The Bozeman Ice Festival was last weekend.  The festival – like its counterparts in Ouray, Cody, Valdez, et al – is organized to celebrate the local ice climbing culture, bring climbers together, and introduce new people to the sport.  On the schedule for the weekend were two competitions (a pro invitational on Thursday and an open on Saturday), several clinics, slideshows, movie premieres, gear expos, and, of course, beer specials.

On Thursday, the day of the pro comp, I drove into the canyon with Jason and his friend, Adam, to get in a few pitches before the weekend rush.  The recent frigid temps left the ice hard and dry, and we wore ourselves out on four- and five-swing pick placements on brittle flows.  The tough ice conditions and near-zero temperatures chased us after just a few hours, and we were hiking out with plenty of time to clean up and change for the movie later that night.

When we got back to the parking lot, though, we were met with a troubling scene.  Several somber-looking climbers were milling about, surrounded by trucks and snowmobiles emblazoned with the Gallatin Search [Read More]]]>

Adam and Jason rack up at the bottom of "Hangover" - Hyalite Canyon

The Bozeman Ice Festival was last weekend.  The festival – like its counterparts in Ouray, Cody, Valdez, et al – is organized to celebrate the local ice climbing culture, bring climbers together, and introduce new people to the sport.  On the schedule for the weekend were two competitions (a pro invitational on Thursday and an open on Saturday), several clinics, slideshows, movie premieres, gear expos, and, of course, beer specials.

On Thursday, the day of the pro comp, I drove into the canyon with Jason and his friend, Adam, to get in a few pitches before the weekend rush.  The recent frigid temps left the ice hard and dry, and we wore ourselves out on four- and five-swing pick placements on brittle flows.  The tough ice conditions and near-zero temperatures chased us after just a few hours, and we were hiking out with plenty of time to clean up and change for the movie later that night.

When we got back to the parking lot, though, we were met with a troubling scene.  Several somber-looking climbers were milling about, surrounded by trucks and snowmobiles emblazoned with the Gallatin Search and Rescue crest.  We didn’t want to ask any questions, but we knew there were only a few reasons the S&R crew might be around.  Best case scenario, they just wanted to be a presence at the festival because of the substantial increase in climbing population for the weekend.  Worst case is pretty much what happened.

Jason sizes up the crux pillar on "Cave Route" - Hyalite Canyon

I called Michelle when I regained cell service outside the canyon and was greeted with a voice much more frantic than usual.  She had read on the Bozeman news site that a climber had been killed in an avalanche that day.  I reassured her that it wasn’t me and relayed what we had seen in the parking lot.  I told her I didn’t know much more than that and asked if the article mentioned the name of the climber.  “Guy Lacelle,” she said.  “Apparently he was pretty famous.”

Guy Lacelle is on the short list of the greatest ice climbers in the world.  At 54, he had probably climbed more meters of ice than anyone, ever, and he is well known for soloing (climbing alone and unroped) some of the hardest ice lines ever completed.  As the headliner of the festival, he was scheduled to speak later that night following the premiere of a new climbing film in which he figured prominently.  Guy was climbing in the pro event when he died just after 9:30 in the morning on Thursday, December 10.

It’s a generally accepted truth among climbers that if you get after it long enough and hard enough, you’ll eventually have to deal with death of a close friend.  Thankfully, I’ve avoided any really personal hits so far, but there have been some close calls.  Even still, it’s not easy saying goodbye to the stars you admire from afar, and Guy’s death caps what has already been a rough year.

A close call... - Chugach National Forest, Alaska '04

When your friends and partners begin to push themselves toward higher and more committing objectives, it just becomes a race against time and luck, and when you reach the elite heights that Guy occupied, every project on every trip will test the limits of possibility.  As the home of the legendary Alex Lowe, Bozeman is all-too-well-acquainted with the dangers endemic to the elite climbing world.  All it takes is a quick glance into the guidebooks here to recognize how deeply his influence is still felt, even as this year marks the tenth anniversary of his tragic final climb on Tibet’s Shishapangma.

As you can imagine, the Ice Festival turned into a commemoration of Guy’s life.  Michelle and I went to the theater on Friday night and listened to story after story of Guy as a climber, friend, husband, and hero.

I am always impressed with the way the climbing community responds to tragedies like this one.  It is often said that climbing is a lifestyle, not a sport.  Certainly, it is not unique in this regard; I know many surfers, skiers, and endurance athletes who would say the same about their respective passions.  I find the “lifestyle” label to be especially accurate in these cases largely because of the responsibility each group accepts to address danger objectively and honestly.  Whether it’s a climber leaving the ground with a full rack of ice screws; a backcountry skier descending with shovel, probe, and beacon; or an ultra-runner packing gels and electrolyte tablets, each athlete is displaying a commitment to safety that begins with an honest study of accidents that have already taken place and equipment that could have prevented them.  This attention to detail and honest assessment of hazards and consequences is not something that disappears when one is not actively engaged in a sport; rather, it’s a skill-set that, once cultivated, becomes the modus operandi for life in general.  I am grateful for this.

Back to the sharp end on Monday. That's the warrior's way...

It’s hard to make sense of tragedies like Guy’s death, and these events definitely spark an “is it really worth it?” internal dilemma.  I’m not sure I’m capable of such words as will properly honor Guy, but it seemed disingenuous to ignore his death when it has so thoroughly impacted my experience here.

If I’m certain of any one thing, it’s that I’m not going to stop climbing; that’s a powerful place to start.

So, get out there, everyone.  Have fun.  Go hard and go light.  Set your sights on grand goals and commit.  Just be smart and, above all, be safe.

Jason enjoys leashless freedom on Genesis II -- Hyalite Canyon

The climber’s apprenticeship period will cover such subjects as Mallory’s highest position and the benefits of swinging leads, and advanced pupils might be able to show you which finger, hand, or fist size corresponds to which color of their preferred cams. Finally, once fluency is achieved, the enterprising youngster will be marked as a real member of the climbing community, free to enter into age-old debates about bolt-chopping and hold-chipping, the merits of the multi-pitch GriGri, and whether or not “crusty old sport climber” is, [Read More]]]> The climbing world, like any subculture, operates with a unique vocabulary, and it’s important that prospective climbers gain a firm grasp of this language before they embarrass themselves (or worse) at the crag. Words like “pitch,” “draw,” and “deck,” after all, will conjure up entirely different images at Camp 4 than they will in an architecture class. Of course, the aforementioned terms at least have some sort of meaning to the population at large; the aspiring climber will eventually have to distinguish between a number of otherwise incomprehensible labels (the Seussian pink point, red point, head point, and dead point come quickly to mind).

Jason enjoys leashless freedom on Genesis II -- Hyalite Canyon

The climber’s apprenticeship period will cover such subjects as Mallory’s highest position and the benefits of swinging leads, and advanced pupils might be able to show you which finger, hand, or fist size corresponds to which color of their preferred cams. Finally, once fluency is achieved, the enterprising youngster will be marked as a real member of the climbing community, free to enter into age-old debates about bolt-chopping and hold-chipping, the merits of the multi-pitch GriGri, and whether or not “crusty old sport climber” is, itself, a contradiction in terms.

Now, the point of this little sociology lesson is to introduce the expression that has defined my first month of climbing in Montana: sandbag.

A sandbag is, basically, when a climb is misrepresented to appear easier than it really is. For instance, imagine a route that most climbers of a similar ability would rate at 5.10. If the guidebook lists this route at 5.8, the climb is considered a sandbag. The term works in all sorts of scenarios.

Let’s say you’ve been dating someone for a few weeks, and she decides it’s time for you to meet her parents. If you show up to the Golden Corral and her mom and dad are surrounded by fifteen other relatives, you have just been sandbagged.

Remember that time your buddy called you to meet him at the bar, and your $10 cover bought you three hours deflecting abuse from his date’s friend while he and some cutie played kissy-face to the five-part harmony of the local *NSync tribute band? Dude owes you big for that total sandbag move.

If you’re a TV aficionado, check out “Intervention,” “Disaster Date,” or any show involving Chris Hansen. It’s a pretty safe bet that somebody will have been sandbagged by the end of the episode.

I've got that post-sandbag glow -- Lumpy Ridge, CO '08

Anyway, problems arise when climbers jump on routes that, according to the grade, appear to be at or below their lead level and discover, mid-pitch or post-fall, that they’ve gotten in over their heads. I can tell you from experience that this is an unfortunate circumstance. More than once, I’ve found myself paralyzed twenty feet above a questionable Tricam thinking, “5.9? Really?” Not good times.

You might be wondering to yourself, “but Justin, if enough people feel a route is harder than its listed grade, won’t they change it in subsequent guidebook editions?” That’s a great question, and it does happen from time to time. You’ll find, however, that locals become quite proud of the sandbag reputation; since guidebook authors are almost invariably devoted locals, those sandbagged grades are unlikely to change. It becomes a badge of honor for the regulars when out-of-towners come traveling to their local crag and get shut down on grades they’re used to cruising back home. The Bozeman rock guidebook, for instance, dedicates a full three pages to its status as a sandbagged area, and there seems to be no active effort to rectify the situation. The author simply advises that you become aware of the questionable grades and deal with them as they come.

Duly noted, I guess.

Rapping off of "Crypt Orchid" -- Hyalite Canyon

Highlights from this past week…

Got in three days at Hyalite. Most climbs are still forming up, which is frustrating but exciting. Hiked way back into the canyon for two rope-length 3+ – 4- routes in the Twin Falls area – hard, chippy ice down low gave way to perfect plastic sticks from the middle third to the top; I’ll be heading back there soon.

Other than that, the days were mostly recon missions with some short, easy sections of climbing. Jason has mentioned going back to the Sphinx; I could be convinced(?). It would be nice to find my ‘pons, but I keep remembering the old adage about history repeating itself. We’ll see.

In other news, Michelle got the Rock Band country track pack for the Wii, and I promptly served up a 96% singing “The Gambler” on medium (Serious Skills award — count it). It reminded me that I haven’t introduced myself to the Bozeman karaoke scene yet, so look forward to the first of those posts coming soon.

That’s about it here. Hope you enjoyed the climbing lingo lesson, and I’ll see you next week.

There’s been a lot of action in Montana this week.

Last time I checked in, I was about to embark on a three-day trip with Jason, a local climber who answered my online personal ad.  Jason has been climbing ice around the country for more than a decade and moved to Montana five years ago for the same reasons that I have come now.

On his suggestion, we loaded up my truck and drove three hours southeast to the Beartooths – a range Jason reveres as “very white, very tall, and very infinite.”  The range occupies the area just northeast of Yellowstone and, as part of the greater Absaroka-Beartooth Wilderness, boasts some 900,000 acres in northern Wyoming and southern Montana.

The plan was as follows: get up early on Monday morning and drive into the mountains; knock out one route that afternoon; drive to another part of the wilderness that night; catch a few hours of sleep in the truck; get up around 3:00 am on Tuesday for the 5-mile approach to that day’s route; finish the climb and get back to the car by nightfall; on Wednesday, assess [Read More]]]>

Took us twice the time we thought it would, but the view was nice...

There’s been a lot of action in Montana this week.

Last time I checked in, I was about to embark on a three-day trip with Jason, a local climber who answered my online personal ad.  Jason has been climbing ice around the country for more than a decade and moved to Montana five years ago for the same reasons that I have come now.

On his suggestion, we loaded up my truck and drove three hours southeast to the Beartooths – a range Jason reveres as “very white, very tall, and very infinite.”  The range occupies the area just northeast of Yellowstone and, as part of the greater Absaroka-Beartooth Wilderness, boasts some 900,000 acres in northern Wyoming and southern Montana.

The plan was as follows: get up early on Monday morning and drive into the mountains; knock out one route that afternoon; drive to another part of the wilderness that night; catch a few hours of sleep in the truck; get up around 3:00 am on Tuesday for the 5-mile approach to that day’s route; finish the climb and get back to the car by nightfall; on Wednesday, assess conditions of routes and climbers; climb if we feel like it, drive home if we don’t; either way, get back home by Wednesday night.

It sounded easy enough, and all was going as planned when we left the trailhead just after noon in the bright sun.

Our objective that afternoon was an ice-choked gully high in the mountains that overlooks a glacier-fed alpine lake.  The route, Funeral for a Friend (two pitches – WI 4-5, 5.7), is only available in the early part of the season before heavy snows bury it until the spring thaw.  The guidebook told us that the climb was twenty minutes south of the lake.  Jason had been as far as the lake and estimated an hour-and-a-half to its north shore.  We generously assessed an extra fifteen minutes to circumnavigate the water, putting us at the base of the climb in a little more than two hours.

Four hours later, at just over 10,000 feet, we breathlessly waded through the final hundred yards of knee-deep, hillside snowpack guarding the gully.  As the sun was setting on our day and, potentially, our plans, we assessed our situation:

It’s 4:30 – maybe one hour until dark, but certainly not two;

We’re five miles and four hours into one of the most difficult approaches either of us can remember;

At least three hours back to the car – even at this point, most of that will be in the dark;

The route would be a challenge for either of us to lead in ideal conditions – with route not fully formed and climbers exhausted, conditions are not ideal;

On the other hand, we trudged all this way for a reason, and what’s four hours in the dark when you’re already guaranteed three?

"Funeral for a Friend." Not today.

In the end, cooler heads (and colder fingers) prevailed.  We decided the consequences of an accident were too severe and bailed on the route – always a hard decision to make, but sometimes you have to do it.  The stars were out by the time we reached the lake.

My headlamp died soon thereafter (an unforgivable rookie mistake), so my descent turned into a moonlight stroll that was interrupted every few steps by a surprise waist-deep plunge.  We got back to the truck around 8:30 and made a quick and unanimous decision to charge hard for warm beds at home.

We took a rest day on Tuesday and got back at it on Wednesday.  Jason wanted a crack at Bobo Like (WI 5), a route on one of the high ridges that he had followed during a cold snap a week prior.  This early in the season, it’s rare to find a route at low altitude that’s solid enough to climb (much less protect), so getting a chance to climb some ice invariably means suffering through a long, arduous approach to high, shady drainages.

This time, at least, the payoff was a little better.  While the freestanding pillar that was Jason’s real goal remained too thin for comfort, the lower-angle ice ramp that forms the bottom of the route was good to go.  We turned some screws, sank our tools, and ran a few cruiser laps up to the bottom of the pillar on a fifty degree afternoon – not exactly the recipe for a desperate alpine test piece, but a perfect way to get back into the groove.

The author pulling the ice-to-snow transition

Thursday brought more pleasant weather to Bozeman, and it was in the sixties by lunch time.  While that’s not what you want to see when you’re waiting for dripping ice climbs to fill in, it makes for a perfect afternoon of late-season rock climbing.  Michelle and I had planned for a session on the rocks when we first got to town, but a powder day kept us grounded.  With that in mind, we made the most of the gift of warm sun.  We spent Thursday afternoon at Practice Rock, a roadside crag just inside Hyalite’s gate.

Michelle lowered me off a 5.6 crack right about the time Jason and his wife, Nicole, showed up, and the four of us spent the afternoon top-roping the climbs on either side of the anchors.  On Saturday, Michelle and I drove just outside of town to the Bozeman Pass to clip some bolts.  We found a sunny wall, and scraped up sharp rock for a few hours.

Michelle hung the draws on the 5.7 Enema of the State for her first lead – a memorable event for any climber and especially so when the route has such a sexy name (I remain ashamed that my first trad lead was a Joshua Tree climb called Frosty Cone – my friends and I spent the whole afternoon christening it with cooler titles, none of which are fit to print here).

I short-roped her on this clip...

After a lazy Sunday, Jason and I went back into Hyalite for another try with the tools.  We drove into the main fork and hiked past the low-altitude classics that will see most of our mid-season efforts.

Unfortunately, our destination was at the top of the canyon, and the thinning snow made for another brutal and treacherous hike.  Ice boots are great for kicking up frozen waterfalls but are not well-suited for backpacking up drifted hillsides and across icy cliff bands.  A tree branch saved Jason from a frigid dip in a stream, and I tip-toed a hundred yards out of the way to avoid a ten-foot section of exposed 5.3.  All in a day’s work, I guess.

Jason searching in vain for good ice

Two hours of that ridiculousness put us at the bottom of Upper Green Sleeves (WI 3), a series of gullies that, in mid-season, will form into full 70-meter rope stretchers.  We were able to climb roughly half of that on wet, slushy ice.  Jason sank three uncertain screws on his way up and tied off on a tree before he got to the unprotectable final flow.  I met him at the belay, and we rappelled as far down the gully as our wet double ropes would allow.  A tricky descent got us back to the truck and the sunshine and lunch.  I’m not sure the one slushy pitch was worth all of the trouble on either side, but we had earned some karma credit when we ditched in the Beartooths.

All in all, a solid week.  Stay tuned for more.  Winter’s just heating up.