One Day Winter Presidential Traverse

Here are some cool images from a one-day Presidential Traverse I did this weekend. My partners for the outing were Jesse and Jon, both outstanding endurance athletes (one of them is a sub 2:40 marathon runner and the other has twice gone under 10 hrs at the Ironman distance triathlon).

We left the car at the Appalachia trailhead on the north end of the range at 5 a.m. Saturday morning. The weather was good - calm wind and good visibility with high clouds. Our hope was to beat the weather arriving Saturday afternoon. The wind arrived as we summitted Mt. Washington, but remained mellow by winter standards there - gusts to 50 mph with steady winds in the 20-30 mph range.

With very little snow on the ridge we were able to make great time and avoid using snowshoes. We had one short sit-down break after 6 hours and did most of our eating and drinking on the go. Overall, the outing took us just under 12 hours with no running. That's an average of 1.4 miles an hour for 17 miles. It would be pretty easy to shave significant amounts of time off by bringing less and moving just a little faster. We wore mountain boots (a safe bet if you need to stop at all), brought full shell clothing and puffy jackets, and had a stove, snowshoes, and extra heavy gloves. Were I to do it again, I might wear heavy trail shoes, bring lighter shell gear, and ditch the stove and snowshoes. I would also bring a bit less food; I had a lot of food left over.

Mt. Madison, 7:50 am

Mt. Adams, 9:00 am

Looking toward Mt. Washington with ominous skies 

Summit, wind and snow have arrived

Mt. Eisenhower, 1:45?

Total time just under 12 hours

A lot of walking for a single day

My Polar Flow app showing approximate amount of activity

Why You Should Be Careful Ice Climbing After Rain and Warm Temperatures

I went to Poke O Moonshine on Wednesday with Silas Rossi. He'd never been there before, for rock climbing or ice climbing. We figured that we'd get at least a little climbing in despite the less than stellar forecast. As is often the case, the weather forecasters were a bit off, and it rained all night. Instead of snow there was rain, and when we arrived the cliff was running with water. Positive Thinking and the Waterfall wall, which were both in nice early season condition the day before, were decidedly "out". We checked out Neurosis, which was also on it's way "out" but is less steep, so the prospect of it falling off in one piece is much lower.

After bailing from a bolt near the top of the first pitch of Neurosis we returned to our car. While we were over at Neurosis a portion of the Waterfall wall fell off. It was easy to see the missing piece of ice.

Can you see the missing ice? Can you see the continuous fracture snaking it's way across the top? How about the two climbers at the base?

We spotted a party of two toproping the Waterfall, left of where the ice had calved off. We were amazed they were still climbing, as another substantial portion fell off while we were changing into our street clothes. As one of the climbers rappelled, we spotted a continuous fracture in the ice along the top of the Waterfall wall. We stared a bit longer then jumped in the car, heading to the Baxter Mountain Tavern for a late lunch. Just as we were leaving we spotted the party toproping the ice only feet left of the wall that had just fallen. I hope those climbers are ok.

Well, what's the takeaway? Is it that those particular climbers were foolish to be there? Maybe; I know I would not have been there. Is it that all ice climbing is unsafe when the weather is above freezing? That answer is not so simple. Most likely the right answer is going to be based on the specific weather conditions for that day. Like traveling through avalanche terrain when the risk of a slide is not uniformly "low", making decisions about safe ice climbing conditions takes good judgment. Good judgment comes from experience - you have to understand how ice behaves throughout a range of weather conditions if you're going to push your luck.

I felt like I was pushing my luck getting on Neurosis, a climb I've done before that is 2-3 ice grades below my lead limit. I think Silas did too, but we felt pressure to make the day happen because we'd driven a long way. Fortunately, both of us have a lot of winter climbing experience, and understand how ice behaves. Slab ice occasionally collapses. Often it just sits there though, getting compressed toward the ground until it gets so warm that the slab can no longer support itself. Steep ice, especially at places like the Waterfall, where the rock is free of features, supports itself. You cannot climb ice that supports itself in above-freezing weather for very long; this is asking for trouble.

The truth is, we've all been there. We ignore the forecast because it's our day off, or our client's day off if we're a guide. We drive a long way to climb, so we feel pressured to climb even though conditions are not optimal. Maybe we push the day longer than we should after it's been really warm (2 o'clock has always felt like the magic quitting time on warm days). It's never one thing that causes an accident, and myopia is often to blame.

As I've gained experience this decision has gotten easier. Most days, when conditions are like this I throw in the towel. I'll end up drinking coffee or beer somewhere with my climbing partner. Climbing always has and always will be a social activity for me, and the partner is more important than the climb. I've rescheduled guided days, only to watch my client go out with another guide and get hit by ice and take an axe to the face.

I know it's hard to throw in the towel on warm days, but erring on the conservative side is the right thing to do. You only get one chance to screw up that big, and nobody wants that to happen.

Mt. Washington in the Spring

I am an okay skier. I can ski in most backcountry areas in the northeast, but I don't make the tougher terrain look pretty. Still though, it's a pleasure to spend a day outside in the spring on skis. There's none of the stress found in ice climbing, and when you're done you can be back at your car in a few minutes. As long as it isn't dark it's not too late in the day.

I had a fun day out two weeks ago with a few north country brethren, Michael Wejchert and Bayard Russell. A few years ago I skied with Bayard and he was just learning too. He's a much better skier now, and fun to try and keep up with. Michael's just learning, but I anticipate he'll be a ringer in some time in the not so distant future. Here are a few pictures from the day.

Old Friends and Celebrations

My partner is quick to point out that the act of climbing is a celebration. I hadn't thought of it that way, but I don't disagree. As I write this, according to World Bank, nearly 20% of the world's population is without good access to electricity and 35% is without adequate sanitation. So, for the rest of us that can find the time to sleep in a heated space, take hot showers, eat the things we like, and peruse our favorite websites, yes, the act of climbing is truly a celebration of a wonderful existence.

Over the years, I've climbed the Black Dike on Cannon Cliff many times. At first, when I was newer to climbing, it felt challenging. On the second pitch crux, the hooks didn't seem secure and the climbing felt boxy and awkward. As an objective, it never felt impossible but it was always challenging. Protection also felt like a real issue, and the fall potential felt huge.

By now I've climbed the dike many times. It seems like I only climb it during the early season, as a way to usher in the new ice season. I climbed it again this season -  last week, during a short cold snap. I lost my hands to the cold while wallowing through deep snow on the first pitch. After that it felt like pure celebration, and I was reminded why I love winter climbing so much. Positive hooks abound on the second pitch and pitch 3 has secure and mellow ice climbing.

My partners for the day were Dustin Portzline and Pete Guyre, two local Gunks guides that are eager to learn more about winter climbing. For them it was a first, and an introduction to Northern New England climbing - snowy weather and strong winds routinely make conditions more challenging than they might be if the weather was perfect.

Pete and Dustin led, and they did a great job. I was able to follow pitches and celebrate life, movement and friendship. Thanks Pete and Dustin for an awesome day! Here are a few photos from the day:

Dustin Portzline at the crux.

Matt Ritter and Erik Thatcher on the
 Cannonade buttress

Pete leads. It was a cold day for early
 November.

The Cathedral Cave

The Cathedral Ledge Cave Wall is a great spot for a drytooling session. No ice involved in this mixed climbing, just pure, solid granite clip-ups. Chris Beauchamp and I met up with Silas Rossi and Peter Doucette for an afternoon session this past Wednesday. Here are some shots of Team Green, Silas and Pete, on The Devil Made Me Dog It, M8.

Fun climbing even if it is a little pointless. Note the ice tools and rock choes

Link: Reflections of a Recovering Soloist

I've known Michael Wejchert for several years now. He's a trusted partner, a great friend, and a budding northeastern hardman. When I first met him he soloed a lot. He reminded me of myself when I was younger - at a loss for partners yet dying to gain the valuable experience necessary to climb bigger and harder objectives. The difference between Michael and I was that he was able to convince himself that soloing harder routes felt safe. He's soloed the Dike more times than I can count, and he's soloed the Last Gentleman at Lake Willoughby.

Nowadays, as a local climber in North Conway, he has his choice of partners and many of them are North America's finest alpinists and winter climbers. He solos less and climbs hard routes on a rope with good friends more frequently.

In this blog post, at his blog Far North Climbing, he shares his story about the time in his life when he soloed a lot. I enjoyed his multi-perspective view of soloing immensely. I'm grateful for his partnership and I'm thankful he's still around to tell this story. Enjoy.

Failing To Succeed

Cannon is the alpine venue for hard winter climbing on the east coast. There are many fine ice climbing areas, and there is a ton of cragging sprinkled throughout the northeast, but nothing rivals the climbing on Cannon, which feels much like the harder climbing found in greater ranges around the world. For this reason it's a great proving ground. With the exception of the Black Dike, all of the winter routes on Cannon feel hard. I know, some are thinking that even the Black Dike feels hard. However, when put into perspective at this 1000' tall cliff, the Black Dike is really the only giveaway.

I've become quite good at not succeeding at Cannon. My failure rate is pretty high. Four visits this year have only yielded two complete ascents for me. All in all, a 50% success rate up there feels pretty good to me though, and every visit has been a new learning experience. Over the years I've tried Fafnir several times in very early season conditions and been stopped by unbonded thin ice or unfrozen blocks. I've retreated off Omega twice now too. I've climbed the first pitch of Sam's Swan song twice only to be stopped by ice falling off above too. Most days I'm back at the car by 1 or 2, sipping beers in the parking lot.

However, every once in a while I'm able hit things just right. Last week, finally, I found some success. After several long rides (2:45 each way from my house in western MA) and short, unsuccessful days this season it was good to spend a full day getting pumped, getting scared and climbing a route I've had my eyes on for years.

Elliot Gaddy near the top of pitch 1 on SSS.

Michael Wejchert, Elliot Gaddy and I were up at Cannon a few weeks ago, just as things were shaping up and we decided to climb the first pitch of Sam's Swan Song. As the day warmed, ice began to rain down and we bailed. As we walked back down through the sketchy, lightly iced, seriously loose talus I kept looking over at Mean Streak. It looked like it was in shape. I kept thinking "why didn't we go over there today?" Last winter I watched Bayard Russell, Matt McCormick and Freddie Wilkinson dance up this steep shady route as I failed on Omega yet again. Cannon, it seems, has me figured out.

I've spent the entire year thinking about that Mean Streak. I knew Silas Rossi and Peter Doucette climbed it this season and I was eager to try it myself. Knowing my chances were growing slimmer as the narrow WI6 column at the start grew older and began sublimating, I began to get anxious. Cannon was actually keeping me up at night.

Alden Pellett and I made plans to meet on Thursday before Christmas to climb. We were hoping to find new routes in Smuggler's Notch. On a last minute whim, at 8:30 the night before, I called Alden and told him I wanted to go to Cannon. He said he'd meet me there at 7 the next morning.

Alden Pellett on Mean Streak

Along with Michael Wejchert and Peter Doucette, we headed over to the Omega amphitheater. Michael and Peter decided to climb the Henderson Buttress to Pilaf, a beautiful 5.9 handcrack. Rime-covered rock made their outing feel very Scottish.

Alden graciously obliged and I took the first lead. I'd been waiting a long time for this, and I was anxious; Cannon has a way of doing that to me. I started up the route. Good rock gear near the start of the ice helped calm my nerves temporarily. I slowly and methodically picked my way up the narrow, 4" thick strip of ice. I stretched out right to place a bomber 3" cam. As I continued up my hands went numb and I began to sweat.

Alden Pellett enters a tricky traverse on Mean Streak

When I read Will Mayo's first ascent report I remember thinking "WI6?". There aren't many routes deserving of that grade in the Northeast. I was skeptical. New England modesty has kept most hard ice routes in the WI5+ range. As I forced my body right, even though the ice was on the left, and struggled to protect the dead-vertical 4" thick, 2' wide strip of ice it occurred to me why Will Mayo, one of the Northeast's most talented winter climbers, was calling this section WI6. I had been bare-handing icicles, trusting so-so tool placements, and trying to find good stances despite the fact that there weren't any. At the end of the ice, below a roof I found my first really good stem and caught my breath.

I found 4 semi-mediocre gear placements and launched into the mixed climbing above. After several tool placements in turf that looked good but was actually poor I reach a flake that swallowed my picks. Relieved and elated I began placing small but solid gear and stemming up the corner. A little while later I reached the traverse where Will and Andy (and  Peter and Silas) exited the corner. I slung a giant detached obelisk and began traversing through snow-covered slabby rock to another corner. Rope drag made these moves tricky. I'm not sure why I was surprised, everything up to this point had been hard. A few minutes later I was off belay at a small square stance. Alden took a hike to warm up and I stacked ropes in lap coils at my waist. By the time I pulled all the rope up Alden was ready to go.

Peter Doucette on Pilaf

Alden, who claims he's out of shape (with a full-time job) dispatched the pitch easily. Not long after starting he was at the belay. We continued up the wall, me leading and Alden following for the remainder of the route. Steep, secure climbing punctuated by short insecure sections defines this excellent route. 30 feet from the end of the hard climbing I surrendered the lead to Alden. I was tired and it was getting late. Alden comfortably lead the final, loose 30 feet and belayed above. Not long after we were rappelling from the top of Pilaf.

Even during descent, Cannon has it out for me. Peter and Michael left an anchor on top of Pilaf. They had some trouble pulling their ropes but managed to get them back. Assuming their trouble was due to a lack of "rap rings" I left two bail carabiners on their slings. Safely on the ground, we pulled with all our might. Our ropes would not budge. In the darkness, we opted to leave them. I would come back for them the next day.

The next day, Friday, I returned and retrieved the ropes from above. In driving rain and howling wind I waded through wet snow and managed to find the top of Mean Streak. Silas had given me a few landmarks that made the task a little less daunting. I rappelled through slabby, vegetated terrain, put the soaking wet ropes in my Bullet Pack and began rope soloing back up the cliff. I had no issues, except for the fact that I had a pack full of four soaking wet ropes and a 40-minute descent down and icy, slush-covered trail.

The first pitch, photo courtesy of Peter Doucette

It's interesting. Mean Streak has temporarily satiated my appetite for hard winter climbing. The climb was a major tick on my list, and I've been sleeping better knowing that I don't have to get up at 3:30 a.m. again to go to Cannon anytime soon. For so many years I just climbed things because I'd never done them before and success came easily. I still do this to some extent, but my efforts are much more pointed, and when trying many of the Northeast's harder lines success doesn't come right away. It's a hard lesson to learn, but a good one - success frequently rides on the back of failure. You can't really have one without the other, especially when you're trying you're hardest.

Google+ gallery of images for this post can be found here.

Shades of Granite and Far North

Well, for once I'm not the only one writing about my experiences. In fact, this time around I don't think there's too much to say, except that much of my success as a climber lies in the partners I've chosen along the way. I'm not a soloist, so climbing has always been a very social experience for me. Here are blog posts written by Erik Eisele and Michael Wejchert. Not only do these guys catalog our experience last weekend in Huntington well, they explore the more personal side of climbing in a way that isn't always addressed.

Below is a picture of Erik on the crux of Skywalker, a variation on Central Buttress in Huntington's. It's as steep as it looks. With big moves and a few insecure sections, the first pitch packs a punch, especially early season.

Winter Climbing in the White Mountains

Mount Washington and the surrounding Presidential Range have some of the world's worst weather. This makes the Presidential Range an ideal alpine training ground. Whether you're learning to winter camp, practicing ice ax self arrest, glacier travel, or training for a trip to Denali or Rainier, the Presidential Range is a good place to hone your skills.

Snow travel in Tuckerman Ravine, climbing gullies in Huntington Ravine, or doing a Presidential Traverse - you can do all of this and more in the Presidentials

Some fun winter objectives in northern New Hampshire:

• Early season ice climbing in Tuckerman Ravine
• Pinnacle Gully or Odell's Gully in Huntington Ravine
• Presidential Traverse - 2-3 days

Please contact us if you'd like to set up a traverse or other northern NH trips during dates that aren't listed on our schedule. We're usually pretty flexible about most non-holiday dates.

Cool Link - White Mountain Pachinko

Ice season has just begun but some of us have decided to get after it. Check out this really fun, well-written post, White Mountain Pachinko, by Michael Wejchert, who semi-rope-soloed the Black Dike and also soloed Damnation Gully in Huntington Ravine yesterday. I think I would have sh*t my pants dealing with a stuck rope in the middle of the Black Dike. Michael definitely has a cool head under pressure.

The Black Dike, 11/6

Early season ice ascents are always interesting. Approaches, lightly dusted with snow, feel sketchy. The ice usually doesn't protect well. Hands go numb easily and the movement feels very blocky and awkward. Turf isn't frozen yet and mixed climbing feels scary. It's a good reminder that ice climbing is a challenging pastime, and that upward progress over moderately difficult or difficult terrain is hard fought and feels scary.

Erik Eisele, one of my favorite climbing partners, and I climbed the Black Dike on Cannon Cliff yesterday under beautiful blue, sunny skies. Every year I say "this year I'm going to wait for real ice to form" yet nearly every year I do manage to sneak in a few early season winter climbing days. So much for waiting for winter to arrive.

By modern standards the Black Dike is an easy climb. However, nearly every season now it's my first climb of the winter and it always feels demanding. Ambling flows and balancey climbing up delaminated, unprotectable ice on pitch 1 leads to the fixed belay below the crux.

Leading the crux in early season conditions always gives me pause. Knocking the rust off takes a little while. I stand at a safe stance before I commit to the crux. Is this doable? Is it safe? Am I going to climb into a place where there's no gear only to get stuck? I'm left with more questions than answers, and this leads to intimidation. After a few moments I find some tool placements that hold my weight, stomp out a few footholds and move up. Eventually I find decent gear, and the confidence to proceed. The process repeats itself as I work my way up the ice-free chimney. I search for hooks and use one tool to pound the other tool in at each stance. I reach the ice as I run out of rock protection. Erik packed a single rack, which is more than adequate.  I would have brought more gear though. As I've aged my tolerance for risk has decreased and I like having more gear. It doesn't matter now though, there are good sticks in pretty yellow ice just above me. I let out a rebel yell and run up to the the fixed anchor 15 feet above.

Pitch 3 has a bit of challenging ice climbing, but if you've made it through pitch 2 this time of year, you're going to get to the top of the Dike. There was even enough ice for 4-5 screw placements. Erik marched up vertical flows and corners into the beautiful snow covered trees at the top. Fifteen minutes later we were walking down in the warmth of the mid-day sun. Now we can both go back to rock climbing for another month, as real ice begins to form in earnest. Let's hope for a better ice season than the last one.

I vote for ice climbing.

Only kidding.  Ice climbing is fun though.  Here's a picture of Erik Eisele leading pitch 3 of the Black Dike this morning. We found good conditions throughout with plenty of ice on the final pitch.

Improvised Self Rescue

Knowing what to do when disaster strikes is an integral, and frequently overlooked component of most climber's skills training. What do I do when I drop or forget my belay device? How do I escape the belay and rescue a fallen leader? What do I do if my belayer is struck by a rock while they're belaying me?

An improvised self-rescue kit

If you can't quickly solve problems like these, but you've been a climber for several seasons it's probably time to take an improvised self rescue course. Climbing, especially climbing in the winter and in the backcountry is all about self-sufficiency and self rescue is the name of the game. 

Each and every self rescue course we offer is concise, focused and emphasizes good judgment as a way to avoid emergency scenarios in the first place.

Some of the self-rescue topics we cover:

• Single pitch self-rescue in top and base managed situations
• Multipitch leader rescue and belay escapes which focus on the complicated transitions involved in descending with an injured or incapacitated climber
• Glacier travel crevasse rescue

AMGA Single Pitch Instructor Course and Assessment

The Single Pitch Instructor Course is an introductory level guide course geared towards individuals looking to become climbing instructors or solidify their outdoor climbing skills. This 3-day course focuses on techniques and considerations needed while climbing in a single pitch environment - the type of terrain that many climbers spend nearly all of their time in.

A top-managed climbing site

This outstanding course covers base managed and top managed sites, basic improvised self rescue skills, and emphasizes the use of good decision making skills as the foundation for all climbing risk management.

Individuals interested in instructing/guiding afterward can take an additional 2-day assessment to gain a 3-year AMGA Single Pitch Instructor certification. Included in the cost of the course is the SPI Manual and a full-year AMGA membership.

The rate for this course varies by area. Please contact us for more details

Dawn Patrol

I'm in New Hampshire right now and I had a little taste of this thing the 9-5 crowd calls Dawn Patrol. I'm sure I'll be moving more slowly while guiding today, and I don't think my partner for the day will mind that.

6:27 a.m. - Leave car.
7:00 - put crampons on below first bulge in Shoestring Gully.
7:26 - Top out via the rock chimney finish.
7:58 - Return to road and head to AMC Highland Center for another coffee before meeting my client for the day.

I could get used to this.....



Posted from WordPress for Android

Toko Crag

Chris Beauchamp just emailed me a couple of photos he took during our visit to Toko Crag last week. It's steep!! For more about Chris and what he's been up to visit his website here and his blog, which shows some of his recent work.

All set up for the crux on "Unemployment Line"

Initiation

I don't have too many winter climbing partners from southern New England. Chris Beauchamp, from West Haven, Connecticut is one of my only regular winter climbing partners that doesn't live up north. He's a capable and motivated climber who enjoys mixed climbing as much as he enjoys ice.

Chris and I have been making quick two-day blasts to a few of the northern venues to climb ice and mixed routes during this very warm winter. Last Thursday and Friday Chris and I went to New Hampshire for some mixed climbing. For Chris, this trip was a sort of initiation. He'd never climbed ice in New Hampshire and was new to the technical mixed climbing on granite found throughout the Mt. Washington Valley.

Thursday morning, after enough coffee to make an elephant jittery, and with an alpine start (11 a.m.) we headed to Trollville. Trollville, in Jackson NH, is a small cliff with a number of engaging mixed and thin ice lines. A few friends had established a new, traditionally protected mixed route there the week before and I was eager to try it.

After warming up on 3 moderate ice routes we decided to try a few of the mixed routes on the main face. They're all traditionally protected, and the rock is crumbly granite. This means you can swing, scratch and scrape all you want and never worry about damaging the rock. It also means the rock is loose and protection is, at times, less than ideal. It reminds me a lot of the traditionally protected climbing found on the crags throughout the Catskills.

By the end of the day we'd climbed three routes on the main face including a spectacular thinly iced corner on the far left end (The Laminate?). Ultimately, we decided not to lead the new Eisele/Doucette route Seams Thin. There are five pitons on the route, and a few of them protect climbing near the ground. One, a small knifeblade wiggled a bit by hand, making both Chris and I nervous. Despite having straightforward M6+ climbing the fall potential felt too great. After all the new-routing I've done in the Catskills there's one thing I've learned - there's no glory in a second or third ascent, especially when it means you could hit the ground if you fall.

North Carolina climber and guide Ron Funderburke
warming up at Toko Crage

We decided to visit Toko Crag the following day. Toko Crag, in East Madison, is a small cliff with a handful of radically overhanging secure mixed climbs and a few more moderate mixed and ice lines.

Having never been to Toko Crag, we asked locals to give us the beta. After a confusing description from Bayard Russell and Elliott Gaddy over Narragansett tall boys at Flatbread we managed to procure a map of the approach.

The best beta we could get from Elliot and Bayard over beers at Flatbread

Armed with our awesome map, fruit boots, a hyperactive Labradoodle (my dog and partner in crime these days) and a witty red-headed southern boy named Ron Funderburke, we marched through the snow to Toko Crag, only to find rotten ice crashing down everywhere.

The sun swung around behind the cliff, ice stopped falling and we began working on our objective for the day - a route called Unemployment Line. After a few tries to find the good hook placements, we'd wrapped our brains around the wild one-armed swinging crux and began trying the line for real. By the end of the day we'd worked out the sequence and I'd sent the line to the top of the cliff, where the ice hangs down.

On the hike out, feeling nostalgic already, we vowed to visit again this area again. It's so much fun to crag with friends and climb steep, secure mixed climbs. Like every other climbing trip I've taken, this one ended too soon and we were sad to leave. With so much good climbing, the Mount Washington Valley is deserving of many future visits.

Cannon Goes Off!

Ice climbing is a little like surfing. An exceptional storm can create the “perfect” set of conditions. Once the word is out that conditions are good a crowd of devotees won't be far behind.

As a winter venue, Cannon Cliff only comes into shape after heavy rain followed by an intense cold snap. These conditions, which are common at either end of the season, don't last long. The sunny clear conditions that frequently accompany the post-rain cold snap are all that's needed to delaminate any thinner, climbable ice on Cannon, even if it's only fifteen degrees outside.

Last Saturday I went to Grafton Notch with my friend Erik Eisele. We got skunked; the Hackett-Tremblay, which was nearly in shape the weekend before, had literally disappeared. We spent the remainder of the day getting bouted on one of Erik's mixed projects in northern New Hampshire.

Sunday Erik went to Cannon, where he and his partner had the cliff to themselves. He took some photos throughout the day and posted them on NEIce and Facebook that evening. The photos were of a very fat Fafnir, Hassigs and Black Dike, and of Mean Streak and Omega. The routes looked healthy, a rarity during a normal season and an absolute anomaly during an almost non-existent season like the one we're currently experiencing.

By 7:30 the following morning (Monday) multiple parties had made plans to climb at Cannon on Tuesday. Michael Wejchert, Elliott Gaddy and I arrived at the Cannon parking lot at 7:30 Tuesday. There were already 5 cars in the parking lot, and while we were racking up there two more vehicles arrived.

We approached as for the Black Dike and traversed left below the cliff toward the Omega amphitheater. Near the base we bumped into Bayard Russell, Freddie Wilkinson and Matt McCormick racking up for Mean Streak. This challenging route has seen only a handful of ascents and involves continuously steep and challenging climbing.

With no one else in the amphitheater besides the party on Mean Streak we headed for Omega. Elliott, Michael and I have all tried Omega before. Not only is Omega a challenging ice climb, it's a tough route to catch in the right conditions. Like all other Cannon routes that involve thin ice climbing, getting to the climb before the sun delaminates all of the ice might be the biggest challenge. Elliott won the three-way rock-paper-scissors, and started up a rock and turf ramp to the right of the ice. The lower half of Omega rarely has enough ice to be climbable.

Rock climbing with crampons on the blank, slabby granite found at Cannon is an experience everyone should try at least once. Turn your points the wrong way and your feet will go skating off the sloped ledges. Turf shots are less abundant and always less substantial than one hopes as well, making even easy mixed climbing feel really challenging.

Elliott's lead turned out to be more challenging than it looked, and had less protection than is normally desirable. It was an impressive way to start the season. I took over at the belay and led up a fun well-protected rock pitch which ended on the halfway ledge, where the ice begins to get more abundant. Michael and Elliott were at the belay in no time.

Michael Wejchert below the crux on Omega

Michael, who's climbed more ice terrain than mixed terrain, took over at this point and led up steep thin ice to a slabby ledge above. As he stood on the ledge trying to find solid tool placements the hollow, unbonded 2-inch thick ice slab creaked and groaned. Michael decided the climbing above was more than he wanted to deal with. After a few sketchy moves back down, he was safe on the ledge. Elliott gave the pitch a go next. He climbed a few feet higher and managed to find two fixed pitons on the right wall of the corner. Above that, the thin ice of the crux was both unprotectable and not well bonded. After lowering off the two fixed pitons we decided to rappel. I didn't need to try the crux ice pitch as well to decide that leading a full pitch of hollow, unbonded ice was a risky proposition.

Safely back on the ground, we realized that not succeeding isn't the worst thing. It gives us a reason to come back, try again, and wander up what might be the East Coast's finest alpine venue.

Elliot giving the crux an attempt

Freddie, Bayard and Matt on the upper section of Mean
Streak

NOmega

It seems fitting that my ice climbing should begin and end at Cannon this season. My rock climbing season just began there too.

Omega is an ephemeral ice line, and one of the hardest "classic" lines in the northeast. It's also a rare former, and there's a good chance, if you have a regular 9-5 job you haven't done it. I'm one of the many who's never climbed it. When Omega comes in an attentive ice climber will drop whatever else they're doing and run for the cliff with the whole kitchen sink in tow, ready for anything.

This season I was almost attentive enough to be there in time. Last week, after one of those torrential cold rainstorms, where the temperature hovered near freezing the whole time, things froze in a hurry. Several lines on Cannon that have never come in before, and may never come in again formed. I was busy. Then it rained again. This second rainstorm, late last week, most likely had a net negative impact on things, even though it was a similar weather event to the prior rainstorm. The forecast last week made this past Tuesday seem like the day to go though. Michael and I made tentative plans for Tuesday and went about our our own businesses. By Sunday things were looking a bit warmer for Tuesday. Even though Monday was now looking like the better day it was going to have to be Tuesday. I was tired from a weekend of guiding and too much driving.  It's funny, just when you think you understand mountain weather you realize you don't know much at all.

Michael and I met at the parking area at 6 a.m. just as it was getting light out. We packed our kits for the day and headed off up the hill. As we rounded the buttress below Omega we were greeted by top-to-bottom ice. The lowest 100 feet of ice was little more than snow stuck to the rock and held in place by a bit of ice. It was easy to bypass this section via the rock buttress on the right. We were at the base of the "real" climbing shortly. It was then that the sun finally rounded the hillside across the notch and began to heat things up.

I started up the pitch in the blazing morning sunlight. The high was forecasted to be 26 but it was already much warmer in the sun.  Water began to run almost immediately and a barrage of small icicles from above began to rain down. After a few tries I coaxed myself through some initial rock bulges (M5-ish and way R-rated - I didn't have a full selection of pins for the job) and stepped left to the ice. I clipped a ratty pin nest and continued up rotten but climbable ice. Higher I placed two half driven 10cm screws and topped the bulge out. Another ratty gear anchor beefed up with a cam provided a nice respite from the scary climbing below. The ice was pretty rotten and already a bit delaminated. Michael followed the pitch quickly but the sun's effect was ultimately too strong for our liking. If there's one thing I've learned from experiences at the Catskills and Lake Willoughby this season it is that weakly supported ice can stick around a long time. All it takes is a little human touch to bring it all down. We decided to rappel before anything really spooky happened.

Safely back on the ground Michael and I began coiling the ropes to head over towards the Black Dike and Whitney Gilman. Halfway through our coil job a large portion of one of the climbs above (Line of Fire and Firing Line, I think) collapsed and sent us running for shelter. By this time only an hour or so after sunrise many of the smears in the Big Wall section had already disappeared.

Michael, exercising good judgment, suggested we use the warm sunlight to our advantage and take a lap on the Whitney-Gilman Ridge. I'd almost forgotten how much more laid back rock climbing is than ice climbing. The climbing, dry rock with occasional patches of snow and ice on the ledges, was more reminiscent of early summer alpine climbing in the Cascades or Alaska than New Hampshire. Warm rock and strong direct sunlight even allowed us to climb without gloves for most of the way.

A few hours later we topped out and were surprised to find that the trail off the top wasn't even packed. I guess a lack of ice at Cannon for most of the winter has kept climbers away. The trail, or lack thereof, was a good reminder that spring isn't totally here yet. We felt like moose trying to walk through inconsistent snow. He's up and walking. Now he's down. Up... and down. Still it was pleasant to be outside enjoying the sun and knowing that we were safe, sound and headed for coffee, beer and food.

With the exception of a few more guided days up in the ravines on Mt. Washington I'm going to be shelving my gear for the season. While I'm sad to see such a prolific season go I'm also excited for warm weather, rock climbing, and working on some of the website projects I've put on hold. Winter is so fleeting and such an awful time to waste.