Snearing at Blood Stained Stupidity with a Community Smile

Kind of like a cherry snow cone...

There are times when certain behaviors bring out my critical side.  I suppose that's not a great trait.  But occasionally the "critical me" wields its ugly head.  The best thing to do when this happens is to peck away at my keyboard and vent.  This past weekend a disagreement about the finer aspects of a climbing rule, or courtesy, was brought to the surface.  The disagreement, in the long run, has been a great learning experience. I have learned, over the past few days, that my own understanding of where I stand is not as static as I presumed.

Venting:

Safety rule number one:  Be safe

Broad topic.  Pretty simple.  Move onto rule number two

Safety rule number two: The call out - what I am venting about.

To me this seems simple enough.  Climber swings, pulls, drops or kicks ice, rock, tool or branch.  Ice, rock, tool or branch falls.  Climber yells, "ice!", "rock!", "tool" or "branch!"  People below climber duck, jump, dance or cartwheel away from falling object.  People are safe.  This makes everyone happy.

Not everyone agrees on the fine print under rule number two and it seems to boil down to a judgment issue.  I tend to fall on the yell more, hurt less side of the argument.  To me, the call out should happen more then less if there are other folks around or climbing at a crowded crag.  If something substantial falls I yell.  I do not always know when another party below me has arrived, if my belayer has wondered into  the line of fire, or if some non climber from Houston, Texas is busily taking pictures of me knocking down ice upon them.  To me, no matter what the circumstances, the call out is better over used, then under.

My theory, according to a gentlemen named Jack that I met in Lost in The Forest, is "ridiculous".  According to Jack all any climber should be required to do is call out once.   If someone does not hear the call, "it's their problem".  Now this discussion did not come about because I, or my partner, were almost hit by ice.  Brian saw Jack seconding the climb from a safe distance and suggested we maneuver around the line of fire to a spot where we could unpack our gear and flake our ropes.  We settled in a safe spot fifty feet to Jack's right.  We did not hear his initial call out, nor did we hear a call out the entire time we watched him second the route.   We did watch Jack knock down twenty to thirty pieces or ice ranging in size from small golf-ball-sized flakes, to kitchen-sink-sized chunks.  We did send several call outs from the safety of our perch down to the trail leading into the climbing area in case anyone rounding the corner was not aware that Jack was not interested in their safety.  We also noticed that Jack and his partner's packs were sitting directly in the line of fire and were getting hit by falling ice.

Once Jack was lowered by his partner (that we never had a chance to meet) I spoke up.  I chose to take the role of a friendly co-climber that wanted to ask a favor, or maybe provide a little safety hint.  I couldn't help but wonder if Jack were new to climbing and that his partner had not told him about how important a call out can be to the safety of other climbers.  This approach failed miserably.

Jack's words that stuck out the most were, "ridiculous" and "it's their problem".  Jack essentially told me to fuck off.  I said nothing.  I only turned to take a look at Brian's face to make sure that what I heard was correct.  Judging by Brian's expression, I had heard correctly.  Guess it was time to finish flaking my rope and begin my climb.  I know that there are lots of opinions of how things should, and should not be done, when it comes to climbing ethics, but his tone and response was condescending and childish.

Later I fantasized about charging over to Jack and popping Jack in the nose.  This, like someone getting hit by Jack's unannounced ice chunk , would never happen.  Would it Jack?

A couple days after our climb Brian sent me a link to what Will Gadd had to say about the issue:

Don't yell "ICE!" unless things are getting really western and someone is clearly in danger. This isn't sport climbing, ice is going to fall off all the time, and the shout of "ice" loses its effectiveness rapidly if everyone is yelling ice for every little bit of falling water.

For the record.  Will Gadd is a bad ass.  But the part where I am stuck is the "clearly in danger part".  Oh well.

Safety rules number three, three and a half and four: positioning, looking where one walks and taking care of your partners.

From what I gather a women was hit in the chin by a piece of falling ice at the base of Standard on Saturday.  She was just left of the large boulder at the beginning of the first pitch when she was hit.   There were chunks of blood covered snow (like the picture above) all over the place.  We met one of her partners after the event.  He had finished the climb and walked off the route after the accident.  When we saw him he was coming back to retrieve his pack.  He told us, "she froze like a deer in headlights" when describing the incident.  After stepping on our new rope with his crampons he went on to tell us that he had no idea where she was, or how she was doing.  He then grabbed his stuff and left.

I guess my hope is that if I get hit in the face with a large chunk of ice and bleed like a stuck pig or "a deer in headlights" that my partner(s) will escort me out of the crag and off to a hospital.  Or at the very least show some empathy to my situation.

Bummer.

Ok.  One more lil' chapter in this weeks rant.  While climbing on Pegasus in the Amphitheater we noticed climbers walking back and fourth under Widow's Walk.  Minutes before we noticed HUGE chunks of ice falling to the ground and careening through the woods in that same spot..  So, here it goes...  When it's really warm, and HUGE chunks of ice are falling off an overhanging cliff and smashing to the ground, don't walk under it.  No....  Really... It's not a good idea.  Trust me on this one.  Thanks.

Mikey gets angry when people break safety rules. Don't make Mikey angry...

Besides my encounter with Jack and observing some risky positioning, this past weekend was stellar.  Sunny skies (at least in North Conway) and warm temperatures made for some great ice climbing conditions.  Yep, things were wet, but many of the climbs in the Frankenstein and Crawford Notch areas were PHAT.  If you haven't had a chance to get out yet this year, now is the time.

The positive conditions were not the only portion of our weekend that we thoroughly enjoyed.  We were also fortunate enough to climb with some awesome folks (thanks Mikey, Pam and E), hang with a great group from the Boston area, see a couple of our favorite people on the planet at the Front Grind and meet a couple more locals that have carved out a pretty cool existence in The Valley.

Over the past couple of years me and my crew of miscreants from the Portland area have been fortunate enough to spend lots of time with with two great folks named Erik and Sasha.  They have not only shared their coach space, but have also shared heaps of knowledge and kindness.   This past weekend we were lucky enough to meet two more locals cut from the same proverbial cloth.  Like Erik and Sasha, Bayard and Ann have made their mark in the climbing community not only as great climbers, but more importantly, great people.  Even though I have not had a chance to meet that many climbers and community members of the North Conway area, I continue to be nothing short of impressed by the generosity and sense of adventure that these folks all seem to share.

Me and the Sues..

Soul Deposit

Por favor, paquete de la basura?

Leave no trace...
In lands far and near.
These were the words
I did not want
to hear

So much to dump
So much to throw
some of my past...
behind it must go.

My pack
so small and sleek
does not contain
this historic
fleet

life’s pounds,
of assorted weights
this pack
could never
appreciate.

So up we go.
My pack and I.
Into mountains
beyond
the eye

foreign
yet the same.
Looking for
my peak
to bury
life’s blame

to cast high
into raging winds
to be stripped
off like
some
stagnant sin

remnants of old
tattered and tweaked
strip off and fly
without even a peep...

I am left,
my tears
and years
for the southern
wind
to dry and cheer.

Paul Clifford & Dr. Suesse

El Chalten & Aguja Guillaumet

A Mountain Town: El Chalten, Argentina

Down sleeping bags don’t perform well when wet.  Especially in the rain at 1:00 AM on the side of a road.  But I really didn’t care.  I was cold and it made me warm.  This was not a long term solution.  It was short term satisfaction.  Not a particularly exquisite end to an epic day, but things could be far worse.

Twenty hours earlier I woke up in a tent with a new friend I had met only two days before.  My first thought of the day was about the tent.  Not how it had held up in the wind, or whether not it was dry, but how it could smell so badly so early in the morning.  Outside there was no light.  I guess the beginning of the day would be as odd as its end.

The Terrain

A group of five that had befriended me was from Spain.  Two of the group were brothers and all of them were friends who had traveled together in the past.  All five of them had just returned from a sixteen-day glacier trek that circumnavigated through some of the wildest and most treacherous terrains in all of South America - this probably explains the less-than-favorable scent of the tent.  But, luckily for me, only three of them were interested in climbing.  One had broken his finger badly on the glacial trek and another had to return to Spain.  Taking on a fourth (who happened to have some nice climbing gear and looked very eager) made a bit of sense.  They were able to overlook my pathetic Spanish and focus on what mattered - I had nice gear and a rope.  They were a kind and fun-loving bunch that I knew absolutely nothing about.

The Gear

It was still dark as some sort of Spanish lullaby came from the tent next door.  My guess is that the intention of this early morning song was not to put us back to sleep but to bring us gently into what would be a long day.  I giggled along with everyone else even though I had no idea what the song was about.  Soon we were up.

Within two hours my three climbing partners and I had eaten breakfast, secured our site, and hiked from our base camp 1,500 ft up, and two miles across, to the first pitch of Aguja Guillaumet.  Our goal was to climb one thousand plus feet of ice and rock, rappel back down, hike back to our tents, and carry our 60-pound packs 4,500 vertical feet down (to a road that was over eight miles away) to meet our taxi at 10:30 that night.

One other person in my group spoke English well, one spoke English that was much like my Spanish (malo/bad), and one, my climbing partner, spoke no English at all.  On the way up to the climb, I learned four terms: reunion (off belay), pilla (take), dame (slack), and piedra! (stone).  We all agreed that these words were necessary.

The Goal

The climb started with 500 feet of thin ice squeezed between smooth, granite walls.  Not extremely technical compared to the ice I have climbed before, but loaded packs and a solid approach made this class II+/III pitch of ice somewhat challenging.  We broke into two pairs.  The first pair set up only two belays.  They climbed simultaneously and did the entire 500 feet in two sections.  My partner and I split the 500 feet into four sections.  I led the second and third pitches of ice and took a thrashing on the fourth.   Being anchored 150 feet below three climbers in a gully that was 60º degrees and six feet wide was not what I would refer to as a great time.  Even though those above me climbed with care I took a pounding from all of the small chunks of ice that rained down from above.  I was anchored to the wall and I felt like I was in front of a rubber bullet firing squad.  To add an extra richness to the experience one of the ropes I was attached to got wedged into a crack so I had to wait in the shade while one member of the other pair down climbed to set me free so I could ascend.  Good, clean, cold fun.

Once we emerged from the ice gully we placed our crampons, alpine boots, ice screws, and ice axes in our packs and pulled on our thin climbing shoes over already frozen feet.  We also took off our gloves to prepare for the six pitches of rock climbing ahead.  We swapped gear and chatted strategy as the wind began to accelerate.  Soon we would be in the sun climbing some of the world’s best granite.

The climbing went smoothly even though the route meandered up steep sections of vertical rock and across narrow (and very exposed) traverses.  The climb went up about 500 vertical feet, but we traversed three times this distance.  We climbed as two separate pairs, but the first pair would leave gear in key spots as directionals to provide protection.  The second person of the second pair would “clean” and the first person of the second pair would feed gear to the second of the first group.  In the first pair, Miguel was the lead climber throughout the climb and in my pair, we swapped leads back and forth.  Far less confusing than it may sound.  There were only two technically “difficult” pitches of climbing, but all six were very exposed at several points and a slip would mean a dramatic turn of events.  We stayed roped up for the last pitch - an easy, but relatively exposed, ascent.

Soon we were on the summit of Aguja Guillaumet exchanging hugs and taking pictures.  We all wanted our summit pictures to include Aguj Mermoz, one of the most sought-after peaks in the area, in the background.  We also held up the business card of our host hostel in hopes that we would make it onto the “wall of fame”.   This wall at the entrance of the hostel included pictures of some of the world's best alpinists on some of the larger, neighboring summits. We ate chocolate, drank tea, and watched as the sky thickened and the wind began to surge.

I took pictures at the top of the first rappel while I waited my turn to head down.  At the bottom of the third repel I noticed that my camera was no longer on my pack.  To my horror, I realized that I had left it at the top of the first repel.  Luckily the two repel lines above me were still up and my partners were empathetic to my situation.  I knew this was a mistake that put all of us at risk, but we all agreed that I should retrieve the camera.

The Hostel Promo

I quickly climbed the third to last and second to last pitches on top rope (with my alpine boots on) and free-soloed the last pitch of the climb to get to my camera.  By the time I got to the camera, the wind had picked up to around forty-five miles per hour.  Even though the climbing was easy, the wind and my pack made the ice and rock tricky to descend. Later my newfound friends joked that I liked the end of the climb so much, that I climbed it twice.  My guess is that at the time they were not very amused by my delay.

By the time I had down-climbed and “cleaned” the ropes on the second and third to last pitches, the fabled winds of Patagonia were in full force.  All relatively easy tasks, like throwing a rope down to the bottom of a rappel, became difficult and risky.  Cracks could “eat” ropes and one (more) mistake could cost us precious time.  The rest of the afternoon became a controlled but rushed, scramble.  Since the climb, known as Amy, was a popular and well-traveled route in the area there were old and new, pitons and slings to repel off of the entire way down.  This made the exit easier.

By the time my partner and I reached the base of the climb the first pair had already started the journey down to pack away our camping gear.  We began our scramble down through loose scree in winds that were gusting at seventy miles an hour.  The sand and gravel from the basin below blew up the walls of the valley and into our eyes, ears, and noses.  The trail was steep and icy.  My pack contained two 60-meter ropes, a trad rack (climbing gear), a thermos, climbing shoes, ice screws, two ice axes, and crampons.  I had not consumed any water in two hours and the last real meal was almost twelve hours earlier.  By the time the sun had set, I was only halfway down the long approach back to our base camp.  My headlamp only offered a twenty-foot view of the vertical world around me and my climbing partner was 100 meters ahead of me.  I was exhausted but determined.  I moved as quickly as possible back to base camp.

The Summit Surf

When I finally arrived I drank some sort of Tang and water mixture and ate a piece of ham and cheese.  Five minutes later three of us began our eight-mile, 4,500 vertical foot trek to the road.  My partner had left fifteen minutes earlier to see if he could make it to the road in time to secure our ride home.  We all knew we would miss our cab, but the storm that was upon us was not to be trifled with so we had to exit the area and head for a safer spot to spend the night.  We kept up a furious pace and marched without rest until half past midnight.

The Partners: Thester and Pablo

Soon I was alone with three packs as my two partners set out down the road in search of a phone and the fourth member of our group.  It was raining, there was no more food, and the only shelter I had was my down sleeping bag.  As I mentioned earlier, down-sleeping bags don’t perform well when wet.

An hour later my three partners returned, but no phone or ride could be found.  Apparently, the Refugio down the road was closed for the evening and the caretaker had no interest in answering the door.  We quickly set up a three-person tent, drank some untreated river water, and piled into our shelter. 

 

We spent the night together under the driving rain and powerful winds forty minutes outside of El Chalten.

Six hours later I woke.  Twenty minutes later our gear was piled into a fifteen-passenger Mercedes Sprinter.  The driver, who was returning to El Chalten after dropping off some tourists for a glacial tour, would not take payment for the ride into town.  Climbing is what El Chalten was founded upon and alpinists were still held in high esteem in this little town.  El Chalten was, and is, a mountain town.