Canadian Ice

Tanja Schmitt on la Goutte - picture © Matthias Scherer

This years ice conditions in the Rocky Mountains has been- and still are- outrageous good, with first ice  already shaped and climbed in the beginning of October.

Matthias, Heike and me arrived 21th October and climbed 30 days out there. Amongst all our climbs I picked the three climbs which mattered the most to me, Nemesis, as a  yearly season starter, La Goutte WI 6+ as an incredibly aesthetic, very seldom formed double pillar  near the famous Throphy Wall and French Reality on the Stanley Headwall because of the wild composition of demanding mixed climbing on own gear in the first part and an incredible iceline in the second part, and described how I experienced them. All those climbs where  Seasons first ascents.

Ice © Tanja Schmitt

The darkness is surrounding us once again as we roam through a seemingly timeless wilderness with the sharp shapes of smooth mountains looming untouched from a yonder sky and dark dense forests unrolling over vast, endless corridors.

The cold crystal air seems to freeze the landscape tight. Time seems abandoned, excluded as seems  the roaming of men. ‘This is the world since the beginning of time, when the gods were young and the earth a mystery  .’ I think while me, Heike and Matthias float like a space shuttle in high vacuum, weightless and silent.

I know I’m just floating in those fogged up realms of morning sleepiness, the world of twighlight where in all those unshaped realities all is possible. But soon the cold, exposure and the weight on my crampons are going to push aside all drowsiness and will form an unforgiving, unquestioned Reality.

Stanley Headwall, Nemesis SFA*

“Do we have time  for another Coffe or are we rolling?” My twin is already nestling at her iceclimbing boots behind the car seat. Her eyes are as sleep deprived as are mine, and she is far from a chatty mood. We both  need a g.-damn Coffee, and fast! Whatever ‘the general’ thinks we are going to have a cup anyway before we start, even if it will cost us another five minutes.

With a still black sun on the horizon we load our backpacks and depart into the shadows of a dense forest, the sound of our boots striking in unison, covering the silence. These are the mornings, a deep silence, the cool breath from under the hood, a steady heartbeat measuring the time.

Our  attempt for first ice on the Stanley Headwall falls on October, 25th. The snowpack is moderate, ice is filling up the massive Headwall, all big lines are in the process of forming.This is Stanley Headwall:  Massive Rock, sketchy avalanche terrain, always scary uncanny*** ice. More than 11  routes are established here, each one a test piece. Every Route here has its history, infact IS history. Routes on Stanley are serious. The names seem absurd and overdramatised - as long as you don’t find yourself in those realities: Killer Pillar, Suffer Machine, Nemesis, Nightmare and Wolf street, French Reality...

Stanley Headwall picture © Tanja Schmitt

Our objective for a good start into the season is the only pure ice line here: Nemesis, looming enticingly on the wall, threatening with her severe name : ‘the winged balancer of life, dark- faced goddess, daughter of justice’. ** In the beginning of the season she can be rough and relentless...

Over the year we have climbed her more than ten times, nearly always as SFA, it was here that Steve and Matthias supported me up the whole route as a SFA 5 years ago. She gets considerably easier over the season when she grows fat, but in the start of the season Nemesis is always sketchy.

It only takes one strike with the ice tool and a whole universe is back in an instant. Freshly formed, partly brittle and thin ice  combined with upcoming icy winds blasts us back into the chaotic cosmos of ice which will be our universe for the next weeks.

We’ve come to the Rockies the earliest possible,  when the icefalls are just on the brink of being entirely formed. The ice is therefore always skinny, brittle, unattached, scetchy. The seasons first ascents are never given easily. It’s not only the climbing process itself which challenges, but also the judgement in the fore-field. Being the first attempting an iceclimb in an arising season has all the qualities of pioneering, where doubt, danger and daringness are foremost controlling the game. The fact of no one having been before  in a climb arises the outrageous question: can it be done? Once an iceclimb is done the  knowledge that it can be done will resonate in every other climber: cause what one human being can do, another one can do. 

La Goutte  WI 6+ SFA

Many days filled with long ascends and long ice climbs, and much Drytooling in between have passed and we’ve gotten adjusted to our surroundings and our doings. We live and breath iceclimbing and the cosmos of winter. 

We are rolling on the Highway Nr.1  and always our sight gets drawn to the Terminator wall, no way to ignore those impressive ice lines. The last years however, they were very seldom in attracting conditions. But we can observe “La Goutte” WI 6+ slowly touching ground.

La Goutte picture © Tanja Schmitt

Very early on November 21th the decision to go has irrevocably fallen. We start the long walk on the closed golf course road, we pass the meandering Bow river, dark, slow, ancient, and soon immerse into the dense forest on our right. There is a small path but its not always obvious and we scramble and search for a smooth way up the wall. After a considerable time (more than 2 and a half hours) we reach the Terminator wall and have a first good view on La Goutte. We rest, drink some hot water and debate about the best way to reach the fall. There is iced up, unstable edgy terrain to cross before we reach the fall. After some more down and up climbing we stand before la Goutte. It has been Matthias climb on “Buddha Nature”the last day, so its clear that Heike and me are on the front line today. Since La Goutte has been on Heikes list for forever, she’s the one who goes in for the first pitch. The candle is huge and untouched. Heike climbs up the first meter fast and determined. I am standing behind the candle and take pictures as I watch her move. No words are spoken. There is a tight tension as none of us know how the cold has effected the ice quality. High up on the pillar Heike places a first screw and I relax a bit. Still the journey is far from over: on the end of the pillar there are huge medusas blocking the way up. Heike traverses to the right onto a free-hanging icicle and then smoothly climbs up the last section. We follow up. Relieved.

Then its my term to go. I have no idea what to expect from the second pitch, from afar it was hard to judge the situation. Standing right before the pillar now, the dimensions change and the pillar looks huge. I start climbing up the utterly hard and thin ice curtain from the side. The traverse to the outer side is delicate. The next section is formed out of totally chandeliered ice, one layer barley attached to the other. There is no way to protect this pitch as I scratch my way up through uncanny*** placements. High up the climb the ice gets better and I can place a good screw. From here its not long anymore to the top, where I can build a good belay. I’m relieved and totally excited at the same time and cant wait until the team comes up. High five and then we abseil the climb and repack our stuff. It’s a long way down again, but my twin and me sink deeply in our thoughts, reliving those intense moments of that climb burning now in us. Those are scarce moments of peacefulness and contentment, and I try to honour them.

French Reality SFA

The Stanley Headwall remains silent, there is not much climbing going on this year yet. We watch the icefalls closely on a regular basis. On December the first we walk up the small path to the Stanley in utter darkness. It is cold, on the parking place the temps have shown minus 19 degree Celsius. With each breath we can feel the crystal cold. The trace on the upper snow slope is already in, we’ve attempted French Reality five days before. The track is there from us, leading through a heavily loaded  snow pack. We will be much faster today, keen to finish French Reality.

Heike sets out for the first mixed climbing part. The ice is thin and hardly attached. Some delicate movements later she is on the first belay and secures us up. The next pitch will be no piece of cake. Every movement means scratching on small minute rock placements and thin, questionable ice sheets. The protection is scarce and hard to get in. Far up  Heike is hammering in a piton. Than she overcomes the last section of an iced up chimney. We follow up and clean the route.

My turn for the ice part. I order my screws and make sure to have the short ones on place. I’ll climb over the first bulk of ice and get a first closer look on the giant icicles. I also get a first impression of the ice quality: not so good! I stand on a solid balcony and face giant teeth on the left as well as on the right of me. Neither of those icicles are looking good. There are not any traces of previous climbers. No one has been here this season. I do not wonder why.

My first action is to place  two  long, 22cm ice screws into the ground.Then I force myself to deepen my breathing as I let my view wander up to the next part of the climb. The icicles rising menacingly up are barley attached to this base and kind of hanging free, a way too thin for my taste. Two thin layers of ice seemed attached over each other, but the whole construction looks uncanny. 

I feel a deep coldness unsettling in myself. This is serious. My body reacts with intensity while my mind stays cool, focussing on the more solid ice on the upper sections. 12 meters or so until the ice will be more solid. Until then the game will be on. I look down on my peers, seemingly having utter trust in me. 

I start the cleaning process. With careful impact I strike against the icicles who would otherwise split uncontrolled in the process of climbing. They erupt easily, exploding to my slightest stroke, falling down in utter swiftness. I watch them disappear into the void. Not pleased at all.

I know its time for the next move: either withdraw or climb - there is nothing to wait for. The moment I step on the icicle nothing counts anymore, nothing exists, the world appears avoid of any thing, slowing down, only my next move will  matter, only this will be real to me...

I swing my tools, swiftly, carefully, hammering  precisely until I feel the blade catch hold. The sound echoing is unsettling, it respires hollowness, reflected by a deep chasm, sharp and fierce. The ice is so cold it resembles concrete, but I know its far from solid. Too high an impact and it breaks. The situation is unnerving. I feel my power getting drained with each stroke. The ice is slightly overhanging and sucking out numberless energy each second. After a gained placement I shake my arms, desperately trying to economise my energy. I’ve dry tooled many sessions over the last time, but this is different. Finally I dare to place my first short screw. On my right side appears a small bubble of ice, unattached to the icicle. I put in a 13mm for a mind calmer and go on. From down at the belay there is my team pretending normality. I hear their encouragement, “Allez” . I battle my way further up,  in an seemingly endless long section of unprotectable ice. After 15 meter the ice gets considerable easier. As I achieve the upper part, the climb gets better, the danger is over, it just remain strenuous with arms empty and drained. I reach the climbs end with the last meter of the ropes and no extra ice screws left. I build a solid belay and secure the team up.

The climb is over.

But it’s  echoing has just begun.

I don’t feel the cold anymore, the blood is rushing in swift tides through my body. This has been it. This has been the journey into timelessness, in this cold and fragile realms,  I’ve dived into the unimportance of time, through the ancient battle of men, where the world we know is touching the pool of unshaped, unseen past and future realities, scratching the surface of the ‘now’, and the ‘here’ and the ‘me’, 

And again I feel weightless and silent. And again, I know - this new memory will linger in the twilight of another morning, where in all those unshaped realities, all is possible.

special thanks to my sponsors:

Petzl Norrøna La Sportiva gloryfy

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Footnotes:

* SFA “ seasons First ascend”  include not only a lot of cleaning, way finding and hard work for placements but also the knowledge and experience to judge an icefall  formed sufficiently and ready for climbing

** Quote from the poet Mesomedes of Crete, early 2nd century.    

*** uncanny 

The British Journal of Aesthetics, Volume 59, Issue 1, January 2019, Pages 51–65, Published: 28 August 2018 I propose a definition of the uncanny: an anxious uncertainty about what is real caused by an apparent impossibility. First, I outline the relevance of the uncanny to art and aesthetics. Second, I disambiguate theoretical uses of ‘uncanny’ and establish the sense of the term that I am interested in—namely, an emotional state (a kind of anxiety) directed towards particular objects in the world which are characteristically eerie, creepy, and weird. Third(…),

Canadian Rockies © Tanja Schmitt