Will, puttin' out the vibe in Hyalite.

I was relieved to find Will all smiles after our second climbing day.  This wasn’t his first ice climbing experience (that came on a trip we took to Mt. Baker with my dad and brother two summers ago), but it’s impossible to tell how accurately one will remember things like that.  Kelly Cordes, American Alpine Journal senior editor and general mountain badass, calls it Type II Fun: “fun only in retrospect, hateful while it’s happening. Things like working out ‘till you puke and usually ice and alpine climbing.”  In other words, ice climbing belongs in the same category as tequila shots and Brontë novels: you’re proud to say you did [Read More]]]> I had a few days off from work last weekend and my buddy, Will, drove in from the Bay Area to spend some time in Bozeman.  Will moved out west after law school and has enjoyed the Berkeley gym climbing scene, but a pending trip to Mt. Hood had him ready for some real action in the mountains.  We spent a couple of his days here climbing in Hyalite and a couple more hiking laps at the “M” for a pretty decent training shakedown.

Will, puttin' out the vibe in Hyalite.

I was relieved to find Will all smiles after our second climbing day.  This wasn’t his first ice climbing experience (that came on a trip we took to Mt. Baker with my dad and brother two summers ago), but it’s impossible to tell how accurately one will remember things like that.  Kelly Cordes, American Alpine Journal senior editor and general mountain badass, calls it Type II Fun: “fun only in retrospect, hateful while it’s happening. Things like working out ‘till you puke and usually ice and alpine climbing.”  In other words, ice climbing belongs in the same category as tequila shots and Brontë novels: you’re proud to say you did it, but you sure didn’t enjoy it while it was happening.

It seems, though, that Will did genuinely like climbing ice.  I certainly enjoy it in real-time, so that’s at least two people.  It got me wondering: what is it about ice climbing that makes it so attractive to me despite its pretty clear drawbacks?  I have to admit, I was a little disturbed by the answers I got; it appears that ice climbing satisfies mostly the dark side of my soul.  Here’s the list.  I hope we’re still friends when you’re done…

1. It has just the right amount of violence.

I never played football or hockey.  I don’t hunt.  I’ve never tried boxing or martial arts, and I’ve never really wanted to.  I probably would’ve enjoyed lacrosse, but it hadn’t made any inroads in the Georgia public school scene back in my day (besides, that was baseball season).  I’m generally a pretty laid back dude, and my choice of sports has reflected that.  Even still, everyone needs an aggression outlet; ice climbing is mine.

What do I have in common with the ice at my feet? We both exude detached cool...

At its most basic level, ice climbing is an exercise in swinging and kicking spikes into a big block of ice; it’s a pretty raw concept (after all, Sharon Stone didn’t grab an ice pick by accident).  Add to that the fact that the ice is shattering, fracturing, and falling all around you, and it’s no wonder ice climbers gear up like modern-day centurions before leaving the deck.

More than once this winter, I’ve been kissed by exploding ice that has left me bruised and bloody.  It sounds miserable, even hateful like Kelly said.  Imagine it: you’re fifteen feet above your last screw; you’re cold, wet, and scared, but the anchors are right above you; alright, homestretch; you swing a heavy tool into the last bulge, and POW; the ice shatters and a dinner-plate crashes into your face; you grip hard on your one solid tool and steel your feet because you know that in a split second the ice will be falling fast onto your boots trying to unseat your crampons from their already tenuous placements; a wave of pure relief washes over as you remain on the wall, and you listen as the shards careen down to the bottom; “ICE!” you yell, hoping your belayer gets the message; then you taste the blood – warm, metallic, unmistakable; every racing heartbeat throbs in your lip; you steady yourself and turn in a screw; you clip the rope and swallow just enough blood to allow you to yell down to your belayer to lower you off; but you don’t; instead you smile; “Really, Ice?  That’s how it’s gonna be?” you ask; you swing your tool back into the blast zone and it sinks soundly; your blood no longer tastes like fear and pain.

Man, I love that shit.

2. There’s something to be said for good, old fashioned masochism.

If you’re not willing to suffer at least a little, you’ll probably never climb ice.  If you can’t find some perverse enjoyment in that suffering, you’ll probably never climb ice again.

All-too-common scene in the mountains... Will ducks under a boulder to free the stuck rappel ropes.

Rock climbing is an altogether different story.  The basic motions are intuitive, the settings are often comfortable, and the gear is generally blunt.  Sure, there are dirtbag trad climbers who keep it pretty real, and there’s not much out there that can touch A5 in terms of fear factor; but, more often than not, climbers are hanging out in the gym or in the sun at the sport crag.

I get it.  Really, what’s not to like?  It’s pure sex appeal.  You’ve got a whole population of toned and tanned bodies wearing next to nothing, and they’re moving with skill and grace up a stark, sunlit wall; it’s hard to frame a model more aesthetically than that.  Rock climbing is relatively safe, it’s accessible, the weather’s great, and, on the off-chance that you don’t enjoy it, you can just walk over to the hammock that you inevitably set up earlier in the day and work on your base.  Everybody wins.

Ice climbing, though?  There’s nothing sexy about that.  You’re covered head-to-toe in Gore-Tex and polypro.  Your windburned and bloody face exists as the sole piece of exposed skin.  The rare and fleeting moments of true comfort simply serve to remind you that you’re wearing too many layers.  Your primary equipment list consists of several razor-sharp points and high-top boots.  Frankly, if you do become involved with someone who finds that scene appealing, I suggest you give grave consideration to what else your little Pandora may be into and whether or not that’s a box you really want to open.

The payoff for all of this cold, wet, puncture-prone misery is in the reconstruction.  Every time you go into the mountains to suffer, you come back stronger, more resolved, and more acutely conscious of how much you can take.  Self-awareness and sunshine rarely coincide.

3. I feel like I’m getting away with something.

This one’s not hard to explain.  Ice is practically frictionless.  Ice is ephemeral.  Ice is cold and wet.  I should not be able to climb it.

Even if we take for granted the fact that humans have devised tools for all sorts of hard-to-imagine activities, we still have to account for all of the links in the ice climbing chain.  When I’m on an ice pitch, I’m trying to hold on to my tools…which are trying to hold on to the ice…which is trying to hold on to the other ice…which is trying to hold on to the rock.  At any given moment, each one of these links could be the weak one, and, during the course of long climb, each one is.  Just thinking about it is enough to send me running for the rock gym – at least until tomorrow.

Will finds a rhythm on "Mummy Cooler I" -- Hyalite Canyon

So, there you have it, friends(?) – three of the reasons I enjoy ice climbing so much: violence, pain, and disregarded consequences.  It’s healthy to talk about these things, right?  If you think so, feel free to leave your own questionable motives in the comment box.  After all, misery loves company.

Here’s a day-by-day synopsis of the past week:

Wednesday – By way of two morning trips to the airport, I said “fare thee well” to Michelle and “howdy” to Jamie Dial, my boss at Vanderbilt’s Outdoor Rec Program and my major climbing mentor.  Jamie is the type of climber whose stories often start with things like “the second time I soloed the Grand…” and “I’d probably been on El Cap for two days when…”  His climbing resume reads like a North American bucket list, and, lucky for me, his skills in the mountains are rivaled only by his ability to impart that knowledge and experience to others.  He was just a few days removed from a Vandy trip to J-Tree and Red Rocks when he hopped on a plane to Bozeman for a little ice climbing R&R.

Three hours after his plane touched down, we were racking up at the base of Mummy Cooler II (WI 3) in Hyalite.  I gladly accepted his offer for the first lead and soon found myself in a familiar situation – belaying Jamie up to [Read More]]]>

Jamie on top of the 5.7 first pitch. Don't let the picture fool you -- he copied my jacket/helmet combo.

Here’s a day-by-day synopsis of the past week:

Wednesday – By way of two morning trips to the airport, I said “fare thee well” to Michelle and “howdy” to Jamie Dial, my boss at Vanderbilt’s Outdoor Rec Program and my major climbing mentor.  Jamie is the type of climber whose stories often start with things like “the second time I soloed the Grand…” and “I’d probably been on El Cap for two days when…”  His climbing resume reads like a North American bucket list, and, lucky for me, his skills in the mountains are rivaled only by his ability to impart that knowledge and experience to others.  He was just a few days removed from a Vandy trip to J-Tree and Red Rocks when he hopped on a plane to Bozeman for a little ice climbing R&R.

Three hours after his plane touched down, we were racking up at the base of Mummy Cooler II (WI 3) in Hyalite.  I gladly accepted his offer for the first lead and soon found myself in a familiar situation – belaying Jamie up to the top of a pitch and hearing the always-enthusiastic “strong lead, brother!” as he clipped into the anchor.

We rapped off of Mummy II and walked just around the corner to the dripping ice of The Scepter (WI 5).  The thin chandeliers and mushroom-shaped stems looked, according to Jamie, “super cool,” and he tip-toed nimbly up the steep face on insecure hooks and dubious screws for his first ice lead in more than a year.

We got back to the ground just as the sun was setting on day one.

Topping out on the "Silken Slot" chockstone.

Thursday – Up early for a quick stop at the grocery store and then back into the Canyon.  In the mood for some longer routes, we braved the hour-and-a-half approach up toward The Dribbles (WI 4) where there are a few multi-pitch lines pretty close to one another.

We decided to link the two or three Dribbles pitches into one 70-meter simul-climbed rope-stretcher to save time.  Jamie led off from the bottom, and I started moving up as soon as the cord came taut – taking special care not to fall and pull both of us off the wall.  With only the one belay at the top, we knocked out the route in good time and good style and headed right across the cliff band toward the mixed Silken Slot (WI 3, 5.7).

Climbing up into the gully. Scenes like this one are why I climb.

Silken Slot boasts a very cool ice-choked gully that offers a remote alpine feel – rare in the usually wide-open Hyalite; the route doesn’t see a lot of action because the gully is guarded by a huge chockstone just a few feet off the deck.  Fortunately for us, pulling awkward, poorly protected rock moves in crampons is exactly what Jamie had in mind for the afternoon.  He scraped up the face of the chockstone, and I took off from there on plastic ice up into the steep-sided gully.

Two raps got us to the ground, and we hiked out in the dark for the second time in two days.

Friday – After the long approach the day before, we were in the mood for something a little closer to the car.  We used this day to tour some of Hyalite’s closer classics – Genesis I (WI 4) to Genesis II (WI 3+) and then over to The Hangover (WI 3).  We knocked out all of those pretty quickly, so we decided to add Upper Green Sleeves on the back end.  The book mentions a back way over there that you can access by climbing past the usual belay on Hangover.  Why not, right?

I stretched the rope around an exposed, snow-covered outcropping and steadied myself by sinking my tools into the moss hummocks that were stuck to the rock.  A nerve-racking traverse put me on a little saddle where I thought I could see the path to the other climb.  No such luck.  I spent the next half-hour wading through waist-deep sugar until I found a tree that looked sturdy enough to support a rappel back to Jamie and the anchor.  Win some, lose some.

We made it back to the car without headlamps.

Saturday – Snowy rest day.  We kicked it around the house until lunch time.  After a quick stop at the Pita Pit, we headed southeast to Chico, MT for a soak in the hot springs.  Back in Bozeman by 4:00pm and up to the ski hill in town to check out my landlord’s band.  For the nightcap, we found some alpine inspiration at the second night of the Banff Film Festival – if it’s coming to your town soon, it’ll definitely be worth the price of admission.

Sunday – We hiked into Hyalite’s East Fork to find Palisade Falls (WI 4), a waterfall that makes for a popular hike when it cascades in the warmer months.  The guidebook calls the hike to Palisade “the easiest approach in Hyalite.”

Three hours and two unsuccessful trails later, we were back in the Palisade Falls parking lot and running out of options.  We had already tried the ski tour trail in the back and the smaller trail behind the “trailhead” sign – seemed reasonable at the time – and were pretty much ready to bail.  We finally found the right path and were at the base of the climb within fifteen minutes.  The one pitch we climbed in the falling snow was mostly worth all the trouble.  I think.

Jamie cruising up the second step of "Genesis II."

It was decision-making time when we got back to town.  We were planning to head into the Beartooths the next day to get on an area classic called California Ice, but a foot-and-a-half of fresh powder had made conditions less than ideal.  The Hyalite climbs that we had been eyeing were subject to the same avy danger that took Cali Ice off the list, and we didn’t want to go back in there and climb the trade routes again.

With choices dwindling, we looked outside the box a little bit.  We considered driving down to Cody, WY for one of the long routes out there, but the four-hour drive wasn’t all that attractive.  We considered heading up to Bridger for some powder day turns, but, well, skiin’ ain’t climbin’.  At 11:00 that night, I drove to the airport to pick up Michelle, and Jamie said he’d figure it out while I was gone.  We were asleep by midnight with a plan in place.

Monday – At 3:30 the next morning, I was behind the wheel in a Red Bull-induced fever.  With luck, we’d be in Cody at 7:30 and hiking away from the car at 8:00.  Our objective was Smooth Emerald Milkshake (WI 4, IV), an all-day route with several miles of trail on either side.  We estimated twelve hours car-to-car.

We hit the trail at 8:40 – not exactly an alpine start, but not bad considering we began the day more than two hundred miles away.  With some route-finding issues, we reached the bottom of the first pitch in just under three hours.  Game time.

I belayed Jamie up the first WI 4 curtain and climbed past him at the top of the pitch.  For the next four hours, we soloed and simul-climbed the easy sections and built anchors to pitch out the harder parts.  The route was fantastic – long, challenging, and way out in the mountains; perfect end to a big week.

We reached the top of the drainage just before sundown and knocked out most of the six rappels by headlamp.  A short section of rope-assisted 5.4 got us back to the trail, and we were in the warm truck at 8:15 – that’s less than twelve hours, for the record.

The remaining Red Bulls didn’t do much to shake our exhaustion, so we opted to stay the night in Cody.  Long day.  Good day.

My sentiments exactly, amigo.

Tuesday – The hotel wake-up call came at 4:00am, and, just like that, we were back on the road.  We stopped for breakfast at the McDonald’s in Columbus, MT where we met an old cowboy who asked if we were brothers.  “Brothers of the rope!” Jamie told him, although the cowboy’s confused eyes belied the smile and nod we got in return.  If you’re a climber – or a skier, runner, paddler, cyclist, etc. – I’m guessing you’ll understand.

Climbers spend a lot of time, energy, and money in the effort to keep themselves safe. A full rack of gear costs a small fortune, and the ability to use that gear efficiently and effectively takes years of experience. It’s no wonder there are literally volumes written on the subject.

A good belay anchor is a thing of beauty – equal parts gear, applied physics, and creative use of space – and, in this case, beauty often translates to safety. When you know those three large cams are equalized, backed-up, and bomber, it’s easy to relax and lean out over the five hundred feet of rock and air beneath you and focus on the task at hand.

Of course, the same things that make the belay so comfortable can make getting down a much more stressful situation. A pretty basic rock belay set-up will consist of three cams ($225), three wire-gate ‘biners ($25), two big lockers ($30), and twenty feet of 7mm cord ($8). That’s almost $300 worth of piece of mind at each belay. On the way up, it’s no big deal; the second climber just breaks it all down and [Read More]]]>

Hyalite in the morning.

Climbers spend a lot of time, energy, and money in the effort to keep themselves safe. A full rack of gear costs a small fortune, and the ability to use that gear efficiently and effectively takes years of experience. It’s no wonder there are literally volumes written on the subject.

A good belay anchor is a thing of beauty – equal parts gear, applied physics, and creative use of space – and, in this case, beauty often translates to safety. When you know those three large cams are equalized, backed-up, and bomber, it’s easy to relax and lean out over the five hundred feet of rock and air beneath you and focus on the task at hand.

Of course, the same things that make the belay so comfortable can make getting down a much more stressful situation. A pretty basic rock belay set-up will consist of three cams ($225), three wire-gate ‘biners ($25), two big lockers ($30), and twenty feet of 7mm cord ($8). That’s almost $300 worth of piece of mind at each belay. On the way up, it’s no big deal; the second climber just breaks it all down and hauls it up to the next belay or the top of the climb, whichever comes first. Getting back down to the ground, however, may be a little more tricky. If you can walk off, problem solved – just throw it all on the gear sling and hike it home. If the route requires a rappel, though, the game gets more serious since leaving all of that gear at each rap station isn’t really an option.

I can haz yetteh food?

Rappelling is often cited as the single most dangerous common climbing practice. This is so because it’s really the only time you’re relying fully on gear. If I’m leading an ice pitch and, in some tragic combination of poor aim and poor luck, I happen to sever my rope with a crampon point, I have a few options: if I’m not too far off the deck, I can just carefully climb back down; if I’m farther up, I can take a deep breath, center myself, and solo it out to the top; or I can plug in a screw or two, attach myself to the ice, and wait for my partner to figure out how to get me a rope. Obviously, this is not a good situation, but it is salvageable (for the record, this is just one of several reasons I prefer to climb ice on half and twin ropes, but therein lies another post altogether).

Leaving the deck on the first pitch of "The Dribbles" (WI 4) -- Hyalite Canyon

When I’m on rappel, though, I’m completely committed to the rope and whatever’s above it to keep me safe all the way down; I trust the rope, and I trust the harness/locker/belay device combo that attaches me to the rope – that leaves the attachment to the wall as the most likely weak link.

At popular rock climbing areas, rappel rings have often been drilled into the rock to safely facilitate this process. This is less likely in the mountains where trees tend to be the standard for rap anchors. Theoretically, you could just wrap the rope around the tree and rappel off, but that tends to accelerate the wear on both rope and tree and increases the likelihood that your rope will get stuck on the way down.

The usual response to that problem is to thread nylon webbing or cord through cheap metal rings and tie all of that around the tree. A few slings and a couple of rings around a BFT (”big” and “tree” are two of those words) will more than suffice as a safe and inexpensive rappel anchor. The climber need only make sure the slings are in good shape before leaning back and floating to the ground.

These are some old slings we cut off a rap tree. Climbing anchors are generally good to go, but they don't last forever. Be aware and be vigilant. If something looks suspect, back it up. Check out the Access Fund, the Anchor Replacement Initiative, or your local climbing organization if you're interested in the process.

Now, that was a long lead-in just to mention what Jason and I have been up to for the past week: climbing a lot of the more popular routes in Hyalite and replacing the worn rappel slings with brand new cord. We figured it would be a great way to give a little bit back to the Canyon. Certainly this is not a selfless pastime (our own safety will clearly benefit from the efforts), but it does make me feel a little more connected to the place – like I’m a part of the solution and not just the problem.

There are few things in this world that make me happier than an intermediate belay.  For the uninitiated, an intermediate belay is the stop-over between pitches – you ascend a rope-length or gain a nice ledge (whichever comes first), plug in some gear to build an anchor, affix yourself to the wall, and relax.  It’s a perfect place to get some water, eat a snack, wrap yourself in your favorite puffy jacket, slip into some heavy gloves, and enjoy the view.

The intermediate belay is a payoff several times over: you get to rest and recharge from the often stressful and strenuous climbing, you get to check out the scene from a place that few people ever stand, you get to solve complex anchor-building puzzles, and there’s often no one there to see the tears in your eyes as the warm blood refills your frozen fingers.

Over the years, I’ve stockpiled memories of my favorite belays – some noteworthy for the scenery, some for the relief, and some for the shenanigans – and the top of the first pitch of Hyalite’s Silken Falls ranks right up there with the best.

Silken Falls headwall [Read More]]]>

Enjoying puffy warmth at the top of pitch one.

There are few things in this world that make me happier than an intermediate belay.  For the uninitiated, an intermediate belay is the stop-over between pitches – you ascend a rope-length or gain a nice ledge (whichever comes first), plug in some gear to build an anchor, affix yourself to the wall, and relax.  It’s a perfect place to get some water, eat a snack, wrap yourself in your favorite puffy jacket, slip into some heavy gloves, and enjoy the view.

The intermediate belay is a payoff several times over: you get to rest and recharge from the often stressful and strenuous climbing, you get to check out the scene from a place that few people ever stand, you get to solve complex anchor-building puzzles, and there’s often no one there to see the tears in your eyes as the warm blood refills your frozen fingers.

Over the years, I’ve stockpiled memories of my favorite belays – some noteworthy for the scenery, some for the relief, and some for the shenanigans – and the top of the first pitch of Hyalite’s Silken Falls ranks right up there with the best.

Silken Falls headwall - Hyalite Canyon

Silken Falls is an imposing flow of ice deep inside Hyalite Canyon.  A two-hour hike brings you beneath the large lower headwall, and a short slog through knee-deep snow puts you at the base of the climb.

The temperature was warm enough on the day we went out there, but, with the wind whipping the spindrift down the face of the ice, Jason and I resolved to make short work of the first pitch.  We synchronized the radios, and he took off on the sharp end.  After a short traverse, he disappeared around the corner of the headwall, and there I stood, in the winter sun, awaiting the familiar crackle of “off belay” to come through the handset.

After a few chilly minutes, I felt the rope pull tight.  “You’re on belay, so climb when ready,” the radio sang, and, with belay jacket still on, I charged up the pitch.

The climbing was not especially difficult, but one of my crampons came unseated early on and complicated things significantly.  I gingerly chipped up the rest of the route, cleaning the screws on one solid foot placement.  The angle eased off halfway up the pitch, and I cruised up to the intermediate snowfield.

Awesome.  The pitch topped out in a spectacular snow-white amphitheater.  There was a thin gully climb far in the back, the large second pitch of Silken Falls to the right, and sheer black rock in between.  Jason was set up in the ice to the right, and he took in rope as I ambled up to the anchor.  I clipped the anchor and soaked in the winter sun.

Ain't kiddin' about that there intermediate belay locale. It'll shine from now on with the genuine Showtime stamp of approval. Over and out.

It’s hardly novel to be captivated by the things we discover in nature – after all, there’s a reason we recognize names like Ansel Adams, Galen Rowell, and Bob Ross – but it is extraordinary to me that climbing my way into places like this is always so very worth it.  The activity itself is rewarding, of course, but there’s definitely a different sort of satisfaction when the climb ends in such a special spot.  It tends to erase the two-hour hike,  the bone-chilling belay, and the hand-numbing climb.  It’s worth it all, and it’s worth it all every time.

I got off of work at 3:00 p.m. on Tuesday and met Jason at Hyalite for some afternoon laps.  The sun sets between 4:30 and 5:00 these days, and we had just enough time to hike in and hang the rope before the headlamps came out.  We spent the next hour cruising up various lines of WI 3-3+ as a mostly-full moon painted an eerie glow on the mountains across the canyon.

It was completely dark by the time I put Jason on belay for his last turn.  I doused my headlamp and took solace in the company of the winter constellations until my eyes adjusted to the dimness of the moonlit night.

As Jason picked his way up the climb, I privately enjoyed one of those priceless liminal moments – suspensions in time when self-awareness is at its most complete.  With stars shining above me, the luminous moon hovering just above the canyon, and Jason’s headlamp turning the wall of crystallized water into a monochrome fireworks show, I gave profound and silent thanks for the perfection of the moment.  This is precisely the type of experience I was hoping to have when I came out [Read More]]]>

Hyalite Canyon from the "Unnamed Wall"

I got off of work at 3:00 p.m. on Tuesday and met Jason at Hyalite for some afternoon laps.  The sun sets between 4:30 and 5:00 these days, and we had just enough time to hike in and hang the rope before the headlamps came out.  We spent the next hour cruising up various lines of WI 3-3+ as a mostly-full moon painted an eerie glow on the mountains across the canyon.

It was completely dark by the time I put Jason on belay for his last turn.  I doused my headlamp and took solace in the company of the winter constellations until my eyes adjusted to the dimness of the moonlit night.

As Jason picked his way up the climb, I privately enjoyed one of those priceless liminal moments – suspensions in time when self-awareness is at its most complete.  With stars shining above me, the luminous moon hovering just above the canyon, and Jason’s headlamp turning the wall of crystallized water into a monochrome fireworks show, I gave profound and silent thanks for the perfection of the moment.  This is precisely the type of experience I was hoping to have when I came out here.

There was nothing exceptional, really, about the climbing that evening.  This was not an expedition that we had planned for months.  This was not a test-piece project that we had studied and practiced.  This was not a day-long, multi-pitch, 10,000 calorie, miles-to-go-before-I-sleep epic.  This was a pretty average after-work top-rope session – the kind you’ll have a hundred times in your climbing career — and it’s exactly what I wanted when I left Atlanta in October.

Jason pulls the crux bulge on a nameless, rarely-forming line

There are very few places in the world where I can work an eight-hour day and still have time to run laps on an ice climb before dinner.  The fact that this is probably the least exceptional climbing day I’ll have this week is amazing to me.  I am happy here.

It’s easy to praise the good fortune that has brought me to this place – to think how lucky I am that I can do these things that I love so much as often as I am able – and, absolutely, good fortune is an ingredient.  I’m fortunate that I was born in a country where I can leave my subtropical home and drive to a place where I can climb frozen waterfalls for six months without having to change so much as my phone number, and I’m fortunate that I have friends and family who will support me in this endeavor.  Still, good fortune can only account for so much.

Michelle's first day on ice

It’s not a matter of random chance that I landed here in Bozeman.  Indeed, I came here precisely because of the outdoor opportunities.  I wanted to live in a place where a three-hour break in my day and a little motivation meant that I could go ice climbing.  Tuesday night exists as the culmination of that goal, and, for that, it is truly exceptional.

Adventure and recreation are of high priority in my world, and they’re integral in my endless quest for personal balance.  If they’re priorities to you (and, if you’re reading this on The Mountain Shop website, chances are good that they are), I encourage you to find a place to be where they can be part of your everyday life.  If you love to ski, don’t let skiing become a vacation-only activity; move to Colorado or Idaho and ski 80 days a year.  If you love whitewater, go to Asheville or Chattanooga where you could try out a new local creek after every rainy day.  If you’re captivated by desert canyons, spend some time in Utah.  If you love climbing, your biggest problem will be deciding which world-class destination suits you the best.

A little crossover magic

Adventure is like a friendly little leprechaun: it knows exactly where to find good fortune, but it won’t come looking for you.  Go find it.

While a rogue storm recently turned the homeland into a snow globe, I’ve been enjoying relatively mild weather up here in Montana.  It’s been hovering right around the freezing point for a week now, and a lot of the ice that had been iron-hard prior to the festival is now soft and forgiving.  We’ve taken advantage of the favorable conditions with several dawn patrol missions into the canyon.  The hikes have been cleansing, the climbing has been classic, and I’m constantly reminded why I had daydreamed about this winter for months.

Just another December day in Bozeman...

When I say “we” in reference to my climbing outings, I’m almost always referring to my new friend, Jason.  As I mentioned a while back, Jason responded to a post I put up on the Montana Ice website.  He was interested in a weekday partner, and I had no real obligations at the time.  Since then, we’ve tied in together no less than twice a week, and we are gradually turning into a pretty good team.

Jason tests the bottom of "Curtain" -- Hyalite Canyon

It’s a rare and beautiful thing when you happen upon a good partner in the mountains; [Read More]]]>

While a rogue storm recently turned the homeland into a snow globe, I’ve been enjoying relatively mild weather up here in Montana.  It’s been hovering right around the freezing point for a week now, and a lot of the ice that had been iron-hard prior to the festival is now soft and forgiving.  We’ve taken advantage of the favorable conditions with several dawn patrol missions into the canyon.  The hikes have been cleansing, the climbing has been classic, and I’m constantly reminded why I had daydreamed about this winter for months.

Just another December day in Bozeman...

When I say “we” in reference to my climbing outings, I’m almost always referring to my new friend, Jason.  As I mentioned a while back, Jason responded to a post I put up on the Montana Ice website.  He was interested in a weekday partner, and I had no real obligations at the time.  Since then, we’ve tied in together no less than twice a week, and we are gradually turning into a pretty good team.

Jason tests the bottom of "Curtain" -- Hyalite Canyon

It’s a rare and beautiful thing when you happen upon a good partner in the mountains; there are so many variables in the equation, and each one brings a new chance for incompatibility.

I’ve mentioned “balance” in past posts, and the ideal partner is a lesson in that most valuable of concepts.

The last thing I want in a partner is someone who is unsafe.  I don’t want to worry about unnecessary leader falls and inadequate anchor set-ups when I’m eight miles and at least as many hours away from help.  At the same time, a good partner is driven toward challenges that may require some uncomfortable commitment.  Ideally, each of you will be able to honestly assess the strengths and weaknesses of the team, and you can choose objectives that will represent challenges but remain within the boundaries of acceptable risk.

To that point, an ideal partner will be clear about hopes and fears and respect mine.

If I’m just not feeling it that day, for whatever reason, I don’t want to be pressured into a potentially dangerous situation.  On the other hand, I also don’t want to be let off the hook every time I’m not psyched to send, so I need someone around who will keep me from ignoring the three a.m. alarm and call me unprintable names when I try to give up my turn on lead.

A good partner will be a friend.  This isn’t a business relationship.  If every conversation we have pertains to the task at hand, the relationship will quickly become monotonous and unfulfilling.  I want jokes and concerns and updates and dreams – anything to make the five miles back to the car a little more enjoyable.  But, hey, we climb because we love it, and climbing is often the most important shared experience you’ll have with any partner.  I want to know about epic days and big wall goals, hardest ticks and harrowing falls, favorite pieces of gear and stuff still on the wish list.

I like toys.

Speaking of gear, it’s often what can make or break a climbing relationship.  Ideally, your partner will love all of that shiny goodness as much as you do and take equal pride in the ability to use it.  If there’s a rope laying on the ground, you better believe I want to see how symmetrically I can coil it each and every time, but I don’t want to have to coil it each and every time.

A little generosity with the gear goes a long way on those days when that extra rack of Screamer draws is just enough weight to make the hike home a miserable experience.

“Did you ask if I could carry those for you?  Absolutely, I can, and thanks for stacking both ropes back there when I was using my hot breath to romance the ice out of that frozen screw…”

These are just a few examples of what makes for a good partner, and, truthfully, none of this is that revolutionary.  Most of these examples break down into simple rules that can be applied to pretty much any important relationship you’ll ever have: don’t be reckless, but preserve a sense of adventure; don’t engage in peer pressure, but push each other to be the best that you can be; have interesting and varied things to discuss, but know how to talk shop when the time comes; and be generous with chores (I swear I’ll get to those dishes, Michelle).

Thankful for the belay on "Switchback Falls" -- Hyalite Canyon

In the next few months, I have some friends coming out here with whom I’ve shared many of my most treasured experiences, in the mountains and otherwise.  When I write about their visits, I’ll go deeper into what makes these people my favorite partners and best friends.

In this holiday season, I encourage everyone out there to tell their favorite partners and best friends what makes them so; I’m sure it will help tip the balance back in a favorable direction.