The North Face of Gothics, NEI 2
February 7, 1998

A few weeks before, during the Adirondacks Ice Festival, I had suggested to Chris Ferro and Scott Kinkele that doing The North Face (TNF) of Gothics would be a very worthwhile experience for all of us. For years I had heard of this classic alpine test-piece and had always wondered what was the mystique of a NEI 2 route in an area where hard classics like Positive Thinking dominate. In any case, for the three of us, winter climbing is more than just running up and down routes next to a road, and TNF of Gothics seemed to offer one of those rare opportunities to do something "alpine" in the Northeast.

After the Festival, Chris, Scott, and I agreed to go back to the Dacks and do some of the hard routes in Poke-O-Moonshine. Given that Scott could only take leave from the USNA for the weekend, Chris and I scrapped the plans for climbing TNF of Gothics in favor of doing a larger number of routes in the weekend. But, as behavioral theory clearly states, "two morons typically know less than one", and on the drive up to the Dacks, I witnessed an episode of mental diarrhea that lead to us climbing TNF of Gothics.

"It was your idea... You were the one that wanted to do it..." Scott claimed. "I will do it", Chris replied in his short and to-the-point style. "But we left the skis and snowshoes back in Baltimore, and the hike-in is over 5 miles", I stated, trying to bring this idea to its closure. After a short but awkward pause Chris enunciated, "Uhm... it has not snowed for a while. Maybe we don't need snowshoes... Give me the cell phone -- I will call the Mountaineer and see if we need snowshoes". And so, 30 minutes later, I was giving my VISA card to a cashier in the New Jersey Campmor store in exchange for a brand new pair of snowshoes.

It was 23:00 and we where more than an hour away from Keene. We figured that we needed to start at 4:00 to be at Gothics by dawn, and so, Scott and Chris wanted to set camp somewhere by the side of the road. This sounded lame to me; set camp at 0:30 to break camp by 4:00 -- what a waste of time! "No... we are not setting camp. We are going to bivy." I pronounced in an unequivocal tone. "But where?" was replied to me in unison by my uninspired partners. "At the front porch of the Mountaineer", I said in a most natural and reasonable tone of voice. Chris and Scott laughed in disbelief and switched the conversation subject -- "Sure... at the porch of the Mountaineer...". But later, and to their disbelief, I drove the Outback into the parking lot of the Mountaineer, took my duffel bag out and set-in for the night while they scratched their heads still inside the truck.

All and all, it was not a bad bivy site. The main disturbance was the sound of the trucks rolling in front of the store, but after five minutes I was out. In the middle of the night, our peaceful rest was interrupted when somebody drove up and tried to talk to us. Fearing that it was the police, we pretended to be in a comatose sleep and nobody moved. The intruder gave up after a few minutes and full of relief we went back to sleep. Like clock work, I opened my eyes a few minutes before 4:00 just to realize that it was damn cold. Slowly and painfully, I got the Camping Gaz stove going (or at least tried in this cold weather) so we could brew some tea. After a few minutes I kicked Scott, and cursing me, he finally got up. We dressed in full Gore-Tex regalia, and off we went.

The drive up to the Johns Brook trail head was tricky. The road was very icy and the steel road rails were too close for comfort. I finally managed to get the Outback up the hill while Scott contemplated the large $$ amount of the possible body damage. We strapped snowshoes and skies, and away we went by 4:45.

Dawn was beautiful -- a good sign no doubt. The debris left behind by the severe ice storms a few weeks before littered the trail and made progress on skis very difficult. Scott eventually decided that it was faster to ditch the skis in favor of crampons. It took us about 1:15 to get to the Johns Brook Lodge ranger station. There, we double checked the map, got rid of the head lamps, and tanked-in some warm, orange flavored Gatorade. Getting to the final Lean-to took us an additional 45 minutes. At the Lean-to, we dished the snowshoes and skis given that this is the last common spot between the approaching and retrieving trails (see map). So far, the approach had been more pleasant than I had anticipated, but Hell was just around the corner.

To this day, I am not sure that we took the right trail to TNF of Gothics. We decided to follow the small creek that drains TNF, which proved to be a bad idea. In all but the coldest winters, the flow through the creek is strong enough to prevent it from freezing solid. As a result, the fresh snow only covered the endless postholding path in which we continued to drop-in to our calves. In no time, my boots were two 20 lbs. bricks of solid ice which I had to periodically smash off with the help of one of my ice tools.

Finally the terrain steeped, and we were out of the creek. The snow was not too deep and progress was only slowed by our continuous visual examination of TNF. The line was unmistakable; verglass to the left, verglass to the right, a discontinuous snow shoot in the center (see picture on the left). The snow shoot looked doable, but the verglass patches at the start, and high up in the route, looked unprotected.

We continued to the base of the face, and cramponed for the assault. Given the clear lack of pro, it was decided that we were soloing the face (something that just added to my misgivings about the climb). As we approached the wall, the snowed field under our boots cracked and slid a few inches as if it was trying to warn us off. As the snow slab came to rest, Scott looked at me and just said "Oh... f***ck". Chris (the man with more cojones than brains) was up first, with Scott and I attentively studying his every move. Easy snow to rock, rock to frozen moos, frozen moos to 5 meters of verglass -- pro was not to be found. From the security of the last patch of frozen muss, Chris studied the ice frosted rock. A soft tool tap here, a soft tool tap there, but no purge anywhere. We tried to encourage him, but at that time, Scott and I were sure that eventually he would come to his senses and give up on the climb.

Chris finally requested that we moved out of the way in case he fell. His plan was simple -- commit to the verglass, and if he fell, he would self-arrest in the snow slopes at the base of TNF. Up he went. As the crampons screech on the blank rock, Scott and I held our breath. "He is crazy", I had no doubt in my mind -- one boot up, the next, slowly, painfully, and death defying. Finally, he sunk a tool into the snow above the verglass, and it was all over. Or was it?

My peace lasted all but a fraction of a second. Chris proclaimed "Doable" and Scott patted me on the back as he said "You are up". Who? me? Why me? Why didn't Mr. Chris "Clint" Ferro take the rope up with him? He might as well... But noooo, I was supposed to do the same stupid set of moves, with less ice (after his scratchy ascent), and in a fraction of the time now that we knew it was "doable". The headlines flashed in my head

Dr. Espina, a young Puertorican scientist living in the Washington Metro area, died yesterday while climbing in the High Peaks region of the Adirondacks Mountains in northern New York State. "Lack of the use of a rope led in great part to the accident" -- said officer Zacalusky from the Keene Valley Police Unit. Bla... bla... bla... Dr. Espina is survived by his wife, Monika and his dog, Eduardo.

Easy snow to rock, rock to frozen moss, frozen moss to 5 meters of verglass -- pro not to be found. DejaVu all over again... From the security of the last patch of frozen moss, I studied the ice frosted rock. A soft tool tap here, a soft tool tap there, but no purge anywhere. They tried to encourage me, but there was no way I was getting up this thing. I was as close to asking for my Mommy as I have ever been. Finally, I implored in a full chicken hearted fashion -- "Scott, please take the rope in my pack, climb this sh*t, and drop me a line from above". Scott recognized that I was as frozen as that verglass, and as he swallowed hard, he stepped to plate.

Scott extracted the rope from my pack, stepped over me, stood at the last patch of moss, and then he stopped. He looked as scared as I have ever seen him. His body shook like a leaf. We were in trouble. If Scott fell, the fall path would place his 24 crampon points in my chest before we both tumbled 400 meters (with sharp steel fixed to our extremities) to the woods at the end of TNF. I wished I could have helped but it was all in his hands. "Come on NAVY Boy. I have seen you climb much harder than this. Come on", I pepped him like never before. He moved one boot up but it did not stick. He tried again. Moved up, and up again. "All right. You are the man. You are there" and so he was. The tool touched the snow and I have never been so relieved. He dropped me the line and I danced up like I was wearing a pink tutu on a sunny day. What a difference a top-rope makes...

Chris kept on going and I followed with Scott behind, at the end of the rope. The deep snow made for easy going and we soon found ourselves at the beginning of the upper verglass patch. We were 800 ft up and Chris decided that solo had become a bit too casual for comfort. We roped-up with Chris leading, Scott second, and me at the caboose. Chris tried to pound a piton into a rotten rock outcrop but it didn't work, so he sucked up and went on.

In no time we were at the summit. We shook hands and rejoiced in the beautiful clear blue sky. It was 12:30 and for the first time since the day before, we were bathing in the sun. For the East Coast the setting was truly alpine. I got the camera and took the mandatory summit picture. Then I grabbed the cell phone and we proceeded to call the important people in our lives; I called my wife, Scott called his Mom, and Chris his car mechanic. Three other parties had intended climbing TNF of Gothics that day. After seeing us climb the bottom crux they all defected, one party doing the tree-protected right edge of the wall, and the others without even trying.

At the true summit we encountered a group of backcountry skiers who were enjoying the smoke of cannabis. We descended the cable route and off we went -- for 7.5 miles. After a while, we came back to TNF detour where we meet with another group of backcountry skiers. We asked them if they knew of a place where we could spend the night (the Mountaineer's porch is not that comfortable) and they suggested that we talk to Joe -- but Joe is another story.

The march out was interminable. We made it to the first Lean-to were we repackaged our stuff. The Johns Brook Lodge ranger station came fast and things were not too bad, but the hill out of the station killed me. After that, I was truly asking for my Mommy. I would talk myself into taking 500 steps and then, I rewarded myself by plummeting into the snow where I laid in a comatose state for a few minutes until the process was repeated. It was 16:30, the forest looked all alike, and the sun was starting to set. I wanted to throw away all my gear and put and end to the misery, but my gear amounted to a little more than $1,000 and I have better sense than that.

The arrival of the second Lean-to gave me a second wind and off I went in auto pilot. I started thinking about other stuff and just placed one leg in front of the other. Finally, at 18:30 we were back at the car. I pulled my thermos out and shared hot tea with the guys. TNF of Gothics, a NEI 2, had shown to be one of the hardest climbs I had ever done. Looking back on it, I am truly glad that I don't have to do it again.
 

Pedro I. Espina,© 1998