Pingora, Winter

All  Photos: Nielsen Davis

Guest writer Niels Davis, take it away.

Fun with Sleds:

Warbonnet

It seems each time I go to the Cirque of the Towers, I get the most exhausted that I’ve ever been. After a trip JD Merritt (’16) and I took this January, The Cirque has been cemented in my mind as a place where I continually discover new personal limits. Our plan was to drive as far as we could and ski the remainder to attempt the Cirque Traverse however, things did not go exactly as planned.
    One notable moment on the drive in was the sighting of a mountain lion bounding through the snow away from us after we came over a hill and surprised it. It was incredible to have the chance to see such a beautiful animal in motion. So much more graceful than us spending the afternoon repeatedly digging our car out of the snow and then getting stuck almost immediately afterwards. Eventually, we decided to abandon the heat and shelter and we turned to skis. Our friend Gus Griffin (’15) drove back to go ski with his cousin in Jackson and we skinned off into the dark with our equipment loaded into two kid’s sleds we picked up at the hardware store that morning. Concerning the sleds, some lessons need to be learned the hard way.

Getting stuck for the N-th time. This is where we started skiing.

by not making friends with any 'slednecks', I have gone and shot myself in the foot.  We skiied nearly 20 miles through flat desert on snowmobile tracks.  Yes, there is an easier way.

the end of another short, cold day

    The 12 miles we had estimated to the Cirque became 28 or so and after two-and-a-half days of skiing through the desert and woods we arrived in the Cirque slightly more tired than we expected. Despite the warm, sunny days, the nights were cold and our sleeping bags already wet so we opted for a snow cave. Due to the increasing winds signaling the closing of our weather window, and our physical condition we decided the Cirque Traverse was out of the picture. The next day we waited for the sun and set off for the South Buttress of Pingora. We reached the base around 10:30 a.m. and warmed our feet in the sun before switching to mountain boots and scrambling the initial portion of the climb. JD set off up the first pitch switching to rock shoes halfway through. He led the next two pitches in the rock shoes while I took photos and followed in mountain boots. The granite was warm enough in the sun and we were able to climb without gloves. The K-cracks held minimal ice due to the southerly aspect. I led the final snow gully up to the summit and belayed JD. This was the golden moment of the trip. The sun shone through and we fist pounded and looked out at the rest of the Wind River Range, particularly eyeing the snowy East Ridge of Wolf’s Head and the rest of the traverse that had evaded us this round.

Switching boots on the first real pitch.

Leading the left K-crack.

Following Niels' lead on the last pitch.

We rappelled as the sun set, leaving a few nuts and some cord on two instances when our rope fell short of the rap stations. The wind began to pick up and we were glad not to be on the ridge.
(editor's note: the storm got fucking heinous a couple of hours later, that night.)

 We hiked out the next day, taking the alternate 24 mile route back to Sink’s Canyon in Lander. As we admired the lesser-travelled Cirques to the east of the Cirque of the Towers, snow began to fall and visibility lessened causing us to skin over the wrong pass. We bushwhacked uphill while our sleds caught on each tree and bush for a few hours. As we gained the ridge, we realized that we had turned out of the canyon too early leading us to the wrong location. Nightfall came and we decided to call it a day. In the morning we realized that where we had expected a nice pass there was another cirque––a welcome sight in instances other than this one. That day we found the right pass and were determined to make it to Lander. For a long moment we travelled on a frozen creek, where JD lost a ski through the ice and had to get a little wet to retrieve it just an hour before sunset. We skied through the dark and eventually found the trail that would take us back to Lander. It was nice to let down our guard for a while and pound out a few miles, though we soon found ourselves rambling around in the woods as zombies after losing the trail. One of the sleds had broken in the front and began shoveling snow so we rigged it fishtail forward, which was a little more efficient. By the end of the trip it was only half of a sled, mostly held together by the cord used to lash our gear to it. We begrudgingly resigned ourselves to the tent and wet sleeping bags once more. The next morning we skied five or six more miles to the trailhead where JD’s brother met us. We drove back to his house, having completed an epic journey, and ate a lot of eggs and waffles. That night we drove back to Colorado Springs in order to make it back for school the next day. We kept ourselves awake with long, typical talks about relationships and the meaning of life, both almost exclusively illustrated with climbing analogies.

Wolf's Head

It had been textbook type-two-fun. As I sit here now amidst piles of books, the feeling in my sore legs brings me back to the final post-holed steps to the summit of Pingora and the storm clouds brewing over Warbonnet and Lizard Head. All in all we skied roughly sixty miles, managed to get a climb in, and received an incredible glimpse into the Wind River Range in winter. For now, we are satiated.

Summary:
Pingora, Winter Ascent, Cirque of the Towers, Wind River Range, WY.
South Buttress, K-Cracks 5.8

an untold amount of suffering while tied to sleds.

Stalker

photo: Erik Reiger

     What does it mean to be a Stalker?
     Obsession and purpose. Drawn by a calling, learning and relearning, one memorizes every rhythm and change, however small. It requires time and patience. At some point it becomes a compulsion and it is irrelevant to even ask why; one must return.
      In Andrei Tarkovski's 1979 film Stalker, a dark future has one last natural place, the Zone. No humans are here and supernatural laws rule. Those with the calling, Stalkers, have the ability to tap into it's subtle cues and signals, leading those who seek 'the room' at the heart of the zone.
     In the shots outside the Zone, decay and pollution occupy a grey on grey palate in the ultra-civilized world.  In contrast, the Zone is painted in vivid and surreal color. Nature rules and danger awaits those who stray from the Stalker's crooked path. The Zone is the only place where the Stalker's life has meaning.
     With many miles of hiking and reconnaissance over the months, Erik learned the rhythms of this mountain and knew it's potential. After several attempts this time would be the one. Conditions were perfect. He did the stalking and now he needed a partner.  In respect to the work he did, and to protect more lurking potential, I will simply say that this route is near (but not in) RMNP, and that it's on the west slope of the Front Range.

     I didn't have a lot of faith until he showed me this photo of rime coated rock.  This was taken the first week of October.  A storm brought moisture, and the route was in.  He made the 3.5 hour approach on Thursday with Phil Wortmann, one of Colorado's strongest winter climbers, who is fresh off a single push repeat of Deprivation on the North Buttress of Hunter.
    On Thursday they dealt with low visibility, cold, and high winds.  They decided not to start the route and post holed back the way they came only having laid eyes on the first pitch. 
    What did the route have to offer? Smears and streaks of ice appeared disconnected through the fog.  The crux looked steep, giving the imagination free reign.
    Given three more days, all that rime turned to ice.  On Sunday we made the approach, starting before dawn. Below treeline it was still fall with green grass and running streams.  Then we crossed a distinct boundary and entered a familiar place.

    Once again, he stood at the base of the route with visibility under a rope-length. Last time Erik and I started a rare and tenuous ice route, we skipped this step in haste, and I was injured (in a lucky outcome) as a result.  This was on the north face of the Grand Teton, in our attempt to repeat Shea's chute, a grade IV WI5 which was finally established solo in 1980 after three attempts. Anomalous storms this spring gave it some of the wildest ice I've seen, but conditions were unstable, and I could have paid dearly for my deafness to the obvious. I was struck with ice while leading and we began a slow and painful retreat.  My helmet was cracked completely through, and my knee swelled, making my kneecap invisible for a week.  

     A month later, we lost our friend Cole to an ice avalanche in the Cordillera Blanca.  The decisions I make seem to grow more complicated each year. There was a disturbing lack of discussion or affirmatives exchanged when we started the route in the Tetons that day.

   

  We paused and had a brief exchange on the apron of avalanche debris left from last winter. This time, our conversation was clear and to the point, thought for a moment we were both thinking back to that day on the grand. 

            "what do you think?"

            "not enough snow to avalanche, and there is definitely ice"

            "temps are good"

            "ice looks good"

            "fucking stoked"

            "pull the trigger."

the first pitch.

     With no hesitation, we rattled off pitch after pitch of perfect climbing, feeling good about every pitch, and every move.  This is the finest mixed climbing I've done in Colorado.  The line was direct and logical, and we could not have asked for better ice.  We had trust in each other and trust that the line would go. It unfolded seamlessly.

the first pitch, WI4 M4

 Erik led thin, vertical runnels on the first pitch.  The last of these gave a choice between two threads of ice, each only inches wide.  I led the pure-ice crux of our route on pitch 2, the smear of vertical ice in the first photo. It ended up being quite moderate which was in no way a letdown.  The climbing on soft, new ice was pure joy.

Sculpted by strong updrafts, ice roofs guarded passage on the third pitch.

on the other side of the cirque: lurking potential.

The middle section 'the narrows'

     The middle of the route was defined by lower angle ice in a wide bowl with short steps of vertical flow.  After the third pitch we simuled for at least 600 feet. The first 900 feet of the route were connected by perfect ice. The conditions we had may be rare, but little information exists for this area.  We know for sure that this route is only a safe proposition in fall, since the basins in the middle section of the route would present a serious avalanche hazard once the snow pack builds.
     Ice gave way to a steep mixed head-wall.  This is where we found the crux of our route.  First, a thin runnel of ice in a corner presented moderate climbing with limited protection.  Following this pitch, two pitches of steep and interesting mixed climbing on solid but compact rock had us placing peckers and knife blades for protection (all of which were cleaned).

Erik stands below the crux corner system.

Exiting one of the crux pitches.

 We topped out the unnamed peak to a view of a jagged skyline.  As we coiled the ropes, we saw a dragonfly, still alive in the snow.  We were thankful for a simple descent.
    The Stalker can't enter the room, there is nothing there for him.  The promise of the room exists for others, and it is said to grant your innermost wish. In the end, if you dare to enter, it only brings misery and pain. For some, this is the courtship with mountains.
    Our story played out differently. On this climb, every moment was enjoyable as the route revealed a natural, simple line to us. This day just served to reinforce my love for this pointless game.

We found no fixed gear on the route, and we also left none. Within the knowledge of the AAJ and the words of the area's most active climbers, Erik found no information about any routes on this face, so we feel comfortable calling it a new route.

Our routeline,
photographed in September before the ice reached full tilt.

Peak 12878', North side,

Stalker, FA, IV WI4 M5, 1100 feet.

 
   

Astrodog

The North Chasm View Wall from Astrodog.

Told mostly in photos, here is the story of Astrodog, one of Colorado's sweetest long free routes.  Luke Rasmussen, Brett Baekey, and I went to the south rim of the Black Canyon of the Gunnison for the first time, and before dawn we began our first rappel. 

The first of 11 double rope rappels.

The sun rose a couple of raps in.  Yes, those are down booties.

once it got warm, Luke revealed his Pizza Slut shirt.  Mid length sleeves provide adequate offwidth protection,
while an exposed midriff is both dashing and well ventilated.  We believe this is the future.

A perfect corner just above the 2-boulder bivy.

Pitch 8, Brett leading a 5.11 corner.

Pitch 10: Luke leads the thin corner just before the crux.

We were pretty worked.  The route took us about 11 hrs from bottom to top.  No-one ended up sending the crux, a blank stemming book where the 'good' piece is a 000 C3.  Later, we decided to get worked in a venue which, while still plenty difficult, is a polar opposite to the Black.

O-Town on Simply Read in Rifle.

Waddington

Mount Waddington, with the summit at left

    It was easy to agree on a trip to the Waddington range.
Zach Keskinen, Brett Baekey, Hanson Smith, and I recieved a Ritt Kellog Memorial grant to make our trip possible.  We hoped more than anything for good weather and conditions that would allow us to climb some of the wildest mountains on the coast range.  Just before we were due to leave, we were struck by some news that shifted our focus.
    On July 14th our friend Cole Kennedy was hit by icefall and killed in the Cordillera Blanca, on the SW face of Piramide de Garcilaso.  He was an inspiring climber. Everyone in the CC community looked up to him.  He and I shared the same advisor and major until he graduated last year. We didn't discuss physics very often: it was evidently easy for him, but his interest lay elsewhere. He was dedicating his time wholeheartedly to climbing and becoming a mountain guide.  He was getting after it all the time, and he showed serious promise as an alpinist. Cole had a unique attitude about climbing, and his focus was set on two opposite ends of the spectrum. Rarely was he seen sport climbing.  Instead he focused a part of his time on bouldering, and was one of the strongest and most technically talented climbers at CC.  At the other end of the spectrum, he climbed just as well on traditional rock and winter routes.  Maybe he cared about purity, or maybe he just did what he liked.  In any case, he got really good.  Cole and I had plans to climb together, but we never shared a rope in the mountains.  This is something I regret.
    Our thoughts are with his climbing partner John, who returned home to the states, and with all his friends and family. The circumstances of the accident, like many in the mountains, were out of their control.  Despite this, we still had to ask ourselves questions about risk. These are questions we've heard a million times, but it brings them to the surface in a new light. It was clear to us that we could have only one goal that really mattered: to bring everyone home safe.  Routes and summits seemed like a vain and insignificant afterthought.
   

The Combatant-Tiedemann-Asperity massif.  Its south faces fall around 1600m and are mostly solid granite.

   For Hanson and I, the trip began in Wyoming.  We needed to get on our feet and do something. We climbed the Grand Teton via the direct-Petzholt ridge.  We then soloed the entirety of the upper exum ridge together, summitting in good time and good weather.  I hadn't climbed with him in a while, and it was a good oppurtunity to build confidence and solidarity, and work out technical kinks in our systems.  It also felt good to be in the mountains again.  We were both off-balance emotionally and our assessments of risk were constantly changing.  I was still shaken from a close call with icefall on the north face of the Grand in June.  Our day on the Petzholt was a reminder that good days in the mountains really are good. It's hard to beat sunny rock climbing in high places. It restored our motivation after some trying days.
    Straight away we made the marathon drive up to Squamish, boxed in by wildfire smoke much of the way.  17 hours of metal and Moby-Dick on tape later we were in the Northwest. In Seattle we spent some time connecting with friends and sharing memories of Cole.  The next day we met up with Zach, and the next day with Brett. 
     We had a rainy day of cragging and bouldering in Squamish.  We quickly realized that the weather was improving and we needed to jump on our first oppurtunity to fly.  Hanson and I were both suffering from injuries that limited our abilities on pure rock.  For us this was an easy decision to leave Squamish, and Brett and Zach would get the oppurtunity to climb the Chief on the tail end of our trip.
      We drove 10 hours through that night, and arrived at Tatla Lake ready to fly the next morning, having slept for zero hours.  Flying in on a helicopter was an amazing experience, but with a low cloud ceiling and bad weather we were forced to land near the Scimitar glacier.  Following our landing at a dissapointing location we had 3 days of hauling heavy loads through bad weather and difficult and dangerous terrain.  We eventually found ourselves on Combatant col at 9800 feet and took some time to rest and watch the rime shed.

We skiied with sleds, for 3-4 laps each, to haul our gear up this 300m ramp.  Only a narrow path was safe, and this was arguably the crux of our 'approach' to the col.

Mount Waddington- 13,186' 

-Kiwi Route - Notch Chimney - 1000m, 60 degrees, 5.7, M-harder-than-expected, TD.

           We began the romp across the flat col with very cold conditions at around 2am.  The route breaks down into three sections.  After crossing a (very active) serac zone, you hop onto a 300m face of blue and smooth ice.  We climbed this in the dark, with Zach and Brett soloing and Hanson and I simuling below.

     After the face, you find yourself on a series of nice, steep snow aretes with quite a bit of exposure down to the Tiedemann glacier.  Most of the climbing here, though steep, was on firm neve with only short sections of ice. We were soloing through the alpenglow, and the sun rose on us.  The next section leads through a short, jumbled icefall, and onto the Stroll, a low-angle, hanging snowfield below the violently serrated, black teeth of Mount Waddington.

     From there we joined the standard route, climbing through steep, loose mixed terrain.  The chimneys proved more difficult than anyone had imagined, and we slowed down--too much. We found vertical sections of the chimney choked with good ice.

Temps got closer to freezing, and rime was constantly cutting loose.  Only the occasional big chunk would pose any threat, but it was serious motivation for us to move faster.

At 3:30am, safely through the serac zone and above the 'schrund, Zach and Brett solo together onto the calf-busting ice face of the Kiwi Route.

First light, well clear of the seracs.  Main summit at left, NW summit at right. 

The Tiedemann glacier.

Brett soloing in a sea of loose metamorphic rock

Hanson leads up to the notch.

Zach and Brett regroup at a belay as I lead behind them.  4 slow, rimed pitches to go. Solid rock was not a common theme.

The Tooth

Looking down at the final crux steps of the notch chimney.

Hanson stands on the summit- a pillar of rime big enough for only one at a time.

around 4pm, Brett and Zach rig the first of many rappels after a short downclimb from the summit of Waddington.

Snow walls kept the daily wind gusts from shredding our tents at the col.

Back on the stroll, we climbed up a short couloir to the slopes of the northwest summit, and then descended the Angel Glacier and the Firey route with pleasant postholing and short glissades in the reddening night.  We had to take some time in a maze-like icefall, and after a while we were 'jogging' through some more serac zones in pitch dark, and sat down in camp a bit later.  The next day Mike King of Whitesaddle air informed us that we were likely the first party in 2 years to make the main summit.

camp is visible as a small speck near the center of Combatant Col.

Zach and Brett investigate the Bergschrund below Combatant.

Combatant - Skywalk Buttress, 700m, 50 degrees, 5.9, ED1.
      I opted to leave my 2lb camera in camp, so photos from the Skywalk are mostly Zach's. I slept the entire day previously with a stiff neck and a sore throat.  Everyone else was racked up and prepared.  That night I packed my stuff-just in case- I was fully prepared to spend another day in camp while they climbed without me. I would leave the decision for the morning.
     The route had loomed over camp and presented a soaring, obvious line.  It was hard to say no in the morning, even when I woke up feeling as sick as ever.  I decided to climb anyway, confident that I would be able to hold my own, which I sort-of did.  I roped up with Zach and left camp a little after 7. We managed to simul much of the lower buttress.  After the Croft-Anker variation and the crux pitches, we had a routefinding snafu that led us to rappel about 25m.  We traversed right of the crest, and Zach led an exciting and runout traverse on edges. This took us to a steep corner and chimmney system.  For such a prime-line, routefinding proved to be tough and unintuitive for much of the day. 
   After some serious difficulties with rockfall, we found ourselves on the summit of the first tower well after dark. 10 full 70m rappels, in a group of 4, took us the rest of the night, and after a mentally trying descent we found ourselves rappelling over the bergschrund in morning light- at the same hour we left camp the day previously.  Were we forced to make single 60m raps, it would have been at least 23.  We found a minimum of anchors from previous descents, so this would have consumed most of our racks.
    The climb was worth it for me, despite a bit of a personal health struggle that led to some suffering in the long hours of the night(and in the weeks afterward).  The commitment grade is perhaps a bit exaggerated for the modern rock climber.  Many climbers might compare its length  to the Painted wall in the Black Canyon or the Regular NW face of half dome.
    The new day's light has us felling refreshed, so instead of going to sleep we just piled into the cook tent and lit up a pan of bacon for breakfast and held a surprisingly lively conversation.  We were a bit drained, and our weather window was quickly coming to an end, so the only thing on our minds eventually became flying out and resting in the lowlands.
 

Combatant, with Skywalk following the righthand ridge on the first buttress.  Kshatrya at far right skyline.

     A big thanks to the Ritt Kellog Memorial Fund for making this trip possible.

We would like to dedicate both of our climbs to Cole. He will inspire us for years to come.