3000 kilometers in a rental car

5 Parks Canada Passes

1 broken bite valve

24 Gels

3 routes

June 23rd through July 1st, 2007

There are two attitudes a person can feel after a mountain. Either you: 1. swear off mountaineering forever and second guess your abilities and decision-making or 2. start planning the next mountain before you're even home from the airport. We started planning our next trip to the Canadian Rockies before we had finished hiking down the glacier from our final route. I will never be able to fully describe what an incredible place the Rockies are. The only way to truly understand is to go yourself and experience some of the finest alpine climbing around.

I think Eliot is writing about the trip as a whole, and for the time being I will leave that to him. Not knowing where to start, I’m going to attempt to simply write about the part that effected me the most. No epics this time, but a success on the hardest route I’ve done this far, the Hourglass on Mt.Athabasca (III, AI3-4). For those of you who are interested in the logistics, what we learned, and the (so so) travel conditions on the glacier, I’m happy to write more. For the time being, let’s get to the good stuff.

We reached the base of the north face around 5am. Clouds from the white out still covering everything but beginning to be burned off by the rising pink glow to the east.

Eliot took off for the burgschrund. Our plan was to simulclimb as much of the face as possible, to get us up and past the rock bands, as fast as we could. The route offers the choice between climbing under large missile spewing rock bands, or huge, very menacing seracs. Eliot had never lead ice before, but has a very solid head, and has always been VERY good about honestly assessing his own abilities and comfort zone. We agreed that we would move together as high as he was comfortable, then he’d throw in two screws and bring me up, with us pitching out the rest.

The burgschrund was puckering, only about a meter wide, but with soft, unsupported snow on either side of it, and a 40 foot cave below. Crossing it was like climbing a muddy lose hill, trying to move up faster than the snow fell away underneath you. Both of us punched through, nearly getting to explore the depths of the cavern underneath the face.

My previous time on face, the surface had been a mix of supportive styrofoam snow and hard (but reliable) ice, it was now a 50 degree slope of unconsolidated powder. It was around 300 feet before Eliot encountered ice good enough for a screw, and we both whooped outload when he sank it. The snow here was simply evil. Around a foot of crap snow over aerated ice. You could chop down for good screws and tool placements or climb the snow and pray your feet held. It wasn’t as strenuous as climbing hard ice but was much more insecure. Each foot placement required four or five kicks to pack down enough snow to hold your weight, and the tools were good for balance only. When the fear got too overwhelming, I’d dig down in the snow to ice and sink a tool, just to have the feeling of a reliable placement.

The face is too steep for much in the way of dangerous avalanches, but as the top was in a cloud it was running with spindrift slides every thirty seconds or so. Lower down these were amazing to watch, nearly pleasant. As we got higher and closer to the rock they grew more frequent and intense, filling our hoods with spindrift and blinding us for a few seconds at a time. We ate up the elevation though, and Eliot put in a belay before the first rockband. We’d climbed 600-800 feet in just over two hours and we had passed the worst of the rockfall hazard. The sun hadn’t hit the rockbands yet and they’d been remarkably quiet. One ping pong ball sized rock had buzzed by my ear, but there were no close calls with anything big. Still, I’ll admit to having to chew back blind fear the whole time. We were making excellent time, but between the spindrift slides, the occasional ominous groaning of the seracs and the knowledge that we couldn’t back down the way we came, I felt like I was in over my head. Deep breaths though, we’re doing fine…fear keeps you focused.

The 2006-2007 ECP Mountaineering graduation trip was the Presidential traverse. A committing 18 mile traverse of the range, facing the arctic conditions often found in the White Mountains, commonly claimed to have the worst weather in the world. Most of the groups opted to carry tents while we decided to make do with Bivy sacks, allowing us more options for a bivouac site.

We drove to north Conway to meet up with those who flew in from Pittsburgh. Once at the trailhead, we made last minute adjustments to gear, most of us decided to leave their snowshoes in the car, and we began the traverse at 8 am. Brian W. accompanied us for most of the climb to Madison but would not be continuing on the whole traverse. The climb to Madison was tough, over 3500 feet of elevation gain in almost four miles but the weather was nice and the trail had light snow covering it. Upon entering the alpine zone, we could hear the high winds above tree line and looking towards the ravine showed high winds blowing clouds through. We passed our 1st option for a bivy site at the valley way tentsites, 3 miles in and climbed above tree line to the Madison hut, reaching it at noon. The wind picked up significantly and the temperature dropped with the wind chill once out of the trees. The view was beautiful and more than made up for the slog up through the trees. It felt desolate out of the trees, the stillness of tree line was gone, the wind was constantly pushing against us. We had planned on trying to push to the Israel ridge trails and bivy below tree line off the trail but Steve, one the climbers, developed severe abdominal pain at the hut, this was serious and we were extremely worried about his condition and evacuation was debated. Luckily we had a doctor with us and James was able to determine that it was a muscle spasm or cramp rather than appendicitis or another serious illness. While James diagnosed Steve, the decision was reached to set up camp around the hut and resume in the morning. My group decided to drop packs and bag the Madison summit 550 feet higher. Taking only goggles and glacier axes, we pushed up the south west side of Madison through the verglas and rime crusted boulders dusted with snow. The wind was blowing at 40 mph gusts and the temp noticeably dropped as we climbed. We didn’t follow the path on the ascent and upon reaching the summit area, we found we were beaten by a day hiker and his large dog. We descended by the regular trail and passed a pair of our other teams headed up the trail to the summit. Back at the hut, we set up our bivy’s in a sheltered spot on the east side of the building. Shane and I dug out a large drift and formed a tight sleeping area protected by a snow wall while Tom and Jen dug into snow covered hill somewhat. Very suddenly while we were setting up camp Jen began to shiver and began going hypothermic. While Shane and I continued to set up the stoves and get the brew on, Tom took care of Jen and got her into her bivy, we gave her a hot water bottle as soon as we had the water boiling. After some food, water, heat packs and hot water bottles Jen appeared to be in much better shape and we went to bed soon after sunset at 5:30 pm. The temperature stayed warm through the night at 8 degrees and wind stayed relatively low at 25 MPH. My sleep system worked very well and I slept in my base layer and vented my bag partially. I woke up at sunrise at 7am and we packed up and had a quick breakfast of water and cliff bars. While we ate, David and Jason began up the trail to the south of Adams rather than our intended route of the Gulfside Trail. Our group was joined by Sid and Ron’s group while the last group remained at camp, still cooking a hot breakfast with tents still up when we started on the trail. We climbed up past Quincy Adams and through the col between Mt. Adams and Mt Sam Adams. The trail was relatively good, shallow snow and rime ice with short sections of knee deep snow between Adams 5 and Edmonds col. At thunderstorm junction, we marked our time and checked in on the radio. We estimated the last group was an hour behind us and that David and Jason, who thought they were in the lead, found themselves near the back of the group and were increasing pace to catch up after breaking in an alternate, harder trail through deep snow on Mt. Adams. From Edmonds col, we began the steep climb up Mt. Jefferson. The trail was steep, with up to knee-deep snow. We made a good pace up it, with Tom breaking trail and kicking in steps. After Jefferson, the trail descended into sphinx col, where David and Jason caught up with us, and climbed the minor summit of Mt. Clay. As we continued on the easier part of the trail, we saw tons of weather systems on the nearby summits. Clouds, precipitation and wind were there but the area on the ridge remained sunny and clear.

I want to go a few months without having a serious brush with death.

The most recent one happened this Saturday. I rolled my Subaru twice, totaled it, and got a glass shower, but walked away more of less unscathed.

Mikey, Don and I went up to the Adirondacks, planning on a four day weekend ice climbing. Friday we got a relaxed seven or eight pitches in, and had a great time, good ice, not too cold and sunny. It looked like it was going to be a promising weekend.

Saturday I was driving to Poko-o-Moonshine around 9am. The roads were a touch slushy but seemed OK. I went around a left turn in the road and started to fishtail.

No worries.. .I'm pretty good about recovering. Ease off the gas, don't brake, don't over steer, just ride it out. Don't overreact

Something was different this time.

The oscillations of the car were getting worse, not better… and the bend in the road meant that each sway took me closer to perpendicular than it otherwise would have. I eyed the trees on the side of the road, still concerned about smashing my car up.

I held if together for a few hundred feet, then the right rear wheel slide off the road, as I was beside a short drop off. Nearly as soon as it did, it caught and the car rolled.
It slid on the roof.

"This is how people die in cars". I remember very clinically noting that my shoulder was pressed into the door, but my head and neck seemed to be ok, surprisingly.
I heard glass breaking and metal bending and felt a shower of snow mixed with the shards of the passenger window hitting me. The same oddly detached feeling the climbers will associate with a big lead fall. Total loss of control, not exactly fear, more a numb dread in the pit of your stomach. Knowing that what happens to you is out of your hands now, and all you can do is hope it goes well.

The car slid for what felt like forever but was probably only fractions of a second on the roof, then flipped back upright, the back over again.. faster this time. Like the all free rolls people see in movies. Nothing to do but hold on numbly.

It stopped on the wheels with an impressive thud. A spray of snow settled and I saw smoke, or steam blowing off the engine. I took a slow deep breath and waited for the pain to start. You don't always feel the big stuff at first, so I braced myself to look down and see. something, a bone end, a piece of the car through my leg, or something…. bad.

Nothing. No pain, just the flood of adrenalin I know all to well from climbing. I was covered in glass though. Mixed with the snow it felt surprisingly soft. I pulled down the mirror, expecting my face to be a mask of blood and cuts. Nothing.

Running my hands over my head, expecting to feel the warm stickiness of a bleeding scalp.
….Nothing.

I looked in the back. Don had not been wearing a seatbelt and had been tossed into the back seat. I always wear mine and don't even think to check my passengers. Had I lost control completely just a little earlier I would've hit the trees, and he probably would have been tossed out of the car.

"Everyone ok"
"yes"

The car had stalled. I turned the key and was surprised that it started. Almost reflexively I put the gas down, and was surprised that the wheels spun.

Enough of that, stop the car and get out. The car had stopped around ten feet from the river. About sixty feet wide and.. deep enough.

It was bad. But at least we were in one piece.

The police were nice enough to ticket me for "driving too fast for special hazards (ice)" despite the fact that an EMT responding to the accident put her car in a ditch and had to by towed out as she tried to leave.

Now we were in upstate New York, (Upper Jay), by Lake Placid. The rental car companies close on the weekends here. I called the boss and told him I might not make work Monday.

Sunday we hitchhiked the 120 miles to Albany, rented a car from the airport and drove home.
It's been a long weekend.

I'm shocked at how lucky we all were. I have a minor glass cut on my wrist, wide but not deep enough for stitches, and I keep finding little scabs on my scalp, but I'm fine. If it makes sense, I'm almost disturbed by how little I was disturbed. I'm shaken to be sure, but I've felt this before. I've wondered if I would make it home on several mountains, and each time the aftermath is easier. The cycle between elation and fighting sobs less pronounced and shorter. What is this going though? I mean I'm glad I can handle fear as well as I (apparently) can, but this isn't intended to be bragging. Should feeling like you might die traumatically really be something you're "used to"?

In the two days since the accident, two different people have also offered to GIVE me old cars. At the risk of being overly sentimental, I'm pretty touched. To quote, someone. It's never the things you plan for that rock you. Reality has a way of slapping you in the face on a normal Tuesday afternoon. Take a deep breath

Mt. Pfeifferhorn

The Pfeifferhorn, one of Utah’s highest peaks at 11,326ft, this was our objective. Our morning began at the White Pine’s trailhead at 9am. Yes this was late but we needed a ride to the trailhead and this was the best that we could do. Our route would be a 9-mile round trip of beat out trails, then deep snow and finally a knife-edge traverse. Summer through Fall ascents take 10 hours round trip. Winter ascents often take “at least” 16 hours round trip. Post holing and winter gear can add a lot to an ascent.