Related: Rogers Peak Traverse: The Long Haul

Report from September 8, 2020

Kaitlin, Mikey, Freddy and I started the day at a leisurely hour, 8:30 AM, quite unusual for a long mountaineering day. We ran up the 3km of the Hermit Trail, now quite familiar with its relentlessly steep switchbacks. We sped past the Hermit Meadows Campground onto a gentle moraine terminating at the southeast ridge of Mt Sifton.

From there, the long scramble began with the lower section featuring sustained 3rd-class climbing. We stuck to the very crest of the ridge throughout most of the climb as it provided the best rock quality. Following either side meant dealing with scree, grass, and choss. Did I mention I absolutely despise scree. I HATE IT – as most mountaineers do.

Midway across the lower ridge, we stumbled across a tilted slab linking two false summits with gnarly exposure on both sides. We crossed the slab with a few hand-to-hand moves on its high side. What a rush! Alternatively, the feature can be avoided to the climber’s left on a series of ledges… but where’s the fun in that!

After an hour of uninterrupted scrambling, we arrived at the base of the 4th-class ridge which I will call the summit tower for our convenience. This section looked step and impassable at first glance. With careful scrutiny, we planned a clean route, zig-zagging up the large blocks of quartzite. Higher up, we would traverse across a grassy ledge to the climber’s left, joining with the 3rd-class southeast buttress. Unless shit hits the fan, this route would be climbed unroped.

The southeast ridge supported some excellent climbing with large jagged flakes, deep cracks, and manageable exposure. As long as we were careful not to cut our hands on the sharp rock, we would be fine. This reminded me of the west ridge of Mt Tupper, albeit at a lower technical difficulty and with much less exposure. I’d recommend short roping this section if uncomfortable.

Midway up the summit tower, we encountered a gendarme blocking our progress. Freddy and Mikey went around to the left through a nasty gully lined with loose dirt and small pebbles. Kaitlin and I went all in. We climbed directly up the gendarme with a few awkward, overhanging 5th-class moves. This particular option is ill-advised for the inexperienced climber as it required a bit of strength.

We gained the top of southeast ridge which later terminated in a loose gully and connected to the north ridge. We choose to traverse left across a grassy ledge onto the southeast buttress. A short 3rd/4th-class scramble across a cracked slab led us to a wide bench, 50 meters short of the summit.

This was the end of the Mt Sifton Southeast Ridge. Technically, we were now standing on its north ridge. We took a well-deserved food and water break while enjoying the clement weather.

Moments later, we were back on our feet, climbing the last few meters to the summit. We followed the base of an old cornice hanging off the Sifton Glacier. At 1 PM, we had reached the summit of Mt Sifton through its southeast ridge. In retrospect, this was a top-quality climb with impressive views and even better rock.

It was now time for the descent of the north ridge, consisting mostly of 3rd class terrain. The lower technical level was welcomed with open arms as downclimbing is always harder on the body and mind. We trailed under small cornices bounding the Sifton Glacier. At this point in the season, they were almost entirely melted, granting us an intricate view of the glacier’s internals.

Once we passed the glacier/cornices, I took a deep breath. Potential icefalls were in the back of my mind the whole time. I peered down the ridge only to spot Freddy paving a way through the blocky quartzite. This guy flows through the mountains with a swiftness that’s unheard of! I looked past Freddy, across the gray valley at Hermit Valley’s highest peak, Rogers Peak, which I traversed from west to east in the summer of 2019 (Rogers Traverse: The Long Haul).

We dropped west of the ridge (climber’s left) and navigated a complex system of rocky ledges marked by cairns until we reached an obvious gendarme. From there, we climbed back up the ridge and dropped on its eastern flank (climber’s right).

I scouted ahead, looking for an easy way out of the east face. While worn footpaths beelined down the face, we stuck to our original plan and circumnavigated the gendarme. Turns out this was a great idea as the terrain below this feature terminated in a large cliff. We slowly forged a path through scree, boulders, and dirt, improvising a trail as we went.

By 6 PM, we had gained the Rogers-Sifton Col. from that location, we descended a heinous scree slope to the head of the Rogers Glacier. We staggered our path: rockfall (high-speed projectiles) was a serious concern here. I’d recommend walking further along the col to the base of Rogers west ridge before dropping down. This would avoid much of the loose scree.

By the time we approached the Hermit Meadows, the sun was setting behind the Hermit Range. What a perfect day!

Photos

Route Info

12 h	1710 m	11.5 km	1300-2922 m

The post Mt Sifton Southeast Ridge: Superb Climbing, Glorious Views appeared first on The Uptrack.

Having grown up on a farm in Northern Alberta and moved to the mountains I have always been the girl ‘catching up’ or at least ‘keeping up’ with others in the mountains. Every season I seem to pick up new gear and push bigger objectives, always coming out the other side stoked to have learned more and pushed my physical limits. I was expecting the same when some friends asked me to start mountaineering this summer (essentially long days hiking paired with some ‘easy’, rope-less climbing). Instead of the regular adrenaline paired with the stoke I usually have in the mountains, I’ve found myself spending hours nervous, curbing anxiety attacks, questioning my ability, and wondering if I belong up high.

All these feelings came as a surprise to me! The regular Kaitlin thrives on adventure and likes to push limits so why is it different this time? I have spent a lot of time asking myself this question during the past month and I think it all comes down to my mental health. As mountain folks, we spend a lot of time judging our physical fitness, whether that be pushing for 2000+ meters of vert in the winter or mountain biking 30+ km in the summer. This was the first time I felt my fitness was not the barrier. I have the climbing skills, the endurance for approaches, knowledge, and partners to move through the mountains while completing these missions safely.

So as the perfectionist I am, I started to get frustrated by these new feelings and talk myself and my ability down:

Maybe you don’t belong here. Maybe you don’t belong in the mountains you have come to love, the place that has brought you so much joy and peace. The place you are happy to call home. The thought about not belonging at home was heartbreaking. I have come to discover this is a really negative path to go down and one that leaves you feeling unmotivated to get outside and do what you love.

I am no expert on mental health. I will never declare to have black and white answers for how people react in the backcountry. However, I believe as mountain dwellers, striving for high objectives, pushing boundaries and thriving on adrenaline we tend to set the bar high and judge our progress harshly. It is so easy to compare yourself to someone you know who moves faster, has more experience, and does not feel the pressure of exposure (aka. one wrong move could be fatal). Not just the people we know but also those we look up to on social media; posting crazy summit photos with huge smiles and going out 3-4 times a week.

All this said, I believe we should be kind to each other and ourselves. Keep your thoughts positive and know that every person has their own learning curve… especially when it comes to dealing with exposure.

Play within your ability, choose mountain partners who encourage you, and above all else, have fun. Remember why you are here in the first place.

If you have made it to the end of this article, thank you. Thanks for reading my thoughts! I feel we often put up an image of our best self. We neglect to talk about the struggles along the way. Hopefully, some of you will relate! If you would like to talk or share your thoughts, feel free to contact me through my instagram.

The post Dealing With Exposure In The Alpine: Do I Belong Here? appeared first on The Uptrack.

Related: Rogers Peak Traverse: The Long Haul

Report from July 20, 2020

I spent 3 days in this paradise and summited Crescent Spire (up the Lion’s Way route) and Pigeon Spire (up the west ridge) with scruffy mountain man, Phil Lester. This report covers the latter in great detail.

I woke up at 5 AM with no trouble as it usually is the case when an adventure awaits me. I accidentally kicked Phil in the face, lying across from me in my two-person Black Diamond Eldorado tent. Oops! We cooked a quick oatmeal breakfast and were ready within an hour. By 6 AM, we were already traversing the snow slopes west of the Applebee Dome campground, approached a few days earlier through the Kain Hut trail.

Kain Hut Trailhead Tip

The Kain Hut trailhead and its associated parking lot is a breathing ground for porcupines. Those annoying creatures have an affinity for rubber, chewing on brake hoses, electrical wires, and tasty tires. BC Parks heavily recommends wrapping the perimeter of your vehicle with chicken wire held down by rocks. With no cell signal, it would suck to be stuck in the parking lot coming back from a demanding alpine trip.

We beelined for the Bugaboo-Snowpatch Col (B-S Col) – you guessed it – nestled between Bugaboo Spire (3204m) and Snowpatch Spire (3084m). The steep 50-degree slope leading up to the col had been known for killing a few climbers. Rockfall from the overhead spires is commonplace and extremely dangerous.

We raced up the slope just as the sun was softening the surface. We couldn’t have nailed the timing more perfectly! In the meantime, we could decipher the repeated, bone-chilling tumbling of rocks on the NW face of Bugaboo Spire. We still donned crampons as we weren’t sure of the conditions in the upper part of the col. It turns out the grade wasn’t as steep as I expected. I’ve climbed way more technical snow slopes in past ski-mountaineering missions.

From the col, we caught our breath with no time wasted on the slope below. We hopped on the upper Vowell Glacier, one of the Bugs’ many icefields and followed some existing tracks heading towards the west ridge of Pigeon Spire.

The west ridge of Pigeon Spire grew steeper, as we approached the daunting peak. That’s the tricky thing about perspective in the alpine. Routes always seem impassible from a lower perspective but are always easier when viewed from a higher point. Objectives are also a lot further than you’d think. As for the route itself, the sequence is best explained in the image below.

After about 1 km of glacier travel, we arrived at the base of the west ridge that greeted us with a welcoming sight, the world’s most scenic open-air poop hole. Unfortunately, I felt the sudden urge to relieve myself and forgot to snap a shot of the famous green toilet but let’s not dive too deep in the complex realm of my bowel movements. After a short fourth-class section consisting of a smooth broken-up slab and one tricky bouldering move, Phil and I gained the ridge on which we stayed for most of the ascent.

We felt very vulnerable on that ridge. The fatal drops on both sides kept our heart rates nice and high. I love this feeling, the endless waves of stress and adrenaline when exposed to hazardous climbs. What a blast! We moved fast, unroped, and quickly gained the first of two false summits which provided us with a clear view of what was awaiting. From our angle, the remainder of the ridge seems unusually vertical. This was supposed to be a 4th-class scramble.

As evidence of my earlier comment on perspective, the ridge’s angle laid back as we neared its base. From this point on until the “a-cheval” traverse, the climbing was exceptional with serious exposure and low-fifth-class moves. Two parallel crack systems spanning the section’s length provided secure footing and solid handholds. So good!

We eventually stumbled on the “a-cheval” traverse (commonly misspelled “au-cheval”), a 15m-long, knife-edge ridge that most people cross as if sitting on a saddle with legs dangling on both sides. Phil and I both tip-toed along, trusting the sticky sole of our rock/approach shoes.

We climbed a little more and gained the second false summit with ease. We lowered ourselves down a narrow chimney onto a ledge system extending past the summit of Pigeon Spire, to its left. The ledge was still covered with ice and snow, unseasonal for late July. After debating the facts (slippery conditions, fatal exposure below, time of day), we opted to pitch this one out with the single trad rack we brought and a single 60m half rope. We might as well use it if I lugged it all the way up there.

After struggling with placing gear in snow, the traverse led us to a 5.0 chimney which funnelled us to the base of the 5.4 crux pitch. The climb was technically simple but had a few moves that had us smearing laterally against a smooth slab with a nasty drop below. We choose to simul-climb this one although it could have been completed as a short belayed pitch followed by some unroped scrambling. Moments later, we summited Pigeon Spire through its west ridge. This was a major milestone for me as I was easing myself into the unforgivable world of alpine climbing.

With enough time spent enjoying the summit views, we rappelled down the two 20-25m pitches onto the icy traverse below. This time, we crossed it without belay with the advantage of prior experience. We downclimbed the length of the west ridge where we met a group of two climbers who weren’t quite as comfortable with the exposure, at which point we provided them with reassuring beta. Moments later, we landed back on the Vowell Glacier and made short work of the downhill snowfield with some fun glissades. I was so relieved that no one got hurt!

For safety’s sake, we rappelled down the B-S col. The slopes below strangely weren’t crevassed at all, again, a testimony of the heavy snowfall this past winter. Two rappels later, we glissaded down the remainder of the slope towards the high ground of the Applebee Dome campground.

Route Info

9-11 h	1800 m	11.5 km	1525-3156 m

For more epic trips, check out the Uptrack’s Route Map. It’s your one-stop shop for Rogers Pass ski touring beta.

ROUTE MAP

Photos

The post Pigeon Spire West Ridge: The Best Climb In The Bugaboos? appeared first on The Uptrack.

• Single rack with cams ranging from 0.4-3
• Small set of mid-sized nuts
• 6 alpine draws
• Two 30m/8.0mm half ropes for protecting pitches and rappelling

Related: Mt Sifton Southeast Ridge: Superb Climbing, Glorious Views

Report from July 28, 2020

The car stereo clock shined brightly, reminding us how sleepy we were. It was 6 AM. Freddy, Kaitlin, and I stepped out of the SUV into the Hermit Meadows parking lot and felt the warm embrace of a rather warm early morning, uncharacteristic for Rogers Pass. This was going to be a hot one. The forecast predicted a daily high of 34C, 85% humidity, and clear skies – a perfect opportunity to escape from the heat high in the alpine where temperatures would hover around the mid-teens. We looked at the west ridge of Mt Tupper. The excitement quickly overcame the morning drowsiness.

With Freddy leading the way, we literally raced up the Hermit Meadow trail. Only Freddy, half-man, half-machine, could sustain the breakneck pace. Kaitlin and I needed breaks once in while to drink some water and wipe the sweat beading on our foreheads. Within 60 minutes, we were past the Hermit campground maintained by Parks Canada and veered off the beaten tracks, forging through raging glacier-fed streams.

We picked our way through the snowfields below the Swiss Glacier and adjacent to the Lizard Tail, a prominent moraine. On a few occasions, we post-holed through the snow cap and landed right in streams of glacial runoff. Fortunately, the warm weather would dry our boots out. Although not mandatory, I donned my crampons for the final bootpack to the Mt Tupper west ridge. My watch displayed an elevation of 2500m. Only 300m left, most of the elevation gain was done.

I switched to my incredible approach shoes, the LaSportiva TX2, and scrambled up some easy 3rd-class terrain consisting of loose chest-sized rubble. This was a nice warmup for what was waiting for us further up the ridge.

Eventually, we arrived at the base of the 4th-class section, much steeper and imposing than its mellower brethren but still straight-forward. While climbing either side of the ridge may seem like a painless option, the very crest of the ridge is the better alternative, providing straight-forward pathfinding, excellent rock quality, and a higher dose of adrenaline. The scramble led us to a prominent gendarme. Instantly recognizable from the highway below, it was named the Hermit, not to be confused with Hermit Mountain across the Swiss Glacier.

While some experienced mountaineers climb over the gendarme (5.7 pitch), we bypassed the Hermit to the south, traversing along a super-exposed sloping ledge in a hand-to-hand fashion. At this point, we opted to protect the traverse with a few well-placed nuts and cams. A series of winding ledges naturally led us to the base of the crux wall with three options:

• A beautiful 5.6+ crack pitch to the left for advanced climbers
• A 5.3 (modern 5.6) corner, well-protected, pitch to the right
• A nasty-looking 5.3 chimney to the far-right offering the least exposure

We chose to climb the 5.3 corner which ended up providing the climbing experience we sought out in the first place. It turns out the pitch felt more like a 5.6 grade.

The climb continued on and on past a few false summits and some very exposed sections. A fall here would result in our brains being splattered all over the white blanket of the Tupper Glacier.

The thrilling scramble was complemented by a couple of short low-5th pitches requiring good footing and a sure grip. Our fast progress terminated at the base of the summit tower which we scoped out for a few minutes. While the summit pitch wasn’t difficult at all (a true 5.3), we decided to pitch out a section of it seeing the insane exposure below. There’s really no pride in the mountains. Pride leads to death if not kept in check.

After faffing around with the ropes, we summited Mt Tupper (2804m). What an adventure… that wasn’t quite over yet. We were graced with a panoramic view of the Asulkan, Beaver, Connaught, and Hermit Valleys. What a sight to behold! We snapped some photos and headed back down the way we came.

Have I ever mentioned I’m a big fan of rappels to avoid sketchy downclimbs? Naturally, we rappelled off everything. We used three bolted rings at the top of the summit bench and corner pitch, as well as on the ledges below the crux pitch.

Further down, we also used some rather-questionable cordelette (tat) stringed around a horn near the hand-to-hand traverse. Fred lowered himself first. In the meantime, I was precariously perched on the very edge of the ledge, staring 400m down at the Tupper Glacier. I usually don’t get vertigo but this position was threading the fine line between discomfort and fright. All in all, we completed 5 rappels.

We ran down the west ridge of Mt Tupper as the sun was hovering above Mt Sifton. It was about 6 PM. The evening light reflecting on the white landscape was stunning.

The descent was plagued by a constant headache, mild dehydration, and much hunger. We eventually stumbled back onto the snow slopes. After a long food and water break next to a stream of melted snow, we boot skied down the hill.

After another 90 minutes of hiking down the Hermit Trail, we crawled back to the parking lot with stiff knees, aching backs, and a sense of accomplishment. This mission was a perfect blend of mountaineering and alpine climbing, exactly what I was looking for. Total trip time: 14 hours.

Route Info

13-15 h	1600 m	11.5 km	1300-2805 m

Photos

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