Monogamy
June 1, 2001

Chamonix and the great alpine classics waited. The trip was planned for September and all that was left was to prepare my body to match my ambition. On March 28th, I didn't know Jack Tackle, and in my mind, Alaska was further away than the moon. I had an extra ticket to Tackle's talk at the National Geographic Groversnor amphitheater in Washington DC, and I invited Chris Ferro to join me. That evening, Tackle's tales of beautiful 5,000 ft-H virgin peaks captivated my imagination. A few phone calls later I had committed to a trip to the last western frontier - Alaska.

Denali National Park is a destination that is tough to plan a climbing trip for. Mt. McKinley obscures all other objectives in the region and the area's climbing ethics dictate that little should be said to the rest of the world about it. The American Alpine Journal is about the only source of information on the Great Gorge of the Ruth Glacier (12 miles SW of Mt. McKinley) and this publication is notorious for underplaying the severity of first ascents.

On May 26th, Craig Carter (a.k.a. EB), Jason Elliott, Chris Ferro, Steve Line, Vik Gowda, and I set sail for Talkeetna, Alaska. Our objective - the Moose's Tooth (10,335 ft-H). We would climb in teams of two: EB & Elliott, Ferro & Steve, and Vik & I. Vik and I had spent many hours in the blue granite of the Adirondacks and I knew what he was made of. EB, Elliott, and Steve were unknown commodities and Ferro, after four years, remained as much an enigma as ever. By his own nature, Ferro is an ambitious lone climber and he had talked Steve into climbing John Krakauer's Ham and Eggs route in the south face of the Moose's Tooth. EB, Elliott, Vik and I had set our sights on the easier "50 Classics" route - West Ridge of the Moose's Tooth.

I was sure that if weather permitted, Vik and I could get to the west summit of the West Ridge (9,780 ft-H) but a mile of cornices guards the traverse to the true summit. On Tuesday, May 29th, we marched towards the Moose's Tooth from our base camp (60º 58.072N, 150º 45.160W, 5743 ft-H) at the Mountain House in the Don Sheldon amphitheater. Thirty-six hours later, we laid in a comatose sleep, back at base camp, after having been runoff from the Tooth by a few snow flurries, a poor selection of cooking stoves, and a democratic system of climbing. I had not come this far to have as the highlight of my trip a conversation with an attractive U.S. Marshal at IAH. However, one good thing had come out of the spanking - I had decided to take matters into my own hands, and to prove it to myself, I dragged an 80 lbs. sled uphill back to camp while carrying a 40 lbs. pack on my back.

Thursday was a day for resting and wound-licking. Ferro and Steve had been expelled from the base of Ham and Eggs by the same poor weather that had made us retreat. I read frustration in Ferro's face and I knew that he wanted to drive away the demons of previous Alaskan trips. By the end of breakfast, talk about climbing Mt. Dan Beard (10,260 ft-H) had renewed optimism in all. We looked at the south face through binoculars and discussed the possible obstacles in the obvious route. It was settled - at 10:00 p.m. we would march across the Ruth Amphitheater towards Dan Beard. But was it settled? While I had understood that the six of us were headed towards Dan Beard, the others understood it to be a two man attempt - Ferro and Steve only. Ferro was kind and said that we could all join but I know Ferro better than that and knew that more than two would be a crowd for him.

I turned my attention towards the north face of Mt. Dickey's northwest ridge. This snow-splattered rock face dominates the view south from the Mountain House, and I had been eyeballing a route up it the whole week. At first look, you would climb the west face of the ridge, which is mostly covered with snow, but during the week, we had seen numerous avalanches sweep the face in the afternoons and the rock in the top section looked awkward. Furthermore, I was not sure of how to bridge the huge cornices on top of the ridge. However, the north face looked ugly from the start, which was good because I'd rather be spanked early on a route while I am still fresh.

Elliott wanted to leave at midnight but I knew that 10:00 p.m. was late. I did not want to rock the boat so I went to bed after setting my alarm for 9:00 p.m., while Elliott and EB postholed through the afternoon slush as they packed their gear at basecamp. At 11:00 p.m., I awoke to the realization that my alarm had gone off, but I had not heard it. I rushed out of the tent to pack my stuff, but my activity awoke EB and Elliott. By 12:30 a.m. they had taken off while Vik and I fidgeted with gear.

Vik is very easy to get along with and he had no problem with the "light, fast, & high" approach that had become my gospel after reading Mark Twight's Extreme Alpinism. One 60-m x 8.5-mm rope, one ski pole, three 2-ft pickets, and a light alpine rack. Light clothing (the type that you could die in if the climb turned into an epic), a 40-L pack, two liters of lemonade, and 8 packs of GU. Even though I went lighter than I have ever gone anywhere, I had a deep feeling that I knew what I was doing.

The plan was to climb the north face, traverse the northwest ridge towards the summit of Mt. Dickey, and come back to base camp around the west face. At 2:30 a.m., Vik & I crossed the bergschrund with EB and Elliott two pitches ahead. To improve our safety margin and reduce the use of gear, we doubled our rope, which helped our communication while simul-climbing. I felt very strong and Vik followed my every step. By the end of the fourth pitch, we overtook Elliott and EB, to remain at the lead for the rest of the day.

"Hey Pedro, I need to take a massif" - came the impatient voice from below. Knowing what the impending need for gastric relief can do to a man's concentration, I looked for sanctuary in the 50° snow slope. "Vik, can you wait until we get to that outcrop up there?" - I asked. For the next few minutes, Vik climbed like a man with a purpose just to find that the rock outcrop was little more than a few rocks plastered into the snow. "Vik, I am sure that a good spot is coming up. Hang in there buddy. I need to go too."

In search of the magic gully that would take us to the top, I continued to traverse left further into the north face. Vik and I entered that mental state in which conversation is not needed to communicate. Again and again, I would run it out, place a picket and continue. When all pickets had been used, I would dig my tools, bring Vik over while using a hip belay, and he would load the pickets to the side pockets of my backpack. If we could only climb like that every day.

Sunrise greeted us at the first rock buttress. There I took a moment to appreciate the views of Mt. McKinley basking in the first-sun and of our little camp down below. The rock was not as solid as the beautiful granite of the Moose's Tooth. Instead, it was broken and held in place by frozen mud and alpine ice. As I launched into the first avalanche-swept gully, the snow turned into very soft crap and with it, the fun part of the climb was over. At the belays, I forced myself to drink and to eat a tube of GU while wearily eyeballing a single piton driven into a crack behind a less-than-solid rock flake. "I know where we are going" - I kept on assuring my partners with a security that rejected second-guessing.

Elliott and EB were not moving as fast as we were, which could spell trouble later on the day. To expedite matters, I asked Vik to leave our protective gear behind so they could make use of it. This method of sport-alpine-climbing proved very efficient, and in no time, all four of us were moving rapidly up from one gully system to the next. At one point, the inevitable happened - I quickly climbed into nowhere. A small snow shoot looked like a straighter path to the summit than the avalanche-swept gully that we had followed. Following this path, the consistency of the snow resembled that of shaving cream, and I could not get any grip from my tool placements. I fought for every inch as hard as I knew how - dry tooling, leg-jamming, and even snow swimming. No good. I finally made an irreversible rock move which gave way to snow conditions worse than those before. I whimpered - "Boys, watch me! I am coming down. Give me some tension." And with that, the first gear was left behind.

Progressively, the climbing got steeper while the protection got worst. Fortunately, after 8 hours of climbing my exhaustion was providing the mind numbness required to climb without fear. The final headwall to the summit appeared. It was very steep (at least 80° ) and guarded by an ominous 8-ft cornice. But there was no alternative - somehow I had to climb to the top of it.

A weakness came into view at its far right - a small rock outcropping. I asked Vik to set a solid belay and asked the others to stay put until I had finished my bridging attempt. I set off driving the full shaft of my alpine tools horizontally into the snow slope. I then did one-arm pull-ups while kicking snow and air with my legs. Little by little, I inched my way up towards the rock band. The fear of having the cornice plow me off the mountain was only checked by the desperation of feeling 1500-ft of nothingness under my boots.

At the rock crop, I drove my last Lost Arrow into a crack too small for it. Given what I had just gone through and despite its 1/2-in of penetration, this piton felt as good as a pair of brand-new bolts in solid granite. Using the adze of my alpine tool, I cleared the snow around the rock in search of ice, but none was to be found. I drove my deadman into the base of the freshly cut snow platform and wondered what else could be used to secure the anchor. I remembered I was carrying a ski pole, and after unscrewing its powder basket and extending it to its fullest, I drove it into the snow. At last, a three-point anchor with which to bring Vik up to help. "Vik, Do you have a shovel in your pack?" - I asked. "Yes" - came the reply from 30-m below. "On Belay" - I yelled down the gully.

Vik whimpered his way up as I pleaded with him not to fall on my questionable anchor. Below, Elliott grew impatient - "What the hell are you guys doing?" I could see fear in Vik's eyes when he finally saw my anchor. "What the hell are we going to do now?" - Vik asked."Where is the shovel?" - I replied. Vik bent forward and I opened his pack to pull the shovel out. In our predicament, I had remembered reading how climbers drilled tunnels through the summit snow mushrooms in Patagonia to gain access to the true summit. Why not drill trough this cornice to reach its windward side? Vik looked at me like I was mad, but what the hell, there was no better idea at hand. I burrowed carefully trying to avoid collapsing the cornice over my partners in the gully below. Finally, I broke through to the other side. At the end of the 24-in diameter and 7-ft deep tunnel, I could see the south face of the Moose's Tooth.

"Keep the rope tight and if this tunnel collapses, drag me out" - I pleaded with Vik. I left my tools backing up the anchor and crawled my way to the east face of the ridge. There I expected finding a mild snow slope that would allow us access to the summit of Mt. Dickey. No such luck. At the other end I found an immense abyss being baked to avalanche conditions by the midmorning sun. I crawled out of my snow burrow and spoke to Vik through the hole. "Vik, please keep me tight." At the other side, the snow had the consistency of whipped cream and I swam in it to the left and to the right, evaluating our situation. To the south, the cornice system was bigger than anything I had ever envisioned in my worst nightmare - at least 40 ft-H. To the north, the ridge ended in an abyss. And below, an avalanche waiting to happen. This was not the way out. I crawled back into the tunnel and at my return I announced - "Boys, I have bad news and worse news. The bad news is that there is nothing but air at the other side of the ridge. The worse news is that we will have to down climb this f*cking mountain by the way we came up". The time was 10:30 a.m.

Because I was the lightest climber in the party, I would rappel last and without the benefit of a backup anchor in order to save our scarce protection for the long way down. At the summit, we left the deadman as backup to the Lost Arrow because the prospect of rappelling from this dubious piece of protection was more than my bowels could handle. After Vik yelled "off rappel" I removed the ski pole and my tools, and off I went eyeballing the pin all the way down.

In so many ways, rappelling is more troublesome than climbing. We rappelled off single pieces of gear and at times I would down-climb the pitch after removing an anchor that we could not afford to leave behind. As careful as we tried to be, we often dislocated rocks and ice, which showered over our friends below. Finally, on the third rappel I did it - I sent a rock large enough to hurt the fellows below."Rock, rock, rock!" - I screamed as my partners lay like sitting ducks in the middle of the snow gully. Hopelessly they sought out shelter under their helmets as the rock struck. "Ah!" - came the cry from below. "Elliott... Elliott... Are you Ok?" - I shouted. No answer came back as Elliott held his arm in an immobile grip that suggested disaster. Time stood still as the largest climber in our party laid hurt 10 pitches up the route. At last he spoke - "I am Ok. I am Ok. Can you be more f*king careful up there?" I think that was the happiest moment of my entire trip. Elliott had just suffered a 7-inch gash in his new one-piece Gore-Tex suite, but his arm was intact. Any other of us would have ended up with a broken humerus, but Elliott was strong enough to absorb the impact.

As we reached the right-edge of the north face, the afternoon sun had turned the morning neve into an avalanche prone slush. It was 2:30 p.m. and we knew that the avalanches were about to start. Below, base camp looked so close, and yet it was hours away. We tried to speed things up, but mistakes followed. At one point, I stopped one of my partners from rappelling off after having threaded only one of the ropes through his rappel device. Someone else threw an ice axe down the slope after getting it stuck in the rope coil for the next rappel. My patience was running thin and for the first time that day, I wished we had been only two climbers on that wall. We were running late, and I stupidly blamed my partners for it. Humility came back in the form of a mistake of my own. As I rushed to get off a rappel station, my exhaustion led me to thread only one rope through my rappel device. "Slow down..." - a voice came from within -"you have not come all this way to die in a stupid rappel accident."

With two pitches to go, the boys were all smiles - on the other hand, I was sick of the slush and I wanted to get off the avalanche slope. On the last down-climb, EB offered to stay behind to clean the last rappel. With no remorse, I took up his offer and crossed over the bergschrund. The time was 6:30 p.m.

Vik left in a hurry to attend the long overdue appointment with his bowels. For my part, I was so tired that my bowels could wait for a new day. One by one, we all strolled back to camp as roping-up for glacier travel became optional. In camp, Ferro and Steve were engulfed in disappointment after having been expelled from the south face of Mt. Dan Beard by poor snow conditions. As far as we could tell, no one had climbed our route before - no pitons, no fixed gear, no rappel anchors. As we search for a name for the new route, Elliott was inspired by the personal relationship problems that all members of the team had, and appropriately named the route Monogamy.

The next day, we radioed K2 Aviation and a few hours later we were back in beautiful Talkeetna. After a long hot shower at the hostel, Vik and I set out for town in search of food and liquid barley.Like so many beaten souls before us, we gravitated towards the West Rib where our cordial waitress appeared to be bothered by our need for calories at a time when she was clearly occupied viewing a Stanley Cup Final game. My incinerated, medium-rare moose burger had higher charcoal content than pencil lead, but who was to complain? This is Talkeetna, Alaska -- a place where men outnumber women by a 10:1 ratio, and where a bitchie bush-waitress resembles Miss America after a week in the Ruth Gorge.

I can wait to go back...

Pedro I. Espina^© 2001