So, I recruited Daniel and Ari for the mission. At the last moment, Daniel was unable to go so I was left wondering if this would be a good idea just as a party of two (where filming isn’t as convenient). When I looked at the situation and realized that this particular weekend was probably my last until late August, we decided to go for it. To maximize the best weather, we actually decided to leave Sunday morning with the hopes that we’d be fast and that we’d storm the mountain, returning to camp by early afternoon and thus back to Seattle by late evening on Monday morning. Things were not to go as expected.

Click here to view the embedded video.

We arrived at the Roger’s Pass Visitor Center (below photo) quite early, around 4pm, I believe. We’d left early so as to get the requisite passes on time. I’d read on the internet that the Visitor Center closed at 4:30, but found myself questioning that as we approached – it was the middle of summer; it doesn’t get dark until quite late. Why would they close so early?

Sure enough, the Visitor Center does close quite late (8:30) and we got started hiking sometime around 4:30 or 5pm. The hike to the meadows beneath Sir Donald was thankfully straightforward and easy, with a nice river and greatly receded glacier providing views along the way. Most of the time, the foreshortened view of Sir Donald is on the horizon to the left. From here, it didn’t look too big. “Hmm, mabye we’ll be down by noon”, I thought. Then we turned left and started up a steep, gravelly trail that deposited us in a small basin beneath the west face where we set up camp. It was nice to have arrived early enough to allow for adequate time to relax before going to bed. A few drops of rain fell on us, nothing significant. There were mixed clouds as we went to bed.

The next morning was quite cloudy and the summit of Sir Donald was hidden in clouds. We began hiking up talus along the way to the the Sir Donald – Uto col. After 30 minutes of rock-hopping, we were on a comfortable trail that led to the col. Another party was up here and another showed up…both of them were on their way to Uto. No one was climbing Sir Donald today. It was understandable: though the pictures don’t show it, from the col, Sir Donald is a sobering sight with it’s long northwest ridge steeply climbing into the sky. On top of that, the col was very windy and the summit was still engulfed in lenticular clouds, an indication that the winds were even worse high above. Ari was visibly disturbed at the sight of the route. I practically had on every piece of clothing as we headed off. We could always turn around.

We started off on exposed 4th class grasping cold limestone as we pulled ourselves up the mountain. Not to far along, we encountered a party descending the route – two older gents who had spent the night on the route. They were in good spirits at least having talked about passing the time in a reasonably comfortable space that was protected from the high winds. We continued on. I wanted to solo as much as possible for the sake of speed, but we didn’t get too far. We doubled the rope and I grabbed the rack and headed off intent on lots of long simul-climbs. I went for long distances placing very little gear. The general consensus on the description of the route was 5.5 steps with lots of 4th class. I thought it was a little more than that. 5.5 was a reasonable ranking, but there was a lot more 5.0 terrain that I was expecting. It was all there and mostly solid, but simply a lot more 5th class than I thought. Assiniboine, having a similar description, was a simpler climb.

The “steps” weren’t very short either. At one point a high steep wall was in front of me which was easily overcome by a left-trending crack that led to a wider crack trending back to the right that I was able to hand-traverse up. Eventually, I spotted one of the rappel stations that marks the descent that was set up in 2003. If you’re wanting to climb this route, be sure that you go to the Roger’s Pass visitor center and get the description of the descent; it will save you a lot of time.

Continuing on, we followed lots of blocky terrain with an occasional slabby section where the climbing felt “real”. I tended to favor different sides of the ridge depending on how I was feeling physically – left for sun and wind, right for cold rock and shade. The exposure is great on both sides, but the air really tugs on the right side over the west face. If the rock looked slabby with cracks, I’d favor the right; otherwise, I’d take a little mental break and go left. It felt like we were moving slowly though. Eventually, I arrived at less steep ground and could see the summit, or what I thought was the summit, fairly far away. It was a steep, sharp, and intimidating pyramid. Well, it usually looks harder than it really is. “Another hour to the summit,” I thought? It would be more than that. At this point, we were on bona fide 3rd class terrain – the first 3rd class of the climb. Ari went lead off for this part. We thought about unroping, but it would have been a pain to coil it, uncoil it and put it back on, etc. At the end of his lead at a nice rest spot, he wisely insisted on taking a break to eat since the summit would probably be exposed to the wind. Ari looked mentally drained. After eating, I took the rack and headed off again. At the top of the steep pyramid, I saw that I still wasn’t at the summit. Another 15-20 minutes. We finally arrived on the summit and I wasn’t keen to linger at all. It had taken us over six ours to climb the route – quite pokey. In order to get down in time, we couldn’t afford to dilly dally. Strangely enough, I still had hopes of driving back this afternoon.

The first part of the descent involves descending down the opposite side of the summit block. This is mostly third class, sometimes loose, that leads down to a broad scree face. We followed cairns and ledges to a pathway that lead under the summit and back to the ridge. At the ridge, we opted to solo down instead of rope up. The climbing was easy but there were moments when the heart pounded extra as we made exposed moves around bulges or thin ledges. The description of the descent talked about “easy descending on the ridge leads to the first rappel station.” It was quite a way before we arrived at the first rappel station. We made two rappels on slings and downclimbed a lot before arriving at the first station. Because we went so far, we were wondering if we’d missed the first one. But, once we got to the end of the second official rappel and saw the characteristic easy downclimb to the third rappel, we realized we were on route. At the end of the fifth rappel, we arrived at the station with the yellow tailings indicating it was time to go down the face. These rappels went quickly. Arriving at the base of the gully, we still had a good amount of downclimbing in front of us. We walked down more ledges with occasional 3rd and 4th class moves to the part labeled “4th class on the descent topo”, which was actually a steep section of polished slabs. Fortunately, I found another new rappel station (not mentioned on the info at the visitor center but obviously installed by the same team). There were two rappel stations that took us to the steep moraine which we followed back to camp just as the sun was setting. There was no real thought of hiking out tonight; that would have been crazy. We just had a meager dinner, a lot of water, and went to bed.

The drive back the next day was pleasant. Ari basically slept the whole way and I drove in silence for 8 hours enjoying the views, never once getting bored. We were one day overdue, but had successfully climbed Sir Donald, which I’d wanted to do for a long time. To those wishing to climb the peak, the only advice I could give is to not underestimate the length of the ridge. Be prepared to solo much of the route or simul-climb efficiently. There’s no way to climb the route in a day if you pitch the whole thing out. Also, more importantly, expect that you will be mentally drained by the constant exposure. If you’re not accustomed to this, it can really sap your will.  Have fun!

Click here to view the embedded video.

We could see the first party above us, scurrying around at the base of the route.  On arriving, we found out they were still trying to find the beginning of the route.  Pointing out to them where it was, they were on their way.  They promised to be quick, which they were.  Aidan then began our climb with the lead, grunting his way up but doing so in great form.  I had always looked forward to just seeing this view of the northeast ridge, but actually standing beneath me had begun to put me in a careful mood.  The first pitch also set the mood.  I began the first couple of moves hesitantly.  Before I was even 15 feet off the ground, I felt like I didn’t have my best mindset or my best skills available to me.  Aidan hollered down, “You’ve got to commit to the lieback!”  I am not a fan of liebacks, never have been.  I found myself trying to avoid doing the lieback moves.  With Aidan’s instruction, I committed to the lieback and started moving up.  I found myself not concentrating as I should, and before I could say anything, my right foot slip, the lieback fell apart and I took a fairly long follower’s fall, puncturing my middle and ring fingers on my right hand and bashing my left knee.  OK, this was not a good start and I found myself in a spooked mindset for most of the climb.  It wasn’t until the fifth pitch that I felt confident enough to take over the lead.

The second part of the first pitch was a hollow flake that required lieback moves the entire way up.  At least I was concentrated more and made the moves without problems, but nervously.  Many other climbers think the crux of the route is the traverse move near the top of the first pitch.  I did not find this hard at all.  I guess this shows me that if I want to be a complete rock-climber, I need to get more comfortable with liebacks.  OK, maybe it’s time to do laps on Godzilla back at Index.

I refused the second pitch as well, which was a good bit easier, but still steep and challenging.  The route climbs up a dike of granite flakes forming numerous short cracks.  Unlike the first pitch, there is plenty of opportunity for good protection.  The third pitch begins with a fifteen foot down-climb from the top of the dike to a depression which leads steeply up and rightward across the face to gain the true ridge.  This pitch is sensational.  Nicely exposed and with thin holds, but at every place that you’d want them.

The third pitch leads to a comfortable belay at the base of the fourth pitch, which is a long skyward reaching corner that leads off steeply and slowly eases in angle. This pitch starts off with an awkward, but not hard, move and then follows the corner for sustained but pleasant climbing up the corner. There are several sections of liebacks, but nothing as hard or as sustained as the first pitch. At the top of the fourth pitch, a 5.6 pitch up another steep, but shorter, crack system led to blockier ground and a long, low-angled chimney. Aidan again asked if I wanted to take the lead. I opted to this time, thinking it would help me clear my head. It did. We simul-climbed a bit and then I brought Aidan up to another good belay somewhere within the chimney and then headed out again.

Aidan took the next pitch, which, if I recall, was a steep face climb with good protection. At this point the pitches started blending together. I don’t recall if it was the same pitch or the next one that we encountered another 5.7 section that was supposed to be a little burly. It wasn’t. The move was short, over a small bulge – nothing as challenging as the opening pitch. At this point, we were nearing the north summit. A steep gendarme blocked the way and we opted to make a difficult and constricted rappel down the east side to easier ground where we could traverse back on to the ridge. We then followed a knife edge to the summit. Beyond, on the traverse to the true summit, the south summit, was more fun knife edge walking. At one point the exposure over the east side is completely sheer – a straight drop down to the Crescent Glacier. In front of us were easy slabs below the north summit, which we traversed around to a large wall. We then headed up the north side of the south summit, following solid finger cracks.

I was relieved to be on the summit. I was definitely ready for the climb to be over. I remarked to Aidan that I thought this was harder than Slesse and that the opening pitch was harder than any pitch on Slesse. Aidan thought me crazy and wisely pointed out that it was due to the mental state. That was true; evaluating the two climbs pitch for pitch, Slesse is a much longer and sustained climb, with more difficult pitches. But, truthfully, I didn’t feel it. But, I did my best to keep my head in the moment. Leading those few pitches helped a lot, but not as much as having such an excellent climbing partner.

The climbers below us, Carl and Tom, soon appeared and we enjoyed our short summit moments together. Then we decided to stick together as we began the descent of Bugaboo Spire. We had read so much about the difficulty and complexity of the descent and Carl backed the story up. I suppose this helped prepare us for the descent, because it didn’t feel nearly as hard, to me, as it was made out to be. It was complex, granted, but not bad at all. The part where we had to pay the most care was locating the rappels. The second, right before the famous gendarme was fairly tricky – a committing and extremely exposed rappel over the east side. From about 3/4ths the length of the rappel is a large notch where the third rappel is. Getting to it requires an easy but exposed traverse while still on rappel.

Beyond the rappel, more exposed knife edges finally led to terrain where we could unrope and down-climb. There’s plenty of 5th class down-climbing but it slowly relents to easy 3rd and 4th class terrain. After hearing the horror stories of the descent, I had likened the descent to the awful on on Slesse. Because of that, this one seemed easy and soon enough we were back at the col. We waited a bit for another party to rappel down the col before beginning our loose descent. It’s almost impossible not to knock rocks down the chute; all it take is vibrations to get rocks moving. Each party absolutely has to wait for others to descend, otherwise it’s quite likely that someone will get hit. At the base of the bergeschrund, we quickly put on our crampons and headed down the ice.

While we were on Bugaboo, Colin and Ross were out climbing the Beckey-Choiunard route on South Howser Tower. They hadn’t returned by the time we got back. Aidan was getting a little worried about them but only a few minutes after dark, after we’d turned in, they showed up. Aidan and I were both very tired, but Colin bounced around camp and chatted as if he’d had a rest day. Ross, on the other hand, hit the hay. Earlier, before going to bed, Aidan and I talked with the campground custodian. He mentioned that weather was most likely moving in tomorrow. Both Aidan and I did not have the desire to do another big rock climb, and were a relieved at the justification of hiking out due to a storm.

Sure enough, in the middle of the night, the wind started picking up. We hadn’t bothered securing the Beta Light with lines, but each corner had a large rock to hold it in place. That didn’t stop the wind from loosing two of the corners of the tent in the middle of the night. It sounded like a near explosion and we were suddenly awake with the tent ends flapping in our faces. We jumped up immediately and secured the tent, finding extra large rocks to secure the corners and went back to bed. I slept well, though I recall waking several times to the roaring of the wind. Aidan, on the other hand, admitted to barely sleeping a wink. Instead, he’d periodically grab the pole next to us, holding it in place for fear of it being knocked over again.

We lounged in the noisy tent the following morning before getting up. Colin and Ross decided to not go for another climb as well and we all decided to hike out together. We took our time getting ready. I headed out before everyone else because I tend to hike a little slower on the descent, not to mention that Colin and Ross are very fast. Soon enough, they caught up with me and we hiked together for a while. After a bit, I got tired of the speed, let the others get ahead and took out my mp3 player. I enjoyed the tunes all the way down and stopped several times for more pictures, ones that I couldn’t get on the hike in because of the low light.

It was a long long drive back, but more rap and hip-hop entertained me. We arrived back in Tacoma around 11pm and Aidan’s mom treated us to some excellent grilled chicken pasta, salad, and fresh peaches. Feeling like a refreshed flower, I opted to drive home since the traffic would be much better this time of night than the following morning. All-in-all, despite the exhaustion, this was a fantastic and memorable trip. Thanks for coming along, Aidan. It was a great way to end the summer.

The long ten hour drive wasn’t bad at all.  Aidan began giving me a survey of rap and hip-hop music at my request.  Now, I’m semi-literate in the genre.  Near the small lumber town of Brisco in British Columbia, we found the signs directing us to the dirt road that led to Bugaboo Provincial Park.  However, the crappy guidebook (the one by the Mountaineers) didn’t mention the maze of logging roads back there, and, what’s worse, the signs to the part are practically non-existent.  At a fork in the road, maybe a mile or a mile and a half after we turned off, we thought we would take the left hand, which appeared less traveled, because it looked to be a cut off road, at least according to the map in the book.  We even saw a sign that said “Bugaboo” not far after the turnoff that made us think we were going the right way.  Not so.  For those of you reading this looking for beta to the Bugaboos, just stay on the most prominent fork of the dirt road.  You’ll be fine; there are signs when you need then.  Aidan and I, however, bounced our way along passing more forks and getting more confused.  Eventually, we passed a red pickup truck who was also searching for the Bugaboos.  “Great.  At least we’re not the only idiots”, we thought.  The two of us searched together, the pickup truck being able to cover more ground than us.  A couple of backtracks eventually and somehow got us back to the main drag and we were on our way, after losing about an hour of time.  Thankfully, there was still ample light to hike once we arrived.

We moved quickly encircling my car in chicken wire to prevent porcupines and other varmints from chewing on the tires.  Shouldering packs that were way heavier than we were accustomed (each of us carrying a sizeable rack and a full-on 60m rope), we set out.  The trail is great, easy to follow, and scenic.  We arrived up at the Kain Hut just as the sun was nearly gone, at the point where you begin to think if it’s worth taking out your headlamp or not.  I thought I’d seen a sign that said the Boulder field camp was just above the Kain Hut (someone else we passed a few days later mentioned something similar) but a sign above the hut indicated that the campsite was below us.  We were both tired at this point; the long drive followed by a two hour grunt with a heavy pack can wear you out.  Aidan, though was adamant about not losing elevation.  So, with headlamps donned, we went up, searching for the Applby Camp.  We never found it.  We lost the trail almost instantly.  It’s nearly impossible to reliably follow it in the dark when the white and yellow granite blocks everywhere just seem to melt together.  We found ourselves crossing several wide streams.  We saw headlamps coming down from the Bugaboo-Snowpatch col and Aidan went to seek them out to ask them about the camps.  Eventually, I called back to Aidan.  I knew the camps weren’t in that direction and I’d found a place to camp anyway.  So, we bedded down on a large slab on the edge of a large gully.  We both suspected that the Appleby Camp was on the other side of the gully but we were fed up with looking for it.  Because it was so late, we decided to skip Bugaboo Spire tomorrow and instead have an easy day on Pigeon Spire. 

We awoke to brilliant sun.  I slowly opened my eyes and looked across the small chasm.  Sure enough, there was the Appleby Camp across and above us.  We took our time getting ready.  We stashed our leftover goods down between the boulders and set off around 9:30 or 10am to the Bugaboo-Snowpatch col and beyond to Pigeon Spire.  At the base of the Crescent Glacier, we heard “Aidan!”.  We turned around to see Colin, Aidan’s cousin, and TeleRoss who were heading up to climb a route on Snowpatch Spire.  We ended up hiking together up to the col where we took a break, at some food, and admired the impressive Howser Towers.

Pigeon Spire

We didn’t bother roping up to cross the upper part of the glacier and encountered no one disapprovingly shaking their heads at us.  Staring straight into the Howsers, we strolled easily up the glacier underneath Pigeon Spire on our left.  Everything about this climb is nearly perfect, even getting from the glacier to the base of the ridge.  There’s a brief section of easy ice and no moat.  Suddenly, you’re on the route.  I suppose the crux of the entire tour of Pigeon is the nasty col.  We immediately took off our crampons and boots, had a bit to eat, and packed up the rope, rack, and not much else and headed out.  We planned to solo as much as we could.

OK, so there were a couple of super solid boulders to scramble over to get to the ridge proper, but once there, we enjoyed solid long stretches of rock with wonderful cracks, ledges, and ridges.  Most of the climb is 5.0 on as -good-as-it-gets rock.  The first steep part featured a quick exposed little move to get on top of a small knife edge that led to more cracks and on to the famous first false summit that is down-climbed, or rather walked.  Beyond, we had great views of the second part of the climb which looked more challenging, but it too is an optical illusion.  The climbing is easy, consistently 5.0 and secure.  Still soloing, we passed a party of three who were also raving about the quality of the route.  On top of this second false summit, we cruised across the famous knife edge with outrageous views behind us.  Above us, the rock became steeper, but more blocky and we were soon to the point where we needed to down-climb to attain the last pitch to the summit.

The last pitch of the summit required a careful down-climb (the most difficult part of the climb, but still easy.  I believe many people rappel this) to another small col where we traversed briefly over easy blocks towards the 5.4 crux.  The crux is a short wide crack with good exposure down to the approach glacier.  It’s short though.  We followed easy slabs to the summit.

We made one rappel down from the summit and down-climbed the rest.  Because there is so much up and down on the route, the descent is almost as fun as the climb up and this time, you’ve got the Howser massif in front of you the whole way.  Back at the base of the route, we put our boots and crampons back on and headed back.  Aidan’s mood had strangely transformed into more quiet and inward and he admitted to not feeling quite right.  He didn’t know why.  Fortunately, he snapped out of it the next day because it was my turn to get weirded out and inward for the climb of Bugaboo Spire.  He snapped back to his old self back at camp.  We packed all our things up and headed up to Appleby Camp where we found Colin and Ross’s tent, the exact same model as ours:  the Black Diamond Beta Light.  We had dinner, set the alarm for 4:30, and went to bed.

I always wanted to come back so I enlisted Ari.  We left from my place in Kirkland under poor auspices: 

• A car nearly ran into us on the highway
• At Everett, I realized I didn’t have my passport so we turned around.
• While turning around, I smacked into a concrete block.  Fortunately, my car was undamaged.
• I realized I also I left my water back at home.
• Another car nearly ran into us.
• We nearly ran out of gas.
• I missed the turn to Sumas.

Once getting to Canada, things started go our way.  I parked in the same spot for Slesse and we made the long hot hike up the road past the Slesse trailhead.  It must have been at least three miles before we found the turnoff.  I found the same orange ribbon the Michael and I finally found, though it was a little more buried in the brush now.  The trailhead itself was easy to find and we were on our way in the sweltering clear-cut.  Another hour of the clear cut would have been too much.  We were hiking along this steep dusty path during the hottest part of the day.  The forest must have been 15 degrees cooler and we took a well deserved break.  I was surprised at how well-defined the trail was in the forest.  I expected more of a climber’s trail.  The trail was steep though, much like Eldorado.  We crossed a narrow granite gully which would be the last running water we’d see on the trip.

More forest followed, but not for long.  The trail slowly breaks out of the forest and hugs the north edge of the small valley along a huge granite wall the resembles the town walls of Index.  The trail climbs steeply and becomes more dusty and loose the higher you go.  It eventually terminates in a large talus field below the Nesakwatch Spires and Mount Rexford.

We figured we’d camp just below the north spire, the leftmost peak, if there were water, but finding none, we pressed on to a higher basin beneath the south spire and Mount Rexford.  We found a large granite boulder to camp on.  There was already a fire ring on top of it.  I was surprised at how extensive the camping area was.  There were several trails leading all around to various camping sites.  I was tempted to hike just a couple of hundred yards east to the top of a knoll where we’d have dramatic views of Slesse.  But, there was no water nearby and since the slab was level and smooth and next to water, we stayed put.  The fire ring gave us an idea and I started gathering deadwood as Ari started melting snow.

Fires are comforting.  We sat around the fire chatting for quite a while.  We grilled a couple of salami slices over the flames, which tasted just excellent.  We still hadn’t decided on exactly what we wanted to do.  I felt happy to do just Rexford.  Besides, the guidebook indicating that the South Nesakwatch Spire true summit required a 5.7 offwidth didn’t really entice me.  We resolved to decide in the morning.

We awoke very late at 8am.  I have really been a bum this summer.  Ari made the decision for us – we would try the traverse.  Alright, let’s head out.  We made our way back down the talus and then ascended to the base of the north spire and scrambled to the ridgecrest at a good spot to belay.  However, the climb directly up from here looked hard.  It was mossy and difficult to protected.  Not feeling comfortable, I suggested that we scramble up and around to the right to start the climb.  We found a good place to start.  We roped up and I headed out on lead.  The beginning featured some goofy face climbing that required some careful moves.  Higher up, the climbing turned into a long slog over third class granite boulders.  We simul-climbed along this terrain.  The climbing steepened at a beautiful but short handcrack that I jammed briefly before arriving at more blocky terrain.  At this point, we were near the summit.  The climbing looked significantly harder and being in favor of speed, I moved left and climbed up 5th class terrain on easy cracks and ledges.  A steep wall blocked my path so I moved left again, this time out over the exposed east face.  The final pitch to the summit was a fun exposed 5.4 ramp that protected beautifully.  For fun, I arrived at the summit by crawling through a small tunnel.

The route to the next spire looked easy – mostly third class before the route steepened.  The right hand side of the south spire is very steep but looks really clean.  There’s probably the opportunity for a new 5.10 route there.  Amazingly, we spotted another party on what looked like the south spire.  Where did they come from?  Well, it turned out they weren’t on the south spire, but were on the lower ramparts of Rexford.  The south spire and Rexford sit so close to each other with a deep cleft between the two that it was hard to tell.  I figured we’d have the whole area to ourselves.  We decided to climb down the 3rd class terrain and make our way towards the next spire.  I was eager to see what this 5.7 offwidth looked like.

We made quick time down the easy, but sometimes loose, slopes towards the south spire.  We stayed either right on the crest of the ridge or on the left.  We went as far as we could until the route steepened to the point of requiring roping up.  I began leading one long simul-climb that terminated in a high quality pitch.  The first part followed easy twin cracks.  I spotted a gorgeous hand crack, but looking too difficult (5.10, I guessed), I bypassed it on the left.  The crack started out as a finger crack then widened to a hand crack, but I couldn’t tell where an how it ended.  It didn’t matter because on the other side of the wall, I was looking at the crux of the route – a beautiful ascending ramp with a column leaning against it forming a finger crack seam.  There was also a hand crack in the column that arched for maybe twenty feet.  On the right side of the column was an offwidth crack.  Was this the offwidth?  It couldn’t be, I reasoned because you weren’t required to climb the offwidth.

I decided to start up, doing this pitch as a simul.  The protection was excellent and the holds were obviously solid.  Higher up, the finger crack became too shallow for nuts.  I made an interesting move on top of the column and placed solid gear inside the offwidth.  Getting above the offwidth was, of course, a pain, but with some stemming, I managed.  Higher up, the offwidth became more awkward.  I stood high, slung a chockstone and climbed back across the column onto exposed face moves.  The moves were reasonably easy and I soon arrived at a belay platform and brought Ari up.  I guess I’d rate this pitch at 5.7.

The next pitch featured more route-finding challenges and steep climbing.  It was short though and I soon myself on granite blocks below the true summit.  Then I saw the 5.7 offwidth.  If you want to stand on the true summit, which is maybe only 20 feet higher, you must brave the offwidth.  I was awfully tempted, but didn’t have gear.  The lower part could be protected with two large chockstones, but you’d have a good 10 feet of exposure which could be dangerous if you fell.  On top of that, I couldn’t tell if there was a rap station on the top.  If there wasn’t, getting down would be interesting, to say the least.  Later on, from the summit of Rexford, I looked and couldn’t see a rap station.  Wisely, I decided not to do it.  Ari was never too keen on it.  This turned out to be a good choice for another reason – our ride out!

We decided to head to Rexford, which was just a stone throws away.  We needed to rappel down into a notch and make our way to the col where we’d rope up again and head up.  This side of Rexford didn’t exhibit the best rock.  Sure enough, I wasn’t too pleased with the lower part of the route.  There were large areas of unprotectable rock, thankfully not too hard.  There was another section that reminded me of Dynaflow Tower – it looked good, but is deceptive, unprotectable, and dangerously loose.  I avoided that section to the left.  The rest of the climb was pretty interesting.  It was steep but well-featured.  I climbed a long, easy, and steep chimney, making good use of back-stepping and stemming to comfortably move up.  In one long simul-climb, we were at the base of the standard route where I saw the quarted of climbers:  Aaron, Adam, Allen,  and Frasier.  They offered to let us pass them.  I did so on the right and was immediately in harder terrain.  It was probably only 5.6 or so, but definitely harder than the standard route on Rexford.  I thrutched my way through an awkward flaring chimney.  I was only a 20 feet or so below the summit ridge but the rope drag was becoming too hard.  Dang, I wanted to do it in one long simul.  Deciding that it was best not to force it, I brought Ari up.

It turned out that we could scramble along an easy ledge that led to the upper part of the the standard route leading to the ridge.  We scrambled up to discover the true summit is to the left, not the right.  We could see the quartet climbing on it.  We grabbed the rope and scrambled over to them (it turns out you can bypass a small tower on the ridge on the right side via secret ledges).

At the base of the summit block, Aaron had just led through a wide chimney and up to the summit where he was setting up a belay.  The other suggested that we climb in parallel off to the left, which was apparently an alternate route to the summit.  I clipped into the anchor and headed off.  The route was short, but fun.  In fact, this is probably a more aesthetic line to the summit than the direct route because you immediately enjoy lots of exposure over the north face.  The climbing is easy, no harder than 5.2.  Soon enough we were on the summit.

We enjoyed sitting on the summit for a while with these excellent Canadian gentlemen who offered us a ride out.  The recalled seeing the black Audi parked way down there on Nesakwatch Creek road.  This turned out to be most appreciated!  Thanks, fellas.  Ari and I headed out first and rappelled down.  Getting back down to the camp was a little tricky – we followed the gentle ridge down for quite a way, but it quickly became brushy and we found ourselves blasting through dense pine trees suspended above cliffs on the ridge.  We must have taken a wrong turn somewhere, but it was at least brief.  Soon enough, we found footprints again and followed them down to the talus.  There was another party camped out planning on climbing Rexford the following day.  Wow, this spot is more popular than I thought.  We arrived back at our granite slab camp, packed up, and headed out.  We didn’t really have the time to melt water and we had only a few drops to sustain us all the way out.  Fortunately, being late in the day, the entire descent was protected from the sun and it wasn’t difficult at all.  We ran into the quarted at the top of the Index walls and hiked out pretty close to each other.  Their Forerunner was parked high up, near the actual trailhead in the clear cut.  By the time everyone had arrived, it was dark.  We all jammed into the SUV and bounced our way out.

What struck me about Fred right away was his packing, or lackthereof.  My main climbing partners (Robert, Aidan, and Michael) are such excellent packers.  I had become accustomed to small packs filled with only the minimal amount of gear to get the job done.  Fred had easily three times as much stuff as me.  Of course, he wouldn’t use it all, but it was coming with us.  We jammed it into the back of my little car and headed out to Canada with passports in hand.

“I hate the road from Bellingham to Sumas!  It’s terrible”, griped Fred.  He doesn’t like the sharp turns, the deep ditches on either side, and the trucks.  To Fred, this stretch of highway is often the crux.  I’d always enjoyed it though, even the pungent smell of the farm animals.  Without too much hassle from the Canadian customs agent, we were in Canada.  I was especially excited to see new mountains.  I’d not been beyond Chiliwack.  Today, I’d be seeing two new big ranges:  the Selkirks and the Canadian Rockies.

The drive to Kamloops was a feast of eye candy as well; Yak Peak is an impressive dome of granite.  It would be great to go there one day.  Kamloops itself was a sweltering place.  We stopped at some restaurant whose name I forget where Fred got a piece of apple pie and started trying to woo the young waitresses.

Beyond Kamloops, there’s a long stretch of Trans-Canada highway that leads to the Selkirks.  I must admit the arriving in the Selkirks was exciting.  To me, they appeared to be a bigger version of the Cascades.  Most of the mountains were a beautiful dark rock and, with the dark forests below, the place seemed to be enchanted or haunted.  I asked Fred how the brush compared to the Cascades.  “Oh, it’s worse!”, he replied.  On top of that, the Selkirks have even fewer trails than the Cascades, which are not known for their extensive trail systems like the Rockies.  Regardless, I must come back and at least try the easy approaches.  Rogers Pass held a feast of beautiful peaks.  The the north, the Hermit Peak area looked especially enticing, complete with a huge waterfall pouring down from the glaciers.  After starting the discussion of brush, Fred often would point to some horrendous brush slope and comically say, “There’s a good slope to tell Roper about!  I think he likes it!  He can have it!”  I got a kick out of those quotes.

Another long stretch of road lead to the Canadian Rockies, which look very similar, no surprise, to the Colorado Rockies, with certain exceptional peaks:  Temple (wow!), Victoria, and, of course, Assiniboine.  But, it would be a while before we we’d see Assiniboine.  We stopped in Banff for another sit down meal.  No fast food this trip.

Just a few minutes down the road was Canmore.  I was looking forward to resting in a quiet campground.  Well, that’s how Fred described it, but I was a little suspicious when he mentioned there was a McDonalds across the street.  We pulled in, just off the highway, to the campground.  It was loaded with tents.  It was super hot, and the sun had almost set; it wouldn’t be a nice cool night.  It was right next to the highway and, on top of that, it was next to a train track.  OK, not much sleep for me tonight.  We at least found a place behind the fence that was officially on the Visitor Center’s property.  It was hot enough where it was uncomfortable to be in the sleeping back, but staying outside subjected me to the bugs.  The heat didn’t stop Fred; somehow he completely vanished inside his sleeping bag.  Between the semis down-shifting as they approached Canmore and the trains that roared by in the night, I didn’t sleep terribly well.  I woke up well before Fred.  Since we weren’t on a tight schedule, I didn’t bother waking him and spent my time wandering around and reading material at the Visitor Center.  I think around 8:30 or so we were on our way.  Well, first we went to MacDonalds, but that was too crowded, so we went to a donut place.  Then we went to the grocery store.  So many places!  I bought just enough to see me through the climb.  I got a kick out of the stuff that Fred was buying, like a big block of cheese.  He asked me if he should get any butter.  “Butter?”, I thought, “Why does he want to buy butter??”  Well, I decided to be a little assertive with the legend and totally opposed the purchase of butter, citing that it would melt before we even got on the chopper!  Thankfully, he didn’t buy the butter, but the cheese was nearly curdled by the time we got to the Assiniboine campground.

The signs leading out of Canmore to the Assiniboine area weren’t terribly clear and somehow no one in the town knew where it was!  Fred and I were baffled.  We decided to follow the most prominent roads that led in the direction we wanted to go.  Well, that worked just fine and we were soon on the long long dirt road that led us to the dusty parking lot where the chopper would come to pick us up.  By this point, a few people had already recognized Fred.  One person asked, “Are you Fred Beckey?  I’ve read a lot about you.”  To which Fred humbly replied, “It’s all bullshit!”  By this point, you, dear reader, may be getting the impression that Fred Beckey is a cantankerous old climber.  Not so at all, he was quite friendly with everyone he ran into.  I think Fred was a little impatient with this person because we were still trying to find where the helicopter pickup spot was.  Fred’s actually a humble guy and does more asking about those he meets than the other way around.

We spent some time packing up, then hiked a shorter distance down the road where the chopper would pick us up.  We were one of the first to arrive and several more folks arrived after us.  I think we were on the second or third ride out.  The ride was quick, under 15 minutes easily, but it passed in what seemed like two minutes.  The famous view of Assiniboine emerged suddenly and is dramatic.  Assiniboine is by far the most impressive peak in the area and I just viewing raised my excitement to climb it.

We arrived to a group of friendly folk at the little Assiniboine Lodge.  We assumed there would be many climbers here, but most of the people here were staying just to hike around and enjoy the scenery and food.  We did find a single French Canadian climber who spoke no English.  Fred tried asking him about the conditions but didn’t get far.  I hoped the climber spoke Spanish.  Nope, just French.  I did discern that crampons were required and, more frighteningly, ice screws.  That wasn’t a good sign.  I told Fred about the crampons, but mysteriously kept quiet about the ice screws.  I supposed I was a little skeptical and didn’t want to spoil our enthusiasm since we didn’t have ice screws.  According to the staff at the lodge, only one team, a party of two Scotsmen, had climbed the mountain this year.  And there was a party of five women up there now.

We hung out for a long time on the porch of the lodge, meeting various members of the staff, all of whom knew of Fred, but, before meeting, weren’t sure it was really him that was visiting because someone had taken down his name for the helicopter reservation as “Fred Brecky”.  I used a small telescope to peer at Assiniboine.  I couldn’t make out that much detail.  It looked steep, but it didn’t look that icy.  After a couple of hours on the porch, we decided to pack up and head out to the campground.  Fred’s pack was bulky and much bigger than mine, even though I was carrying the tent, the rope, and the rack.  Curiously, he packed his sleeping bag at the top of his pack.

Fred was a little slow along the trail and stopped every now and then to rest.  His back was bothering him too.  “I need a new back!”, he’d frequently remark.  I used the extra time to wander down to the shores of Magog Lake and wander around.  Surprisingly, the lake was very warm, totally swimmable!  We continued on the relatively short distance to the campground, found a spot, and set up.  Later on, a group of Canadians (Mike Nash, author of Exploring Prince George and party) walked by and remarked how refreshing a dip in Sunburst Lake was.  Being only 10 minutes up the trail, I decided to head out just a little before sunset.  I took a quick dip from the isolated shores and then dried off as the sun dropped behind the ridge to the west.  From here, Assiniboine shows off it’s steepness proudly and towers over the valley.

Back at the camp, Fred had dinner almost ready to be cooked.  Mine was a boring ole Chili Mac (which didn’t agree with me completely) and Fred’s was mashed potatoes with melted cheese and salami.  “I have to eat this cheese fast!  It’s almost ruinied!”, he said.  I thought back to Fred wanting to buy butter.  I tried to eat as much as I could, but I just wasn’t that hungry.  We went to bed under a nice sky.  Fred was sleeping outside.  I decided to sleep inside the Beta Light and fell asleep fast.

Around 4am, I noticed the wind had significantly picked up.  I listened more intently expecting to hear raindrops.  Sure enough, they started to come – intermittent, but big wet drops.  I decided to get up and move all the gear inside the tent.  Barefooted with headlamp donned, I zipped around camp and picked up most of Fred’s stuff scattered about and stuffed it under the Beta Light.  Fred poked his head up and I exhorted, “You better get in the tent, Fred.  It’s starting to rain.”  By this time, I had everything in the tent.  The rain was coming down harder and I escaped into the tent.  “Where’s the entrance?!?”, yelled Fred through the wind.  There’s only one entrance to that tent and I noticed Fred was pulling at the wrong side!  Now, the Beta Light is a super lightweight tent that has no floor or poles.  You use your trekking poles to hold it up.  I could just see the whole thing come tumbling down with Fred pulling up the stakes.  “Over here!  The other side!!”  I found myself yelling much louder than normal; the wind and rain had continued to increase.  Fred came around and squeezed into his side and was surprisingly quickly in his bag and asleep.  I slept well the rest of the early morning hours despite a very hard rainstorm.  It poured for an hour or two it seemed like.  The wind didn’t start relenting until 6 or 7am.  I emerged around 8am to a beautiful day.  Most everyone else, including Fred, stayed inside until at least 9am.  The ground around us was wet, but dried fast.  We weren’t in a hurry and took a long time to pack up and head out.  In the mean time, many folks came down to meet Fred and talk to him, and we were both happy to chat with all the friendly folks in the campground.

We headed out around 11am, if I recall.  Some others in Mike’s party (Anna Marie and Sharon, if I recall) stopped us to take our picture.  “I’m real ugly!”, joked Fred.  But, he politely stopped and smiled for the cameras.

The hike to the Hind Hut is about 1800 feet of elevation, maybe 2-3 miles max.  So, it wouldn’t be a hard day.  It was actually a nice change of pace from the Cascades and my other partners where we are always using every minute of the day.  For once, I wouldn’t be wasted at the end of the day.  Above us though, the only way through looked to be steep.  The route led us through two chossy gullies, the second steeper, but more solid.  Fred stopped every so often for a long break and by the time we were at the top of the first gully, Mike Nash and Judy Lett caught up to us.  I hiked up ahead and scouted out the second gully, yelled back to the others, and climbed up and waited.  Fred, upon arriving, expressed his condemnation for the horrible rock.  The entire slope is indeed crumbly.  Mike and Judy decided to return at this point.  Fred and I pressed on and found that the route got even worse.  It was harder to follow and it became even looser.  I spotted the party of five women high above and to the left descending a snowfield.  From the base of the snowfield, I could see a ledge running all the way over to a hundred feet above us or so.  OK, I saw the route, we just have to go up.  The climb up to just below the ledge is tricky and if you can deal with this fine, you’re probably plenty ready to climb Assiniboine.  Fred rested one more time for a long time before making one last push. 

By this time, the women were rappelling down to where we were.  There were two guides and three clients.  The guides all knew of Fred and were delighted to meet him, telling us of their favorite routes of his.  We decided to stay put while they passed us.  Fred told me that he was planning on returning to the campground.  He absolutely hated the loose rock (”This is junk!”) and his back was still bothering him.  However, Fred urged me to go on.  I was undecided about what I should do.  Since moving to the Pacific Northwest, I haven’t done any solo climbing.  I just didn’t enjoy it the way I used to.  But, I was facing a solo climb of one of North America’s Fifty Classics.  I was tempted to turn around, but I decided that since I was up here, I should at least press on to the hut and try the climb.  If anything became dangerous, I’d just turn around.  So, that’s what I did.  Before I headed out, one of the guides asked me, “Hey, do you realize that your helmet’s on backwards?”  D’oh!  I had noticed that it felt funny, but I didn’t feel like fixing whatever it was, assuming that I just had a twisted strap or something.  Probably not the best image for someone going to solo Assiniboine.  Oh well…onward!

Fred had actually climbed the worst of it.  I had to scramble up about 30 feet to the large ledge that led across the cliffy face, past a ribbon waterfall, to the snowfield that led up to the hut.  I stopped frequently to look back down on the route to make sure that Fred made it OK.  I saw him enter and exit the second gully.  Between the two gullies, he took another long break.  I continued, but made sure that I could see him the whole time.  Eventually, I saw him on easy ground below the first gully and knew he’d make it back fine.

Most of the ledge is easy, although there was one particular place that I remember that required exposed 4th class scrambling – a bulge in the cliff.  I moved quickly past the falls; the spray was soaking me.  I climbed the snow which led to a few more loose scrambling spots.  Eventually, I was up in the cirque and I could see that the hut was only twenty minutes away.  Soon enough, I was there.  It was a beautiful day and I had the place to myself.  The hut itself it quite comfortable and clean.  I was used to the huts of Central and South America, which aren’t nearly as nice.  There was water nearby too.

I lounged around the hut reading the book that I’d hauled up there (The Magic of NeuroLinguistic Programming Demystified).  Around 6pm, I radioed down to the lodge to check the weather, which called for a clear morning with a probability of rain in the afternoon.  OK, it wasn’t the best forecast, but at least the morning would be clear.  I spoke with Claude at the lodge and told him I’d try to climb the mountain in the morning.  If things didn’t look good, I said, I’d turn around.  I set my alarm for 5am and went to bed.

I awoke feeling good and ready for the climb.  I had a quick breakfast, packed up, and headed out.  There was excellent beta in the lodge including a large photo that had the route outlined on it.  It was pretty much what I was expecting.  I noted the location of the red and gray bands in relation with the rest of the mountain so that I’d know my approximate speed.  I headed across the cirque, dropped down into the talus and headed up.  At the base of the mountain, right at the edge of the glacier, I made some 4th class moves to get on the lower slopes.  I was now officially on the climb.  The lower slopes are quite easy though fairly steep and quite loose.  The climb up is easier than the descent and I made quick time.

As soon as I found snow, I touched it and discovered that it was indeed quite hard and ice.  I would most likely need crampons.  Crampons!  I didn’t remember putting them in my pack last night.  Did I?  I figured there was no point in checking now.  I was not about to climb back down and get them and climb back up over all that loose junk if I had indeed forgotten them.  I saw that I could avoid this snowfield so I would keep going until I absolutely needed them – then I’d check.  I did a good job of route-finding while avoiding the snow.  At one point, maybe a 200 feet below the red band, I could not avoid the snow without an undesireable long traverse along the north face.  I opened my pack tentatively and learned the unfortunate truth – no crampons.  Well, what to do now?  I found the most narrow spot of snow where I could jump from rock to rock.  Still, I couldn’t avoid about a 10 foot stretch of ice.  It was way too slick and steep to attempt without crampons.  I did have my ice axe though, so I tried to cut a deep boot step for myself.  This worked beautifully, and I cautiously put my right foot into the hole and stepped up.  Then I swung my ice axe and caught the edge of the ice.  This solid hold enabled me to swing my left leg way over and up so that I could pull and my lift myself on to the rock.  I pulled up and reached up with my left hand to a good rock hold.  I was now able to skip from rock to rock to the base of the red band.

I climbed through the Red Band, surprised at how easy it was.  There was some ice on the route which reduced the amount of holds I could use, but it was still easy enough not to worry about climbing through alone.  I suppose it was 5.0 at the most.  At the top, I found numerous rappel anchors.  From my memory of the location of the red band, I realized I was high on the mountain.  “There’s actually a good chance I’ll succeed.  Maybe 75% now”, I thought.  I’d started giving myself a 50-50 chance of success and now I was only two hours into the climb.

I moved leftward along the top of the Red Band to the ridge proper where the classic climbing started.  This part of the climb is superbly exposed over the left side and solid.  There are numerous rappel anchors along the way.  The climbing is mostly 4th class with occasional easy and short 5th class moves.

About thirty minutes later, I was at the base of the Gray Band, which looked significantly harder.  The band directly along the ridge was overhanging.  Obviously, I would need to find a better way.  I moved to the left, looking for a good line.  I found a blocky but steep line and headed up.  Along the way, I found a piton right before a very exposed move.  I decided to be safe and clip my daisy chain to the piton.  I safely moved through the steep moves then stretched over and unclipped the piton and climbed the rest of the way up.  At this point, I could see the final slopes.  “95% chance of success”, I told myself.

The technical moves weren’t over, but they weren’t as sustained as the Gray Band.  It was another 15 minutes to the top, and there was a decent amount of 5th class sprinkled in.  Suddenly, I was there.  I felt proud to have climbed the mountain.  I walked along the top of the mountain along a thin sidewalk of a ridge below the corniced summit.  I decided not to go stand on the snow, having heard a horrible story about the cornice breaking off and sending the climbers tumbling over the east face.  I headed back to my pack, sat and ate, and called Ken and then Robert.  A small plane buzzed the summit and I stood and waved.  I wondered if they saw me.

Remembering the weather forecast and my own experience from climbing in the Colorado Rockies, I decided not to linger too long on the summit.  I stayed a total of 30 or 40 minutes, then headed down.  I decided I would rappel as much as I could.  Immediately, there was a steep and exposed move.  I realized that I’d climbed up this, but down-climbing was more challenging.  Though I have plenty of experience down-climbing, I wasn’t in the mood for the continual concentration and decided to rappel.

I made anywhere from 10-12 rappels total.  I had a 50 meter rope and it usually would stretch to the next good rappel station, although I did have to do a good bit of scouting.  During my numerous rappels, the Assiniboine helicopter was flying around the mountain.  At first, it was circling the summit high above me.  I waved when I could although most of the time I was in the middle of a rappel and I didn’t want to stop.  I had heard from the party of women that the rockfall was bad on the mountain when they had scouted it.  For this reason, they decided to not climb Assiniboine, but instead concentrated on satellite peaks.  I didn’t feel like waiting around to find out.  During the rappel, there was some rockfall due to meltoff.  I got hit by a couple of small rocks, but nothing bad.  This just goaded me on.  I did take the time to coil my rope after each rappel.  Once, when I swung my pack off, my ice axe slipped off and went flying, gone forever.  My axe loop had broken a couple of weeks before on Mount Cruiser when I’d tossed my backpack over a chockstone.

Later on, the helicopter came back and this time was hovered close me.  It actually gave me an eerie feeling.  Was there something I didn’t know?  Were they trying to tell me something?  I wished they would leave; I preferred being completely alone.  Back at the lodge the next day, a staff member told me that the helicopter was on a mission searching for the body of a climber who had disappeared in September of 2005.

I continued rappelling for as long as I could past the red band.  I barely had enough rope to clear the snow.  In fact, I had to slide the last 5 feet or so.  The remainder of the descent was along steep loose terrain and was tediously slow.  The slope is broad here and I wanted to make sure that I ended up in the same place that I started.  I slowly made my way down to near the base of the climb where I found another rappel sling that led into a rounded steep cliff.  “This isn’t the way I came up”, I thought, so I moved towards the glacier.  “Aha, there it is!”  I found the scramble and deliberately climbed down and touched down on talus.  Done!  I slogged my way back, stopping to press my lips and drink from an icy pool at the base of the talus.  I slowly climbed back up to camp where I made an immediate radio call to the lodge.  They put me through to Claude, who was making his rounds to the campground.  He told me that Fred was doing fine and congratulated me on my summit success.

It was only 1pm and I had planned on returning to the campground.  But, the thought of more mosquitoes and horseflies dissuaded me.  I decided to spend another night at the hut.  I remained inside the hut for the rest of the afternoon, sitting through three rainstorms, and leisurely alternating between reading my book and napping.  This was such a pleasant and relaxing way to spend the afternoon; I absolutely loved it.  I spent a little time sitting on the edge of the cliff overlooking Lake Magog.  I wondered if anyone could see me (turns out no one saw me, even while they were looking for me through the telescope earlier that morning).  I had an early dinner and went to bed around 9:30.

I slept late the following morning and took my time getting ready to hike out.  I descended in about an hour and a half or two hours from the hut to the campground.  I down-climbed everything instead of rappelling.  It felt good to be back down on the easy trail heading for the campground.

I found everyone out and about. They all offered me congratulations.  Fred came ambling up, very happy that I had summitted.  We all chatted for a long time and I told them my impressions of the mountain.  Later on, I interviewed Mike and various members of his party.  I had my video camera to make a movie from this trip.  I decided to leave it behind on the actual climb – a good idea, since the rain came not long after I’d arrived back at the hut.

Today was Wednesday and it was time to catch the chopper.  So, we said farewell to everyone and packed up and headed off.  Fred insisted on carrying more than he should have.  He grabbed my Beta Mid and wouldn’t give it back for me to carry it.  “Let me carry some of that iron!!”, he said.  I told him the rack was buried in my pack.  And I told him he couldn’t have the rope either.  I was surprised at how he insisted on carrying his fair share.  I could easily carry the group gear, but he wouldn’t hear of it.  My only chance was to pack it quickly before he could say anything.  The Beta Mid was one of the last items to be packed because we had it airing out in the sun.

We enjoyed more lounging about back at the lodge as we waited for the chopper.  The horseflies weren’t nearly as bad and the heat had abated some too.  We said our goodbyes to the staff as we boarded the chopper and lifted off.  It was good to be back at the car, on our way out.  The long drive back to Canmore was dusty again, despite all the rain.  It’s amazing how quickly the ground dries in the Rockies compared to the Cascades.  Fred mentioned that he wanted to stop to make some phone calls in a mountaineering shop (Valhalla, I believe) and talk to one of the employees. 

I was beginning to witness classic Fred Beckey.  At this point, I only wanted to get back home and relax and eat a hamburger or something.  Fred’s only thought was the next climb.  He was still insisting on coming back to Assiniboine, maybe even this summer.  What I really thought was funny was that Fred sat himself down in the climbing store and grabbed a “Selected Climbs of the Canadian Rockies” book and proceeded to write a full page of beta that he gleaned from the book!  We were there for maybe an hour and a half.  “Gosh, we need to go now if we’re going to make it at a reasonable hour”, I thought.  Fred could see that I was ready to leave and just started to laugh.

Fred had me stop at four more towns to check weather and call people to arrange future trips.  The following day, back in Kirkland, I was reading Ways to the Sky (highly recommended), in which Fred is the most prominent climber documented, and read the various personality traits which I all witnessed.

By the time we were in Kamloops, it was already late, maybe pushing 10 or so.  Fred insisted on stopping before Chiliwack to bivy.  I wasn’t into it because I had forgotten that I didn’t have my comfortable sleeping pad and I didn’t want to spend another night on the hard ground, especially when I hadn’t bathed in some days.  When I realized that I did have it, I conceded.  We got off the highway and drove to the site.  Fred had the directions memorized having spent many nights there.  To our dismay, the gates had closed at 10pm.  Instead of walking down the road, we just turned around and drove back to Seattle.  I was happy with this, even though we arrived back at nearly 3am. 

All along the way home, from at least Rogers Pass, we discussed things such as the how the Worldwide Web and email worked, why people used dating service, and even climbing.  Fred insisted on doing some of the driving.  I figured that I was this close that I might as well finish it off.  Besides, I was feeling pretty good.  “You must have looked it up and discovered that I fell asleep a couple of times behind the wheel!”  Fred crashed at my place.  He was awake before me this morning and I could hear him on the phone arranging trips!

I felt privileged that Fred told me about some of his classic climbs during the drive home, including The Devil’s Thumb, which sounded just like the most amazing adventure of all time, something way beyond me.  Further reading of Ways to the Sky revealed another notable climb:  the second ascent of Waddington with his brother Helmey at ages 19 and 17!  That was back in the day when the climbers were much tougher.  They started the climb at the ocean, making shuttles of supplies.  Incredible!  Absolutely incredible.

Thanks for the amazing few days, Fred.  Great memories.

12►

Click here to view the embedded video.

This climb made me a little antsy.  Was I ready for something this big and committing?  This was one of the more serious Alpine Rock climbs of the Fifty North American Classics.  At dinner in Chiliwack, I asked Michael and Aidan if they were at all nervous.  They both said, “Nah.”  That at least calmed me down a little.  Back at the trailhead, we were a little confused by a sign which indicated that the Slesse trail was further up the road, while the guidebooks clearly indicated that the trail leaving the parking lot was the correct one.  Michael and I hiked up the rocky road a way, trying a little investigative work before we turned in before the big day.  Well, we didn’t discover anything so we returned intent on at least walking the standard trail in the morning.

After a pleasant night in the not-too-scenic camping area, we headed off down the trail.  Pretty soon, the trail took us down to Nesakwatch Creek where the trail abruptly ended.  After a minute or two of fretting over where to go, we concluded that because there was no bridge in sight both upstream and downstream, we should trust the sign and continue hiking up the road.  Some minutes later on the road, we did see a faint trail turnoff when descended steeply back to the creek and crossed on a solid fallen tree.  The trail then climbed steeply back up where it met up with the abandoned logging road.  We had received beta that the easy approach to the base of the climb took a mere hour.  That was way off.  It would take two and a half hours, not bad, but the alder had encroached on most of the trail and, despite the clear night, was soaking wet.  So, yet again, we enjoyed pushing through the dripping trail with branches slapping us in the face depositing wet drops that clung to our noses, ears, eye lashes, and aggravated.  I think it was really just me, but I got irritated at the approach!  The Slesse Memorial sign, commemorating the 1956 plane crash was a good spot to stop and take a gander at the massive route.  Beyond, more wet trail awaited us on the way to the grassy knoll and the Propeller Cairn.  We took a short break at the cairn then set off for the Pocket Glacier.

There’s a steep notch used to access the Pocket Glacier.  The super slippery descent from the notch was actually a little nervy for me.  We reached the Pocket Glacier without incident though.  It had thankfully released most of it’s ice.  There was a little bit still at the very top, so we didn’t wait around too long.  We’d all heard the stories of ice shifting frequently.  The Pocket Glacier cirque had probably the most granite I’d ever seen.  If you imagine a rough cube, there was granite on all sides except two:  above us and behind us.  It provided some pretty interesting echo opportunities.  The bypass ledge to get to the start of the climb was very obvious and again quite nervy up high.  There was one moment where Michael and Aidan were well in front of me (I’d been filming) and I made a super exposed and scary step across in my tennis shoes (no heavy boots for this trip) without any handholds.  “Oh my God!”, I thought.  “These guys didn’t even flinch at this move.  Am I ready for this?”  Turns out they’d found an easier way.  OK, no more of that, I was ready to rope up.  However, we continued climbing up less exposed, but still 5th class, slabs beyond the traditional rope up spot to a ledge where the climbing became serious enough to warrant roping up.  OK, we were here!  Finally!  Let’s get down to business.

Aidan took off on the first pitch, a 5.6 slab that was pretty much impossible to protect for a long stretch.  It required getting your nerves ready to go right away.  The pitch was fairly short, and, with the exception of the slab, was quite easy.  I led out on the next pitch, which was similar:  mostly easy climbing with a few 5.7/5.8 moves.  Aidan and I swung two more leads, each one started to get a little more sustained in difficulty.  Aidan led a fifth pitch up to the spot where we could bypass the crux on more 5.7.  But, Michael really wanted to lead the crux and he did a fine job of it.  It was super quality climbing and pretty challenging, definitely harder than the upper crux pitches I thought, but reasonably rated.  It was the sustained nature of the pitch that made it challenging.  The first part was a fun crack for about 30-40 feet.  The crux was exiting the crack onto conglomerate rock which formed a roof to be dealt with.  There were many pieces of the puzzle to put together – short steps here, quick bumps on handholds there – in order to complete the roof.  Once above the roof, the climb becomes very much like Canary at Castle Rock in Leavenworth – 5.8 exposed thin face climbing.

Now, it was pretty tricky for Aidan and I to follow.  We opted to climb on a single rope, with both followers tied within 15-20 feet of each other, following together.  This was pretty tough climbing to remain synchronized on.  A few times Aidan had to keep moving while I was fiddling with ideas on how to get through the roof and ended up getting some significant slack in the rope.  A fall would have yanked me off as well, though Michael kept a good belay going.  Needless to say, it sketched Aidan out a little.  When we arrived at the belay, Aidan needed to head out next (since he was at the end).  But, he obviously wasn’t too into it.  I volunteered but when Aidan saw the hassle, he went into his serious get-it-done mode and headed off.  Aidan did the same thing on Mount Terror.  When he gets a little weirded, he shifts into a serious mode then blasts through hard stuff really fast.  On this pitch, he continued up exposed 5.7 face climbing up to a ledge.  At the ledge was, what I thought, the hardest move on the climb:  a short strenuous 5.9 lieback.  I came up over that move panting.  “Dang, Aidan!  Nice job!”

At the top of this pitch, Michael opted to lead off again.  It was now about 3 in the afternoon and we suspected that we were very close to the bivy sites.  This was another fun pitch, rated 5.8+.  The Beckey topo described it as a strenuous lieback (I don’t think he was talking about the previous one).  Well, it wasn’t strenuous at all.  I recall a fun, solid crack with flakes all the way up to the top.  At the top, I immediately saw the famous view from the bivy of the upper buttress.  We’d arrived!

I’d lobbied hard for the bivy option.  It turned out we could have done the route in a day, but we probably would have needed to sleep on the summit and that would not have been too comfortable.  Plus, more importantly, I wanted to have a lot of time to relax on the mountain.  And what better place to enjoy some downtime than halfway up the Northeast Buttress of Slesse Mountain?  Turns out this was a great choice.  We had an awesome time just hanging out and taking it easy for many hours before the sun went down.  We drank from the pools of snow melt, filled our bottles, gawked at the ridiculous exposure over the east face, listened to music, joked around, etc.  Highly recommended!

Michael has a few pictures on his website of the bivy:

Precipitous drops from the bivy
The view of the final section of the buttress

After a long sleep and a leisurely start, Michael led out over the long sections of 4th class and brief encounters of 5th class.  Above the leaning tower, we re-racked and Michael led out again.  This was another 5.8+ pitch.  For the most part, it was pretty easy.  It started out as a crack and I thought the crux was, again, exiting out of the crack onto careful traverse moves near the crest.  Above that, I led out on the 5.7 “Rotten Pillar” pitch.  It was pretty easy, not being very sustained.  The only hard move was a delicate traverse above the pillar.

Above this pitch was the crux of the standard route (not including the 5.10 direct buttress pitch) – a 5.9 roof with an amazing 5.8 below it.  This, in my opinion, was the best pitch of the climb:  very steep, super bomber flakes.  The roof was big fun too – overhanging, but every hold was there.  This kind of climbing was just a joy to experience!  I led off for the next pitch, the exposed 5.7.  I ended up stringing this pitch along with the next one, a 5.6 pitch with a roof at the very end that deposited you on to the “Slesse Sheraton”, a great (small!) bivy site for two people.  You’d better be clipped in on this one.  Anyway, this was my favorite lead and my second favorite pitch.  The climbing was sustained 5.7 and super exposed.  The great void below me yawned and prompted me to protect this pitch frequently (as Aidan pointed out).  Near the top was another roof to surmount.  I climbed up to feel out the roof before placing any gear.  At this point, I was running low on gear.  I climbed back down, satisfied that this was the route and that I could do this without unreasonable difficulty.  So, I placed the cam in a marginal shallow crack, and went for it – ended up being really easy.  I was at the Sheraton.  I brought Michael and Aidan up and we all raved at our surroundings.

Aidan led out on the next pitch, the second to the last.  In the Beckey topo, it was listed as “moderate and fun” for 160 feet.  Aidan could have made it moderate by going left, but opted for fun by going straight up.  Great choice!  The climbing was mostly up a steep wall with good holds, probably 5.7/5.8.  Michael then led off for the final pitch, which was one more money 5.8 pitch.  The first part was very much like a Vantage climb at the Feathers – horizontally jagged rock with a crack in a dihedral.  Beyond that, was a very fun, ultra exposed, step across to gain easier ground.  Walking 50 feet on the easy ground gave way to the final short 5th class climbing to the summit.

So we were at last sitting on the summit of Slesse!  What a feeling!  We lounged around for maybe thirty minutes.  Everyone (well, not me) was eager to get going.

I won’t bother describing the descent in much detail.  It’s something I’d rather forget anyway.  It’s a hot, dry, steep, unyielding piece of work.  My left knee was really irritating me and I often gasped or howled at shock of the pain as we descended.  Thankfully, I brought poles or maybe Aidan and Michael would have had to carry me out (well, not really but still!)  We ran out of water early and were parched by the time we arrived at the bottom.  The abandoned logging road never seemed to end – and it went uphill!  The alders all around often blocked the sun but kept the heat in.  When we finally found some water splashing down a steep boulder along moss, Michael and I succumbed and drank straight from the source.  Aidan resisted the temptation (guess we’ll find out if that was worth it) but ended up essentially showering in the splashes.  I think that water gave me the energy though to actually enjoy the remainder of the hike out.  At the standard trailhead though, we still had maybe a mile or more of hiking to get to the car (my car didn’t have the clearance to go the whole way) and the process was repeated back at Nesakwatch (although I ended up staying and “guarding” the car).

Overall, this was a superb climb, my favorite to date, no doubt.  In 2003, my favorite climb was Triumph.  In 2004, it was Terror.  This year, it’s Slesse, and it trumps them all!

Interesting Facts:

“Fang” is English for “Slesse”
Michael hummed and whistled the theme to Jurassic Park during the trip
The Northeast Buttress is in the top 25 of the “Fifty Classics of North America”
Michael didn’t get stung once