Ten Expeditions and Climbing Full Time

I just got through what seems to be a very dark, long month. There wasn’t any climbing. There wasn’t even hockey until what seemed like too little too late. Natalie and I de-cluttered our home for a pending move, work has been roaring along in high gear for an unusually long time, and I am just getting over a lingering cold and flu. Goodbye, January.

However, January did bring a few good things. As I reported on Facebook and Twitter, some exciting details about climbs planned for later this year were announced, which is nice since most climbers keep their plans to themselves, lest a competing climbing try to bag the route first. Since I mainly enjoy “real” climbing vicariously, this is very important information to have.

Two sets of grants have been announced in the last couple of weeks. First, the American Alpine Club announced the winners of the Lyman Spitzer Cutting Edge grant and on Monday Alpinist, Patagonia, Black Diamond, Mountain Gear and W.L. Gore Associates announced the 2013 Mugs Stump grants earlier.

Together they are helping fund 10 expeditions from Alaska to the Karakorum. Some teams received both grants. Regardless that there are several more grant awards to be disbursed, these 10 alone will be worth checking-in on this spring and summer.

While these grant recipients are likely to add entries into the American Alpine Journal for the permanent record, they aren’t the only climbers living the ideal life in the mountains. Recipients like John Frieh and others work day jobs to support their climbing habit. Others work seasonal jobs to climb the rest of the year. But it seems that there are more climbers today that are making a living around climbing — mainly by guiding.

THE GUIDE LIFE

Outside — who’s website’s stories have recently been getting as compelling as those in the print edition, by the way — published an
Interview with Nat Partridge
of Exum Mountain Guides on the guiding life. He lives to rock climb in the summer and ski in the winter and he’s been doing that for years.

Nat says that the ability for people to make a living solely off guiding year-round has taken off in the last 15-20 years. He attributes this to the ability to for guides to obtain credentials, such as those from the American Mountain Guide Association (AMGA), and that there are more people with excess money and leisure time for climbing and skiing while hiring a guide.

I think he’s spot on. I’d just add that the Internet, social media and the accessibility of beta has made the ability to guide in regions on routes they haven’t climbed themselves within reach. Previously, if you didn’t know a region well, it might be foolish to guide as guides were like harbor pilots; they were brought onto a climbing team because of their knowledge of local terrain as much as their trade skills. If they ventured beyond their local hills, they had to have introductions in the region to obtain local knowledge.

Even then, the fact that guides in Washington state are able to guide clients in Alaska and the Andes indicates that guides are hired for things more significant than local knowledge, but also their mountain sense. They have soft-skills that don’t operate from a hard checklist. Their instincts, navigation and climbing problem-solving talents are what makes them valuable. Clearly those that are making a living, like Nat, have the attributes worthy of supporting a career.

THE DIRTBAG LIFE

The traditional way to climb year-round is climbing like a dirtbag. It’s unsustainable. Eventually you grow too poor, too homeless or a combination or too old keep going. The climbing isn’t necessarily the part that wanes. Still, it’s part of the tradition of wandering, whether you’re a hiker or an alpinist.

Take my friend Ryan. Until recently, he worked a Washington, DC job that, like many jobs here, had an end-date. When the his appointment ended, Ryan would have to find a new position at the end of the term. But Ryan doesn’t approach things conventionally; he did something most of us only fantasize about doing.

By the time his commitment was completed, Ryan had downsized his belongings, packed them all up into his backpack boarded a plane for home in where he would start a year-long journey, living in the back of his covered pick-up truck and climbing — starting at the Ouray Ice Festival earlier this month. His only worries are where is the next route, how solid is that anchor, and when does he meet his friends for a drink. That’s a better arrangement than the boys in Yosemite’s Camp 4 had in the 60s and 70s.

Ryan will be doing this through the year. He was still in Ouray, last I checked. He’ll spend a lot of nights in the back of his customized covered-pickup truck and along routes. He’ll be a better climber and have a year to tell stories for years to come.

SUBURBAN LIFE

For me, I wear a necktie and a sport coat to work most of the week. I plan meetings, review budgets, and talk about strategic plans, industry developments and regulatory challenges. I really enjoy it, yet there is part of me that wishes my family would support leaving the city life behind and fully embracing a living that is supported by the climbing life. But I know that I missed that window of opportunity a long time ago and it’s too late to get in my 10-thousand hours to guide for a living. For now, I’ll live vicariously, read vivaciously about climbing history, and I’ll keep sharing what I find.

Well, thanks for dropping by again. If you enjoyed this post, please consider following the Suburban Mountaineer on Facebook or Twitter, because I believe climbing matters, even though we work nine to five.

Looking Ahead: 2013

Happy New Year!

I enjoyed getting to know several of you during 2012 and thank you for the great post ideas — some of which I am still working on. Keep the emails and “Likes” on WordPress and Facebook coming, as well as the re-tweets. I’ll keep sharing new stuff that’s worth sharing as often as possible.

The twelve months ahead always hold some exciting potential, no matter when you choose to do a forecast. For 2013, there are a handful of key events and follow and dates to mark. Here is a sampling:

DENALI WINTER ASCENT — The most immediate news will be about whether Lonnie Dupres can become the first solo climber to summit Denali in Calendar winter — during January or at least the first week or so of February. He’s currently waiting for a weather window so he can fly into his base camp and begin his third attempt.

GRANT RECIPIENTS — Tracking the grant announcements from the American Alpine Club. The beneficiaries will be announced in the coming weeks and those climbs will be worth checking in on later in the year. Another grant I am going to check-in on is the SHARE Grant, which is the Seth Holden memorial grant that goes to an explorer setting out for remote Alaska. The SHARE Grant is not limited to mountaineering endeavors.

8,000ers in Winter — Only three 8,000-meter peaks remain unsummitted in winter:

2. K2 (28,250 ft./8,611 m.)

9. Nanga Parbat (26,660 ft./8,125 m.)

12. Broad Peak (26,401 ft./8,047 m.)

Pay attention for word from these peaks for attempts next winter.

NEW BOOKS — Two interesting books are due out this year: 1) Training for Alpine Climbing by co-authors Steve House (a Piolet d’Or winner) and Scott Johnston, which is being published by Falcon Guides, will be out by the end of the year — or said the announcement last summer; and 2) Kelly Cordes — the Patagonia ambassador, AAC Member and margarita master extraordinaire — is working on a book on the Compressor Route on Cerro Torre in Patagonia aout its recent de-bolting controversy. I can’t wait.

MOVING DAY — On a personal note, and one that will have several positive effects including benefitting The Suburban Mountaineer, my family and I will be moving into a larger home in the next couple of months because the condo is too small for the three of us. I just packed up a very heavy box of climbing books that I am not referring to now and put them in storage — a little sad. But in the new place there will be a better library/work space for me and a decent place to finally mount my hangboard.

Have a good year and have a good adventure, or at least support someone else in theirs!

Thanks for dropping by again. If you enjoyed this post, please consider following the Suburban Mountaineer on Facebook or Twitter. Climbing matters, even though we work nine to five.

Farewell to Maurice Herzog

Last Friday, while waiting for my bus to start my morning commute, a new acquaintance sent an email to many of his contacts to share a news story from Le Monde: Maurice Herzog passed away. In Herzog’s 93 years of adventure, he is remembered for being the first person, along with Louis Lachenal, to stand atop an 8,000-meter peak, Annapurna.

I read the story of that 1950 first ascent written by Herzog the first time when I was a teenager and again late in college. Herzog lost cache with me sometime after the second reading when I learned more about the disputed elements of the story. Herzog may not have been so galante or brave so much as an egomaniac.

Regardless, I can’t deny the effect that the ascent and his book had on me and countless climbers. I read the book a third time on a recent vacation for just what it was and for the simple pleasure of an journey into the unknown. I’m grateful to him.

One thing I’d like to point out, is that Annapurna was the alternative objective of that 1950 expedition. A neighboring 8,000-meter peak, Dhaulagiri, was the primary target for the French that year. However, the mountainous terrain was virtually unknown and the maps were poor and often wrong. The exploration and the climbing that they accomplished was remarkable, especially in a mere few months. Herzog deserves credit for leading and managing his team through such a risky enterprise and for making the decision to shift objectives in a timely manner.

Thanks for dropping by again. If you enjoyed this post, please consider following the Suburban Mountaineer on Facebook or Twitter, because like you I believe climbing matters, even though we work nine to five.

Duke of Abruzzi versus Denali

This is the continuation of my previous post about whether Luigi Amedeo, the Duke of Abruzzi, and his men would have been able to meet the challenge of summitting the true high point of North America, Mount McKinley/Denali (20,320 ft./ 6,196 m.) instead of the peak that was believed to be the roof of the continent, Mount St. Elias (18,008 ft./5,489 m.) The Duke made it to the top of Mount St. Elias in the summer of 1897.

Assuming that the Duke would manage to reach the Alaska Range, which would be not easy feat considering the obstacles and the territory they would have to cover cross country, he would likely have arrived on the southern side of the range. Denali is most easily accessible. From the north, the mountain is defended by fewer foothills, lengthy glaciers and other significant mountain peaks, which would seem immense by themselves in most other mountain ranges, such as Mount Huntington. Choosing the right path may or may not have appeared obvious. The Ruth and Tokositna Glaciers run north to south and lead from the southern forests to the range, with the former providing the most efficient route. However, both were over 40 miles (65 kilometers) long at that time. To the best of my knowledge (so far), only the Russians had tried previously to investigate the greater area back in 1834, but they turned back before anything substantively could be accomplished.

Once on the glaciers, the Duke’s team would be there for two or more months, most likely. Finding their way through the glacier- and silt-filled valleys, peaks, talus and rock walls would require some luck, especially in terms of weather, both to allow mobility and for reference navigation.

Alternatively, if the Duke’s team had sufficient resources and willpower, they might have been able to walk east of the range, to the point where the current NP office headquarters is and walk around the range on more level ground. They would then proceed westward to the mountain, which would be in plain view in decent weather. If they were to take the most direct route to the mountain, they would most likely go straight to it’s north face. Of course, this is the less direct and longer route.

The north face of Denali was the site of the true first attempt to climb the mountain in 1903. After some intelligence from a USGS surveyor that wrote and article on the possibility of climbing Denali, Judge James Wickersham and four others went to the base of the north face and stood in awe. They witnessed recurrences of frightening avalanches and frequent rock fall. They did muster up enough courage (or bullheadedness) to climb the wall; they made it to 8,100 ft. before retreating because of those horrible conditions typical on the face. I suspect that the Duke’s team would also have also been deterred around this point, in part because the pace of climbing of the day was hardly fast and light; the siege style employed would have enhanced the risks.

Whether the Duke attempted to climb from the north or the south (perhaps by the Southeast Spur if the approach came from the south), the challenge could have been. Many attempts that failed in the years to come were by small teams, like Judge Wickersham’s. The Duke’s team was larger and quite determined. Even then, inexperienced teams with tenacity and grit (perhaps stubbornness too) like Hudson Stuck’s and the Sourdoughs, made it high on the mountain.

If Duke of Abruzzi set his sights on Denali instead of Mount St. Elias, I think the real determinant of whether he would have reached the summit in 1897 would have been a matter of timing and how they well he and his men could travel cross country. They would have bushwhacked a significant portion of the way and would have had to manage several river crossings — that would be high with spring runoff. In order to reach the mountain by about June to make a real attempt and have sufficiently good weather during their return to the coast, the expedition would have had to leave earlier than they had, possibly even at the end of winter. There likely would not have been time to sight see the gold mines, which they visited on the St. Elias expedition.

I don’t know whether the Duke had any true beta on the Alaska interior. If he didn’t, he probably would have underestimated the terrain; today hikers are told to double the expected time of travel over a certain distance. For example, I can cover four miles an hour at my normal walking pace. There I shouldn’t expect to gain more than two. I believe the Duke could have reached Denali and climbed it; he had the vast resources, including manpower for a seige attempt, the planning and advisers necessary.

Let me explain that last part: The Duke wasn’t the sole decision maker and thinker on his expeditions. At least one of his advisers was someone best known today for his photography: Victorio Sella. On the relatively brief journey inland to Mount St. Elias, a sudden and rare clear day, the Duke and his men saw the mountain in surreal perfection and became quite excited. The Duke summoned his people to break camp and announced that they would start work on the route immediately as the mountain was as if it just before them. Sella realized that it was an optical allusion because of the clear skies and that the mountain wasn’t merely a mile or two away but several. Any effort to reach the mountain now would fatigue and demoralize the expedition. Speaking up took courage. The Duke was reported to have been appeared visibly disappointed. The Duke retreated from the group for a period. When he returned he declared that all routefinding decisions going forward would be made by Sella.

The Duke of Abruzzi was successful in part because he had smart people with him and they also had the courage to speak up. I believe that it’s this dynamic that lead to the Duke’s success as an explorer. He may have gotten the praise, but his men enabled his success. I think the same would have been true in attempting Denali, if he attempted to climb it in 1897.

Once more, thank you for stopping by for a read. If you enjoyed this post, please consider following the Suburban Mountaineer on Facebook or Twitter, because, like you, I believe climbing matters, even though we work nine to five.

Duke of Abruzzi versus Interior Alaska

Don’t worry; you didn’t miss it. My posts on K2’s earliest photos haven’t been published yet. They are slowly being developed. So check back for that in a bit.

But in the course of looking at K2 and its related topics I’ve had several thoughts about one of its most famous explorers. He was made famous before his K2 expedition for climbing what was believed to be the highest mountain in North America.

In 1897, the elevations of certain peaks were not certain and word that Mount McKinley/Denali was the highest only started making its way around certain circles early in the year. By the spring, Luigi Amedeo, a.k.a. the Duke of Abruzzi, was en route with a large entourage under his leadership to reach the summit of Mount St. Elias (18,008 ft./5,489 m.) He and his people traveled across the Atlantic to America, went cross country to Seattle where they chartered a boat, before chartering smaller boats to take them to the shore off of Mount St. Elias and hiking the remaining distance.

He and his large team struggled upward for about a month before making the mountain’s very first ascent. A formidable accomplishment done with no beta and mostly grit and determination.

I can’t help but wonder if the Duke had set his heart on summitting Denali instead, could he and his men have done it?

Traveling across Alaska’s interior is, in many ways, a different challenge than managing the coastal areas. The scope is much larger, even without established paths. The first inhabitants of Alaska laid relatively few trails cross country and what trails that existed were only occasionally used for trading and hunting. Even if the roads were navigatable, river crossings could be like an impenetrable obstacle depending on conditions. Railroads, highways, ferries and bridges wouldn’t be built until shortly after the Duke’s adventure.

An example of a cross country journey of this magnitude came only a few years later with no new infrastructure to help: In 1902 a U.S. Geological Survey team of nine traveled to Rainy Pass (which is about 125 miles northwest of Anchorage and part of the southwestern arm of the Alaska Range.) It took them 105 days to cover the 80 miles to the Pass from Cook Inlet.

This means the Duke’s relatively short journey inland to Mount St. Elias was easy and brief compared to what might have been required to get to Denali. Mount St. Elias is a mere 10 mi./16 km. from the Taan Fjord off Icy Bay. If the Duke and his party could have made it from Anchorage to the Alaska Range around Denali, he and his party would have had to navigate getting to the mountain, which is most easily accessible from the north, not the south, where they would have likely started such an expedition.

The Duke and his men would have had to start their journey to America sooner than they had and been prepared to start their journey as early as March or April — the edge of winter — just to allow sufficient time to reach the range and explore its defenses and navigate the passes.

On his Mount St. Elias expedition, the Duke is also remembered for taking a brass bed frame with him to sleep in at base camp. Years later, when he explored the Korakorum to attempt K2, he left it behind. He must have realized the effort involved to move it was great. There is an anecdote from the approach to Mount St. Elias where he scolds photographer Victorio Sella for having a porter carry his camera equipment; the Duke made it a policy that each man must carry his own gear (though the bed must have been considered part of the camp equipment). It seems this policy was wise but not yet take to its logical extreme as it was on the K2 expedition. Perhaps the bed would have been left behind in the Alaska Interior for some future prospector or lazy bear.

Now, assuming the Alaskan Interior made for a difficult journey and that the expedition came prepared for the hard slog, he would have come to the southern side of the Alaska Range, still far from the top, in summer time with less stable ice and snow conditions, and no beta on what route would suit his team’s skills and abilities best. But that’s for my next post…

As always, I’m glad you dropped by. If you enjoyed this post, please consider following the Suburban Mountaineer on Facebook or Twitter. Like you, I believe climbing matters, even though we work nine to five.

Sources: 1) National Parks Service; 2) Waterman, Jonathan, A Most Hostile Mountain, 1997

K2 and Curious Finds

One of our guests during the Thanksgiving holiday here in the states actually let me talk his ear off about Alaska and I even brought out the scrapbook. Among other things, I told him about a curious find I made while scrambling up Ptarmigan Peak outside of Anchorage, just off the Power Line Trail.

Well above the scree, as high on the choss as I felt I could climb, I found a bone. It was over a foot long and clearly from an animal’s limb. Because where I found it was so steep, it wasn’t clear how it had gotten there. The bone looked only slightly weathered, so it probably hadn’t been there for long.

We talked about some theories. My favored one places the animal on the ridge I later used to get higher on the peak, where it fell off or even died and it’s parts later came to rest on this ledge. The tarn at Ptarmigan Pass is right below about a thousand feet, where almost everything flows into a loose pile of broken stone, where the rest may have landed. It makes good bar room conversation.

But something a little more interesting caught my eye when I read Alpinist 37 last winter. The cover photo was fascinating: It is recognized as one of the oldest photos of K2, and it’s owner makes a solid case that it is the first photo of K2 ever.

Keese Lane did a brief write-up for Alpinist‘s High Camp newsletter about how this image arrived on the cover of 37. My curiosity has taught me that this story is just a starting point. The rest of the story is a bit bigger and a good one about climbing history.

As a related note, preserving these images and artifacts like this one of K2 is important. It inspires people like you and me to not only explore our mountains but also our libraries and other collections.

It’s also interesting to see what triggered the so-called “tipping point.” I’ll fill you in more later. For now, have a good rest of your week and check out that note from High Camp.

If you enjoyed this post, please consider following the Suburban Mountaineer on Facebook or Twitter, because I believe climbing matters, even though we work nine to five.