Walking through postcards
We made it to the Khumbu! It took two attempts at boarding planes and two tries at a helicopter, but weather and mechanical issues finally allowed us to depart Kathmandu 8 hours after arriving at the airport. We ended up on a few helicopters straight to Phakding, the next major stop up the Khumbu valley from Lukla, and yesterday trekked up to Namche. All is well with me and the team is getting on well together. Today, we're taking a rest day in Namche before heading up the valley tomorrow. Namche is lovely and today, on a hike above town, we got our first views of Everest and Lhotse!Kindness
The people of the Khumbu are well known for their hospitality and kindness. Yesterday, I met a new friend, Chhiring, a Tibetan whose family fled over the Nangpa La during the 1950s at the same time as the Dalai Lama's exodus. Upon hearing of our climbing expedition, he said we needed a gift for good luck and safety. I returned today where he gave me a string that had been blessed and tied with a sacred knot by the Dalai Lama himself. I returned later in the day to buy a Tzi stone for additional safety. When I return to Namche in a few months I'll stop by his home to have lunch and yak tea with his family. Remarkable.Take care,Hari
Kathmandu
Well, it feels like I boarded my first of four flights just fifty hours ago and here I am! After living in tube-world for nearly 48 hours, it was nice to finally arrive in dusty, somewhat chaotic Kathmandu. Not so much has changed since I visited here last...a few roads are wider, but not too much on the progress front to report. I've been really busy with research tasks, errands and team activities, but things are running quite smoothly. I'm not jetlagged, staying healthy, and I have my fingers crossed to fly to Lukla in the morning.
Everest’s neighbor: A case for Lhotse
Choosing the right objective is always a huge part of climbing. The bigger the peak, the bigger those considerations. Just on a practical level, if you’re going to commit a lot of effort and a couple months towards something, you should be happy about the idea. I’m climbing what many people would call an unusual mountain this spring—there’s not a lot of attention for Everest’s slightly shorter neighbor, so I’d like to let you in on what gets me excited about Lhotse.A crash course on the world’s highest mountainsThere are fourteen 8000m (26,200ish ft) peaks in the world. Obviously, just as with Colorado’s 14ers, it’s an arbitrary cutoff. Here’s the way the elevation and difficulty breakdown of the normal (commercialized in some cases) 8000er routes looks to me:
…..big gap of nearly 1000 ft from Everest to K2…..
…..big gap of nearly 1000 ft…..Cho Oyu through Shishapangma 8000ers #6-14 are between 8200m and 8000m and vary greatly in their difficulty, remoteness, and danger.I’m pointing this out because these really is an enormous physiological difference between 8000 and 8500m. When you add in the architectural differences of these peaks, this becomes even more obvious. For example, on Everest, you need to camp at nearly 8000m on the south side and most people “camp” at 8300m, higher than the world’s 6th highest mountain, on the north side.I’m interested in exploring a type of direct interaction with the mountains. Extremely high altitude certainly isn’t my only focus, far from it, but it is pretty wild up there. Just overcoming the apathy, staying calm, plugging away and just taking care of yourself (for potentially 7-8 weeks!) sounds like it could be up my alley. So this will be my first try.Why Lhotse? Well, first off, I wouldn’t be on this trip without the Extreme Environments - Everyday Decisions research project and some huge supporters, so thanks! I’m still just a grad student, and this is the first time I’ve taken a couple months of unpaid leave to make something happen. I definitely wouldn’t be on a peak this expensive with such a quality operation without a tremendous amount of help. If you want to see some of the organizations that have helped made this possible, check out the Partners page.So, in choosing a first 8000m peak, there are some patterns that you can see. A few 8000ers have been somewhat designated as good choices…Cho Oyu, the world’s 6th highest peak being a great example. Cho Oyu has become somewhat of a primer for Everest, and a lot of commercial clients are now getting guided up Cho in the fall before an Everest summit bid the next spring. Manaslu and Shishapangma have also seen a lot of commercial attention. All of these peaks are in that 8000-8200m bracket of elevation, and something like Cho Oyu is a very straightforward technical climb. As I’ve had a “good” time on some of my previous 7000m peaks and I’m going with a great deal of commercial support, I’m feeling confident enough to try a peak that’s a bit higher. This wouldn’t matter if I were using oxygen, but we’ll get to that. I also am really drawn to slightly steeper peaks for aesthetics and enjoyment of the movement. Even though I have fairly limited technical ability, I still want this to be more than a pure snow slog.Ok, the world’s five highest peaks:Everest…In a category of its own in a lot of ways. Without oxygen though, it’s a completely different beast, even compared to Lhotse. Honestly, climbing both Lhotse and Everest was on the table (at least in my head), but after talking with my expedition leader, Lhotse became the clear choice.K2 and Kangchenjunga…Not in play for first 8000m peaks for me. We all make our own rules in climbing, but those weren’t even a consideration. This was just an honest personal assessment about my experience and willingness to take risk. I realized that I don’t even know enough to break down how I would climb those two, even though its probably possible. The more important question is if it’s right, and I know it’s not. Both are too big, too hard, too remote and have a bunch of objective dangers that I don’t know enough about at this point.Lhotse…This was the obvious decision given that our project is to study commercial operations on Everest. This allows me to be in the same base camp, climb almost the entire normal route on Everest before deviating off to Lhotse on summit day. Also, given my limited resources, Everest would have been a huge financial commitment, and I just want to go climbing for two months.Makalu…Ok, I really really would have liked to try Makalu. If I enjoy myself this spring and have a good team I’d stay open the idea. Compared with Lhotse though, it would definitely be more remote and more difficult, so I’m probably doing this in a more controlled way as it is.Commercial MountaineeringI’m probably not going to do a bunch more commercial trips…certainly not big, pricey, full-service guided trips. If I do, I’ll probably take some degree of commercial logistical and base camp support like I did last summer in the Pamir, but choose to climb with peers. I think commercial mountaineering serves some great purposes for me though. I was told by a friend not to increase more than one variable at a time in climbing. I’m trying my best to stick to that, and the bottom line is that doing Lhotse with this degree of support in place makes it a much safer and more controlled experiment. I have a lot to learn, and it'll be great to be mentored for a while.Usually, I find that the more that my partners and I handle as teammates and peers, the more rewarding the experience. In this case, I guess I have enough respect for true modern alpinism that I’m dipping my toe in the waters before jumping in. When I do what I consider real alpinism, it’s usually on peaks that are much more firmly within what I see as my capabilities. I’ve only teased it in the big mountains. If it turns out I like it, hey, I’m young and the mountains will still be there.OxygenSo, I’m adding just one variable back in. Look, it’s 2013…there’s 3G cell service up there! I’m not forgoing amazing boots, refusing to get any route information, or plugging my ears when someone is reading off the latest custom weather forecast off the internet. And we will have oxygen available…I’ll be climbing with a sherpa on oxygen, who will have an extra for me in the event that I need it. I’m not saying going without, umm, air is a good idea, but we're definitely making compromises.
Not using oxygen is an enormous difference though. Check out the graph above from Tom Hornbein, an American Everest legend. Even if these numbers aren’t exactly right, it should give us some idea. These days, it’s pretty common for people to sleep on 0.5L/min starting over 7000m and on summit day, 2L/min is a common flow rate. Some climbers will even pay for extra bottles and use 4L/min. If these curves are in the ballpark, it basically could turn the summit of Everest into a 7000m peak, perhaps lower. So for me, even though using oxygen certainly would not be easy or a guaranteed summit, I'd like the opportunity to try something I genuinely don’t know if I can do.I’m not sure I have a very crystallized opinion of oxygen use in general, and it’d be pretty pointless for me to mouth off about it since I haven’t yet been on a peak high enough to warrant its use. With regards to my own personal use of supplementary oxygen, I feel that as long as the defining attribute of the route on Lhotse is that it’s very high, I should experience the mountain for what it is. That’s my feeling with all of my other climbs, from gazing up at Longs Peak as a child and wondering just how high it was and what it was like up there to now. I don’t want to sanitize the experience. I want direct interaction with the mountains, the naked vulnerable feeling of being out there more than I want to summit.A devil’s advocate argument typically follows. Something along the lines of, “Well, you’re wearing down, isn’t that an artificial advantage? Why not go with the clothes Mallory wore? Why not climb the Kangshung Face of Everest naked?” Well, I guess because I’m not arguing anything. One of the things I like most about the mountains is the sense of true freedom, and that all possibilities are open. There are of course, certain limitations. We must not harm the environment and our wild places. We must be fair to local peoples. But those answers are beyond the scope of this discussion. Be a good person. Do what you want to do. This is me.
Getting dressed for an 8000er
[embed width="420" height="315"]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2F2WeQZ1Nng[/embed]
Assembling the Pieces
I haven't written anything in a while and it's hard to say quite why. The simple answer is that I've been busy. This quarter was spent working on a chapter of my dissertation and teaching a sophomore seminar on climate change. While writing and revising a discussion section on stable isotope records of Neogene climate and temperature change in western North America from the clay mineral smectite was as tedious as writing this sentence, the payoff for the upfront struggle was huge. I'm finishing revisions on the final required chapter of my thesis and looking forward to maintaining the momentum I have with my PhD even during the expedition. In addition to work, I moved out of my apartment before I ship off to Kathmandu (tomorrow!!), to mention nothing of expedition prep...countless meetings to coordinate with our research team on data collection protocols; a constant barrage of phone, email, and skype conversations sourcing equipment, working out expedition logistics and finances...even a five-day trip to Salt Lake City for the Outdoor Retailer show, the catch-all meeting of the outdoor industry. In short, it's been hard to even conceive of writing about mountains because I've been working so hard to pull this off, the last thing I want to do when I come home is write about climbing. Yes, just as with high altitude climbing itself, there's a lot of effort for that distant glimpse of the great unknown: Maybe, just maybe, it'll all work out and I'll briefly visit the summit of Lhotse. Regardless, I'm in for a quality adventure, an amazing cultural experience and an unforgettable season.OK, enough with the editorial...the past few months have filled me enthusiasm and strength for what's to come this spring, and it's time to fill you in on what I've been up to with this little side project. Winter rock and alpine explorationIt hasn't all been office work, schmoozing and dreaming...I've been out to climb a fair amount. Mostly small trips out rock climbing in the area, but I've made a few forays into the alpine as well. Hmm, let's see...Just after the New Year, I spent a few days up in the eastern Sierra climbing with my good friend Brad. In a little under a year, Brad has become a wonderful friend and trusted partner. Just as with a romantic relationship, it's really hard to find the right fit, and things just clicked between us. We have similar style, objectives, and get along well together, not to mention that Brad has a bit more skill and experience than I do on technical rock and ice.
On our first day, we went ice climbing up in Lee Vining Canyon, home of California's best ice. Shortly after leaving home, I realized I'd forgotten the camera (sorry!). I tried leading the first pitch of the day, which ended up being pretty hard with brittle vertical ice "dinner-plating" pretty badly. Later, we moved to an easier wall which Brad led beautifully and I had a fun time following. We then headed up on a challenging but spectacular approach into the high alpine above Bishop. We tracked up gorgeous drainages above Lake Sabrina hoping to attempt the North Face of Mount Darwin the next day. That night, my sleeping pad had developed a nuisance of a leak the night before which required me to reinflate the pad hourly to keep me insulated from the snow. After ascending a beautiful snow couloir the next morning, we soon realized that we were one drainage north of our intended summit and opted to take in the views on the Sierra crest just south of Lamarck Col and hike out. We had a hell of a bushwhack on the way out, that's all I'll say. Climbers define this as "Type II fun," a euphemism for "pleasant only in retrospect." And really, that's all I was after in preparation for this expedition..some character-building willows buried under a few feet of powder just waiting to rip a snowshoe off.
I also got out to Pinnacles National Monument with my good friend Mike to try a cool adventurous traverse of the largest feature in the park, Machete Ridge. This wild traverse on so-so rock was a great way to spend a beautiful day. I think it also has the distinction of being the only route that I've done that's a net drop in elevation--the route traverses the skyline from right to left. And certainly the crux was the mungy, poison-oak-covered descent. Good times!
Big Will
The biggest climbing project of the winter was a route Brad and I had been eyeing for a while...the Northeast Ridge of Mount Williamson, California's 2nd highest peak. I've managed to climb 14 of California's 15 14,000 ft peaks, all either in winter, solo, quickly, or via a challenging route. Williamson, however, has thwarted my advances a grand total of five times, mostly due to lack of motivation. It's just a beast. Brad and I planned on 3 days to climb out of Owens Valley and up the several miles of technical, serrated ridge to the summit. Our first day was an absolute monster. Even after stripping down the weight to what we thought were the bare essentials (Brad brought only a 32 degree bag and slept on the rope for extra insulation, I jettisoned the extra fuel and only took thin jackets), our packs were still unbearably heavy. Our ascent began by meandering through sage brush in the Owens Valley, then ascended several thousand feet of loose sand, decomposing granite and soft snow (more type II fun).
We ended up having a somewhat difficult night, as we were unable to find much of a ledge, I was feeling the altitude, and Brad was cold in his thin summer sleeping bag. The next morning, we brewed up and immediately started up the knife edge ridgeline above. This portion of the ridge was made of excellent granite and was a joy to climb. After a few technical sections, the route gave way to an easy portion of talus, then required us to climb up and over or around several prominent towers.
After nearly completing the middle portion of the ridge, we were finally staring at the huge talus slope leading to Williamson's East Horn, a 14,000ft subpeak. Beyond that, we knew we'd reach a point of no return. Feeling a bit committed as we were running low on fuel and motivation, we sat in the sun and deliberated. Both of us have "gone big" before, and both of us have bailed. As we were sitting around in the sun just feeling it out, it was clear that neither of us was going to make an impassioned plea to continue. Soon thereafter, Brad scouted and rigged a rappel to get us off the snowy ridge into a snow couloir which we glissaded and downclimbed to Bair's Creek.
Trial RunLastly, I'd been planning a run up Green Butte Ridge on Mount Shasta as the perfect trial run for myself physically and mentally. I also needed to test my updated layering system and footwear system in an alpine environment to see how things worked together. With an excellent weather and avalanche forecast this past weekend, I drove up to Bunny Flat, shocked by the lack of snow for this time of year. I settled into my sleeping bag for the evening with winds gusting to the extent that they rocked the car. By the time my 3AM alarm went off, I knew there was no point in attempting the summit--winds this high at the trailhead would mean that conditions would be unreal on the ridges. In the morning, as I was suiting up, a ranger came by and told me the winds registered 92mph at a nearby station, so I'm sure they'd be well over 100 on the ridges. I opted for a nice snowshoe up to treeline, and had a nice time testing out my footwear system and some of the other new clothing and tech items I'll use up on Lhotse.
Big Up: Announcing the Everest-Lhotse Research Expedition
"I am nothing more than a single narrow gasping lung, floating over the mists and summits" -Reinhold Messner on the first ascent of Everest without supplemental oxygen
When did it all start? Thinking back, it's hard to pinpoint a specific moment. I've definitely had defining moments hiking in the Canadian Rockies and certainly on Colorado's Longs Peak, but I sense the idea had a more subtle beginning. As early as age five, the cover of our family's copy of the world almanac started to develop a visible crease. I would repeatedly flip to the same page and scan the list of the world's highest mountains, memorizing and typing spreadsheets of the 14 peaks that reach over 8000m. I drew maps of Asia, annotated with locations of great peaks in Nepal, Pakistan and Sichuan.So when I sat down with a group of researchers with a group of researchers interested in conducting a study on decision making on 8000m peaks this spring, I didn't exactly need to do any background research. When the conversation turned to the subject of me getting support to climb and collect vital data, I had to ask repeatedly ask the obvious, "You want me to go climbing?!?"I always told myself that if I was offered the chance to climb a really big peak, I'd take it. Well, it wasn't so simple. First, I had to clear some initial hurdles: "You need to think about your priorities." My advisor wasn't trying to limit me, but rather to make sure I'd considered that there's an opportunity cost in every decision we make. Then came the talk with my parents, who have had to bear the unfair emotional burden of my climbing. I get to experience all the adventure, challenge, and connection with the natural world, all while leaving cryptic messages about stomach illness and whiteouts in my wake. After my accident last summer, I considered dropping big expeditions altogether for my family's sake.Then things turned to the reality of the trip and the complicated set of office tasks it takes to pull off a major expedition. This fall, I've taken on this side project...a part time job of sorts. I've been working tirelessly writing grants, discussing details with expedition organizers, equipment manufacturers and the like, all for a shot at a big peak. I ended up convincing the research team that climbing the West Face of Lhotse, the world's 4th highest mountain, without supplemental oxygen was the objective that spoke to me most while meeting team needs. The style and objectives of this expedition align with my interests in a way that I can put my full effort into making sure that we succeed on a number of levels. Lots more on that later. So...what are we actually doing?Extreme Environments, Everyday DecisionsThis expedition will produce the most comprehensive study of what it takes to climb the world’s highest peaks and the organizational framework necessary to return from them safely. Our research is led by Associate Professor Markus Hällgren, whose Extreme Environments – Everyday Decisions (www.tripleED.com) group examines how organizations operate in settings where the wrong decision endangers lives (he's also working on emergency rooms). The increasingly commercialized nature of high altitude mountaineering provides an excellent laboratory to examine the challenges of upholding safety in the face of changing conditions. Previous studies of decision-making at high altitudes have focused almost exclusively on disasters, while everyday organizational behavior has been largely ignored. We feel that this research will be of great value, not only to the mountaineering community but to the greater pubic, as many parallels exist between expeditions and team projects of all kinds.So I'll be part of a team of researchers documenting the entire course of an Everest expedition, starting with the preparation we've begun months ago until well after we head home in June. Several researchers will trek to base camp and conduct ethnographic interviews of climbers, expedition leaders, Sherpas and doctors. In addition, we will collect other qualitative data such as photos, video of team meetings, recording radio communications, etc. I'll be in charge of data collection on the upper mountain. While I'll be personally attempting Lhotse, I will be interviewing Everest climbers on the upper mountain, recording climbing and impromptu decisions with a helmet camera, taking field notes and research photos from some of the highest altitudes on the planet. I will also continue my work with Adventurers and Scientists for Conservation, and I'll include several climate change research projects to the expedition as well. If you want to see more about this, my work with ASC last summer was recently profiled by Outside.Stay tuned for lots more on this spring!Hari
Go Big and Go Home
Brad and I got an early start out of Jasper and headed back up towards the Columbia Icefields to try some classic multipitch ice routes. With stormy conditions and high avalanche danger, we decided to back off our big objectives, and opted to climb Louise Falls in the afternoon.
I led my hardest pitch yet, and set up a toprope over some spicy WI5 ice and a neat mixed corner. Lake Louise was quiet and peaceful during the snowstorm, except for the occasional slough of spindrift from above. On the hike out, we encountered numerous ski team members in town for the World Cup downhill event this weekend.
Primed with a week of experience, we saved the best for last...in a gorge on the north face of Mount Rundle flows a 1000 ft waterfall. Named for a Calgary professor who kept slipping off his straight-shafted ice tools, The Professor Falls is one of the undisputed classics of the range. We hit the trail well before sunrise as the approach was a long but flat walk along the banks of the Bow River. The well worn five mile trail to the base hinted to the popularity, but we had the place to ourselves. Brad started up a narrow pillar of wet chandelier ice. Drenched after placing his first screw, he decided to back off, and we hiked around and rapped off a tree to avoid the "uphill swimming."
The route from there was undeniably cool. Brad led two stout pitches while I completed the upper half of the route...some short steps and a long rope-stretcher pitch.
We contemplated the final crux pitch, but in thin, wet conditions, we decided to call it a trip and rappel the route. A few free-hanging rappels later and we were hiking out and before we knew it, we were feasting on organic flatbread pizza and soup in Canmore. It's hard to comprehend how much there is to do here. Canada, you've been a treat!
Finding our Rhythm
Brad and I are hitting a groove after a somewhat tentative start with marginal weather and an unfamiliarity with the complexities of the range. As things were warm and not yet in condition in the Banff and Canmore area, we headed north to the higher elevations of the Columbia Icefields and Jasper. The past few days have been chock full of good climbing. We typically get up well before the sunrise, climb for most of the day, and scout around before the early northern darkness sets in. Yesterday, we got quite a bit of climbing in at the world famous Weeping Wall.
In the afternoon, we made a quick run up Tangle Creek, which was a fun lead for me.
On the drive to Jasper, we saw a huge black wolf along the road, most likely following the caribou migration to Mount Edith Cavell near Jasper. This morning, we climbed the fun and classic Melt Out. Despite super cold early temperatures, we were pleasantly greeted with the first sun and blue sky we've seen in days as we climbed the upper pitches.
Tomorrow, we'll head back south towards Canmore for our last few days of the trip.
Full Circle on Thanksgiving
As a six year old, my family took a camping trip to the Canadian Rockies. An adventure to this magnificent landscape at such an impressionable age ratcheted up my interest in the mountains from likely to the inevitable. The hike to Kinney Lake at the foot of Mount Robson was perhaps the most important hike of my childhood. Robson was certainly the first truly big mountain I saw up close, and to this day, the stature of it's 8000 ft Emperor Face is as impressive as ever. In many ways, my work in earth science and progression as a climber only add to the sense of wonder I felt as a child.
Today, after a morning of ice climbing, Brad and I headed west and repeated the hike on a perfectly still afternoon. With the place to ourselves, we tracked through fresh powder along the Robson River through the stunning cedar-hemlock forest, my memories as vivid as ever.
Gazing across the partially-frozen Kinney Lake, I reflected on how thankful I am to have seen so much of the world, take adventures with friends and family I love, and work in a field I care about. The world is our playground.Be thankful.
Alberta, Alberta!
Hey from sleepy Lake Louise in the heart of the Canadian Rockies! My partner Brad from Stanford and I used some extra airline miles to get a fixing of alpine and early season ice in what is surely one of the world's greatest winter climbing destinations. The access, beauty and variety of things to do here is unmatched. A little overview of where we are:View Canadian Rockies in a larger mapLay of the LandWe flew up to Calgary on Friday morning and got some great views of the range on the flight from Vancouver.
Calgary is out on the plains just east of the Front Range, and Brad and I remarked at the similarities to Boulder. We drove west up into the mountains, reaching the nice mountain town of Canmore.
We based ourselves out of the Alpine Club of Canada hostel, which along with most things here in Canada, is tidy. The next day, we got a pre-dawn start on what we were hoping would be the Coire Dubh Integrale on Loder Peak...a classic mini-alpine and ice climb. We ended up climbing left of the route proper, on what may be a new-ish route on Door Jamb Mountain. The approach started in a dump. In such a spectacular place, weaving our way through a landfill was a funny way to start. We climbed through several short mixed ice and rock sections, and scraped our way over powder covered rocks to bypass a few tricky places.
The crux of the route was a short rock overhang, which Brad led. I thrashed my way up behind him with both packs. From there, we traversed into another drainage, climbed some fun short snow and ice sections, before taking a traversing snow ramp system to the ridge in sweltering temperatures.
As far as "ice" was concerned, we weren't sure if we'd be seeing much at least at these lower elevations. The summit ridge was beautiful, and we got great views of the nearby peaks, although in descending the ridge, we were blasted by high winds. The next day we scouted up the Icefields Parkway to the Columbia Icefield. We spotted some ice climbs, but things are still early and a bit warm here. We broke the day up by taking a nice short hike along the Saskatchewan River.
Yesterday, we got an early start on Cascade Falls, a 1000 ft ribbon of frozen ice near Banff. I led some of the easy early pitches, and for the most part, Brad and I made quick work of the fun terrain despite some moves that would make us look like the Californians we are. Thankfully, none of the hardcore locals could see us working out a few kinks in amateur hour.
Brad led the steep last pitch before we called it a day and rappelled the route. The final pitch to the top was far too thin to be in condition, but we were excited nonetheless. The rest of the day, we poked around Banff and then drove back to our hostel in Lake Louise. By the afternoon, a fair amount of snow was falling, so we took a short hike around Lake Louise, dried some gear and rested. Today, we'll take as a rest and travel day since the conditions don't seem too great. We're headed up for two nights at the Rampart Creek Hostel near the Columbia Icefields to chase some cooler temperatures and bigger peaks. Who knows how much climbing we'll be able to do as things still seem a bit early for the ice and too snowy on the big peaks, but we're having a fun time nonetheless.
Late-season Sierra rock
I've taken a few weekend trips to the Sierra before winter truly sets in. First up was Lover's Leap in the Tahoe area with Mike. We've done a fair amount together, and he's really come along as a trad follower and now climbs way harder than I do.
On Saturday, we went up a bunch of Lover's Leap moderate classics on the Hogsback and East Wall. I think Pop Bottle takes the cake as the most fun we had. On Sunday, we did a fair amount of anchor practice before Mike took the sharp end for the first time on Deception. This was also a blast and Mike did a fantastic job on his first trad lead.
Last weekend, I headed up to Yosemite to take new climbers McKee and Nick on an adventure. We met up with Zach and Emily to toprope on Glacier Point Apron and then climb the Grack.
On Sunday, we awoke and left the Valley early in the morning and started up the icy trail towards Cathedral Peak in Tuolumne. By mid-morning it was warm, but the substantial amount of snow and the expansive views gave the high country a winter feel.
We roped up covering snow and slabs to the knife-edge ridge between Cathedral and Eichorn Pinnacle. Zach made a nice lead around the corner while I finished the spectacular short route. A wild rappel brought us all back together. We descended during a spectacular sunset and we reached the cars as darkness set in. Thanks everyone for the mountain fun!
Environmental and Geological Field Studies in the Rockies!
Complete photos here:SoCo 2012 Following the intense summer trip, I was happy to get back outside for one of my favorite trips. Every September, I help teach a field course for sophomores. My advisor, Page Chamberlain, has been leading these trips for 25 years.
Still culture-shocked and with a lot to chew on after my Mongolia and Pamir expedition, I drove out with several other teaching assistants from California to Salt Lake where our trip begins.
The trip goes by in thirds. During the first week, we hiked in to a base camp in the Wind River Range and taught orienteering, geologic mapping, early earth history and the carbon cycle.
During the second portion of the trip, we camped in Grand Teton National Park, and studied stream chemistry, plate tectonics and the evolution of western North America. We spent a few days doing roadside geology in Yellowstone.
I also managed to squeeze in a couple fun, easy climbs in the Tetons during our short break in Jackson. First, I headed with Dan, who'd climbed the Grand Teton last year with me, and Jake up Cube Point above Jenny Lake.
The next day, Annalisa and I got an early start to climb Teewinot Mountain. In the crisp darkness, we hiked between herds of bugling elk, before alpenglow lit up the world around us. As we ascended, we left the awful smoke from the many nearby fires. A few hours of climbing and scrambling on steep but clean rock brought us to Teewinot's summit...such a small perch beneath the Grand Teton and Mount Owen that only one of us could stand on top at once.
The last part of the trip has historically gone to the rough miner town of Cooke City, MT, just outside of Yellowstone, but this year we tried something new. The group went to the Sage Creek Basin in southwestern Montana to see the type of research we do. We ended up going to several areas we've studied in the past, and students helped collect samples that will contribute to our ongoing efforts to better constrain the history of climate and topography in North America.
And as always, we brought instruments and played some good music. It was so wonderful to get some time to camp in a less stressful setting than this summer with a great group of TAs and students. Thanks guys!
Summer 2012 Wrapup and Photos
I made it back to the US without much of a hitch, but almost immediately went right back out into the field. So at last, here are full photo galleries and trip reports from Mongolia, Kyrgyzstan and Tajikistan. I'll start with photos and narratives from the Gobi and the Altai:Very Best of Mongolia After paleoclimate research in Mongolia, I headed to the Snow Leopard Peaks of the Pamir. First up was Lenin Peak in southern Kyrgyzstan.Complete photos from Kyrgyzstan:Very Best of Kyrgyzstan For narratives of my experience there, see:BishkekInnocence Lost on LeninFrom Lenin, I crossed over Karamyk Pass into Tajikistan.Complete Photos:Very Best of Tajikistan And trip reports:TajikistanMoskvin Glacier and AcclimatizationKorzhenevskaya in a Day SoloPik Kommunizma: Too Heavy
Dushanbe
Thankfully, the weather cooperated and we were able to get the helicopter back to Jergatol on the 18th. We then made the day's drive to Dushanbe. The heat and humidity were welcome for everyone's frostnipped digits. Cuts can finally heal after weeks of stagnation up high. I'm thoroughly ready to head home. Dushanbe is beautiful, if not oppressively hot, but things here are as dysfunctional as ever and everyone is trying to rip us off. Nonetheless, there's a wonderful group of climbers from all over the world down here and we're all enjoying some relaxation together before our flight tomorrow.
____________________________________________________________________Thanks to everyone who followed this summer's trip. A few specific thank yous:Mike Mellenthin for so much help with the websiteDragos, Gregg and everyone at ASC:
The American Alpine Club for support:
Pik Kommunizma: Too Heavy
I set off Tuesday morning for Somoni, formerly Peak Communism, the highest in the former Soviet Union. After breakfast, my friend Laurent from Luxembourg and I hiked a couple miles along the Walter glacier to advanced base camp. The way, much better worn than when I climbed Vorobiova a few weeks back, is still tricky…mostly rubble-hopping. Laurent then accompanied me part of the way across the glacier towards the infamous “Ramp,” a hanging glacier threatened by seracs above. We parted ways and I quickly put my crampons on and raced across to the base of a rotten rock buttress marking the bottom of the Borodkin spur.
I climbed steadily through the rotten rock, which at times became steep and fun scrambling. By early afternoon, I’d reached camp two, at 17,400 ft. From here, the route followed steady snow up a meandering ridge to 20,500 ft. Unfortunately, tracks from the large previous group were obscured, and fixed ropes were mostly buried. I plodded up variable snow, sometimes providing purchase, sometimes leaving me to plunge through. Though I was feeling relatively good, I knew the snow conditions weren’t going to allow me to reach the plateau at the top of the buttress, so I started hurrying to the 5800m (19,000 ft) camp before darkness fell. I made it to camp and quickly stomped out a tent platform before getting started melting snow and drying my boots.
The next day was surprisingly warm. By the time I finished packing up and boiling water, I was in just my base layer. Progress began impossibly slowly. I traversed to the right of some seracs, and had an incredibly frustrating time climbing a steeper section of absolutely bottomless snow. A few meters above, I reached the endless gentle slopes leading to the plateau. Unfortunately, the snow conditions were even worse. I took out the GPS and realized that I’d spent over two hours covering just 100m. After a few breaks, and some futile traverses across the broad rib looking for better snow, I decided to descend. I only had two more full days before I needed to be back in base camp, and the task ahead simply wasn’t a one-man job. I was just below 6000m. The route above meant crossing the almost certainly untracked and soft plateau, then the brutal slopes of Peak Dushanbe and the final stretch to the summit 1500m above. A huge team of over 10 had been thrashing up the mountain for nearly a week before me still without success. With little fanfare, I started back down the Borodkin.
_________________________________________________________________________BOOM! My head jerked to the right, expecting to see one of the huge seracs avalanching over the ramp. It really sounded like an explosion, but I knew better. Instantly, my other senses confirmed the obvious: several tons of ice and I were in free fall. The fall seemed to last forever. Every few meters, we would hit something, then continue collapsing. With each bump, I reassessed and changed strategy, somehow managing to stay mostly upright as I plunged deeper and deeper into darkness. Near the end of the ride, things took a big turn for the worse. Microwave-sized blocks of ice closed in on me, crushing first my legs and back, and then, my head. As we fell together, I fought, punching upwards with all my might. After an eternity, the motion stopped, and the ice closed in.
I opened my eyes and was able to make out my right arm buried in the ice. I thrashed and yelled, clearing ice blocks away from my head. Remarkably, I wasn’t in any pain, though at this point, I wasn’t sure how much the adrenaline was masking. I worked more methodically to unbury my torso and legs. Only then could I grasp the scene. Above were two enormous patches of sky surrounded by overhanging ice. Quickly, senses returned. Still covered in wet snow, I began to shiver, and desperately scrambled to get the down mittens on. I picked up my glacier glasses, knocked free during the fall, and dug out a trekking pole from underneath a block of ice. I climbed the blocky ramp to the nearest ice hole, but turned back after seeing the fairly technical exit I slowly and cautiously traversed back into the depths of the crevasse, aware that things could still give out at any time. A simple ice ramp led out, and I quickly frontpointed up into the sunshine.
A few meters from the edge, I took my pack off and assessed the scene. I’d been unbelievably lucky. An enormous gash swept across the face. Another giant hole opened up to the left of a pathetic remnant snow bridge. My tracks led sickeningly into the void. In all, I’d survived a sixty to seventy foot fall, unroped, solo and helmetless without a scratch. Managing to unbury myself and climb out only adds to the miraculous nature of the accident.
I swiftly descended more awful snow to the top of the rock buttress. There, I was able to raise base camp on the radio for the 1PM emergency check-in. I let them know of the situation and that I was descending. I’m not sure Igor grasped the severity of what happened: “OK, understand.” I descended the rock section methodically, and took a quick break at the top of the dreadful ramp. The thought of crossing it alone in the heat of the day was sickening. Rockfall near the start was almost constant. The snow bridges were rotten and awful. I traversed avalanche debris ever closer to the base of the wall to avoid the worst of the crevasses. I ran across the ramp in 18 minutes, and didn’t really feel at rest until I’d reached ABC on the other side of the Walter.
I briskly boulder-hopped back to base camp in an uneventful hour. At camp, I dropped my pack and met Alex, my French friend who’d seen the whole thing. Several climbers in base camp had been monitoring my progress, and they saw the plume of snow and crevasse open. As I gazed back up the Borodkin, my new gash smirked back as if to say, “It should have been.”
I’ve been climbing quite a while and I’ve never had an accident. Or should I say I’ve had one. Just to set a few things into place: I was climbing unroped on a section where this was common practice. Being alone didn’t make me fall into the crevasse but it certainly did have implications. The helmet was in my pack because I’d bypassed the areas threatened by rock and icefall.I think this may have been the hottest day of the season. The same heat that made the snow conditions terrible for my ascent likely contributed to the unusual breaking of such an enormous snow bridge. In all, I sense that the Pamir may be more dangerous than normal this year. There was a tremendous amount of snow last winter, and it continues to snow quite a bit this summer.I consider myself fairly safety conscious, and I’ve never taken a fall on snow or a lead fall on rock. The mountains involve many calculated risks, but I’ve never been so caught by surprise. It’s quite premature for me to discuss risk in mountaineering, but I’ll put a few thoughts down. I love the mountains. I’m not willing to die for a summit, but also unwilling to insulate myself from adventure, uncertainty and physical challenge. Mountains provide a particularly potent dose of reality from time to time, but those dangerous moments are always there even if we’re frequently kept in the dark about them. Walking back from lunch in Ann Arbor in April, a gust of wind knocked over a street light that shattered in my path. Urban life often conceals the true precariousness of life. No one says mountaineering isn’t dangerous. I’m very much aware that I may have a love for something that doesn’t love me back. Perhaps soloing 7000m peaks is a particularly committing and reckless way to explore, and it’s not something I necessarily intended to continue. I feel like I’m risking getting a bit defensive, and things are so fresh in my mind I don’t know if it’s worth it to say more. For the time being, I’m just going to enjoy what I have here, work a bit on my manuscript, and wait for the helicopter in a few days. My Pamir trip is over. It was a wild and wonderful ride.Take care,Hari
Korzhenevskaya. 23,311 ft. 23 hours. Solo-ish.
At last, I’m climbing the world's greatest mountains in my own style. I'd been meticulously planning on a dayclimb of Korzhenevskaya for over a year (mostly in secret from those who care about me most). I've assembled all the pieces necessary to have a great time in the mountains and leave the heavy pack behind. My acclimatization trip last week was also to scout and prep the route for yesterday’s big day. After waiting out a week of snow, and with all the pieces in place, I pounced. Things went quite well, although there were some significant changes to my plan.I pitched a tent on the other side of the Moskvin Glacier from base camp. I didn’t want to waste a bunch of time wandering the convoluted, crevassed rubble pile in the middle of the night. The gravel and sand over the ice has quite a knack for making even the most graceful climbers look like complete novices. One section on my acclimatization climb was shin deep and had the consistency of wet concrete. Furthermore, I’d stashed my boots and crampons up at camp one, so I’d be starting the climb in an old, beat-up pair of 5 oz road racing flats (Stanford team issued Katana Racers for those of you in the know).
The night before there was quite a bit of drama around the kitchen. The food here has been pretty rough…most in base camp have been sick and some people have been nothing but sick. I’ve even been hassled for days about asking for clean drinking water (it usually has a strong taste of soot as it’s boiled with wood). Anyhow, I learned that some others had complained much more seriously, and mentioned things on behalf of the few of us vegetarians, as our food is usually cooked with meat. This ended with me passive-aggressively being served a plate of plain burnt rice nearly an hour late. So much for crossing the glacier in daylight. I made quick work of the section to my tent and actually had quite little trouble routefinding. My shoes got a little wet, but I had three other pairs of socks for the summit day.
11:45 PM. The alarm went off viciously early. I only had about two hours of sleep, but sprung into action, quickly polishing off a gel and a handful of pretzels for breakfast and throwing the last few items into my pack. The route to camp one at 5100m (16,800 ft) is kind’ve a mess of use trails, moraine and talus. I’d really worked on memorizing the route, but I only had eyes on the trail once before. My visualization of unique rocks from multiple sides paid off, and I quickly made it to the 15,400 ft saddle without missing any of the critical ledge traverses. The route from there traverses more ledges and narrow dirt paths before dropping down to a few streams at the toe of a huge glacier. I kept my distance from the glacier, which constantly avalanches rock, and headed up the use trail on its left without event. I was practically running, reaching camp one in about an hour. There, I quickly found my gear cache, put on fresh socks and my climbing boots while eating and drinking a bit more. I carried my crampons a few hundred meters before strapping them on and setting off up the rotten couloir up to the 5300m camp. I was pleasantly surprised that the recent snowfall had made the route quite a bit more straightforward, and I crunched up the perfect early morning neve. Above 5300m, I opted to try a more direct route than I’d tried before, going to 5600m and then climbing directly up the face to 6100m. Unfortunately, upon reaching the 5600m camp, I missed the track to the base of the route, and was sent wandering across the face to the 5800m (19,000 ft) camp. Even more unfortunate was that no one had traversed back across the face to 6100m (20,200 ft), leaving me the unpleasant task of plunging through waist-deep snow alone in the dark. I eventually made it to the track at the base of Korzhenevskaya’s rock wall, and climbed steadily up to the 20,200 ft camp marking the base of the summit ridge.
I made great time and hit the camp just at the very welcome sunrise. I removed my boots to massage my frozen toes and put on fresh socks. Things started to get bogged down when I looked for my gear cache, which I’d left well-secured a week earlier. After an hour of shoveling and probing with my axe, I’m fairly sure that a lot of my essential climbing equipment has been stolen. We’ll see what happens in the coming days, but I really would have liked my food, stove (for water) and down jacket. Quite a bit else is missing too, most of which I can borrow if I try Communism. Anyhow, this left me with about a liter and a half of water and some crackers. I turned my attention to the cliff above camp, climbing the mixed rock and snow (without my harness and gear…stolen) with relative ease. Quite quickly, I reached the 6400m (21,000 ft) high camp that nearly everyone uses for their summit bid. There, I met some members of the Russian 7 Summits Club team, and said hi to a friend, their guide Dimitri. We ended up sticking relatively close for the first few hundred meters, and I briefly roped up with Dimitri so we could check a route around a crevasse. For this reason, I hesitate to call my climb a solo. Even though I traveled independently throughout and was alone below 21,000 ft, there were certainly others along the route.
The summit ridge of Korzhenevskaya is quite beautiful. The surroundings are absolutely breathtaking, and the ridge winds up over several prominent snow towers before reaching the rocky summit. I could see a large group ahead making painstakingly slow progress on the first tower, my summit hopes plummeted. I simply didn’t have the time or energy to contribute much to this painstaking work. I couldn’t risk a night out, especially without the gear from my high cache. I took what I figured was a reasonable, if not selfish, action: I laid down and rested. Towards the end of the summit day, I managed to close the gap again in an attempt to help break trail, but by that point, the conditions had improved and the large group, including friends Boris, Laurent (Lux), Achim (Ger), Olga (Rus) topped out just before me.
Approaching the summit of 7000m peaks, in my limited experience, really highlights the differences of these extreme altitudes. Operating up to 6000m (20,000 ft) can be difficult, but is quite manageable when acclimatized. I felt fantastic and was really cruising up to 20,000 on Korzhenevskaya. But up over 21-22,000 ft, it’s just so easy to get out of control with your breathing. Effort skyrockets. Putting together a series of steps is quite an ordeal. And it’s amazing, upon descent, energy and normality return as quickly as they left. I’ve quite a few done huge days like this in the Sierra, but this was my first time climbing over 9000 ft of vertical at such high elevations. I found the return of energy as the day went on quite unusual, but I simply had more oxygen available. I made it down to 6100m in a couple hours, where I met my French and French Canadian friends who forced delicious tea, fruit and cheesy mashed potatoes on me. Perfect dinner timing! This time, I found the way down to 5600m without too much trouble, and descended the fixed lines down the steep ice face with a few arm wraps as darkness fell. I slogged out to the 5300 and eventually the 5100m camp, where I reached my lower gear cache and had a handful of snacks and the last of my water before heading down.
By this point, sleep deprivation was starting to set in. The funny flickers of light that are the onset of hallucinations started becoming more and more vivid. At one point, I mistook a small rock for a critter. Spotting the cairns marking the faint trail became more and more difficult. I promptly lost the trail and found myself descending awful loose rock over ice into oblivion. I find these situations extremely challenging, and I've had a few of these experiences during 22-26ish hour climbs in the Sierra. They’re not good because you just want to sleep and you can still get hurt. My sense of balance was downright poor. After quite a while, I reached the toe of the glacier…ok, simple trail back to the pass and down the other side to the tent. I must have overshot the crossing, but I wisened up to the fact that I was simply descending a steepening drainage late in the night with a weakening headlamp battery and less than half a moon to help out. I stopped by the creek, drank some unfiltered water, had a snack and contemplated my options. I seriously considered bivying even though my tent was only an hour’s walk away if I could just find the trail. After some slow, pathetic reasoning, I realized that if I ascended the drainage, I’d certainly arrive at the glacier. “Because that’s the way it works,” I slurred out loud. I re-ascended a very painful few hundred meters before spotting the trail. After the cliffs on the other side of the pass, I lost the trail again, but this time, the navigation was much easier and I just beelined it for the last creek crossing. I imagined that the reflective tape of my tent was another climber’s headlamp and promptly passed out inside.
This morning I hastily packed and made the quick glacier crossing back to base camp in time for breakfast. Camp is basically deserted, with a huge team of 15 or so on Peak Communism and nearly everyone else on Korzhenevskaya. I’ll rest for a bit and contemplate my options. I’m healthy, and a little sleepy, but not really sore or tired after my climb…just the way it should be.
Alps Page Published
My first trip outside North America was to teach an earth science course in Europe. Afterwards, I made sure to visit the Tour de France and visit Chamonix, the home of alpinism, and Zermatt for an attempt on the Matterhorn. Full trip report here.
Shasta Trip Report Posted
One of my best days ever in the mountains was a winter solo of Shasta's Casaval Ridge. Full trip report and pictures here.
Moskvin Glacier and Acclimatization
Hey everyone,We actually get some shaky internet and occasional Russian coverage of the Olympics here in base camp. It's a funny mixture of luxury and chaos. Most of the camp has had a pretty nasty stomach illness go around from bad food at base camp. Hopefully my bout a few days ago will be the last.A few days back, I went up Korzhenevskaya to scout the lower part of the route and acclimatize. On the first day, I climbed to about 16,800 over awful loose rock, moraine and glacier to camp one. The next day, went up rotten ice and deep, wet snow to a camp at around 19,000 ft. Yesterday, I climbed to the corner at the base of the summit ridge at 20,200 ft and descended to base camp, caching some gear along the way. I'm pleased that after my time on Lenin, things here appear to be going more smoothly with regards to the altitude, and I should be ready to go higher after resting a bit.Take care,Hari
