Mount Chief Pascall

What??!! You don't like hearing about each of the concerts I'm going to? You want to remind me that this is a travel blog not a concert blog! And I was halfway through the "She Wants Revenge" concert story... You think there's more to life? More to Canada? More to Vancouver??? More to me?

Let me see. I seem to recall something that may interest you....

A few weeks ago a small group of like-minded individuals gathered together in a darkened room. This room was at the back of a nondescript office in the outskirts of a mid to large sized city on the west coast of a north american nation. One must pass through other rooms in order to reach this darkened back room. The large table in the centre of the room was littered with sheets of paper. Some had writing, some were blank. An odd assortment of writing instruments decorated the remainder of the table. Chairs surrounded the table, several were filled with these like-minded individuals. One leaning on his elbows on the table, eager to start. Another casually reclining in his chair, waiting patiently with arms crossed. The leader of the group was immediately apparent, he held himself with confidence and familiarity of his surroundings. On one wall was a writing board, the rest of the walls were adorned with images of men and women in the midst of daring and wild adventures in far away lands.

Two shiny planks of outlandish construction stood in one corner. As wide as your hand, as tall as a man. They had curved tips and half-way along each a strange cable-type attachment hung limp. An adjoining room was filled to bursting with a bizarre array of tools. Their designations: rope, ice-pick, snow shovel, snow picket and fluke, helmet, snow saw, avalanche beacon, and all manner of other climbing iron-mongery. The shiny planks were called skis, telemark skis. Curious.

Introductions were made: Jeff, Yaniv, Cliff, myself, and the leader Conny. One was missing. Vince would join us in a couple of days. Each stated his reason for being there and gave a brief synopsis of previous adventuresome feats. It was an odd group, yet at the same time not so odd. Cliff, the southern house trader. Yaniv, the saud-afrikan born Israeli waller. Jeff, the local fencer. And me, the antipodean transaction facilitator. Vince, it became know, was a northern mid-lander and a boiler-maker by trade. There have been stranger gatherings, but not by much. I was to learn greater detail about each, including our leader, in the days to come.

Our purpose: to quest into a far away land in search of a certain mountainous beast. Then to challenge and ultimately defeat this beast. On the quest we would face hardships yet unknown. Physical, mental, and emotional hardships. We would learn things about each other, about ourselves, and about this method and mode of quest. It would make future quests possible without our leader. Safer, but not easier - probably harder. These quests aren't easy. They are hard, very hard. And we were embarking on an easy one. Though we did not agree at the time.

In the darkened room behind an office we discussed this quest. What we would need to take. What we hoped to achieve. What dangers we would face, what dangers we might face. Where we would meet the following day and mode of our travel. After the discussion we took to the adjoining room for instruments we would need, yet did not possess. Instruments vital to the success of our journey.

Each was filled with a sense of anticipation, excitement, and foreboding. Sleep came slowly that night.

It is serious hard work; to walk, or stumble, carrying the weight of a 6 or 7 year old child on your back, with huge plastic platforms strapped to your feet, through deep fresh snow, up a vast hill that never seems to end. The hardest work comes when you are leading, breaking trail. The followers step where you step, and the snow slowly compresses creating a manageable trail, the last person has it easy! Almost. The platforms are still attached to your feet, and if they catch on the edge of those slowly compounded "post-holes", or on a tree, or (more likely) on each other, then you quite possibly will end on your face. With that small child sitting on your back. Taunting you, daring you to try and stand up. You try. Your hand plunges into the deep snow - you are no further off the ground, but you are now the proud owner of a glove full of snow! You try again. You reach for a nearby branch to stabilise yourself. You may or may not be now standing but at least you have a wheelbarrow load of cold wet snow down your back that was dislodged from the tree you grabbed. The trail-blazer has all of this joy, plus the added bonus of having to laboriously place each foot high on the surface of the snow, then press down, down, down, until the snow will support the weight of both him and that small child. You don't travel far before it is time to switch leaders.

On the bright side navigation is easy:
"Follow this bowl, cirque, cwm, valley-head to the saddle, col, pass then either hang a left up the ridge to the summit or continue down the other side. Repeat."
...almost. Which mountain is that one? How about that one? How about that, that, that, or that one? I have a map but they all look the same.......

Dehydration comes quickly, silently, stealthily. The slog uphill makes you sweat. You stop. Within a minute you are cold. You don't think about sipping water to cool you down - you have the air and snow for that. You think the dry lips is from the wind, the headache from the weight on your shoulders. Dehydration comes quickly.

Technical clothing is necessary. Sharp attention is necessary: This slope you are now crossing - is it safe? Could it slide, sluff, slip, avalanche!!?? What angle is the slope? What aspect - where is the sun? What has the weather in this area been like for the last couple of days, weeks, months? Was it sunny then cold then snowing for 3 days straight? Did it rain at any time? So many questions. Are there trees on this slope? Do they have any uphill branches or have they all been swept away? Is this slope devoid of trees entirely? Is it concave or convex? How can you get the answers to these questions? Should you dig a snow pit to test the layers of snow for cohesion, cut a rutschblock, or trust the advisory you read the night before...?

And you haven't even reached the mountain yet! That's when it gets steep!! And hard.

Time to make camp. Three groups of two people. Two groups stamped large platforms in the snow on the side of a hill for their tents. Cliff watched as I dug a snow cave into the side of the hill for our shelter. Later a communal "kitchen" was prepared with much stamping and shovelling of snow. We had room for food preparation, stoves, and passing the pipe.

Once again sleep came slowly and fitfully. My sleeping bag was full. I lost count of the things I kept close that night. For varied reasons; to dry, to keep warm, to prevent from freezing solid thus allowing usage the following day, to prevent batteries for draining. These things included my mountaineering boot inners (looks just like fisticuff footwear), my torch, avalanche beacon, wet gloves, spare gloves, wet socks, spare socks, thermos (as a hot water bottle), the list goes on. Every nook and cranny was filled. Fortunately I didn't need my pee-bottle.

I was selected to break trail the next day. The difference was that I would be selecting the route up the mountainous beast we would conquer. This also meant testing the slope for travel-worthiness. The sacrificial Australian. I led on. Switch-back after switch-back. It was steep. We kept to the trees as much as possible, and to the fine aretes running along the flank of the slope. The trees thinned and after countless zig-zags we reached the summit shoulder. It was broad enough that we could practise using some of the paraphernalia carried this far. Pickets, flukes, dead-men. Techniques of hauling, self arrest, and belaying as well.

The final assault on the summit ensued. The ridge thinned dramatically to a knife edge. We roped up into two teams of three. If one fell two would hold, and if necessary one might jump over the other side of the ridge to counter-balance the fallen. Running belays of varying creativity were employed. Almost suddenly we could go no higher. Photos were taken. We descended, spent.

More technique training followed the next day before our extraction from this valley.

We over-nighting at a motel in a small town en route to an amazing frozen waterfall that deserved to be climbed. To get to the waterfall, IceyBC (a local play on words), we had to cross a wide frozen lake that apparently is only one of two locations in the world where freshwater coral exists. I couldn't see any - the ice of the lake was quite thick. An 8 inch ice-screw didn't break through - nevertheless more than one in the group was nervous in the crossing.

Two top-ropes were set on the waterfall, one on the main section, and one on a side chandelier fall. Both were grade 5 ice, but as I was first up the chandelier much of the icicles were dislodged in my passing making the route, if nothing else, clearer for the others. With ice-tools in hand and crampons on feet I climbed my way up the fall. It should be easier than climbing rock - you aren't governed by tiny hand and foot holds in off-balance contortions. Wrong. Each ice-tool weighed just under a kilogram. Each overhead swing used dormant muscles not accustomed to such abuse. Each tool placement sometimes required multiple overhead swings. Each foot placement needed a solid kick, sometimes two. And for each balance shift the entire body surged with nervous energy - would these tool and crampon placements hold? Next move.

The main waterfall was a longer climb, and more solid. No ice shards raining down with each placement - well significantly less at least. At Conny's suggestion, and by following his example, I clipped two ice tools to my harness and went at the climb with crampons and gloved hands - not using the tools. Was he mad?! Was I??!! The ice was slippery, more so with the heat from my hands melting it and creating a watery lubricant. Most hand placements were, by necessity, jams into crannies, grooves, slots, and gaps between icicles. I managed to climb half way using this method. The remainder was climbed with one tool and one empty hand.

Quest complete.

Why would anyone do this for fun? Why would anyone do this at all?? I don't know the answers to these questions. I don't imagine I ever will.

So we're making an assault on Wedge Mountain next weekend. It will be harder. Go figure.

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