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    The NW Alpine Blog of Alpine Pursuits

    Chris Kalman Goes Ice Climbing

    Everything was still, and quiet save for the clinking of ice screws against one another, the grind of crampons and tools scraping on rocks, and a few birds chirping in the early morning light.  Then there was a “whooooosh” and then my head was in my hands, and I was cursing, and I still wasn’t sure why.  At the time, the seconds that ticked away felt like long drawn out minutes.  I went through a mental checklist as I reconstructed the events.  Alert and oriented?  Check.  Breathing? Check. No bleeding out of gaping head wounds?  Check.  Partner wide-eyed and concerned, asking if you are alright between expletives?  Check.

    Okay, so I was fine.  I took a baseball sized rock to the head, but I was wearing this badass helmet (this is not an ad for the Petzl Sirocco - but that is an awesome helmet), and the my head and helmet escaped unscathed.  A diligent EMT may have had me pegged for irritable and combative - standard signs of a head wound.  But in this case, I was just still in the process of adjusting to one of the harsh realities (apparently) of ice and mixed climbing.  You get hit in the head a lot.  Eventually, the rope pulled tight, and our rope gun belayed Joey and I up.  It was my third day of ice climbing, my first day of mixed climbing, and I was climbing Bird Brain Boulevard, the classic Ouray mixed climb first done by climbing heroes Charlie Fowler, Jeff Lowe, and Mark Wilford. 

    I’ve been rock climbing for round about 15 years - which doesn’t sound like that much to a lot of the older heads out there, but it’s half the time I’ve been alive, so it feels like a lot.  I’m pretty comfortable on a nice sunny wall of granite, cruxing out above totally bomber protection, clinging desperately to holds that aren’t going to break any time in the next 25,000 years or so.  I trust my risk assessment, know how to avoid dangerous objectives, and of late have begun to shake a bit of a reputation for rather ball-dropping runouts and free-solos in lieu of a reputation for headpointing and telling people to check their knots.  You get away with enough close-calls, and I think this is often inevitable.

    So it was with a mix of skepticism and caution that I originally decided to approach ice climbing.  Following the OR show in SLC, I caught a ride down to Ouray and Ridgway where I had a few friends malingering around town as ice-climbing bums.  Philippe Wheelock (badass ice-climber mountaineer best friend kinda dude), and Drew Smith (BFF, nickname: Dreamy Drew, superstrong Montana boy kinda dude), would be my rope guns for the next three days.

    First up was the ice park.  Drew ropegunned a toprope up from the summit of the icepark for me, handed me a couple tools, and told me to leanback (I was tied in).  I said “Wait, isn’t there like something I should know?”  “No, he told me.  It’s just like rock climbing except really easy.” And away I went.  About thirty seconds later I was standing on a frozen creek, and about two minutes later I was back at the top.  Turns out, it was really easy - whatever it was - but it sure as hell wasn’t anything I’d feel comfortable leading!  Yikes!  The entire time I was showered by ice crystals, and it felt like if I kicked hard enough I’d knock down the whole chosspile (I mean waterfall)!  This was crazy.  Drew assured me, however, that it gets a lot better.  The Ice park is really aerated, and would, indeed, make a harrowing lead.

    Day two Drew and I got out early to climb the world class Ames Ice Hose.  It’s kind of weird getting ropegunned up a world class route on your second day climbing.  People wanted to know was it like the coolest thing I ever climbed, and I thought it certainly was not, but I didn’t have much previous ice to compare it to… It was really pretty, very nice shades of blue and white, and it was great to catch the surreal sunrise over the San Juans.  The most notable thing about the climbing was that instead of getting showered in little chandelier crystals, I was continually showered in grapefruit sized chunks of ice.  They hurt when they hit, but didn’t cause any serious injury.  Still, Ice climbing was not starting to feel less sketchy.  If you lead, you risk falling with a ton of little sharp pointy things on you.  But if you follow, your angry leader will knock ice daggers on you all day long.  Sketchy.

    Day three I rested with some awesome weather, and Ouray choss climbing with my good friend Jeff Morris who was passing through.  We climbed with our shirts off, drank beers, and ate burgers shortly after climbing.  This was an awesome day, and certainly par for the rock climbing course.  My friends sent some gnarly ice mixed climbs the same day… into the same evening… They put up some FA apparently, but by the sounds of it, they almost died on the descent.  Maybe not.  Hard to say.  Anyway, they didn’t die.  And that’s awesome.

    Day four, we got the super shralpine start for Bird Brain Boulevard.  This would be my first ever mixed climb, and my first time getting ropegunned by mountain climbing ace Philippe Wheelock.  You already caught the story with the rock: that was pitch 2.  The rest of the day went pretty much without incident with the exception of Philippe reminding me over and over again that it probably wasn’t wise to weight the anchors… Awesome news after you just got belayed up on them.  I guess Philippe really trusted my 5.7 chimneying in crampon skills, because that’s about all I did all day long.  Again, not terribly challenging technically, but mentally draining.

    At the top, I hugged Philippe and my new buddy Joey, and thanked them for a rad day.  I guess Bird Brain Boulevard was my favorite ice/mixed climbing.  I still don’t know what all these damned numbers and letters mean, but they say that one is WI5/M5.  In my mind, that means 5.7X with some C1 moves on A4 placements.  I can’t help but feel like iced/mixed climbing is far more akin to aid climbing than rock climbing - at least when you’re not clipping bolts.  When I told Philippe that I had enjoyed myself in spite of almost getting decapitated by the deathrock he trundled, he was typically stoic: “Yeah, if you’re going to be an alpinist, you have to have a pretty short memory” he grumbled, as he disappeared out of sight down the first rappel.

    I lingered there for a moment taking in the view, and the first real sunshine we’d felt all day.  I don’t know if I would call myself a converted ice climber, but there is definitely something compelling about being able to bag summits in the winter.  And oh yeah, I definitely liked looking at the ice crystals and formations.  The whole sport is very very shimmery.

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    Funeral for Another Friend

    By Nick Frazee

    This fall Bud Martin, Marko Pujic and I decided to check out a classic early season alpine mixed climb, Funeral for Another Friend in the Beartooth Mountains of Montana. This is an extension to Funeral for a Friend that Aaron Mulkey, Daniel Burson and Doug Shepherd put up in 2011.

    We left Bozeman at 4am, made the three and a half hour drive, arrived at the trailhead at first light, packed up and began the two hour approach. Six hours after leaving town we found ourselves at the base of a deep slot splitting beautiful granite towers, the aesthetics of this climb are remarkable, and we soon found that the climbing itself was incredible.

    The first pick climbed multiple steps of wet delaminating ice over and around large chockstones deep in the back of a chimney to the base of the crux ice pitch. We found steep, thin, overhanging, sticky ice pouring over more chockstones stacked above one another. Good stemming and fun overhanging moves brought me to a large chockstone I was able to tunnel behind and back out on top of, all with excellent and varied protection. Despite being soaked through my base layers by the contant shower of running water, I was psyched by the time I reached the belay cave at the top. It was one of the most fun pitches I had ever climbed. 

    The third pictch began by stepping out from below and around yet another enormous chockstone onto a thin slab of ice and continued on snow-covered rock through a large roof and up steep snow to the next belay. The fourth pitch climbed great rock with varied climbing styles including hooks, crimps, pick cracks, a short hand crack and bomber turf sticks. The protection included a bit of everything: stubby screws, a specter in turf, cams, nuts, a slung horn, and a knife blade to round out yet another classic pitch. The following 5th pitch was a gem, a full 70 meter rope stretcher of wet sticky ice in a corner ran through to a large ledge below the final headwall. The mixed terrain through the upper headwall flew by in a flurry of spicy mixed climbing and spat us out onto the rim of the bear tooth plateau just in time to catch some sun and an incredible sunset. We were all elated to have just climbed such an incredible route in such fun conditions, and basked in the sun.

    Exhausted and dehydrated we down climbed a neighboring snow couloir back to the base of the route just before dark. We made the hike back out under a star filled sky and a handful of bright shooting stars to top it all off. Twenty two hours after leaving, we pulled into Bozeman, struggling to stay awake at the wheel just a few minutes after last call had been made in the bars along main street. What a surreal sight it was as we watched the drunks loudly stumble into the streets after a long peaceful day in the mountains.

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    Belay Jacket Review

    "Testers chose it again and again because of its warmth, toughness and minimal packed size." -December/January Issue Climbing Magazine

    belayjacketreviewclimbing.jpg

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    Tyler Adams 1986-2014

    by Bill Amos

    (The following is adapted from the remembrance I gave at the celebration of Tyler's life 11/7/14)

    I've spent a lot of time over the last few weeks agonizing over what to say today. Not for lack of things to talk about, but more a search for a way to talk about Tyler that really captures who he was to me... I've only met a couple of people in my life that were so unique and on such a different level than everyone else that I could never come up with words to describe them. "You just have to meet him" was a phrase I often found myself using when talking to people about Tyler. 

    I met Tyler through climbing and it was in that context that I got to know him. Over the years we had many adventures together, and over the last few weeks a lot of memories have come flooding back. There was the time he was belaying me on a notoriously rotten aid climb (the third ascent of CL Concerto at Smith Rock) and the beak I was standing on blew out of the rock. When I stopped twenty feet later I looked down to see him flying a kite and laughing maniacally. Or the time we were half way up the ultra-classic Liberty Crack in Washington on a hot day and ran out of water. We kept going, laughing our way to the summit, delirious with dehydration. Or the the many days schwacking around The Menagerie looking, and often failing, to find this or that. Or the numerous times he'd pick me up and we'd fly around Mt. Hood or to the coast, enjoying a different perspective on the Oregon landscape that he loved so much. There were so many great days. The thing I often found myself thinking after we'd spent time together was, man, I really do have an awesome life. 

    Tyler accomplished so much in such a short time, especially in the realm of climbing. He put in many, many days replacing worn out anchors and fixed protection, resurrecting forgotten routes and making them safe for future climbers to enjoy. He also established numerous first ascents around the state. For a time there he was almost certainly the most prolific first ascentionist in Oregon, leaving a legacy of climbs done in an impeccable, and often bold style. At one of his favorite spots, The Menagerie Wilderness, this often involved ground up hand drilling from stances, a style that not many climbers in their mid-twenties have much interest in.  

    He had a deep respect for the history of climbing, and especially Oregon climbing. He spent time tracking down the older climbers and dragging them out to the crags and listening to their stories. After hearing of Tyler's passing, Jeff Thomas wrote, "Hey Tyler thanks for trying and occasionally succeeding in getting this old goat back on the rocks. You were the only twenty something that actually cared what the 60 and 70 somethings had done and had to say about it, and yes, you even sometimes listened to us." Like Jeff, he was also able to persuade other Oregon legends to get out including: Gary Kirk, Tom Bauman, Pat Callis and many others. He was always excited to retell their stories, and it was that legacy of bold climbing that influenced his own aesthetic. Two very important partnerships to him were with Chris Fralick and Steve Elder. With Chris he established many, many routes at Wolf Rock and The Menagerie including the classic Morgul ValeHe partnered with Steve on his multi-year quest to climb the East Face of Mt. Thielsen, finally this past March resulting in their route Brainless Child.

    The Tyler I knew was an auteur of the absurd, a master of not taking things too seriously. He was a true iconoclast and, unlike the vast majority of people who say they don't care what other people think, truly didn't. Unlike anyone I've met before, he lived his life on his own terms. He sometimes operated on what I referred to as "Tyler-time" which often had little bearing on regular time. He could be difficult and opinionated. There was a nuance and depth to Tyler's character that's hard to capture with words. He was one of the funniest people I've ever met.      

    In retrospect I think with regret about all the times over the last couple of years that I told him that I couldn't go climbing, that I had to work, that the increasing complexity of life got in the way of truly living. Tyler had helped me with NW Alpine in various aspects since I started five years ago, but over the last few months he was working with me almost full time. Our office is right next to an air strip, so he would fly in and walk across the field as his commute. He brought with him his traditional sense of levity and we worked hard together. Looking back I'm so happy to have had that time with him. 

    I'm not sure that Tyler would want us to spend a lot of time in sadness, grieving. While it's impossible not to be crushed by this loss, I intend to celebrate the fact that I got to spend the time with him that I did. That we were blessed with his kind and hilarious nature for as long as we were. From now on I challenge myself to live more like Tyler did: to embrace the absurd, to climb the chossy towers and to laugh like none of the bullshit matters. 

    In 1943, Eric Shipton wrote, "He is lucky who, in the full tide of life, has experienced a measure of the active environment he most desires. In these days of upheaval and violent change, when the basic values of to-day are the vain and shattered dreams of to-morrow, there is much to be said for a philosophy which aims at living a full life while the opportunity offers. There are few treasures of more lasting worth than the experience of a way of life that is in itself wholly satisfying. Such, after all, are the only possessions of which no fate, no cosmic catastrophe can deprive us; nothing can alter the fact if for one moment in eternity we have really lived." 

    I take comfort in knowing that Tyler's life was full of of moments truly lived, and though he left us way too soon, he packed more living into that short time than most who live three times as long.

    To learn more about some of Tyler's climbing accomplishments, check out his blog, Oregon Choss. He also documented a lot of flying he did in videos posted on his YouTube channel. Or even better yet go to Wolf Rock and to The Menagerie and repeat his routes, he would have liked that.  

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