Alpine Style!

Our second bivy on Mount Alberta (not planned) was a simple matter of just passing the time until it was light enough to see where we were going again. There was no comfort other than the knowledge that we were out of harm’s way for the time being. I lay prone, alternating between shivering and doing isometrics to stave off succumbing to hypothermia. I tried to doze off from time to time as I was genuinely exhausted from the physical exertion, the lack of sleep, the mental anxiety, the BITTER cold, the monster approach, from Mount Alberta. I knew Steve was miserable, as well, but I also knew that he was in his “happy place”, as well. I was too. This is what we came for: complete submission to the beast, salvation through annihilation. Welcome to the church of real alpine climbing.

I knew that my body would somehow wake me before frostbite or hypothermia could take hold. The intermittent spindrift (our companion and foe during the descent down the gully) that powdered my face kept me from sleeping anyway. Lying there, on the tiny snow ledge, in our frozen and wet thin down sleeping bags, passing the dark hours of the night became a lesson in patience. It was a lesson that we had both learned countless times before but were still pupils of the study. Steve had the lighter sleeping bag so he got the small tarp to cover him. Our tiny beds were carved on top of a long, narrow snow ledge, perched below a slightly overhanging rock wall which seemed to offer some shelter from what may come from above. Feeling the allure of the immeasurably greater degree of comfort to be found in the nearby Lloyd McKay hut, Steve did not want to stay here another night. To him, bivying here was as appealing to lying in a ditch one had just dug. I offered him the tarp (it would not fit over the both of us, end to end, on this ledge) as an inducement. We both knew that to continue down this gully in the dark could get us hosed. We had not gone down the normal descent gully and what lay ahead of us was unknown and even more so now that it was dark and starting to snow. It would be better to continue in the daylight and we could definitely stay here for the night in relative safety. At least, this is what I had convinced myself of.

I thought about how cold my feet could get before I had “a problem.” I thought about how nice it would be when (if?) the sun comes up in the morning on this East facing flank of Mount Alberta, bathing us in the first warming rays of a new day. I thought about eating every calorie of food I had on me to give my body’s more fuel (I did this). I thought about the rest of the unknown descent. Would it go? Would the snow be stable? Would it be simple? I thought about the slog through the deep snow back to the hut from the bottom of the face. I thought about the food we had left there. I thought about the long ski in our climbing boots back over Wooley Shoulder and down to Steve’s camper truck on the Icefields Parkway. I thought about my son. I wondered how my girlfriend was sleeping. Shivering through the long hours of a late winter Canadian night there is plenty of time for thinking, too much time.

It may be clichéd, but to say that morning did not come soon enough would be an understatement. I knew from the clear skies above that one thing was sure: warmth, soon. We unfurled ourselves from our snow covered ice wraps and rapped off of the single 3/4” cam we had for an anchor. Several more and some downclimbing through snow saw us clear the bergschrund at the bottom of the face. A thrilling (fun?) glissade down the final slopes delivered us to the much welcomed wallowing, hour long post-hole adventure back to the hut. We had another half a day of simple movement to be released.

Arriving in Talkeetna to clear, sunny skies was a bit of a surprise to Bull and I. We both expected the forecasted rain and snow showers and a leisurely day sorting through our gear and getting packed for our trip to the Root Canal Glacier, the base camp for our hopeful  climb on the Ham ‘n Eggs route on the Moose’s Tooth. We were even more surprised to hear our pilot, Paul, tell us we needed to get ready in an hour. Wow! We were going to get in there this afternoon, an unusually quick turn of events from waking to cloudy skies in Anchorage that morning.

Two hours later we were shoveling snow, making camp just minutes away from the huge bastion of rock that makes up the Moose’s Tooth’s massive South face. The wall is 3,000 feet tall and is spread out along the Root Canal glacier for over half a mile. From the West the corniced summit ridge dances up and down over four different summits culminating on the highest, Eastern summit.  Piercing the through the sweeping granite face to the col between the Eastern central summit and the main summit is an aesthetic, thin line of snow and ice rising for 2,600 feet. This obvious line is the Ham n’ Eggs route. Once considered a test-piece of the Alaska Range, now it is a highly sought after alpine classic and the easiest line of ascent to the Moose’s Tooth’s summit. The route now has numerous would be suitors and, though not exceedingly difficult, the actual summit denies most that attempt the route. Many gain the col, only 400 vertical feet shy of the summit, but do make it the final way to the route’s culmination. Stopping at the col and calling it a “modern ascent” is still just another term for “attempt”.  Nonetheless, we aspired to climb the route in its entirety. What more we hoped to have the real alpine experience and bivy at the col, giving us a full day to reach the summit and descent the complex route. Climbing the difficult ice pitches with full packs on would not be easy, but we wanted more than just a “cragging” day on this mountain.

Knowing Alaska as I do, I told Bull, my client, that we need not to waste any good weather and should probably get after it tomorrow morning if the weather is clear. Though making camp and dinner took us well into the well lit evening hours, he agreed, eager and intoxicated by the Alaskan air. Not being too worried about time, we made a gentleman’s start at 9:00 am. We roped up right at camp and were starting our first mixed pitch just 30 minutes later. The first bit of climbing: honest, scrappy dry tooling was a good wakeup call and helped set the tone for the rest of the climb. After this, we were able to move together for several hundred feet up steep snow to the base of the ice climbing. While certainly not fat by Ouray standards, there was just enough ice on the short, vertical step to allow passage, though not enough for protection. It was strenuous pulling the slightly overhanging bulges with a full pack, but helped keep one’s head in the game. Thankfully, there was no spindrift for which this route is notorious. More steep snow, some extremely narrow ice runnels, and a few more steep steps brought us to the col after six hours of climbing. The weather was still brilliant as we dug a small platform for our tiny tent along the narrow summit ridge.

The summit blazed in the late afternoon sun and with the Alaskan perpetual dusk on our side, we decided to make our bid for the top that evening. We took light packs and traversed to the base of the smooth, 70 degree ice headwall guarding the summit slopes. Being glacial, this was the thickest and hardest ice we had climbed yet. It was calf burning terrain, but it was brief. This was followed up by a few more ever steepening snow pitches then some cornice meandering towards the distant, true summit. The summit of Denali, Mount Hunter, Mount Huntington and the stunning peaks along the Ruth Gorge all were out in their alpenglow glory. Just one day after arriving, we were on top of the Moose’s Tooth! Bull and I were elated in our efforts and the rewards of our labor. Remaining was our descent back to our base camp the following day.

After a restful night’s sleep, we woke to another fine day. Fine enough that we decided to make the short, easy trip over to the peak’s Eastern central summit before starting the long series of rappels down the ascent couloirs.  Two summits and 13 rappels later, we were back on the Root Canal glacier and walking the short distance back to our camp.

We wisely allotted a week for this climb. The weather is often fickle and we certainly did not expect to get up our route so quickly. We enjoyed a snowy rest day talked over the possibility of trying another route on the South face. Rising up between the Western and West central summits lies another deeply inset, narrow gully. The route ascending this couloir to either the West or the West central summit is called Shaken, Not Stirred. Much narrower, more sustained and significantly more difficult than Ham n’ Eggs, Shaken was a route we needed to take very seriously if we were to get up it. It would be much too narrow and difficult for us to realistically climb with full packs, ruling out the possibility of a bivy. We would have to climb fast with day packs, summiting and descending the route’s 3,000 continuously vertical feet in a single push.

After two and a half full rest days, we woke up at 3:00 am and headed over to the route’s hidden entrance. From the get go, we knew that this was a much different beast than Ham n’ Eggs. A pitch of spicy, delicate mixed climbing led to another of ice just 6-8 inches wide up a vertical corner. The “easier” sections of this route were still real climbing and we did not move together through any of it, belaying every single foot of the climb for 20 60-meter pitches. Pitches 11-15 were perhaps the wildest of the climb, threading up an extremely narrow chimney (at times, a foot wide) with ice that was capped in several places by large, overhanging chockstones. Surmounting the chockstones involved strenuous, thinly protected dry tooling and footless climbing. These proved to be the route’s crux. The narrow col above pitch 17 provided a good, albeit windy, place for a brief rest before climbing the corniced ridge on out to the West summit and end of the route.

Though blessed with good weather throughout the climb, the summit was veiled in clouds allowing us only fleeting, limited views of the Ruth Gorge right at our feet. We descended exactly as we came up and made 20 rappels down the narrow cleft to the glacier below.   A 13 hour round trip was good enough for us. We managed to stand atop three of the four summits of the Moose’s Tooth and climbed two incredible routes inside of six days. We left very sated.

So, after working on “re-redpointing” some climbs here in Ouray, I decided to get back to my roots and go for some rock climbing road trip action. I decided to go back to Vegas for the first time in almost ten years. I grabbed my shoes, harnesses, chalk bags, QD's, a light rack, a few changes of city clothes, my girlfriend, Cindy and off we went!

I do feel like I can climb again, but now it is getting cold and I may have to start ice climbing soon. Another thought comes to mind: rock climbing is far better for your ice climbing than vice-versa. Ice climbing helps your head but not your fingers. Those grips on the tools are just too big.

So, here is a bit more regarding my recent climbs with Steve House and Marko Prezelj on both Naisa/Nasir Brak and K7 West.

Naisa Brak, the perfect rock pyramid. The SW ridge is the left skyline, Tasty Talking takes the ridge in the foreground, while the orignial British route (and descent route) takes the right skyline.

We climbed the striking, SW ridge as a day climb from our base camp nearby. We followed a prominent chimney system on the far West side of the South face for about 300 meters to its intersection with the SW ridge. The climbing in the chimney was mostly easy with the occasional 4th and easy 5th class step. At the ridge, we properly roped up and climbed to the summit of the pyramid in 14 pitches. The climbing on the ridge was surprisingly good and the quality of the rock just kept getting better the higher we got. Initially, the the climbing was moderate with difficulty being in the 5.7-5.9 range. By the time we reached the steeper, upper section of the ridge (pitches 10-14) the climbing got harder and more exposed. Also, the crack systems were much more incipient so the route finding was difficult, though the rock was quite featured so extremely climbable. There was some 10+/11- sections on two of the pitches and plenty of 30 to 50 foot run outs on 5.9. It was an extremely nice rock climb and the rock was much better than expected for a virgin line. It was much more run out than the Tasty Talking route on the adjacent SE ridge, but not as sustained in difficulty.

K7 massif showing all three summits and the various bastions of rock that create the fortress like architecture of this complex mountain structure. Our line of ascent took the thin couloir that leads down and right from the summit then disappears behind one of the rock buttresses in the foreground.

We reached the summit of this previously unclimbed peak on September 3rd, our third day in ascent. The climb was comprised of difficulties in rock, ice and snow, each of which was neatly separated by each day of our ascent. The K7 massif is a large fortress like thing that flanked by several, large granite buttresses on all sides. In between many of these buttresses are large, active seracs looming over the lower reaches of the mountain. So, there are relatively few obvious, safe lines on any of the summits. The East/main summit is probably the most accessible, while the middle is the least, guarded on all sides by huge seracs. The West summit has a south face split by a slender, elegant couloir leading to very near the summit. The couloir begins in a large hanging, inner basin that is quite difficult to see from just about any vantage point in the surrounding area. The bottom of this hanging valley ends abruptly in yet another large, active serac, thereby denying easy access.
We found a large dihedral on the rock buttress to the left of this serac that appeared to end in a ledge system that might gain entry to the inner basin. We went out for a reconnaissance climb of this feature and found (once again) surprisingly good rock climbing and that it did indeed give access to the inner basin. So, this would be where we would start the route. When starting the climb in earnest, we had to climb this six pitch section in eight pitches, most of which had to be climbed twice by one of us in order to get our packs up it. The climbing was difficult in places, up to 11-, and rock shoes were necessary, hence the leader would often go without a pack and the pack contained our boots, crampons, and all the other ice equipment, camping supplies, food, etc. It was a good bit of work, but we made it up the rock and into the basin by late afternoon. We found an easy bivuac site on a flat area in the snow, just above the lower serac at about 5,200 m.
The following day we climbed into and up the long couloir splitting the right side of the South face. After soloing for 300 meters, we roped up and climbed the rest of it in about 12 pitches. We found some good ice, some rotten ice and some mixed climbing. The difficulty was up to WI5 with some mixed sections. There was one particularly stunning feature of 80º ice that was about one foot wide. At the top of the couloir, at about 6,000 meters, we moved onto the ridge to the left and, after much debate, decided to hack a bivy ledge into the 30º ice. It was the widest and flattest place we could find. Since we were a party of three, we had a bigger sized tent and chopping the ledge to accommodate it was no short affair.
The morning of our third day started out cloudy, but so had just about every day before that. We had hoped for better weather for our summit attempt and even brought along extra supplies so we could wait out a day or two if necessary. We decided to go anyway, as the weather had not been terrible and we could always come back down. We started off with a long traverse left towards the middle of the upper face. This brought us to several pitches of interesting, but not too hard alpine ice. The altitude started to be a factor here as we were now above 6,000 meters. We moved much slower. We took the path of least resistance up the face to its intersection with the upper part of what would be a South ridge. We tried to follow this ridge on up, but large snow mushrooms forced us to traverse under them to the West. This bit of climbing around the snow mushrooms prooved to be some of the more difficult, time consuming and dangerous climbing of the entire route. The underside of the mushrooms consisted of 60º-80º snow that sometimes would not support your weight. A 60 meter traverse under the biggest of them took us a few hours but put us right under the final, 50º summit slopes, which we easily climbed to the top. Or, did we?
When we arrived at the summit, we all high fived, celebrated, took many photos and expressed our joy in the climb. Though it was a complete whiteout and we could see nothing, it was nonetheless sensational to finally be on top after such a great climb. That is until it cleared for a brief moment and we could see that in addition to the other beautiful summits surrounding us was the ACTUAL summit of K7 West, about 20-30 meters higher and just a little beyond. It was like someone farted in the elevator. The clouds came in again, this time it started snowing, and we beat feet on over to the real summit. Marko was in front and arrived first. Upon getting on top, which is nothing more than a large, overhanging cornice, he noticed a long fracture in the snow propagate from just beyond where he was. He stopped right there, just short of the absolute highest point fearing breaking off the cornice and told Steve and I not to get any closer. It was like being inside a ping pong ball and difficult to tell which direction the cornice lie on: right or left. The summit pinched down to a small triangle of snow a the top. After a much more brief summit celebration, we turned around and began the process of retracing our steps down.
We had to simply reverse the sketchy snow traverse so this took some time. After that, we were able to rappel via V-threads down the ice face back to our bivy which we reached around 9:00 pm after 15 hours on the go. We spent the next day descending the way we came up and did another 14 rappels down the ice couloir and then 6 down the rock dihedral.

“It is the large, siege-mentality expedition that is an aberration, a sixteen-cylinder shark-finned gas-guzzler that should be relegated to the mountaineering junk pile where it so richly deserves to rust.”

R.G. Morse, The Naked Mountain

K2’s mighty West Face is one of the greatest big mountain walls in the world and ripe for a beautiful alpine style ascent. This past summer a large, 18-person team of Russians converged upon Concordia intent on forcing a direct line up the steepest part of the face by any means necessary. Like they have done before on Jannu, they sieged the mountain, fixing ropes from base camp to nearly the summit, establishing seven camps enroute! Like Maestri and many others, they have left the refuse of their daftness behind to spite their detractors and litter the face; a not-so-subtle “fuck you!” to the others to follow like a dog pissing on the fire hydrant.

This expedition marks yet another unfortunate regression in mountain sport at the hands of Russians due to their insistence on adhering to such stillborn styles and attitudes. They call this alpinism? I call it what it is: disgusting, lame and weak! There is no reason for what amounts to the fleecing and raping of the ambitions of future (or, perhaps even the current) generations of inspired alpinists. The” Russian Way” is an agent of death to modern alpinism.

By late July they had breached the main difficulties of the wall, fixing ropes to over 8,000 meters. “The bastion has been climbed!” They would stay there as long as needed to push the route up the remaining 500 meters to the top. There would be little left to uncertainty. Like a machine, the 18-member climbing team would continue to slowly grind and manufacture their way up the face. This is much more reminiscent of a military exercise, not true alpinism. True alpinism is art; it is beauty, things that are quite the opposite of this folly. Hubris, narcissism, vanity and especially solipsism are their true inspiration. Three weeks later, the final 500 meters to K2’s summit succumbed to their greedy hands.

Since these Russians (though certainly not all) clearly were unable to climb K2’s West Face by fair means this summer, then they should have waited until they were able to do so. And, if it is (more likely) just beyond them, then they should have gone elsewhere and tried something that was within their means. Instead, they chose to bring the mountain down to their own pathetic level. Certainly, they should have left it for others who do have the skills, courage and vision to do so. It can be done.

While I am sure my ranting might easily be dismissed as just the jealous rants of a rival climber, I harbor no illusions that I might have been able to do the face justice myself. Still, I would love to have tried and would have humbly accepted defeat had it proved beyond me.

It is a true tragedy that this face has been violated in such a manner. It is forever changed both physically and psychologically. If there is any saving grace it is that in their efforts to force the route up the straightest possible line up the face, they left the obvious, much more elegant “crescent” line to the left untouched. Shame on these men for desecrating yet another great one in the name of the “Russian Way!” What these gentlemen really lack is imagination.

I ended up in the ER last night after being wracked with incapacitating and severe stomach pain. The doctors initially thought I had a gall stone but after many tests, decided I had just picked up an extremely noisome virus from Central Asia. After numbing my stomach, and giving me several Percocets, I was discharged and promptly went out to downtown Seattle and spend the rest of the evening in a small club getting bludgeoned by the local Black Metal act, Wolves in the Throne Room. It was a good head check and rather abrupt “welcome home, Vince.”
Anyway, after cruising the various websites for spray I found trumped up and partially accurate stuff about our expedition. First off, don’t believe the hype. Second off, I know I am coming off as a hypocrite as I said that we would not be doing any updates from basecamp when, in fact, Steve was phoning in and leaving online voice reports on  thecleanestline.com. Well, I did not know about this beforehand and since Steve’s doing the reports basically helped us recoup the cost of our sat phone bill (it gets expensive calling up girlfriends and weather forecasters), it now does not seem like such a bad thing. Even though the information was coming straight from the horse’s mouth, so to speak, others still managed to not get the story (exactly) right.
So, without going into gory detail, which, I promise I will do as I have time and my health improves, here are the simple facts of the expedition in outline form.

Sulu Peak (ca. 6,000 m) via a possible new route on the WNW face, 1,000 m, TD.
Naisa/Nasir Brak (5,100 m) via a new route up the SW ridge, 800m, 5.11.
Farol West (ca. 6,300 m) attempt (we made it to the schrund so, I guess that qualifies as an attempt, barely).
K7 West (ca. 6,800 m) first ascent of peak via South face couloir, 2,000 m, ED, 5.10/11, WI 5.
POS Ridge (5,000 m) possible first ascent of South ridge, 800 m, 5.10, grass 2.
K6 West (7,100 m) attempt via NNW face (we did not even get to the schrund on this one but had one bivy near the base after negotiating the lower icefall on approach).

We also did some very good bouldering while there, but this, as was pointed out to me by Marko, was akin to going to a whorehouse to masturbate.

That is about the size of it. Like I said, there will be more to come as for details and stories. I got a lot to say, especially about those pesky Russians on K2. Check back in a few days.

I am now in Pakistan getting ready to head to our base camp in the Charakusa Valley. I had hoped to make another post about the last of the Alps North Faces climbs, but things got hectic in Chamonix. Long story short: we tried for the North Face of the Petit Dru, did not do it and ended up doing a great climb on the North Face of Mont Blanc du Tacul, the Contamine/Mazaud route on the Triangle du Tacul. It was good, fun mixed climbing and a great day (although, there was very high winds), but was a bit dissappointingly short and felt a little too much like a simple pleasure route. Still, it was a great consulation and much better than not climbing at all.

I'll be climbing in the Charakusa with Steve House and Marko Prezelj. Not bad company, heh? We hope to try a route on K6, but have other plans up our sleves, as well. Being traditionalists (and sort of luddites) we are not going to be doing any sort of base camp dispatches. It is just not our style. So, for now this will probably be the last time I post unitl I return in late September (unless, of course, I get stuck in Islamabad for a few days or something. I am sure I will have plenty to say when I return.

"Fortune smiles on the brave"

-Virgil (I think)

The North Faces of the Tre Cime di Lavaredo. The Cime Grande is the middle tower. 

After our twenty-one hour ordeal on Piz Badile, we both needed some rest time before considering our next adventure. A few days spent relaxing in St. Moritz and a visit to the newly opened Messner Mountain Museum in Bolzano, Italy could not have been better. Nearly a week later, our bodies were again ready, and our minds were eager for the heights. The weather in the Western Alps was still stormy while over in Eastern Europe they were experiencing a heat wave. We decided to head East and check out the Dolomites. Neither Cindy nor I had ever been there climbing before (though, I had done a little ice climbing in Val di Daone several years ago). Sticking with the “Six Classic” North Faces of the Alps theme, the Cime Grande di Lavaredo seemed a worthwhile and very tempting goal.
Being part of the Tre Cime di Lavaredo (or, simply the Tre Cime), the Grand (like our “Grand” Teton) is the tallest of the three peaks that make up the Lavaredo group. Often called “the greatest climbing monument on earth,” the Tre Cime is a striking site, indeed. They rise abruptly from the gentle plains of the surrounding valleys and high alpine meadows. Viewed from their most mellow aspect, the south, they still look as rugged and steep as the Tetons, with similar vertical rise, though these peaks are made of a grey and yellow limestone called Dolomite. The rock is more like that found in the Canadian Rockies, but unlike the Rockies which have steep faces and smooth, sloped backsides, the Dolomites rise steeply from all sides, often forming towers and needle like formations. When viewed from the north, the peaks look very foreboding, indeed. The Grand and the Ovest (West) Cime rise straight up from the plateau in sheer vertical faces like two halves of the same peak that had been cleaved apart then put side by side, revealing the sweet inside of the massive rock peak. Though there is no glacier on this North Face, the aura is nonetheless quite austere as there are few high peaks in the world that rise this abruptly in an unbroken, dead vertical climb towards their summits’.
Another interesting feature of this place is that the rock is void of the common weakness of dihedrals, cracks and chimney systems that would be the logical choice for routes for the first ascensionists. Instead, the classic routes here follow the easiest path possible up the steep faces, often wandering right then back left along the easiest holds, sometime traversing straight across for an entire pitch. Route finding can be a real challenge. The first ascensionists here definitely had their work cut out for them.
The Comici Route on the Grand Cime, forged a path up the steep face slightly right of center. Looking at the topo from the ground it was hard to see the logic behind the many traverses and wanderings as it climbed for 17 pitches to the ledge system below the summit. It was also hard to imagine what it would have been like in 1933, when Comici and the Dimai brothers climbed the route, to have even thought about heading up such a steep wall so void of obvious cracks. Since then, many other routes have been put up on all three of the summits, many of which are more modern, forging more or less straight paths up the faces with the protection of expansion bolts and at a high climbing standard. Just left of the Comici route lies the Hasse-Brandler, an 18 pitch 5.12, that was recently free soloed by Alex Huber. The Comici, has a few sections of mid grade 5.10, though is protected by pitons of dubious quality and on very steep ground. Hence, it is more commonly climbed by a mix of aid and free climbing in these difficult sections. A fall at one of the cruxes would have a fairly reasonable chance, in the this author’s opinion, of breaking or dislodging one or many of the pitons. Often, the pins had numerous slings of even more dubious quality tied to them. This made it easy to reach up and clip to, but hard if not impossible to clip directly to the pin itself. A large number of the pins were not driven in all the way and many of those were bent downward. “A fall?” I wondered. At least they were numerous enough. I brought four cams and four nuts to help supplement the fixed gear and that was about all I could use as the few cracks to be found were often behind loose-feeling blocks. No doubt, the route had been climbed hundreds and hundreds of times over the years, so most of the really loose stuff had been picked clean. Still, we found a few cookies waiting to be trundled.
We spent the night before our climb at the Riffugio :Lavaredo, which is just a half hour walk from the road on the south side of the mountain. The approach from there is just 40 minutes, so we did not have to get a super early start. We left the hut around 5:00 and were at the base, roped up and ready to climb by 6:00. There was just one party ahed of us. They must have stayed at the parking lot as we did not see them at the hut. Two easy pitches up a short pillar puts you right at the belly of the beast: six hard, steep pitches up the middle of the wall. Though short, these pitches take time negotiating around and over various overhangs and small corners. It was steep enough to haul so we did for the first two pitches. We only had one rope (probably a mistake, but I was trying to go as light as possible) so I could only haul on the pitches that were shorter than half a rope length (30 meters). The rock was cold, crrmpy, and did I mention it was steep? Super intimidating. After pitch eight, you could look down and see that you were away from the base of the route. In other words, the wall was slightly overhanging from here down. If you peed, it would clear the wall and land at least ten feet away from the base of it (not that I actually tried this). The climbing was much more strenuous than that found on the Piz Badile and it was very nice to have chalk. I could really feel it on the pitches climbed with the pack. Looking over at some climbers on the Hasse-Brandler, it was hard to imagine Huber soloing that route. It was hard to imagine free soloing this route. It must be like a whole different sport for that guy.
After eight pitches, though, the climbing eased up considerably. From here it was, at most, 5.8 to the top, though the protection became more sparse and the rock quality a bit more chossy. A wet chimney near the top put us at “the 25 meter traverse”, which was just what it is called: a dead horizontal traverse of 25 meters. It goes out above the lip of a huge roof and, though not difficult, it is wild and scary as there is only museum vintage pitons equipped with A4 faded slings for protection. A HUGE expanse of air sits just below your feet. At this point we had caught up to the other party, a very friendly and eager, early twenty-somethingsTyrollean crew. We passed by them here as they had a small route finding problem. They cheered on Cindy as she clung tenaciously and clawed her way across the traverse. They also kept reminding her of how much air was right below her feet, which really did not encourage her, but kept things interesting, nonetheless. Two sections on the traverse required some down climbing, which was fine for me in the lead, but a bit sketchy for Cindy following as a fall would have been like a real lead fall onto one of the antique pitons. She was slightly gripped despite the encouragement and advice from the boys slightly above her.

Two more chossy, but easy pitches saw us to the major ledge system below the summit. A simple, but airy traverse around to the south side put us below fourth class ledges to the top. At 4:00, we topped out, ten hours after starting our adventure at the base of the face. It had remained a little cloudy all day, but did not seem to threaten thunder and lightning. Typical of most peaks in the Alps, a crucifix adorned the summit and made for a good back-drop for the celebratory photos. On down we went with the Tyrollean boys. Though I had information on the standard route up, which would be relatively easy to descend, we opted to rap down an unknown descent on a steep, new climbing route. At first, this seemed like it might be a mistake. As we rapped into it, the wall fell away from us and became radically overhanging. How would we be able to get into the wall to get to the next station? But as we looked around, we could see that the route up traversed slightly around the over hangs. We had a couple of snags pulling the ropes, but overall, this descent got us to easy ground in just four very steep, double rappels. A slide down steep scree put us at the parking area and the Auronzo Refuge for food and beverage.

In between climbing on Piz Badile and Cime Grande di Lavaredo, I had the chance to visit Bolzano, Italy. In addition to being home to Ötzli, the 5,000 year old mummified man found on a glacier near there, Bolzano is also home to Reinhold Messner’s newest museum. Called Messner Mountain Museum (MMM), Bolzano, this is his third of four proposed MMM’s. The other two are in Juval and the Dolomites and feature exhibits on mountain ecology and Dolomite climbing history respectively. The MMM, Bolzano is in the thousand year old ruins of a castle above the capital of South Tirol, Bolzano. This castle, Firmenzia, though not overly ornate and long since abandoned has been a symbol of and center for the South Tyrollean autonomy movement for the last century. It is a very interesting place to visit in its own right. The Frimenzia Castle houses a rather eclectic collection of art and climbing artifacts that Reinhold has collected over his years of traveling the world and scaling the loftiest of summits.
The restoration and renovation of the castle has been done in a fairly dark and industrial type theme, which fits in quite well with the overall state of decay that the castle now exists in. Looking out from the many parapets, however, it is in stark contrast to the surrounding mountain splendor and the Alto Adige valley adorned as it is with seemingly endless orchards and vineyards. The contrast works quite well though as it adds to the austerity and seriousness of the mood that many of Messner’s visions have taken on. It has been tastefully done and the layout allows one to admire the many works of art while still appreciating the fact that one is in a thousand year old castle ruins.
Each building of the castle presents a different theme. Tyrollean autonomy in one, Tibetan Buddhist artifacts in another, the world’s best alpinists in another (I was psyched to see Farmboy’s photo there!) and a collection of art related to the classic peaks of the world in yet another.
Of particular interest to climbers is the collection of books and items from various legends in climbing like Heckmair’s rucksack used on the Eiger, Bonatti’s suit worn on K2 and and original copy of Whymper’s Scrambles In the Alps. There are numerous paintings and fine art photographs of famous peaks. Some of the paintings are historic, some are modern and abstract. There is even a bizarre multimedia exhibit of a scale model of the Mont Blanc Massif turned onto its side with some recorded commentary coming out of a functioning model of the human heart located underneath the mountain. In the stairway up the tower of galleries housing the world’s greatest alpinists art and artifacts is a fine picture of Steve House next to his buddy Tomaz Humar presumably to honor the current generation of great alpinists. There are a few cheesy, department store type mannequins adorned with the clothes worn by certain climbers on particularly famous climbs. Perhaps the oddest one is that depicting Thomas Huber in the clothes he wore when he soloed the Cime Grade di Lavaredo: a cotton T-shirt and some short pants, not very “alpine” looking, but honest. Even more bizarre is the the curios contained in dozens of glass jars on the ground level. I was hoping that perhaps they would contain the preserved amputated digits of possibly Herzog or Messner, but they did not have anything quite that macarbe. The contents of these jars are listed on labels with the names of the previous owner and the climb it was used on. Interestingly enough was one labeled: Tomaz Humar, South Face, Nanga Parbat, 2005! Ha!

Throughout the grounds can be found various quotes, mostly in German, by various outspoken alpinists and philosophers that Messner has found to be poignant or relevant to his views regarding alpinism. These are often almost hidden, appearing on the steel beams of the stairways and hallways or sometimes, more noticeable on plaques below particular works of art. I wished that I understood German and could have been able to read more of them.
In the open grounds there are many large sculptures, mostly from Tibet, that he has managed to bring back to Italy over the years. There is a 25 foot tall colorful head of Buddha on one wall and various (nearly) life sized figurines. There is a very pleasant cafe and vinothek (wine bar) where one can take a break and ponder the findings while sipping  on a glass of some of the local South Tyrollean wine. It was not very crowded when I went there and was a nice place to just hang out as much as anything else. Oh yeah, Reinhold was not there that day.
Interestedly enough, other than the one picture of Steve and a small bit of Warren Harding’s equipment from climbing El Cap, I saw no mention of any other North American climbers or even of any North American mountains.
Earlier that day, I visited Bolzano’s other museum of interest to mountain climbers (there are plenty of other more traditional museums to visit, as well), the regions Archaeological Museum, which is home to Ötzli, aka the Ice Man. He was found in the early 90’s on a glacier not far from Bolzano near the Austrian border. His 5,000 year old remains were very well persevered and mummified by being entombed in the glacial ice for all that time. Although, viewing the body itself was not terribly exciting, looking at the items he had with him and learning about his way of life for people living at that time was quite interesting. Though crude, his clothes, shoes and pack and other items were surprisingly well thought out and well designed for surviving in the mountains. Much of it was not all that different from what is used today and really not that heavy. Ötzli had the right philosophy way back then: light and fast. His choice was by necessity, however. He had very basic leggings and shirt made from light animal skins, a fur hat and some leather shoes. He carried a couple of birch bark buckets, one of which he kept some smoldering embers in so that he could easily make a fire. He also carried a variety of small tools, implements and twine for creating and repairing all manner of things. One crazy thing that the scientists have recently figured out is that he died not from exposure up on the cold slopes of the high glacier environment, but from a wound to the shoulder likely inflicted by an adversary. Perhaps he was hiking up high to get away from whomever had attacked him and that is where he finally succumbed to his injury and died. It is a pretty amazing piece of history and also well worth the visit to the area.

The dark, shadowy North Face of Piz Badile.

The forecast for Zermatt did not look promising for some time. I really did not want to stay around there forever, waiting for a remote chance that the weather and conditions would be good for a go at the Matterhorn North Face. We decided to pack the bags, get on the Swiss Glacier Express Train and head over to the posh resort town of St. Moritz. From there, we would have many possibilities; like one of the three pillars on the North Face of Piz Palü, Piz Bernina, and of course, the North Face of Piz Badile (one of THE six)! The eight hour train ride across the Sßwiss countryside was quite pleasant, and relaxing. I wish one could travel in the US like this. It beats the hell out of driving. We arrived in St. Moritz in the early evening, checked into the cheapest hotel we could find, got some food and made plans.
The weather here in Eastern Switzerland was better and it looked like it would hold long enough for us to try something difficult. Piz Badile it would be. We would try the original, and easiest, line on the face, the Cassin route. Done over three days in July of 1937, it was a major feat for its time requiring difficult free climbing and plenty of nailing to aid the steeper sections. The route sweeps up the smooth Northeast face of the mountain for nearly a thousand meters! It is hard to see any weakness in the smooth, porcelain like face of the large granite slab. The Cassin route definitely picked out the few natural weaknesses of the wall and linked them together for 22 pitches of wandering over and up the wall. Free climbing, the major difficulties were meant to be about 5.10 a or so of which, there were half a dozen pitches. The rest was pretty sustained at 5.8 on slabs, and chimneys. The route tops out on the North Ridge and from here, there are still three or so broken pitches to reach the summit and complete the ascent. The fun doesn’t stop here as now one must decide how to descend.
The easiest way is to go down the standard route on the South side to Italy. It takes only a few hours. However, if you go down this way, you must bring walking shoes and will then have to make a full day’s walk from the hut on the Italian side back to the Sasc Füra hut, from where the outing began. Otherwise, you can rap down the North ridge some twenty (and as we were to find out) heinous rappels and retrieve any gear cached near the base of the route and then on back down the valley you approached through.
From St. Moritz, we took a bus ride over the incredibly winding Malloja pass in one of the wildest Mercedes busses I have ever ridden in. The only way for the bus to make the super tight hairpins on the pass was for it to have steering in the rear wheels, which it did have; only in Switzerland. Once on the far side of the pass, you enter the idyllic Val Bregaglia and Italian speaking culture. The surrounding peaks of granite are not unlike the Sierra Nevada or even the Bugaboos, but with several charming Swiss/Italian villages lining the valley floor. We disembarked at the village of Promontongo amidst lush gardens, fountains, patio dining and beautiful old county buildings in the warm air of a summer afternoon. We were able to hire a taxi to take us up to the trail head where the temperatures would be a bit cooler for hiking. Driving up the small road to the Hamlet of Laret, we were greeted with great view of Badile. It rose some 8,000 feet above the valley below. It was quite an awesome sight. We disembarked from the taxi, traded our flip flops for hiking boots, shouldered our packs and started hiking UP HILL. The approach to the Sasc Füra hut was certainly a steep one. A few days earlier while discussing upcoming plans, Cindy mentioned that a day of just getting to the hut was basically a rest day. That was not the case today even though we had saved an hour and a half by taking the taxi up the valley as far as we could. Actually, it was not that bad, but we did hike up 2,000 feet very abruptly on a narrow little path carved out of a ridge and cliffside in the most improbable of places. Upon reaching the hut, drenched with sweat in the hot afternoon, we were treated to even better views of Piz Badile and enjoyed some cool refreshments.
There were many other climbing parties there at the hut. Most were much younger than the typical European hut, middle aged mountain climbers that grace the standard routes of the more famous, but easier Alpine peaks. No doubt, the nature of this mountain offering more difficult climbing and the fact that most routes are all or predominantly rock climbs contributed to its sex appeal and, hence its popularity with the Pepsi generation. A quick query of the other people revealed most were intent on the same route, the Cassin, which was our plan as well.
Usually, with the typical, older Alpine hut crowd, getting to the route somewhere near the front of the pack is not a problem. But with the amount of youth vying for for a place in the cue, did we stand a chance? What more, breakfast was scheduled for 4:00 am according to the hut keeper, but intrepid concert goers lusting for front row seats, everyone wanted to get a bit of a jump on the crowd and start earlier and earlier. We heard talk of leaving at 3:30 and 3:00, surely just decoys to put people off and telling of an much earlier departure. After dinner, we sacked out around 8:30, trying to get as much rest as we could. I figured a 3:30 departure should work for us.
As expected, the room was full and stuffy. Not to mention noisy with snoring and smelling of the approach hike induced sweat of 20 twenty-five year olds. Needless to say, we did not get much of a restful sleep. The first alarm went off around 12:30. I think it was a ring tone version of a Pink song on someone’s cellphone; very considerate of the others in the room. Oh yeah, they also forgot to rack up the night before so they had to do that in the room, as well. Then the next one did not go off until around 2:00. More ruckus ensued. Then, at 2:30 most of the others woke up. We got to hear some more neat little ring tone alarms. I recognized a few of the tunes, but most were just that kind of bland yet distinctive techno that one stereotypically associates with all things “European style.” So, at 3:30 we were the last ones in our room to get up. And breakfast would not be “served” until 4:00. I guess we would have to go without our bread and jam for the day. 3:45 saw us out the door and onto the approach trail.
Fortunately, I had been up the trail the previous afternoon and was familiar with it so as not to do too much stumbling around in the dark trying to find the way. Sometimes, I find that getting a real early start, in the dark ensures you to do just that: stumble around and get lost trying to find the route. Leaving nearer to sunrise usually minimizes this amount of wasted time to just that amount until it is light enough to see. Sure enough, we soon caught a group of others with two headlamps between the four of them trying to navigate through a field of large talus. I guess they did not see the huge cairns that were put up to mark the way up the slabs and out of the talus. That was fine with us, though as it was one more party we would not be behind. Just about then, a couple of strapping young men came cruising past us. We were still a net of two ahead. As day light approached, we could see the rest of the approach clearly: low angled slabs with a small snow field to negotiated and about six other parties. One more party of two passed us and then we were at the crest of the North ridge where we would leave boots and extra gear since we planned on descending this route right back to this point. There was a short down climb to a sloping ledge system that traversed out below the face to the start of the Cassin route. There was a good snow patch still on the ledge that we would have to cross somehow with our rock shoes on. I guess this could not be THAT bad since the other SEVEN parties in front of us had already done so. It looked like as many parties were starting the North ridge route from here, as well.
About this time the sun peaked out and bathed the upper wall in the morning glow. My desire to stay ahead in the pack had definitely hastened our pace and Cindy was not happy about being breathless and dripping in sweat before we had even gotten to the base of the route. I would not call her mood cranky, but something in that direction. Nevertheless, we deposited our extra gear and made our way over to the start.
Crossing the snow was, how should I say it, rather exciting. There were very good steps in the firm snow made by someone who had the good sense to wear boots. Our rock climbing shoes fit into the boot prints quite well. An uncontrolled slip would send us down the 40 feet of snow and then over the ledge and down several hundred feet of steep slab to the rocky basin below: not cool. I lately learned that it was here that young Andy Deklirk had slipped with a client and took a fall that took both of their lives. It was funny how easy the walking was, yet how simple it would be to fall and not be able to stop. I gave Cindy my nut tool so she could get some purchase in the snow. I picked up a sharp and as long of a stone as I could find on the ledge, before we got onto the snow. We only had to cross about 50 meters of snow and it went quickly. For about 3/4’s of it, you could grasp onto the upper lip of the snow which was much more secure, if hand numbing. After crossing the snow, we groveled through a muddy chimney between one final snow field and the wall to get to the base of the route. It was 7:00, three hours and fifteen minutes after leaving the hut and we were racked up, tied in and ready to start the climbing on the North Face of Piz Badile. The action begins!
All the other parties were now up at least two pitches which would allow us to climb unhindered for a while until we caught up to them. The first pitch (and, consequently, all to follow) was a real gem: a nice, steep and thin crack around a short bulge on bullet proof granite. The route mostly climbs slabs and crack systems to link several major dihedral and chimney systems in the middle of the wall. Most anchors were fixed and of varied vintage pitons. There were plenty of pitons fixed here and there many of which also looked to be more of “artifact” than protection: “Wow! Did Cassin hammer this in?” At least, they were a good marker of the route. Route finding, however, soon was no longer a problem as we caught up to the back of the pack after several pitches. It was still early in the day and the weather looked fine so why stress over it. I just kind of accepted my fate of being last in line on the way up this classic route. That was until I looked up and saw the large volley of volleyball sized rocks coming down directly above me. I did not ever hear any warning shouts, but that did not matter any more as I took as good of cover as I could crouch close to the not very protective overhang of the slab above. They bounced, broke and whizzed by just off to my left, the nearest hit maybe 30 feet away. Cindy was on one of the not very well protected traverses of the route at the time but was able to hug in and hold on tight. We continued and no more rock fall came down. A few pitches later we arrived on a chossy slab where there used to be a snow field. Crossing it, I could see how easily rock fall could be generated and why no one bothered to shout any warning as they likely had no idea that any had fallen.
So, after the choss, we had made it about half way up the wall. By my count we had done only eight or so pitches so we had managed to combine a few. The wall steepened here and the more difficult climbing of the route had begun. Despite climbing underneath the second from the party in front (in the meantime another party(French) had started behind us, had caught up to us, and was pushing from behind), the climbing was nice. It was 5.10a at the most and on solid granite, the cruxes usually involving jamming, stemming and laybacking up corners: right up my alley.
Most of my research on the Six Classics had indicated that Piz Badile was a good candidate for the easiest one. I could see why. There were plenty of parties giving it a go. We would be able to do the entire thing in just rock shoes and it was neither too big or too steep. Due to the overall slabby nature of the wall, the high summer sun was able to shine down on us all day lightening the spirits and ensuring warm belays. It is amazing how much of a difference the sun can make on a big wall. It definitely takes the sting out of being on a North Face.
Our quick pace started to grind to a crawl as we approached the chimneys which make up the final difficulties of the route. I guess climbing chimneys is one of those “older” types of techniques that the younger generation just has not gotten to practice much of on their way to 5:13 glory in the gyms. These four short pitches of chimney climbing, at most 5.9, took a few hours to get through. To be fair, it was a bit like a wrestling match thrutching ones way up the flared grooves with a pack on. Several sections were running with water. Speaking of which, as thirsty as I was I did not want to slurp from any of the numerous puddles for fear of drinking someone’s pee (or worse). Out of the chimneys and just two or three easy pitches to the top. We had been on the wall about seven hours now (and on the go for over ten!) and our energy was starting to fade as was that of the others still climbing. The last few pitches are vague and just tackle the path of least resistance through the crumbly rock to the crest. The fixed pro pretty much ends and route finding becomes real. The two parties immediately ahead of us got lost and confused. We took our cue and cruised on up to the ridge crest. Hooray! We’re here! Well, sort of.
I think another one of the signs of inexperience we saw here was a fundamental misunderstanding of the one of the key tenets of true alpinism: No summit, no route. From the ridge crest, you could easily start rappelling down the North ridge and go down. To summit, you had to climb up several more pitches of broken ridge climbing around easy, but awkward rocky gendarmes and typical ridge crest features. This is not difficult, just dangerous and time consuming. Now, I am not a fool and by all means at this late hour (it was around 3:00) I would be perfectly happy to descend if Cindy was not up for it, or too tired to continue on to the true summit. It would have been a great adventure and a great ATTEMPT at the route. I think most all of the parties in front of us took the easy option: head down and accept (though, not necessarily in their minds) failure. A few parties that were coming up the easier North ridge route were heading for the summit. Interestingly enough, these seemed to be the other older (i.e. over thirty) climbers out there. Also, these were the parties intent on going down the much easier normal route to Italy which required traversing over the true summit. We took a break, ate and drank the last of our water and ragged, tired and hell bent for leather went up.
About one hour later we were alone on top of Piz Badile. I think Cindy had passed her usual point of “I should probably go down now” a while ago. The weather was still golden so we had time to go slowly. We talked briefly about going down to Italy and then just dealing with getting back however that would be. From the top we could clearly see the long trek around the massif that that option would entail. Thinking about what our feet would feel like after doing that in our rock shoes put an end to that fantasy. We slowly retraced our way back down the ridge to the start of the rappels, 22 we were told. it was 5:00. Small clouds had formed and obscured our view of the terrain below. The wind picked up a bit and made for a difficult time throwing the ropes down the stepped terrain.

To say that rappelling down that ridge crest was a pain in the ass would be the understatement of the month. I have never had more rats nests and rope tangle cluster fucks in a decent EVER. To make matters worse, the rope got stuck on flakes after pulling them on at least four occasions requiring me to lead up and free it. One time this happened twice on a single rappel. Darkness was closing in on us and we put on headlamps to prepare ourselves for the inevitable. After rappel fifteen, around 9:30, the clouds parted, it was still just light enough to see and the ground was just fourth class for the final few hundred feet back to the saddle where our gear (and, more importantly, comfortable shoes!) lay. We made it back to the gear at 10:00 just as it got completely dark. Eighteen hours after leaving the hut and we were at least off the mountain. What a relief! Two hours of stumbling around in the dark on the approach hike (deja vu?) and we were back at the, now quiet hut enjoying a water, gummy bears and a change of socks.
It was our first of the Six Classics together and would likely prove to be a benchmark to compare future adventures to: an unforgettablevc and fabulous climb!