Icecapades Part 2

Once the entire group was assembled we stashed our snowmobile along the road, donned our snowshoes and began the trek up the side of the mountain. Our party consisted of five climbers and one photographer. The group was led by veteran Lamoille first ascensionist, my landlord Ken Hurst, our photographer Bruce Thompson a few other traveling hard men (and women) and myself. The first mile was difficult to say the least. We hiked down the side of the road to a stream we were hoping would be frozen enough to cross with ease. The winter this season has been much too warm for any snow bridges to form for our crossing. The snow had melted that the normally trickling creek was engorged to a fully fledged river. However the mountain gods were on our side, at least with the crossing, everyone made it without any real trouble and a few comical moments (try crossing a river in snowshoes). We slowly ascended the western bank of the creek and began bushwhacking through a thick stand of fledgling trees and brushy debris. On a dry summer day this would have been only a slight annoyance, but today in deep snow with 60 pounds of gear on our back, the brush was a nightmare. Clearing the trees we had the first clear view of our objective and the conditions of the route in front of us.
The photographer was first in the line breaking trail through the snow. (The first member of the party “breaks trail” to create a tamped hardened path through the snow for the rest of the party.) His progress was slow and the climbing was steep. Slips and falls were common. Our photographer was the first to succumb to the difficulties of the hike when he re-injuring his knee still sore from a recent accident on a previous climb. There was no safe way to turn back at this point with the closest vehicle three plus miles in the other direction and a storm looming in the not so distant future. He decided to just take up the rear and became our “sweeper” (The last person in a group, they make sure everyone is accounted for.) position and I took over breaking trail. Being the least experienced with steep snow and mid-winter conditions this was quite an intimidating task. We continued beyond the trees and slowly descended into the couloirs. The veteran of the party quietly explained to me the chances of an avalanche occurring once in the chute, also advising the rest of the party to keep talking and noise to an absolute minimum. From that point on the only sounds we heard were the snowmobiles well below us on the road, the occasional whomp whomp whomp of the heli-ski crew thousands of feet overhead and the regular crunch of ice or rock scattering to the ground somewhere in the canyon. After several thousand vertical feet of this the climb became too steep for snowshoes and favor went to the more secure albeit more strenuous step kicking, which is exactly what it sounds like, forming steps in hardened snow by kicking downward with the foot so when weighted, the heel comes to rest on solid snow.
Each step and each pole placement was critical. Progress slowed as the snow became deep and soft in certain sections. As we crested the final neve (Commonly used as a synonym for a large amount of steep consolidated snow.) before the ice our pace slowed almost literally to a crawl. I was exhausted and now resting on somewhat flat ground had a moment where fear set in and I forgot why I had come up this mountain, why I had changed my stance on ice climbing? Why all the things I thought were once crazy or out of the question had become my desire? I was scared but I was the lead member of the party. I didn’t just have myself to think about. I had five other people to think about. So, with a disregard for my own instinct and fear, I continued upwards, counting my steps kicking ten to twenty at a time resting for a minute in between. At last after what seemed like forever we made it to the base of the wall only to be greeted by a large sheet of ice cascading down at us. That was less than a hundred feet away from our entire party. Immediately everyone stopped and put on their helmets and hoped for Mother Nature to get it all out of her system. This just reminded us that the nature of climbing doesn’t leave much room for pride or joy of the accomplishment just constant concentration and a heightened sense of awareness.