Pedro Espina's Climbing Page: The Big Roundup

nce upon a time, there was a little shepherd named Rebecca who had a little flock of partners. Rebecca and her partners lived happily in the fertile but flat lands of Maryland, where they missed the mountains very, very much. Being the good shepherd that Rebecca was, every winter, she would gather the flock and travel to her childhood home of Summit County, Colorado, where they could enjoy the cold mountain air while she spent time with Mother Shepherd.

ldOne evening, as Rebecca tried to sign me up as the newest member of the flock, she told me tales of this magical place where there was more powder than any skier could ever dream of, and where ice climbs of mystical proportions were to be found just a short walk away. At first, I was skeptical, but in time I started yearning for this place where little climbing lambs like me could play all winter long. This is how I was sold into the idea of being part of the Big Roundup.

Rebecca took care of just about everything: schedule, airfare, rental cars, lodging, menu, and even discounted lift tickets. Daily, she worried sick about every detail including the happiness of each and every one of the flock members. And as they tried to go astray, Rebecca patiently but steadily brought them back to “the plan”. I was amazed, as I had never been in the presence of one with so much patience, talent and dedication aimed at the well-being of her flock. As the new favorite ram in the flock, I was in a unique position to witness the process from the inside.

Rebecca and I traveled to Colorado the day before the stampede was to begin. Late that night, Mother Shepherd picked us up at DEN and the next day was consumed with last minute preparations: a $450 visit to the supermarket, lift tickets that needed to be picked up, and beds that needed to be fixed (with much attention given to Mark F.’s infamous snoring). Like a good lamb, I followed without questioning even as the mobile phone never stopped ringing.

“You missed your flight? No problem… You can hookup with Dave and Marty and come up in their car” – Rebecca instructed by phone. She continued – “Yes, it is snowing pretty hard up here, but I70 appears to be flowing well. I have most of the lift tickets and my Dad is bringing a few more.”

By morning, the Hage’s residence had seen an 800% increase in population, with all available space occupied by either SUVs or duffel bags. Per Mother Shepherd’s instructions: boys below and girls on top (actually it sounds much more fun than it was). Breakfast a la carte proved nerve wracking to me, but it never fazed Rebecca and Mother Shepherd. As fast as they had arrived, everyone had left, some to A-basin, others to Breckenridge and Keystone. Due to my knee injury in my pre-World Cup ski accident, I stayed behind to fix a leaking water heater. The afternoon saw all the flock’s aching bodies soaking in the hot tub at the Silverthorne recreation center, followed by dinner.

Monday, Rebecca felt pity for me and agreed to take me ice climbing instead of following the flock to the ski slopes. The selected site was Lincoln Falls, where we arrived at noon to a warm but windy day (20 °F). Hiking at +11,000 ft-H with a full ice/rock rack is no small task for a flatlander like me. Soon I ditched the rock rack as I puffed and coughed my way up. At the falls, we climbed the steepest section (WI4), and after two easy pitches we rappelled from bolts available at the top. Being an east-coaster, I was amazed at finding ourselves in such pristine setting completely alone. On our way back to the pen, we stopped at the Breckenridge Village to have smoothies at the local oxygen bar.

Morning saw Sir Neil (former Earl of McFarland and current Beau of Nespor) depart for Florida to continue preparations for the launch of NASA’s Galaxy Evolution Explorer. That afternoon, her highness, Elizabeth (Queen of the Turtles) and Chuck (a.k.a. the Marlboro Man) were to join us at Ouray.

The drive to Ouray was broken into two stretches. The first – to the town of Salida, CO (pronounced by gringos as Sa-lie-da) – was beautifully described by our own tour guide, Matthew, who used Motorola Talkabouts to lecture the flock. At Salida, we had the privilege of having lunch at The Victoria Tavern, where we learned how to disassemble a beer tap while eating questionable pizza and rancid popcorn. Matthew took advantage of the visit to the Vic to compliment the denim overalls of the cute but disinterested bartender.

The second stretch of the trip to Ouray, was characterized by continuous sightings of a full hairy moon. (Aerospace engineers, who were among us, are not sure about the origins of the abundant surface hair. However, waxing was offered as a possible solution.) Upon arriving at Ouray, we were welcomed by the administration of the Box Canyon Lodge – a good motel with excellent access to the Ice Park. Dinner was accentuated by a comprehensive lecture on American Western Outlaw history provided by Prof. Dr. Dr.-habil. Schumacher. Even the staff of The Outlaw was impressed by his vast History Channel acquired knowledge. Following dinner, we learned that her Highness had been delayed by a destructive test of her Subaru (neither sponsored by Fuji Heavy Industries Ltd. nor by the NPS).

On Thursday morning, the skies over Ouray welcomed us to the perfect ice climbing day (30 °F, no wind). The bulk of the flock went to the park, while those more vertically inclined to go downwards, enjoyed the world class skiing at Telluride. We staked the mid-section of the canyon, just downstream from the bridge. I led various single pitch climbs ranging from WI3 to WI5, which then were set on top rope for the enjoyment of others. That day, we witnessed some nice mix climbing (M7) by others in the park, and colleagues from London, illustrated the proper way of breaking through thin ice and plunging waist deep in freezing water while shouting profanity. Back at the Lodge, we found her Highness enjoying the company of some of her subjects at the thermal springs. After dinner, I stayed in my room nursing my old bones, while most of the flock attended the Royal Hawaiian Ball.

On Friday, a late alpine start forced us to take the last climbs in the Practice Area. As we set top ropes, the avid performance of members of a “mountain rescue team” reminded us of the importance of self-rescue. I led a pillar starting route and moved downstream in search of more solitude. As the canyon narrowed, the routes got steeper and falling wet snow made for interesting climbing as spindrift poured from above. Having done the steepest of lines in the area, it was time to try some mix terrain.

The longer I looked, the more doable the line became. Gary pronounced – “she goes” – and with that it was settled. I loaded on pitons and headed up into scratch-scratch territory. A TCU, followed by a bomber Lost Arrow. From there, an ice sheet led to a hanging dagger and then to a sling over a small pine tree. Mark F. was peer pressured into following. From above I could hear his struggle with the piton. Upon his arrival, he proclaimed – “You are sick! You know that?”

Over dinner at the Outlaw, my Crohn's diseased bowels decided that it was time for the decisive movement of the day. It was a struggle between good and evil but in the end, my load was less. Back at the Lodge, Chuck and her Highness joined Rebecca and I for a trip-planning session on the Canadian Rockies (the trip that was never to be – but that is another story).

Bless their hearts, Steve and Jennifer agreed to take us back to Summit County on Saturday evening. After checking-out, Rebecca and I went back to the Ice Park in search of something worth of the week’s ending. We found it next to the bridge. The formation could be climbed from a M6 start, or could be approached by a delicate M5 traverse; we chose the later. As I tiptoed my way up, a crowd of onlookers congregated on the bridge above. In places the ice was not much more than verglas which demanded much attention. After slinging the bridge rail guard, it was Rebecca’s turn, who once again proved her mental and athletic ability to follow anything that I can led. It was a great end to a great trip.