A Real Bugaboo Shitshow…
The Story of Six Alpine Chuffers
TL: DR:
Background
Dreams
Monkey Wrench
Snafflehounds
Flight
Setting Up
Falling Into a Crevasse
West Ridge on Pigeon
Incoming Forecast
Snowpatch
Colorado Homies Climbing Fast
Beckey-Chouinard Rescue
Deteriorating Weather and Love Affairs
Cragging
Mountains of My Life
High Pressure
Sending the BC
Budding Larvae
Consulting the Carrot
Rapping Bugaboo Spire
Packing Our Shit Up and Going Home
Poopie Pants (Fuck You, Timothy!)
July, 2015
Disclaimer! The names in this story have been changed to protect the identity of those involved, for glaringly obvious, comedic, and incriminating reasons. The events outlined here were not embellished in any way.
(Approaching the backside of Snowpatch Spire)
A bugaboo is defined as an object of fear, or alarm.
The Bugaboos are also a world class rock climbing destination in British Columbia. It’s the birthplace of heli-skiing, home to a gang of voracious rodents that Fred Beckey dubbed “Snafflehounds”, and it is an enticing, but alarming, object of fear for climbers.
It’s soaring granite spires have begged climbers to indulge in their mystery for generations. It’s not the Himalayas or Patagonia, but it’s certainly a big mountain arena: perfectly suitable for alpine adventures.
For many, climbing the Beckey-Chouinard route on the South Howser Tower is the tick of a lifetime.
(South Howser Tower and The Minaret shrouded in snow clouds)
Mike and Kevin had dreamed this exact dream for years, even decades.
Both of them are friends and adventure partners of mine. They’re both technically excellent, they’re mentally and physically fit, and they’re experienced. They’ve both been climbing for many, many years and I’ve learned a lot from them, in the disciplines of climbing and ski mountaineering.
They’re also pretty good humans that have had good insight for me as an angst filled young man, 25 years their junior.
I became friends with them when I got hired at a historic gear shop in Boulder, Colorado. This place had a very dubious reputation.
It’s business owner was once nominated as the WORST business man in Boulder. He was damn proud of it too!
Working there was chaos, anarchy, debauchery, and most importantly, exciting.
I tried to work there for years while attending university. Finally, I had the street cred and climbing resume and I was hired!
Time to drink the Kool-Aid. I was asked to take a drug test and they said I “better test positive”. I was also required to learn how to backcountry ski, which has been a source of happiness ever since.
I dropped out of college around the same time and eventually beat the system, but I’ll save that for another story.
I would attend slide shows as the world of climbing and alpinism passed through the doors of my favorite gear shop.
I loved punk rock and this cultural hub of odd characters was perfect for a misfit like me.
The vibe was subversive. Aimless, aside from the next big outside objective. It was useless. Still, it was profoundly meaningful to me on an individual and community level.
I made some of my best friends there and got to climb with some of my heroes. For me, the shop, and our little scene, unapologetically represented climbing. At least it’s counter culture origins.
We were spoiled shit heads.
I forget who said it, but climbing doesn’t make us special, it’s just a special thing that we get to do.
(An early picture of me climbing in Arches National Park)
Anyway, back to the story.
Mike and Kevin invited me to go on this trip they had been planning to The Bugaboos.
Right away, I was unquestionably on board. I was hungry for a trip like this. It would be my first “expedition”.
I underestimated these mountains with a negligent overconfidence.
I learned so much and had an unforgettable experience going there, probably because of how humbling it was.
Before this, I had mixed success and failure on Yosemite big walls. I had climbed The Diamond on Long’s Peak, a lot of routes in RMNP, and climbed in the Black Canyon of the Gunnison. I was reasonably experienced and had seen some gnarly shit.
I’ll probably write about at some point.
But, I wasn’t exactly prepared for something like this.
I have a tendency to learn the hard way.
Part of the terms and conditions for joining the expedition would be finding a fourth person who I would climb with.
Timothy fit the bill. He was a bold climber, and a real dirt bag. He was also my friend.
Sadly, after this trip we parted ways and grew distant.
I think back to good times with him and it makes me melancholy. He was a 5.13 cyclist and would let me borrow his fixed gear back then. I’d go over the handle bars a few times and give it back to him after a few weeks, when I was broken.
We would sandbag each other on run out routes.
We would get stoned and laugh our asses off.
I still worry about him sometimes. He was a troubled soul, but had a big heart.
Flash forward from the planning and training phase of our trip, to about a week before we were set to leave.
A harbinger of things to come entered the picture. A monkey wrench in our perfectly laid out plans.
The trip we had been studiously planning and training for would be put to the test, but not how any of us imagined.
Timothy was in love!
❤
Normally, this would be a great thing. But for us, it was a logistical nightmare. A gift that would keep on giving.
Timothy decided he was no longer my partner, but Miranda’s.
I was left to find another partner, now bringing the total number of expedition members from four to six. I struggled to find a partner. Luckily, Timothy pulled his weight a little bit and hooked me up with his friend Bill, who I had never met.
Bill had lived in Colorado years prior and had climbed a lot of the same routes that I had done. We spoke on the phone and we liked each other. Things were looking up.
The problem was that Bill currently lived in Texas, a far cry from the Rocky Mountains.
We would not get a chance to train, talk systems, or even crag together.
But it was decided. We were going for it. 20 pitch alpine routes with a stranger!
Mike and Kevin would team up.
Tim and Miranda.
Bill and I.
I didn’t realize that despite his experience, Bill had almost none of the requisite rescue skills to be qualified for an outing like this.
I had been training with the New Alpinism book for six months and Bill was not in the same shape that I was either.
Logistically, this was difficult.
Mike, Kevin, and I bought groceries in Colorado before we left. The three of us would drive up together. Bill, Tim, and Miranda would do the same.
From the start, Bill and I were on a different program. Tim insisted that they travel on the cheap, in true dirt bag style. That meant they stocked up on their rations at Big Lots, a Walmart-esque grocery market with the most nutritiously deplorable, cheapest food imaginable. An American tragedy.
It was not something that would provide great sustenance in an alpine environment.
They also had trouble crossing the border.
Timothy ‘forgot’ that he had some mushrooms in the car.
Canada is a tough border to cross regardless, but mushrooms would land you some serious jail time.
Fortunately, we had a stress free border crossing, as our car was currently more responsible and we didn’t mess around. We were being model citizens and normally would never associate with someone like this.
Timothy was acting like someone new. He was someone that none of us recognized, since he met Miranda.
Before hitting the border, Timothy apparently ate the fungus and had a weird time while their car got randomly searched. Miraculously, they made it across unscathed.
After we bought some poutine and ketchup chips, we all congregated at the Bugaboo Lodge campground, to prepare for a grand adventure.
(Our tent and first real view of the mountains)
The next morning, we had some time to kill.
We drank some coffee and packed our things one last time. Most notably, we wrapped our trucks in chicken wire to prevent the Snafflehounds from chewing on rubber car parts. Many climbers have returned from successful trips here to discover their car that won’t start.
Imagine getting skunked by damn Snafflehounds and being stranded 15 miles back on logging roads. All after battering yourself, days on end, climbing!
You’re gonna have a bad time.
Most climbers hike into Applebee Camp from here. They stay there, or in a historic building on the glacier, The Kain Hut. This is a loud, smelly, and social environment. Something we were looking to escape on this trip.
The plan all along was to take advantage of the heli-skiing operation at Bugaboo Lodge and fly into the ‘other side’ of the Bugaboos. We would be in a perfect position to climb many of the formations and we’d be camped right beneath our main objective, the Beckey-Chouinard. It also wouldn’t cost much more than staying at Applebee.
We could fly more food into East Creek, bigger sleeping bags, and most importantly, more food and wine.
No brainer!
We had made reservations ahead of time and our flight was that afternoon.
After our coffee and registration with the helicopter service, we still had enough time to visit the Bugaboo Lodge. If you have ten grand, you can spend an all inclusive, five star week there heli-skiing. You’re guaranteed 100k of vertical descent per day and can often rack up 200K if you’re up for it.
Sounds amazing, right?
Another cool part about the lodge is that they have an awesome mountaineering museum there. Climbing has quite a bit of history in the Bugaboos and the museum has some incredible relics from true pioneers of the sport.
One of the highlights in the museum was a taxidermy mountain lion. A ski guide had spotted it during a descent. It had perished while eating a porcupine. The lion still sported quills from it’s unfortunate food choice.
(CMH heli guides for the win!)
Finally, it was time to pay and load up.
This is when shit really started to hit the fan.
Timothy, in all of his foresight, neglected to bring his portion of cash for the flight. This was despite A LOT of planning. It was quickly sorted out that Mike would spot him.
The next step was how we would split the flights up.
Our pilot was a total bad ass.
I can’t remember his accent now, but I think it was Eastern European.
His decision was to split us and our gear up into two flights.
During the safety prep, he said “one small mistake equals one great tragedy”.
It was a solemn, but darkly hilarious reminder of where we were heading.
The mountains are a serious place. Anyone who has spent a lot of time in the mountains knows this.
The pilot’s ominous warning set Timothy up for his next series of blunders, I guess.
When it was actually time to load up, Timothy and Miranda had disappeared. They were off passionately making out somewhere, no doubt. So romantic, young love in your late thirties.
“Okay, Tim! Get you’re shit together man. This is starting to get old.”
We all sputtered to ourselves and rolled eyes at each other.
The two reunited with the team after a half hour delay. I assured the pilot that we had just met this couple and didn’t know them, at all.
Mike, Kevin, Bill, and I would fly first. The flight in was spectacular! It lasted only a few minutes, but flying through the spires was incredible. It was a perspective I had never experienced before. A refreshing and inspiring perspective.
I wanted to become a helicopter pilot. Yeah right.
We landed without incident and unloaded the first shipment.
In between flights, we had a few minutes to assess our current location. There was one other party there. A friendly couple who warned us that it had just snowed for a few days. The crevasses would be covered by flimsy snow bridges for a day or two.
July in the Bugaboos and it’s still snowing.
Awesome!
(Views from East Creek camp)
It was nice to be introduced to our new home by the couple who had just climbed Beckey-Chouinard and had some experience in the area. They gave us some great beta!
Quickly though, Timothy and Miranda’s flight was inbound. The rest of our gear was with them. It would be two weeks before we’d leave the glacier.
We we’re getting stoked!
As soon as they began exiting the helicopter, Timothy and Miranda were a walking disaster.
Timothy’s first step out of the helicopter, something the pilot warned us about explicitly, almost resulted in the rotors taking his head off. He jumped and screamed with excitement.
I felt similarly when we landed, like a kid in a candy store. Timothy couldn’t contain himself and it almost cost him his life.
I was beginning to really take into account how much of a fucking liability this poor friend of mine was going to be. It was stressing me out.
How did I not see this coming? He had never been like this before.
Once the helicopter flew away and we were marooned, lost in a sea of granite and ice, it was time to set up our cook tent and personal tents.
We would shuttle loads from the ‘helipad’ to our own little abodes, settling in and getting as comfortable as possible.
During one of these portages, Timothy decided to help me and make up for some of his erratic behavior. This had a disastrous outcome.
Bless his heart, he was sincerely trying to help me, but he fucked up.
Michael, Kevin and I had two large coolers for all of our food. Remember, these were separate from Timothy and the rest of the team’s supplies. I was moving our coolers to the tent when Timothy decided to help me.
Instead of doing the sensible thing, slowly and carefully carrying the coolers between the talus. Timothy threw the cooler over his head in a display of animal strength and promptly buckled under it’s weight.
He took an embarrassing spill and broke a dozen of the eggs we brought for breakfast burritos.
I had a hard time maintaining composure after that.
I needed some space already.
When the helicopter flew away, before his little accident, I laid into him.
I told him to “get his fucking act together”.
I felt bad, but he needed to hear it. I hated being in that position and felt sorry for my friend.
Was he on drugs?
Who is this girl he’s brought along?
These questions swirled around our camp and in our heads for the duration of the trip.
We finally settled in and the forecast was good for at least a few days.
Let’s go climbing!
(Bill, not Timothy, demonstrating proper cooler handling)
Since our main objective was the Beckey-Chouinard, our first priority was to climb up to the South Howser Tower – Pigeon Spires Col. From there, we’d be able to scope out the long rappel route down the backside of the tower. The series of raps from the summit can be complicated. They end with the final rap between a large bergschrund and house size seracs.
We roped up from our tents and made our way up the col, about 1500’ of climbing through crevasses and moderately steep snow.
A section of the climb was exposed to a huge serac we called ‘The Dangler’.
It resembled Castleton Tower combined with the Leaning Tower of Pisa.
It had been progressively dangling over that passage for a season or two, according to locals.
Every time we had to move through this zone over the next two weeks, we would move with swift focus.
We didn’t’ want to get smoked by that thing, trundling us down the hill.
Once we were on top of the col, Bill and I untied.
Off belay.
Kevin and Michael were out ahead of us. It was flat on the glacier and I was too excited to finally be moving in this novel terrain.
Running in my crampons, trying to get caught up with the other guys, I didn’t pay sufficient attention to my surroundings.
I stepped on one of those flimsy snow bridges. In an instant, I was in a crevasse!
Only from about the chest down, fortunately. My backpack had arrested my fall into this small, but deep crevasse.
Kevin turned around and answered my pleading for help with laughter.
He thought I was fucking with him.
This was no joke!
He was going for a picture and I said, “No dude, I need you to pull me out of here!”.
I did a few offwidth moves out of the hole, aided by a power assist from Kevin and Bill.
Luckily, I was no worse for the wear.
From then on, we were tied together, even on the most benign snow. We we’re paranoid with fear of crevasses. It was a humbling and educational experience.
My crevasse, affectionately dubbed the “Bol Hole”, eventually grew to about fifteen feet wide by the time we left for home. We walked past it often, observing it’s progression as summer was settling in on the glacier.
(Bill at the Summit of Pigeon Spire)
We had another good day of weather in the forecast, so Bill and I set our sights on Pigeon Spire. The next morning, we would get up early and attack.
The route is a mega-classic, big, moderate, rock ridge that involves long sections of au cheval.
An elegant French term for dry-humping along a knife edge ridge.
(Typical scene in the Bugaboos. Amazing views from the Ridge)
(Don’t fall in!)
(Bill on the West Ridge of Pigeon Spire, with the Beckey-Chouinard in the background)
We returned to camp satisfied with a safe and successful summit under our belts.
We free soloed most of the route, so the climb went by quickly.
It turned out that Bill and I got along great. We were instantly good friends and climbing partners. We moved fast and our rope systems were smooth.
I still didn’t know Bill wasn’t exactly rescue savvy yet. Or, rather he had forgotten some of those skills while living in Texas.
The next day, as one of the Canadians we had met at the lodge would say,
“this weather is really the shits, eh”
.
We took a rest and welcomed the time as a respite from the stressful beginnings of the trip. We drank wine, shot the shit, and ate a lot of food. It was sublime.
The weather broke for one more day before an Arctic cold air mass would move in.
Bill and I wanted to climb. Nothing too committing, considering the forecast.
We decided to do the Kraus-McCarthy. It is essentially the rappel route for Snowpatch Spire. It was easy, at 5.9+, and had bolted anchors the whole way. It would be easy to retreat from.
The approach was overcast. It was clearly precipitating in the distance.
Not being too concerned, we scrambled up to where we thought our route started.
We were to low and left of the actual start. We ended up adding two unnecessary pitches to a ten pitch route. That was a happy accident.
We got back on track from a big ledge. Some tricky route finding provided stimulating climbing.
It was cold and windy. I’ve always kind of loved climbing in inclement weather. I had practiced this a lot at home, so I felt comfortable. I think Bill was feeling good as well.
(Me leading a bonus ‘approach’ pitch and belaying the next one)
We swapped leads on great pitches. At one point, Bill got off track onto some 5.11 terrain. He sent the pitch and once again we were back on track.
Just a few more pitches to the summit.
The weather was getting more and more threatening.
If anything, it would rain or snow, right? No big deal, we’ll just go down.
What we didn’t anticipate was the electricity. It went off and just as we topped out, it was time to bail.
Fast!
Ten rappels later, we were soaked and a bit shaken, but safe at the bottom of the route.
By this time the weather had broken for a bit and it was almost sunny. We slogged back to camp. At some point, as we were coming down the col, Kevin said there was some rockfall behind us, but we didn’t notice.
Who I haven’t mentioned, were the absolute bone crushers we met. They were also from Durango. They strolled into our camp the night before, intent on speed climbing every rad route that they could.
In the time it took us to do a ten pitch route on Snowpatch, they had climbed the Beckey-Chouinard, descended, climbed a runout and obscure grade IV on Pigeon Spire, and made it back to camp.
Inspiring to say the least.
We made friends and it was cool to have them around. They were nice fellows.
Later, when we got on Beckey-Chouinard, those guys sent All Along the Watchtower on North Howser Tower, a 30 pitch 5.12a.
I dream about doing that route now. It’s also a bit of a nightmare.
The approach is extremely committing and crosses a deadly shooting gallery of a gully. One that continuously spits out rockfall, nearly on the hour.
(Following the fun 5.11 variation on Snowpatch)
(Rapping down as the skies unleash)
Next up was the Arctic blast from hell.
‘Himalayan Breeze’
.
Deteriorating weather and relationships created so much drama.
You couldn’t make this up for a reality TV show!
We were in for a real treat.
🙂
Fortunately, we had time to prepare for the coming onslaught of snow, rain, lightning, and gale force winds.
I was reading Mountains of My Life by Walter Bonatti at the time.
It was the perfect book to stir my imagination.
I pretended that I was on K2. With the weather and drama we’d experience, it felt like we were on an 8,000 meter peak.
The night before the storm, I settled into my sleeping bag after building a rock wall around my tent.
I heard a strange sound like something hit my tent and violently ricocheted off of it.
The next morning’s investigation yielded some paw prints of a chipmunk.
My tent was under so much tension.
The chipmunk trampolined into the sky when it tried to jump onto my vestibule!
That would prove to be the most wholesome entertainment of the trip.
The day that the storm started. We were roused at 5:00 AM with murmuring voices next to our tents.
They were new voices.
We heard them bumbling on about finding the approach to the Beckey-Chouinard. They had concerns about not knowing the day’s forecast.
Uh oh. They were about to have a very long day.
We slept if off, knowing that we wouldn’t be climbing that day.
Awaking hours later, we made breakfast and started watching the climbers on the lower ten pitches of the route.
They veered off route several times and were moving at a snail’s pace.
Six or seven hundred feet up, it was becoming obvious that if they didn’t rap soon, they’d certainly be benighted high on the route.
Late in the day, we saw them round the corner.
They had made it to the headwall pitches and disappeared out of sight on a different aspect of the wall
The headwall pitches are the crux of the route. Not too hard.
Obstacles encountered are solid 5.10 climbing, a potential tension traverse, and a mandatory rappel to gain the chossy summit ridge. It is large and takes some considerable skill to negotiate. Beyond that, a tricky descent is still required.
We knew that this couple was in for trouble as the weather began to change around dark.
The night went on and I was alone in my tent, contemplating the climbers who were probably stranded on the summit ridge.
I imagined that they were fighting for their lives and that they had a good likelihood of dying. The weather was severe.
We awoke to a gigantic Canadian Navy helicopter circling our camp, seemingly confirming my suspicions.
Apparently, everyone else was thinking the same thing during the night.
These climbers were dead, or dying.
The Navy helicopter dropped a radio to us, seeking information for the upcoming rescue (or body recovery).
Continuing with the theme of the trip, the radio didn’t work. It had an expiration date on the battery. The battery expired three years prior.
The helicopter left. Ouch.
A few hours of silence passed. We sat in our cook tent.
It was cold and humid. Still snowing intermittently, but intensely.
The climber’s chances of survival seemed to be dwindling. We felt morose at the thought that someone just died on the route we wanted to climb. We had sadness for them.
We asked ourselves what this meant for our agenda.
Do we wait for good weather and try?
Or do we even want to climb the route anymore?
(Preparing the long line rescue)
Several new helicopters would fly through during the day. None of them landed. They were seeking a weather window, but to no avail.
The days are long that far North in the summer months.
It was sheer luck that at the very end of daylight, probably around 9:00 PM, the rescuers calculated a small weather window and landed in our camp.
We gave them the limited info that we had. They told us of another rescue going on nearby and enlisted our help with this one.
The doors of the helicopter were jettisoned. Each one worth $15,000.00.
Timothy joked that while we’d take care of them, we might go sledding.
Good one, Timmy.
We found out the pilot was supposedly one of two in Canada who was qualified for a long line rescue.
One of the rescuers strapped in for a wild ride as the helicopter took off. Extended by a wire, the rescuer hung a hundred feet below the helicopter. The pilot positioned him on the summit and he wrapped the injured climbers in a big diaper. After plucking them off the top, they flew back down to our camp again.
The climbers were alive!
A little cold and frostbitten, but alive and relatively well.
We were all relieved.
This called for a celebration.
When the rescue was over, we drank some more wine and ate some more food.
Well, mostly I ate some more of Kevin’s food and Miranda got shitfaced.
Classy.
Kevin is small and spindly and doesn’t eat much. I eat for two.
I was considering eating him at one point because I was starving and he was complaining of eating too much.
We settled on me eating half of his food.
(Waiting through the storm. Getting real hungry!)
The people who got rescued were super lucky.
The storm continued for five or six more days. I don’t even remember.
It was purgatory for the most part. There were relaxing moments.
Sometimes, it would be punctuated by some of that reality TV drama I mentioned before.
I saw the ugliest rat on the planet while I was cooking. The pack rat was trying to mooch some snacks from us.
It looked like it got in a fight recently and had half of it’s face gnawed off.
The Snafflehounds in the Bugaboos are truly a sight to behold. A marvel of nature’s beauty and grandeur.
Maybe two days after the rescue, a few climbers came bobbling down the col towards our camp.
We had visitors.
Guess what? One of them was another one of Miranda’s love interests.
The plot was thickening for our poor friend Timothy.
Somehow, Timothy and this guy got along though. The newcomers were actually pretty nice guys, but unbeknownst to Timothy or the new guy, until now, they were dating the same gal.
“But, but, she was a ten! A real keeper!”, according to Timothy.
This random stranger, Timothy met and fell in love with randomly in Yosemite Valley, had boyfriends in several states.
None of it made any sense, but it was 100% real and unfolding right in front of us.
For now, she was still Timothy’s.
He and the strange new man sorted things out while Miranda disappeared.
You read that correctly, she disappeared.
When she realized what was happening, she bounced. Ghosted the party.
Irish goodbye style.
Miranda was gone for an hour and came back bleeding from her head.
She retreated into an ice cave somewhere on the glacier and supposedly a rock dislodged from the ceiling of the cave and whacked her a good one!
Pretty soon, she was inexplicably in her underwear and trying to hold Kevin’s hand. She was clearly seeking attention.
Kevin was disgusted, and wasn’t having it.
“Hold one of your boyfriend’s hands.”
Regardless, everyone helped to get her head cleaned up and Tim put her off to bed.
Thank god. What a circus.
(Hand drilling bolts during a lull in the storm)
Billiam and I kept ourselves busy for the next few days by finding some new pitches near our camp.
We drilled two anchors and rapped 70 meters down to a ledge. We were able to do about a half dozen fun pitches, up to 5.11-ish. I don’t think anyone has repeated them, but we thought it was cool to have some climbing right there, for situations like ours.
Kevin and Michael also established a few pitches below the approach ridge for Beckey-Chouinard. Kevin had gone ground up for his first ascent. establishing an anchor for two or three variations.
We were entertained by massive rockfall across the valley on a big wall that nobody does, Crossed-Fish Peak.
The valley floor shook and the rockfall seemed to last for minutes.
It nearly qualified as a landslide.
Rockfall in the Bugaboos tends to happen in predictable places, so climbers avoid those spots.
(High pressure moving in!)
Finally, the storm broke and we had a solid forecast for the next three plus days.
It was time to do what we came here to do, climb the Beckey-Chouinard!
(The Beckey-Chouinard climbs the left skyline on South Howser Tower)
We set off at 4:00 AM.
Kevin and Michael would go an hour behind us and we’d hopefully top out together.
Timothy and Miranda were going to stay put for a day, while we climbed. Then they’d go up the next day, while we were at camp.
This seemed like a smart idea logistically, in case of an emergency.
Bill and I made quick work of the lower half of the route. After a long 4th class scramble, we cruised up endless, classic 5.8 and 5.9 splitters. Kevin and Michael joined us at belays and we were having such a blast.
It felt like we really hit our stride. It was a perfect day!
So far.
We had two ropes with us between both teams, but we wagered that getting down after the 10th pitch wasn’t going to be an option.
This would be our point of no return. If anything happened, we’d be bailing up.
With the rescue still fresh in our minds, it felt extra committing.
Since we were moving fast, we felt confident going up. Also, we had food and clothes for an open bivouac. It made sense to push on.
We were going to do the route.
We took a break around pitch ten and had some snacks and water.
Kevin ‘The Camel’ only brings a few ounces of water up on alpine climbs. I was shocked when I saw his tiny little water pouch he kept in his pocket.
Bill and I had five liters. He was starting to feel a bit tired, but not particularly worked yet.
We noticed two parties coming up the route below us.
One party was moving quickly. The slower party was Timothy and Miranda.
Despite our agreement, they decided it would be a good idea to start the route that afternoon.
We should have seen that one coming!
(Looking down from the top of pitch three, I think)
(Kevin getting Michael on belay)
(Following pitch 6 or 7)
(Leading pitch 10 or 11, the first 5.10 headwall pitch)
After our break, I lead two stellar 5.10 pitches up to where the wall changes to a more North facing aspect.
We were surprised by ice and snow on the route. We shouldn’t have been, since it has snowed for a week and it had only been sunny for a day before we got on the route.
All of a sudden, we knew that things were going to get a little spicy.
Ice fell from higher up on the wall, but it was never anything too major.
Bill lead a 5.10 pitch that felt more like 5.11 R in it’s saturated state.
I was proud of him. I knew that it was difficult and demanding.
After that pitch, he was visibly beginning to bonk pretty hard. I told him to drink the rest of the water. He had about three and a half liters so far and I had about a half liter. That last liter and a half would have to see us to the top and back down to our camp.
It was gone before we made it to the crux pitch.
Bill needed it.
He was struggling after his lead in the slippery chimney.
I had also injured a collateral ligament in my pointer finger on this pitch. It was an odd sensation in my forearm, but nothing serious at the time.
The injury still nags at me today and prevents me from sport climbing and bouldering at my full potential. It was a combination of overuse, dehydration. and climbing with a heavy pack.
Now was not the time to complain.
Bill was in a worsening state it seemed. I was beginning to wonder if he’d bit off more than he could chew.
A combination of the altitude and a lack of training was getting to him.
Thankfully, he was strong in his mind and toughed it out. I was proud of him for that too.
After his icy pitch, I took over the next block to the summit.
Once I was on lead, I had several more 5.10 pitches (including the crux), a rappel, and six or seven hundred feet of loose 5.7-ish mixed terrain ahead of me.
I was in the zone. In a flurry, I had gotten us to the rappel after the crux.
Bill was hanging on for the ride.
By then, the fast party who was behind us passed Kevin and Michael. They caught up to us. They tailed us to the summit, where we made friends.
They were also from Colorado.
We decided to team up.
With Bill in a fragile state, I was happy to have some reinforcements. We’d rap together into the night, never straying farther than a rap ahead of the other team.
The Colorado friends began down after they saw some tattered webbing near the summit. They made it two raps down, and Bill did the first rap.
I sat alone on top for a minute.
I was feeling nervous since it was getting dark and I knew the first three or four raps were the trickiest of the dozen or more ahead of us.
I had an intuition that rapping off this tat was wrong.
This was the old rap route. There were no bolts. The rap route had been abandoned because it was dangerous and had been the sight of many stuck ropes and epics.
Relieved by my epiphany, I shouted down to Bill to come back up on a top rope. I told him to let the other two guys know to come back up.
They were on a dead end road.
Bill said it was too difficult to free climb back up on top rope.
This is when I found out Bill is missing a few critical climbing skills.
I tell him to prussik up. He responds that he doesn’t know how.
What?
I wasn’t mad, but I just realized we were way out there and I was basically in guide mode now.
Rule number one always applies, but especially right now.
Don’t fuck up and die!
Bill eventually made an arcing traverse, risking a deadly pendulum, while I coaxed him up.
He was soon fine and at the belay with me.
While we waited for the other two guys to make it up, I searched for bolts.
I had studied the topo of the descent for months before the trip and I wanted to be the first to go down.
I knew I could find each anchor and I felt like I had plenty of gas left in the tank.
(The rappel after the crux, pitch 15 or so. Only six or seven hundred feet to go!)
(Summit!)
Around the time the other climbers topped out, I found the bolts.
There was no sign of Kevin and Michael, but I was sure they’d be on the summit soon. We made a cairn near the bolts for them and I headed down.
We did the first three devious raps without incident.
I was feeling less stressed.
It was nearly dark and time to get our headlamps on.
On the fourth rap, Bill dropped his belay device at the anchor. In his hypoxic and battered state, he was getting clumsy. I needed to keep my eye on him and carefully do everything I could to double check both of our systems.
When he dropped his belay device, I yelled at him to use a Munter hitch. Again, he said he didn’t know how.
Really?
We’re so fucked.
I chuckled to myself as a coping mechanism.
One of the other climbers showed him how to tie a Munter, and I gave him a fireman’s belay on his way down. He clipped into the anchor and I reassured him that we’d make it down to the glacier and back to our tents eventually. He just had to pay attention for a few more hours.
We continued down.
Me first, swinging around, looking for the next anchor.
Then, Bill would come down on his Munter. We’d have to untangle the twists in the rope every time. Then pull our rope and the other two guys would come down. Rinse and repeat.
It was a slow process, but we had to take our time now.
We made it to the last rap, with the seracs and the bergschrund.
The seracs were like gargantuan, dripping, malevolent Doctor Seuss sculptures.
They we alive.
Huge pieces of ice clinging to the wall where the glacier had calved away from the rock.
It’s not a place to hang out, but it was eerily beautiful.
I made the swing over the bergschrund and crafted a lame anchor with my ice axe. Then pulled Bill across.
Now all we had to do was descend from the col and not fall in another crevasse.
It was a full moon, the glacier was glowing, and we’d just done an amazing route.
We were shattered, but psyched.
Out of desperation, we broke one of our rules and drank a bit of water pouring off the glacier near the very top of the col.
So thirsty.
I just had one sip.
We made it down the col after parting ways with our Colorado friends. They were heading back to Applebee.
We saw Kevin and Michael’s headlamps coming down the wall and knew they weren’t far behind us.
There was no sign of Timothy and Miranda, but we’d deal with that in the tomorrow.
For now, we’d feast and pass out. As a result of being on the move for 24 hours straight, we were delirious.
It was one of the most amazing nights of my life. Bill had really overcome a lot that day too.
I thought it was one of the coolest things I’d witnessed in the mountains, to see him rise to the challenge.
I crawled into my tent and crumpled into my slumber.
The next day, the weather was absolutely stellar. I woke up late and had a big breakfast. We still hadn’t seen any sign of Timothy and Miranda, figuring we’d give it the day and not get too worried until dark.
With the warming weather, there were now a million flies swarming our camp. It was not pleasant.
Where did the come from?
It was as if a million fly larvae hatched somewhere and came to life.
We spent the day relaxing, watching climbers come down the col for their shot at the Beckey-Chouinard, and smacking flies away from our stuff.
Eventually, we put two and two together. We figured out where the flies came from and that made us even more uncomfortable.
We were hanging out. Bill had his rain jacket on for some reason. He must have been cold.
As he rifled through his pockets, he found a baggy with a nugget of weed inside.
Oops!
He had to get rid of it, so we made a pipe out of a carrot and got blissed out on the glacier.
Overall, it was a great rest day.
Fulfilled by our accomplishment, we rested on our laurels, soaking in the sun.
By the afternoon, the flies all but disappeared.
We could see Timothy and Miranda recklessly careening down from the col.
They were not staying in the bootpack we’d been using to travel up and down the col. They ended up cliffed out, next to the rockfall zone Bill and I had apparently passed on our way back from climbing Snowpatch.
It was the typical Tim and Miranda show. At least we knew if they made it another 500 feet down the mountain, they’d be safe.
We wouldn’t be compelled to rescue them.
They spent the night before on top of South Howser Tower.
We were convinced they were on drugs up there, and not the good kind. It was frustrating, but we all were alive and had a few more days before the helicopter would pick us up.
We’d soon be on our way home and this dream would be over.
Bill and I were sore and stiff after our rest day.
But, we had an opportunity to climb one more route.
I begged Bill to do another route since we wouldn’t be back for a long time, if ever. After some coercion, he capitulated.
Michael and Kevin were satisfied, so they would keep an eye on our camp and babysit the children.
One more time up the col, past ‘The Dangler’, we quickly arrived at the base of the Kain Route on Bugaboo Spire.
It’s a classic, historic, 5.6 adventure up a long, loose, and exposed ridge.
Another dozen raps down from a sweet summit and we’d be completely destroyed.
Ready to go home.
(The view of South Howser Tower from the col)
(About halfway up the Kain Route)
(Looking back at the raps on South Howser Tower from the top of Bugaboo Spire)
(Bill and I on top of Bugaboo Spire)
Bill and I climbed the route quickly. We were feeling relatively good for what we had been doing every day.
At the summit, we met up with a couple who had climbed the classic route up Bugaboo Spire from the Applebee side.
They were super friendly and we all decided to rap down together. That gave us more options, in case a rope got stuck or something.
We tied our two ropes together and started down.
Their rope was much skinnier than ours. On the first rap, it blew into a deep crack and got stuck. I spent a few minutes freeing it and thought maybe we should rap as two separate parties.
We did a few more raps together, with me always going first.
On one of the steeper raps, I was descending and the skinny rope got jammed in my belay device. I didn’t notice until farther down because the fat rope was still moving through the device. The ropes then became offset, as the skinny rope was pulling the fatter rope through the anchor.
Luckily, we had knots in the ends of the ropes, so it would never have been a fatal error. I noticed it in time as well. I built a quick anchor, adjusted the ropes, and made it down to the next fixed anchor.
From there, we would rap as two parties.
I was starting to learn another valuable lesson: that combining forces with people you don’t know can lead to trouble. Go figure.
Truly knackered, we made it back to camp and we were ready to go home.
What a roller coaster ride.
The trip was amazing because we experienced so much that was unexpected. Experiencing every emotion and getting way outside of our comfort zones, it was an unequivocal growing experience.
We don’t chat much unfortunately, but Bill and I will be friends for life, trauma bonded.
(Bill and I back at camp)
That last night passed by uneventfully.
I think we consulted the now limp carrot one more time.
We met many new climbers coming through with the long weather window.
Word on the street was that the people who got rescued off the Beckey-Chouinard were back in town.
They were hiking around with frostbitten feet, protected by plastic bags inside their boots. They were asking people to bring their gear down from the summit.
Talking shit about being rescued.
It was all rumors, but people were saying that the party had learned nothing and they were bragging about sending harder routes in Alaska. Acting as if being rescued was no big deal.
Apparently, they didn’t do harder rappels in Alaska. They must not have learned humility either.
They made it to the summit of Beckey-Chouinard and decided they were too scared to rap. Much to our shock, the night they endured on top only resulted in minor frostbite.
Simply put, the climbers fucked up and refused to take any responsibility.
It seemed as though they didn’t want to do the rappels and get themselves out of the situation they created. They pressed the button on their In-Reach device early in the morning and put others at danger. All the while, they were capable of rescuing themselves.
If the rumors were true, it was a sad display of entitlement.
Self-reliance is something that alpine climbers have had a proud tradition of adhering to. An accepted responsibility you have to get yourself out of a jam.
It should be the last resort to call for a rescue. It’s really a Hail Mary at that point anyway.
We carried the same device these climbers used during our ascents too.
But, we all agreed that the only way we would use the device was if someone’s life was in immediate danger.
If you’re gonna be dumb, you gotta be tough.
(Packing our shit up. We’re goin’ home boys!)
(Why do I have my helmet on? And why does it smell like shit in here?)
We took down our tents on that last morning and carefully packed everything up, slowly taking inventory of our stuff.
We finished the last of our food and had a few hours to enjoy the scenery while we waited for the helicopter to pick us up.
It was enjoyable lounging out and being on a leisurely schedule.
We thought were through the surprises. But of course, their was icing on our cake.
An explosive grand finale, like the Fourth of July.
Bill and I had drank off of the glacier once. Just a sip on our way down from the Beckey-Chouinard.
We knew we were taking a risk and being stupid.
Other than that one time, we all filtered and boiled our water at camp.
But, Miranda and Timothy did not.
Not ever.
Not even once.
Keep in mind, there were numerous climbers around the East Creek camp at this point. There was a send train on the South Howser Tower. We had been lucky to have East Creek to ourselves.
It was getting crowded now.
Kevin and I were chillin’ on a rock as we heard the first outburst from Miranda.
“FUCK YOU Timothy!”
Absolutely perfect, now they’re fighting.
“This is awkward”, we thought.
She repeated to berate her loyal captive, the Timothy I didn’t know anymore.
“Fuck you! I’m covered in shit!”
Huh?
Kevin and I looked at each other. “Did she just say that?”
This PSA was broadcast for a solid fifteen minutes. Repeated over and over.
Since they had not been practicing proper sanitation, Miranda had fallen ill.
She had an accident and was lashing out at poor Timothy.
Very near the end of this tirade, our helicopter was coming up the valley. It was time to go.
We quickly packed up.
This time the helicopter was a big one that could fit all of us. We buckled up.
“Why does is smell like shit in here?”, Michael asked while looking at Kevin and I.
We laughed at the sad state of affairs.
What else can you do?
I haven’t heard from Timothy since. He had a falling out with Bill too.
I hope he’s doing well.
Hopefully, he’s found a new girlfriend who is a better influence.
I still get out with Michael and Kevin.
During the long drive home, I sat in the back of Michael’s truck for most of the way, hallucinating with exhaustion.
We made it home and I had a few days to try to adjust back to normal life.
After such a trip, it’s common to experience a low period.
It makes sense, you’ve depleted your serotonin, all sorts of hormones, and adrenaline.
Once the haze from the experience and aftermath wears off, you’re rewarded with the memories of a wild adventure you created with great friends.
That sticks with you forever.
I’m grateful to have experiences like this. It makes me feel like I’m making the most out of every fleeting moment.
(Looking at the Beckey-Chouinard, and our camp, from the helicopter window on our flight in)