Uber Weekend

This past weekend was definitely action packed! Saturday's rigorous all-day tour opened my eyes to some of the best views that can be found in the entire state, especially the way I got to personally witness them. The destination was Castle Peak in the Uinta Mountain Range. The ascent was a mix of ski touring and mountaineering. I hit the trail head around 1:40 and began the climb. I met a couple celebrating their 2nd honeymoon as they parked next my Tacoma. We chit chatted as we both got our gear together and learned that they were going about half way to the mountain to the Castle Yurt, a luxurious Yurt that can be rented out nightly. I soon blew by them on the skin track, adrenaline pumping. The peak was not in my view yet, but I really cranked up the speed in anticipation of my first sighting of Castle Peak.

If summited, this would be a new personal best for me. Castle Peak tops out at 10,226 ft. The highest I had previously been was just over 9,600 ft. The forecast was supposed to be sunny, but the burning beauty was nowhere in sight. The sky was gloomy and dark gray. After about an hour and a half of determined skinning, I finally got my first view of the peak. Due to the fog and cloud cover, it suddenly appeared out of nowhere as I topped out on the southeastern ridge that had been my approach route. The traditional approach continued up the ridge and then circled around the mountain as it reached the top. I, however, caught a glimpse of a do-able "shortcut" and headed straight for it. I bootpacked about 100 yards up the face until it became too steep to climb without aid. this is where things got interesting. I dug an avy pit at the base of the steep incline and dawned my crampons and ice axe.

Due to the 8+ feet of snow we had received in the past 13 days, the warming temps, and severe windblown drifts, safety was my main concern. When traveling solo, one mistake could literally be my last. Thankfully the sun-baked snow had bonded well and the avy danger seemed to be more than manageable. I was only about 60 meters from the summit and would have been devastated if I would have had to bail. While it can be frustrating, turning around is sometimes the only way you will have a chance to re-try the ascent on a different day. After a careful assessment, I decided it was totally safe to proceed. The final face was a mix of neve crust snow, ice, and rock. The crampons and axe turned out to be priceless as I mix-climbed the final 20 meters to the top.

About an hour after switching to mountaineering gear, I had reached the peak. My altimeter (which is never 100% accurate due to barometric pressure changes) read 10, 212 ft at 1:54 pm. The USGS survey claims the spot I was standing on to be 10,226 ft so it was pretty close regardless of the low pressure. I was literally screaming with excitement, as I had never summited a peak this high with nothing but determination and human power. The views were indescribable. I have included a few pictures, but they hardly do it justice. The sun had peeked it's rays out onto the neighboring Wasatch Range while I was still covered in dark gray clouds. The result: an absolutely majestic view (click on the top photo) of my home mountain range a few miles away that mimicked landscapes from computer generated movie backgrounds. I enjoyed the views, solitude, and sense of accomplishment by having a quick lunch on the peak. Snow was boiled for water, and it was time to head down.

The following descent was almost as good as the climb. While the snow was a little crusty up top from the heat, my K2 Seth's dug in perfectly for the 2 mile ski down. The trip that had taken me about 3 hours in only took about 35 minutes out. I limped the remaining 30 yards to my car in complete and utter exhaustion.

Sunday's excursion was one that I have been anticipating for over 2 years. My dreams of ice climbing were now becoming a reality. One of my reps at work used to be an ice-climbing guide in NY and VT, so I coaxed him into taking me. When he learned of my dreams to climb ice, he was just about as excited to take me as I was to go. I was expecting a super-mellow 60ft top rope. After all, I had never actually done this before. The adventure that followed was nothing even close to a 60ft beginner route. It was truly epic!

Once we finally got the date set, we decided that we would have to play it by ear and make a game-time decision. Warming temps = melting ice = falling ice chunks the size of coffee tables. However, I got the "its a go" call at about 1pm on Sunday afternoon. I gathered my gear, loaded up the car, and hauled it down Parley's Canyon. I met Will in a parking lot near the mouth of Little Cottonwood Canyon. "You climb rock in the the summer, right?" he said. "Sure do", I replied. "Great, because there's this route I've been wanting to do for quite some time. I think we'll still have time, but bring your headlamp." I soon learned that this "route" that he was talking about was truly a monster. Combined, it was a 3-pitch 540ft route of vertical ice. It was also a dedicated route, meaning that once we got on the ice the only way down was to get to the top and descend down a trail off the backside. I was PUMPED!!!

At the base, we went over basic pick and crampon placements, practiced on a small chunk of ice, and then it was go time. Other than the ice tools, crampons, twin ropes, and cold weather it is basically the same as climbing on rock. Rope management, belay technique, communication, and safety were all almost identical to multi-pitch rock routes. The main difference is that rock rarely breaks off, unlike ice. The danger of a fall is much more pressing.

Last winter I was supposed to go climbing with a friend (my former backcountry ski partner). She met a guy who guided for the Utah Guides Association that agreed to take her, and then on the second trip take us both. They got to the trailhead of a different climb in neighboring Provo Canyon for her first climb on Jan 30, 2007. A few minutes after their arrival, an writer for Black Diamond named Chris Hunnicutt fell to his death while ice climbing. Her trip, as well as the follow up trip I was to be included in, fell apart and never happened.

We started the first pitch with Will leading as I played the "second". I belayed him as he placed protection (ice screws) into the frozen face to help arrest a fall. The lead-second method of climbing is basically this: The first climber leads the climb placing protection as the second belays him. Once the pitch (length of rope) is complete, the second climbs the pitch removing the protection as the leader belays from the top. For multi-pitch climbs, this process is repeated until the apex is reached. I have lead many rock climbs, but am definitely a newbie when it comes to placing ice screws.

The first pitch was relatively mellow and the vert and technicality of the route increased as we progressed up the ice wall. We were making excellent time, but as we reached the beginning of the third pitch the sun was already going down. We dawned our headlamps as Will started up the third pitch with the darkness creeping in. I belayed him from a hanging belay, attached to the face only by a small sling while I hung 360ft above the ground. Once he had reached the belay point at the top, I commenced to climb the most technical third pitch with only the light from my headlamp. I'm not afraid of heights, but when I looked down to catch the tail end of an indescribable sunset I couldn't help but notice how high up we were. That split second was probably the single largest rush of adrenaline I've ever experienced.

After navigating the final placements in what was essentially candle light, I had reached the top. We high-fived, got our strength back, and then took the trail down the backside of the mountain around and back to the car. I may have found a new passion on Sunday evening, as this experience was one of the most exhilarating I've ever known. As the best winter of my life continues, I can't even imagine what it's future holds. While I have always deeply enjoyed the outdoors, my adventures this winter have turned in to something more than that. I am now in a full-blown state of obsession.