Adventures in the Swell

The San Rafael Swell in central Utah is, arguably, one of the more remote and--largely--untouched wilderness areas in the state.  Though there are a great many other Utah landmarks--such as Arches and Canyonlands National Parks--that are, perhaps, better known, the "Swell" is, undoubtedly, the preferred destination for climbers seeking total solitude and full-value adventure.  I was fortunate to have shared two action-packed days with none other than Paul Ross, prolific adventure-first ascensionist, amateur naturalist, breeder of champion Jack Russell terriers, Renaissance man and a living climbing legend--he's also my boss Andy's old man.  With routes to his credit spread across the UK, the French Alps, North Africa, New England and--most recently--the desert Southwest, Paul's what I'd call, the climber's climber--at 76, he's still opening new lines, often in bold, ground-up style, and with more tenacity than climbers a quarter of his age.  He's been at it pretty much non-stop for over six decades, having witnessed the world of climbing change dramatically since the very first time he tied into a rope.  As much as I know to what extent he'd abhor me saying it, Paul--not to mention his son, Andy--is a personal hero of mine, and I'm still sort of buzzing from our time together.
In two short days, we:
opened three new multi-pitch routes, drilled on-the-lead from stances
rescued two toads, a garter snake and juvenile rattler from a deep pothole in the slot-canyon portion of our approach
witnessed two Peregrine falcons hunt mourning doves, both diving at full speed from high above us--we were well off-the-deck ourselves, a few pitches up on the wall
camped with the full moon shining so brightly that we didn't need headlamps
sat in lawn chairs and drank wine, watching lightning strike all around us in the vast desert--I've never seen so much lightning all-at-once in all my life!
bailed from our final route just moments before the skies opened up and a huge thunderstorm engulfed the Eastern Reef slabs

Thanks to Andy and to Paul for an incredible introduction to the area!

Annus Mirabilis

From the Latin, meaning "year of wonder," or, "year of miracles," I'm borrowing this phrase to name a new route we completed yesterday, just one of three FAs this week.  About a month ago, our friend, Andy, needed some help in documenting a long-neglected zone in Little Cottonwood for his upcoming guidebook project. Despite its proximity to the road, for whatever reason, the area had eluded other first-ascensionists--a rare thing in this town, as the Salt Lake valley is home to, perhaps, the highest concentration of climbers and of climbing talent in the country...  Take that, Boulder!  Anyways, it was during this early recon that I spotted several lines, all of which--through my binoculars--appeared to boast some of the best rock quality in the canyon, made evident by its orange-pink color.  And so it all started, in earnest, last Saturday; Georgia Shaun and I set out early to explore the area, and, after spending the better part of the morning unable to forge a new line without the use of bolts, we decided to go at it the old-fashioned way and hoof it.  Had we been successful in opening the initial pitch--in other words, had I not been so stubborn and brought the hand drill--we would have climbed right to the base of the intended buttress; instead, Shaun and I endured several hundred vertical feet of sketchy, unroped "adventure-neering," as Andy calls it, to finally reach the base.  Uncertain whether we'd have enough daylight to complete the first ascent, we admired the views for awhile until my ambition got the better of me and I rushed to rack up and tie in--it was nearly 3:30 in the afternoon, and we were going for it!  Here's what we put up that day; I have yet to decide on a name for the route, and I suppose that as it's an unclimbed feature, I get to christen it whatever I wish.  But I'm not quite there, yet. 

The following Monday, Coby and I revisited the zone, and I tried to open the independent, left-hand line, on-sight.  I fell at the roof, which, on Thursday, I finally sent with my buddy, Tyler.  Both lines are of superb quality, in every respect--great, remote position, excellent rock and stellar movement...  What more could one ask for? 

And just when I thought, "how can I be so lucky, to discover an unclimbed--and very aesthetic--feature in a canyon that's been crawling with strong, imaginative climbers for decades?"--BAM!!!  There it was:  a pillar of perfect, pink-orange granite, separate from any other known formation, complete with its own mini-summit!  I spied what appeared to be a reasonable weakness, and after hours of examining zoomed-in digital images on the laptop, and peering endlessly through my binos, I asked my boss, Andy Ross, to join me in climbing it.  Yesterday, with the help of our friend Gene, it all came together:  a new and challenging route, on a formation that's remained untouched by humans--let alone climbers--until just before five in the afternoon, when, fighting the jitters, I launched into the insecure liebacks of the upper headwall and managed, just barely, to top out above the difficulties and clip the anchor.  Annus Mirabilis, 5.11, Andy Ross, Gene Vallee, Shingo Ohkawa, 4 June, 2011--how better to celebrate what has, no doubt, been one hell of a year, not just for new routes and for climbing, but for life, in general! 

 Here's a pic from our first recon; on our way down, a light rain made capturing a clear image a bit difficult, but as you can see, it's a bit steeper than what the next image suggests--once on the route, however, the climbing is quite a bit steeper!

YAARRR!

The weather...

here in SLC has been very, very wet--in the past week, the mountains received over two feet of new snow, bringing the season total to over 750 inches!  Lower down in the valley, it's mostly come down as rain, making this desert-basin city as green as I've ever seen it.  The climbing's been off-and-on due to storms; just last Saturday in Little Cottonwood, some friends and I were just about to launch into some interesting, new territory when a rather exciting thunderstorm rolled up unexpectedly from the west...  After a quick retreat, my buddy Shaun--the same friend from a few of this season's earlier posts, I just learned that his name was spelled with a "u," instead of a "w"--and I took cover in a small cave I'd noticed the week before, a spot I dubbed, "the Dog-House Cave," as it's most likely where I'd come to bivy in the event I ever really pissed Coby off, or was ever to be, "on-the-lamb."  The feature is an enormous, house-sized granite boulder that, as it fell down the gully some time ago, split in this most elegant way, creating a gap that--from a distance--appears as if framed by the outline of a large standing wave.  We sat underneath the huge natural roof and sipped cans of Coors as the storm passed, every now and again catching the fleeting arc of lightning in our periphery.  After about an hour-and-a-half, the thunderstorm subsided and the canyon was, once again, filled with Sun, it's long, unbroken slabs glistening.  We descended; all along the trail, boulders had already dried--just another of the canyon's secrets, as the dry, desert air which, in the valley is responsible for the static shocks I've become conditioned to fear from our car door does a wonderful job with rapidly dessicating our beloved stone.  Nevermind that it rained this morning--it'll be drier than you think! 

The mighty Gargoyle Wall in LCC:  the shaded, right-facing corner near the photo's center is the goal.  Could it be that it has gone unnoticed and unclimbed all these years?  I wouldn't be surprised to find some sign of passage beneath the prominent roof!  The Dog-House Cave is a few hundred feet below, in the gully. 

Spring's first nice day and the view from 454 S 500 E

Yesterday morning, Tyler and I skied the two main shots on Gobbler's Knob with nearly a foot of fresh, on top of roughly a foot from the storm three days prior--which we also got to ski first, incidentally.  Yet today, it seems that Spring has finally arrived.  I had plans to be picked up at 5am this morning for another round, but fortunately, my partner bailed, and I stepped out to see this from our buiding's front step. 

This last one I took from the second-story parking lot of the Smith's across the street.  Of the entire Central Wasatch skyline, this part's my favorite, as you can see--starting just right of the light pole, from Little Cottonwood to the Draper Ridge--the Coalpit Headwall, Thunder Bowl, Bighorn Peak and Lone Peak, with Peak 10,292, the Crow's Feet and the Dolphin, visible as well.  This is the backyard, and just one reason I tend to be so distracted at home!  

Another trip around the Sun

Just when I thought that all hope was lost, a brief, yet intense Spring snowstorm dumped over a foot of light snow in the mountains Wednesday night, allowing us to, once again, enjoy a priveleged day in the Wasatch--a rare treat these days, as the Sun continues to rise higher in the April sky.  Thursday wasn't the deepest we'd seen it--or, our biggest day in terms of vertical gain--but the novelty of occupying a landscape that will, in a few short weeks, be radically transformed from a vast, unbroken carpet of white into an erratic mass of jagged talus, is a very cool feeling--in spots, you're probably standing ten to fifteen feet above the Summer surface level!  Mountains are dynamic places, and if you can spend enough time in them, these gradual, often miniscule changes become evident if you're of a mind to notice.  Tuesday will be 33 years.  Not a long time, just 33 such transitions from Winter to Spring up there in those secret and remote points in space, 33 laps around our star. 

Blogs are a pain-in-the...

I can never seem to get it together when I'm in front of a computer to write, and so I apologize about the long lapse.  Indeed, it's been nearly a month since I last posted; though, rather than summarize the events of the past few weeks, I'd rather just keep it short and sweet--it's a lot easier to write about the more random stuff that comes to mind, rather than to compose an involved synopsis...
So the Wasatch can't seem to make up its mind, whether it's still Winter, or if, in fact, Spring is finally here.  The second half of March saw frequent, sizable storms that were almost immediately followed by stretches of clear skies and a Sun that, these days, sits a bit too high in the sky.  All that great snow--on more than a few instances, we received over a foot each night--and yet, the clock started ticking the moment it touched ground.  By most afternoons, nearly every aspect at all elevations got cooked, leaving a nasty, unsupportable crust over much of the skiable terrain of the range.  As if to have even more fun at our expense, these storms have been punctuated by brief periods of warm, sunny weather--conditions perfect for rockclimbing--and though I'm still trying to stay PSYCHED for April powder days, I must admit that the prospect of long days climbing in t-shirts and in shorts is becoming more and more difficult to dismiss.  What a problem to have, eh?  Nate, if you're reading this, there's certainly some truth to that old notion, "too damn Western!"
On a more somber note, two weekends ago, a friend and a fellow Lone Peak fanatic, Garrett Smith, died from injuries sustained in a large avalanche just about an hour and a half south of the city, along the Manti skyline.  Garrett was a bit younger than me, and had just gained a foothold in the outdoor industry as a rep for Petzl's Work-Rescue division.  These last few years, I would often run into him at tradeshows, but it was our random run-ins at Lone Peak Cirque that I remember most; in addition to being an avid skier and a seasoned climber, Garrett also took photos.  One of the images that stands out for me and that you may have seen in a recent issue of Alpinist Magazine--I can't remember which--can be viewed here at his website:
http://hammersincphoto.com/#/Portfolio/Climbing/2  That's our mutual friend, Scott Epperson, racing the sunset on the last pitch of the Cirque classic, the Lowe Route, on the Question Mark Wall.  Here's to you, Garrett!

Update!

Not much to report on this end; I'm here at the shop on a rainy day in the valley--it's dumping in the mountains as we speak, though!  This week was more of the same--days upon days of skiing--though it's been about a week since our last real storm, so rather than ski the high Wasatch, we've been focusing more on the tighter, steeper lines of the mid-elevation.  Sometimes it's nice to switch it up a bit, and this week, we got to explore more of the complex terrain of Upper Neff's canyon, overlooking the Salt Lake valley. 
Neff's is where, during my first season ski touring the Wasatch, Tyler and I spent much of our time--in a place called Thomas Fork, more specifically.  But this week, we really got motivated and we pushed further up the canyon, seeking out lines we had seen years ago, yet--at the time--lacked the experience, perhaps, to safely navigate.  It was sort of a home-coming:  to look upon all that familiar terrain with a new eye for lines reminded me of my first love, seeking out and climbing new routes, first ascents--what occupies the bulk of my time and energy through the other 3/4 of the year.  Indeed, it's getting harder these days to remain sufficiently psyched to ski; touring is a lot of work and as the days get longer and the temps continue to rise, the notion of a sunny day of rock climbing in shorts and a t-shirt become more and more appealing.  I have in mind, however, to fulfill a big goal this season--to ski the Grand Teton--and so I'm just hoping I can sustain the psyche for just a few more weeks, until the middle of April when ski conditions on the Grand are in their prime.  Meanwhile, it's days like yesterday--big link-ups with good friends and partners--that keep me optimistic.  Here are just a few images, shot on my buddy Ari's iPhone, from yesterday's chuting spree! 

 Ari snapped this photo of me rappelling the short section of cliff-band on my old nemesis, the NW Couloir of the Pfeifferhorn.  Finally, the conditions were right and we got it! 

 Another shot of the rap:  the NW Couloir can be seen in one of my older posts--it was the line Tyler and I tried to ski about a week and a half ago, and is pictured in one of the photos I took from within the Hypodermic Needle.  This is the middle section of the line--the top bit is a ~15' wide ramp that reaches 50 degrees, then doglegs to the skier's right to reach this rappel.  It's usually about a 50' drop, but with all the snow this year, it's very filled in.  Below the rappel is a beautiful apron shot with a small cliff that one can avoid on either side, then into the huge expanse of Hogum's Fork.

 Here I am, following Ari's boot-track, perhaps a bit less than halfway up the Sliver, one of a trio of steep chutes that start from the top of the Thunder Ridge.  In an older post, Tyler and Andrea and I skied the Hypodermic Needle, the Sliver's big brother--it should be visible to the looker's left of the Needle in one of the images from that tour.  Thanks for breaking trail, Ari!

This is me booting the final ten or so feet to the top of the Sliver and the top of the Thunder Ridge.  The chute section of the Sliver is 1,700 vertical feet in relief, plus the huge apron below--there's a bit of bend below me that obscures the line, so from this vantage, it's difficult to get a sense of just how big it is.  I was a bit knackered after a full week of skiing and had planned to take the day off, so by the time this shot was taken, I was dragging.  Ari was good enough to break for most of the way up.  The ski out of Hogum's Fork--sure enough--lived up to its reputation as a face-slapping, bush-whacking, hateful waddle through terrain-traps with minimal coverage.  It was, however, better than the last time we skied it out! 

A MEGA week!

So I guess it's been nearly two weeks since I last checked in.  About a ten days ago, the Wasatch was looking rather grim--an extended, high pressure system parked itself on top of the range, hammering the snowpack with high winds and days upon days of sun exposure...  Despite my drive to ski everyday, Cobes convinced me to head to Red Rocks, outside of Las Vegas, for a few days of rock climbing in the sun.  At first, I protested, but then, finally acquiesced as the local forecast promised no respite from the spring-like conditions.
Here are a few pics from our two, mellow days in one of our favorite climbing spots within a six-hour drive. 

Leading out on the stellar third pitch of Armatron, on the very cool Brownstone Wall, Juniper Canyon.

Look closely just left of center--on our approach to Rose Tower, we were surprised to see this Bighorn ram and two, smaller sheep.

Coby inspects the next pitch from the spacious belay on the classic Olive Oil, Rose Tower.

Here's Coby, styling the pitch.  How aesthetic is the rock, eh?

After topping out on the Rose Tower, we enjoyed tremendous views of some of the more remote formations at Red Rocks; here I am scheming to return later this season to check out the Hidden Wall--seen here in the shade, just below the horizon. 

On our final day in Nevada, we awoke to high winds and rain; rather than stick it out to see if the conditions improved later in the day, we bailed for home--but only after a brief stop at the Red Rock Casino for one of the most regrettable breakfasts in recent memory.
Upon arriving in Salt Lake, the forecast called for a weak disturbance--a minor storm predicted to deposit only a few inches...  I woke up the next morning to discover much more, and, according to the NOAA weather models, a week of consecutive storms in the pipeline.  These days, I'm only working Sundays and so, needless to say, all I've been up to is skiing!!!  Here are some images of the past week--and the storm totals from the past seven days?  Nearly 7 feet of "the Greatest Snow on Earth!"

That's Shawn breaking trail--in 2+ feet of fresh powder--in Upper White Pine, about to lay the skin-track up the Columbine slidepath to our right.  We had the entire place to ourselves!

The sun whooped us, but we managed to put in a long-ish, but safe skinner to reach the upper bowl of Columbine, below the tempting--but probably dodgy--Birthday Chutes.  Here's Shawn nearing the top of our first shot.

Round 1!

Round 2!

Round 3!

Round 4!

Shawn, about to drop in for Round 5--he and his younger brother, Chris, back in Georgia, coined the phrase, "Rude Body Shock" to describe how he's feeling in this pic.  We were fully worked--but, it continued to snow!

Shawn heads back to the trailhead, two hours late for work, ready to destroy the 6-pack of PBR I buried by the lot.  And so we did...
Day 2 saw the crew back together again--my normal ski partners, Tyler, and his girlfriend Andrea, were out of town on a yurt trip while Coby and I were in Vegas.  On Tuesday, we decided to finish what Shawn and I started--to track out the Columbine slidepath--another 6k+ vertical foot day, but sans photos.  According to Cobes, our laptop is on the verge due to the enormous volume of pics from our various adventures; hence, there are no images from that day, but it was even deeper than the day before!
On Day 3, I decided to have another go at my old nemesis, the NW Couloir of the Pfeifferhorn.  The last time I tried to ski it, my buddy Alexis and I were fully bouted by the unexpected, icy conditions.  We made it halfway down the thing before realizing that, in fact, there was no snow left in it to ski.  The NW Couloir is one of the most classic, steep ski descents in the Wasatch; to get it, one must first approach the peak from  White Pine, climb it, then drop into the chute right from the summit, and then about halfway down, rappel a 50' section of cliffband to reach the apron into Hogum's Fork.  The pitch is 50 degrees at the chute's steepest, and the upper ramp is definitely a "no-fall" situation--my favorite type of skiing!

Tyler, tops out on the ridge above Upper Red Pine.  Getting here involved the standard slog from White Pine, a steep, deeeep boot-pack, then me tunnelling through the sizable, overhanging cornice.  Tyler's mellow looks--fully--harshed...  Shenanigans!

Once on the East Ridge, visibility was an issue, and as we neared the Pfeiff, there were several stretches where we suffered severe vertigo--I had no idea which way I was headed, whether I was nearing the corniced edge, which way was up, or down.  Hmmm.

Check out the lip of the cornice!  Though we were able to glimpse the Pfeiff intermittantly, the prospects were looking iffy for the NW Couloir...

Here's one of the rare sightings of the peak from the ridge traverse that afternoon.  Upon closer inspection, neither one of us felt too psyched about the huge wind slab high on the Hanging Snowfield, the last 200 or so feet to the top.  We decided--instead--to ski one of the chutes off of the Maybird headwall.  Yep, we waffled, but...

Tyler's the tiny dot just left of the rock buttress in the foreground.  The top was pretty drifted, and so we decided Tyler should ski it with a rope.  Nothing happened, and despite the flat light, we had a tremendous run.

 Looking back at our tracks--YAAARR!

The entire time following our run into Upper Maybird, we second guessed ourselves about bailing.  But as we continued down the drainage, it seemed we made the prudent call--it was probably OK, but, I figure, whatev... 

 A huge crown from Sunday night's natural avalanche cycle.  This one appeared to be about 4-5 feet deep!

Another crown from the same cycle, this one just to the north of the former.  Both slides occurred on Table Top, which, I believe, is the colloquial name for the top of Maybird apron.

Tyler and I opted to ski out the apron to the road; all that new, deep snow made the near-epic stream crossing all worth it!
The gang was back together for Day 4.  As we drove toward the canyons, several options for where to ski that day were suggested, but as we made our way to White Pine, the three of us notices two sets of tracks in the Y Couloir--a bummer, as we were hoping to nab first tracks, but a plus in that the motivated pair ahead of us that morning had already broken trail.  As we left Highway 210 for the streambed, another car pulled up and a group of four proceeded to follow us up the steep chute--not exactly the ideal situation for us, as any avalanche or debris, or even an errant ski or pole could potentially kill anyone who was below us.  Oh well.

 After the initial 400 or so vertical feet, much to our delight, we discovered that the pair who had beaten us to the punch that morning had only skied the last tiny bit.  The entire shot is nearly 3,200 vertical feet, and so, fortunately for us, we were destined for fresh snow, but only after we suffered through elbow-deep trailbreaking. 

 Andrea and Tyler follow the boot-track. This spot is less than halfway up, I think.  We still had some ways to go...

 Getting higher, but still not there.

The three of us agreed that the final 100 or so feet to the ridge would be too deep, and possibly too wind-loaded to justify climbing/skiing.  Here, Tyler readies himself as the gang of four who had brazenly followed us arrives; they turned out to be super-nice folks from Colorado, and despite our fears that they would snake us, the group thanked us for the track and graciously let us get first tracks...

 The view after the first 30 turns--still, something like 3k feet to go!

 Andrea less than halfway down.  And yes, the snow was that good!

 Andrea "rat-stabbing" her way down the Y.

 And more...

 Then, with about a thousand feet more to go, we ran into even more people booting the chute--despite us and the other four who had yet to start down!  We waited for the fastest three, then, with permission, skied past the last guy--who was dragging--and is just visible right of Tyler's pack.  Let the shit-show begin!

Tyler, always stylin'.

 A very foreshortened view of the mighty Y.  If you look closely or can zoom in on the image, the Coloradans are visible high in the chute.  We skied it from the top of the left fork, way at the top of the photo.

 Still PSYCHED to get more, we hopped into the car and after re-upping on PBRs at the 7-Eleven, drove into Big Cottonwood to ski the West Couloir of Kessler Peak.  To get there, we had to first skin up the Argenta slidepath, a great 3,200 vertical foot shot in its own right.

 Tyler brings up the rear.  There were still lines of untracked pow left in Argenta.

Tyler ascending the upper bowl.  After topping out on the ridge, the three of us decided to ski Argenta instead--the high winds and the late hour convinced us to call it on what turned out to be one huge day!
The remainder of the week saw even more snow fall on the Wasatch, and after a rest-day spent gorging ourselves at our favorite Indian lunch buffet and watching old episodes of NOVA from the library, we got after it again on Saturday--another 6k+ day, this time in Millcreek canyon, north of the Cottonwoods.  It was a good week.  YAAARR!