NetNews Usenet Archive 1993 #3/NN_1993_3.iso/spool/rec/climbing/5345

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From: [e-mail] (Bob Sinclair)
Newsgroups: rec.climbing
Subject: Ice climbing story (here we go again)
Message-ID: <[e-mail]>
Date: 21 Jan 93 16:28:37 MDT
Organization: Utah State University
Lines: 207

Ice climbing, Jan '93

      "We are young,
       wandering the face of the Earth,
       wondering what our dreams might be worth,
       learning that we're only immortal....
       .... for a limited time"
                                 (Rush lyrics)

ROAD TRIP! And we were off. In Jim's truck and armed to the
teeth with crampons, ice axes and related paraphernalia. Fifteen
miles later we ploughed off the road into the parking space and
started getting dressed up. The nicest thing about this particular trip
is the lack of driving involved. Our yearly ritual, the clandestine
ascent of the local dam.

It is not really clear if a covert operation is really necessary to
ascend this particular piece of ice. However nightclimbing, "sans
'eadlomps", not only adds to the excitement, but also makes it
feasible for an after work winter activity. The first time we did
this, I asked Jim if we should phone ahead to check it would be
OK. He replied that "It's easier to beg forgiveness than ask
permission", and so it has been since. Today, as I was sitting at the
back of the truck, fighting with my gaiters, a UPandL truck drove
by. I smiled and waved, and the driver smiled and waved back so
maybe its alright after all. Or maybe he though we were going ice
fishing, or train spotting or something. It's still a clandestine
ascent!

The plan. Jim would lead the waterfall just off the road. I would
follow and we would walk along the top road and descend just
below the dam which I would lead. We'd hike out along the top
road and descend the steep snowslope back to the truck. Some of
that was not to be, and a few 'firsts' lay in ambush.

I stopped by the gate to fight my crampon straps, while Jim went
on to the base. The joys of step-in crampons; by the time I had
caught up he was ready to go, with the rope uncoiled and stacked
back in the pack. As is usual with Jim and ice, it seemed doubtful
that any protection would be used, and we agreed that I would solo
the first 25 feet or so and wait at the bottom of the steep section.
I tied in, and with the rope feeding from the pack on my back to
Jim, soloed the first vertical ten feet or so and scrambled across the
easy angled stuff to the start of the climbing proper. Here I got
myself well off to one side, solidly placed both tools, clipped into
them and waited for Jim to finish. Jim had reached a small bulge,
and, with no protection, was taking his time. A small piece of ice
clipped my left shoulder, and I looked up to see lots of snow
heading my way. Great! But I'm used to snow down the neck by
this time, as this year has been 'learn to ski year' (Steve: Thanks
for the skis - they're fine). I wrapped my arms around my head and
flattened into the ice. Suddenly, a burly building site laborer
materialized out of thin air, slammed me in the right shoulder with
a sledgehammer, and just as mysteriously vanished. Now why
should someone want to do such a thing? The first of four 'firsts'
for the evening. The force of the blow wrenched my crampons out
of the ice underneath me and left me hanging from the tools I had
thankfully clipped into, the second 'first' of the evening - I never
really believed that one could use axes as belay points before. It
also left me feeling nauseous and as if my arm was broken. I called
to Jim to stay put and managed to work my way further right
where I was able to tie off a big icicle and hide under a small rock
shelf while he finished.

By the time Jim was done, the pain had subsided somewhat and I
had determined that my arm was not broken. He took up the rope
and I gingerly began to climb. Coming from off to the right I
ascended a section that felt quite steep. Five or six moves up I was
back underneath the belay, when suddenly, without warning, my
left tool ripped from what had felt like a bombproof placement and
I fell off. Jim caught me easily, but (more due to the sort of routes
I have climbed rather than any outstanding competence) I have
never fallen on ice before. The third 'first' of the evening. It was
certainly getting quite eventful up there, and by this time was also
getting quite dark. I established my feet and right hand, but the ice
on my left felt like iron and I could not get the pick to bite. I
swung several times to no avail, and then became suspicious and
examined the end of the pick. Aha! An explanation; there was no
point (people at work ask me is there any point to ice climbing,
and indeed, any sort of climbing, in the first place). The pick had
snapped quite cleanly about two inches from the end. Another first.
That explained the fall. A little searching around located the tip,
and I was able to dig it out and pocket it. Some deviousness and
trickery allowed me to finish with one good tool on the end of a
not so good arm.

I figured if I told Jim that I had caught some ice and broken an
axe, that he would assume that I wanted to give up and go home.
He would also assume that any assertions other wise would be
because I didn't want to spoil his evening, so I opted not to tell
him. Such is the odd relationship between partners who know each
other too well! However, as I had fallen, I did decline to lead the
dam itself, a chore that Jim was more than happy to accept.

We hiked as planned and descended the tracks where Jim had
soloed both routes a few days earlier. Again, there was little chance
of him placing any protection, so I settled myself a long way back
and off to one side and ensured that the rope played out smoothly.
Although it was now properly nighttime, there was sufficient light
to see the entire climb, so my position would also allow me a good
view of his progress. Last year, the blackness was absolute. He had
vanished after about fifteen feet and subsequent belaying was very
much a hands on activity.

As Jim approached the base of the ice, there was a telltale
'whump' as the deep snow that had accumulated at the bottom
settled, and a deep crack appeared for several yards on each side
of Jim's feet. Short of the entire face collapsing, there was no
further danger, but Jim was visibly freaked for a few seconds, and
I now know what that pre-avalanche sound and sensation feels like.
Another first I guess, although of a different flavor.

Jim is smooth on ice. (He's not exactly a klutz on rock either, but
that's another, often argued, point). The front of the dam is not
really hard, about 80 feet and 80 degrees, but nevertheless, he
made it look ridiculously easy, like he was climbing a long ladder.
Thunk "Yes!". Scrape, scrape, thunk "Oh man, the ice is good up
here". Thunk, thunk, scamper "Bob, take a little more time than I
am doing, this really is a fun climb". Thunk, thunk, and so on to
the top. Before too long it was my turn, and a new dilemma
presented itself.

One good tool and one good arm. Whether to combine the good
tool with the bad arm was answered when I tried to raise it above
my head and swing the axe. No go. So, good axe in left hand, right
hand just sort of holding damaged axe, off I went. It's amazing
what you can do with a nice piece of rope tugging you upwards.
The angle was such that it was easy to stand in balance on front
points with some assistance from the left hand while the right
moved the functional axe, and indeed, on easier climbs I have seen
others voluntarily do just that. I had little choice about taking my
time, and although my left arm was getting a wee bit tired by the
time I reached the top, it was indeed a spectacular pitch and I
enjoyed every inch.

At the top of the ice, there is still about fifteen feet of snow
covered girders to negotiate before we are truly on flat ground.
Reminiscent of a war movie, where the good guys are climbing up
through the superstructure of a bridge they want to blow up, we
feel cheated when there is not a Nazi with a machine gun waiting
for us at the top. There is, however, a train line some hundred feet
or so higher up the hillside, and shortly after we clamber onto the
catwalk a train rumbles by. It's sweeping headlight and thunderous
passing helps maintain the climbs rather unique atmosphere. To
exit the catwalk, we do have to climb a tall wire gate. It even has
a barbed wire top!

A short and pleasant hike provides interesting views of the power
plant. "Neat view" I comment. Jim's reply is that it is even neater
because there is absolutely no way we are supposed to be there.
Well, who knows if that is really the case. We are soon back at the
truck and I make my confessions. Another great thing about these
short road trips is that 20 minutes later I am luxuriating in a hot
shower and planning the next adventure.

So, what's the point of all this, other than another climbing tale of
terror to add to the repertoire?

When I first arrived in the US. I was a veteran of four new year
trips to bonnie Scotland to learn to climb ice. That is to say, I had
zero experience, as February is usually the better time. However,
college holidays are not in February, and the parties in Scotland at
new year are legendary, but I'm getting off track here.

I initially said that toproping, belayer above, was as far as I would
go on ice. Then, my partner wanted to lead and I dutifully belayed
and seconded. Then, with the ice in superb shape, I decided that
leading would probably be alright and did that also - 20 feet up
realizing that I had never actually placed any ice screws before and
learning that it is harder than slamming in a friend. A typical
progression I'm sure. Two winters ago, after a summer of
rockclimbing with him, I did my first ice trip with Jim. Quite the
biggest waterfall I had attempted at four (easy) pitches. Solo, but
with an option on a rope dropped from above if I felt insecure.
And that's how it has been since. We solo as the norm, and Jim
trails a rope if I don't like the look of things. When I'm out with
others, I solo or protect or toprope as necessary. Stress again, I still
haven't attempted anything that might be considered 'hard'. My ice
gear, is, well... shoddy. The axes are university climbing club cast
offs, that were old when I inherited them 12 years ago. Crampons
were cannibalized from a box of assorted damaged pairs from the
same source. I must confess that I have just bought some decent
boots, and also some mitten shells that actually keep my hands
warm and dry (quite a novelty for me). But as for wearing a
helmet, except when I have been teaching on rock, the only time
I have worn a helmet is caving. Nasty clunky things. So restrictive.
keeps you from feeling like you are really out there. And so
difficult to wear over a hat in winter. And anyway, like most
headstrong maniacs, I'm immortal (but now I've read the small
print).

So last week was certainly a learning experience, and I certainly
was lucky. As it is, I have some significant bruising and stiffness
and a little lost pride. If I had been hit in the head it might have
knocked some sense into me :-). It might also have done some
serious damage. If I hadn't been tied in, I might have taken a fall,
which with those nasty sharp things at the end of all extremities
could have been interesting. I might also have tangled the rope and
pulled Jim off, which would have "bummed his stone big time". I
guess the big lesson is, even if you are immortal, don't screw with
the big G!

[e-mail]      (Bob the recently fallen alien!)

PS. Please see following posts about interesting bruising and ice
gear wanted!