Alpine Style!

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!

Breithorn North Face.

I had been in Zermatt for over a week climbing with Walter. We had planned on trying the Matterhorn. The weather had been unseasonably cold and wet. That meant a lot of snow up on the peaks. We managed to make it up Pollux in near white out conditions. We nearly got lost on our way back to the tram in the fog and wind. The standard route up the Matterhorn, the Hörnli Ridge, was plastered in snow and was, thus, out of condition. We opted for an ascent of the Weissmies by the Northwest Face, a relatively straightforward and easy ascent. The weather cooperated for a day and we were successful. Walter left and Cindy arrived. Her intention was to climb as many of the “Classic North Faces of the Alps” as possible in three and a half weeks.
The weather continued in the cold and wet pattern it had been in. The North Face of the Matterhorn was blanketed in snow and looked quite wintery. However, a good covering of snow would could make that route prime for a quick ascent. Cindy and I got excited at the possibility of taking a stab at this ultra classic route. We were forecasted to get a short respite in the weather. After consulting with the Matterhorn Hut warden, it sounded like this may not be our best choice for first route of the season in the Alps. There was still a lot of fresh, unconsolidated snow up high, which would make some of the rock climbing on the smooth slabs quite difficult to say the least. Also, the Hörnli Ridge was still very snowy and coming down that route late in the day after the first warmth would likely be slushy and treacherous. So, we needed to find something else to do first.
The North Face of the Breithorn, though not one of the the “six classics”, was still a classic in its own right and a beautiful and highly prized ascent. This route was almost entirely on snow and ice and the descent was very straightforward and short down the easy South Face to the top of the Klein Matterhorn lift station. Conditions looked great for this climb. We decided to give the Welzenbach route on this face a try.
We took the short ride up the tram to the mid station and then walked about twenty minutes to the Hut which overlooked the glacier and the entire face. We basked in the late afternoon sun, drank beers and scoped out our route for the following morning. It looked like there would be a few hours of approach on a glacier and, then traversing the face under some menacing looking seracs near the summit to the safety of a central rib. Some mixed pitches up a gully on a rocky buttress would put us on the rib where we would climb steeply up snow and ice towards the summit wandering around a few more rocky steps near the top.
After a hot and fairly sleepless night in a crowded, smelly room at the Gandegg Hut, we got up at 3:30. We quickly ate our breakfast of bread, jam and tea and headed out shortly after 4:00. The approach was straightforward and uneventful. As we neared the traverse below the seracs, the sun began to shine and the first glow of the day was upon these towering, ugly white beasts 4,000 feet above us. We quickened the pace and moved steadily across the 35º slopes towards the rib on the far side. Cindy was red lining it and breathing very hard. Though we were fifteen feet apart, I could hear her heavy breathing like it was right into my ear. I tried not to look up and just kept my head down and my pace steady. We were in the line of fire for about 20 minutes; not bad. Once on the far side, we took a brief rest while I lengthened the rope between us. We crossed a bergschrund and ascended steeper ground. Shortly afterwards, we moved a bit further to our left and entered the gully system breaking through the steep rock headwall that led to the ridge.
We climbed three great mixed pitches in this gully. There was even some new water ice that had formed dung the stormy weather. There was one short section on the second pitch that was tenuous, narrow and steep for a few meters. It was great to be doing some real climbing again! Once on the ridge, we were in the sun and the way to the summit was clear. We moved together up the ever steepening snow slope/rib. Eventually, the angle got too steep and the snow changed to ice so we stopped moving together and started climbing it pitched out. I would lead out on our single 60 meter rope and then, with the use of a Ropeman, we would climb simultaneously for another 60 meters then belay. We did two of these then broke out onto the crest of the rib where the terrain was a little less steep and broken. Again, we moved together, wandering around and over some short rocky steps. This then yielded to the final summit slopes and a few minutes later we were standing on the top with the hordes of people coming up from the South side. We saw probably several hundred people on the top and coming up. It was quite the show. One hour later we were back at the tram station and heading down to sunny Zermatt. It was a great climb and though the approach and descent were very easy, surprisingly unpopular. This is probably because conditions are not always that good on it and the Seracs were nothing that I would want to travel under many times. It was the perfect start to the North Faces of the Alps trip.

On the way down, we got great views of the Matterhorn. It looked inspiring. We would have to check the forecast again and decide if it would be worth staying around Zermatt longer to take a stab at it.

Kurtyka, Kukuczka, Boukreev, Prezelj, Jeglik, Rutkiewicz. These are just a few of the legendary names of alpinists that herald from former Eastern Bloc European countries. Why is it that this area has spawned so many of the the greatest alpinists ever, especially during the 70’s and 80’s? Could it be that in those times, everyday life there was just plain hard and, to some extent, merely a matter of tolerable suffering (something that true alpinism is all about)? Perhaps, or maybe traditional mountaineering is just much more popular there than in the rest of the western world. One quarter of the population of Slovenia is a member of some form of mountain club! What more, by and large the mountaineering opportunities available in Eastern Europe take on much more of an adventurous spirit with the plethora of less than perfect rock (choss, frozen turf, etc.) and staunch traditional ethics. This region has been a cornucopia for spawning bold, talented alpinists at the cutting edge for the last 30 years. Until just recently, no first winter ascent of an 8,000 meter peak had been done by anyone but the Poles!

Living the (relatively) comfortable lifestyle of a Westerner, I can only stand back and admire what these folks have done and continue to do on a regular basis, often with the most rudimentary equipment. In my own personal homage to the “master sufferers” of the East, I have embarked on a sonic journey to discover some of the more harsh, brutal and cold sounds from this region to help motivate myself to dig a little deeper and push a little harder when things seem to be all that I can take. Slovenian alpinist Marko Prezelj once told me: “when you have pushed yourself to your limit and you feel like it is all you can take, you are just half way to what you are capable of doing.” Strong words from a strong man.

Being a big fan of extreme metal, I have found that this genre thrives in Europe, eastern Europe, in particular. Much of the underground metal scene there takes on a very somber, austere and melancholic character, not unlike the personalities one encounters in the world of alpinism. Perhaps for similar reasons as to why Eastern climbers so excell in alpinism, so do extreme metal bands from that region in producing some of the most harsh, crushing, and to-the-point metal of this day and age. With song titles like: “Scalding Coldness’, “Where the Snows are Never Gone,”Chambers of the Winds” and “Icy Armor on the Peak of the World”, how can you go wrong?

Though, this sort of music is not for everyone, certainly not the Dave Mathews Band and Jack Johnson crowd, it may sooth the hearts of those who crave for winter’s icy chill no matter the time of year. Here are a few of the bands I have found to be of particular inspiration: NAV, Old Wainds, Drudkh, Dead Raven Choir, Hate Forrest, Ashes, Graveland, Mgla, Gromm, Wolfmangler and Triglav (they’re even named after one of the finer peaks in the Eastern Alps!) At least for me, this stuff really gets under my skin and gets me in the mood for a cold, dark, north face suffer fest! Yes, it is brutal, damaged, fucked up, nihilistic and at times misanthropic, bleack, black and cold, but isn’t climbing cold, dark, north faces, as well? In the words of one of the more popular Eastern metal record labels (Supernal):
“We are engaged in a culture war, supplying a positive alternative to the degenerate, superficial, spiritually-destructive mainstream pop culture of today.”

There is much to explore.

I just arrived in Europe this week for a month of work and final preparations for the big expedition to K6. Oh yeah, and there will be some fine dining, drinking good wine and generally taking in the relaxed atmosphere. You really can’t beat the mountains here. It is easy to see why so many people get into climbing as there are just too many incredibly attractive summits around. I start off with a Matterhorn trip for a week, then a whirl wind tour through the alps in quest of classic north faces. So far, things are pretty snowy so the Matterhorn may prove a bit of a challenge by the normal route. The north faces, however, look to be in good shape for “winter” type conditions. This is perhaps just what I am looking for as long as there is some good weather.

After a couple months of intensity training with my single speed (SS) mountain bike, it is time for some long slow distance and work on putting in mileage at the bottom end. The SS is great for the top end cuz when you go uphill, you have to stand up and give it all you got until either the hill ends or you do. It is like doing forced, randomized interval training. Plus, even when you give out and resort to walking, you still get a good workout carrying 30 pounds of steel over your shoulder, albeit at a reduced pace. The other benefit of doing high intensity stuff like this on a bike is that I got a good mental break from the stresses of climbing. The winter’s full of ice and mixed got my technique sharp and my head straightened out. It is good to step away from that for short periods, from time to time.

But now, with the guiding and all, I’ll be moving slower and for much longer periods of time AND my head is back in the game. This is exactly what I need and will be a good test of how well the SS stuff helped out my overall aerobic capacity. Even though I am guiding, I am still on alpine routes and since I can’t move as fast as I would on my own the adventure component is still there c (never too high, though). So, I get a little bit of re-engagement of the mental muscle so important for alpine climbing.

I have been wearing a heart rate monitor lately which is a good and a bad thing. The good thing is that I can see what my heart rate is and compare that to my perceived exertion. I can moderate the pace or speed it up accordingly (partner willing). The bad thing is that I find myself looking at it all the time and wondering what my HR is instead of paying attention to where I am going and enjoying the surroundings.

Hopefully, though, this type of slower pace training and climbing specific movements will add the finishing touches to my training for K6. Aside from a little lingering pain from my spider/broken rib incident, I am feeling as fit as I ever have. Plus, I recently discovered some great new bands from Russia and the Ukraine that I am really digging right now. I am psyched!

I really believe that periodizing your training in this way really pays off. Oh yes, the food and wine have been great so far.

“Buy the fucking plane tickets!” I believe I heard this from Jack Tackle once. He says it to his climbing partners. In a simple sense, buying the plane tickets firmly cements one’s commitment to an objective. If you are serious about it, you will get the tickets right away as it is going to be much harder to back out after you have purchased expensive plane tickets.

I am sure that many reading this have experienced: “Dude, I going to have to bail on our plans for Alaska (or wherever)” before. It is classic and seems to happen more often than people actually following through with their barstool inspired dreams (delusions?) of grandeur.

It is not uncommon for people to lose their enthusiasm for your big plans as the time draws nearer. Thoughts of sport climbing, skiing locally and likely fear will often extinguish the flames of anticipation and lead to a change of heart. Once you have shelled out a bunch of cash, however, things are much different. It is often the hardest thing to do. So, my advice is if you really want to make a dream trip happen: find a willing partner, agree on dates, then BUY THE FUCKING TICKETS! You’ll be satisfied as it takes all the second guessing and worrying away. You are safe in your knowledge that, in a sense, your fate is sealed. You are going. All the other details, like equipment, route specifics and other logistics will work themselves out. The ticket (pretty much) ensures that both you and your partner are going and you ain’t going to bail. It is a good show of commitment.

Of course there are some other small things to consider, as well. If you are going to Asia, for example, you may need a VISA. So, get on this right away as it can take a while to process these applications. Also, if you are going to need a permit for your objective get someone working on this as soon as you have made your decision to go. These are important, but I find that once the ticket is purchased, the gig is on!

Obviously, Alpine Climbing is much more than just a physically demanding endeavor. There is a VERY serious psychological, even emotional component to it. Training for the physical hardships is easy, if time consuming. Training for the other, more intangible components can be much more difficult to do, especially in a nice comfortable gym or whatever. You really need to learn how to suffer. I think this is why many climbers from form Eastern Block countries have done so well at Alpinism; they are master sufferers. Some might say their everyday life (at least until the late 80’s) was, to some extent dealing with a low level of suffering. How do we in the comfort crazed Western World, then, come to find solace in pain and hardship like our Eastern comrades do?

While I never seem to bring myself to consciously seek out pain and suffering, I inevitably find some in my training, often in the most unexpected places. When it happens, I learn to relish it.

Here I am in Texas for a few days in June. That alone is painful! I have decided to do some single speed biking on the local trails while I am here to better pass the time in this hellhole. This place is hot. REAL HOT. I am a masochist, but I just can’t do it when it is in the high 90’s with high humidity. So, I plan on hitting the trail early in the morning when the temps are at a much more reasonable mid 80’s. I was warned, “The mornings can be bayad ‘cuz of the cowob weyebs.” (In Texas speak) Cob webs? Big deal. I’d rather deal with those than die of heat exhaustion.

7:30 am this morning. I start riding. First one on the trail. They weren’t fucking kidding about the cob webs. They were all over the place and home to numerous spiders. Big ones! Tons of spiders! As in hundreds. Within minutes I was covered in untold amounts of web material and at least a dozen creepy, crawly spiders. Did I mention it was hot out? Yeah, only 85º with high humidity. That way, you sweat and the webs are easier to wipe off of your face when it is nice and slick. Most of the webs seemed to be about head height. Needless to say, I rode with my mouth closed.

I was a bit apprehensive at first: constantly swatting at the webs and little beasts within them as I would ride through. This became very distracting and caused me to take the worst digger of the year. I was trying to pick a spider off me that was hanging off my eyebrows when BAM. I hit a small stump and went straight down over the handle bars to meet the dirt head on. I slammed my chest into my right hand and both are hurting, especially my chest. This was only five minutes into the ride. I contemplated giving up and going back, but looked upon this as an excellent opportunity for some quality suffering.

I finished the loop in an hour and half and reckoned that I might as well do another lap now that the webs were clear. Besides, it was not yet 90º so I might as well.

Tomorrow, I’ll try and listen to country music instead. 

The British magazine “Climb” asked me to write something about what I put in my sack: a Kitlist, as they call it. Here is what I had to say.

Perhaps one way to start is to tell you what is NOT in my pack. I don’t bring material to make V-threads. On most alpine routes, I tend to bring along real skinny ropes, sometimes one lead rope and a 5 mm tag line, that (with the end tape removed) will feed right through the V-thread holes themselves. Steve House likes to call this the “Naked V-thread.” Unless I am working, I will not bring a radio. Besides weighing a lot, it decreases the level of commitment, which is half the reason I go alpine climbing in the first place. I will not bring along any bolts for I feel that to be too cowardly in the mountains. With that in mind, I can also leave behind the drill. Ascenders have no place in my pack either. I just don’t have the patience for much aid climbing and rope fixing while in the mountains so I just leave behind all the specialized tools for aid and big wall style climbing. If I really have to get up a fixed rope of any sort, I have become quite handy with improvised rope ascension. My favorite way is to use a simple waist prusik and an Alpine Clutch (Garda) for the feet. It works quite smooth and I’ve practiced it enough that I’d be willing to take the Pepsi challenge with a fully mechanized opponent. I never have daisy chains with me. While climbing, I almost always secure myself to the anchor with the rope and while descending, I just scavenge one or two of the sewn runners to clip in with at rappel stations. Of course, I never bring along bottled oxygen unless I am climbing with Ian Parnell on a Scottish Winter route.

I do bring along a spoon, but no bowl or cup. I will usually take one freeze dried dinner to be eaten as the first meal. They weigh too much for their meager caloric value to take up more than that. From then on, that bag becomes my meal bag for the rest of my meals on the mountain. It is sealable and allows instant meals like mashed potatoes and stuffing to be cooked up simply by adding boiling water. Cooking like this leaves my pot nice and clean: it has only had water in it. So, I can drink my tea, soup or other hot drinks out it or the one hard plastic water bottle that my partner and I will share. Since our pot is going to stay clean (and the spoon is easily “lick cleaned”), I don’t bring along a scrubby or sponge. I don’t bring along a stove pad (often considered unthinkable in Alaska) since I can use the pad from my ruck sack for this. Now this may come as a surprise to some of you, but I don’t bring along a sleeping bag! Actually, I should say that between my partner and I, we just bring one bag. That’s right: two guys, one sleeping bag. Mind you, it is a custom tailored bag to accommodate two guys (American for blokes), but it still weighs less than most single bags. The way to make this “Brokeback” style work is to just use insulation on the top and to just use thin material on the bottom that can be fashioned into sleeves for the thermal pads. Compressed insulation underneath does no good so why have it in the first place? Plus, with two people in one bag there is a lot more mutual warmth generated so you can use a much lighter weight bag. Another thing we share is a pee bottle. Actually, we dont’ bring a “bottle” to pee in, but a light, collapsable water bag like a two liter Nalgene Canteen; remeber, it must have a wide mouth opening. I also don’t bring along a full length pad to sleep on. Between the ropes, slings, pack pad and my boots, there is going to be something to keep my feet off of the cold ground and mabye even make a small pillow. For a pad, I prefer to use an ultra-light 3/4 length Therma-rest. I blow it up super tight and find that it yields the best thermal resistance for the weight.

One last thing. I hate gaiters! If I had just one wish I would rid the world of every stinking last one of them(well, maybe that would not be my first wish, but perhaps number four). I just hate them, so I never bring them. Besides looking ridiculous it seems like just an extra layer where one already exists. So, I tie some elastic cord to the two loops in the bottom cuff of my pants (if none exist, then it is very easy to install a couple of grommets for this purpose). This can then be pulled underneath my boot sole and, voile, no stupid gaiters are needed.

 

Mount Rainier must rank among the top ten spots in the nation as a Dork Magnet. They’re up there in spades!

In spite of glorious weather and being on the technically easiest route on Mount Rainier, we failed to reach the top of the mountain. In fact, we just made it about half way to the top before turning back. The idea of doing a route where the main tools of use were long snow pickets and a single ice ax just did not have much appeal to me. I really did not want to do the slog up there so I talked Cindy into doing a something a bit more interesting sounding (to me) and much more ambitious. I suggested that we try to ski it. Cindy had been to the top several times and had never done so with skis. The idea of getting in a nice, long ski descent sounded WAY better to me than plodding down a long glacier. I then suggested that maybe we should just try and do it in a single push from the parking lot (I know, this was really fucking dumb, but what can I say?). So, she said “yeah, lets do it!” She had skied up to camp Muir and down many times, so going another 4K to the top and down could not be that bad. I recommended we try the Emmons route as it offered a little nicer line to ski plus, I would probably not run into other guides over there.
The idea morphed a bit from here. We would hike in the trail to a camp right below the route at 5,900 feet. Then, we would ski to the top and down with light packs and hike out. After packing, printing maps, and all that shit, we hit the road much later in the afternoon than expected. Wit heavy traffic and all of that we did not get to the trailhead until around 8:00. So, we figured why not just go for it from here with day packs now. We would hike through the night and then summit in the morning (yeah, this was the next dumb idea). We drank some Red Bull, stripped the packs of all the overnight stuff and hit the trail. As we quickly came to find out, the major floods of last autumn wreaked havoc on the trail into the mountain and it ended up being a bit of an adventure tripping over big trees, logs and loose rocks in the dark. Needless to say, we were unable to make good time on the trail. A major new stream crossing, an errant trail and tricky snow conditions on the lower glacier put us way behind (what I estimated to be) our schedule. We reached about 9,400′ and it was well into the morning. Cindy was wiped out. The summit was just 5K above us and it looked like it would be a great ski. She said she was game, but I knew better. After no sleep and ten hours of hard work on the approach, this one would not go down well if we were to keep going on. So, I pulled the plug and we went down (it was a sunny, Saturday morning) and passed all the amazing dorks full of questions on their way up.

Last night, I had a big burger and slept hard.