Deborah

After a total failure in the mountains it's difficult to say anything.  Yes, we tried, pretty hard, to climb, but we suspect it was -40 in basecamp and as rock climbers, Elliot Gaddy, Bayard Russell and I love all our fingers and toes.

The full story?  Thanks to the American Alpine Club's Copp/Dash award, Sterling Rope, Nemo Tents, Outdoor Research, and Ibex, we landed in the Hayes Range on April 2nd to attempt the unclimbed South Face of Mount Deborah.  During three days of freezing cold (but not too cold) weather we skied to the base of the face intent on finding a safe route.  

These three days of reconnaissance were vital to our understanding of the place, its snow patterns, and potential routes on the unclimbed South Face and their prospective dangers.  After 48 hours of watching and waiting, we skied over a pass to scope out a descent.  Back in base camp we geared up to make an attempt on the face, but bad weather stymied us for five days.  

An arctic front settled over base camp after the storm.  Our feet froze, our sleeping bags were sheathed with ice, the hot sauce congealed.  We dreamed about being warm.  But we also dreamed of Deborah: restlessness saw us packing to head up to our Advanced Base Camp.  As soon as the sun went down the three of us huddled in our -40 and -20 sleeping bags and all the clothes we brought, the alarm set for four.  We couldn't think of how technical M7 climbing would be possible.  

I told Bayard I'd never been that relaxed before trying a route.  He said he felt the same: we reasoned we were too busy trying to keep warm to worry about what lay ahead of us.

After some hours of sleep and many hours of melting water we started skiing towards the face.  I have never encountered cold so intense.  None of us could feel our feet.  The day before, the white gas in base camp had refused to light in the morning.  Every five minutes of skiing forced fifteen of foot swinging and jumping jacks.  We wondered what it would be like on the ridge, blowing, 6,000 feet higher.

Bayard prudently turned around to warm his feet up.  Elliot I, greener and eager, continued for another half-an-hour or so before we, too, sprinted towards Advanced Base Camp in order to save our feet.

I am wracked with guilt about not getting on our route; to have such an opportunity and squandered it leaves me feeling adrift.  I have not slept much since our return.  But I suppose we can take solace in the certainty that climbing would have resulted in frostbite.  

Some people fail by not getting off the couch.  Others fail by freezing to death in their tents.  Ours was a failure: total, absolute.  But one we returned from unscathed.  

Paul Roderick flew us out the same day.  "February conditions" had settled over the Alaska Range.  My intrepid Danish friend Kris had climbed a route in the Kichatnas during the "warmer" weather window.  He reported -23 degree tempetures on the summit.  All three team members suffered from frostnip.  Our good friends Peter Doucette and Silas Rossi reported similar "unclimbable" conditions in the Ruth Gorge, though the lads are still in the mountains, and will hopefully get a chance to climb! 

My favorite part of the trip, besides the requisite Fairview outing, was flying back with Bayard.  We got back to North Conway on a sunny, 60 degree day.  Rick Wilcox grinned ear to ear when he saw us back, as did everyone else.  Hugs, smiles, pats on the back: what a way to come home.  Freddie Wilkinson, Bayard and I went sport climbing the next day, toes intact.  But, gasping for the next quickdraw, I keep thinking about a return.  I've just come back from my second "Deborah Training Run."  Great things take time.

The project has weaseled itself into our subconscious.  I'll be back.

And now the photos.

Here it goes again.

Bayard's house, midnight or so.

Freddie's hanging scale of lies.

Elliot waits for his bags.  Always stressful. 

Maps are a good thing to have I guess.

The greatest bar in the world.

"A wretched hive of scum and villainy." -Obi Wan Kenobi

Last time I was here I went skinny dipping.  That was last time, though.

Hipster bikes and kitties.

Beaver the cat is really cool.

That's a nice looking kitty!  (Okay, okay, now its one of those dreaded cat blogs.  It could be worse.  I could be talking about my feelings on the internet.)

We became incredibly comfortable taking showers and making coffee while Talkeetna Air Taxi tried to do their jobs.  It was awesome.  Photo by Bayard.

Elliot did a great job getting us in there.

NH Union Break! [ed. note.  Peter and Silas probably don't have union breaks.  Too good.]

Bayard unfurls a brand new Sterling Photon.  A good rope, especially for fans of Science Fiction.  Which we are.

Picking a line.  No obvious solutions.

Elliot is the guide's guide.  This guy makes Shackleton look like Elton John.

Union break!

The only day we could have skied in our woolies was the first day. 

Building walls for our advanced base camp.

New England craftsmanship.

Getting ready to ski over the Yanert pass to scope our descent.

Getting cold.

Moki tent stuck in a storm.

The storm warmed things up.  Elliot gets in deep with the sharks.  Russell hustles.

What WOULD Voytek do?

Normally this snow would be avalanching everywhere but it was too cold when the weather broke.

A good loft day. 

Digging out ABC.

In two puffy jackets. 

The night before our attempt.  No photos from the morning because it was too cold for bare fingers.

Me on a typical morning.  Photo by Bayard.

Warming up at base camp, waiting to fly out.  Over it. 

Bayard reunited with Bailey and his grigri.  Happy non-campers!

      

The Wilford Finish (To Ice Season.)

Peter about to go hog wild: Wilford Finish to Super Goofer's.

The alarm went off at 5:30 a.m.  

"UNNGH!!!!"

Staggering downstairs, I pushed aside empty PBR cans and groped for the french press.  The high school themed party (I never thought I'd dress like a guidance counselor before) was a rollicking success.  While I wisely stayed away from whiskey and other such temptations, my room, located 15 feet away from the epicenter of revelries, afforded little chance of rest.  

Let's just say the optimism and excitement that usually welcomes in the ice season is gone by March.  But with Alaska trips coming up, Peter Doucette and I thought it'd be good to stay sharp.  While most friends are clipping bolts in the Red River Gorge and planning for the spring's rock objectives, I've been trying to maintain winter climbing ability.  Note: "trying."

Peter doesn't try though: he just does it.  Seeing the guy bail is like seeing a bald eagle in the wild.  It doesn't happen often, and it's so rare sometimes you forget to savor the moment.  So after I forgot the ice screws in the car, we decided on the Wilford finish to Super Goofers, which has only been done, well, once.  [note: Kevin Mahoney and Ben Gilmore have corrected us.  Kevin has guided the thing-more than once, of course.  Don't know why I let this one slip!  Sorry, everybody.]

Obviously, there was no need to figure out who was leading the crux pitch.  Dreaming of the food and infinite Netflix possibilites I would encounter at my parents' house later on that day, I belayed the guy as he started up.  

Peter takes his time climbing.  Where most of us would see a blank wall, an iced up crack, impossibility, he waits until he's figured out every possible angle, patiently trying them all to see which ones work.  After placing six pieces below the crux, Peter tapped his way out onto the ice, carefully moving alongside the serpentine crack.  Without a chance of getting gear, he focused on the delicate climbing.  The ice up top started to fracture away and there was a touch-and-go moment, but after a time I heard a whoop of exhaltation.

"That got...PRETTY REAL."  Peter shouted from his belay.  No argument here. 

I took it to the trees, and we rappelled down to try another thin variation near the big flush.  This I thrutched up, and we climbed yet another turf pitch (the best one in New Hampshire), laughing at how filthy we were and how ridiculous it was to be having fun on a climb covered with frozen beer cans and other such vice-ridden detritus. 

Starting up into the thin ice.

Of Torques and Fog.

Peter skins up the trail.  Lots of snow still up there.

Yesterday I was supposed to do some work for a friend but Peter Doucette called.  This was good, because I had been thinking about trying a line I had spotted earlier in the season.  It could go, and be brilliant with ice tools and crampons.  Or, it could be a total mess.  Peter and I have climbed a little bit together this year and it's always pretty neat to watch him climbing.  I'm lucky to have partners like that to run ideas by, pass leads to, and be patient with me.

OMG Bigfoot!  A MOG Mired in the Mist.

We skinned up to Huntington Ravine in deep fog.  I am not a skier.  Skinning up was fine, though.  I started up the first pitch, when we found it: slabby mixed climbing off the deck with good torques, and then twenty feet of overhanging rock.  I bailed: time for the professional.  Peter tried it, taking a few times to sew up the tricky gear placements.  

The next pitch was amazingly fun.  Never harder than M4 with perfect tool torques, swinging into mossy, icy cracks, and more gear than you'd ever need: this was what I envisioned.  Peter led another pitch: a tricky hand crack, and was forced to the left, away from our intended line.  

Peter following.

Me leading.  Photo Courtesy Peter Doucette.

We rappelled: something I had been dreading, because it meant that I had to ski back to the car.  Good gravy, was I horrified!  Peter switched into guiding mode as I wobbled and fell my way down to Pinkham Notch.  Today I can barely walk, but it felt good to get out and into the swing of things again.

Nothing like total mist to make something feel alpine...

Movement.

Nils competing in the Ski Alpinism World Championships

I got this email from my buddy Nils Nielsen the other day:

Cool with grant and Hayes Range.

Yes, I've converted to skialpinism.  Well, we'll see how long it lasts.  I did one race in Norway and then I was suddenly qualified for the world championship.  I couldn't say no to that.

This weekend I did Norway's hardest cross-country race.  90 km and 2000vertical meters. That was badass as well. I was third until I broke one pole and had to do 14(!!)km with just one pole. Finished 24th out of 800. Not too bad.

Climb HARD, look GOOD - safety third!

Nils

Norwegians.  When Paul Roderick dropped Joel Irby and I off into the Ruth Gorge in 2009 there was only one other party there.  Norwegians Nils Nielsen and Eiliv Ruud.  I remember Joel whispering to me as we built our snow cave: "those guys are better than us."  For the next 10 days we literally followed everything they did: Try a new route on peak 747?  Gotcha.  Go for Shaken, Not Stirred in a push from the Ruth Gorge?  Done.  (We were 6-7 hours slower than them, despite Nils and Eiliv having set up all the rappels).  We did the 3rd and 4th ascent of the route Wake-Up, a classy route if you're ever in the area, by the way.  Following Nils and Eiliv's tracks, we were still two hours slower than them.  The day after we climbed Wake-Up Eiliv and I teamed up and simul-soloed Freezy Nuts on London Spire in 2.5 hours round trip.  I was gasping the whole time.

Every once in a while you meet people who change your perspective.  Joel and I had planned simply to climb Ham and Eggs on the Moose's Tooth.  We walked away with pretty good taste in our mouths.  I had learned more in 10 days about moving in the mountains than some years of climbing.

For the past few weeks an ascent of Mount Deborah has loomed in my mind.  And while I'd love to keep working on M9 mixed routes and getting scrappy on Cathedral and Cannon what I need more than anything is movement.  A reminder that speed is safety.  Normally I feel pretty good about my cardiovascular fitness but with the amount of technical climbing I've done recently I feel quite strong but unable to move.  Nils' background is in nordic skiing, which we have plenty of around here.  I've logged some long days on skis and soloing moderate routes in Spantiks.  This will probably continue until Alaska.  

For me, finding time to complete an actual training schedule is absurd.  It is for most people.  Whether your objective is Pinnacle Gully or a new route in Alaska, being prepared is insanely important.  I try and hurt myself on workouts.  Running up to a route at Frankenstein's or skating uphill, I visualize the amount of suffering I will be going through on the upper snow slopes when my arms are tired and I'm cramping because I'm dehydrated and all I want to be doing is sitting by the fire with my computer and a cup of coffee.  

Fridtjof Nansen.  A well-prepared lad!

I recently finished Fridtjof Nansen's account of his time in the Arctic: Farthest North (an old recommendation of Nils')  The expedition was visionary but mostly what struck me was how well-prepared they were.  This seems simple: to familiarize oneself with systems before one leaves but it's amazing how few people actually do it.  To strike out across the Arctic in sleds and kayaks, living off the desolate landscape was natural to Nansen and his companion, Johansen, because they had done it in Norway countless times

Training is valuable because it gets us used to suffering.  The mind is most important.  If Nils goes back to technical Alpinism it'll be pretty neat to see what he's all of a sudden capable of. 

Icefest, Timmy Dittmann Visits, and a Break.

Me on Repentance.  Don't ask about the face.  Either I am whistling or trying to do blue steel.  With focus like that how can you drop a tool? (Photo by Tim Dittmann)

Oh god.  The big guns were in town: Renan Ozturk, Nick Bullock, etc.  They came over for icefest and while it seemed like fun to go climbing I was sleeping on the office floor dealing with client cancellations and guides and only occasionally remembering to eat another bagel from the Frontside Grind for sustinance.  Dwindling hours of sleep and countless slideshows honestly didn't really get me excited for ice climbing. 

In fact, I wanted to curl up on the couch and watch stupid movies or read.  

Tim Dittmann was in town though, straight from Colorado.  We've met on several expeditions and the guy can climb.  We romped up Repentance...I dropped a tool, the start of a lingering sickness, and followed, hand jamming in BD punishers between ice holds.  Tim, bless his Boulderite heart, kept the rope tight as hell.  I started coughing more and more.  Hrm.  Perhaps three-four hours of sleep, constant climbing, work, and a lack of food might get me sick?

"You can hike to ice climbs over covered bridges?"  Oh, yes you can.  And more.  Me and Peter on the Kanc. (Photo by Tim Dittmann)

Airborne stock depleted, we planned on Omega.  It's not really something that you can wait on, and hell, a fever's probably the only thing that'll keep you warm at the belays on Cannon, anyways.  But our buddies Matt McCormick and Bullock were also planning on an ascent, which they did.  Not the place for a soiree, those Omega belays.

Drool of the Beast.

Tim Motherf*#king Dittmann gets what he came for.  Photo by Peter Doucette.

Fortunatly, Peter Doucette (Handsome Peter, Petey Ducketts, etc) called with a backup plan.  Usually when Peter Doucette calls I don't eat much because I'll just be dry-heaving it up in the morning, scared out of my mind anyways.  Yes, even following.  If you think that's silly that's because you've never climbed with Handsome Peter before.

Tim shrugged.  

"I'm game for whatever."  

So we met in the parking lot for Way in the Wilderness.  I hacked up more pleghm and tried to keep up with two massive blond MOG's as they strode purposefully towards the Kanc classic.  Alright, Wejchert, you can be sick tomorrow guiding.  Just not right now.  Tylonol and a positive attitude.  Let's do this!  Still, I was pretty happy when Tim led Way in the Wilderness.  He had a fair amount of cleaning to do, and did a great job hacking away.  

"They don't have this in the 'Rado, boys," he yelled. 

We messed around on some mixed stuff for a little bit.  It was one.  Poor Tim, he only had one more day of climbing.

So we drove to Drool of the Beast, which Peter had warned was "a little heads-up."  Having just seen Peter and my roommate Silas' film of Alaska climbing, I wondered if Peter's definition of "head's up" and mine were the same.   

My head swam.  I felt like I was at altitude.  Does dropping ice screws off of your ice clipper help head's up climbing?  No.  I lurched my way up the thin stuff and finally got to a suitable place to bail, which we did.  Next, two days of guiding, and a much-needed rest day.  

Last week my good buddy Tristan and I went skate skiing.  I felt like death, and realized I needed to stop all this ice climbing nonsense and start training.  As I told Erik Eisele, "If it's fun, it's probably not good training for Mt Deborah."  

So...I've quit ice climbing.  Well, kind of.  A run up Hobbit Couloir, Chia, Sandard Route, and Dracula's wet, steep, right side (what is it, vacation week in Mass?) kept me occupied after work today but the endurance is pitiful.  What I need is more skiing: a lot more.  And that's fine, because I've become a little burned out after 26 personal days of climbing this season.