Mt. Athabasca has always been my favorite peak. Its location makes it the crown jewel of the Columbia Icefield, whether from an esthetic or mountaineering viewpoint. It was my first big alpine summit, and any of its routes are worthy objectives. I've explored much of the peak and its field of glaciers, had a few adventures on it and experienced some pretty wide ranging weather while climbing it; sometimes in the form of four seasons in a single day. It was just a matter of natural progression for me to want to eventually climb the 1500 foot North Face, one of the classic alpine routes of the Rocky Mountains and the first of the "big wall" ice routes to be climbed in its day.
Photo by Mack Muir
So one day I found myself waking up at 3:30 a.m. on a crisp summer morning at the trailhead on the Snocoach road, where the approach for the north side routes begins. My partner, Justin Lock and I crawled out of the back of my old Suburban four-wheel-drive and quietly began our preparations: dressing, putting on harnesses for expediency, packing the rope and gear rack, and other last minute tasks. While we munched on a quick breakfast, two people crawled out of an old Ford mini-truck parked next to us. One of the climbers ambled over to us and greeted us good-naturedly. I introduced myself and asked him his name. "Barry", he answered. Shining my headlamp in his face, I realized it was Barry Blanchard, who I had met a couple of times earlier, notably at one of his excellent slide shows at an Alpine Club meeting. Wanting my friend to meet an icon of Canadian climbing and Canada's greatest living mountaineer and guide, I called Justin over and introduced him to Barry.
We discussed our objectives. Barry and his client were going to attempt Asteroid Alley on Mt. Andromeda. "I hope there's ice" he noted, looking through the gloom towards his intended route. We wished each other well and Justin and I set off up the moraines, well ahead of any other parties camped out at the gravel parking lot which was the trailhead for the Mt. Athabasca routes. One of my cardinal rules of climbing a big face like the one we were headed for was to be first in line on the route. We made good time going up the beaten trail on the moraine in the starry half-darkness surrounding us. Reaching the small, flat, benign mini-glacier at the foot of the real glacier, we quickly roped up and began cramponing up the firm 35-degree snowfield covering the main glacier. In about five hours we had passed the small col at the bottom of the Silverhorn route and continued on to our right, dropping down about a hundred meters of elevation into the large crevassed amphitheatre at the bottom of the North Face. It was an absolutely glorious sunny morning and we took a moment to take a few pictures of our surroundings and eyeball the route. Other parties were headed for our intended route but we appeared to have about an hour's lead on them.
We discussed our objectives. Barry and his client were going to attempt Asteroid Alley on Mt. Andromeda. "I hope there's ice" he noted, looking through the gloom towards his intended route. We wished each other well and Justin and I set off up the moraines, well ahead of any other parties camped out at the gravel parking lot which was the trailhead for the Mt. Athabasca routes. One of my cardinal rules of climbing a big face like the one we were headed for was to be first in line on the route. We made good time going up the beaten trail on the moraine in the starry half-darkness surrounding us. Reaching the small, flat, benign mini-glacier at the foot of the real glacier, we quickly roped up and began cramponing up the firm 35-degree snowfield covering the main glacier. In about five hours we had passed the small col at the bottom of the Silverhorn route and continued on to our right, dropping down about a hundred meters of elevation into the large crevassed amphitheatre at the bottom of the North Face. It was an absolutely glorious sunny morning and we took a moment to take a few pictures of our surroundings and eyeball the route. Other parties were headed for our intended route but we appeared to have about an hour's lead on them.
We approached the bottom of the face well below the bergeschrund, found a safe place to unrope, got out the rack and quickly changed our rope setup from glacier travel to multipitch ice. Being early in the summer, the bottom of the face still had a cover of snow and we kicked steps up to the 'schrund. Justin was a more experienced leader than I was on ice so I demurred the lead to him. He crawled through the unconsolidated snow bridging the large partially-open crevasse, moved up about fifty feet and set our first belay. We began to simul-climb, using a running belay and making fairly good progress. The ice was perfect; a touch soft like styrofoam and just a little brittle in places, although that would increase as we got higher up into the wind. By the time we had reached the top of the second pitch another trio was at the bottom of the face below us and a pair of climbers was already speed-climbing up the first pitch below us to the right.
We reached the end of the third pitch and looked over to see a climber crawling up the face on the points of his crampons and the picks of his ice tools, holding the tools by the picks and not taking the time to swing his axes. He was moving very quickly, but not bothering to set any screws to protect himself and his partner should he slip and fall. His way of climbing was fast, and I do it myself when I can, but not on a sixty-meter pitch with no intermediate pro between myself and my belayer, hundreds of feet up a steep ice face. We thought this was pretty foolish: if he had slipped he would likely be unable to self-arrest, and would fall and pull his young friend off the face with him. They drew past us and soon his partner, a kid of about eighteen or nineteen, was anchored to a single screw about thirty feet off to my right. One single screw was all they employed to protect the two of them, with the leader a full sixty meters above on steepening ice. We were into the fourth pitch by this time.
We reached the end of the third pitch and looked over to see a climber crawling up the face on the points of his crampons and the picks of his ice tools, holding the tools by the picks and not taking the time to swing his axes. He was moving very quickly, but not bothering to set any screws to protect himself and his partner should he slip and fall. His way of climbing was fast, and I do it myself when I can, but not on a sixty-meter pitch with no intermediate pro between myself and my belayer, hundreds of feet up a steep ice face. We thought this was pretty foolish: if he had slipped he would likely be unable to self-arrest, and would fall and pull his young friend off the face with him. They drew past us and soon his partner, a kid of about eighteen or nineteen, was anchored to a single screw about thirty feet off to my right. One single screw was all they employed to protect the two of them, with the leader a full sixty meters above on steepening ice. We were into the fourth pitch by this time.
I looked over at the kid and called out to him. "You know, if he falls, you're both gonna die." He looked at me as if contemplating this possibility for the first time, looked up at his partner, and clicked on the talk button of his two-way-radio. "Uh....I'd like you to start putting in a few screws....." They had a brief discussion, the leader put in a single ice screw and continued on, at the rock band by this time. While Justin and I were making steady progress, there was no way we were going to keep up with this pair. Soon the pair was well above us and ice chips were raining down, skipping and bouncing at first, then gradually gaining velocity as they fanned out in a wide arc on the way down. We immediately started to traverse a bit to the left as we were being bombarded as well. The team below us was getting pelted pretty hard; I couldn't see why they didn't just traverse off to the side.
Then it happened. We had taken a quick five-minute break, having a quick bite and a drink, well over halfway up the face and just below the rock band. I was crouched on the ice at the belay, protecting Justin's lead and getting ready to move when I felt something give in my right knee, and it just seemed to dislocate. All I could think was "Oh no….". I'd had this happen before; when I bent the knee too tightly and put weight on it, the sloppy miniscus on the outside of the knee would move and my leg would lock up, feeling dislocated and unable to straighten. It had happened to me on a winter solo, halfway up the Northeast Face of Roche Miette, as well as in a half dozen other inconvenient locations. Generally when this happened I'd have to sit down and relax, slowly work the leg into a straighter position and then forcibly relocate it with a loud click, nearly jumping out out my shorts in the process. Following that, it would usually be usable, if a little shaky and weak. It was going to be hard to do that here, hanging on a rope about nine hundred feet up on fifty-five to sixty degree ice. To make it worse, the pair above us was now sending down a steady fusillade of ice chips, which were moving at high speed, richocheting and vibrating as they zinged off the ice around us, occasionally striking one of us. I called up to my surprised partner and told him I couldn't straighten my leg or put any weight on it. Hanging off the belay anchor, I gently worked the knee, trying to relax it enough to do the ugly job of popping it back into place as Justin downclimbed the pitch and rejoined me.
Photos byKai Larson
Then it happened. We had taken a quick five-minute break, having a quick bite and a drink, well over halfway up the face and just below the rock band. I was crouched on the ice at the belay, protecting Justin's lead and getting ready to move when I felt something give in my right knee, and it just seemed to dislocate. All I could think was "Oh no….". I'd had this happen before; when I bent the knee too tightly and put weight on it, the sloppy miniscus on the outside of the knee would move and my leg would lock up, feeling dislocated and unable to straighten. It had happened to me on a winter solo, halfway up the Northeast Face of Roche Miette, as well as in a half dozen other inconvenient locations. Generally when this happened I'd have to sit down and relax, slowly work the leg into a straighter position and then forcibly relocate it with a loud click, nearly jumping out out my shorts in the process. Following that, it would usually be usable, if a little shaky and weak. It was going to be hard to do that here, hanging on a rope about nine hundred feet up on fifty-five to sixty degree ice. To make it worse, the pair above us was now sending down a steady fusillade of ice chips, which were moving at high speed, richocheting and vibrating as they zinged off the ice around us, occasionally striking one of us. I called up to my surprised partner and told him I couldn't straighten my leg or put any weight on it. Hanging off the belay anchor, I gently worked the knee, trying to relax it enough to do the ugly job of popping it back into place as Justin downclimbed the pitch and rejoined me.
Photos by
The trio below us pulled up even with us and kept moving, not bothering to try to move out of the line of fire from the highest team, who were now in the rock band, sending down occasional stones as well as the usual whining, vibrating bullets of ice. One of their members, a young woman, was standing on an angle, leaning back at the belay while her partners climbed. Suddenly she was struck in the breast by a large, whizzing chip of ice and collapsed into the ice face, in great pain and crying in fear. Trying desperately to pop my uncooperative knee back into its correct position, I was totally helpless to assist her in any way. After a brief radio discussion her partners decided to bail, as by now as a squall had blown in and the weather was deteriorating rapidly, in addition to the hail of ice from above fanning out in a three-hundred-foot-wide line of fire. One of her team members claimed to be a high-angle rescue tech and offered to assist me down the face.
I thanked him but declined; I figured no way - I'd gotten myself up there and I'd get myself down. I'd been working and rubbing the knee for what felt like an eternity, and it refused to slip back into a usable condition. Worse, it was pressuring up, and having it hang while dislocated as I lay on the steep ice was causing a fair amount of pain. If I'd been able to pop it back in I'd have continued but that seemed impossible now. We had no choice but to bail and get out of the path of those wildly zig-zagging ice chips and stones vibrating and richocheting downfrom above. They were coming by so fast we didn't dare look up for fear of catching one right in the face or throat. I was struck in the chest by one, which felt like a right hook in the dark from Muhammed Ali. I was stunned and shocked, and knew if it had hit me in the throat, about five inches up, I would possibly have been killed. Justin was struck a direct blow in the knee - now we were both injured.
We'd been using a single 60 meter rope, so it was unlikely we were going to be able to make any kind of fast getaway by rappelling. (From this day forward it would be double ropes for me on a face like this) Justin handed me the rack and I began to downclimb/slide, setting a few screws only where necessary to protect our descent, as he followed me down, cleaning the route. We figured this was no slower than setting up rappels with a single rope, and safer if one of us really got nailed badly.
Photos byMack Muir
I thanked him but declined; I figured no way - I'd gotten myself up there and I'd get myself down. I'd been working and rubbing the knee for what felt like an eternity, and it refused to slip back into a usable condition. Worse, it was pressuring up, and having it hang while dislocated as I lay on the steep ice was causing a fair amount of pain. If I'd been able to pop it back in I'd have continued but that seemed impossible now. We had no choice but to bail and get out of the path of those wildly zig-zagging ice chips and stones vibrating and richocheting downfrom above. They were coming by so fast we didn't dare look up for fear of catching one right in the face or throat. I was struck in the chest by one, which felt like a right hook in the dark from Muhammed Ali. I was stunned and shocked, and knew if it had hit me in the throat, about five inches up, I would possibly have been killed. Justin was struck a direct blow in the knee - now we were both injured.
We'd been using a single 60 meter rope, so it was unlikely we were going to be able to make any kind of fast getaway by rappelling. (From this day forward it would be double ropes for me on a face like this) Justin handed me the rack and I began to downclimb/slide, setting a few screws only where necessary to protect our descent, as he followed me down, cleaning the route. We figured this was no slower than setting up rappels with a single rope, and safer if one of us really got nailed badly.
Photos by
This was difficult to do with a dislocated, pressured-up knee dangling uselessly below me; the leg may as well have been broken. Justin was having no picnic with his injured leg either. I didn't know what was going to happen when we got down the face to the amphitheatre, or even if we would make it down. We both felt we could be killed any at moment. It's amazing how much deadly ice and stones two climbers can send your way, and the velocity it can attain after a seven or eight-hundred-foot fall. We were both afraid to look up. I'd been hit at least nine or ten times, including about five or six direct hits right on my helmet and shoulders. That helmet undoubtedly saved me from suffering a fractured skull that day.
We finally reached the bergeschrund and I slowly worked my way over what appeared to be a bridged section. But the line of the buried crack was uneven, and I ended up punching through the thin bridge unexpectedly, and dropped about four feet into the now-gaping black hole, right up to my neck, my leg still enormously pressured up and in pain. The hail of icefall was diminishing now as I had traversed off to the left, out of range of all but a few pieces that had fanned out in a wide arc. Crawling out of the bergeschrund with difficulty, I slid to the bottom of the face through wet, rotten snow.
We finally reached the bergeschrund and I slowly worked my way over what appeared to be a bridged section. But the line of the buried crack was uneven, and I ended up punching through the thin bridge unexpectedly, and dropped about four feet into the now-gaping black hole, right up to my neck, my leg still enormously pressured up and in pain. The hail of icefall was diminishing now as I had traversed off to the left, out of range of all but a few pieces that had fanned out in a wide arc. Crawling out of the bergeschrund with difficulty, I slid to the bottom of the face through wet, rotten snow.
We were "safe", but still at least three thousand feet up on the glacier. I sat down and slowly worked the leg, gradually straightening it, and with the possibility to actually relax, it popped back into normal position with a hair-raising 'click' in a matter of a few minutes. Hugely relieved, I rested a few minutes and tentatively stood up. It felt usable, as I knew it would, if a little wobbly. At least I would not have to spend the next twenty-four hours crawling down the glacier and trying to negotiate the crevasses on my belly with a bum leg. Waiting for a rescue would have been out of the question for me, as a matter of pride as well as not wanting to inconvenience anyone else. Justin was limping around in pain from having been struck several times, but we were both in one piece and immediately climbed up to the little col at the foot of the Silverhorn and began the descent down the glacier.
I had my full range of movement back and although the knee felt a little weak, I knew if I was careful I'd be fine. Justin was having problems though and started having to stop to rest by the time we reached the bottom of the glacier. We put away the harnesses and rope. We still had about fifteen hundred feet or more of moraine to descend. He couldn't carry his pack anymore, and couldn't keep up with me as he kept having to sit down. He was my buddy and it was unthinkable to have to see him abandon his pack and gear in order to descend, so I told him to loosen the straps as far as possible and put it on me, right over my own pack. He protested but finally agreed. This forced me to hike down the entire moraine in a hunched-forward position, and exhausted me after our long day, as he had every single thing he took up the mountain in that pack. I carried his gear all the way to the trailhead. He'd have done the same for me if the tables had been reversed.
I had my full range of movement back and although the knee felt a little weak, I knew if I was careful I'd be fine. Justin was having problems though and started having to stop to rest by the time we reached the bottom of the glacier. We put away the harnesses and rope. We still had about fifteen hundred feet or more of moraine to descend. He couldn't carry his pack anymore, and couldn't keep up with me as he kept having to sit down. He was my buddy and it was unthinkable to have to see him abandon his pack and gear in order to descend, so I told him to loosen the straps as far as possible and put it on me, right over my own pack. He protested but finally agreed. This forced me to hike down the entire moraine in a hunched-forward position, and exhausted me after our long day, as he had every single thing he took up the mountain in that pack. I carried his gear all the way to the trailhead. He'd have done the same for me if the tables had been reversed.
