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

The post Mt Tupper West Ridge: Constant, Frightening Exposure appeared first on The Uptrack.

Related: Grizzly Mountain Skiing: Slush Cup Through Alders

Report from December 14, 2019

During my season in Chamonix, France, I fell in love with couloir (chute) skiing. Rock palisades on both sides, narrow chokes along the way, deep powder and only one way out. Here’s an interesting fact about couloirs: the skier and the snow share the same direction. Down! There’s little to no escape path if you trigger an avalanche. Even mere sluffing (loose snow) can pull the rug under you and send you careening downslope into rocks or cliffs. Needless to say, the stakes are high at all times in avalanche terrain, even more so in couloirs.

After sorting out our mountaineering gear, our adventure began at 8 AM at the Rogers Pass Discovery Center (RPDC for short). Within less than half an hour, we were deep into Teddy Bear Trees on the ridge looker’s left of Grizzly Mountain.

Thankfully, a brave one already had set a clean uptrack wading through the forest, although at a rather steep angle. Nothing a couple of tree belays couldn’t solve. The snow was so light and deep that my powder baskets punched through the surface by at least one meter. That didn’t stop Cedrik from powering up the shoulder. Man’s got a rocket up his ass.

Moments later, the ridge was narrowing. A few more precarious kick-turns got us past the crux into mellower terrain. From there, the ridge morphed into a large alpine bowl with undulating terrain, proof of the crushing burden of extinct glaciers. We stuck to the wind-blown snow on the ridge to minimize our exposure to potential avalanches overhead. At that point, the uptrack had been covered in wind-deposited snow.

The avalanche hazard was at “moderate”, which meant we still had to be very careful about our ascent path. Most accidents happen on the “moderate” hazard rating: people are caught off-guard by the low probability of avalanches. Skiers and riders are still likely to trigger slabs in isolated areas of instability.

As soon as we gained the very top of the ridge, we were blasted by howling winds so strong Cedrik’s nose turned white within minutes. He promptly covered the exposed skin with his trusty buff. Our faces were relentlessly pelted by icy snow crystals carried by the gusts. Frostbite is no joke. The wind chill must have brought the temperature down to easily -20C. The mountains were screaming in anger. Skinning was becoming increasingly difficult on the hard snow. We strapped our skis to our packs and began the long climb up the thinly covered ridge.

In the distance, we could barely make out two skiers climbing ahead. Dense clouds were rolling across the glacial plains, obscuring our visibility. We eventually caught up to them. Since we had similar plans, we joined forces for the final ascent. Thank you, François and Phil, for setting part of the bootpack on our way to Grizzly Couloir. A few words to describe it: post-holing, rock climbing, frozen hands and patience, lots of it.

With frozen fingers and toes, we gained the summit of Grizzly Mountain. Only a short exposed scramble was left between us and the couloir’s entrance. I thought to myself how awesome it is to blend ski touring with mountaineering. Fortunately, the scramble was oriented in a way that sheltered us from the high winds. I felt a relentless pain in my fingers as blood began to surge back into my capillaries. Good! Today was not the day I would become an amputee.

Our luck didn’t run out just yet. The moment we arrived at the entrance of Grizzly Couloir, a plateau sized for barely two skiers side-by-side, the sun pierced the fast-moving clouds, shining the most angelic rays upon the couloir. Looks like we were up for one hell of a run. I discussed with Cedrik the hazards at play. We would avoid the right-sloping wall of the chute where wind slabs would most likely be found after today’s strong SW winds.

François went first, carving a few carefully placed ski-cuts along the way. The stability was all-time. Phil followed once François had exited the narrow lower choke at the bottom of the run. The snow seemed hella appetizing. Cedrik went third as I snapped a few shots that turned out pretty bad. I’ll let my footage tell the story now.

Yew! What a sweet line right from the top of Grizzly Mountain! Deep untracked powder, gnarly chokes, a steep grade, and good snow stability. It’s pretty rare all those elements line up for the perfect descent. The snow was creamy to the extent where leaning back on my skis was pointless. My shovels would effortlessly bulldoze through the very cold smoke. I encountered the exact same outstanding snow conditions over the following two days of my couloir marathon. The universe wanted me to shred those lines.

Photos

Route Info

5-6 h	1450 m	7.5 km	1330-2755 m

The post Grizzly Couloir, Rogers Pass: 3-Day Couloir Marathon appeared first on The Uptrack.

Related: Avalanche Mountain Southwest Ridge: High Above the Asulkan

Report from September 3rd, 2019

After a short hour drive to Rogers Pass from Revelstoke, Fred and I stepped out of my CRV and were greeted by the smell of fresh pine and a cool morning breeze. We organized our small 25-liter packs having decided to go fast and light on our ambitious mission.

The morning hike was phenomenal. Temperatures were hovering just below the 20C mark which allowed us to move at a brisk pace. Fred bravely carried our 50-meter 7.5mm rope up the Sir Donald Trail.

After less than two hours, we reached the Sir Donald campsite, basically, a small clearing surrounded by boulders and a plastic toilet. We found a small pond 100 meters west of the campsite where we filled up our water bottles and enjoyed the surrounding vista.

After a short break, we proceeded up a scree slope to the col between Mt Sir Donald and Uto Peak. Fred and I aren’t very fond of scree slopes after too many twisted ankles, but this specific trail was in good shape. After all, climbers use it day after day in the summer to complete one of Rogers Pass’ most popular climbing route, the northwest ridge of Mt Sir Donald.

As we reached the top of the col, we gazed at our first objective, Uto Peak rising 2927 meters above sea level. From our angle, the route seemed pretty complex. It revealed its true nature once we found ourselves clinging to the rock slabs with potentially fatal falls below us.

The rock was solid, blocky quartzite, the kind that provides ample friction and huge jugs. Our route led us through a collection of 4th class scrambles with thrilling fifth class pitches consisting of exposed slabs and corners.

We soloed the entire climb, in part due to the added confidence of wearing fitted rock shoes. In addition, the rock quality was supreme and holds were plentiful. The exposure made this classic climb an epic. We bolted passed a couple of giddy Albertan climbers placing protection.

After only two hours of climbing, we summited Uto Peak at an elevation of 2927m. We gazed at the ridge leading to Eagle Peak, a long way to go. It consisted of 3rd and 4th-class scrambles and a few sketchy pitches with rappel anchors. To speed things up, we choose not to rappel as we felt comfortable on the steep face. As I heard from friends, the rock quality wasn’t as good and we constantly had to double-check our holds after a few close-calls further down the ridge.

As we approached Eagle Peak from the south, our progress grinded to a halt. We were blocked by a mighty obstacle, a large talus hill that had to be circumvented.

With careful route finding, we downclimbed a super-exposed ledge system, passing below the talus hill and watching out for rockfall from above. In retrospect, roping up would have been the safe decision.

Exhausted from the long climb, we crawled up yet another scree slope leading to Eagle Peak. We gained the summit at about 4PM and snacked on our usual trail mix.After far to short of a break, we headed down the SW ridge past “The Eagle”, a prominent rock formation in the animal’s shape. We didn’t dare to sit on the edge. We already had our fair share of exposure for the day.

As a hyper-saturated pink glow engulfed the mountaintops, we found a chute skier’s right of the ridge which led to a talus field 100 meters below the Avalanche Crest Trail. Pressed for time, we choose to follow this path, preferring to avoid scrambling further down the ridge into what seemed like a solid bushwack. Around 8 PM, the last glimmer of daylight disappeared behind the mountains.

The chute was much steeper than expected. We descended the entire 150-meter on all fours grasping at what little rock and vegetation remained in the chute. I checked every single hold thrice and cursed every now and then when my foot would slip. A fall would have been fatal. By the time we gained the talus field, it was nightfall. After stumbling around the precarious rock debris, we paved way up a side-hill groaning as we blindly stepped in an unexpected glacial stream. We could barely make out the trail in the distance. At 9:00 PM sharp, we made it back to the car. Total elapsed time: 13 hours in paradise.

Route Info

13-14 h	2090 m	14.5 km	1200-2930 m

The post Uto to Eagle Peak Traverse: 13 Hours In Paradise appeared first on The Uptrack.

Related: Skiing Avalanche Mountain, Rogers Pass: The Burn

Report from July 30, 2019

With two consecutive days of clear weather, we felt blessed. It doesn’t happen often enough in Glacier National Park. Interestingly, this mountainous area is situated at the confluence of coastal and continental air masses. The sheer height of the surrounding peaks forces the humid air upwards, rapidly cooling them down. The result: constant heavy downpours in the summer and an overwhelming amount of snow in the winter. Yay!

I quickly packed my overnight bag after work. I keep it always half-packed allowing me to leave Revelstoke at a moment’s notice. The crew drove east on the TransCanada Highway. After multiple stops due to it being prime orange cone season, we left the Illecillewaet Campground parking lot at 3:15 PM. The Avalanche Crest hiking trail was pretty steep but thankfully short. We got really stoked the moment we reached the alpine meadows above which Eagle Peak was looming. Fred and I were already planning its ascent on our following days off.

While Megan was catching up to us, we searched for the perfect basecamp. It didn’t take long for us to find two nearly flat spots on top of a lateral moraine shaped eons ago by the retreating glacier. We couldn’t believe how incredible the spot was. We were standing next to this milky turquoise runoff, with the glaciated Asulkan Valley as our backdrop. We fell asleep to the calming sound of the stream running by us and marmots frolicking under rocks.

The next morning, we woke up at 4:30 AM intending to climb the Avalanche Crest ridge to witness a dramatic sunrise. It would also be the start of our ascent up the peak. We hadn’t had breakfast yet, I was hungry: the short climb up a scree field to the ridge was slower than usual. In the end, we were rewarded with a stunning sunrise basking the valley in a faint purple glow.

With our hunger satisfied by a hearty breakfast of triple-stacked PB&J sandwiches, Megan headed back to the campsite to get some more sleep, while Fred and I geared up for the coming ascent up the western ridge.

We simul-climbed up the Class 3 scramble with intermittent Class 4 stints. We improvised a belay by having the lead snake my 60m, 8.1mm rope around jagged rocks. The follower would then free the rope as he progressed while the leader belayed from an improvised anchor off a sturdy boulder. While it isn’t the safest climbing technique, it’s definitely faster than building static anchors every 20m and cheaper than buying 100$ cams.

It took us two hours to reach the final crux, a 6 to 7 meter-high vertical face with little to no holds. After scoping out the area, we progressed climber’s right of the wall where we found a sizable crack to shimmy up. Fred volunteered to lead and successfully sent it. I followed with the safety of a top belay.

We staggered up a loose scree slope choosing to take parallel paths to avoid climber-triggered rockfalls from above. One step back, two steps forward. As the sun reached its zenith, we bagged Avalanche Mountain through its southwest ridge. We were standing at an elevation of 2861m. It was no more than 10C with a solid breeze. Sometimes I wonder if I climb peaks just to avoid the blazing heat at home, waiting in the alpine wilderness for the winter to roll in.

I scrutinized the Avalanche Glacier and the Beaver Valley below, seldom seen by climbers and skiers for its difficult access. Meanwhile, Fred was writing a note in booklet stuffed in a 15lb iron pipe. We comically wondered who dragged it up here. That’s motivation right there!

Once our minds were saturated with images of endless peaks, we jumped off the summit. Preferring to downclimb a different route, we headed down the south ridge towards Eagle Peak.

We traversed a scree slope that terminated with precarious cliffs. Due to the exposure, we slowed our pace ensuring we had good footholds over the loose pebbles. After getting cliffed-out several times, the fun really began when we were forced through a steep ravine which required soloing (without belay) through two gnarly sections. Having known him for a while, I could hear a whisper of panic coming out of Fred’s usually low-key humble demeanor.

We eventually made it to camp. We packed our camping gear and promptly headed back to my trusty adventure-mobile at around 4 PM. It was already settled that we would grab an enormous pizza at the Village Idiot in Revelstoke. After all, I was still hungry after my breakfast PB&Js.

Photos

Route Info

10-11 h	1660 m	8.1 km	1200-2845 m

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Related: Rogers Peak Traverse: The Long Haul

Report from July 23, 2019

We began the climb at 5 PM knowing we only had to hike roughly 6km and 1500m to reach our campsite below the Begbie Glacier. I was warned by friends of the endlessly steep switchbacks to reach the alpine meadows. In all honesty, the way up wasn’t too strenuous – just bring a good friend and debate which pair of skis is better. Time will fly!

After 2.5 hours and some unexpected showers, we reached the official Begbie Meadows Recreation Site. It’s a free campsite paid for by the province of BC. Keep it clean and leave no trace folks! Now, this would be a great camping option if it wasn’t for the swarm of giant mosquitoes sucking us dry. We pushed on hoping to find a spot higher up in the alpine. It took us no time to find the perfect campsite just below the Begbie glacier next to a crystal clear glacial stream. Best tasting water I’ve ever had!

As planned, we woke up at 5 AM to enjoy the sunrise over the rugged Selkirk mountains. There is no better feeling than that of the fiery morning light thawing our frozen face. What a sight! We could decipher the individual rays filtering through the thin clouds. The sun was putting up a show for us – most likely only for us as the town would see it several minutes later.

After sorting out our climbing gear, we left camp at 7 AM pumped for an incredible ascent. We traversed the glacial plain at a brisk pace, clipped in our crampons, drew our ice axes and roped up for the short glacier crossing. To our relief, the landscape was barely crevassed. We easily found a safe way up to the infamous Begbie Ledge.

The Begbie ledge was now right above our head.

Before we could claim victory, Fred volunteered to cross a precarious ice bridge over the final crevasse. I belayed him using an ice screw driven in the glacier and a munter hitch. Next up, he had to climb a short vertical section. Reminding me several times that we should have brought cams, Fred was understandably spooked by this 6m high 5.6 rock climbing wall. The glacier was hanging over his head, the melting snow rendered the holds slippery at best and he had bulky mountaineering boots. One cam placed on the wall would have made a huge difference. Eventually, he made it through the crux. Interesting note: we learned the ice bridge collapsed under a friend’s weight a few days later. If you were wondering, she climbed out, alive and safe.

Now on the ledge. The half-meter wide band of rock traverses the bottom of the summit ridge and is sectioned by a few exposed cruxes requiring basic rock climbing skills. One loose foothold and we would fall to our death into the bergschrund below. Fortunately, a kind soul installed a few bolts and belay chains along the way.

The ascent continued on to the C3 scramble up the rocky ridge. While some sections required a few free climbing moves, the rest of the scramble was a breeze.

After an hour or so, we got a good look at the Polar Bear Glacier with its striking serac dangerously hanging over the valley below.

A bunch of bumps later, we reached the summit of Mt Begbie at an elevation of 2733m. We were STOKED. There’s something about conquering a peak you can see every day from home.

The moment we began the downclimb, a storm rolled and blanketed the area with rain. Now that the rock was wet, the scramble down was twice as hard. We slowed our pace, ensuring we had handholds at all times and patiently headed down the ridge. We ruled out the gnarly rock climbing section and decided to rappel down from a chain on the ledge.

We ran off the glacier, packed our camping gear and proceeded down the mountain through the mosquito-infested meadows. While the way up the switchbacks wasn’t too hard, the opposite direction was not so. The uber-steep trail combined with the crushing weight of our camping and climbing gear destroyed our knees. Can’t wait for that tendonitis to settle in! We endured the pain and crawled back to my vehicle at 6 PM, dreaming of that exquisite sunrise, this very morning.

Photos

Route Info

14-15 h	2185 m	17 km	666-2733 m

The post Mt Begbie Summit Climb: So Close to Home appeared first on The Uptrack.

Related: Ross Peak Southeast Couloir: Steeps and Bare Ice

Report from January 15th, 2019

Due to its enormous size, the valley below rarely sees the sun during the frigid Canadian winter. Bluebird day, alpine temperatures at -1C, low winds, and a consolidating snowpack. We couldn’t have asked for a better day.

Beginning in the Loop Brook parking lot at 6:45 AM, we organized our heavy packs eager to start our day. A cool glacial draft was blowing through the valley. Fifteen minutes later, we got the green light from Parks Canada that the Winter Restricted Area was open. We clicked into our bindings and disappeared into the forest ahead.

Ski touring in Rogers Pass is no joke. We navigated along the Loop Brook drainage with care, paying close attention to the hazards on both sides. The near-zero temperatures coupled with direct sun exposure could trigger a wet slab avalanche on the south aspects. At the same time, the solar-heated cornices could fracture, which would cause an avalanche on the wind-loaded north face.

At 1800m, we felt very exposed. The valley was narrowing as we approached Ross Pass. On the right, we saw evidence of wet sluffing from yesterday. On the left, massive cornices on the north aspect of Parsons Peak, overlooking the valley. We sprinted across the 500m section, panting heavily as we arrived below the col where most of the elevation would be gained.

As we closed the distance, we noticed an avalanche crown just below the pass, spanning most of its width. This meant one thing. The unstable wind pocket had already cleaned up the face. Lucky us!

With renewed confidence, we ascended the col’s 55-degree couloir, ice axe in hand. Inuk’s big-wall climbing expertise clearly paid off as he carved a winding path up the chute. He staggered a few times as the thin layer of sugary snow gave way to his featherweight.

The sunlight blinded us as we scrambled over the top of the pass, thawing our frosty man-beards. After hours spent in the dark depth, it is one of the most satisfying feelings in the world of ski mountaineering.

Exhausted from the grueling climb, we collapse on a rocky outcrop, gazing at the endless sea of peaks.

We quenched our thirst with some electrolyte-infused mountain brew. We proceeded up the crusty ridge, battered by the previous storm’s winds.

After 5 hours, 1750 vertical meters and a 8.5km tour, we bagged the peak. The 360-degree view was jaw-dropping, recalling memories of my time spent climbing the French Alps’ mighty peaks. Laurent and Inuk victory danced to a tune while I video-called my dad.

We spent an hour at the peak, soaking up the sun and drinking hot chocolate from Laurent’s thermos. Now, time to shred the north face of Mt Green, a Rogers Pass classic! 

After studying the convoluted terrain far below, Inuk and Laurent shimmied down the eastern ridge to avoid jumping the colossal cornices. I felt right at home carving a few turns down the wind-swept face.

We traversed under an intimidating cornice, searching for a safe way down a cliff band. The clock was ticking. We had to find a solution fast. After a few harrowing minutes, Inuk located a “break” in the cliff. It was more like a rocky headwall with some sparse patches of snow.

In a classic Inuk fashion, he launched off its apex, landing a hair left of a concealed rock. Laurent and I wouldn’t risk it and downclimbed in loose snow that provided little to no footing. Halfway down the face, we couldn’t proceed further. We threw our packs in the snow below and leaped off a precarious ledge.

From our high perch, we could see the wide-open alpine bowl as well as the highway below. Eager to get back on our skis, we raced downslope.

My sharp edges sliced effortlessly through a mix of hoar snow and glacial blue ice. I could pick up the soothing clicking akin to that of a rattlesnake as my sticks stirred the sugary snow.

Once we reached the forested elevation, Laurent, our tight tree navigator, led the way.

Our quads were burning after skiing 1700 vertical meters of pure backcountry bliss. A top-to-bottom run at Revelstoke Mountain Resort for comparison. As the sun hid behind the imposing mountains, we entered a large snowfield leading up to the designated exit route. Looking back upon Ross Peak Path, we could barely make out our tracks.

We completed the 3km slog back to the parking lot as the dimming alpenglow gave way to a waxing gibbous moon. Laurent and I were admiring the beauty of Glacier National Park while Inuk was dreaming of devouring poutine (fries, gravy and cheese curds). To each his own!

We made it back to the car at 4:45 PM. Exhausted, wet and hungry, we slumped into our seats and drove back to Revelstoke, just in time for Nico’s delicious poutine.

Route Info

8-9 h	1650 m	16 km	1100-2650 m

Photos

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Related: Highway Bowl, Revelstoke Mountain Resort: Chasing Big Lines

Report from January 11, 2019

To our benefit, the forecast proved accurate, and the weather was nearly perfect. The sun was filtering through a thin veil of clouds. Temperatures were hovering at -5 °C. Our jackets were gently fluttering in the light winter breeze. The snow on lee aspects was untouched and powdery.

Starting at 9:00 AM, we approached Goat Peak through our usual traverse beginning south of the Stoke Chair’s top station. We then scrutinized a mighty couloir, scanning the rocky face for potential cornices and other avalanche hazards. However, the southern and western slopes, where all of our uptrack would be, were wind-battered with large overhanging cornices at their apex, begging for a catastrophic break.

Laurent’s eagle eyes spotted several avalanche debris in the shadowy bowl below. It was a matter of seconds before we followed the teardrop-shaped field to several slab fractures along the face, signs of a dangerous snowpack. This chute was a definite no-go.

With hopes that the next row of couloirs would present acceptable conditions, we summited Goat Peak for a better view. Dazed by the jaw-dropping scenery that unfolded before our eyes, we took a long break at the top. In the distance, we saw a steep face scarred by two magnificent couloirs. Our planned objective.

We noticed more signs of avalanche activity. Not surprising considering the couloirs were facing the same direction as the previous one. It was best to avoid northwest aspects for now. We changed our plans yet again. Such is the nature of backcountry skiing in hazardous terrain.

We hopped off the peak, popping off wind lips on our way down, hooting and hollering until we ran out of breath. The wind-compacted snow provided a solid platform for super-G turns down the wide-open bowl, a long trail of sun-baked snow puffing up in our wake.

Satisfied by our first lap, we completed the 30-minute tour up Montana Peak, then skied its sunny south aspect. The snow was getting heavy, making our turns awkward at best, but Laurent skillfully handled his descent through a crescent of skinny trees.

Once at the base of the bowl, we accessed the far reaches of the seldom-travelled Kokanee North Bowl. We tiptoed up its east ridge. Laurent and I watched anxiously as Phil trailblazed up the wind-loaded north face, passing above tight trees and hair-raising cliffs.

Ghost Peak was standing tall behind us the whole way up. Snow was blowing off its summit. What a sight!

After reaching Kokanee Peak, Laurent and I dropped along the southwest ridge to our chosen line. In the meantime, Phil got into position for the shot. As I entered the gully, my gut told me something was wrong, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. As a precaution, I ski-cut the top of the funnel, attempting to wash off the slough. My instincts were right. A 20cm slab popped just above my tracks. To my relief, I manage to traverse out of the ensuing size 1.5 avalanche, unscathed.

Looking up, I could see a 15-meter-wide slab fracture, crowning the Kokanee Valley. Glad we avoided the couloirs that day!

Laurent wasn’t quite exhausted from our tiring day exploring the Selkirks. He launched off a small cornice into the valley below, sneaking in a little grab.

After five touring transitions, four runs, 9km of touring, and 1000m of elevation gain, we got back to our car at 4:00 PM. The sun was drifting behind the Monashee range. A fitting end to our exciting stroll through the mountains.

Route Info

5-6 h	735 m	9 km	1540-2340 m

Photos

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