Experience

"To have a great adventure, and survive, requires good judgment. Good judgment comes from experience. Experience, of course, is the result of poor judgment."
-Geoff Tabin

See this frozen waterfall? Doesn't it look nice? That's Palisades Falls in the Hyalite Canyon area south of Bozeman. Craig and I started to climb it about two weeks ago, when this picture was taken, but it had been really warm and we didn't like the looks of the ice up high, so we called it good at halfway and went home.

On Saturday we went back out; it had been a lot colder, and the falls looked a lot fatter, so we figured we were good. Craig led the first pitch, then, since there wasn't a good belay spot on the ice, I lowered him and and started from the bottom. I placed an ice screw about ten feet above his highest one, and continued climbing... but the ice was getting worse. I placed an ice screw but sensed that the ice wasn't very solid there. I told Craig I'd place another one right away.

The thing is, the ice just kept getting worse. Plus, I was getting more and more tired, and it was very hard to balance myself precariously on the toes of my crampons, hanging on with one ice tool while trying to insert a stubborn screw with my one free hand. And there wasn't a good place to put it, so I just kept going up - it's much easier to go up than down.

My pick placements got sloppier. At one point I had them hooked onto little more than snow, but my arms were so tired I couldn't fathom whacking them into something more solid. And there wasn't much that was more solid - what there was was brittle, and would send dinner plates of ice cascading below. So I balanced precariously, just resting, debating my next move, philosophizing about mortality... and I moved my left pick a little bit. Just a teensy bit, but it was enough to shift my balance, and I knew I was going to fall.

"Fall.....!" That's all I managed to get out of my mouth. I was near the top of that picture.

I was ten feet over that last, insufficient screw. It came out. I remember thinking, as I flew head first through the air, that it would be nice to stop falling. At any time, really.

I must have fallen about 40 feet, but the next screw held and eventually the rope did what it was supposed to do. It stopped me before I reached the ground, and as Craig lowered me to the ice I wondered why my glasses were covered in blood. I had the wind knocked out of me, but I had remained conscious - or at least I thought I had. But I had a deep gash on my forehead, and blood was spurting out of my nose.

I sat there, trying to stop the bleeding, Craig helping me. I didn't feel all that hurt, but I was definitely shaken up. Craig started collecting the stuff; fortunately I had no trouble standing up and walking.

We drove to Urgent Care in Bozeman; along with needing five stitches on my forehead and one on my nose, I had also broken my nose - not displaced, just a crack. What's odd is that I don't remember hitting the ice. Later, Craig guessed that when I was flying through the air upside down, one of the razor-sharp ice screws slinged around my neck had reached up and sliced me.

So, really, I'm okay. It didn't hurt at all. I think right now my back hurts more than anything, from getting torqued by the rope when it finally stopped me.

It just makes me wonder how lucky I am. There's a nice welt on my helmet from something. That could have been my head. And though my glasses don't seem to have received a scratch, I have to wonder if they saved me from being blinded.

So I sit here and wonder what it all means. Why do I climb? More to the point - why do I climb ice? It's an unknown quantity. Unlike rock, it changes. It's more risky.

Former climber and Sierra Club president David Brower once wrote, "It is not variety that is the spice of life. Variety is the meat and potatoes. Risk is the spice of life." That's all well and good, but how much risk does one person need?

Of course, compared to other mountaineers, this is nothing. A little broken nose and some stitches? It's enough to remind me that I enjoy being here, that's for sure. Is it enough to keep me off the ice? I kind of doubt it. My mom asked me to take a little break, and I assured her that that would not be a problem. But in a month or so...

I don't know what draws us to such things. It makes little sense, but the allure is strong.

Plus, now that I've got some experience, I should have good judgment, too. Right?

Ice Climbing in Hyalite Canyon

(I'm in yellow helmet, Craig's in white helmet)

While shimmying up a frozen waterfall might not be everyone’s idea of a day well spent, for my housemate Craig and I it’s been a longtime goal. Well, a month-and-a-half long goal, anyway.

Craig and I started immersing ourselves into rock climbing in October, and as winter’s chill descends on Montana, ice climbing is the next logical step. We both see it as step in the larger process of becoming proficient all-around mountaineers, in which we’re able to take on any peak. Craig outlined goals for the next year and a half that include increasingly harder routes in the Tetons, the Gallatins, and the Absarokas.

So we better figure this stuff out! On Sunday we participated in Barrel Mountaineering’s Ice Festival, in which we were given top-quality gear and taught by world-class ice climbers, including Bozeman’s Jack Tackle. It was kind of a trial by fire for us; we had both dabbled in ice climbing a little bit, but really are beginners. The guys set up top-ropes and sent us up some pretty crazy stuff right off the bat, trying to teach us good technique… which was great, but what we really needed were the fundamentals. I mean, we were dangling 50 feet above the ground, with the only things holding us up being the tips of two metal picks and the front-points of our crampons. That takes a little getting used to!

We got better as the day went on, and as the guides tossed the ropes down we knew we wanted more. So Craig and I ventured back out to Hyalite today to get back on the ice. This time we weren’t carrying brand new, state-of-the-art demo gear; just our own boots and our own mountaineering crampons and Craig’s two old-school, straight shaft ice climbing picks, which we agreed to trade off. Plus, we had to figure out how to anchor the top-rope on our own — something we’d been studying in books and magazines, but hadn’t had much hands-on practice with. Plus, Craig had to get back to a music rehearsal at one, so we didn’t have much time.

But, boy, did we make the most of it. We left the house at about 7:15 a.m., and of course there was the obligatory stop at the bagel shop… by the time we got all the way down Hyalite, dropped the gear off at the Greensleeves ice route — next to Genesis I — hiked up to the top to set up the anchor, and rappelled down to the foot of the climb, it was 10:30. Wow! Some folks like sports in which they just have to lace up a pair of shoes and go. Climbing, as a sport, is 80 percent lacing up of shoes and 20 percent actually on the rock.

Once we got going there was no stopping us. Greensleeves is a relatively easy climb, starting off steep and then easing out to a lower angle. Short and sweet, which was perfect for getting our fundamentals down. We were both a little concerned about our equipment, but everything worked great, including my strap-on crampons and Craig’s ice tools. In fact, we seemed to have better luck swinging Craig’s heavy tools than the lighter-weight ones we were lent on Sunday — one nice solid swing was all it took to get good purchase. And I felt more at ease hanging off the tips of my crampons.

We each took three turns on the ice, slightly varying the route each time. The last one took me right over the main stream of the cold, dribbling water; it was warmer today, and the water sprayed over my ski pants as I climbed.

Back when I worked in the Tetons I had done a lot of mountaineering, but I had stopped for a while. A friend had slid on the soft snow of Diappointment Peak’s Spoon Couloir, and all I could do was watch helplessly as she flew past, unable to stop herself. Miraculously, she survived with only scrapes and a concussion, but it made me overly cautious in my outdoor adventures. Now, climbing with Craig, using ropes, being careful about our protection, I feel little I’m getting back into it at last.