Fiasco 97 - The Plan

Lotus Flower Tower

by Mark Sanctuary and Grant Else

An account of the climbing adventure of  Mark Sanctuary and Grant Else in the Cirque of the Unclimbables, North West Territory, Canada. - August 1997.

Written November 1997 by Grant Else and Mark Sanctuary... Published in Canadian Alpine Journal 1998.

Plain Text : Mark Sanctuary
Itallic Text: Grant Else

The Plan:

Things were looking grim for Fiasco 97!

I had been hoping to go North this summer and tick off one of those boxes on my big list of things to do. The Lotus Flower Tower had caught my eye in a friends book of “50 Classic Climbs…” way back in the days before I knew what a lay-back was. Now that’s a LINE!  I’m not a hard climber and I’m not a sport climber; I just like to get out into the back country and have an adventure every now and then. I climb regularly in the summer but have never been obsessed with the game. The LFT aint that hard! I figured I could free climb at that level (5.10c max and mostly below 5.9) and if it got too hard I could aid past the tricky sections. I’d been living in Vancouver B.C. for a couple of years and I hadn’t got around to seeing much of the country yet. This would be a great opportunity for an expat’ Ozzy to see some of the "North". I really like traveling but for me its much more fun to be traveling to or from an objective, rather than just for the sake of it.

I’d been gathering information on the LFT in my random sort of way for the last couple of years (since I moved to Vancouver), and I had planned on finally doing something about it this summer. However I needed a climbing partner for this one. Its not like climbing “The Nose” on El Cap’ where you can just role up in Camp 4 in Yosemite, stick a note on the board and “bingo” have partner, will climb! No; this is real back country stuff. Whoever you go with had better have their head screwed on and you better get along well with each other, since its likely to rain a lot and a if you have a falling out, the tent can get very crowded. You also need someone who you can rely on to get you out if there is an accident, and who has the money and commitment up front to pay for flight bookings. In general your average sport climbing jock just won’t do. So with all this stuff in mind I had been looking for a partner for over a year and had come up empty handed. People had the skills but not the personality, or the personality but not the money, or the money but not the time … Looked like I would have to wait another year… Bummer!

I was lamenting this fact with one of those qualified friends without the time and he suggested another acquaintance that I had done a skiing/mountaineering trip or two with. I had not been aware that Mark was into rock climbing as well. By all accounts he was the right sort of fellow, and my friend seemed to think his climbing was at a good level.                  Some one give me a phone!

One phone call later  -- Hmmm he sounds remarkably positive about it! Looking for something to do for a Summer trip, Leading 10b or so, Money on hand, Time depends on work        OK

I rapidly pipe off some email with proposed trip details.

We go climbing the next 2 weekends  - Great guy, Good sense of humor, He climbs well.

His work gives the go ahead.

I send off a credit card number to the flight company

Good Lord the trip appears to be on!

Time is short.

We arrange a planning meeting:

Over a beer and a burger we decide the important details: - Your tent, my rack, You don’t have a car - OK my car!

Wham 4 weeks after that phone call I’m picking Mark up at 6am on a Saturday morning  in Kits’, and we’re going North.

 

We left Vancouver with a loose plan to climb the Lotus Flower Tower.  A granite wall rising 2300 vertical feet above an alpine meadow.  The climb is rated at 5.9 A1, or  5.10c.  This is an alpine/back-country rating, quite different from your typical urban crag ratings, as I discovered... eventually.   The plan was to drive up to Watson Lake, catch a bush plane into Glacier Lake, hike from the lake to the base camp in the cirque with all our gear, and climb the wall over two days.  The climb involves 20 pitches of moderate to difficult climbing, pitch ratings vary from 5.7 to 5.10c.  There is a bivy ledge 10 pitches above ground.  The first day would be spent getting to the bivy ledge, we would have a haul bag with our extra food and water and sleeping bags.  The second day, we would leave all the extra gear on the ledge, and climb the remaining pitches to the top.  To descend, we would rappel the route.  The first three pitches are notoriously wet and slimy and we planned to aid them. The rest of the climb we would do our best to free climb.

We gave ourselves 10  days in the cirque; two days to get to base camp, two days to get out, 2 days to climb, and a 4 day contingency for bad weather.  At the end of our ten days, the float plane would return to pick us up.  And then we would have three or so days to make it back to Vancouver, in time hopefully to resume our normal lives as engineers.

The Approach

And so it began.



 

Personal Climbing gear pile, and the "rack" of ropes and rock protection pieces.

Day 1- August 16th, 1997:

We drove.  
No kidding, we drove for 12 hours straight from Vancouver to Hudson Hope.  We slept at one of those free campgrounds maintained by the forestry service.

Day 2 - August 17th, 1997:

We drove.  My butt was getting sore, the AM radio stations were few and far between, my jokes and Grants jokes were turning stale, and were more often than not, repeats.  But we drove from Hudson Hope to Finlayson Lake.  Finlayson is 250 km or so north of Watson Lake via single track dirt road.  We arrived at the lake late that day, and camped by the road.

Well the drive up went smoothly enough. I was quite worried about the reliability of my little Subaru. I had only owned it for a couple of months I had already had to replace the clutch, the battery and the alternator. Statistically this 2300Km drive should bring out a few more serious bugs! No such luck (bad luck that is) We made it all the way there with barely an stutter (the loose wheel incident was quickly rectified and didn’t really pose much of a threat to our lives). In truth the drive up was probably the biggest “group dynamics” test of the trip! The car has no CD player or tape deck, only a radio.

 --- YOU BUFFOON!  YOU’VE KILLED US ALL!! 

I don’t want to criticise those radio stations up there, but well, they have “both kinds of music” , and that’s all!

We  survived the combined onslaught of country music, road maintenance crews, endless hamburger meals and hours behind the wheel. After two days we got to Finlayson Lake where a float plane would pick us up tomorrow I think? - or was it today? Ahh   deal with it tomorrow, just tell Mark confidently that its all in the plan. He’ll swallow it! Now for some sleep.

Day 3 -  August 18th, 1997:

It was a wet night and when we got up the weather still seemed rather displeased with our presence. We stretched and scratched and had a bit of a look around  - No plane to speak of! From here there was no way we could contact anyone, but there was a wooden dock and some stuff lying around that hadn’t rusted all that much so we figured we would just sit tight and see what happened. Sure enough an hour or so later we heard the drone of an aero-engine and a float plane landed on the lake and nosed its way over to the dock. I was rather excited and had to make a big effort not to assault the poor pilot with a barrage of questions delivered at warp speed. - Time is different out in the sticks and there is rarely  a n y  r u s h , s i n c e  i t  w il l  a l l  g e t  d o n e  e v e n t u a l y. We loaded the plane up with our rapidly sorted kit and thundered off into the sky  -  Tally Ho!

The plane when it arrived was a vintage Beaver from the 1960's, powered with a single  9 cylinder piston engine that churned out a whopping 450 hp or so.  We loaded our gear, and took off for a 15 minute flight to a hunting/fishing lodge.   To our surprise, it was quite a posh affair with a real rustic atmosphere, stuffed heads of game hanging on every wall, a pool table, a Jacuzzi, and a four star chef who cooked us a fabulous lunch.  What a deal! and it was all included in our plane ticket. 

We spent about three hours at the lodge playing pool, reading and relaxing before the pilot loaded us on the beaver again.  We took off towards Glacier Lake in the North West Territories (We were currently in the Yukon  - not that it makes much difference around there).  The weather wasn't great for the flight, the clouds were quite low.  The clouds were in fact lower than the tops of most of the mountains in the area.  The pilot flew us through winding valleys, over barren tundra and sparse forest.  There were caribou trails everywhere, though we didn't see any actual caribou.  

The country we flew over was quite sparcely treed. The trees, conifers, were short and there was a lot of moss and lichen about. Apparently the lowland area around the lake is the wintering ground of a heard of Carriboo. The lichen is their primary winter food source. - Cool!

The flight to the lake took about an hour and the country started out as very green. As we climbed the trees disappeared, then the green became more of a yellow, then the vegetation turned to rock scree and finally we were over a glacier. We were over a glacier by not much at all! As we had been climbing the cloud base had stubbornly remained where it was. We were now at cloud base and only about 50 feet above the ice. We were hemmed in by rock walls and it was all jogging by at about 90Knots  (180Kmh). We dropped down a bit on the other side of the pass and followed the valley around towards Glacier Lake.

Al, our pilot did us a huge favor and flew us into the cirque so we could catch a glimpse of the Lotus Flower Tower.  The cirque was a tight fit for the plane to fly in, and the towering granite cliffs threatened to tear the wings off our little plane, but through some fancy flying at low speeds, we managed to get our first real view of  our climbing route.  The first thing that came to my mind as I gazed at the wall; "that is big and steep and scary looking,   -  Whose idea was this!". The couple of seconds of view were followed by quite a few more of wildly rotating mixtures of rock and sky and grass  - Lots of fun! 

We landed at Glacier Lake, unloaded the gear, and told Al to pick us up on the 28th of August unless he heard otherwise from a climbing party that was to be picked up on the 21st. So Al and his beloved Beaver took off into the overcast sky, and I said good-bye to the last chance I had to back out of this fiasco.

There were in fact three other groups in the area of the cirque; a group of four Americans flying out on the 21st, another group of Americans flying out on the 28th (with us), and a group of Germans??? we aren't sure if these Germans actually exist, we never had an actual sighting, but apparently they were in the area.

Well lets see about this gear then. I could just about fit it all in the haul bag if I really try but then the thing will weigh a ton.  We have decided to do the main load run up to the meadow in on trip. We will take all the hardware and enough food for five days or so. That way if the weather is good tomorrow we are set to climb immediately and if not then we can come back down and pick up the rest of the food and some photography gear. So I leave some of the stuff behind     - The bag still weighs a tone!   No big surprise  really. One of us has to take the haul bag instead of a regular back pack and the task falls to me. Its a big Fish Grade 6 haul bag, it has no frame and the harness is quite basic. The thing looks like a water heater and it weighs about that much too!

 I’m starting to get those little warning bells that something unpleasant is about to happen.

The first part of the trail  (the level part) to the base of the creek coming out of the cirque is through very lush temperate forest. There are dozens of different sorts of fungus and moss and almost as many different berries. If I knew what I was doing this place would be a feast. The trail is in very good condition - No problems except for the burden of the “water heater”.

The trail then turns North, heading up the valley side through a terribly unstable tallus slope below  the 4000 vertical foot face of Mount Harrison Smith .  About a week before we arrived, there was a nicely marked and well traveled trail up through the tallus.  But that was a whole week before we arrived... apparently a block of granite the size of a small battleship peeled away from the face of Mount Harrison Smith and creamed the trail, and most of the tallus slope, not to mention a good number of trees along the valley floor.  The dust didn't settle for a day.

We get onto the tallus slope and everything is covered in grit and everything is fresh rock surfaces (no moss or lichen to be seen) and everything is VERY loose! Some of these boulders are the size of Volkswagens and they move when you lean on them  -VERY UNCOOL!! This is not a good thing when you are tottering about with a pack weighing more than half your weight, but things could be worse  - It could be raining  - Oh Yeah  -it was raining as well now.

We picked our way through the unstable rock of the tallus slope and it began to rain, and the bugs got worse, and we were both super exhausted, and the top of the tallus just didn't seem to be getting any closer, and I was wondering again what the HELL we were doing there.  Hauling gear to a base camp is one of those necessary evils I guess, and I am too proud (and poor) to let a helicopter do the work for me, so I kept my mouth shut.  Another factor was Grant and I had decided that throughout our trip, we would be forbidden to "blubb".  That is we weren't aloud to complain about things over which  we had no control, such as "I'm tired" or "My pack is too heavy", etc..  Of course we still reserved the right to raise the alarm if things were going badly, for example "the bear is eating my leg off and it hurts get him off me", there is a fine line between blubbing and expressing genuine concern.

We struggle up under our gravity amplifiers for a couple of hours and then flop onto a really big rock that does not appear to move. We have a drink and catch our breath and rub our shoulders and look at each other as if to say “How come you got the light pack” and try not to notice the fact that we are only about half way up this tallus slope.

After five hours with monstrous loads on our backs, we made it to Fairy Meadows.  It is a lush green alpine meadow surrounded by towering sheer gray walls.  Large and small blocks of granite pepper the meadow, and bubbling streams fill the air with a constant "gurgle" and from high up (from the top of the Tower for example), the streams look much like the capillaries of a maple leaf, gathering the water from the oh so frequent rain storms that sweep through the area.

Of course I didn't notice any of this as we first arrived, the only thing on my mind was set up the tent, eat and sleep.  Luckily, the group of four Americans were leaving early, and so we were able to grab their camp, mercifully tucked away from the rain beneath an overhanging rock/boulder roof, forming a sort of "cave".  We cooked, we ate, we slept the sleep of the dead!

Day 4 - August 19th, 1997

We spent the next 30 hours sleeping/eating/sleeping/resting. We got to know the second group of Americans camped in another "cave" a couple hundred yards away.  There were three guys, all college students about my age, or slightly older, and we got along really well with them.  They had climbed the Lotus Tower a week or two before and they had lots of good advice and stories, which we were very eager to hear.  Throughout the day, we were in the clouds, and the rain poured steadily from the sky, which was fine with us because we were to  tired to do much else besides sit around.

The other group of Americans had also made an attempt at the tower a week before.  However they were unsuccessful, due to a series of mishaps.  Two of the four did manage to spend a night on the bivy ledge, and climbed two pitches above the ledge on the second day before bailing off.

The Germans... well we aren't really sure what happened to them?  everything we know about them is hearsay because neither Grant nor myself actually met them.  Apparently there was a party of two Germans in the area who planned to climb the Lotus Tower.  They were seen camping halfway up the valley, in the middle of the dangerous tallus slope?  They were told that the cirque was still an hour or two climb from where they had stopped. They responded with "they liked it there". Ya right! They also had a portable bivy ledge, and they weigh a ton! they were told that there is a spectacular bivy ledge half way up the wall, but they maintained that the bivy ledge was more comfortable.  Ya right! We also saw gear along the trail, stashed in the trees, a rope here, a rack there...  slowly (I have a small and slow brain) a picture of their situation formed in my mind. And this picture was confirmed later by an American who spoke with them.  They admitted that they were unprepared, and they hadn't realized the area was so remote.  So they flew home early, having never even set foot in the cirque.

Towards the end of the day the weather did lighten up somewhat, and Grant and I decided to make our way over to the base of the Lotus route.  We brought our climbing gear with us; lead rack and 'draws, personal gear and three ropes.  We made our way up the cirque, about a one hour hike across scree, moraine and glacier to the start of the climb.  Along the way, I banged by knee quite badly, OW!  The first three pitches are described in the guide as "awkward 5.9".  We found the start of the climb, I craned my neck rolling my eyes higher and higher to take in the line of the route.  I felt very small, very unprepared, and full of doubt at my climbing ability. All we could really see were the first three pitches, the route followed a slight but consistent overhang, and because of the rain, was terribly wet and slimy.  Thankfully, Grant is more level headed and experienced, and he set about organizing the gear, and analyzing the route. I was inspired by his collected example, and so closed my gaping gob, steadied my trembling knees, and cried "Mon dieux! what have we done." 

Back at the tent that night,  I dreamed of climbing.

I’m not sure what hour of the day I woke up but it didn’t really matter. The rain had continued throughout the night and I had been aware of the drip dripping in my subconscious for some time. It was not a climbing day! Good thing too, since my body was trashed by the water heater and the tallus. We eventually emerged from our tent and shoveled food into our heads. We eased our way over to the neighboring Americans camp sight and  introduced our selves. They were a nice bunch and had already done their obligatory ascent of the LFT. We drained them of all their relevant info’ on the route and traded tales of expeditions past in the time honored campsite tradition. After that we headed back to our camp site for MORE FOOD and sorted out our stuff. The rain had almost stopped now so we decided to do a gear run up to the base of the LFT and scope out the approach. We headed up through the grassy cirque into the “third cirque” (the main cirque has four tributary arms and the LFT is in the third one). This was a lush little haven with babbling brooks that gave way to the morains I was expecting. The morain then gives way to the toe of a glacier at the base of the tower. The tower its self had occupied our vision for the last 30 minutes of the approach. It rises up out of the glacier from a broadish base becoming an elegant spire as it rises. The effect is amplified by the foreshortening of our ant like perspective. We could only see about half of the face since the section above the bivy ledge was enveloped in clouds. The whole of the lower face was covered with streams of water and I don’t mind saying it was all rather intimidating. Still not much to be done about it today. We had a good wander about and stashed the climbing hardware under a boulder at the base of the route. Then we headed back, both wondering if we were up to the challenge that lay ahead. We did a lot more wandering about in the upper cirque on the way back and made it back to camp in time for MORE FOOD. The weather seemed to be getting better and those little bells were at it again. This time they were saying “Tomorrow is the day”. 

Half Way Up

Day 5 - August 20th, 1997.

We woke early, and saw the weather was clear and bright, with hardly  a cloud in the sky. "Looks like the day to do it", we rushed over to the base and were ready to start climbing by around 9 am.  After a "hard man" photo of me decked out in all our high tech climbing gear I began to lead the first pitch. 

Pitch #1, #2 and #3:

 I realized very quickly that I was carrying a lot of gear, and that it was VERY heavy.  All told, I was trying to lead this pitch with about 30 to 35 lb. hanging on me.  I got about 80 feet off the ground, got off route, and took a 20 foot whipper as I tried to down-climb back to the route, pulling Grant way off the ground.  Calmly Grant said "got you" as he was wrenched off his feet, he's so cool.  I was shaken.  It wasn't a terribly difficult climb, but I was not being cool.  I was intimidated, excited, tense, I was feeling our isolation, and the magnitude of our climb,  and all these things together compromised my climbing.  I told Grant to lower me, and I suggested that he should lead the first pitch, since it would be a couple of minutes until I recollected my frayed sense of confidence.  I mean it is 5.9! and I was freaking!  how the hell could I expect to make it up 20 something pitches.

Our plan, was to aid climb the first three pitches since they are typically wet.  But Grant led the first pitch free, and then lead the second and third pitch on aid.  It took us a painful wet 4 hours to get through those first three pitches. I jugged up behind Grant, and Grant hauled our gear.

Pitch #4, #5, #6 and #7:

Above the first three pitches the climbing eased off a lot.  The next four pitches are rated at 5.7, and despite a bit of a slow start for me on pitch #4, Grant and I lead confidently and comfortably.  The rock was relatively solid, and it felt great to have my hands on the rock, the protection was really good, and the sun was shining.  And already, at pitch #4 the views and the exposure were breathtaking.  We made good time, going at about 1 pitch an hour, slow but we were hauling a bag through a chimney and it was god awful hauling.

Pitch #8:

I lead over an easy section of grassy ledges and up to a corner below the bivy ledge.  When I realized that I was just below the ledge, I was SO happy!  strength anew flooded into my arms, and I led the layback 5.9 with about as much style and grace as a hippo ballet dancer, but considering how tired I was, I felt like a hero as I pulled myself over the last move, and up onto this ritzy bivy ledge that could easily sleep may be 6 people in a pinch.

We awoke to a beautiful clear dawning sky. Those bells were right. We had a quick breakfast and packed our sleeping bags and clothing for the climb into packs. Everything else was already at the base of the route so our procrastination options were pretty well exhausted and we had no choice but to scuttle off through the grassy meadow in the growing light.

We got to the base of the climb in short order since we knew the route from yesterdays gear run and our packs were very light. By now the sky was big and blue and we were feeling pretty good about things. We looked at the first three pitches and decided that the first one would go free but the next two would certainly need aid. The face was generally dry but the corner and the cracks were either damp or still dripping.

This being the case and me being the only one with any aid climbing experience we decided that Mark should lead off and then I would aid the next two. We lashed on our shoes and slung the gear and jugging equipment and water bottles and wall hauler and … By the time it was all ready we were each festooned with about 30 lbs of gear.  Hmm this should make leading interesting.

Mark headed off up the flakes in good style, with the occasional comment about them being damp but progressing well. Then he took a line that I didn’t think was too promising, but hey, he’s the one on the rock and things often look different from the comfort of the ground. 
...Apparently not!  since the frequency of disparaging comments was increasing and Mark decided to come back down a bit to try a different line. Fine by me, I don’t think I could hang on for very long on ground as steep as he is on at the moment... Apparently he cant either because all of a sudden he’s flying and the rope is singing  VERY UNCOOL; then  I’m grabbing and locking off and now I’m flying too! Everything comes to a stop and we look at each other and wait for our hearts to settle. I had grabbed at the load side of the rope as well (gut reaction) and had burned the skin on several fingers. Not good since I was already rather light on for finger skin from clambering up that fresh tallus slope. Still, No blubbing! I’ll just have to deal with it   - my own stupid fault anyway. We decide that it might be better if I lead while Mark gets his head back together. I totally  understand since I absolutely HATE falling myself. Its probably one of the main reasons I don’t often climb harder than 10a.

Anyway I lead up on a line that seems to work for me and yep those cracks are mighty wet. I haul the bag up to the first belay and Mark comes up too. Then its time to aid. I haven’t done this stuff for about 3 years but the line is only A1. The next two pitches go very slowly while I get my aid thing together. I forgot what aiding was like!

S L O W! 
I finally make it around the 10a roof at the top of the 3^rd pitch and set up the station on good bolts. Its now 11am and we are way behind schedule. Mark is good to go and heads off up the 4^th without a hitch and now we are into the chimney. The rock is good and solid, with bolted belays and heaps good pro. The climbing is easy and only a bit grubby in places. Normally we would probably symal-climb this sort of stuff but we have the pig to haul. And Oh Boy is it a PIG!  The “water heater” gets stuck at every opportunity and we are really working hard to go as fast as we can.

Hey  Mark  - Remind me not to haul in a chimney again!

Onward and upward. The light is fading now but we are very close to the bivy ledge. Mark leads off on what I hope is the final pitch and it seems to take forever but finally I hear a distant “safe”  (long pitch) and up I go, chasing and encouraging the pig past the many obstructions. I am greeted at the lip of the ledge by a blood stained hand reaching down out of the dusk to help me up onto the platform.  Safe for the night  -  but that was the easy day. The hard stuff is tomorrow!

The bivy ledge:

There we were, completely exhausted, sore, hands raw and bleeding, toes aching, but nonetheless absolutely totally exhilarated.  The views from the ledge were spectacular, and as we ate our high fat, high energy lightweight and tasteless food (actually Grant had a big can of Puritan Beef Stew, hardly lightweight but it definitely looked tasteless), we took in the scenery, the stars, the sheer cliffs, the valley floor now 1200 feet below us, the streams shining silver in the moonlight.  They say a night on the ledge is a spiritual experience, and I totally agree.  Above our heads, the second half of the climb stretched over us, so steep and sheer, it looked like it might fall on us.  But we would deal with that part of the wall tomorrow, all we wanted to do now was stare around in wonder, eat, drink and sleep.

The night was clear and cold and the wind was light. I slept several good chunks. I’m a fitful sleeper at the best of times and normally in a location like this I would not get any sleep. However I was totally exhausted from the days efforts and sleep was easy. I woke and the sky was getting light  Already? I’m still way too tired! On closer inspection the light is in the wrong place OK so its the moon  - No the moon has set. Ooooo Ahhh Aurora. Not the bright colours that people like to bandy about in their stories but very cool non the less. Curtains of mostly white light across one horizon and waves of light coming and going above that. There was a tint of green to it and the show went on for a fair while. I told Mark but he just sort of grunted and stayed under his bag. It kept me interested for some time but I just fell asleep again in the end. Some time later I awoke to the real dawn and the new days challenges.

Boy was it cold. The Americans had said that the frost level was dropping down to just above the bivy ledge and it certainly felt like it this morning. We shoved energy bars into our heads and got our gear organized. The sleeping bags were stuffed into the haul bag and it was left on the ledge behind a boulder so that the wind couldn’t dislodge it. Just as an after thought I lay it down and moved it away from the rock wall - in case it rained.

To The Top

Day 6 - August 21st, 1997

Morning came so quickly, and as I prepared myself for our second day on the wall, I felt sore, tired and stiff, but the excitement and anticipation of the climbing that lay ahead numbed these feelings.

Pitch #9

Another layback corner rated at 5.9+, unfortunately the crack had not dried out completely so it wasn't a terribly pleasant lead, and  I resorted to "French" aid on a number of occasions.  But I was rewarded at the top of the pitch with a perfect little belay stance.  It was a little ledge, with an earthen seat, and a pair of bolts conveniently placed for maximum ergonomic efficiency. 

This was the last such ledge on the wall, above us, the  route took us up a sheer wall, punctuated by two overhangs.  I appreciated this belay plenty because after this comfy  belay we would have nothing but uncomfy hanging sling belays.  I sat on the belay seat and looked behind me,  I got my first taste of incredible exposure.  Behind my seat, the wall dropped directly to the cirque floor, over 1200 feet below me, it was an incredible and wild sensation, and as the sun shone and the wind blew through my helmet, it felt so good to be alive and climbing, and OK, I was also feeling a little tense.

Pitch #10

Grant lead the first pitch on the sheer wall; he lead cautiously and carefully, placing lots of protection in the finger sized crack that split the face.  A close look at the face revealed some startling features.  The face was for the most part, smooth, solid granite, split by cracks varying in width from finger size to fist size; perfect for placing protection.  The granite face is not featureless and smooth; it is sprinkled with feldspar crystals, some of which stick out like a small thumb, and even better are the zeolyphes???? (or some  geological term like that), they look a lot like chicken heads, or doorknobs.  Some of them were even good enough to sling as protection, it was really "weird and wild schtuff!"  great climbing.  I recall that one of the chicken heads  had depressions for each finger and your thumb "someone is playing a joke on us man!!!  look at this!"

And so Grant lead this pitch, and made it to the belay station.   But not before he took a little fall. The rating was given at 5.9, but as I climbed up after Grant, I kept thinking to myself, "MAN this isn't 5.9!" but in hindsight Grant and I both agree that fatigue, exposure, isolation can make a huge psychological difference to the rating.  But regardless, it still felt a lot harder than a 5.9.

Pitch #11 and #12:

We continued up the chicken headed, cracked granite wall.  The climbing continued to be exhilarating and fun.  Our bivy ledge had shrunk and was now just a small brown square, our white haul bag not much more than a dot. The exposure was wild (I keep using that word), it is hard to describe the feeling of looking between your feet, and seeing the ground spread out 1500 feet below you.  Terms  like "wild" and "bladder draining" still come up way short.

The weather was not nearly as nice as yesterday. There were quite a few clouds around and the wind was up. I felt quite nervous about the day.

Mark took the first lead and it was a hard one. A big corner rated at 10a and it was very cold rock and the crack was still very wet. I was very cold by the time I got on the rock and by the time I had finished seconding the pitch I couldn’t feel either my hands or my feet. Fortunately the belay ledge was wide and comfortable. I took off my boots and spent a couple of minutes warming up  - this wind is going to make it a cold day.

The next few pitches were what we were here for. Everybody raves about them and looking up I can see why. The rock is clean and solid and covered in large phelspar crystals and black lumps of rock inclusions called Xenolyphs(??) . There is also a lovely looking set of about four parallel cracks that should soak up the pro.

My lead!

Off I go with gear hanging off every loop on the harness. This stuff is harder than it looks. The pro is not so easy either. I move slowly and switch crack lines several times - looking for the easiest way. Those big black lumps are very nice. It seems to be you get to a black lump, you make a move or two on smaller black lumps. You run out of black lumps and make a move or two on the crystals and just when you are getting pretty uncomfortable with the whole thing you reach another really big black lump. There are also quite a few pins buried in the cracks which I am happy enough to clip. I make it up to the belay and am just reaching out for it when my foot decides to let go of the crystal it was on. I don’t know if I moved the foot or the crystal came out or I just slimed off? I just have time to let Mark know I’m off and then its all moving! I didn’t go far, but I did pendulum off toward the edge of the face (2 or 3 metres to the right). I was relieved to not find out what was around the corner. The face is quite grippy when you get a good run up at it and use your whole body for braking. I hang there a second and feel relief that I checked all my knots this morning and that harness makers do a good job. I think about what it would have been like if something in the chain had failed and I had accelerated off down the enormous cheese grater that the face of the LFT would be for anyone unfortunate enough to …  DONT GO THERE!   Get yourself back together and keep going up!  Two minutes later I am safe at the belay and bringing Mark up.

We head on up a couple more pitches of the same sort of stuff. Its really nice climbing, but we are both having a harder time than we normally would due to fatigue and the weight we are carrying (excuses excuses) Now we are at an overhang. The pitch doesn’t get any special rating, so how hard can it be? We choose a line that goes into a corner through the largest part of the overhang and Mark heads up. It gets harder and Mark takes a short fall when he loses a foot placement. This time he’s back into it like a demon and pulls through the corner aggressively. A few more moves and its my turn to follow him. Hmm the corner crack is a bit damp and this corner is steep. I’m starting to worry about getting up this. I’m grunting and groaning and I reach up to the arete and there it is - the hold you could swing on for days. I pull through and find myself perched on the very edge of the face with 270 degrees of exposure to the 1500 feet we have climbed up the LFT. What a MIND BLOWING stance. Apparently the usual route heads off to the left a bit here and goes up some under-clingy flakes avoiding the roof. I thoroughly recommend our line over that one to anyone.

Pitch #13 - Overhang Number One:

I had to lead pitch #13, oh man! not that I'm superstitious...

During the whole trip I wore a good luck charm my brother had given to me some years back.  He bought it for me in New Zealand, a simple but eye catching shape distinctly Maori/Polynesian.  I looked up at the overhang, sweeping over my head like a frozen wave of rock, and I looked below me, the ground a dizzying 1800 feet or so below, I could do little else but clutch my good luck charm and utter a few words to steel my nerve.  I found myself thinking about God, not the Christian God or Krishna, or Ishtar, or Thor, or Aphrodite.  I thought about an omnipotent entity, impossible to define or comprehend, and I thought about how this God must have much better things to do than listen to the poor pathetic prayers that kept finding themselves rolling off the tip of my tongue.

It was a great pitch, I lead through the overhang using some kind of layback stem sort of move  and of course some French aid (vivre la France).  As I stemmed/laybacked my way up, one of my footholds popped off, sending my soaring through the air for a short bit before the rope caught me, and as I hung there breathing quickly, heart pounding, I realized that I was okay, and it was good.  But it was a great section regardless of the fall, and as I reached high over my head and groped around for a hold, and as I found a hold, and as I realized that it was a good hold, a fabulous hold, and that I was going to make it, that incredible feeling of power and pride welled up from deep inside and I pulled myself over, and up onto the easier face of rock above.  It was great to yell "secure!" to Grant below.

Pitch #14 - The Second Overhang

This is the hard one, it is the crux of the climb, rated at 5.10c if you free it of course.  As Grant and I looked up at this small but formidable pitch, we quickly decided that we would NOT free climb it, but that Grant would aid this pitch.  We just didn't have the strength, we were just totally exhausted, nor did we care to free climb it.  So Grant aided the pitch, and I jugged up to him.

Throughout the day the weather had been steadily deteriorating.  We could see heavy dark clouds swirling  around the mountain peaks around us, dark streaks across the sky, the tell tale signs of rain, were too close for comfort, the sun had disappeared behind the gray clouds overhead... but there was nothing to be done about it, we knew that this was our only chance to make the summit, and we knew that we were so close, the rain had remained at bay so far, and rock was still dry and solid.

We were now at the crux pitch and it was my lead. We pretty well already knew we would be aiding this one, given the wet corners and our fatigue and gear load. Looking up the face turns truly vertical and the roof looks like a little gem. I would love to have a go at this in the sun with a fresh start but as it is I have no problem with aiding it. The wind is picking up and the sky is totally grey now and looking rather threatening. I hope the weather holds good till we finish this thing. I head slowly off up in the aiders and become absorbed in the process of leapfrogging the gear up the crack line. I work through the roof in the central fist sized crack and don’t bother looking at the cracks to the left or right which may represent easier free lines. Above the little roof the wall is still very steep and I work on too the belay. Time must be really dragging for Mark, but I’m going as fast as I can. We are now past the hard stuff and as Mark juggs up the line I have some time to take in the “atmosphere”, which is looking ever more threatening. There have been a couple of dense rain/snow pockets move past the cirque on either side and I’m preying that our luck will hold and that there isn’t one out there with our name on it.

Mark takes the lead in the twin cracks that snake off toward the summit. I hang in the slings and adjust my position and huddle up against the cold rock to try to stop the wind cutting through to my bones. Its a long pitch and Mark is moving well but the sky is getting darker and there is now some snow blowing around in the cirque. It seems my prayers are not enough to save us! The snow comes in from the left. The Proboscis, a big severe peak in the next valley, has totally disappeared and it looks like we are for it. Mark is close to the next belay but I don’t like his chances if the rock gets wet.

Mark makes it to the belay before the worst of the snow gets us but I’m too cold to climb this pitch with the rock being wet now. I resort to jugging as the cirque is blotted out behind the white curtain. The cloud “with our name on it” is thankfully about the same size as the others we have seen blowing by and the snow is back to a sprinkle by the time I get to the belay. The rock is however wet although the brisk wind was rapidly drying it.  -  My lead.

We got some beta from the Americans to go left by about two meters at this point. This line is out of sight around a little corner and so not the obvious one. We are told that it should avoid this off width pitch. I move off to the corner and have a look.  Oh yeah  - No worries Mate. The hidden line is back to the raunchy jug laden 5.7 climbing of the lower tower. We’re going to be fine!  I tell Mark the good news but he just sort of mumbles that he’s very cold and we may have a problem if I take too long on this pitch. Yeah he looks it.  I hear ya!   Go man Go.

The climbing is great, but the pressure is up and I’m Sooo tired. I’m totally focused on what I’m doing and on not getting us into any more trouble. I get to the belay about 35metres out and its a good sheltered one unlike all the others for the day. I decide to stop it there rather than climbing on and stretching the 55 metre rope out. I call to mark through the wind and around the corner, but it is really hard to tell what the hell he is saying. I figure he knows I’m safe and that he will be too cold to climb even though the grade is easy. I try to communicate this and I think I hear a “Jug” from him. I tie off the lead line and a minute later it goes taught. Good The jugging should warm him up and I won’t get too cold in this little pocket.

Pitch #15:

This was a very long pitch, and it was my turn to lead.  I looked up from the sling belay.  The next station was visible, but it was so far away, and so high.  It seemed unreachable, and the wall looked steeper than ever, the holds smaller than ever, and I felt so tired, so thirsty, so hungry and all the gear I was carrying felt like a ton.  I looked at my tortured, raw hands, I looked down towards the ground and the drop made my knees tremble.

But this was the best pitch I lead throughout the entire climb.  The line took me straight up two cracks, parallel to each other and about three feet apart, perfect for fist jamming, finger jamming and foot jamming.  Spread about were pink feldspar thumbs and the black chicken heads.  The pitch is rated at 5.9, and it was simply a lot of fun for the first half anyway...

About 20 metres below the belay station (wow, it's actually getting closer!) I felt something cold brush my cheek.  I looked around, forcing  my focus away from the rock.  Flakes of snow were falling around me, light flurries.  "OH FUCK!" the last thing I need is  snow when every bit of friction is critical towards staying on the rock.  I looked left over my shoulder and saw a big wall of black clouds and swirling snow moving towards me, "I think I might die..."  and  I felt sure that I would never make it to the belay, and that I was about to end up setting a gear belay and hanging.  But the belay looked so close, so I went for it.  I climbed, and placed pro, I was a machine going for broke, and as I touched the ratty, faded slings at the belay, and as I secured myself, I was enveloped in a cloud of swirling blowing snow. 

There I was, high above the ground, huddled shivering  against the cold rock as snow swirled around me.  It was snowing so hard that I couldn't see the bivy ledge at all. Despite the weather and the cold, I felt totally and utterly fantastic.  The pitch I had just lead was the last hard pitch of the climb.

Pitch #16 and #17:

Grant jugged up to my belay stance through the snow.  As he secured himself to the anchor, the snow stopped, and the sky opened up, bathing us in a cold light that did little to warm me.  We quickly transferred the lead gear to Grant and he took off up pitch #16.  The rock was thankfully dry, but the wind was still blowing, and I told Grant "hey, I'm cold, and if you take long on this pitch I'm going to be hypothermic", and then I added "that wasn't a blubb, it was a statement of fact".  There isn't really a hard line separating blubbery and genuine concern, at the time I  thought  that my statement was a justified and rational concern.  In hindsight, maybe there was a smidge of blubbery...

Grant disappeared over a bulge, and a few minutes later I jugged up to his belay stance, it would have been easier to climb, but I was too cold to think about putting my sore hands on the cold rock. 

I lead the last pitch, a comfortable, unexposed though somewhat slimy 5.7.  At the top of the pitch, I secured myself at the last belay of the climb, and Grant climbed up to meet me.  We were both exhausted, totally pumped, wired, ecstatic etc.  It was a tremendous feeling, and a fantastic accomplishment.  We ate a few mouthfuls of food, drank the last of our water, snapped a couple of photos, and then prepared ourselves for the long arduous task of rappelling the route.

Mark, warmed by the jugging, lead off on the last pitch which was more of the easy stuff. He called me up in fairly short order and there we were both standing at the top of the climb and feeling very sore and very tired and very good. It took us quite a while to get our stuff all packed into day packs and organized for the descent. It was not getting any warmer either and the clouds were still looming. We started the rappels. Mark and I both HATE rappelling.  Hate Hate Hate…