air. When it came time to thank the Asador, 30 people beat the side of the building until the ground shook. You could see the energy in the smokey room.

When I needed a breath of fresh air I stepped outside with Joel Kauffman. All that good vibe had me thinking. The stamp of Fitz Roy against the stars had me inspired.

I turned to my good freind and said, "You, me, and Neil should go for the West Face of the Torre. We pick up your stash on the Marconi and head into the Cirque of the Altars via the ice cap. We can do this."

Two days later the brothers Kauffman and I were fresh as flores, psyched to the max, and ready to approach their ninja base camp up a branch of the Marconi glacier.

As I had only had a day and a half of rest since the last mission, we planned to chill an entire day in the tranquility of the mountains. Town can be a stressful place. We needed the peace of the high country.

Our day of rest was spent eating, sleeping, and sharpening the pointy stuff. With my A-list gear stashed in the Torre Valley I whittled away at a nubby pair of Sabertooths. I was a little worried about how they would perform, but naivley thought I could manage anyway. Luckilly, I didn´t even notice that one of the frontpoints was cracked or I might have had an anxiety attack.

We set out on the last day of 2012. A dusting of new snow delicately hung on the surrounding peaks. Conditions on the ice cap, although not horrible, were far from perfect, and it took seven hours to reach the Cirque of the Altars.

 Walking into the Cirque I felt reenergized and intimidated! What a fantastic place!

With the approach taking a bit longer than we had thought, the heat caught us on the flats before the start of the route. We commenced post holing, falling towards our dream climb one punchy step at a time.

Despite oppressive heat we climbed up the lower slopes of the route, which is really more of an approach to the actual climb. Since several other teams were on the moutain we were able to milk a boot track, making the mash potato crap snow a bit more bearable.

Did I mention it was hot? Like really F·#!ing hot! We roasted below the Col de Esperanza for a few hours before realizing we could go no further that day. It was time to switch to night mode.

At 11:30 PM I crossed the shrund and daggered towards the Col de Esperanza. Joel and Neil followed in the blackness below my boots. With my super worn crampons affecting my ability to move confidently and Joel´s extensive experiance on ice, I handed off the rack to him after 150 meters. No egos here. We needed to move fast to beat the heat of the coming afternoon. Joel weaved through easy, but magical ground, and then climbed a steep, fun pitch up El Elmo. I then took advantage of a section that didn´t require sharp frontpoints, and led a block through the ultra fun mixed pitches mid way up the route. I wanted to lead what I could.

Joel powered through the headwall, shot up another easy pitch, and then fired us to the top of the Torre. It was awesome to see Joel fully in his element. I learned so much as I followed his great leads.

At 11 AM on the first day of 2013 we stood on top of a peak we had dreamed of for years.

Psyche was high, but we were only halfway. I reminded myself to stay focused as I made the first free hanging rappel. We were still far, far away from the safety of Chalten.

The descent went fairly smoothly, but the heat caught us in the end. The last few rappels down the slushy ice face I had lead the night before were terrifying. A block of ice with my name on it missed my head by a few feet. I zipped down the last soggy rappel, carefull not to lose control. I hadn´t even rigged my prusik on the rope as it would take too much time to undo once I was at the end of the lines. I downclimbed off the end of the ropes, jumped the shrund and ran towards a protected nook. Back at our sleeping bags, we laid down and decompressed. Yikes!

The following morning we bagan our trek out the ice cap. Conditions were perfect. Anything less and we would have been sunk. We were worked, losing the plot really. Joel and I started the day with wild rants and jokes that only made sense in the moment. I think Neil was really concerned that we had lost our minds. When the going get´s tough, you´ve gotta have fun!

The last day we hiked 40 K through some of the most incredible terrain you could ever witness. Add deep fatigue and hunger and the recipe is set for a true vision quest. By the time we stumbled onto the road we were on another plane for sure.

A friend gave us a bumpy lift back into Chalten. I stared out the car window at the Rio Fitz Roy and lost myself in it´s undulating rapids. The colorful tapestry of town appeared on the horizon. Did it happen at all?

It surely did because when when I got out of the car my legs screamed with pain. Man was I sore!

Tour of Duty: 10 Days on the Front in Patagonia, Part 1

Meat, wine, litros, bouldering, sport wanking, meteograms, wind, ice, slpitters, friends, beatdowns, summits, near misses, smooth operations, shredded ropes, crevasse falls, short nights, long nights, bitter cold, stupid hot, empty stomachs, full stomachs, Domo Blanco, Senyera. Patagonia is all these things and more.

The words above capture the last month here in Chalten. Rob Smith, Mark Westman, and I mostly engaged activities associated with town life, clipping bolts, eating food, watching the weather, and hoping beyond hope for a few climbable days. I was sad to see both leave empty handed, especially as sunnier skies rolled into the area.

With my partners gone, I sought out a new friend to help me make the most of a coming window of opportunity. Enter Jon Schaffer. Enter an absolute crusher. This guy is strong, which is good, because his first ever tour of duty was to be full of hardship, despite what appeared to be a solid forcast.

We left town with big plans. The idea was to traverse over Paso Cuadrado, contour around the western side of the Fitz Roy group, climb the famed Supercanaleta on Fitz Roy, and then drop into the Torre Valley and knock out a rock route on one of the many fine spires accessed from Niponino, the main base camp under the Torres.

 

 Looking up at the Supercanaleta on Fitz Roy 

Jon Schaffer photo

The approach went relatively well, despite the typical knee deep, isothermic slush slog so typical of an afternoon approach in Patagonia. A few hours of sleep and we were soloing up the awesome gash which is the Supercanaleta. We made good time up the intitial 1,000 meters. The climbing was mostly steep snow with a few bits of AI3 here and there. Clouds swirled around us, but the forcast was good. Surely they would go away.

 And they did! By the time we roped up, blue skies swirled above and the climbing became even more beautiful. Perfection in my book.

Enter the feared and unexpected Patagonia storm. Its tentacles wrapped around us softly, smothering us with a steady, yet gentle pecking of snow flakes. I kept leading. It would stop right?

A few more pitches and the white stuff was really piling up. Quite a bit of spindrift was pounding us. I began to think about my wet boots, my one jacket, my one liter of water, and a night on top of Fitz Roy. I wanted it so bad, I almost pushed on, but I knew better.

I thought back to past experiances and readied myself for the mission ahead. We had to get out of this funnel before it squeezed hard, took us in, and then spit us out. We started rapping. And rapping. And rapping. The descent grew ever more harrowing as the spindrift morphed into hard sloughs that sometimes filled the entire coulior, waves of snow sweeping up the sides of the slot. I was scared, but focused. I balanced making safe anchors with speed. One piece back ups became the norm. This was a balancing act. By the final rappels I was unclipping from the anchor in case I needed to solo higher on the side walls to get away from the river of snow that was constantly churning down. By the end of our descent the sun shone, but a hard rain fell anyway. By the end of the night, the Supercanaleta was spitting rocks. It was scary to say the least, but we finally rapped over the bergschrund and ran down the avy cone to the safety of our camp. We had made it.

The next day, despite being a bit shaken up (we almost bailed back to town), we headed towards the Torre Valley. The previous day had been cold and wet. Now it was hot as balls. I led across the glaciers, falling over and over again into hidden slots. I even dropped my axe into one, sparing it an eterinity in the black void using a clever rope trick.

We finally stumbled into Niponino tired and hungry. We tore away at the stones that covered my dry bags. Soon we were chowing on the bit of food I had there. It wasn´t enough to help us recover from the past three days and we discussed the next days activities. We talked about some grand plans, but eventually realized we didn´t have the energy to go big. We were wrecked.

Wrecked, but not beaten, we painfully climbed the 400 meter Benitiers Route on El Mocho the following day. It hurt so bad. My swollen feet bulged out of my rock shoes and each jam was a shot of pain.

But the climbing was good and we refused to blow off such a gorgeous day.

Cracks and huecos led us higher above the valley and the beauty of our position dulled the pain.

On the rappels we moved sluggishly. I was naseous. So damn hungry. The rope got stuck, we cut it, and kept going down.

We arrived back in Niponino too late to make it back to Chalten. The food was gone save a few goos and bars. The situation seemed grim until some Canadien friends made us dinner and then another dinner after that one. We passed out right after a wind gust broke the tent and rain started falling. The weather window broke down. Again. I turned over in my sleeping bag.

¨Welcome to Patagonia Jon,¨ I said.

¨Thanks,¨ he replied.

I shut my crusty eyes and passed out as the wind shook our broken shelter in its mighty hand.

Part 2 Coming Soon!

All Photos by Jon Schaffer except the ones of him!

Trout Creek...Is Rad!!

Preparing for any big trip is tiring and all consuming. The months before my trip to Patagonia (I'm in Chalten now!) were filled with work, training, eating, and sleeping. I hadn't been able to spend time with friends and hadn't had many opportunities to sooth my soul on the rock. Truthfully, I was worn out, lonely, and obsessed. Sound healthy? You're right, it wasn't. 

Knowing I needed to remedy the situation before I caught my flight south, Jessica Campbell, River Campbell (big Akida buddy!), and I drove towards central Oregon in a driving rain, not concerned with whether we climbed or not. I needed to forget about work and Patagonia. I needed to sit on the tailgate of Jessica's truck, laugh, tell stories, and enjoy good friendship. I wanted to walk River and sleep under the branches of gnarly Juniper trees. If luck sided with us, we hoped to climb at a crag new to all of us, Trout Creek.

Day one was a complete shutdown. Water fell from the sky without end, but we chose to scope the crag anyway, slipping and laughing our way up the steep trail. We laughed until our guts hurt. The muddy trail was so slippery, we could barely move upwards. It was comical. It was healing.

 Trying my best on day one to ascend a 10 degree slope without falling on my face!

Day two dawned clear, but cold. We waited for temps to rise before making our way back up to the cliff.

 Waiting for temps to rise and the mist to clear...beautiful!

Even though our session was short, I was stunned by how awesome the climbing at Trout Creek was. So inspiring! I ended the day on a unique route that jammed a splitter and then face climbed up the rim rock to the top of the cliff. The most memorable moment was sinking a purple TCU into a small fissure,  climbing until my feel were above it, and then dynoing to the jug of all jugs without hesitation. I cranked few moves to the anchor. Lowering into the sunset, I felt rejuvenated. I was ready to go to Patagonia.

 Trout Creek...is rad!

It's All Training

As another fall morphs into winter, I find myself dreaming, working, and training for another season of exciting adventures in Argentine Patagonia. On November 28th I'll walk out my front door in Peshastin, Washington, putz down a small country road to the train station, follow the railway over the Cascade crest, and then connect to a long flight out of Sea Tac. The stoke, like usual, is sky high.

Preparing for a trip like this is absolutely non stop. 50 hour work weeks sandwich a few moments of climbing. Luckily, during the harvest, my job provides awesome alpine training. If you can clean the press in driving sleet, long after the sun has dropped behind the Stuart Range, 13 hours into your 20th consecutive day of work, then you can climb a big route in a wild place. Bottom line.

Drew and I on the job

I'm fortunate to have a great friend and employee, Drew Shick, who will take care of the wines while I am gone in South America. Even better, he is an inspiring climber who helps motivate me for cragging sessions after work. This past fall we snuck out a time or two a week to a magnificant cliff of granite called the Miller High Life Crag. Tucked into the Sky Valley of Central Washington, the Miller High Life zone is quickly becoming a fabled land of overhanging knobs and steep crack systems. The Disorient Express (5.12c/d) and Welcome to Washington (5.13a) stuck out as two of the best routes I've ever done, one a steep roof flake and the other a sustained boulder problem capped by endless 5.12 techiness. It felt good to get into rock shape again after a discouraging year of injury which began with the development of dupuytren's contracture in my right hand.

Slapping through the crux on Welcome To Washington (5.13a)

Max Hasson Photo

When an abnormally wet fall soaked our local rocks and shut down the Sky Valley season, we expolored The Sanctuary, an obscure cave of steep choss located in the deserts of eastern Washington. While most of the state toiled away in slimy climbing gyms, Drew and I cranked down as beautiful sunsets washed over wide open spaces.

Drew cranks on one of Washington's best desert sport routes, The Jugulator (5.12d)

My rock season wasn't defined by steep sport routes though. Jessica Campbell and I made a valient effort on Tooth and Claw (III 5.12), one of the state's best slab testpieces. When Jessica slipped off the second 5.11 pitch, shooting dissapointment flooded her psyche. I encouraged her to not worry and hold her head high. Putting the pieces together on routes like this is difficult. One slip can ruin an otherwise perfect day, but pushing yourself to these levels is what it's all about. I showed her that heart breaking dissapointment is part of the game when a foothold broke under me as I was sending the last crux pitch, darkness falling over the Cascades. What could I do? I had climbed very well all day, but even now, I recognize I did not send the route and it will not be "ticked" in my climbing journal. I'll be back to correct that little mistake, that is for sure.

Jessica on the pitch 4 of T & C (5.11b/c)

Most recently, on my first day off work in a month, Blake Herrington, Vern Nelson, and myself romped up the NE Coulior on Argonaut Peak. We found challenging conditions that provided some real climbing moves over mixed steps of perfect granite. I relished being in the mountains with friends, fresh snow, and my ice tools. Best of all I was treated to one of the most beautiful sunsets I've witnessed in my 7 years of climbing in the Stuart Range.

Having fun on Argonaut
Photo by Blake Herrington

Myself staring in awe at the North Ridge of Mt. Stuart. This moment was one of my most cherished in 7 years of climbing in the Stuart Range. The North Ridge is the obvious buttress falling from Stuart's summit. What a line! I've climbed it many times, including making its second winter ascent in 2008 with Cole Allen.

Photo by Blake Herrington

Now, after all this training, I'm packing my bags to head south. Psyche is high, motivation is erupting, and the time to send is nearly upon us. Get some!