It’s what we say when we get up at 2am, hike for 8 hours with a pack full of ice climbing gear on our backs, and get back to the car without really climbing anything. My friend Chris called me last Sunday and proposed we climb the North Face route on Mt. Hood this morning. Word on the street was that climbing conditions were good and the weather looked solid. The North Face has been on my climbing ticklist since I started ice climbing 2 years ago, and it seemed like I could just squeeze it in between driving back from San Jose and going to Montana. The route doesn’t come “in” very often, and the chance to do it with one of the most influential climbers in my life was prime. We geared up at Chris’ place last night and drove up to the mountain.

(The alpine toys getting ready to roll)
There is a hut to use at the trailhead and we rolled in to grab a few hours sleep before starting to climb. The plan was to get up at 2am, pound a quick breakfast and make the hike to be at the base of the route just as daylight illuminated the hard parts.

(Awesome sunrise colors)
I hadn’t been in the area around the climb in 2 years, and Chris hadn’t been in 3. I thought I remembered the approach being “straightforwards” and the friends I mentioned our plans to had not asked whether I had the beta or not. I thought the plan was simple: hike the hill, descend onto the glacier, don’t fall in any cravasses, and climb the route with impeccable speed and style.

Instead, we took the tools for a walk. Without daylight or any moonlight at all, we had trouble finding a workable route down to the glacier, and then missed the critical ramp on the left side of the glacier. Instead we climbed the gentle line in the center of the glacier and found ourselves in the middle of the icefall in the dark. Both Chris and I had limited time to do the climb, and we knew when daylight hit we would be racing melting conditions to finish the route ahead of ice and rocks falling down the route. By the time daylight hit and we figured out where we should have gone, we knew we were too late to finish the route.

(So close, yet so far. Not this time my friends.)
We finished the hike up to the base of the route anyway just to scope out the rest of the approach and look at the route. Oddly enough, when we got there it was t clear what we were supposed to climb. The majority of the route looked like great neve, but the first pitch seemed to be missing. To get on the route we were either headed up a thin mixed line (we had no rock pro) of marginal quality, or facing a 100′ overhanging ice cliff. Not that we knew what it was going to look like but neither option seemed appropriate forthe route description. Despite our navigational failure, both of us were curious as to whether the route was actually as “in” as we had heard. It was not inspiring, and being 2 hours behind schedule meant that our fate was sure, we were headed down.

(Bergschrund trouble.)
All that said, it was a beautiful day out with a great friend and climber, I wouldn’t have missed it. We all screw up the approach sometimes, and now I’ve got one more piece of experience. The route will still be there next year, and at least the tools got out for a good walk.

(Still, a great day out.)

(Heading home on a gorgeous fall morning really isn’t so bad.)

(from May 29th, 2011)

Darryl Miller talks about the history of early Alaska exploration the way my good friend Dick Paulson talks about birds.  It makes the tent feel homey, the stories vast and well illustrated, and suddenly you feel inspired to get outside.  Darryl has done the Muldrow glacier route on Denali 3 different times, as well as a host of other massive Alaska mega-transects, and considers it one of his finest adventures.  I honestly can’t wait to get on it next month.  Darryl stopped by basecamp for a few days to help out with air traffic control, and it was an awesome opportunity to hang out with one of the great climbers of the previous era.

We had another ranger patrol join us a few days ago, comprised of a ranger (Joe) and three solar power engineers (Blake, Mark, and Luke).  We’ve obviously had lots to talk about.  Please check out Luke’s awesome work at Peaks to Prairie Power.  Last night Luke walked up to me with a grin on his face and asked “hey you wanna do Bacon ‘n Eggs tomorrow?”  10 pitches of classic climbing pioneered by Mark Twight was impossible to turn down.
“Yes” I replied without thinking.  Later I came to terms with Luke about my feet.  I wanted to do the route, but was scared of what ice climbing and a long day of alpine commitment would do to my feet.  Last night I couldn’t really get psyched, but agreed to go with the understanding that my foot was a “known unknown.”

The route follows the ice chimneys trending up and to the right to the snowfield.

Just a gorgeous day to chase a gorgeous route.

At least my partner was fully psyched and ready to fire.

We went for it, leaving camp at 4:50am and were under the base of the route at 6:50am.  I felt solid touring up the glacier and even a little psyched when I saw the route, but the dread never totally left the back of my head.  We simul-climbed over the bergschrund until Luke ran out of screws, and I led off pitch 2, getting a long slab with a fun step at the top on pitch 2.  That said, by the time the ropes came tight at the bottom of p3, I knew there was no way I could hold back the pain for another 8 pitches.  I popped a pill before heading up, but each kick brought increasing pain, and Luke knew we were headed down even before he saw me from the belay.

A full 60m lead in the mountains...

At some point, I'm going to have to stop looking at Mt. Foraker and start climbing it.

Luke is fully stoked to sink a #2 Cam after running it out on thin ice.

We rapped off without incident (still getting used to rapping off v-threads I didn’t set), and I had to pop another pill before skiing back to camp.  Regardless, I’m glad we took a shot at the route- the climbing and position are definitely classic, and felt like I gave the climb an honest, level effort.  Based on the experience, I suspect I may not climb ice for quite some time, and I’ll need to be careful in the more technical sections of the Muldrow.  I had borrowed someone else’s boots for this trip, which may or may not have been a great idea- they climbed much better than my tele-ski boots would have, but also didn’t fit so well (ed. note- my tele-ski boots were very comfortable for the rest of the trip and don’t concern me for the upcoming Muldrow expedition).  Most concerning was the fact that the bunions I have not had surgery on caused me almost as much trouble as the one I recently had removed.  Shit.

So the adventure continues…