Julia
Kate, Mikey, Micah, and I are all packed up. Our gear is on the tarmac here at Whitesaddle Air. All we need is a chopper to arrive to whisk us away to the mountains for the next two weeks. We’ll be camping beneath some classic giants: Combatant, Tiedeman, and Asperity. Hopefully, with some luck and determination, the climbing will provide just the right mix of excitement and adventure. Yahoo!
The Skillet Glacier on Mount Moran is a coveted ski descent. It is hard to get to in the winter, yet it is a 6000 foot continuous descent beginning in a tight couloir almost at the summit of Mount Moran (12,605′). This defines aesthetics.
This Spring, Dan and I realized we would both be spending the summer in Jackson while working in Alaska for Alaska Mountaineering School. We also concurrently noted that there was lots and lots and lots of snow falling in the Tetons this Spring. So, naturally we figured it might be a perfect opportunity for a summertime Skillet descent. Somehow, despite working for the dark side (Exum), he still was able to get his act together to follow through with all the bar talk.
Alas, we found ourselves in a canoe- heading to Moran. We talked about getting up early. But thats about as far as we got with that plan. However, by six am we were rolling. We enjoyed a perfect 1300 foot run down from the Thumb to the base of the Skillet. The good skiing ended there. After slogging in the summer sun for another 4000+ feet, conditions were sloppy to say the least. It would have been the perfect opportunity for a canoe descent. Nonetheless, we had fun. It was a silly, sunny time until Dan got caught in a slough and lost a ski. After twenty minutes of probing the debris, he finally spotted it in a basin 500 feet below. Whew. That was close. We were psyched to be able to ski down to below 8000′ on a little channel of snow before having to pack the boots and skis for the final walk down to the boat. Upon arriving at the boat, we were greeted by some friendly fisherman who were happy to celebrate with us. Aaaaaah summer.
A good burger at Billy’s did the trick before I had to start packing for a 5 am start to guide Disappointment Peak the next day. They say if you never slow down, you’ll never grow old. I figure I’ll stay 16 forever. 
Women’s Rock Weekend was a hit. Hosted by International Mountain Climbing School, this event attracted women from all over to climb on North Conway’s granite cliffs. I showed up a bit early with Kirsten Kremer, a friend who was another guest guide for the event. We were lucky to get a few pitches in right away the afternoon we arrived. It was the next day, however, that we learned that its not all roses and peaches in North Conway. We had been for-warned about the bugs- we wore long pants in anticipation, but we did not suspect them to be quite so extreme. Noseeums are evil! It all starts out great. After a bit of getting our bearings, we head up the Prow of Cathedral. About half way up the route, however, it becomes clear that we have entered a battlefield. Apparently, one bites and draws blood. The scent of blood seems to call in every other noseeum for miles around until you have a layer of them feeding off of your poor, unsuspecting self. At the top, we discussed calling it a day, but on the way down, we found too many good cracks that we could not pass up. So alas, we lost the war and returned covered in big red welts.
The wounds turned out to be very convincing tools when explaining to our groups on Saturday morning that bug spray is essential. Luckily, the rain did not strike until everyone got to the top of at least one climb on Saturday. Then it came in hard turning our path into a river.
Saturday night turned out to be a rad party. The beer and wine were flowing and Kremer put on a slideshow that made us all want to set everything on fire. Sunday turned out to be another fine day despite the threat of more rain- we all got just enough climbing in and tons of bonding. Women who had never climbed before were tying there own knots and sending. Some women jugged there first pitch, others learned how to rescue themselves in the event of an accident. Nights were filled with wine and laughter. I wish it lasted a week.
There are a few things that keep me coming back to Alaska- but the one that I could not do without is the smell of sweet greenery when flying off a glacier after a couple weeks or more. As you slowly peel off hats and gloves and down jackets, your senses become overwhelmed by the smells of living earth. And they smell so much better than dirty socks! Necessarily though, submitting to dirty socks and the land of snow is a prerequisite. So, I was lucky to find some work in Talkeetna after skiing in Valdez for three weeks.
Alaska Mountaineering School hired me to take two brothers: Mark and Steve for a twelve day climbing adventure in Little Switzerland. We flew in after a storm deposited two feet of fresh snow and large cornices on all the North and East facing ridges. We quickly reviewed essential mountaineering skills: traveling roped on a glacier, digging pits, crevasse rescue, and anchor building. But the weather was too good so we set to climbing some of the safer classic routes in the area. I realized that I had a great team on my rope on the third day as we were approaching the summit of Little Arapile. We were situated just below a difficult rocky section. I asked them if they wanted to get gnarly and do some mixed climbing or if they wanted to head up the easier snow to the left. Mark looked at both options and just nodded his head towards the rock. So we went. And they sent.
We managed to all crawl on top of the tiny block of a summit and revel in the fabulous views of the Alaska Range before heading over to the Plunger for another radical ascent that day. Again, Mark and Steve, despite my doubts were eager to try a pitch of 5.9 rock in their plastic mountaineering boots- and we all sent! This set the mood for the trip, and we had many more excellent summits: Italy’s Boot, The Lost Marsupial, and the Hobbits Footstool. This is in addition to building some excellent emergency shelters and sending lots of overhanging seracs. We had just enough bad weather to truly appreciate all the great weather. The views took our breath away and instigated devious planning for future adventures. Mt. Russel, anyone?
Training, training, training: we’re all gathered here at L&L’s B&B getting prepped for our AMGA Ski Mountaineering Guides Course/ Aspirant Exam. Isn’t that a mouthful. But, somehow between gathering all of our weather data websites and ironing out our TOPO! programs, we got some fun skiing in yesterday. The North Face of Dimond Peak has everything a ski mountaineer could wish for: big crevasses, a bergshrund problem, 40-50 degree hard slabs, and not an ounce of powder.
We scraped our way down making hop turns with wide smiles. The challenges stimulated much debate as to weather we would actually take clients on such a mission. Probably not. Maybe if there was some powder. Aaaah, powder- we’re keeping our fingers crossed!
Photos courtesy of Ben Mitchell.
Burrrr! My birthday present from the weather gods: -18.5 degrees Celsius. Despite the broken ski and a day’s delay, we got out there and tested our theories on winter camping. The results are in: it is still painful and very cold. And you need twice as much fuel- especially with a jetboil (ooops!). But the skiing was fantastic- with some blue sky and some huge, wet, coastal snowflakes.
It was all set. I had printed my itinerary, healed from my last round of shots, and done plenty of pull-ups. I was about to embark on a lifelong dream to travel and climb in Africa when I received this email from my brother:
“Hi Jule, I just wanted to make sure you know about S. Africa right now. 50 murders a day. Lots of car hijackings, with fatalities often. Muggings, etc… Be careful if you’re still going. I don’t think I’d advise it to anyone. Love, -M”
He forwarded this information to the rest of my family, so there were many more statistics swimming in my head upon arrival at the Johannesburg airport. Between HIV, malaria, violent crime, and the puff-adder, I couldn’t figure out how everyone seemed so normal and relaxed. I wandered the airport waiting for Majka, another American mountain guide to pick me up, or for “Q” our photographer I had yet to meet to arrive by plane. Since Majka did not seem to be picking me up, I ruminated on the fact that I really did not know if Q would show up either. I tried to quell the panic that arose from the rare lack of laptop and cell phone. My own thoughts began to amuse me when I noticed people using the ATM’s without being robbed.
Q finally arrived- only two and a half hours late. It turns out that Majka e-mailed details about how to get a cab to where she was staying just after I went to bed the night before leaving the country. So with great relief, I settled into the backseat of the cab with Q on our way to our hosts’ abode.
Our hosts, a lovely local climbing couple with baby, Luca, opened their house for us. Sleepily, I wondered at the fortifications we had to cross to enter and what it would be like to get used to iron gates and security codes.
I always wanted to go to Africa- WILD Africa complete with exotic animals and tall, serene warriors: the Zulus inviting me to a dance of barefoot stomping waving decorated shields or running through plains with the creatures of Lion King. Despite my expectations of exotic Africa having faded before this trip, I found that through exploring the climbing culture of this distant country, the wilds still hold a supreme presence.
After spending time at a couple kloofs in South Africa, I have full respect for “country routes.” Alpine routes do not really exist as there are no glaciers and little snow in this region of the world. However, lack of crevasses is replaced with insane bushwacking. The cold is replaced by the sticky layer of dirt coating your skin by the time you reach the base of the route. The lack of smells is replaced by a strange array of sweet and pungent living plants and poop and creatures. We do not travel in the middle of the day because of the heat just like in snowy alpine. Most of all, the climbing is intriguing. The super hard quartzite is steep and roofed with tons of discontinuous cracks that force you to climb horizontally. It requires an intense confidence trusting that the route you chose will continue to produce holds.
A few famous South African climbers like Ed February, Andy DeKlerk, and Clinton Martinego have put up countless first ascents, but there are still many to pick. We went to an area called Blyde where we put up three first ascents and one first free ascent in a period of four days. We did, however, pay the South African toll: hot sun, rashes, liquid poo, and endless bushwacking. Our very first route turned out to be a perfect first ascent. We walked by a steep crack wondering if it was wide enough to climb. We kept going towards our original destination: a potential first free ascent that was around the corner. The hot sun and violent bush wacking melted our resolve, however, and we found ourselves back below the shaded crack. I decided to check it out. Upon arriving at the base, it looked perfect: steep with just enough wider pods to get locker hand jams. Majka and Q joined me for the experiment. The first moves were tricky, the crack was overhanging and too sharp for the finger jams that were required. Eventually, I found a way by stemming into it from the left. The uneven crack made it hard to trust the cams, yet it was too steep to hang out and fiddle with gear. Two-thirds of the way up, I was breathing hard and sweating. The glory of the first ascent is that you do not know what the next move will bring- will you find an impossible crux, or will you be able to keep going? I had gotten this far, I thought, I have to finish. So I pulled through a super-tight hand jam followed by a sharp fist jam. Finally, I stood on top, unable to speak due to the involuntary heavy breathing. I looked down at my hands, they were bleeding.
Then Majka sent it with similar drama. I ended up with harsh infections in my hands after rubbing my cuts with some wild aloe plant, but hey, it was worth it. Plus, now I now that the wild variety is different from my mom’s kind.
The climbing in South Africa is hard. We planned on warming up on “Armageddon Time” a ten pitch 23 (5.11c/d) at Du Toits Kloof. Our plan was to climb this one day then get on the harder route the next. Our local guide, David, kept his mouth shut despite his eyes widening at our lofty ambitions. Our one route ended up taking both days. We all were challenged, we all fell, and we all discovered our breaking point. We topped out just as it was getting dark to windy white-out conditions and a complicated descent. We got cliffed out twice. I forgot my headlamp. We discovered that steep grass is akin to steep snow- it would be nicer with an ice axe. Luckily David knew of an all night burger joint that would be open at two in the morning when we finally arrived back in Cape Town.
We spent our last weekend with Tristan. This South African is best described by negatives. He does not eat, does not sleep, and does not drink water or wine. I decided a closer look was warranted- he must eat sometime. I saw him all over the magazines, and he had an inspiring presence in the South African climbing video. He was born without a fully developed right arm or hand, yet you would never know it by the way he climbs. He blames his excellent footwork for his climbing prowess, yet I must credit his mighty will. Never tell this man he cannot do something. (Or tell him and ensure that it will be done.) He showed us the caves of Tafelburg where we set up camp for our last two days. My highlight was the first female ascent of a heady 23R route of which Tristan had boldly done the third ascent. I still cannot fathom trying to do it without the ability to crimp with my right hand. I, after working the moves and the gear, got on lead and still faltered under the high consequences. Finally after many minutes had ticked by and my shaking was about to end in testing the rare and tiny pieces of protection, something deep within launched me towards the jug. I sent. It was a great finale to an amazing climbing adventure in South Africa.
I do not think South Africa is a safer place after being there, but I have a different perspective on dangerous places. The hazards come from the select few extremists. Most people are generous and caring. I was driving our local friend, David’s ancient BMW to Du Toits Kloof where the other three were climbing. I got some stomach bug so had to catch up a day later. I was about one hour outside of Cape Town in a tiny rural area when the car just stopped. The battery went dead. I tried reconnecting it- nothing. It was getting dark fast. My apparent vulnerability had my heart pounding. I was young, white, female, and alone. Then a truck pulled up beside me. Two Asian men stepped out and let me use their cell phone. Then two Afrikaans boys pulled up and drove off in search of their mother’s jumper cables. A Black man stopped, pulled out his tools, tightened the bolts on the battery, and the car started. The man called me the next day just to make sure I had found my friends. We were high up on a wall. We all laughed at the marvelous kindness that came from this potentially freaky situation.
The specific moves of “Danger Mouse” will be forgotten. The cold belays on “Celestial Journey” will fade, but the incredible people and kindness will remain. Despite the trauma of the people of South Africa, of injured climbers, and of great loss, we all still earn for that innocent wild. These people have shown me how great odds can be overcome. Climbers cultivate the power to do this. Climbing provided a great lens through which to see South Africa.
For more photos go to http://jamesqmartin.com.
One of the ladies on my women’s ice clinic told me about “type 2 fun.” I haven’t stopped using it since. We were swinging our tools while talking about all the difficulties associated with ice climbing: cold hands and toes, screaming barfies, bloody faces, when she mentioned this paradigm. Rock climbing and skiing tend to be type 1 fun. Not always. But, if you are having fun while in the act, then it is type 1. Not just “this is so painful its great” type fun- but real fun where you could bust out a laugh at any time. Ice climbing, alpine climbing, and I suspect crab fishing all fall under the category of type 2 fun. Actually, crab fishing might not be fun at all. Type 2 is where you are gripped all day, but by the time you get to the bar, it was the most fun you’ve ever had. Thanks Emily- now I can laugh every time I find myself alpine climbing in a squall- its fun afterall!
Although, we broke the type two barrier during this festival. And not just when drinking beer and watching slide shows. The ice was plastic and accepting of our tools, the people were all smiles, and the weather was warm. The closest I got to type two was while I was hammering off pull-ups during the Monster contest.
