Big wall climbing is tough. Big wall climbing in the Bugaboos is really tough. Big wall climbing in the Bugaboos with the weather God's against you.... well.... read the trip report and you'll get an idea of the difficulties we faced. Through the snow, rain and mediocre weather throughout,
Mike Bauman and I still managed to get a few good climbs in, along with some incredible photos and memories.
The trip started out somewhat bitter; Mike's plane from Vermont to Portland, OR was delayed overnight, so Mike spent the night in a hotel in Denver and I spent the night in a Holiday Inn Express Parking lot. Not a single motel / hotel in Portland had vacancy, so I pulled into a dark space in a hotel parking lot and slept in the back of my Subaru.
Mike arrived early the next morning, and we started our 12-14 hour drive to the Bugaboos.
Arriving in Brisco, BC after an uneventful drive at about 11:00 PM, we pulled off the side of the road, threw the bivy sacks in the weeds beside the car and slept.... really well actually. I don't think I've ever slept so well in a bivy sack. The next morning, we filled the gas tank one last time and headed into the woods. 35 miles in the rain on an unkempt logging road and we were there... the trailhead to the Bugaboos!
Rain greeted us with a slap in the face as soon as we exited the car, and we were forced to pack our big hauling packs in the rain. Before we even started, our gear was wet. The approach was arduous beyond description. A four mile hike isn't that bad, but add rain, 90 lb packs and 3000' of elevation gain in the last 2 miles and you've got yourself a killer approach.
Once the approach was behind us, we found a fantastic basecamp spot nestled between some boulders near the top of a ridge. The 3000 foot tall granite spires loomed over our heads even at camp, and I'm sure it would have been an excellent view... if we could see them. All we could see were dark shadows and rain clouds a few ridges here and there. Setting down our monstrous torture devices (read: packs) we unpacked our lightweight single-wall 4 season tents in the rain, and prepared to eat a huge meal and sleep. 15 minutes after we pounded in the first stake for our tents, it started to snow. It didn't completely stop snowing for 14 hours.
Lucky for me, I have learned to control my A.D.D. over the years and the first 14 hours in a tent wasn't that bad. We broke free from our yellow space capsules late the next morning and stretched or rested arms toward to blue sky; hoping that maybe we could get to use those arms on some dry granite later in the day.
After some oatmeal and beef jerky, we decided to attempt a route called the
Kain Route (III 5.6). It's not a very technical climb, but its a long climb, and it would take some time, so before we set out (around 12:00pm) we agreed upon a turn around time even before we set foot out of camp. This insured that we wouldn't have any epic moments and that we could return to the safety of our little camp before nightfall.
20 minutes into our 2-hour approach to the climb, the clouds came at us from over the spires and opened up, filling our hoods with snow. We stopped before the technical part of the approach to the bottom of the climb to accessed the situation, and decided to gear up and at least give it a shot. We put our harnesses on, strapped on our crampons, and grabbed our ice axes.
Crunching through the newly fallen snow, we were warily approaching the Bugaboo/Snowpatch Col. (A col is a pass and has the general form of a saddle between two mountains..the elevation as a f
unction of two position coordinates is mathematically a saddle point). This col was fully snow covered and steep; potentially 50-60 degrees. The col had just sloughed (small avalanche) so we weren't concerned about any chance of a larger slough or full on avalanche. The climbing in the col was pretty easy with all of the recent snowfall, and we climbed our way through the little crevasses and small bergschrund at the top. As soon as we made our way to the top of the col, the western end of the bugaboos became ridiculously apparent to us; a frozen environment with a fresh snow-storm on the brew. We couldn't even decipher what we were looking at because this new storm
had dark clouds all around. We figured we had about an hour of climbing time before the conditions got serious, so we started our adventure up the Kain Route; turning around after an hour. We got a little perspective on the route and it made us feel better to actually climb some easy rock. We didn't rope up; no need to. The hardest climbing at the bottom of the route was probably 5.3. We didn't need to rap either; we were down-climbing quickly and efficiently to beat the storm.
On the decent, we had to venture down through the col again, which wasn't as easy as climbing up. The ice under the snow made traction less available on the way down. I fell a few times, only to self arrest in the snow and continue on my way, laughing at how silly my steep snow climbing skills had become since last winter.
As soon as we neared base camp, the spires disappeared into a thick fog, and moments later light snow began to fall on our tents. Every other team at base camp asked us what we had done that day; "Very little" we said as we stared off into the clouds, wondering what the next few days would bring.
Our goal of the trip was the world famous
Beckey-Chouinard Route (V 5.10) on the South Howser Tower
. We hoped that there would be a two-day break in the weather this week that would give us a fighting chance on the the route. We could do it from base camp to base camp in two days... we just needed the window. We set our alarms to 5:00am for the next morning, snoozed and listened as the snow slowly stopped falling on our tents. The next few hours would predict our day tomorrow.
We awoke to a bright moon and a glow on the horizon. It took us fifteen minutes to scrape the dust our of our eyes and grab some cheese for breakfast. We had no idea what this day would bring, so we gathered our climbing packs and ran for the Bugaboo Spire. The goal;
The Northeast Ridge (IV 5.8).
We hustled across the glaciers to get the the start of the climb. The first few hours of the climb we would solo/simul-climb two pitches to gain the Bugaboo Spire Col. From there we would scramble 800+ vertical feet up the shoulder of the col to the East face of Bugaboo Spire, just where the technical climbing begins. The scramble was not heavily involved, but at elevation and climbing with a pack I found myself out of breath often. I would stop to evaluate where we were on the route and I would look back at Mike and be glad that he was there. His experience and comfort in the mountains was encouraging. I looked up and stared at the
Northeast Ridge, excited that we had blue sky and orange sun to warm us along our way. At the last point of safety before the enormous East Face of Bugaboo Spire, we roped up, pounded fists and Mike took the first pitch of the 15 that loomed ahead.
Sharing leads and only stopping momentarily at beautifully exposed belays to swap gear, we were making excellent time. Nothing on the horizon told of any inclement weather and we were feeding off of each other's positive energy. Nothing at this point could stop us, and we were already feeling the excitement of reaching the top of this remote spire.
For my next lead, I had to traverse 20 feet or so to the North to a corner crack system. Leading up to that corner I had perfect foot placements on granite crystals, warm stone pushing its radiant energy back towards my body and bright sunshine reflecting off the back of my chapped and chalked hands. I heard a whistle not far from me, but I thought nothing of it. Soon, I had no choice but to only think of that whistle could possibly be...
As soon as I got to the end of my traverse, the whistle turned into a roar and the roar turned out to be the wind ripping over the North Face of the spire. I turned the corner, and instantly my warm sunny world turned into a dark shadow filled with ice and blowing snow. Until now, we hadn't encountered much snow except for on the glacier far below; but right in front of my eyes was a cold winter corner with ice and snow choking the life out of the crack.
Looking back at Mike with a pale expression, I said, "watch me through here" which basically let's him know that the going doesn't look easy and that I want him to pay attention. As I turned back towards my windy corner, I questioned why I had told him to watch me, as I was about to disappear from his sight until I reached the next belay. With no sight and no audible communication possible on my end because of the howling wind, It was just me and the icy crack. Placing pieces every once and a while, I felt decent in the beginning. The protection was good, my hands were only occasionally snow-filled or icy and the cold air would only blow in my face every 30 seconds or so. Soon, the crack steepened and my hands started to numb. My feet were now covered in snow and dry friction was becoming harder and harder to find. Eventually, I reached a small ledge about 12 inches by 12 inches; plenty of room to relax and get a no-hands rest. I looked all around, and imagined my position in my mind's eye. A thousand feet above the glacier, completely numb and out of breath with snow and cold air blowing in my eyes. I've only been in the position a few times in my life where I've looked at myself and the position that I'm in, and I smiled to myself knowing that it was fully my fault for putting myself there.
I looked to my left and found a small spot of sun just coming around the corner. I reached over as far as I could and just got the tips of my fingers in the sun. As little comfort as this provided; it inspired me to place a piece and continue up the crack onto what I hoped was a dry ledge.
Climbing my way up, fully numb and risking falling back down into the dark depths of the corner, I felt as though I'd climbed hundreds of feet. My pack cut into my shoulders and the numbness in my toes traveled up through my legs and into my core; chilling me from within. I kept using fingerlocks and toe jams; placing pieces where I could in the cold crack.
Finally, a small roof led to a large ledge where I made an anchor and immediately buried my fingers into my armpits and screamed as the blood surged back into them, giving them life. After a few colorful words later, I pulled on my extra softshell layer and yelled "OFF BELAY" hopelessly into the air to Mike, telling him that I was safe and out of the pain chamber. I then smiled to myself, imagining Mike below whistling to himself happily because he had no idea what he had coming in front of him. For all he knew, warm, sunny climbing awaited.
After rigging the anchor for his safety, I started belaying him up, hoping that he was having an alright time in the crack. Sitting at the belay, I had generated some warmth in my feet by vigorously moving them in my climbing shoes. Dreaming of my mountaineering boots (Trango S Evo) in my pack, I kept belaying until I saw Mike's white helmet appear at the top of the pitch below me. A blank expression led me to believe that his experience was similar to mine. He crawled up next to me and congratulated me on leading the corner. He then shook his hands vigiriusly in an attempt to warm them up.
Looking up above us, we heard a voice yell "ROPE" and a climbing rope came sailing down by us. Moments later, two chaps from Colorado had joined us. They were climbing above us, and they told us of their adventure.
"I'm hypothermic man." Said one of the Coloradans.
They explained that the chimney pitches above were fully snow covered, and they weren't kidding. We gazed up and saw that we had many more winter pitches above us. After they rappelled away far below, we decided that we had to either risk life and limb and continue, or bail and feel defeated. I peeked around the corner at the Northwest face, and saw a few small clouds building on the horizon. Weighing out the situation, we decided to do the right thing and bail off of the
Northeast Ridge. I took some video, put my lovely boots on and we started the rigging for the rappel.
The route isn't easily rappelled because the normal decent route exit's off the South face of Bugaboo Spire. Luck was on our side and the chaps from Colorado had left gear the whole way down, so we didn't have to leave our slings or nuts; we just used theirs.
A few hours of rappelling so, the small clouds on the horizon had brewed themselves into a full-fledged storm; ready to cut loose at a moments notice. The wind had picked up and two pitches from the relative safety of the glacier, the clouds opened up into a snow storm.
We made the right decision, no matter which way you look at it. We didn't make it to the top; but we did get to sleep in our warm sleeping bags that night. We climbed the majority of the route, including the crux in good style.
Throughout the next day it stormed and we were confined to our tents for most of the morning. The first 14 hours were wonderful because I slept the whole time. The rest of the time was spent pulling my hair out, reading the guidebook and listening to my Ipod Shuffle (weighing an ounce, it was the best rainy-day object that I had brought. Those of you opposing technology in the mountains... I don't care. It kept me sane. Kind of.)
Below is a sequence in behavior during a time of bad weather / tent confinement / too much sleep...
It starts out just fine.
Then things start to get a little antsy.
Before you know it, you are starting to itch all over and you can't do anything but think about getting outside and playing.
Then, near hour 29 with no climbing and dead batteries, your soul (and body) become numb and you don't know what to do; thus all hell breaks loose.
Lucky for you, I had a camera and I could document this extreme deterioration of sanity.
Finally, the skies cleared and the sun made an appearance. This being our last chance to make it to the top of something, we set our sights on the Kain Route once more.
Feeling a little twitch in the back of my brain, I knew that the conditions in the Bugaboo / Snowpatch col had deteriorated throughout the week, but I wasn't truthfully sure of just how bad it was. For me, getting up and past the col was the most mentally taxing part of the day. I could see streaks left in the snow from large boulders falling down the col, and I had known how steep it was from our previous climb of it... but now the snow had been baked in the sun, rain, and warmer temperatures from the previous day. Simply put, I was pretty nervous about getting up that thing without being hit by a rock. Most of the accidents in the Bugaboos happen on the Bugaboo / Snowpatch col, and I didn't want to add to the statistic.
The sun hits the Col just after sunrise, so Mike and I got a nice alpine start and hit it just as the sun did. Solid snow and our steps from our last attempt were still kicked into the solid, now icy ground. We found a good line up through the center, weaving our way between the crevasses. Soon, we escaped to the left, just below the bergshrund. This offered us a little protection; we hoped that any falling rock would be caught by the gaping bergshrund before it came down and hit us. As we progressed along, a few small rocks did end up coming lose from high above, and they were indeed caught by the 'shrund.
After making our way up bast the bergshrund, we were now in the direct path of any falling rocks. The eastern slope of the col that we were ascending funneled any and all falling objects (people included) straight down to where we were. This is also known as the fall line; we had no choice but to climb the direct fall line towards the top of the col. The entire way, baseball size rocks were sliding past us as the col melted away in the early morning sun. Nothing went airborne, they just wizzed past, jumping little higher than our knees. I'd almost rather get hit in the helmet with a rock then have it take out my knee. The last thing I wanted was a helicopter ride out of there.
Soon, we got to the top of the popsicle and left the hazards below us. Now we just had 2,000' of rock to climb! As soon as we got the the top of the col, we got a perfect view of our main objective of the trip; the South Howser Tower. As soon as we saw it, we knew that we wouldn't be able to climb it on this trip. Reality set in when we saw the massive amounts on snow on its upper flanks. It being 3 miles away, we could tell that climbing that thing now would be a death trap. We may be able to get up; but getting down would have been impossible with all of the snow that had collected on the Northeast Face... our only decent route. We stammered about talking about how we wish we had a shot at it, then stared up at our current objective; the summit of Bugaboo Spire. We still had a long way to go.
The climb was warm, south facing and low angle. We soloed for about an hour and a half up easy terrain, then after an easy 5.4 pitch we decided to rope up for the rest of the climb. 5.6 at elevation with a pack on sometimes feels close to 5.10 at sea-level with no pack, so we didn't mind slowing down for the security of a rope.
Weaving our way through the granite cracks along the Southern ridge of the mountain, the Kain route didn't have a high intensity of objectives for us to overcome. The weather was the crux, and at this point the weather was proving to (for once) be on our side.
The hardest part (other than the endurance) for this climb is the Gendarme. 
(A gendarme is an isolated rock pinnacle.) The Gendarme on the Kain route is only about 75 feet high from base to top, but it is right on the ridge. The only way past the gendarme is to climb over it. This is the crux pitch, and it goes as old-school 5.6. A few vertical cracks lead to an exposed section where you can get over the gendarme. The orange granite here swallows gear, and the finger-jams are perfect.
A full rope length later, and I was smiling as I was placing my last piece of protection before the summit. A few foot placements and crimps later, and I was standing at the top of Bugaboo Spire (10,512'). Belaying Mike to the top, we finally reached the summit of something! The wind was blowing and the clouds were starting to move in, but nothing could take away from the moment of reaching our goal. We took photos, signed a summit register that was located in a cast iron tube buried under rocks near the top, shook hands, and both spent a quiet moment to ourselves, staring at the full worth of the Bugaboo Mountains.
The decent from here took a few hours and required more route finding, but eventually we made our way back to the top of the Bugaboo / Snowpatch Col. From the top of the Col we could almost see our camp far in the distance, but we still had to get down the col without incident. Keeping our distance from each other, as to not knock rocks down on the lower climber, we slowly and carefully made our way down the deteriorating slope. The mud/ice/rock under our crampons was that of frozen toothpaste; each step was an adventure in itself. A fall here would send us careening down the col and into the Bergshrund at the bottom.
A few steps later, we made our way to a rappel anchor and soon we were on the safety of the rope. It took us 4 full length rappels to get us to the Bergshrund. Once there, I opted to rappel first. Moving closer to the 'shrund, I peered over it and tried to figure out my game plan. It was too steep to jump over, but not steep enough that I could rappel over. I was forced to lower down about 10 feet into the crack in the glacier and swing my way on the rope to the other lip. Once near the lip, I struck with my ice axe and gained purchase. Pulling myself over the lip from out of the crevasse, and a few uncoordinated moves later I successfully laded on the opposite side of the bergshrund. I waved to Mike above and he smiled... probably wondering why I made that look so uncoordinated.
All too fast, I saw Mike put his hands over his helmet and duck down. The next few moments were jumbled and unclear as small, baseball sized rocks careened over the rock that Mike was huddled behind. Those small rocks turned to slightly larger rocks, and finally one large rock toppled its way down toward the bergshrund. Lucky for me gravity pulled it toward the center of the col; I was perched on the left side. The rock was about the size of a brown paper grocery bag and was traveling at a good clip... so fast that it completely skipped over the bergshrund.
"Let's get the HELL out of here!" we both said simultaneously and we completed our raps down to the bottom of the Col.
At the bottom we both congratulated each other on completing a climb, and we wandered our way back to our tents and ate as much food as possible. Yes, we were starving, but it was mostly because we didn't want to carry anything out with us. What goes up, must come down.
The Bugaboos for me was an adventure beyond accurate description. That means that it was so big, so cold, so adventurous and committing that I can't do the trip justice with words. I wasn't over my head, but I was challenged. I would have liked to have been more successful on the climbs, but the trip as a whole was a great success that I'm still feeling the buzz from.
On our drive back, Mike and I stopped at a Restaurant in Idaho, and made sure that we ate dessert first. That was the best Key Lime Cheesecake that I've ever had! Thanks for the great climbs Mike.
As I think about the Bugaboos, I imagine myself looking over my shoulder at the huge granite spires and realizing that I have unfinished business. I stirred up a monster in myself and it has only inspired me to push harder and go for more.
I've completed a DVD of the trip and It's almost ready to ship. If you are interested in one, send me your address to drew.davin@gmail.com and I'll get one out to you. Its full of video, photos, humor and beta. Cost is free, but If you'd like to throw in $5.00 for S/H that would be great!
If you have any questions or comments, please let me know! More stories to come...
The other big news is that I also accepted a position with an internet climbing media company called PodClimber. I'm a sales rep, and I'll work selling content and maintaining and acquiring relationships with anything related to climbing that we wish to promote or produce.
