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…