WINTER: PART ONE
It's my first winter since the semester, so naturally, my hopes were high, but coming into the season I worked hard to be realistic about what I would be able to accomplish with the winter. Weather is so sporadic in Southern Alberta so that always has the potential to squelch what would otherwise be a good time, but I was also concerned about what I could accomplish with the time, gear, and partners I had at my disposal. There is very little that one can do safely in the mountains without a partner, so I knew from the get-go that if plans fell through, there would be little hope of salvaging a trip to the mountains if there was no one to join me.
Coming off the semester, I was extremely excited but also very nervous. The winter has so many variables, most of them uncontrollable, and although I have so much new knowledge on my side, it is still NEW knowledge. Being untested and inexperienced (relatively), There is always a nagging in the back of my mind that I'm unknowingly putting myself at risk or just missing something that I should be aware of.
I have grown up as a snowboarder, and many hobbies have come and gone throughout my life, but snowboarding has always been at the forefront for me. I remember being on the semester talking to friends and guides who enjoyed skiing, but had more tenacity for climbing. I respected their opinion, but I certainly did not understand it. Nothing compared to skiing powder for me, and nothing could replace that feeling. I didn't have many plans coming into the season, but I knew I wanted to get as much vertical as I could on my splitboard.
Early in November, Josh and I couldn’t shake the urge to get on snow, so we took a trip out to Waterton to see how the snowpack was progressing. Down low it was very poor, but as we got higher and higher our excitement grew as the snowpack got deeper and deeper. At Forum Lake we had enough snow to ski. The avalanche bulletin was not yet posted, as the likelihood of skiers slogging up to high elevations was pretty unlikely, so we dug a pit to do some relatively extensive snowpack tests. Our findings were nothing short of scary. We bailed pretty quickly, but we had the insight not to put ourselves in the way of avalanche hazard before doing our tests, so at least we had not put ourselves in harms way. The ski out was rough, but we had high hopes for a return trip.
The next big day didn’t come for a while, but while we waited for the next big adventure we spent a morning cragging at a nearby ice climbing area called Jensen's Reservoir. Jensen's has proven to be a great spot to get on ice when other opportunities fail to present themselves. It's only 30 minutes away and although it's easy climbing, it's always fun to get on the ice, and it's the perfect spot to bring out first-timers.
When the next big trip came, it was more than worth the wait. For years, I have caught an extremely short glimpse of what appeared to be amazing gladed skiing on a ridge just north of Castle. On the ski hill's website, they have a short write-up about an extreme ski line on a peak called St. Eloi, of which the northern ridge contains the glades that I can vaguely pick out from the road to the ski hill. Info about the skiing was non-existent, and I didn't know of anyone who had been back there. When Josh and I had the chance for a big ski day, we decided to go for what we dubbed the "St. Eloi Glades". The tour to the top of the ridge was a bit frustrating. Starting out, there wasn't enough snow in the creek, so we had to boot-pack for a while. As the snow quality increased, we found a man-made cut line that would take us to the bottom of the gully that would mark the start of our bushwhacking ascent up the ridge. When we finally made it above treeline, we had skied for almost 5 hours, but the potential of the terrain all around us was astounding. If this zone were in the Bow Valley, I'm sure it would be a touring classic. There were so many quality lines to be skied, I couldn't even dream of skiing them all. Our first descent was really fun, but relatively short. The briefness of the descent allowed us to skin back up for another lap. The second lap was absolutely fantastic, we found more open terrain, and it took us all the way to the valley bottom uninterrupted. Although the descent was great, it took us to a constriction at the creek bed, so the only way to continue was with numerous creek crossing and a lot of bushwhacking, but seeing as this was our first time there, I'd say we faired pretty well. We later found out that the area is called "Syncline Brook" and attempts to map it are underway, but it still remains very rarely skied.
Following this trip, I got a number of days at the resort, all of which were great. Castle had a splendid start to the season (something that they desperately needed after a devastating season the year before) and it remains a great place to go when avalanche conditions don't permit a backcountry excursion. One day during Christmas holidays was spent touring with cousins and friends at a new zone (to me) that Josh was gracious enough to share with us. The tour was remarkably easy and making a lot of laps in a day is about as easy as touring gets. I'll definitely return when avi risk is high, or I'm craving a lot of laps with minimal effort. Around the first or second week of January is when my opinion regarding skiing and climbing began to shift. At the start of the season, the skiing was so good and the ice so poor that we really made no effort to get on ice. But soon, Josh and I had many days on the planks and a desire to get a little more vertical ensued. Our schedules don't coincide well on weekends, so we decided to make a weekly trip to the mountains on Wednesday nights, where we'd spend the night in Waterton so that we could ski or climb the next day before returning to Lethbridge for the start of Josh's classes at 12:30 and my shift at 1:30.
We waited for a while for the conditions to line up on the Waterton classic "Quick and Dirty" because I, as the leader of the climb, knew that it was at the absolute top of my ability, and that we would have to do the first (and hardest) pitch in the dark. Quick and Dirty was the perfect climb for one of our pre-work/school pursuits because it was relatively short while still being a substantial multipitch climb, and it also had a very minimal approach time. And so the day came, we spent the night in a day-use shelter, complete with fireplace, and after a warm night indoors we set out at 5am to take on the ice. As we got to the bottom we both looked at it and said something along the lines of, "well that's not so bad! I can't believe I/you were scared to lead that!"
We were very wrong.
I took off on lead and quickly realized the seriousness of the climb that I had just sunk my tools into. Not having an alternative climb in mind, I continued to press forward. It's not that I threw out the idea of bailing off the route, but I really didn't want to leave gear behind, I didn't want to cut the day short after only half a pitch of climbing, and I still wasn't convinced that I didn’t have it in me. I was getting worked, but I knew that I had another gear to push through it. Josh belayed on, and at this point I don't think he knew how hard the climbing was, but he knew I was struggling. I gripped the tools tighter and tighter as I moved upward. Before long I was losing more and more proper technique as I got more and more desperate. But after about 30-40 minutes fighting, I pulled over the bulge. As Josh joined me at the top of the pitch, he echoed my thoughts and we both took a moment to catch a breath after what we just went through. Looking back I realize that the fight was mostly in my mind; struggling with the idea of bailing, letting Josh and myself down, giving up on something I knew that I could do. I even sit here now thinking that it really wasn't so bad and that I could go back and take it on again, but as they say, the best alpinists are the ones with the worst memory. The next two pitches were pretty straight forward, there was one pretty spicy section, we really struggled getting quality screws in the ice, Josh even took a fall on the last pitch as he learned the hard way not to put all your faith into a bulge (convexities in ice are notoriously weak) but I led on with a new-found confidence.
My decision to push through was certainly the right call. I always like to look back on my days in the mountains and ask myself, "was I safe today, or did I get away with something that was too risky?" I can't shake the feeling that I "got away with something" but I'm confident that what I did was in fact within my ability, I just crept right up to the line between pushing my grade and just being too risky. Of course there's always risk, but there's a difference between acceptable risk and unacceptable risk.
Following this, we made plans to join a close friend of mine from the Yamnuska Semester on a trip to ice climb in the Bow Valley. I was really starting to get hungry to hang on some ropes once again. Approaching the Bow Valley weekend, we made another Waterton trip to sleep on Forum Ridge and ski down in the morning before work/class. The amount of effort put in for the ski trip reaffirmed our fervour to climb. It was by no means a bad trip, but ski touring involves a lot of walking for very little downhill, and while I have always found immense pleasure in it, I also could not wait to spend a full day on steep ice.
We had originally planned on climbing a few ultra-classic climbs in the area, but both climbs are formed in avalanche gullies, so if any hazard exists, they are by no means to be climbed. Leading up to the trip the avi hazard looked fine, but a few days before, things took a turn for the worse and immediately took both climbs off our radar. This made finding safe climbs difficult, but for our first day we found a canyon in Kananaskis called "Evan Thomas Creek" which is home to a high density of climbs outside of avi hazard. It was the perfect place for us to warm up and get used to new partners before getting on a bigger climb the next day. We did a couple of really fun lines, but made the mistake of doing a climb called "Slurpee" first thing in the morning. When we came across it, we weren't totally sure which climb it was or what the grade was, but it looked okay (albeit pretty wet) and I took the lead (Mitch was smart enough to pass it off to me). The left climb absolutely lived up to its namesake, and my 20 minutes on the climb got me absolutely drenched. Lucky for me it was a relatively warm day and as we continued our day I started to dry up and never got too cold.
After our first day we were pretty tired and sore, mostly from the really long approach. After some deliberation we decided to climb Louise Falls the following day because it has no avi hazard and has a very easy approach. I had climbed Louise Falls the season before (with a guide) so I knew what to expect. The climb is above all of our grades, but it contains 3 very good pitches within our abilities that finish in a spectacular ice cave. From the cave, some really hard pillars bring you to the top of the climb, but we figured if we could climb to the cave that we would be overjoyed and satisfied with turning around at that point.
We got a bit of a late start, and Louise Falls is notoriously busy (because it's right at the end of Lake Louise) but when we arrived it was just us and another group, and they were just top-roping off to the side. Pleased to have scooped the line, we set on out. Josh took the first pitch, which was some really great climbing, Mitch took the second (again, fantastic climbing) and I took the final pitch. Looking at the third pitch, we were a bit perplexed. It was formed extremely odd, and certainly different than the season prior. It was a bit of an arête feature, with big steps and fluted ice on the walls. For a minute it looked pretty easy, but as I got on it I realized that it was completely vertical, and although there were large ledges, it was overhanging underneath them, so placing feet and tools was a rather daunting task. I still can’t decide if the climb was hard or just extremely awkward, but it was really reminiscent of rock climbing. Each movement was very thought-out and a great deal of balance and clear-headedness was required.
We pulled up to the cave and it was just as awesome as I remembered. We were looking out on Lake Louise, the Chateau, and tourists gawking below on a horse-drawn sleigh, pointing and photographing us. I clearly remember being there the year before, so excited to be there, but disappointed because I knew that it would be a long time before I would be a strong enough climber to do it without a guide. As it turns out, I just needed to push my limits a little bit and team up with the right people.
Since then, I have spent an extremely warm January day trad climbing on a classic rock climbing route in Waterton (thanks to those darn chinooks) and I anxiously await a week-long trip to search for warm weather near Vegas at a famous Rock climbing area known as Red Rocks. Wish me luck, and I look forward to hearing your feedback!
“Because we’re Insane” - Warren Harding
C.G
