Tag Archives: ice climbing

M is for Munter (how to tie one), Mountains, Lady Mac, and Mixed Climbing

M is for mixed climbing, Munter and … and maybe mountains… and what about multi-pitches… Keep scrolling down if you want to get to the good part (the Munter video!)

On the first day of this challenge I was pretty sure I could dredge up something to say about climbing for each day of the alphabet… on about day five (E is for whatever E was for… M might also be about memory, or lack thereof…) I was feeling pretty panicky. I mean, you can only say so much about going up and not falling off, right? Well today I’m sitting here looking at my shortlist of M-words and I’m thinking that if I’m not careful this could develop into a long blog post!

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Me trying something waaaaaay too hard in the mixed climbing department. Sometimes you have to go past your limit to find the line in the sand… rock… ice… wherever. In this case, the line was about as high as you see here – just low enough, in fact that each time I fell off (many times) the rope stretch allowed me to gently hit the ground. With my backside.  

I’ll start with mixed climbing, a sub-genre of the climbing activity about which I had no idea before this past winter. In the vertical world in the dead of winter two solid forms (ice and rock) come together in the mountains. Climbing when you wind up transitioning from one to the other (and sometimes back again) is known as mixed climbing. The tools used are similar to ice climbing, but look closely and small difference begin to emerge.

Crampon points, for example. On a straight ice climb two front points give you a wider, more secure base upon which to perch (though, there are those who climb ice quite handily with mono-points). If there’s going to be a lot of rock on the route, though, it’s actually easier to climb with a mono-point, a single front prong. This is because the plane of the rock is very rarely exactly perpendicular to your foot placement. Unlike in ice where you can kick your foot in to create a more or less even distribution of weight over both points, on the rock, more likely you are going to carefully place your single point into an indent, small hole, or on a modest lip of rock. The chances of said placement point being exactly wide/deep/level/spaced to accommodate two fixed points on the front of your boot is slim.

Likewise, the blades of your ice tools can be swapped out with sturdier, less razor sharp options being better for rock than for ice. Fabio has a tool kit in the car especially for the purpose of swapping out pointy bits to best suit conditions.

Though both sections (rock and ice) of a mixed climb can be hard, sometimes the transitions between one and the other provides a particularly tricky challenge.

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Me transitioning between rock and ice at Haffner Creek earlier this season…

 

The Mighty Munter Hitch (Or, Italian Belay Knot)

A Munter hitch is named after Werner Munter, a Swiss mountain guide born in 1941 (though, the Italians were using it before Herr Munter, which is why it’s also known as an Italian hitch or Italian Belay). The knot is a bit like a clove hitch and can be used to belay a climber if you have a handy carabiner. What’s coolest about the knot is the way it’s sort of reversible – flipped in one direction it can be used like a brake (say when your buddy has fallen into a crevasse, you’ve stopped the fall by walloping your ice axe into the glacier and then throwing your body weight on top of the ax, and then you need to stop your friend from slithering deeper into said crevasse… After quickly building an anchor – and the thought of having to do this with gloves on and while sitting on my ice axe is nothing short of horrifying – you would then use a Munter to secure the rope leading to your fallen friend… well, not exactly – first you have to take the weight off the rope by transferring the weight of the climber to the newly built anchor… gads. That was meant to be a simple aside. Turns out it might need to be a whole other blog post.) Flip the same knot upside down and you can use it to belay your friend, letting out slack to lower her to a handy shelf or taking in slack as she climbs up and out of the crevasse.

Here’s my handy dandy how-to guide (and specially produced video!! Thanks to Fabio for being a Munter model…)

How to Tie a Munter Hitch

Step 1: Make a loop in the bit of rope that leads to the fallen climber. The end leading to the climber goes underneath.

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Step 2: Make another loop in the end of the rope that leads to your excess pile of rope (the end away from the climber). The excess end goes over the top.

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Step 3: Fold the rope in the middle to bring two loops together.

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Step 4: Insert a carabiner (preferably a nice big pear-shaped carabiner) through both loops.munter 4.jpg

Depending how the knot is oriented (which was much easier to show in the video), you can either belay (play out rope) or stop the rope from running. Now you have to watch the video, to see what I mean about flipping the knot’s orientation… Trust me. This will be the sexiest 90 seconds of knot tying you have ever had the pleasure of watching… there’s even music.

 

Mountains: I’m just going to throw the word in here because the entire world of rock climbing would disappear without them…

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Here’s one of my favourites, the iconic Mount Rundle in the Rockies. The first mountain I ever lived on was the more diminutive Tunnel Mountain, which reminded me of a round-backed hedgehog-like animal sleeping in a bucolic valley surrounded by unfriendly giants. As a kid I hiked up the Banff side of Tunnel on various occasions and, because our house was on the lower flank of this modest lump, spent many hours building forts, exploring, and playing hide and seek in the forest behind our house. It wasn’t until last summer, though, that I had the chance to climb up the steep backside of Tunnel and quickly realized that, in fact, even though it’s dwarfed by much bigger neighbours, Tunnel is still worthy of its mountain moniker.

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Mount Lady MacDonald is a popular hiking destination near Canmore. Here, she peeks over the trees at Grassi Lakes, where we were climbing yesterday afternoon. How handy that her name begins with the letter M.

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As for multi-pitches… well, another blog post, I guess! I am out of time… making that video was exhausting.

L is for Love Affair

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Much as I adore him, I would never dream of going on a date with Cliff without using protection…

It’s 4 am and the alarm isn’t due to go off for two more hours. Then, I’ll leap into action, make a quick lunch, and jump in the car to head for the mountains and a rendezvous with the love that has rocked my world. “I’m too old for this,” I think. “Roll over. Go back to sleep. Your date with Cliff will go a lot better if you’re well rested.”

And then I’m back in the middle of  a dream where my heart races and I feel a surge of excitement as I catch sight of those big angular shoulders and broad back and say something ridiculous like, “I think that’s cheese in my chalk bag.” Then, trying to disguise my awkwardness, I start to tie a follow-through figure eight knot but then realize I’m not having any luck because I’m not holding a climbing rope: the thing in my hands is a garden hose and it’s leaking red paint all over my favourite climbing shoes. And at that point a rock falls from the sky and cuts my new skinny rope and I fly backwards off the crag, down, down, down toward certain death. My own gasping wakes me and, heart thudding, I lie back on the pillow trying to calm myself with slow, even breaths. Because I am in love and obsessed and every night my dreams are filled with variations on the theme of Cliff.

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On the drive to see Cliff I make plans, visualize the way I will caress the stone face that awaits me, the way I will gently, but firmly, plug gear where it fits best. As the miles roll by and the grade gets steeper, I talk to myself about being brave and not letting my fears of attachment (or, failure to attach) get in the way of having the best date ever climbing to rapturous heights I could only imagine before finding this perfect partner of mine.

The signs of a love affair are everywhere: well-pawed climbing magazines cover the coffee table, my email inbox is full of ads from MEC and REI and Arcteryx and special promotions from Black Diamond and Evolv and La Sportiva. I drool over Facebook photos posted by one friend who has run away to Kalymnos, another living out of a van in Joshua Tree, yet another in Squamish. I stop on the way to the kitchen to hang from my fingerboard and count the minutes until I will see Cliff again.

Foul weather is no obstacle for our outdoorsy romance: even during the depths of winter there is evidence everywhere of where I would rather be: my ice tools and crampons dry over the heat vent in the living room, the Thermos waits on the kitchen counter to be filled with hot tea, and my thick puffy jacket is draped and at the ready by the back door. Cliff is never far from my mind, even on the coldest of days when he wears his frostiest of cloaks and tries to frighten me away with his icy glare. So fiery is my passion that sub-zero temperatures, high winds and snow flurries cannot keep me away.

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In the warmer months I wrap my fingers in tape before a date with Cliff with the same careful concentration as another woman might shave her legs before meeting her paramour. Instead of lotion to smooth my skin, I carefully dust a layer of chalk over my hands before ever so gently stroking my fingertips over my sweetheart’s waiting form. Occasionally I indulge in a spritz of insect repellant behind my ears.

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Lunch, a squashed sandwich or piece of bruised fruit is consumed at my true love’s feet, perched on a slab of stone, the sun tangled in the bit of pony tail that has escaped from beneath my helmet.

If a successful date is judged by how much sweating and grunting goes on before collapsing, utterly spent into bed, then a date with Cliff (or his big brother, Montagne) ranks right up there with the very best. Hanging out with (or, hanging off) Cliff leaves me no choice but to live in the moment and day after day finds me breathless and giddy, all a-quiver with the sheer joy of being alive and partnered up with the most magnificent of rock specimens in all of the great outdoors. I can’t imagine anything more delightful than lazy summer days spent playing footsie with his ledges or the moments of near rapture when I’m wrapped around his arete in a heartfelt embrace. Not quite as much fun are those times when I find myself spread-eagled and vulnerable, too scared to make the next move but unable to retreat.

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And I ask you, what better way is there to spend a long evening than with Cliff’s other lovers when we rehash those shared memories – both the exhilarating and the lamentable: that overcast morning when I got my hand stuck in a dark place and thought I’d never get it out, how, when the two of us are in balance it feels like we are performing a graceful pas de deux, and that time when Cliff and I stayed out dancing so late I needed a headlamp to find my way back to the car.

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Not that things are always perfect in this dizzying romance of mine. There are moments of tension, for sure – when I feel like the bottom is dropping out of my world, when I can’t trust the ground I’m (not) standing on, the way Cliff can be cold and heartless and unforgiving. There are days when I can’t stand the way he ignores my pleas for a handhold. There are times when I want to walk away because I don’t understand how it’s possible he doesn’t feel me shaking when anxiety threatens to overwhelm me. It baffles me how he can steadfastly refuse to do anything to help me get a grip. On those dark days it almost feels like Cliff is trying to shake me loose.

And yet, when I go back the next week, the next month, Cliff is there, strong and silent as always. Waiting. And when I lean up against that solid form, push my hips in close and take a moment to breathe, I feel another breath echoing my own. A whisper, calling me home.

I is for Ice and Infamy

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Ice and rock – strange and beautiful sculptural bedfellows – This photo taken in an icy cave near the top of This House of Sky in the Ghost Wilderness Area

Today’s post for the A to Z Blogging Challenge will be mostly photos – of ice. Which is definitely a bit strange given I am sitting beside a swimming pool in Hawaii as I write this… But ice has been a bit of a theme back at home this year. I knew there were people who climbed frozen waterfalls, but to be honest, I didn’t really think I’d ever be one of them. And then, I met Fabio, who is obsessed with ice climbing.

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Fabio (right) leading the last pitch of Cascade Falls (Banff National Park) – the wind creates the most amazing twirling fingers of ice

I can’t say that I’ve become obsessed with ice climbing in the same way climbing rock has seized me, but I have lost track of how many times I’ve had my breath taken away while in the presence of some icy feature.

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Johnson Canyon in the Rockies – a popular place for ice climbers and tourists alike

At various points during this winter’s explorations I’ve found myself hanging out in ice caves – either to get out of the wind, wait my turn to climb, belay safely without getting bonked on the head by falling ice or, once, when I decided I wasn’t up to the final, steep pitch and was happier waiting for the others to climb while I snapped a few photos.

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This House of Sky

By turn brutal and delicate, intimidating and fragile, ice is nothing if not unpredictable. From one day to the next it can change and, depending on its mood, can make for a fabulous climbing partner or an obnoxious opponent determined to thwart one’s best efforts to ascend. Softer, wetter conditions make it much easier to sink your ice tools deep, but too warm and things can literally start falling apart beneath you.

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Fabio – Johnson Canyon

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Whack at a piece of hard, glassy, blue, extremely cold ice and your tool is just as likely to bounce back at you, barely leaving a scratch on the surface. Hit the rock hard surface at a slight angle and you might dislodge a knife-edged slab of ice capable of decapitating you or your belayer.

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Tuck in behind a curtain of ice like this one at Bear Spirit near Banff, Alberta and it can feel like you’ve been transported to a parallel universe… One where ice fairies might emerge from their glassy bedrooms to dust the wintery world outside with a sparkling of frost… 

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I’ve got my brave game face on here, but I was actually terrified. I was about to step out and around a very steep column of ice at Louise Falls  early in the ice climbing season and very early in my ice climbing career. Though I had serious doubts about my ability to get to the top of this one, once my palpitations subsided, in the end all went well. 

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Haffner Creek in BC is a place lots of climbers go to practice their ice climbing skills. Here I’ve been sent on a mission meant to improve my footwork. Note that my ice tools are parked down at the bottom and I’m climbing without them. Instead of relying on hooking the tools into the ice and hauling myself up, I can only use my gloved (and increasingly cold) hands for a bit of balance. All the upward movement came from my feet, which is as it should be.

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As I write this today I could not be farther away from that magical, icy world of the mountains in winter. Here in Hawaii we visited Pearl Harbour this morning and spent some time in quiet thought at the memorial of the sunken battleship, Arizona. In the museum I was intrigued to see the handwritten edits to one of the world’s most famous speeches delivered by F. D. Roosevelt the day after the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor.

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The word “infamy” was not in the original Pearl Harbor speech. 

I’m busily editing three different manuscripts in progress at the moment and they all look a bit like that typed page, full of additions and deletions and new directions and re-thinkings. Not that any will be as significant as The Infamy Speech, but it is reassuring to see that even the most eloquent of writing likely started out looking quite different to its final, polished form.

H is for Hawaii, Sarah Hueniken, Hips and Hula

I’ve got it! The connection between climbing and hula is (obviously) hip action!

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Watching the hula in Honolulu this evening made a lot of people (yes, including me) pretty happy.

It only makes sense that one generally wants to keep those hips in close to the wall – there’s no point in shifting your centre of gravity way away from the rock face – that kind of thing will pull you off faster than you can say ‘take!!'[For non-climbers, that’s what you yell at your belayer when you need the slack to be taken out of the rope, generally yelled during a moment of panic and/or exhaustion, often just as you are beginning to fall.]

At the same time, it’s impossible to see where you are putting your feet if you keep your hips glued to the wall and never look down. Which is where the hip action comes in. This is particularly pronounced when ice climbing when you need to stick your backside waaaaaaaay out before you move your feet.

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Hips in – that’s Joe climbing This House of Sky in the Ghost River Wilderness Area earlier this season…

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Hips out – Fabio on This House of Sky

Pushing your backside out accomplishes two things – your arms stay straight (less tiring than keeping them flexed by pulling into the wall) and allows you to yank the points of your crampons out of the ice, move your feet up, and kick them back into new positions higher up. Once your feet are comfortably set, you push your hips in toward the ice before you pluck your ice tool free and swing it home again above you.

If you want to watch a short (and very cool) video about ice climbing by my friend Craig Hall (handy his last name starts with the letter H) about  Sarah Hueniken, here’s the link.

That’s all I’ve got – I’ll let the sun set on this blog entry…

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Sunset – Waikiki – nothing in this photo has anything to do with the letter H. Sorry.

 

And then, there was ICE

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When it gets cold in the mountains and your fingers start seizing up when you touch rock, it’s time to dig out the ice climbing tools. Having had a  bit of practice dry-tooling, we set off on a search for climbable ice. This led us to some interesting places – King’s Creek where the skies opened and we were soon hiking through ever-deeper snow in the first big snow dump of the season…

Though there was lots of snow, the ambient temperature was still quite mild, so the climbing wasn’t all that great… Though, the proportion of ice to flowing water was definitely higher than our first effort on Grotto Falls.

After the blizzard, the temperatures fell and things began to firm up. We climbed Cascade Falls – twice –

Fabio leading up one of the lower pitches Cascade

Fabio leading up one of the lower pitches Cascade

Cascade Falls, Banff National Park

Cascade Falls, Banff National Park

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In terms of the view, it’s not a bad thing to be caught high on a mountain as the sun begins to set…

The first day we climbed all the lower pitches and ran out of light before we were able to climb the top pitch.

The next day we tried again and this time walked around the bottom three sections so we would have time to climb right to the top. The one small hitch in this plan was my total lack of experience and failing nerve right at the top. The ice was so thin up there it seemed like the water rushing underneath my feet was just as likely to suck the ice right off the rock and send it (and me) flying. In one place there was a huge hole in the ice and when I stood on the lip trying to collect my thoughts and convince myself going up was a good idea, my boot and leg got totally soaked by the waterfall rushing past and underneath me. My climbing companions for the day were totally unfazed by all this – apparently flowing water is just part of ice climbing – who knew?

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAWind, water, and chilly temperatures create wild ice sculptures at the top of Cascade Falls – Banff National Park

There was no disagreement about the beauty of the place. But right about where Fabio is (over on the right in the photo above) I had a total crisis of confidence and a complete failure in my minimal ice climbing skills and slithered off my precarious perch.

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Help me…

I slipped and swung sideways, landing in a sort of cave of icicles. There I waited patiently for Dan, the third member of our team that day, to climb up to where Fabio was belaying from up top to tell him that I wasn’t going to make it up and over the final, flimsy bulge and that I needed to be lowered back down to the previous anchor. To say this was a tad disappointing would be a huge understatement. It was frustrating for everyone, I think – and I now need to go back and climb Cascade a third time in order to see what lies at the top.

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This House of Sky

Our next expedition was to a climb called This House of Sky in the Ghost River Valley. This is rather an exciting destination even if you never climb anything as the approach involves a lengthy drive over a wilderness of snow drifts, rocky river bottom and then through the ice-choked river. Several times. The bottom part of the actual climb is not particularly difficult – it’s made up of a series of modest steps as the waterfall makes its way down a narrow canyon. It’s rather magical to make your way up through this secret passage, climbing ever upwards… The biggest problem was the warm weather – the lower pitches were absolutely soaking wet and crumbly. Delicate ice, is how Fabio puts it. He looks at stuff like this and salivates, relishing the challenge of climbing this type of thing gently. With finesse. Feeling you way up rather than bashing your ice tools into something remotely solid.

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Haffner Creek is a popular destination for ice, rock, and mixed climbing. It was a great spot to go for a mixed climbing clinic.

Though I did manage to more or less keep up on the climb up and over the various small waterfalls, I wasn’t exactly feeling competent. So, I signed up for a mixed climbing course taught by Sean Isaac. Fabio headed off to climb something actually challenging and I spent the day learning some basic techniques and practicing using my tools on routes that combined rock and ice. The day flew past and I had lots of fun learning about body position, kicking techniques, and ice tool swinging strategies.

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Getting to the top of a route in Haffner Creek

With my newfound skills (hah!) it was off to tackle Guinness Gulley. Managed to get up the bottom two pitches, though not without some issues. I had trouble negotiating the second one and slipped off when trying to retrieve one of the ice screws Fabio had put in on his way up. Normally, this wouldn’t have been a huge issue but I had parked one of my tools in the ice so I could unscrew more easily but when I fell I accidentally left one of my ice tools lodged firmly in the ice and well out of reach. People who actually know what they are doing don’t have much trouble climbing with one tool, but I was a bit flummoxed and determined not to have to be lowered down on another climb. I thrashed around getting ever more flustered, but managed to inch my way back up to where I was supposed to be in the first place. I suspect the initial problem was poor foot placement – both feet popped out when I was fiddling around with the ice screw – and as I crept up the ice with my remaining tool I realized just how poor my footwork still was.

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Joe on the third pitch of Guinness Gulley

At that point, it was all mental – I totally lost my ‘I can do this’ attitude (which seems to be a bit elusive on the ice anyway) and by the time I got to the top and looked up what seemed like an endlessly long stretch of ice in the next pitch, I was done.

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I sent Fabio and Joe on ahead and hunkered down against a rock to await their return. Quite honestly, I was thiiiiiiiis close to throwing in the towel and sticking to rock climbing, but then we decided to do a day of remedial ice. The fact this took place at one of the most gorgeous places on the planet (Johnson’s Canyon) did a lot to boost my flagging spirits.

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The bottom part of the Upper Falls at Johnson’s Canyon

The hardest part was lowering myself off the little lookout platform (where a steady stream of hikers stopped to watch the crazy ice climbers throughout the day).

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“Just lower yourself over the edge… Try to aim for the big rock.”

Coached by Fabio and Dan (relentlessly – neither of them really wants to wait days for me to fumble my way up stuff that really shouldn’t be that difficult…) I was drilled on kicking techniques, foot placement (and more foot placement), how best to orient the crampons to the ice, keeping heels low, moving beneath my tools, maintaining an ‘A’ shape with a single tool at the apex, feet wide and stable below, not moving on shaky tools, reading the ice for better tool placement, how best to swing, etc., etc., etc. until my head was spinning. However, climbing the same routes several times did a lot to build my shaky confidence back up and drill some basic techniques into me.

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Practice, practice, practice… 

All of this came in very handy on our second trip to This House of Sky… but that will have to wait for another blog post as this is already way too long.

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On Cascade Mountain

 

Fear of Drowning

Warm temperatures are usually good thing when one sets out to do some rock climbing. That's not the case when the objective is climbing ice...

Warm temperatures are usually good thing when one sets out to do some rock climbing. That’s not the case when the objective is climbing ice…

I never expected drowning could be a climbing-related hazard. Falling, yes. Being hit on the head by a chunk of rock, ok. Getting caught in a blizzard and being forced to dig a hole in a snowbank to make an ice cave – fair enough. But drowning?

I’m back in the Rockies and hanging out with people who are obsessed with waterfalls – though, not in their free-flowing gushing, exuberant moving state. This crowd of ice climbers can’t wait until it gets really cold and waterfalls become icefalls. And, these folks are eager beavers, so at the first sign of ice, off we went on an expedition to Grotto Falls near Canmore.

Grotto Falls near Canmore

Grotto Falls near Canmore

Needless to say, ice climbing requires some special tools. First off, lots of layers – it can be chilly standing around waiting for your turn to climb, so puffy jackets and thick gloves are the order of the day. Once moving, though, layers come off and, just like with any kind of climbing, one quickly heats up. Thinner gloves are in order once you get going (you still need to be able to feel what you are doing, even while trying to keep your digits from freezing).

Ice tools ready and waiting for... ice...

Ice tools ready and waiting for… ice… (note that bulky gloves get in the way of photos… yet another skill to master if one wishes to indulge in winter sports AND take photos)

Unlike climbing rock, you don’t generally grab onto the ice to help haul yourself up to the top. Instead, ice tools become extensions to your upper limbs and, instead of rock shoes, you wear heavy mountaineering boots designed to be worn with crampons. Crampons are the most awkward devices ever invented, bristling with spikes they are just as happy as to shred your trouser legs as bite into the ice.

Crampons - ready to strap them on the bottom of my boots...

Crampons – ready to be strapped onto the bottom of my boots…

Fortunately, for those of us who have no experience with crampons, ice tools, or climbing with a gazillion layers, there is a shoulder season sport known as dry-tooling. Those who simply cannot wait until the ice is ready (or, those who want to get those tool-hefting muscles into shape) head for certain crags where tool use is encouraged. There, crampon tips nudge gently into teeny weeny divots (you call that a toe-hold??) and ice tools balance on precarious lips of rock or wedge behind flakes and act like handles used to balance and pull up while one finds new, better, toe-holes for the blades strapped to your feet.

Dry-tooling at The Playground near Exshaw, Alberta

Dry-tooling at The Playground near Exshaw, Alberta

Occasionally, a tool gets so firmly wedged in a crack that it takes some effort (in this case on the part of both climber and dancing belayer) to extricate the serrated edge without snapping something.

A supportive belayer is worth his weight in gold...

An enthusiastic and supportive belayer is worth his weight in gold…

We went dry-tooling a couple of times at a place called the Playground (near Exshaw) so at least when we tackled Grotto Falls I had held ice tools before and had some idea of the theory behind ice climbing. I must confess I was a tad surprised when we got to Grotto Falls and found that they were still falling – gushing, actually. Yes, there was ice forming on either side and more ice higher up in the chute between the two rock faces where the water had cut its channel, but there was still plenty of water tumbling over the rocks. It was beautiful, no doubt, and probably the kind of thing sensible people might stop to photograph. We, however, decided to try our hand at climbing what turned out to be a bit of a vertical Slushie.

Early season ice climbing at Grotto Falls, Alberta

Early season ice climbing at Grotto Falls, Alberta

The ice was soft in places and not very thick, so I was told to softly place my tools more like I had been doing while dry-tooling (rather than taking a good hard swing as one would do when the ice is nice and thick). Nerve-wracking? Yes. It felt a bit like climbing up over a frosty mound of delicate eggs as I picked my way up the ice. Every time I jabbed at the ice with my crampons or placed my ice tools I was a bit worried the ice would dislodge and fall off the rock face. I have never climbed so gently! Often, water was visible beneath the ice, still roaring its way down toward the bottom. Where the rock chute narrowed and the water volume increased, there was a lot of spray and in a couple of places, no other option but to keep climbing what ice there was while being spritzed in the face with a decidedly chilly shower!

Halfway up, a pool that becomes a sturdy belay station in the depths of winter was, beneath a tempting ice crust, still very much a pool. A rather cold pool, which I discovered is about waist deep when one falls into it. My plunge into the icy water happened on my way down when I was being lowered and I slithered off the steep, slick walls of the bowl holding said pool. I must say it is a bit of a shock to find oneself paddling in bubbling water, ice blocks bumping into you, boots rapidly filling with water. Flailing about with my ice tools, trying to hook them on something solid enough to haul myself back out of the pool, I found myself pondering the likelihood of drowning while climbing.  At the same time I had to marvel at how effectively my waterproof over-pants were keeping me sort of dryish. Fortunately, I managed to scramble over the bottom lip of the pool and continue my descent unscathed, if a bit soggy.

Was it fun? (Which, really, is the only thing that matters…) I have to say it was actually most excellent, in a bizarre kind of way. It certainly whets my appetite for more ice climbing! For the first time in my life I find I am actually crossing my fingers for some colder temperatures to arrive!