Cirque Traverse: attempt. Proposed First Winter Ascent of Wolf's Head

Zach passes the final tower on Wolf's Head, one of the wildest positions in the Wind River Range.
The most beautiful and oddly frustrating climbing I've done in winter. Taken from the summit. Background peaks in L-R order: Pingora, Mitchell, Wind River, Haystack, Steeple, Lost Temple Spire/East temple, Warbonnett, Temple, the Warriors.

"The nullifying, defeating,
negating, repeating
Joy Of Life."   -Joanna Newsom, Time, As A Symptom

The Cirque Traverse, again, this time in February with Zach Keskinen, a friend from CC, originally from Fairbanks, AK. We had previously climbed together in the Canadian Rockies, doing Curtain Call together, and in the Waddington Range, sending "The Wadd" and Combatant. He guides on Denali most summers, and I learned some things from his solid base of winter skills. He generally dealt with the cold better than I did, and his sense of humor kept morale high.

    Last year in January I skiied nearly 20 miles across the desert just to get to Big Sandy Trailhead, the normal summer starting point, with Niels Davis. We towed toy plastic sleds from harnesses, laden down with way too much gear, adding to the suffer quotient. Our friend dropped us off, and we traversed out the lander side to Sinks Canyon after climbing Pingora. 
     This time around Zach and I were able to borrow snowmobiles from Josh Wagner, a friend from Dubois, Wy. This helped us cross around 20 miles of snow-drifted sagebrush high-desert to get to within about three miles of the wilderness boundary, at which point the machines were stuck in bottomless powder. From there we skiied around 12 miles into the cirque where we slept in a wet snow cave and got-to-it on Pingora the next morning. The perfect, flaring, smooth granite of the cirque is poorly suited to double boots and crampons. Many of the cracks were full of snow and ice, and we would have an interesting challenge ahead of us. our heavy packs weighed us down but the psyche was high. Our sleeping bags were draped over our packs all morning to dry as we simul-climbed the sunny, southeast facing headwall.

Zach leading on pingora. We got off route trying the follow the East ledges (5.2) and ended up climbing some vertical handcracks (~5.7) and joining the upper South Buttress. In the future staying on the ledges would save time.

rapping off of Pingora and down to Tiger Tower.

Summitting Tiger Tower. Photo Zach Keskinen

Zach initially trying the sidewalk in boots and pons.

Zach, opting for a much harder but more protected and crampon friendly way around the sidewalk, (initially without crampons).

The East Ridge of Wolf's head was horrendously difficult. Without rock shoes the 4th and low 5th class sections of friction climbing became insecure and impractical. Anyone who's done this route in summer knows that it's a wonderful III 5.6, and part of the 50 crowded classics list. While the route finding is hard to nail (this fucked us hard, over and over again), the route is a casual outing in summer and gets soloed regularly.
Our pace was falling below that needed to conserve our food and fuel, and beat the violent close that our weather window would experience on Friday night. We climbed way too slowly.

When we hit the sidewalk I knew this would be an "attempt". This is sortof a hilarious place to start failing.

For anyone who hasn't been on Wolf's Head, the sidewalk is a blank 30 degree slab, directly on the knife edge, about 4 feet wide, with no protection for around 60 feet. It's difficult to even rate. In summer people routinely walk across it. Similar to Thank God Ledge on Half Dome, this is non-technical climbing requiring only balance, but with a twisted world of exposure (in one direction on Half Dome, but in both directions on Wolf's Head). With rock shoes this pitch is a cheese-cake scramble. Zach opted for a much harder way around it.

Whenever the wandering route ended up on the north side of the ridge, slabs up to 50 or 60 degrees were covered with a blanket of worthless sugar snow. Each hold needed to be excavated, by which time the footholds would be covered with snow as well. We were at the tail end of our first day, and I felt a lack of fitness and a massive lack of confidence mixed climbing on smooth granite creeping in. Any fall would end with a crunch on some ledge or slab.
For this level of difficulty, I can think of few routes less suited to winter techniques.
We got off-route in numerous spots, with the piton pitch being an especially bad spot.

Perhaps it's Kelly Cordes who said it's not the crux that'll shut you down, it's the unprotected snow on slab. The hard parts usually aren't hard.

The full sense of commitment kicked in. Falling and getting hurt would mean a 3-5 day self-rescue, and this (maybe justified) feeling showed through in our shitty leading. Sections we would have soloed in summer took hours as we pitched out slabby and wandery terrain covered with sugar snow, presenting no use-able footholds for our double boots and dulled out crampons. We were under-fueled and underhydrated, and we underestimated the magnitude of difficulty of every aspect of this adventure, from getting the car stuck, to getting the snowmachines stuck, to trying to keep our down bags dry, to the weight of our packs, and the impossibility of making good time on the ridge without soloing or simuling basically everything.

To our knowledge, Wolf's head has not been climbed in winter, and our newly adjusted goal would be to make it up and over Wolf's head, down the west face, and around to the Overhanging tower col, where we could safely bail back into the cirque. Rapping the S. face Beckey route was tempting, But we knew wet slides were ripping on the lower slabs, where we would find no anchors. This provided a good excuse to bail up and over the summit.

To complete the traverse we would have needed to climb Overhanging Tower (5.2), Sharks Nose (5.6), and Block tower (5.5), followed by a convoluted 2 miles of third class terrain over the Watchtower, the Warriors, and Warbonnet, then a descent back to our skis around the beautiful face with Black Elk.  We were done with the actual crux, but the alpine equivalent of the "redpoint" crux was still to come, maybe even somewhere after the "end of the technical difficulties" (as it always fucking seems to.)

While the climbing would have been easier ahead of us, and we may have been able to carry our momentum despite deteriorating form, the weather would not hold for us and we lacked the fuel to sit out a storm without running out of water.
I got cell service on the summit of Wolf's head and we made a few phone calls to our significant others. My dad gave me an updated weather forecast, 40mph gusts and snow the next day and night.
The Bail it is.

After we were set on bailing, it was easier to let go of the ego and just enjoy the views and the place, and the company of a friend. Our senses of humor greatly improved at that point.  Having a deadline to get out of the high country strangely seemed to lower the stress level for us.

Zach chimneying past tower 2

Day one draws to a close. our bivy on Wolf's head. We dug out the side of a hanging snowfield on the north side of the knife-edge. We slept tied in. Photo Zach Keskinen

crusty hands, trying to sleep in the cold at ~12,200.

Following the 4" foot traverse in double boots, with a 30lb pack. Got a crampon stuck partway through the 35 foot runout. (we didnt bring a #4.)uncomfortable to say the least. Zach enjoyed it more than I did. Photo Zach Keskinen

    I now have come to realize how stupid it is to try to do this cruiser, beautiful, fun ridge in calendar winter. It amounts to turning something great, which many people have done casually, into something difficult for a bunch of dumb and contrived reasons, and destroying a pair of crampons (at the very least) in the process. I'm not sure whether I enjoy the added challenge of climbing in winter or if I'm just vainly grasping at the novelty of the "winter ascent". Dates are just arbitrary numbers, but conditions are real. Someone could easily do this in an especially dry winter, or right around the equinoxes, maximizing the use of rock shoes and bare hands and minimizing weight in the pack, but I'm less interested in the distinction of "winter" than I am in the challenge of climbing in full conditions.
     That said, we both learned a lot about efficiency and technique when trad-mixed climbing in this type of moderate terrain. It was certainly strange to be so humbled by such a "classic trade route", but this didn't preclude the trip from being a good one.

I'll stop questioning this in time, and if the snow-pack settles and the weather calms next year I'm sure I'll try it again. I'm still obsessed. This year we had a great trip and made some progress.

Alpenglow on Bollinger peak (not a part of the traverse.)

If anyone knows about the winter history of the peaks here, drop me a comment. I've asked around  quite a bit and haven't found anything. Specifically most interested in whether wolf's head or pingora have had winter ascents, and if so via which routes?

Good Old Neon

Ankle deep in the rest Hueco. Photo Sam Macke

   A little explanation of the name:

 Good Old Neon is a short story by David Foster Wallace. It explores the life of someone who has seemingly always felt in-genuine, a fraud, constructing their outside appearance and "putting on a show" in everything that they do. The subject and narrator is apparently dead and speaking from "outside of linear time".
   My brother recommended it to me, and a lot of this guy's insecurities and problems were disturbingly relate-able. The story was a shining example of how not to be, conveyed through DFWs self-indulgent but beautiful prose. This seemed like an appropriate name considering the following experience I had climbing the route.
   There were around 10 people at the crag, none of them climbing, all of them watching. When I ended up sending the thing, I had a peculiar feeling. When I was in the flow of the moves I was fully absorbed, but while I was at rests I wasn't sure if I was actually shaking out to combat the critical pump at this upside down heel-toe cam stance. Was I making faces because of the blood rushing to my head, or if I was just a pathetic actor performing for some kind of audience? I felt detatched from the experience of actually climbing, and it was disturbing to feel like such a "fucking show pony" as I later told a friend.

To keep it short, I hate climbing in front of people, primarily because my motivations become confusing and I lose touch with my self. This is the same reason that I can't participate in any kind of social media. This blog is the most overt form of public self-promotion I can engage in without hating myself and becoming confused about why I climb, and it still manages to have some of these effects. In sport climbing, it may not always matter why you climb. Sometimes sending, rather than having fun or experiencing self-discovery, is the only imperative, and people (myself included) manage to derive motivation from some dark, petty, or immature places. But if things get really dangerous or committing in other realms (far from sport climbing) it's important to be honest with oneself. A friend explained it like this:
   "I never tell anyone about the solos I do. I know that holds break and shit happens, and it's a waste of a life if you were trying to impress someone else. Your last thoughts are going to be "I don't want this to happen, it was all so stupid"".

I spent alot of time at the Bridge this winter, learning to bolt and training for specific routes and even specific moves. It was a rewarding experience to show up and send the longstanding project (Weasel Overdrive, M10/11), but it was much more satisfying to author my own routes, choosing lines and working fresh moves on natural, untouched features.  I added 10 bolts deeper in the cave, joining Weasel Overdrive right before the crux. This would be Good Old Neon. After bolting the line the day before, I gave it one beta burn and then sent second try, much to my surprise. I had no idea I was going to make links right away. Aaron Mulkey was onsighting a fun M8 that joins the big lines after the crux, and once it was apparent that I was sending he chose to hang tight and wait for me to complete the first ascent. This was a kind gesture, but now none of the 10 people at the crag were climbing, and the pressure was on. I went all the way to the second pair of chains, climbing fast and confidently up the ice to finish, and screaming at the end.
    This line was steeper, with many hard steinpull moves and spans near the limit of my reach. Again, I chose to climb in DTS, using no figures of four, as the euros say. This wasn't a detriment most of the time; the rock is beautifully featured and there are ample footholds even in the horizontal cruxes. Only on a couple of moves and one clip was I truly 'smearing' crampons on nothing. This is likely a spot where most modern mixed-wankers would opt for a figure four.

   I definitely lack the experience to properly rate this, not having redpointed many hard established mixed routes. The only thing it compares to are training routes in the Manitou Ghetto. I would say it requires a similar endurance effort to The Nihilist, but with the benefit of a relaxed and beautiful outro stemming between, and traversing across fragile ice daggers. There was one good rest utilizing a heel-toe cam in a hueco, but it was considerably worse (but less painful) than the knee-bar on Weasel Overdrive.

Good Old Neon, clipping in the crux, on the beta burn. Jade the dog at foreground. Photo Sam Macke

Another concern here: We haven't manufactured a single hold. The closest we've gotten is hammering in old picks to clear choss out of pockets and dirty seams. I think the natural features are really good, and I've always been opposed to  manufacturing, even in a wholly contrived discipline like dry-tooling. The only type of areas in which I've manufactured holds are ones in where the cliff itself is unnatural, like a quarry, or a blasted tunnel, like the Manitou Ghetto. While the early 20th century logging activity at the bridge left a permanent human mark in the rock, the tunnel itself is a natural, beautiful cave lined with calcite drip features, tufas, and stalactites. A lot of people have shared with me their ideas about manufacturing, and the modern, gymnastic potential the crag would hold if we "spanned" the blank sections with a bit of power-tooling. The bottom line is just that I don't want to be the one to do it. It leaves a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. This is a wonder of nature and geology, not some fucking gods-gift to climbers that we can sculpt however we want. I don't care if "they all do it in europe".  As long as I'm working on this crag I don't want to see drilled pockets. I think it's complete bullshit. Using bad holds is a part of the challenge, and ice tools lend themselves well to this type of climbing. This will never be anyone's training crag in the way that the Ghetto, Vail Ampitheater, or the Hall of Justice are. For now there's no chance we'll run out of good, natural, unsent lines to bolt and climb.

Wrestling the moss blobs. photo Davis Merritt

Deeper in the cave, I spent three days aid-rope-soloing, taking as big of a whip as there's room for in the tunnel when a tool slowly seesawed out of a wet pocket. I was actually screwing a hanger on to a bolt when it happened. After several 5 hour sessions of bolting on lead, hanging out in the cold drips with a commercial fishing jacket and waders on, getting incredibly uncomfortable, I finally bolted the 60 foot roof.

The result is another project, Infinite Jest, and like the epic novel it'll take some serious time for me to finish. Moving along with the DFW theme, the hardest lines should naturally be named after the real monsters, The Pale King and Infinite Jest. The line is long and complicated, and at times contrived, and it's going to require some patience and commitment. I could have gone with physics related names, but instead the working name theme may be even more pretentious. It adds 50 feet of horizontal roof climbing into the crux sections of Good Old Neon and Weasel Overdrive. No matter the temperature, it's always dripping, and it's hard to work. One of the points of protection is a piece of 1-inch iron driven into the ceiling back in the days of the logging flume. It's going to go on all natural features, and it would represent a new level for mixed climbing in Wyoming. By the time I was done bolting the line, the season was drawing to a close, ice was falling down, and my body was telling me to take a break.

the incredible features on Infinite Jest.

 

another FA, Vermin Supreme, M8/9. (alot harder without the ice.)

So far my additions to the crag include:

Least Weasel M7                      (FA Niels Davis (funny business at the anchor...).)
Vermin Supreme M8/9              (first go with ice, sent dry Var. later.)
Weasel Overdrive: M10/11       (kneebar favors small legs, solid 11 if you can't get it.).
Good Old Neon.                        (way harder than Weasels)

Infinite Jest                                (tunnel project, unsent).
and two or three other unsent projects.

This season I managed to onsight every established mixed route at the crag, including
Superbowl Sunday, M8
Sam's M8 upstream, and
Whiskey Pneumonia M6/7

    So far no-one has confirmed Weasels or Neon. Phil managed a quick one-hang on Weasels and returned some positive feedback on the movement.  I've spent 15 or so days here this season, and every one has been memorable. The ice is all cooked for now, but I would be amped to have some people join me to help develop here next season. November and December are definitely the best times, and the only times when public access does not involve a 2 hr ski tour each way. Get in contact with me if you're interested. Right now there are serious access issues (on approach, not at the crag, which is on public land.), so understand that it may not happen. That's it for this year. Peace