"Icecapades" Part 1

Rock Rock Rock! Hundreds of pounds of rock were flying meters away from where we all stood. Watching the slide crash through our path, had we been a few minutes slower on the approach we would have been directly under it. Such was climbing. For as longs as I remember, I’ve been a climber and have lived my life with a slightly “different” sense of danger and risk. However, there have been aspects of the sport that I have avoided. Most of these were avoided because I assumed the risk was beyond the gain. Others were (as I now know) ignorance and inexperience on my part. The day I finally got the courage and desire to attempt vertical waterfall ice climbing was one that I will always have vivid memories of. I could only imagine the sounds of rocks crashing through trees and blocks the size of motorcycles falling, exploding into a million pieces sending icy shrapnel hundreds of feet in every direction. I see now how vivid an imagination we climbers have. A day on the ice is just as safe and satisfying as climbing the most bullet hardened granite. That being said I was still intimidated and maybe slightly out of my league.
The air was cool and a slight dampness was still apparent from the previous night’s rain. The moisture and chill added to the overall feeling of being in way over my head. The smell of coffee, exhaust, and smoke were heavy and seeped into everything around me. The entire house had been up since four in the morning packing and racking (The act of organizing technical climbing equipment on the ground to allow for ease of access while climbing.); gear clinked and clanked filling the house with a cacophony of sounds that only the hardened “gear-head” has a pallet refined enough to appreciate. As the final cups of coffee were drained, the final member of our party arrived. And so began the hour long drive to a snowy crevasse within the Ruby Mountains know as Lamoille Canyon.
The drive to the canyon is one that everyone but my old -4Runner “George” enjoys; he has quite a problem making it over Lamoille Summit any faster than thirty five. After a long hour in George we all emerged at the final turn around that marked the end of George’s journey. He sputtered and died ready for a well deserved rest. We met with the others of our party and began to arrange travel up canyon to the base of the approach. The others of the party had acquired a snowmobile and began to shuttle the entire group one by one three more miles up to the base of the couloir. At the top of the climb, our goal a hundred foot tall cliff made of ice 3 miles away and three thousand feet up a steep avalanche chute. Again (and not for the last time) I had the feeling of being a very small fish in a very large pond. This time it had something to do with flying up the canyon on a questionably safe snowmobile while hauling a day or more worth of supplies all the while staring up at the weather. Ahead in the distance we saw a blanket of clouds making its way from higher up the canyon, right where we wanted to be. I thought of what my roommate always says “I only climb under full conditions”.