Getting There
Our story starts in Vancouver. The 4 of us piled into Derek's car Friday evening and started our 9 hour drive to Golden, BC. One stop at a Walmart parking lot in Kamloops provided the brief rest we needed to drive through the night. I'm not sure how all of us slept in his burgundy Volvo but I did wink out for a bit. Apparently, the station wagon did a decent job of fitting us and our array of gear while lending space enough to pass out.
Our story starts in Vancouver. The 4 of us piled into Derek's car Friday evening and started our 9 hour drive to Golden, BC. One stop at a Walmart parking lot in Kamloops provided the brief rest we needed to drive through the night. I'm not sure how all of us slept in his burgundy Volvo but I did wink out for a bit. Apparently, the station wagon did a decent job of fitting us and our array of gear while lending space enough to pass out.
Heavy Packs with a Snafflehound Protected Car in the Background
Once we reached Golden, we stopped to do a supply pick up and consumed our last real meal. We ate at this delectable cafe/bookstore called Bacchus Books. It had hearty food and cozy atmosphere. The next segments of the drive included an hour section of two lane road plus a long section on a dirt road. For two hours, the front bummer rattled along in its duct tape sling as we trundled slowly along the logging road. Arriving at the parking lot we saw an interesting array of parked cars with chicken wire around them. I'd read in the guidebook about the snafflehounds. They patrol the area, ready to nibble on the rubber underbelly of abandoned cars.
Ladders and Switchbacks all the way back to the Car
After saddling our packs to overflowing with a week's worth of food, metal/nylon/rubber climbing gear, necessary camping shelter, and cookware, the slog beckoned and we followed. Cars park at 5,000 feet and tents park at 8,000 feet, we had a long way to go. The trail was a layered mass of switchbacks that lasted for 3 and a half miles. It began by meandering along a brook glistening in the afternoon sun. A dark shadowed forest section gave way to a bright flower dotted meadow. Horseflies dug chunks out of my legs as I hurried upward to a chorus of buzzing bees. The Kain Hut appeared finally, indicating we only had another half mile to travel through rock and ice to reach our home for the week. I crested the lip of Applebee's rock outcrop completely spent. Dropping gear everywhere, we spread out to begin our camp tasks.
Applebee Dome
Plucking water containers and a filter from the yard sale of packs, gear, and grub in our camp spot, I stumbled off to collect drops of pristine glacial water. As I sat and pumped through the ceramic filter, my gaze wandered around the rocky mountaineer's paradise surrouding me. My eyes flicked from the shear face of Snowpatch Spire to the piercing pinnacle of Bugaboo Spire. As I rested my sight on the Bugaboo-Snowpatch Col, I wondered what condition the glacial ice holds for us there this year. The col is notorious for hefting large boulders down its slopes in the late afternoon likening the chute to a veritable bowling alley. Last time we were here, I saw one equal in size to a small school bus. Bad luck out here means death or dismemberment for sure.
Collecting my various water bottles, I strolled back to camp. Tents were set and my water provided the necessary ingredient for cooking up a hot dinner. Davide was completely, utterly, and totally passed out. He had plunked down on a rock as soon as we arrived, then promptly keeled over from exhaustion. The consensus was to leave him be. Dinner was nothing special. This would be the MO for the rest of the trip - Lipton noodles for days. After a week in the wilderness, these meals made my pants fit rather loosely. Marching up that mountainside though, made even this meal satisfying. Lying down on my thermarest felt divine especially under the fluffy down of my sleeping bag. Lights winked out and my system shut down for dreaming.
Applebee Dome in all its Foggy Glory
Pigeon Bugaboo Day
Up at 4 am - the usual Bugaboos alpine start. The 3 of us adorned ourselves with rock and ice gear to explore the Bugaboo-Snowpatch Col. The initial leg goes down into the valley below the two spires. This always filled me with mixed feelings. While going down is a pleasure, I knew that the end of the day would find me wheezing up the slope back to camp where I would likely collapse in a big pile of flesh and metal.
Up at 4 am - the usual Bugaboos alpine start. The 3 of us adorned ourselves with rock and ice gear to explore the Bugaboo-Snowpatch Col. The initial leg goes down into the valley below the two spires. This always filled me with mixed feelings. While going down is a pleasure, I knew that the end of the day would find me wheezing up the slope back to camp where I would likely collapse in a big pile of flesh and metal.
Bugaboo - Snowpatch Col
The col looked steep and intimidating as we approached. I could see a faint trail winding up the ice over the bergschrund and through the tongues of rock. I hacked at the ice as I moved up the face. I topped out to see the glacier below us bathed in the glow of early morning light. Snowpatch was to our immediate left and Pigeon slightly beyond it.
Making our way toward the western spur of the hulking granite spire, we traveled across the Vowell Glacier, mindful of possible crevasse creases. Stumbling into one of these would mean snapping a limb or possibly losing yourself inside the glacier. If roped to someone else then both of you could go down unless you could self arrest (HowTo).
Reaching the base of the route, we stashed our spikes and I threw on my tight fitting climbing shoes. I pitched forward, hands and feet establishing purchase on the cold granite. It is only 7 am. Rock takes a while to heat up, and when it is cuddling glaciers, I could only expect searing cold. Thanking Gore-Tex for my insulated hands and La Sportive for my rubber soles, I looked up.
I gripped the stone and it gripped me back. Looking down, I saw winking crystals against a black and gray background. Focusing on the spaces between my fingers, I started to ascend the rock ridge. As I gained comfort at this high altitude and spectacular scene, I marveled that I was out here so remote. Reflecting on the journey here, I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of discomfort about the reality that if anything were to go wrong, no one would know. I heard my climbing mates coming up behind me. Their presence eased the knot in my stomach. This would be as all rocky adventures are - one step at a time.
Summit Shot!
The climb rose to a small summit then down a brief way and up to the real summit. It took skirting around the peak on the left side then coming up around the back to reach the pinnacle - well two pinnacles actually. We got a picture of Davide and me - each on one of the summits. After capturing this image, we scrambled back down to our waiting mountaineering boots. Our next objective was the Kain Route on Bugaboo Spire.
Traveling back across the glacier, we eyed the peak of Bugaboo Spire as it punctured the clouds above. After the brief and easy trip up Pigeon, the Kain Route would certainly be no problem. We got back to the top of the col and leaped onto the scree slope at the SW tip of Bugaboo Spire. This began our ascent up the famous Kain Route where Conrad Kain made history as the first ascendant of the spires rising around the Vowell Glacier. The climb meandered across fields of crumbling rock to the spine of rock defining the SW fin of Bugaboo Spire. I knew there was a fun but uncomfortable au cheval ahead. Some choose to walk it like a tightrope but not me. I knew my mind would wobble which my body would mimic so I chose to straddle it.
In Au Cheval Mode
Shimmying along the spine, I followed the line up with my eyes. Above, the ridge took a steep turn toward the summit. We roped up for the brief pitch, considered a 5.9 by the guidebook. Scrambling to the top, we bagged the summit. After lunching up there, we knew it would be wise to bomb down the mountain and back to camp. Being in that col during the afternoon “warmth” would be treacherous indeed. Once the sun hit the col, rocks would get loosened from the ice and start careening toward the bottom. We reversed all our steps back to the col. Once below the bergschrund, we glissaded down, not too far though. Staying further up enabled us to contour, taking the bite out of having to descend and ascend into and out of the valley.
Getting to within a mile of camp my juice ran out. I plunked down on a rock urging the other two to go on, saying that I would be fine as long as I could rest for a bit. My climbing partner would not let me be. “It’s less than half an hour back to camp. A short distance. You can do it,” he coaxed. I whined in return. “Leave me here. I’ll be fine. Only need a few minutes rest.” I looked up at him. I could tell in that moment that he wasn’t leaving and if I kept this up I would wear through his patience.
I stood and fixed my gaze slightly in front of my feet. I concentrated on placing one foot after the other in that space. I stopped a few more times and when I was almost there, he ran back to camp to get me some extra snacks assuming that a lack of sustenance was the thing that was impeding my movement. I took the food with water and stumbled on. I eventually got back and as soon as I did, I collapsed in a heap on the soft grass outside the tent. The crew looked at me, uncertain how to help. My climbing buddy helped me into the tent then went to make some food. I am certain I ate that night but most assuredly passed out immediately after.
Testing out my body after lying in the tent for 2 Days, Hound's Tooth in the background.
I spent the next 2 days recovering my strength, lying supine in the tent and occasionally sitting up to sip broth. On the third day, I took my body for a test run. We got out our sharp points to explore near Hound’s Tooth and Snowpatch-Pigeon Col. We didn’t make it very far up the col but the excursion proved to me that I could run around in that high altitude climate without feeling sapped. The decision was made that night to send our desired objective the following day. We zonked out, prepping for a very early wake up time.
Beckey-Chouinard (23 hour day)
It's 2 am. I felt as though I had only been able to close my eyes for a minute when the alarm startled me awake. Oh well, this is the world of alpine climbing. Why did I sign up for this again? I have asked myself that question repeatedly over my climbing years. Many people would say screw it, and drift back to their dreams but not us. Conrad Anker once said, "Enlightenment isn't found with a full stomach, or on a soft pillow."
It's 2 am. I felt as though I had only been able to close my eyes for a minute when the alarm startled me awake. Oh well, this is the world of alpine climbing. Why did I sign up for this again? I have asked myself that question repeatedly over my climbing years. Many people would say screw it, and drift back to their dreams but not us. Conrad Anker once said, "Enlightenment isn't found with a full stomach, or on a soft pillow."
Moon by Night above the Vowell Glacier
Moonlight was flooding the valley as we plunged to the bottom. The peaks loomed over us, casting dark shadows across the other's slopes. The patch of snow on Snowpatch reflected the moon's light as though it was a glowing orb itself. Standing at the base of the Bugaboo-Snowpatch Col, I knew we could follow the trail up from our outing earlier in the week. Even if we could not see it from our dark, cold vantage point, I knew it was there. The trudge up put heat into my chilly limbs. As I moved under layer upon layer of wool and fleece, I hoped this upward progress would ward off the nose numbing glacial cold. "It's August for crying out loud!" The ice was peppered with embedded rock pieces, giving us better purchase as we ascended.
Trudging up the Bugaboo-Snowpatch Col
Arriving at the top, we found the edge of the glacier and looked out. Spread before us was a glittering white snowfield, perfectly smooth and waiting for our tracks. The terrain was easy to navigate under the brilliant light of the moon. We would have to leave snowman building till later. Moving fast was our only option if we planned to be on the summit and down in reasonable time. Getting back to camp without having to spend what promised to be a very, very cold night out would be ideal. I thought, "If it is this cold on the glacier, I have no desire to experience the temperatures on the exposed peaks above us." Putting crampons under a rock, we moved on.
Morning light on the Vowell Glacier
We scooted across the glacier under the watchful eyes of the surrounding spires, making a bee line for the Pigeon-Howser Col. As I passed between the peaks, I surveyed the rock face to my right, the one we would be coming down at the end of the day. It was steep and shear. "God I hope our rope won't get caught," was the thought that came to mind and, “how long would it take Derek and Davide to find us?" I shuddered at the thought. This was not an idea I was willing to explore at that hour of the morning. Scrambling over large boulders and snow, I descended toward the valley floor beneath Beckey-Chouinard and the beginning of the vertical cliff that would be our climbing achievement should we pass its test.
At 7:30 am, we stood at the base. Donning my gear, I wondered about my abilities. I thought, "Do I have it in me to get up this face? Will I be able to hold it together through 15 pitches of 5.9 climbing?" That amounts to 2,000 feet of climbing. The vertical world is a place where I feel at home. The conditions around me though are alpine, not the warm, sunny California granite I began on all those years ago. Well, whether I felt capable or not, my task today would be keeping it together.
Rock shoes on, boots safely stowed on harnesses, ice axes in place on pack, half a cliff bar in belly, guess I'm ready to move up all day long. And all day long we did. Thankfully the sun graced us with it's presence or I might have turned into an ice crystal out there. My fingers were so cold at some points that they keep curling into a fist. I had to pry my fingers away from my palm to slot my hands in the cracks. Thankfully I wore my mountaineering gloves or the crystal studded granite would have sliced into the soft flesh of my hands. There were pitches and pitches of vertical granite crack ahead and behind. I looked up. I looked down. "How far have we come?" I thought. "How far do we have to go?" I can't worry about any of this. “Just keep moving, just keep moving.” That is the mantra I repeated over and over again.
Tromping around on Granite Faces
If you've ever walked and walked and walked and walked on a straight road for a really long time then you have a concept of what it’s like to do this climb. It was like that except that the cracks in this vertical plane go on FOREVER. Don't consider this complaining. These cracks are stellar, just stellar. To find that many splitter cracks in one climb is to die for. No wonder this climb rates in the 50 Classics of North America.
Arriving at the summit, I checked my watch. 8pm it said. Wow a 12.5 hour climb. Pretty good. We moved at under 1 hour a pitch. I sat down, ready to rest and take in the scenery. My climbing partner freaked out. "We have to get the F down!" he said. "We need daylight to find all of our rappel anchors!" I hopped to. Moving quickly over the summit, I watched as our ropes tumbled down the other side. Placing our ropes in his ATC, he swung off into space. I watched the red and blue lines go taught as the ropes caught his weight. "Off rappel!" Now my turn. I faced the rock. After bending the rope into my belay device, I secured the locking carabiner, leaned back for a test. Finding it solid, I released my anchor and slid down.
I found him at the anchors rapidly feeding my end of the rope through the anchor chains. I watched how he moved and realized I needed to keep my wits about me if we were going to make it down before we lost our daylight. I searched around for a way to be useful. Helping him haul on the rope above was all I could see to do. We pulled and pulled until the rope went taught. Yank. No movement. Yank. Still no movement. We looked at each other, fear registering in both our faces. The rope was stuck.
I slid the length of rope we had left into my belay device. This would keep him safe as he made his way back up. "C'mon," I thought. "We can't delay like this." I let out a silent prayer hoping that the caught section wasn't too far up. I heard a shout, then heard the rope zip past my ear. Down he came, slowly retracing his steps to me. I continued to pull in slack until he could anchor in safe again. We agreed that we didn't want that to happen again and I promised to haul more delicately until we got to the shear face lower down. Rappel after rappel carried us toward the Vowell Glacier. As the sun set, we lowered. We reached the last anchor and breathed a prayer of thanks. All the anchors had been found. The last rappel would take us over the bergschrund and onto the glacier.
I removed my feet from my rock shoes very carefully. Dropping anything here would mean losing it down the gaping chasm underneath us. It would be gone forever. Better to go slowly and cautiously at this point. I found my wool socks from inside my mountaineering shoes. I pulled them on one by one then yanked on my boots. He had already gone over the edge onto the glacier. Shouts of triumph from below. We made it! We’re safe now! Yay, yay! We still have to get back to camp but the rush is over. I went through all my rappel moves making sure to check twice because it is the last sketchy bit. There have been numerous accidents from people who have let their guard down at the last minute. This is because they see the summit as the finish line. The real finish line doesn't exist until your feet are back on a horizontal surface.
I rappelled over the jaws of the bergschrund landing on the glacier. My eyes traveled up and I gasped. I could only imagine what it must have been like for my climbing partner to watch me come across that opening. There was a roof of snow and ice above us. Huge icicles were hanging off the edge. It looked like a monster opening his mouth, showing huge white fangs. The moonlight was filtering through making the ice look like shimmering crystal. I could see it twinkling as I moved around beneath it. The towering cliffs around us and the glacier we were standing on was swathed in the glow of moon light. What a spectacular day it had been so far!
Hoofing it across the Vowell Glacier toward the Pigeon-Howser Col
The rappelling was not as warm as climbing. I could feel the icy surroundings. It was leeching what little warmth I had left out of my body and into the cold night air. I was anxious to make tracks. After all that pressured moving, we set a relaxed but steady pace back toward the col and camp and sleeping bags. Leaving the bergschrund, I noted the time. 10:30. "Okay," I thought. "I've only been up for 20 and a half hours. That's no big deal right?" I reflected on what had passed my lips that day. I did some quick math and realized I'd only had a cliff bar and a half plus a liter and a half of water. That ain't much, yet I didn't feel the need for more of either one. "Must be the adrenaline," I said to myself. No matter, we were headed back. Plenty of time to gorge the next day when we hike out.
The trip across the glacier went by quickly. We searched out our crampons from under the rock, strapped them on, and made our way down under the watchful eyes of Bugaboo and Snowpatch Spire. It was hard to believe we came up this nearly 24 hours before. I felt like it had been the same day, even though I knew it was not. We got back without incident. I crept through camp as quietly as I could. It was 1 am, 23 hours after we had left this very spot. Yikes! Did we really do that? I knew we did and yet it hadn't registered. After gently extracting myself from all my gear, I found my way into my sleeping bag and crashed, dead out.
Homeward Bound
Waking up the next day, which was actually later that morning, I took stock of my muscle aches and pains. Nothing felt sore but I could feel fatigue, the bone weary kind. I partly attributed this to my food and water intake from the day before. I stood up outside the tent looking for a water container. Finding one that I filled up two days ago I swallowed hard. It's on the brink of freezing and I tried not to mind. The air was rather crispy. I decided going back to my sleeping bag is a good idea since everyone else was still dosing. I knew it is still warm from my body heat.
Waking up the next day, which was actually later that morning, I took stock of my muscle aches and pains. Nothing felt sore but I could feel fatigue, the bone weary kind. I partly attributed this to my food and water intake from the day before. I stood up outside the tent looking for a water container. Finding one that I filled up two days ago I swallowed hard. It's on the brink of freezing and I tried not to mind. The air was rather crispy. I decided going back to my sleeping bag is a good idea since everyone else was still dosing. I knew it is still warm from my body heat.
After a while, we roused each other. There is no particular hurry. The only activities that day were to pack up, hike out, and start the drive home. I neatly packed everything, ensuring heavy items were lower down and nearer my lower back. A higher placement would just throw my balance off. I had mixed feelings about heading back. Beckey-Chouinard was behind me. What an accomplishment! There hadn't been another objective picked out. I suppose we could have gotten on a Snowpatch line like Surf's Up. I had yet to do a climb on that spire. There was also the aspect that I was finally in climbing shape which is hard to come by when you are working full time at sea level. Being in Vancouver gave me access to a lot of high altitude adventures but not always the altitude training I needed to do them. These mountain environments were more accessible in Vancouver though than if I lived in the Bay Area. It was time to go though. As I descended, I reflected on the week's events. I mused about the fact that I had spent two days lying in my tent yet pulled off a 23 hour day. That seemed really crazy.
Arriving back at the parking area, the Volvo looked the same as when we left - wrapped in chicken wire with the duct taped front bummer. I threw my pack in with everyone else's then took my seat behind the driver. I spent most of my way back to Golden, gazing through the window, thinking about mountaineering. I had been doing this for how long? It was 2010 and I had started in 2002. 8 years under my belt and look what I've done! So many great trips. This particular one definitely ranked as one of my favorites so far. So many things happened in that week. I'll treasure it for many years into the future.
Getting back to Golden, our first stop was the grocery store. As I stepped inside, I checked in with my stomach. It was directing me to the produce section which made sense, I hadn't had anything but processed food all week. I was surprised though to find myself picking out carrots, celery, and radishes. Why not apples? Bananas? Grapes? Well maybe I would take some grapes too. Before I got to the counter, I located a sink to wash everything off. I couldn't wait for the freshness to hit my tastebuds. Having satisfied our cravings, we loaded ourselves back in the car. The drive home was uneventful. 8 hours brought us all the way back. We arrived at the apartment about 10 or so. Time for a good sleep before starting another week at the office. No one there would know what I'd been through. No one there would fully understand anyway and I was okay with that.
Looking out over the Valley toward Snowpatch Spire
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