Reflections on the Ice

When I first joined the HMC in the fall of 2006, I was a complete rookie. I had climbed once or twice before, and knew that the outdoors had some rocks and trees in it, but not much else besides. One day, I mentioned to a grizzled veteran, who shall remain nameless, that I was thinking of buying some ice tools. No, I hadn't yet tried ice climbing, and yes, it was impulsive and ill advised, but I was sure I was going to like it, and in any case, buying expensive climbing gear is, I assume, a little like ordering up an expensive hooker...fun at the time, but possibly a little shameful upon further reflection. Well, I was wrong. The first week I tried ice climbing, I was absolutely terrible and somewhat miserable, generally flailed about in an unflattering, uncoordinated way, and nearly got myself killed on a foolish climbing adventure. Oops.

Fortunately for me, angels, ministers of grace, or an invisible lucky charm have allowed me the great fortune to become addicted to this beautiful, somewhat dangerous, and yes, uttely pointless form of climbing. I now relish the breathtaking beauty of the impossible-looking shapes ice can take on and the spray of the perfect swing as much as the diciest sport-like dime-edge mixed climbing move. And, for the first time, I've realized that, on pure ice, it's my mental toughness which is the limiting factor, and not my endurance or technique. With that in mind, I am finally making the transition from timid follower to foolhardy leader. But foolhardy or not, there's just something ineffably visceral and meditative about being more or less alone, perhaps a long way from a good screw, up on lead. Unlike in real life, where an unholy combination of excuses, big corportations, and self-delusion can shield one, perhaps permanently, from any self-responsibility, in ice climbing, every swing, every kick, and every decision matters, immediately. It's a nice feeling.

It's been an eventful season. I led some WI 4s and tried Fafnir (WI 5) twice with Brian Schroeder. The latter resulted in one dropped tool, a bunch of snarled ropes, sailor-grade cursing, and a lot of fun. I got in over my head on a WI 4+ in the Adirondacks, ran it out tremendously, risking a (deadly) groundfall on some dicey moves, but pulled it off. I got to climb with some (obviously talented) beginners like Will Skinner, Lauren Onofrey, Jonathan Cox, Josh Zagorsky, and Karen Lovely, among others, and share some of their enthusiasm and energy. I also broke Jonathan Cox's neck, but, fortunately, only slightly (sorry about that one). Safety is a primary concern of mine, I swear! I've thought a lot about taking personal risks on lead. At one point in the season, a particular paradox came to mind: when the climbing gets hard, one gets more and more tired, but wants to place more and more screws, itself a tiring operation. But I now know the answer: often, one will simply back off, but occasionally, if the stars are aligned, the leader is feeling great, and all fear has been temporarily left behind, one can "go for it." But there is no room for doubt, fond feelings for one's soft, supple organs, or loved ones (if any). In that way, it is much like free soloing in general.

I followed a range of New England classics, linking up Fafnir and the Whitney-Gilman Ridge in mountain boots (tough mixed climbing and hiking down in the dark), backing off a very thin first pitch of Remission on Cathedral Ledge, and flailing over Super-Goofer's (in very difficult, thin and horribly candled conditions). Bayard Russell, Jr., Kevin Mahoney, Mark Synnott, and Sean Isaac, all excellent guides, were of invaluable help and taught me a few things about climbing ice and mixed terrain efficiently. I even managed to top-rope an M8- cleanly, which is quite an achievement for me. Together, we also did a very challenging Dropline, an incredible Repentance, which is quite possibly the best ice climb I've ever done, and a surprisingly easy Omega, in what would surely some of the most exciting moments of any aspiring climber's career.

The highlight of the season was when Kevin Mahoney and I headed out to the Canadian Rockies. Things progressed from relatively easy and warm weather to incredibly hard and cold weather over the course of two weeks. We ventured out into the Ghost, red-lining our rental 4x4 on logging roads full of stumps and in deep snowdrifts (with acrid results for the transmission), and climbed some classics: Malignant Mushroom (an easy WI 5 if there ever was one), Wicked Wanda (a complete sandbag at WI 4+), and The Sorcerer (also a sandbag at WI 5, and one of my first rather committing routes--no WI 5, as far as I know, should involve climbing an unprotected 30 foot traverse, 30 feet of extremely funky thin ice, followed by 70 m of highly sustained, overhanging climbing; maybe that's what "not quite in" means). I did my first WI 6 climbs: the incredibly aesthetic Whiteman Falls in a sulfurous slot canyon; the ultra-classic Nemesis on the Stanley Headwall, in two rope-stretching, forearm-torching 70 m pitches; and Curtain Call. Curtain Call was particularly memorable, despite being something of a failure from an objective climbing perspective. It was below -30 F when we left the car, and the ice was not only incredibly overhanging, but also explosively brittle. After simul-climbing some easy terrain, firing the crux, and climbing almost to the belay, I dropped my tool and we bailed off, with little feeling left in our extremities. I later found out that even Kevin, a superman if there ever was one, found it dicey, and it was the hardest thing he had ever led in such cold conditions. Something similar happened to us on the Weeping Wall, but instead of being incredibly cold, it was uncomfortably warm, and the ice was rotten to the core.

So it's been an incredible growth year, not only for my personal climbing, but also for the HMC. More people than ever are showing up to meetings, people are full of enthusiasm, and intro trips are jam-packed every time. The Intersession trip to the Adirondacks in New York was particularly eventful for me, as I unwisely chose to organize much of the logistics. A record-setting contingent of some thirty people crammed into a surprisingly luxurious, but rustic, ACC cabin and had amazing ice climbing and skiing adventures. Our members told an unhealthy number of (mostly apocrphyal or inaccurate) stories while unhealthily exceeding my most conservative estimates for daily bacon consumption. I learned, from various unreliable sources, the following: if one wants to "score points" with girls, one should not only listen to them on dates, but memorize apparently useless trivia about them for unexpected use on later occasions; the poor quality of certain cheap libations is an insignificant barrier to, well, anything; and that the members of the HMC are generally of uncommonly trustworthy quality. I can't wait to see what the future holds.