Yes, it is great to get that early season tick and bragging rights, but the risks are high for the inexperienced. Inexperienced? Think before you ice climb and have an honest look at your skill set, gear and abilities.
by Alden Pellett
Ice the size of suitcases crashed down the face in the hot sun. I hunkered below a rock buttress, standing off to the side of 20 Below Zero gully. I had just gotten down off a neighboring route and the sun was increasing in intensity. It was only the middle of November, but I was already climbing classic lines at Lake Willoughby!
At the same time around the Northeast, fellow climbers were also ecstatically sinking tools into early season classic ice like the Black Dike at Cannon cliff in New Hampshire, Grand Illusion in Vermont’s Smuggler’s Notch, and Chouinard’s Gully at Chapel Pond in the Adirondacks. The ice had formed excitingly fast over the past few days.
I stood chewing on a crushed peanut butter sandwich. My crampons scratched on the bare ground. Boom! An acrid smell filled the air as a toaster-sized rock crashed down the slope fifty feet away. It felt more like March than November. Now, right before my eyes, the season seemed to be deteriorating almost as rapidly as it started. I quickly packed my lunch away, grabbed my gear, and hustled through the fallen leaves down to my car.
Back at home, a day had gone by. The forecast did not look good. It was clear that the temperatures at lower altitudes meant some of my favorite climbs hadn’t stuck around. I was given an amazing early taste of winter and was depressed at the thought of having to go back to merely dreaming of steep ice. I fired up the wood stove and sunk into my couch, aimlessly browsing social media. Trump, ‘snowflakes,’ North Korea, gun control, blah, blah, blah. None of it seemed to matter. I wanted my ice climbing back, and my out-of-shape, old-man calf muscles from the past couple of days climbing weren’t helping me forget it.
The Mur des Crapaud Wall in Parc National des Grand Jardins in Quebec. Photo by Alden Pellett
Suddenly a glimmer of hope flashed across my computer screen. A Canadian friend to the north posted photos from his own weekend outing. The big crags in the background of some of his pictures had long runnels of shaded ice snaking over five hundred feet down the faces. In another image, steep yellow ice flowed several hundred feet down to talus and trees. I had seen these classics in the ice guidebook for Quebec, but would the ice still be there? Smiling faces in his warm, sunlit photos told me, ‘No,’ but hope flickered there. I checked the forecast. I sent a message. I read the guidebook. I sent another message. I got up and put another log on the fire and sat forward on the couch. His answer came. It was “Yes!” The climbs should still be there! My fingers working quickly, I sent one more message and my buddy Ryan replied. He had time off too and was game for heading north. We would escape this warm up by driving north of the border.
Ryan Stefiuk steps lightly on the brook crossing to reach Mont Gros Bras (Big Arm) in Quebec.
The Parc National des Grand Jardins (Great Gardens) lies about an hour north of Quebec City, traveling through farm country to the quaint tidy town of Ste.-Urbain. This 120-square mile park is loaded with boreal forest, wildlife, tundra, and scenic granite faces.
Wednesday morning, the alarm goes off at our Motel in Baie St. Paul. Ryan fires up the Jet Boil to make hot tea for the day ahead. We had arrived at 9 p.m. the night before, spending an hour sharpening tools and prepping gear before hitting the hay. After wolfing down a speedy breakfast at the ubiquitous Tim Horton’s, we were chomping at the bit to hit the park and see if our chosen routes were still in. I point my old green Toyota van out Highway 138 and start out of the valley. Farms like patchwork dot the way. Dairy cows line up for morning milking, standing in a green hillside pasture grooved from decades of this daily ritual. Passing through the tidy town of St. Urbain, we take a left on 381, winding uphill toward the park. Encouragingly, the early light of day reflects off small ice flows in the hillsides. Straight ahead, our goal, the beautiful granite dome of Mont Gros Bras, ‘The Big Arm,’ comes into sight. Easily viewable from the highway, I slow down, and Ryan cranes his neck to look at the big face. It was Game On! Now all we had to do was see if we dared climb the thinly iced corners.
Ryan Stefiuk leading up pitch 1 of P’tite Tête, WI4+R,M6R, on Mont Gros Bras in Parc National des Grand Jardins in Quebec.. Thanks to thin ice, we found the guidebook rating was harder than the actual conditions we encountered. Easy mixed and thin ice at 4+R. Photo by Alden Pellett.
According to Guides des cascades de glace et voies mixtes du Quebec by Stephane Lapierre and Bernard Gagnon:
Notable winter routes:
“P’tite Tête,” WI4+R,M6R. 175M.
“Gaston et mademoiselle Jeanne,” WI4,M5R. 180M. Just to the right of the previous route.
“All Fine,” WI4+,M5R. 180M. This is the left-hand side of these obvious corner systems in the central part of the cliff.
“Hals und Beinbruch,” M6+. 230M.
Approach: Cross the road next to a yellow ‘500M’ truck sign, and look for orange contractor tape marking a route through the woods, crossing the brook, and then trending up the right of the talus field below the main cliff face. The woods above get fairly dense and steeper the closer to the cliff you get. This appears to be the easiest path to and from the cliff face. Trust me, we didn’t come down that way and it was a nasty bushwhack.
Notable winter routes:
“Convention Collective,” WI4+R. 90M
“La Retour des Crapauds (Return of the Toads),” WI5+R. 130M
There are a number of appealing corners of thin ice, turf, and mixed corners that have been climbed to the right of this route.
Alden Pellett leads up pitch 2 of the mixed route, “P’tite Tête,” on Mont Gros Bras in Parc National des Grand Jardins in Quebec.
Ryan Stefiuk heads up the crux headwall on “Retour des Crapauds”(Return of the Toads) on the Mur des Crapauds Wall.
Pitch one of the ice climb “Retour des Crapauds.” in Parc National des Grand Jardins. It gets a WI5+R in the guidebook. We found conditions much easier, more like WI4+(WI4R).
There are places for lodging in St. Urbain but we chose to stay near the bigger town of Baie St. Paul for a better selection of restaurants and services.
Baie St. Paul
You can spend between $75 to over $156CDN per night.
Hotel des Cascades – Offers what is probably the most inexpensive night’s lodging. No frills but clean and right near downtown. Recently redone rooms.
Hotel Baie St. Paul – Much along the same vein as des Cascades. Inexpensive but fairly clean and near enough to downtown.
Hotel and Spa Le Germain Charlevoix – Pricey, but pretty inclusive. Restaurants onsite and more.
Tim Hortons for a quick breakfast, of course. it is just down the main drag in town. There is a McDonalds, too. Check out a few of the local restaurants if you have time for a sit-down breakfast.
Joe Smoked Meat – Pleasant interior. Good inexpensive sandwiches on the menu plus a spaghetti plate with sauce. Get it with the smoked meat plate if you want a good but different-looking meal. 😉
There are a number of very nice eateries along the Rue Ste. Jean Baptiste in town like Le Cafe des Artistes. Check them out!
* Zoom, Scroll and click Icons for Information & Driving Directions
You might also like this post by Ryan Stefiuk: A Road Trip – Newfoundland 2015
The Headwall on November 9, 2017. The Sound and The Fury is left-center. (Photo: Nick Bullock)
Raphael Slawinski on The Sound and the Fury. (Photo: Bayard Russell)
The Sound and the Fury is a rare former on the Stanley Headwall reminiscent of an early season route you might find in miniature at Cathedral, Frankenstein or Poke-O.
Read about the ascent in Nick Bullock’s crafted words with more photos and videos here: Escaping the Alligator
Bayard Russell is an NEice Ambassador and part owner of CATHEDRAL MOUNTAIN GUIDES. Cathedral Mountain Guides is a New Hampshire climbing guiding service founded in 2008 by American Mountain Guide Association certified guide Bayard Russell, Jr. and now run in partnership with local guide, accomplished alpinist and Piolet d’Or Recipient, Freddie Wilkinson. 
We had some eyes on the condition of two early season prizes in on Wednesday the 8th! A close look at Pinnacle Gully revealed some unconsolidated and thin, but hopeful, frost and ice. No rock pro options that morning led to a ‘No Go’, but with temperatures remaining frigid, it may be climbable soon! I’m sure the motivated will head into Huntington Ravine this weekend.
Pinnacle From Afar (11.8.17) . Photo: Gary Reuters
Pinnacle Up Close (11.8.17) . Photo: Gary Reuters
No doubt Cannon Cliff will get a close inspection as well. We have a ‘from-the-road zoom in’ to the dike area and Fafnir. Who will be enticed to take a walk up and peer around the corner?
Fafnir (11.8.17) . Photo: John Mallery
The second follows the runnel pitch on an early season ascent of the Black Dike. 11-10-17 / www.facebook.com/CannonCliffFranconia/
In Vermont, it’s currently snowing on the higher peaks and I know a few climbers who only need a millimeter of ice on the cliffs of Smuggler’s Notch to make it go.
A look at our Instagram feed shows crampons to ice! @willclimbz posted a sweet pic of Slide 1 on Whiteface in ‘Thin But In’ conditions. Right on!
Slide 1, Whiteface. Photo: Will Roth
We certainly had some warm temperatures in October and my usual Halloween ice was far from happening this year. Now temperatures are remaining below freezing up high for a few days leading into the weekend. Finally! Hope to see some great photos and reports of ascents coming in. Have a great weekend!
By William Bevans
I climbed smoothly and efficiently through the initial ice bulges on what started out as a bumpy cauliflower pitch of AI3. Not long into my lead on the first technical pitch, I came to a small ledge and took that opportunity to shake my arms out and rest while I looked up for the line of least resistance. It was early morning and the sun just peeked over the horizon. I was perched on the beautiful and tough East Face of Mt. Kidd in the northern Canadian Rockies. The air was dry and cold. Light winds raked the face with snow that had fallen from the prior day. The feeling of being an climber high up on such an amazing line in that setting was a very visceral experience. With my thoughts collected and a small recharge of energy, I moved off the ledge and into a small chimney. I worked the chimney with a series of stems, being content and focused in the moment; finding comfort in the noise of clanging metal from a full rack of screws and ice tools. I laid solid foot placements with my mono-points, working the cracked limestone well, continuing to move well and without issue; and then suddenly, it just happened. I looked down and saw I was quite a distance from my last piece; I then looked up at the remainder of the chimney. It looked grim. What began as good, solid ice thinned into a translucent coating frozen to the rock; verglas. I could see the green lichen underneath the clear coat. Nothing was protectable. I had one leg loaded onto a mono point, my other leg fully extended keeping my stem position. I knew I couldn’t hold it for much longer and I knew I couldn’t down climb.
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It’s coming. Soon it will be the end of October. The sky will be getting dark early, the air will be crisp and we will be waking up to frost all over everything. This combination sparks New England climbers to morph and begin preparing for the ice season ahead. Whatever we did all summer will slowly go to the wayside; we’ll begin scouting cliffs, sharpening our metal, pouring over weather maps and waiting for that steady spell of cold. The winter climbing community will awaken from months of slumber to make trips into the high ravines to see if Pinnacle Gully is in or wait to see who is brave enough to scrap the Black Dike first. Shortly, most of us will be sitting at our 9-5 and get that text from our partner, “You think it’s in? You wanna go?” The beginning of many of our weekend or midweek warrior epics will be here before you know it.
Last season, I saw some amazing climbing feats go down; ones that I wish I could have been a part of but ultimately decided I couldn’t be. It was never easy to volley the text back to my partner and admit my truth: “Sorry, just not feeling it.” or “I just can’t do it.” That was the first winter in over two decades of climbing where I had to turn down a number of trips. I knew I didn’t possess the head game required to climb at those high levels.
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East Face of Mt Kidd, Alberta, Canadian Rockies
It was November 2016. We were in the Canadian Rockies. The season was still young, and like any of us, I was trying to shake out the cobwebs and get on some good pumpy alpine ice. In the Can Rocks, it’s imaginably cold, there isn’t much daylight, the approaches are long, the mountain weather is serious, the terrain is highly technical and the climbing is tough as shit. You can easily see why climbers that hail from this region are absolute beasts. We drove along the dark, cold and snowy I-93 Icefield Parkway just outside Banff. It was some obscure hour in the morning and a natural silence filled our drive. On our docket was the East Face of Mt. Kidd, which may only have seen one successful winter ascent. I found myself trying to get my head straight. ‘Am I gonna be ok? Am I fit enough? Am I really prepared on all fronts to bivy a night out if need be? What the fuck am I actually doing here? Why am I not surfing in Costa? How bad do I really want this? Does this just sound like a good, bad idea?’ I found myself waging the proverbial alpine war, asking myself the tough questions I rather just avoid. You don’t know what’s coming. You don’t even know if it is climbable. You basically have to be as fit as possible and try to battle up it first go the best you can.
“I was surrounded by verglas and caught tight inside this chimney. My eyes moved over every inch of rock and ice as tried to make sense of every possible move sequence I could commit to until I was in a spot of safety.”
Questions unanswered, I began the approach with my partner, working as smartly and efficiently as we could, as there wasn’t much in the way of a trail. It was dark and still very cold out. No matter how much we tried to keep our packs light, they still felt heavy. My body was trying to acclimate to the aches of climbing after a long summer of surfing. Moving along, we tried to make sense of a path by connecting obscure recesses of dirt between patches of fresh snow. I knew if we just got off the trail a little bit, it would set our game off and we’d start doubting things. The calm pre-dawn was interrupted suddenly by an avalanche barreling down the south face of Kidd. Although there was nothing to be seen, the sound was unmistakable. It took a minute, but we shook it off and started moving again. We crossed glacial fed creeks, and trekked in the forest along beautiful, massive cedars and larches as the smell of fresh pine filled the air. We started to feel our engagement in this mission come to life. Our senses filled with adventure and peace from the natural beauty around us. Once the light broke, we found ourselves greeted by the intimidating East Face towering over us in full winter ware. The approach was behind us, and it was time to get real as we started the technical terrain.
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Climbing light ice in Mt. Blaine Canyon
As climbers, we are interested in the grades or ratings of our climbs for they allow us to gauge our ability and give us a somewhat quantitative measure in our advances. We also want to get better and climb harder. Like many young budding ice climbers, I was quick to work up to WI3s and 4s but truth be told it would be many years, hundreds of routes and countless hard lessons before I climbed into the next realm of WI5. Any climber can attest that between these two grades, the parameters change significantly and I would certainly attest that the head scare factor significantly increases in that jump. Being a good climber is one thing; we all know those who climb well have skill, sound technique, and usually an above average degree of fitness. But what does it actually take to climb larger objectives with significant difficulties? Arguably, a climber’s mental strength and conditioning is usually the single most important factor in their potential and their capacity to be successful on advanced difficult climbs. The training regimen or composition of what makes a mentally strong alpinist is not completely understood or it is esoteric at best. A climber with advanced mental conditioning who has committed to creating a bulletproof head is capable of solving complex problems while staying task focused, operating in pretty terrifying conditions all while remaining calm.
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I was surrounded by verglas and caught tight inside this chimney. My eyes moved over every inch of rock and ice as tried to make sense of every possible move sequence I could commit to until I was in a spot of safety. Committing, I went for the “do or die” move. Then, I caught a little spindrift and goofed my placements. I remember hearing metal clang all over like wind chimes while I fell. Several meters of air time passed me by before I bounced off my rest ledge crushing my shoulder. The ledge slowed my fall, but I continued down another 10 meters until I finally, just stopped falling. Hanging there, I remember doing a quick motor drill like, move toes, move fingers, blink, blink, you good? I’m good. I’m good! No major injuries, a few cuts and the adrenaline flowing hard. Now what? Head game damaged, ego beat up a bit and feeling a little humble, I pick myself up and my partner and I limped it back out to the car. Hiking out, I began thinking of the consequences should things have ended up worse. What if I couldn’t walk out? What if this? What if that?
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Mental conditioning could be the single most difficult trait for a climber to improve on. This is especially true after a serious accident, as our climbing psyche can be left damaged, weak or fragile. This is the side of alpinism that we tend to glance over; the psychological and the mental strength dimension of being a climber and specifically, getting back on the sharp end of the rope after an accident. Sometimes our egos get in the way and we don’t talk through those issues. I didn’t really know the extent of how was I affected by my fall until I went climbing in Mt. Blaine Canyon the next day. I get in, everything is looking good; nice grade 3 cruiser. I hop on, start climbing and a few feet up it all starts coming back. I fire in a screw and signal to my partner, “Just lower me.” This would be my head for most of the remainder of the season. At this point, after so many years, countless trips, expeditions, big walls, alpine assaults, and high altitude objectives where I enjoyed the complex head game of being an alpinist, the incredible focus climbing gave me; it all seemed over. After my fall, I got my first taste in what it is like to have lost my head game.
“Years later, I still remember that day vividly and respectfully consider it one of the most important lessons I have ever learned; acknowledging and respecting where your head is while climbing.” How do you get your mental game back once you feel it slipping away? A few days later, right across the way from my mishap, in Ghost River Valley, a local climber fell 40 meters on the climb Kemosabe (W4). Luckily his partner, a physician, was able to stabilize him to the best of his ability and initiate a cooperative air rescue. I was deeply moved by this accident as a 40 meter fall is no joke and it was close in time and location to where I fell. He and I stayed in contact throughout the year and we spoke recently about re-evaluating how much risk we are willing to put into climbing. We discussed how similarly our paths forward would be; focusing on moderate climbing with much less emphasis on difficult routes and naturally working back up into difficult routes down the road. Climbing used to be a major part of who I am and a significant priority in my life but as I approach this upcoming season, I’m seeking a healthier balance. I need to acknowledge that I recently kissed the edge of what could have been a much more serious accident. As for retraining the mental strength required to climb such lines, a good start for me is not forcing anything and to trust the natural process.
Rescue on Kemosabe. Courtesy of Kananaskis Country Public Safety Section Rescue
An incident that touched closer to home was when highly respected and accomplished Adirondack guide Matt Horner took a serious 20 meter fall last winter shattering several bones in his face. Matt has rebounded quickly and in recent conversation stated he is eager to get back on the ice anticipating only minor tweaks in his game like placing more pro, climbing more cautiously but ultimately no major plans but to go with the flow.
The first major incident where I witnessed a partner lose his head game was a few years ago on an expedition. My partner was an accomplished climber, having ascents on several of the world’s great difficult lines. He is humble, smart, fit and was destined to be a natural and successful leader on our climb. We climbed together for a solid month and I believed we would work seamlessly together to succeed in our upcoming trip. After so much work and several weeks on the go, we finally made it to base camp and we were ready to climb. In Himalayan expedition climbing it is mandatory to complete paperwork regarding the disposal of your body should an accident occur resulting in death. It’s actually quite a head trip to fill out. As we stood staring at the 7,000-meter Himalayan beast in the face, he simply said to us that this wasn’t his trip and he was out. It was the first time I saw someone back down like this, a career defining trip left to the wayside; a sixth sense telling him to walk away. Years later, I still remember that day vividly and respectfully consider it one of the most important lessons I have ever learned; acknowledging and respecting where your head is while climbing.
A mentor imparted on me that climbing in the mountains is really all about how much you are willing to suffer and the answer to that is all in your head. I never really understood that until I started to put together the common themes among my trips; shivering all night in a bivy, eating tasteless gruel day after day, post hole, soul sucking marches across summit fields, being scared shitless 30 feet above your last piece, freezing on a belay ledge and hoping your partner is down to rope gun the crux. Anybody who has done this type II kind of climbing knows that it’s a very deep, inward experience and it’s barely as romantic as it appears on Instagram. It is the type of grind we as climbers are proud of, that gives us character and always has us coming back for more. Everyone has their different reasons why they climb, but our common thread is found in our processes. No matter what discipline you climb in, no matter where in the world you climb, climbers across the world speak the same language. You can climb anywhere in the world and most outings begin and end with striking similarity; morning coffee, catch-up on the approach, a stoked first tool placement, enjoying hard earned views and who ever guns the crux drinks for free that night. For me, many of the toughest and grueling experiences I have been lucky to be a part of have forged the strongest relationships in my life. The dedication to our craft arguably makes our collected commitment to alpinism one of the greatest activities in the world. Co-workers say to me “You’re crazy doing that.” I say “You’re crazy, you watch football all day Sunday.” I really don’t know any other way so I guess crazy is all relative. So as the saying goes “most people prefer comfort forgetting that difficulty is what actually nourishes the human spirit.”
The season is starting soon and we will all be shaking out our summer cobwebs, checking conditions, pondering where the ice is good and trying to put all of the data together to plan a good, safe outing. For newer climbers, trust the process, stay patient and allow your learning to flow through the high and the low points. If you come up short on a climb, don’t let it shake you, everyone has been there. Re-think a different, smarter approach. Learn from your mistakes and always be open to learning from others mistakes. Alpinism is a lifelong study that never ends. There is always something to improve upon. Learn to trust your gut and remember that most of climbing is mental and it’s not any easy game. Remember that everyone at one point or another has had some time where their head wasn’t in the game. When you’re out there, be safe, check on each other, climb within your headspace, have fun and make smart calls so you can rope up and climb another day. See you out there!
About the Author: William Bevans is a New England based alpinist with over 20 years of experience in the mountains. His studies are concentrated in the area of technical alpine climbing and high altitude mountaineering. He has completed climbs and led expeditions in the Cascades, Rockies, Alps, Himalayas, Andes and big walls in Yosemite, Zion and Mexico. Currently he is involved in mentoring next generation alpinists and climbing the New England classics.
Other articles by the Author: Layering 101
The leaves are starting to turn and the nights are cooler. Soon we will enter another season of ice climbing and I am excited. This marks the 18th season for NEice.com
At the end of last season the site was hacked by spammers. After days of work, over many weeks we finally cleaned up the infected files and code. But the cleanup has left NEice severely crippled. One big issue is the Forum and Photo Post are down and need to be reinstalled.
It’s time for a total remake of the site and I need help. More importantly I looking for a partner. Someone or Organization that lives and breathes Northeast Ice Climbing. They would help with the site and eventually take over NEice.com. I am looking for a Partner and Two Interns to help with the site this season.
The NEice model was based on how things worked pre Facebook and Instagram. When I started NEice phones did not take photos and were not connected to the internet. I was one of the few with a digital camera. The new site will take advantages of the latest social platforms and technology. I have many other ideas and need help implementing them.
It is time to rethink NEice from the bottom up.
If you are interested please email me at neice.com@gmail.com
Requirements:
• Experience with Word Press
• Experience in crafting articles for web sites
• Connections to the Northeast Ice Climbing Community
• A never-ending obsession for ice climbing
I also need donations to help with the cost of reinstalling the Forum and Photo Post section and other expenses to upgrade the site.
Please help by donating to the site. Make a Donation to help rebuild NEice
I hope to have the new site up by the end of October 2017. Just in time for the ice.
Thank you
Doug Millen
Ryan solos up some Grade IV ice in Madison Gulf. The first technical ice of the traverse
Michael Wejchert, Ryan Driscoll, and Justin Guarino take New Hampshire’s presidential range traverse to a whole new level. – The Technical Traverse.
by Michael Wejchert
I pulled over on the side of the trail: a spot I usually stop with clients to enjoy a lunch break on the third day of Presidential traverses. The rain kept pouring down. We were soaked to the bone. I unzipped Justin’s jacket just a little bit, bent over, and heaved up 400 calories of salami, a liter of water, and the coffee I’d forced down four hours earlier. Ryan and Justin collapsed on their packs. I zipped the jacket back up and wiped my mouth.
“I don’t think I got puke on the jacket, Justin.” It was my first time climbing with him.
Killian Jornet isn’t likely to visit the White Mountains anytime soon. Nobody’s drawn to spruce traps, or short ice climbs, or knobby little summits with weird buildings on top. The terrain isn’t sexy, or long. New Englanders are really great at ice climbing, or climbing on granite, but we’re bad at long days in the mountains; if you want a long alpine day, you’ve got to get really creative. The trick lies in trying to do a lot with a little.
One day, while pouring over the ice-climbing guidebook, I came across Kurt Winkler and Doug Huntley’s “Link ‘em Up,” an enchainment of ice climbs in the Presidentials over three days. I was also deeply impressed with Alan Cattabriga and Gabe Flanders’ efforts to link three ice climbs with a full traverse, from Webster to Madison.
Justin and Ryan about to summit Mt. Clay
King Ravine, Mad Gulf, the Great Gulf, Huntington Ravine, and Tuckerman’s, all ravines with established climbs, in addition to the nine summits of a standard guided winter traverse: 5,000 feet of climbing or mountaineering, and 27 miles of hiking. I started calling it the “Technical Traverse.” It’d take three days; you’d need to carry a firstlight, a sleeping bag, and food. But then again, while trail running in the Tatra Mountains of Poland a few summers ago, I came across the account of Slovakian Dodo Kopold’s nonstop traverse of the Tatra Mountains, linking up climbs and summits; out went the bivy kit. You’d just need a stove to stay hydrated, a pair of ice tools, crampons, microspikes, (it’s New England), and a puffy jacket!
For three years, I dreamed about pulling off the traverse. Only in the spring, with good snow and perfect neve, would it be possible. Normally, the temptations of clipping bolts in the sun won out. But this year I tore the labrum in my right shoulder on a sport climb. I’d have to hold off on rock climbing until I got surgery, which I opted to do in the springtime. So I just ran a lot, sometimes logging forty to sixty trail-running miles a week. As I guided mountaineering courses and presidential traverses throughout the winter, I piled weight in my pack, often carrying upwards of 65-70 pounds for hours on end, and my legs transformed with that specific mountain endurance you can’t get from Crossfit or trendy stadium workouts.
The warm-up last week was heartbreaking for ice climbers and skiers, and for anyone concerned about our environment. It devastated our snowpack. I went from skiing fresh, perfect powder to guiding in the rain. But it also meant that, if it got cold, even briefly, the entire range would be coated in perfect alpine neve. There was a short window where the temperatures were slightly below freezing, and the wind was quiet enough to warrant speedy moving. Problem was, it would only last about twelve hours before turning to warm, freezing rain. But, if we finished our last climb, we could always suffer through a little rain for the last nine miles of easy walking.
We started hiking at 7:15 a.m., figuring it’d be better to get a full night’s sleep than start super-early. We were in for plenty of night climbing, anyway. We forced ourselves to go slowly up the Valley Way trail, then dumped our packs to drop into Mad Gulf. It was potentially the cruxiest part of the day, but we raced down before the warm sun began melting the ice too much. The ice climbs in the Madison Gulf are awesome: perfect, warm sticks and a beautiful setting. We picked the one Kurt Winkler and Doug Huntley had done on their traverse—a great WI4 line. We trudged up corn snow and summited Madison. Four hours. Good. The sun beat down. We drank from ice melting off the roof of Madison hut, and continued on down into Great Gully in King’s Ravine. This was our easiest climb, and next time I’d opt for “PF Flyer,” something more difficult, though that climb requires bushwhacking that we didn’t have time for. More meltwater, a trudge back up the 600-800 feet or so, to summit Adams. We moved over Jefferson, down into Sphynx col, and spent an hour brewing up more water and eating. Nine hours in. We summited Clay, and dropped into the Great Gulf, and down-climbed perfect neve. We each picked a fun little mixed rib to climb up—the climbing was so much more enjoyable than the hiking, especially without packs. The terrain was classic, easy ravine climbing, with turf-shots, ice, neve, and little mixed bulges. We front-pointed back up to Clay and slogged up Washington. By now, fog was setting in, though it was still clear enough to see town sporadically.
At nightfall, we summited. “We are about to enter the Upside Down,” said Justin, quoting the Netflix show Stranger Things. As the darkness fell, our legs would feel a little more tired, and everything would feel a little bit harder. We down climbed Central Gully into Huntington Ravine, and started up Pinnacle. It was undermined, and actually kind of scary, especially after twelve hours of moving and having three people soloing at the same time. We carefully picked our way up so as not to break the old ice and fall into the waterfall below.
Ryan climbing Pinnacle gully by head lamp
We texted our respective significant others to let them know we were alright, hiked across the Alpine Garden, and bailed into Right Gully in Tuckerman’s Ravine. Another brew stop, taking advantage of the running water by the Ranger Station. We had initially planned on climbing a mixed runnel up the Boott Spur, but we were so exhausted that simply climbing up Hillman’s Highway was good enough. It was ten o’clock. We all felt nauseous as we crunched up the long, terrible slope. The second we reached the top, it began to rain.
We’re in it now. I pulled the GPS out. We couldn’t see fifteen feet. The Upside Down. We’d always thought it’d be over the second we topped out Tuck’s – a victorious slog to the road. My GPS died as we reached Lakes, and we took a compass bearing from the sign. It took us nearly an hour to find the hut from 0.1 miles away. I’ve been there hundreds of times, more than that, in all sorts of weather, but I’ve never encountered fog like that. I headed in a general direction to reach Monroe, where the trail gets easier. I was completely soaked through in my Houdini Jacket and soft shell pants. The down puffy in my pack wouldn’t help much, either. We went from cairn to cairn. If I couldn’t find the trail, I’d yell “Stop!” and the Rhino would hold fast to the last cairn and we’d stretch out as far as we could see each other—a hundred feet or so, and sweep around. It got easier as we wove down the Crawford path, but each time we stopped, I’d start shivering uncontrollably. We were all pretty darn close to hypothermia.
“Michael,” said Justin. “When’s the last time you ate or drank?” He was right. Having three people was starting to seem like a good idea, if for nothing else besides a little bit of control. He gave me his synthetic jacket—a lifesaver. A slog with tired legs over Eisenhower and Pierce, some vomiting (I’m always the one to vomit), and then all we had to do was force ourselves down to the Highland Center. It got warmer in the trees, as the windy, sideways rain gave way to mist. We arrived at 3:30 a.m., twenty hours and fifteen minutes after starting. We’d done it! Ryan started to get excited, “You could do a hut-to-hut traverse with ice gear, and end on the Black Dike!” But, after driving back home, soaked to the bone, all I wanted to do was sleep.
A few more photos:
[ngg_images source=”galleries” container_ids=”74″ display_type=”photocrati-nextgen_basic_thumbnails” override_thumbnail_settings=”0″ thumbnail_width=”240″ thumbnail_height=”160″ thumbnail_crop=”1″ images_per_page=”20″ number_of_columns=”0″ ajax_pagination=”0″ show_all_in_lightbox=”0″ use_imagebrowser_effect=”0″ show_slideshow_link=”0″ slideshow_link_text=”[Show slideshow]” order_by=”sortorder” order_direction=”ASC” returns=”included” maximum_entity_count=”500″]A large size map of the Technical Traverse in PDF by Marc Chauvin
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Playing Pachinko on Mt- Webster
February or April? The month started off great! Plenty of snow and ice to climb. But, right after some epic snowfalls and great skiing, things went south. It started to feel more like April than February. A day or two of warmth is normal, but a week and a half of record warmth and rain took its toll. Spring came early and devastated the ice climbing in many areas. Winter temperatures are returning this weekend but it may be too late for most climbs to recover. Keep an eye open for the rare visitors. “Omega” on Cannon cliff has been found in great shape even in April. It’s time to follow the weather, look in the shaded gullies and up high. Be ready! This is the Northeast, and we are not done yet!
Tendonitis – Feb. 26, 2017 – Uploaded By Brandonian / NEice Photos
Ian Osteyee, owner of Adirondack Mountain Guides says, “Everything is so fat; it’s all still there.” The back side of Chapel Pond and the North Face of Pitchoff are both areas that still have ice to climb. Routes like “Chouinard’s Gully”, “Crystal Ice Tower”, and “Tendonitis” are still in. Osteyee did caution climbers about crossing Chapel Pond though, after this warm spell, saying, “areas next to the shoreline may be open or have thin ice where you could break through.” So, even if temps drop to zero, people should check ice thickness before just walking across to climbs on the other side of the pond.
Mountain guide and owner of Alpine Logic, Silas Rossi – “I’m as close to 100% as I can possibly be that there won’t be any ice to climb in the Catskills for the rest of the season. Time to rock climb in the Gunks!”
Mountain guide at Northeast Mountaineering, Matty Bowman – “I’m finding ice quality to be very mixed. In places it’s building, like early season, and other spots, it’s dry, brittle and rotten. The bottom of Parasol ice was plastic, while the top was brittle, with lots of channeling from the thaw.”
“Huntington was in good condition. We found good ice on the first pitch of Pinnacle and great snow climbing up higher. Lots of water channeling on the upper pitches, including some thin eggshell sections over running water and large holes from the thaw. Other gullies looked good. We saw parties in Damnation, Odell’s, etc.”
The Frankenstein Amphitheater last weekend. – Matty Bowman
“”Frankenstein” is pretty much out. I guided there last Saturday and we canceled Sunday. The ice was undermined and top-outs were horrendous. We could not see anything on the walk in, but walking out the amphitheater was completely falling apart. Pretty grim.”
IMCS – International Mountain Climbing School – “We’re getting into my favorite month on Mount Washington: March! Lots of snow up high, milder temperatures, and longer days transforms the little cirque into a skier or alpine climber’s paradise. It seems like March goes quickly and we only get a month of prime conditions. 
We had a great mountaineering course this week; here are daughter Brandi and mother Melissa descending the East Face snowfields. We glissaded to treeline. I’ve got some BIG plans for the rockpile these few fleeting weeks: how’s about you?” – IMCS, Facebook
“This was unlike any other Feb thaws in that it was a full re-set in most areas,” said Doucette, owner of MountainSense Guides in New Hampshire, who described the damage done due to the prolonged warm spell. ““Dracula” and “Standard,” some of the last to go, were not what I would call a safe bet these last few days.” But, he added, “Now it’s cooling off again, I’d go for supported features at elevation on cooler aspects – north and east-facing.” Now that it’s March, the sun will have increasing effect and that‘s something climbers need to keep in mind, emphasized Doucette.
Doucette encouraged people to look at Mount Washington, Smuggs and Cannon as probably the best bets aside from a few north-facing crags for a while. “If folks are mixed climbing, I’d bring a full rock rack and expect to anchor with that, or gun for the trees! There may also be a lot of verglas in cracks, so favoring stoppers, pins, and hexes over cams for their reliability. Any times conditions change rapidlym you have to be that much more prepared for the unexpected.”
Conditions were rough last weekend in Smuggler’s Notch. The rain and 50 degree temperatures this week has that area basically starting over, and it will mostly be dependent on whatever forms in the coming cold snap.
Lake Willoughby flows are hurting, to say the least. Parts of “Mindbender,” WI5+, lay in the ditch by the road Sunday morning. But, surprisingly by early Tuesday morning, things were starting to look exciting as a couple lines that rarely form, like “Five Musketeers” and “Aurora,” had come in overnight with the cooler temps and lots of water flow. Unfortunately, they fell down just as quickly as the strong morning sun came over Mount Pisgah, and baked the dark rock. By that afternoon, the thermometer was at 42F, and I listened to ice and rockfall echoing loudly as I safely skied the woods on Mt. Hor across the valley.
While there is some ice hanging around still on upper parts of Willoughby routes, it’s all detached and dangerous. After temps drop in the next day or two, who knows? Some cool stuff could form quickly again. If you decide to head there, bring your rock rack, all of your stubbies and a good dose of courage. – Alden Pellett
Found winter…after a 13 hour drive and lots of rain in southern Quebec. Plenty of time to read, and by read I mean decipher the French guidebook. A post shared by Keith Sidle (@capt_crabwalker) on
It may well be worth the drive up if you have time, and are still in the ice-climbing mode. There is still plenty of ice up there to climb. Check out “Climbing a Dream in Newfoundland,” Joe Terravecchia, Will Mayo and Anna Pfaffs’ new mega-ice route.
Also, check out “The Unseen Sun” by Nick Bullock, where he and the b’ys find adventure, friendship, and hospitality in Newfoundland.
Cold weather is headed our way. So cold, it’s going to hurt after these 50 degree days. It may bring in some rare visitors if you can brave the chill. Running water is everywhere, but it may be too late for a lot of climbs. The sun is high and warm this time of year.
March 2017 temperature outlook. Areas not shaded have an equal chance of above- or below-average temperatures. (The Weather Company, an IBM Business)
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A post shared by Ragged Mountain Guides (@matt_shove) on
When all else fails, get ready for rock climbing. Jon Sykes new guide book is out. Pick up a copy and get ready for some rock climbing adventures.
Featured image: Matty Bowman finding wet rock and just enough ice on the traverse of the Black Dike, Franconia Notch NH – Photo: Mike Pelchat
The Mountaineer and Whiteface Mountain are combing forces to unleash the Inaugural Whiteface Ski Mountaineering Classic! This is a benefit event, all proceeds from the Ski Mountaineering Classic will be donated to NYSEF and The Keene Valley Ski Club.
Where: Whiteface Mountain Located on Rt 86 in Wilmington, NY
Registration: We will offer registration the day of the event but we prefer (for planning purposes) to Please call the Mountaineer to pre-register 518-576-2281
Start Time: 7AM The green flag drops and you’ll start the 4+ mile course!
Cost:$60 per participant. Fee includes uphill pass valid through the end of 2018
The first annual Mt Washington Backcountry Ski Festival is a gathering in the White Mountains of New Hampshire for backcountry skiers & riders of all abilities. While geared towards backcountry skiers and snowboarders, climbers should check out these parts of the festival:
*** NEice readers can use the code of “nei10” to get 10% off their registration. The code expires March 9. Full details and registration options can be found on the website and Facebook page.
https://www.skimtwashington.com
https://www.facebook.com/skimtwashington/
Your ice climbing connection for New England, the Northeast and Beyond!
