Like 2017 and 2018, 2019 was another year in which mountaineering and trad adventures added some variety to my usual diet of obsessive sport climbing.
Duncan and I have been exchanging emails about a visit to the notorious Black Canyon for two decades (and actually went there, but got snowed out before we could climb, in 2004). We share this interest because we are both old enough to remember when the Black was one of the major climbing venues in the US, and was described breathlessly in the iconic 1970s book "Climb! The History Of Rock Climbing In Colorado". The Black has slid from mainstream to obscure cult status since then, as it ticks almost none of the boxes associated with modern climbing: consistent rock quality, obvious lines, fixed anchors, easy retreat. The combination of those last two absences is a major consideration at the Black as most routes start with an unpleasant long descent into the canyon, sometimes including committing rappels. Consensus wisdom is that the easiest way out is always to complete your intended route - whatever that takes.
We ended up spending about a week there in May 2019, but only climbed two routes: Maiden Voyage and the Scenic Cruise. However the latter was our main objective. Spring 2019 was unusually snowy in Colorado and conditions a little wetter and colder than we had anticipated. The national park service had not even officially opened the park when we arrived. Though we covered the ground on the Scenic Cruise, and (just) avoided bivouacking or climbing in the dark, the style of my ascent was poor and even Duncan pulled on a few pieces. In retrospect a longer stay and more warm-up routes would have been good idea, but that was not so obvious at the time. One major screw-up for me was wearing shoes that were too tight, despite much experimentation to try to have the perfect long-route shoe ready for the trip. I had significant foot pain from guidebook pitch 3 onward and made an additional bad error of not removing my shoes during a long hanging belay session in the middle of that pitch. Anyway, a very memorable day on what is probably the biggest consistently-steep wall that I have ever been on. I should really try to do it again in better style one day.
The Black Canyon from the South Chasm View railings
Looking straight down to the Gunnison river 600m below, South Chasm railings
The Scenic Cruise climbs the face below, approximately.
The Scenic Cruise climbs the wall in the centre of this photo from the Narrows view point Spot the climbers ....
After the Black we drove back east then north to the South Dakota Needles, another old-school area not often included in modern climbers' road trips. We were only able spend one full day there. I strongly recommend visiting the Needles. Most people would want to dial back their grade expectations a long way as the climbing is serious: spaced bolts and cheesegrater faces. However the actual climbing on a plethora of knobs and crystals is great fun, the area is stunningly beautiful and most of the routes lead to actual summits. Though the geology and flora are very different, the area feels quite like the Czech sandstone with its similar "towns" of small towers.
The first route we did was also the highlight for me: the Cerberus route on the Tricouni Nail needle. Only 5.8 but some of the moves were quite delicate, as well as bold, and it is sobering to think of Royal Robbins establishing the route ground-up in junky shoes the year that I was born. Apparently you are supposed to simul-rappel this route, with one climber each side of the notched summit (there is no anchor). We modified this technique to make it slightly less scary. I lowered Duncan to the base where he stayed on the rope as ballast, threw the rest of the rope down the other side, did a worrying manoeuvre up and over the summit then rapped down.
From the Needles we crossed into Wyoming toward the Devil's Tower, another "bucket list" objective. A storm blowing in midweek - with hailstones so large that they were noted in the TV news in Denver, our friend Andy reported - kept our visit to two climbing days. We went all the way to the summit on our first day via Soler; something few people do more than once as final pitches on the tower are typically chossy. Summiting felt like a worthy tick but was not quite as spectacular as the views of the Tower from a distance might suggest. The west face, which hosts many classic routes like the stemming test, El Matador, was closed for nesting falcons. We had some aspirations there but Tower grading was feeling quite stiff after a couple of days so this may have saved us from embarrassment.
In July I ticked off another very long term ambition: climbing in the Bugaboos. (I still possess a never-used Bugaboos guidebook which I bought in 1982 on my first visit to Canada.) As is standard practise, my partner Bob and I carried giant packs up to the Applebee campsite to establish a basecamp for a week. Due to Bob's time constraints and a dodgy weather forecast we did this late on a Sunday evening, arriving just before dark, then woke up early the next day to get a climb done ahead of a storm. This aerobic challenge shoehorned into 24 hours was gruelling for me.
We had initially intended to climb Snowpatch Spire via the backside Surfs Up route that first day but changed plans to summit the much easier but much more distant Pigeon Spire via its famous West Ridge.
Insanely large backpack at the Bugaboos trailhead
Classic Applebee campground scene
Pigeon Spire and the Vowell Glacier
This route is often described as "the world's best 5.4" and in normal conditions is a swift solo for many. For us, it was still in early season shape with extensive snow covering rock on its upper half. Combined with some weather urgency, this made for some mild excitement in rock shoes. Bob even backed off one lead which required a rather peculiar step across an ice dribble with poor gear. I found a better cam placement which made it more reasonable.
On the way back to camp we found ourselves descending from the Bugaboo Spire - Snowpatch col in the company of two disabled guys, one with one prosthetic and one with two. Neither were finding the soft afternoon snow easy to negotiate; apparently they had forgotten the hex key which let them put on their "crampon feet". I put two and two together and realised we were conversing with an american celebrity: the MIT professor, prosthetic pioneer and strong climber, Hugh Herr. They had just climbed up and over Bugaboo Spire with - until then - no fuss.
The rest of our week at Applebee was educational - we were stormbound in our tent for 36 hours, ran up the fun McTech Arete and circumnavigated Snowpatch Spire - but we did not tag any more peaks.
Last and (I suppose) least: at the beginning of September, for the second Labor Day long weekend in a row, James and I joined up with Luc and his son Kyle to camp and climb in the mountains. This time our base was the lovely Opal Pass area north of Pemberton, near several granite and volcanic mountains described in the Scrambles in Southwest BC guidebook. A long 4WD approach and overgrown trail seem to protect this zone from crowds; we only saw one other party.
On our first full day there we set off up Chipmunk Mountain to the north of the pass. Disappointingly for Kyle his hiking boots disintegrated halfway up. He and Luc returned to the campsite. James and I enjoyed finishing off the peak alone and sharing the route-finding through the final scree and choss slopes guarding the summit.
Chipmunk Mountain from Tenquille Mountain
James with our idyllic campsite at Opal Pass
Kyle's footwear malfunction on Chipmunk
James and I on top of Chipmunk
The next morning we woke up to see a black bear in the meadows near our tent; fortunately it departed the area quickly before we had to consider whether to be concerned. We all scrambled up Tenquille Mountain to the south of the pass then continued on to Goat Peak which overlooks the Pemberton valley. Descent, packing-up and hiking out were uneventful. Reversing our approach drive was not but that's another story (ask Luc!).
Kyle, Luc, James on the summit of Tenquille
Upper Pemberton Valley from Goat Peak
James with his cool new Osprey backpack and a freakishly-large mushroom on the hike out
