HARVARD
MOUNTAINEERING
Number 25
DECEMBER 2004
THE
HARVARD MOUNTAINEERING CLUB
CAMBRIDGE, MASSACHUSETTS
Editor
Lucas Laursen
Photography Editor
Joseph Abel
Copy Editor
Pien Huang
Assistant Editors
Allegra Fisher
Akash Kanoji
Joshua Neff
Corey Rennell
Copyright © 2004 The Harvard Mountaineering Club.
All rights reserved. No portion of this Journal may be reproduced in
any way without written permission of The Harvard Mountaineering
Club.
For more information on Harvard Mountaineering or The Harvard
Mountaineering Club, contact us at:
The Harvard Mountaineering Club
1st Floor, University Hall #73
Cambridge, MA 02138
Electronic inquiries should be directed to:
mountain@hcs.harvard.edu
The Officers of the Harvard Mountaineering Club
dedicate this Journal to
the next eighty years
of Harvard Mountaineering.
HMC Officers, 1995-2004
2004-05
President: Lucas Laursen
SecrefaJJI.' Joshua Neff
Treasurer: Joseph Abel
Cabin Liaison: Jeremy Hutton
Equip. Czar: John Noss
1999-2000
President: Mike Weller
Secretmy Coz Teplitz
Treasurer: John Higgins
Cabin Liaison: Glenn Sanders
Equip. Czar: Lucas Marinelli
2003-04
President: Robert Aram Marks
Secretwy· Jane Kucera
Treasurer: George Brewster
Cabin Liaison: Jeremy Hutton
1998-99
President: Lauren Hough
Vice-President: Josh Eisner
Secretmy: Pattycja Paruch
Treasurer: Mike Weller
Equipment: Tony Patt
Cabin Liaison: Luca Marinelli
Wall Liaison: Meredith
2002-03
President: Kyle Peterson
Cabin Liaison: Jeremy Hutton
2001-02
President: Vince Chu
Secretmy: Kyle Peterson
Treasurer: John Higgins
Cabin Liaison: Glen Sanders
Equip. Czar: Jeremy Hutton
2000-01
President: Mike Weller
Secretmy Coz Teplitz
Treasurer: John Higgins
Cabin Liaison: Glenn Sanders
Equip. Czar: Lucas Marinelli
Website: Petar Maymounkov
1997-98
President: Mike Dewey
Secretmy· Whit Collier
Treasurer: Anna Liu
Equip. Czar: Noah Freeman
1996-7
President: Mark Roth
SecretmJI.' Whit Collier
Treasurer: Willy Danman
Librarian: Anna Liu
Equipment Czar: Steve Tregay
1995-6
President: Mike Liftik
Secretmy Mark Roth
Treasurer: Rebecca Taylor
Librarian: Mike Dewey
Equip. Czar: Noah Freeman
Contents
lCknowledgements . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
2
'oreword ............. ..... ............................... ...
3
'ales of lee ....................................... Will Silva
5
:ookies on Half Dome .................... . .Andy Martin
17
'he West Buttress .................... .Adilet Imambekov
21
low to Climb a Stream ................. .Ko Takashima
29
'en on the Hat .............. .Andrew Richardson et al.
34
~etaliation ................................. Glenn
Sanders
37
'he Flume .................................. ...... Katie Ives
37
)ne HMCer's History ..... .... William Lo-well Putnam
43
:abin Report ............................. .Lucas Laursen
45
n Memoriam...............................................
46
!lembership of the HMC..... .. . . . . ... . . . . . . . .. . . . . ... . . .
47
7opies o.f this and previous issues a./Harvard Mountaineering are
vailable on request at $10 each Fom the Harvard
51
1ountaineering Club, ] Floor University Hall #73, Cambridge,
1A 02138, USA.
1
Acknowledgements
This Journal contains the amalgamated work of several
generations of Harvard mountaineers, only some of who have been
in communication with one another, and fewer of whom can be
recognized here.
I would like to express gratitude to the anonymous donors
and HMCers who have left the HMC with a healthy journal fund
over the years, saving this generation that undertaking.
More recent donations directed to the journal have come
from Bill Atkinson and John C. Oberlin, both Life Members.
I would also like to thank the authors whose work appears
here without their knowledge. Andy Matiin, Ko Takashima, Glenn
Sanders, and Katie Ives all left articles with previous HMC
officers. It was their work that Kyle Peterson, HMC President in
2002-03, passed to me and which forms the core of this Journal. It
is my hope that the present form of their writings retains the voices
of these contributors, in spite of not knowing them personally.
I am grateful to the recent contributors for their cooperation
during the drawn-out process of editing and layout.
Aram Marks, HMC President in 2003-4, and Janie Kucera,
HMC Secretary in 2003-4, drove the revival ofthe HMC
newsletter, Notes from Cambridge, last year, and inspired the
revival of the journal this year.
Equally deserving thanks here are the editing teams that
have put together previous issues of the journal, whose works
guided this year's editors.
Erin Matiin of Harvard Printing and Publishing Services
made the digital printing process painless.
My final thanks go to my girlfriend, Erika Hamden, who
gracefully put up with periods of absence, distraction and more
than the usual mouintaineer's slovenliness during my involvement
ll this journal.
-The Ec
2
·v1eword
The Harvard Mountaineering Club in its eightieth year
inds itself not that different from the last time this journal was
mblished, on the Club's seventieth. My predecessor as Editor and
>resident, Andrew Noymer, commented then on the grand history
>f the first fifty or so years of the Club's history and asked how
nodern members could hope to carry on the tradition of world:lass climbing. The HMC has not been doing new routes or even
mblishing this journal since then. Life Member Mack Beal put it
nore bluntly when he wrote us in January 2003, "What the hell is
~oing on with the HMC???"
Since Mr. Beal wrote us, the HMC has sent Notes From
-..:ambridge to its mailing list twice, and this journal is proof that
he HMC continues to serve its members as a source of climbing
>artners and mountaineering camaraderie. Recent alumni
:lideshows by John Graham and Pete Carman and Bradford
Nashburn and Bob Bates have helped renew alumni ties.
This is not to say that the HMC has climbed Mount Saint
~lias recently (a notable HMC ascent in Mr. Beal's day) or built
my new cabins (another notable HMC activity, ca. 1932 and
.963). Today's HMCers tend to climb local rock and ice at Quincy
2uarries, Cathedral Ledge, and Huntington Ravine during the
erm. They spend their shorter school breaks climbing, but in the
:ummer, climbing is often just a break between weighty final
:xams in May and time-consuming summer jobs. In this issue,
\dilet Imambekov recounts his climb of Denali last summer by the
nute pioneered by Life Member Brad Washburn-but the climb
ook place with Russian friends of his from the Boston area. The
.rMC is no longer, in the words of Life Member and writer David
~obetis, "the most ambitious collection of undergraduate alpinists
n the country." 1
Roberts, "The Hearse Traverse," in Escape Routes, (Seattle: The
1neers, 1997) previously published in Summit as "Rites of Passage."
3
Noymer's generation responded by aspiring to "tlu;; vc;1~
routes the HMC was putting up 20 years" 2 before. Our generatior
has done the same. But for the HMC to continue to do excitin~
climbing, the three-year incubating period of the standan
undergraduate is not long enough. To lengthen our "institutiona
memory" this generation must sustain its contacts with recen
alumni (see George Brewster '03 in action on page 38) and build'
base of experienced graduate students (see Adilet Imambekov':
article on page 21) and others. Will Silva's contributions t<
Harvard Mountaineering span decades (on page 5), and it is hope<
that the same will be said of more recent alumni.
This Journal, published after the longest gap between issue:
of Harvard Mountaineering in the journal's history is not intende<
as the definitive recapitulation of the turn of the millennium. Th1
atiicles were collected haphazardly and the mailing list i:
incomplete. The articles cannot reflect all the adventures of recen
members of the HMC. Instead it goes to press as some HMC
members are planning an expedition to Mexico, and others an
preparing for an attempt of the storied Presidential Traverse. Tha
is as it should be. The potential for frequent, ongoing, routin1
publication of this journal is great in a time of digita
communication, editing, and publishing and could unite scattere<
HMCers. Already most of the articles here come from members fa
from Cambridge. Please consider this an invitation to submi
material to the next issue and to strike up contact with fellov
HMCers.
It is hoped that this journal will spark a renewal of th1
historically close relationship between HMC members an<
alumni-an integral part of the HMC's early years and the ke;
ingredient to its legendary climbs.
-The Edito
1drew Noymer, in the Foreword to Harvard Mountaineering 24, Jun
4
~~-J v~
Ice
Vill Silva
The Cave: Mt. Foraker, May 1997
The radio that night predicted clear weather the next day,
by a storm the day after. None ofus had the desire to sit
ut a storm. Jim Beall, John Lehman, and I had begun ferrying
)ads up Mt. Crosson ten days ago to get us in position to climb
!lt. Foraker by way of the Sultana Ridge. Conditions for climbing
1ight have been bad after a storm, and we would have had to
~supply at the cache we had left earlier on the Sultana route before
tarting for the top. Instead of waiting for the storm to pass, we
mnched our summit bid early in the morning, from lower than we
ad planned.
After an hour, we reached one of the igloos a previous
'arty had built and cached most of our gear. With only our down
'arkas and a big lunch we headed for the summit, still several
niles of treld(ing and a vertical mile above us. At the last moment
put a stove, pot, shovel, and fuel in my pack. I cached these in
nother igloo at the foot of the ridge an hour later, figuring we
vere in for a long day. The wind had already increased, and a
ircle had formed around the sun. High clouds were thickening.
Oh well, that's tomorrow's storm gathering," we told ourselves.
Hours passed as we climbed. Clouds moved in, hiding first
he sky, then at times the sun. We continued, thinking that this was
naybe just a local cloud. It grew windier and colder, but we
limbed higher. My doubt grew when I noticed that I could no
~nger see the glaciers below. We halted and huddled under my
1ivy shelter to eat, drink, and confer. John's altimeter watch read
5,000 feet and 2PM. We decided to climb for another half hour
nd see if conditions would improve.
At gusts of up to 50 miles per hour, we started again. Soon
~- .. l-1 hardly see John at the lead end of our rope, let alone hear
Jim. With 1,800 feet to go, things were getting out ofhand.
~llowed
5
The sun was gone. The valley was gone. Visibility was 0 ulll0
We started down.
The first two thousand feet of descent went all right, bu
suddenly fog surrounded us. Which way? The three of us ha<
three different ideas. We shot the compass and John led off. Wt
had left only occasional wands above the bergschrund, having use<
most of our wands to flag our way back along Sultana Ridge an<
over Crosson. It was too cold to stand still and wait for glimpse~
that might give us a better idea of our position. After a falst
attempt, heading too far west and getting into crevasses, Wt
reached the snow cave. As evening gathered, John tried to descen<
beyond, knowing the igloo with our stove was just 500' lower, bu
it was impossible. We were in for a night in a cave.
I have made only a couple of unplanned bivouacs in 2~
years of mountaineering. Those followed long summer rod
climbs, and had little in common with the predicament we faced
Though sheltered from the storm, we were curled up on snow
hungry and thirsty, without sleeping bags or enough warn
clothing. The temperature dropped to -1 OOF as night fell. I wa~
lucky enough to have a short piece of a foam pad; this gave me tht
luxury of putting my legs in my rucksack, while my friends had t<
sit or lie on theirs. The night passed slowly as we dozed and trie<
to stay warm. After the initial anxiety had passed, my mind wa~
quiet. I felt a certain disbelief that we had let ourselves get caugh
by the storm, and wondered how long I could sustain the warmtl
within me.
By morning, the visibility was no different, but it wa~
brighter and easier to stay warm. Blindly, we set out for the iglo<
where I had cached the stove. John had led the section during tht
ascent and had seemed most able to navigate to the igloo, but Wt
were extremely disoriented.
Finding a wand did not hell
determine our position; we didn't even know if it was ours. Onl)
:r John fell off the corniced edge of the ridge, fortunately into <
: snow, did he realize our location. We quickly eros
rund and found another wand. While its surroundings 1
6
-~-.. wwnce
to the igloo site of the day before, we were sure t
1e wand was ours. After guessing where the door would be, I < ~
own three feet and punched through into the igloo entryway.
oon, we were safe from the storm and gratefully brewing some
rarm liquid.
Overly optimistic about finding the other igloo, where we
ad left our camping gear and food, we ate most of our remaining
mch, and set out at 2 PM with plenty of hot water. We didn't
mke it very far. Third on the rope, I had lost sight of the leader
efore the slack was out. Realizing that we were unlikely to avoid
1e now invisible, thinly covered crevasses we had passed on our
scent or even to find our camp, we turned back towards the first
~loo and resigned ourselves to a second night out.
The cold came on more quickly this time. I didn't want to
1ove to let the cold air into my clothes, but I couldn't sit still for
mg without getting freezing cold. We sat in close contact, and
little; what was there to
hour or so, we would
.. 1
oraker - Will Silva
7
shift to change the positions of our stiffening backs. In spik u1 tu
shared body heat, we were frigid by midnight. Nobody had slep1
How long could this night go on? We brewed up again and ate .
candy bar. My lunch bag was empty except for a granola bar, .
few nuts, and ten squares of chocolate. I pictured a flam
flickering in the wind. Jim's zipper-pull thermometer read -10°F.
Minutes crawled by with no dozing to offer relief. I dull:
wondered what the next 12, 24, or 36 hours might bring. Th
prospects were grim. We kept shifting positions every half hour tc
hour, exchanging few words. My shivering came and went.
thought ofvery little beyond the immediate: I'm cold. We're in:
hell of a fix. What's to come of it? Can't think of anything els1
we can do. What time is it? Will the storm quit?
Finally at 0630 John got up and said it out loud. "I'm cold,'
he said. "We've got to get out of here." He was right. We needec
to move while we still had the strength. After 24 more hours in the
igloo we might be too hungry and weak to make it back to camp
John moved out into the dome of the entryway and with his ice axe
made a small hole in the roof where a little light showed.
"Blue sky out there!" Hope welled up in my throat. Hen
was our chance! We brewed warm water for our bottles an<
prepared to leave. I began to dig out the entrance, pushing the
snow behind me as my friends cleared it back into the igloo
Tunneling up through another five feet of snow, I broke througl
into bright sunlight. Blue sky all around! Yes! Emerging fron
the snow, I felt reborn, blinking at the scene, seeing nothin!
familiar save Mt. Foraker far above us. Wild sastrugi and drift:
covered what had been a broad flat saddle. The others passed th<
packs out to me before exiting, then we roped up and I led off.
For an hour I trudged through the snow, up and over hills
around seracs. Two thousand feet below us, dense clouds filled th<
valleys. Would they stay down or rise, as the morning sun warme<
air? In some places the surface had been blown clear and w<
ld see old frozen crampon tracks. When I waded up
~hs in soft snowdrifts, I'd get down on my belly and
8
----·uo the strength to plow through them. When I could feel
1ottom again I'd get back on my feet as though wading ash
\.drenaline was giving way to fatigue when I finally tumed a
:omer into a saddle where I thought I could see our igloo camp.
v'ly heart sank when I saw only a rimmed boulder. I swore softly,
1itterly, but my partners had seen that the camp was up on the next
ise just a few hundred yards ahead. They took the lead, and soon
ve were digging out the igloo entrance, chinking the cracks,
naking our camp tight against the howling wind. Inside, we ate,
!rank, luxuriated in stretching out full length in our warm bags,
lnd slept like the dead.
Several days later, I sat on the col between Peak 12,472 and
v'lt. Crosson. The soft evening light lent a warm color to Jim's face
lS he sat writing in his journal. Soon alpenglow painted the
:ummits of Foraker and Denali. I felt at peace. How strange, this
ife; a few nights before I'd have given anything to be anywhere
~lse. Now I could think of nowhere I'd sooner be, and nobody I'd
:ooner be with than Jim and John. All was perfection.
I. The Dome: South Pole Station,
October 1997 to November 1998
Had someone told me back in the Cave that I would spend
he next year at the South Pole, I don't know whether I would have
aughed, wept, or cursed. Still, a few months after Foraker, I found
nyself with a new job: South Pole Doctor. I spent 13 months on
he Pole, finding personal and professional fulfillment in my role
,vithin that unusual community.
9
The Dome
Will Silva
1.) Light: January 1998
January 1998 was among the cloudiest months on record a
South Pole Station. Temperatures ranged from -25°F to a balmy
10°F. I went out skiing almost evety night, enjoying the light
relative warmth, and ease of passage. Many of these trips were int<
the teeth of the wind, and I remember the streams of ice crystal:
wending over the surface like the channels of a braided river. A
times low clouds cut the visibility to a few hundred yards. Ofte1
the layer was shallow, tearing open to show ragged blue overhead
I would ski for a couple miles beyond the runway, stopping t<
rvel at the absence of man and the accompanying silence. A
m or midnight, the sun remained at a constant elevatic
::;ribed circles around the polar sky.
10
1 loved the excursions on brilliantly clear nights best. 1
[ could ski out from the station and see all five of the b
plywood visibility markers that the meteorologists had placed a
mile apart. Those nights the sun held a little warmth, the sky was
brilliant blue, and occasionally the wind dropped. I'd head out into
the wind with just a fleece jacket, Carhartt bib, and an anorak over
my indoor clothes. At that time of night, the sun stood just off my
right shoulder, making magic of the snow and sky. It rested atop a
pillar of fire, and its mirror image sat on the horizon beneath it.
Showers of faceted crystals in the air refracted the light into
circular rainbows around the sun. On the glacier, these same
crystals caught the light and bent it, sparkling in bright colors
around me. All around danced brilliant red, gold, deep blues, and
emerald greens. By mid-January the sun had dropped enough that
the horizon cut across the solar haloes. A parabola of glittering
colors stretched from either end of the halo to where I stood, and
followed along as I traveled at angles just off the sun. I fancied
myself flying over a mythical land, as I skied along paths of drifted
powder on the crystal plain.
2.) Darkness: August, 1998
Let me tell you a tale of darkness, while it still rests heavy on this
wintry land. I must tell my tale before the returning light gives it
the appearance of a lie ...
Let me speak of darkness so deep you see your hand before your
face only when it hides the stars. Darkness so deep I imagine
myself on the far side of the Moon, or walking in a dream of
brilliant stars, crystal shards lying on black velvet that reaches out
forever. My face presses against that velvet, presses the void. ...
I'll tell you ofmoonlight, the day's ghostly twin, of unearthly light
cast over frozen lands, of moon rising through haze, a promise of
dawn to come, ofsky's shimmering seam, the Aurora Australis ...
11
The sun set on March 22 and rose six months mLc;l.
Temperatures averaged around -80°F, sometimes rising to -65°F
and dropping a little below -1 OOOF on many occasions; our nadir
was -105 OF. The phases of the Moon lent a welcome structure to
the darkness. The stars were brilliant during the dark of the night:
Rigel, Sirius, Canopus, Achernar, Rigel Centauri, Antares, and
Fomalhaut became the landmarks of our sky. The Milky Way,
called the Silver River by the Chinese, had never seemed so grand.
Scorpio was magnificent, curling across the sky. Scorpio Rampant!
Watching for a few minutes, I'd often see a shooting star. Against
these dark skies the Aurora Australis came alive. The aurora varied
tremendously, from dim to brilliant, from amorphous to structured,
from still to wild, dancing motion. Most of the time it appeared to
be pale green, corresponding to excited oxygen atoms returning
from second to first quantum state. Once after I'd stayed up late
finishing a report, I was spinning dreams when Johan came on the
11 Silva On (The) Ice- Courtec\Y Will Silva
12
... ~au
at 0730 saying there was a big, bright aurora overhea
tlready had my boots on when he all-called again, saying he
nistaken; it was really huge, red, and dancing! I was out the door
;wiftly, from my warm bed to a (polar) moderate -75°F with 12
mots of wind, and Oooh, the daylight in the darkness! The aurora
·eflected on the Dome's metal skin, lighting the snow surface so
mildings could be seen half a kilometer away. Gigantic cords and
)ands seemed shaken from one end as though by a giant hand.
;himmering curtains of rays and shafts of light swirled, folded, and
:urned on itself, with waves traveling across the sky in seconds.
3eneath the aurora, Earth appeared as a living, shimmering
)fganism, a jewel of creation.
With darkness and isolation, my horizon has shrunk. We have
'wd the stormiest winter of the forty winters people have spent at
rhe Pole. Even though I've gone outside eve1y day, the overcast sky
rws seemed nearly as confining as the dome. L(fe ~was spent mostly
indoors during the summer, but has been almost entirely so for the
rast 5 months. Not a hard life; it's warm, the power's reliable, the
rood is decent, and for the most part our crew has enjoyed good
l1ealth and morale. But ~winter makes a year at the South Pole akin
to a space voyage. While summer brought an expansive emptiness,
winter brought gates shut against the vast, threatening openness
beyond. The astronomers look out, but my frontier is not the space
beyond; it is the space within. The horizon has become internal.
III. Sun and Shadow: Mt. Aspiring, January 1999
The imposing Mt. Aspiring dominates its surrounding
landscape of peaks and valleys. Aptly named, it towers over the
Bonar and Volta glaciers of the Southern Alps in New Zealand.
The southwest ridge sweeps gracefully from the glacier to its
summit at 10,000 feet, with the pitch increasing from a gentle 30°
-'- --- to 50° near the top.
13
Glaciers? Most of our former crewmates thought :Ruut;ll
Schwarz and I were utterly mad to seek ice and snow after a year
of living at the South Pole. A Bavarian astrophysics student,
Robert had spent two years straight at 90° S. What a wonderful
world of difference there is, though, between the Polar plateau and
the mountains of temperate New Zealand! We hiked ten miles
through the cow pastures and grasslands of the West Matakituki
River Valley. A washed-out, brushy trail to the French Ridge hut
made me feel as though I were in the North Cascades. Once at the
hut, we spent a rainy day becoming acquainted with the local keas.
These mountain parrots are playful but destructive characters, and
a source of great amusement as long as they are dismantling
somebody else's gear.
The following day's challenge was to find a way up the
Quarterdeck, a glacial ramp leading onto the Bonar Glacier.
Though January 2 was still early in the usual Kiwi climbing
season, a light winter's snow pack and glacial recession made for
difficult passage among the crevasses. Bridges that others had
crossed a week before had collapsed. Ultimately, we were forced
onto seasonal snow, overlying wet rock slabs at the edge of
Gloomy Gulch. Unnerved but not unhappy, we reached the col to
the Bonar by late afternoon and traversed to the shoulder of Mt.
French, where we found gravelly ledges for a bivouac across the
glacier from Mt. Aspiring. We crawled into our sleeping bags as
alpenglow faded from the summit.
For just a moment after the 0300 alarm sounded I thought
that I was back at the Pole. The Southern Cross and Scorpio hung
high overhead, nearly overwhelmed by a full moon. It was cold
out, but not that cold! Soon Robert's and my crampons crunched
into the frozen glacier as, roped up, we headed across to Aspiring.
What a treat! Without wind, the stillness and moonlight amplified
the drama of the ridge stretching above us. Dawn found us on the
: of the lower ridge, after crossing the bergschrund on a fragile
Nell frozen bridge. Off to the west, a rosy band capped r
ow on the haze; Mt. Aspiring's own shadow made a
14
...... tu~
pale moon above. We put the rope on for a short, s
~oclc step and then began to solo up the low-incline ice on the'
~ide of the ridge. The sun rose, lighting up the steep east face. For
:wo hours we moved up by pied plan, with one foot flat and the
Jther on front points. The ice was sound and porous, straight out of
ny late-night polar fantasies. Higher and higher, ever steeper, the
ridge led us to the rock bands at the summit. Reaching them, I
::hopped a ledge for Bert, then took out my second ice tool to move
Lip and left, around a corner, to look at the exit couloir.
Belayed off a few ice screws, I moved up bulging ice that
reminded me of the first pitch of Pinnacle Gully, in Huntington
Ravine. I grinned thinking back, while looking up at sun on the
summit ridge above. Soon we had the rope off again and were
front-pointing the last few hundred feet. Turning a small cornice,
we moved from shadow to sunlight. Mt. Aspiring lay below us
with peaks, glaciers, verdant valleys, and the ocean beyond. A
clear blue sky lay above us. I felt like I was floating at the center
of the sphere of being. It was good to be back from the ice.
15
~~~-''-lC''>
on Half Dome
\ndyMartin
Stomping down the trail to the base of the Regular Northwest
ace ofHalfDome is an uncomfortable affair: the brief descent comes
tt the end of an eight-mile uphill approach carrying the most illlesigned packs in common usage - haul bags. One of my partners,
vlike Dewey, decided that breaking in new hiking boots would bolster
t sense of manliness left severely flagging after a summer as a
lesk jockey in New Mexico. Neither Noah Freeman nor I needed
my more suffering than the trail had dished out already.
Our plan was this: fix ropes on the first two pitches of the
route, wake before dawn, and fire on up to the bivy at the top of
the eleventh pitch. Two days thereafter we would summit, have a
leisurely stroll down to Camp 4, and await the ticker tape parade
reserved for noble adventurers of our mien.
Noah and Mike swapped leads on the first two pitches,
fixed lines and rapped as Half Dome lit up deep purple with alpenglow. We chowed, racked our gear at the base, and gave ourselves
an inspirational talking to, along the lines of "we have nothing to
fear but fear itself." Slightly before our alarms went off that fateful
morning we heard, far away, a faint whistling growing steadily louder
and nearer. As we roused ourselves and shook off the mental sludge of
the night before, we were greeted with the BAM! BAM! arrival of two
chunks of rock at the base of our route. We hit the deck as the sparks
flew, lighting up the morning well before first light.
We let out a collective "Whoa, dude, I guess it's time to
climb now." I think if we hadn't gotten the alpine start,
clearheaded thinking might have prevailed and we would have
reclaimed our ropes and not undetiaken the groggy early-morning
adventure. But that is the greatest asset of the alpine start, fi1m
snow and ice notwithstanding: one gets underway before the
conscious mind is ale1i enough to object to the dangers involved.
it is alert halfway up a pitch, loaded with endorphins, all it can
"why don't I do this more often?"
a Fox on the Mushroom Planet- George Brevvster
Pitch followed pitch followed pitch of monotonous cracks,
more monotonous hauling (two-man hauling because we had so
much weight), and still more monotonous belaying. The end of the
first day found me and Noah groveling in a puny crevice ror
placements to bolster a pathetic belay at a minuscule stance, while
Mike followed on the Robbins bolt ladder, cursing and bitching the
whole way. Noah led the last pitch to the bivy in near-pitch darkness,
despite never having aided before. At one point J heard
"AHHHHH .... FALLING!" and watched in amazement as Noah pitched
off the face of the clifflike a cartoon character shot out of a cannon.
I locked off my belay device to catch the impending fall only to watch
Noah stop without my catching him at all. He had left an aider in
place, and somehow managed to clip into it during his fall. We
finally staked out our claim to the ledge at the top of pitch eleven.
We clipped our haul bags in, pulled our sleeping bags out, chowed
down on the cans of Campbell's soup we had laboriously hauled up,
and generally made like mountain hardmen.
The second day began with a strenuous lead up a tight squeeze
chimney, ending with a burly and horrible off-width move high
above my last protection. Thankfully, I didn't fall. The bulk of that
day was more of the same: grinding endlessly through deep nasty
chimneys and jugging below the haul bags to keep them free while
they repeatedly got snagged just out of reach. I found myself pinched
between haul bags, under overhangs, and between chimney walls, all the
while suspended two thousand feet above the ground. I was unable to
move or effect change of any sort, and was verbally pummc~ed by
two irate guys above me who I had until recently counted as fncnd~.
We eventually clawed our way up and belly-flopped onto Big
Sandy with a collective "Whoa dude ... Whooooa." We were able to
' sprawl out w h'l
t
leisurely
unrope on its extensive ledges and
1 e we a e a
· . ·
meal. Night fell over a far more relaxed trio than the previous nl~hl.
. hghts
·
and we watched over the emergmg
ofthe va 11 ey be10 "v us· l1kc
.
.
tauts soanng htgh above the rest of h umam'ty · 0 ne of the true1,
. headlamps htgh
. up on W as h'mgton's Column
vas spottmg
..
' JJITlO
ve that we were in the company of like-minded spmts.
18
The next day a party of three from Ecuador passed us a
slogged through the zigzags. We watched them shimmy across 1 ~~-·~·
God Ledge while we dangled from our thin nylon tether thousands of
feet above the Valley floor. We could not finish soon enough. Summit
fever was burning hot. I finished leading Thank God Ledge and sat
waiting for the Ecuadorians to clear a spot for my belay, when I felt
my trail line go tight, as Noah and Mike, in their impatience,
prepared to jumar a line with nothing but me as the anchor!
Noah led the final pitch, hauling himself over the lip of the
face and onto the summit just before sundown to the glorious sight
of full moons. Several stark naked girls greeted him and offered
him a Nutter Butter cookie. A gentleman even on a climb, he
obliged, but it saddens me to report that he neglected to set any aside
for his companions still slaving away below. By the time we hauled
our weary masses up to that final anchor, the ethereal beauties had
disappeared into the night, leaving Noah with nothing but a great
story and an empty wrapper. The sweetest moments of that day were
those spent coiling the rope on the summit, razzing Noah about the
naked ladies on his dehydrated mind.
We trudged down the Half Dome cable route. Soon the
accumulated fatigue of the previous three days began to catch up
with us and, having not packed a dinner for that night, so did the
hypoglycemia. Until that night I had always felt I would be able to
push through any sort of grueling physical outing to arrive at camp
before sleeping but as the hours wore on, sleeping on the trail seemed
to be a more and more appealing option. Without Mike Dewey's
repeated urgings to get to Camp 4 that night, that day would have
ended for me somewhere between Vernal and Nevada falls, in the
stomping grounds of Noah's nocturnal nymphs. As we crossed a
bridge over the Merced that night, I felt a sense of closure looking
back at Half Dome; it was a mere silhouette towering above us as the
moon flickered off of the river below us. Half Dome was an X that
marked a wonderful spot in our memory but she seemed startlingly
,_ ~~-1nged, so beautifully indifferent to our passing.
19
____, " ~st Buttress
Adilet Imambekov
After months of training in the White Mountains,
expedition "Denali Union" via the West Buttress had begun. Three
members of the ex-Soviet climbing community I had met on the
Intemet joined me. Alexey Dokukin, an experienced climber and
Everest summiteer, served as the head of our expedition. His wife
Zulfiya Dokukina, another veteran of Denali, accompanied him.
Our last comrade was Dmitry Shapovalov, a grad student from
Johns Hopkins University who had summited Peak Lenin in
Kyrgyzstan, leaving me as the least experienced climber, with only
Mont Blanc on my trophy wall. But now I was en route to climbing
North America's highest peak, Mt. McKinley, and Mt. Foraker, the
second highest peak in the Alaska Range.
I flew into Anchorage on May 19. Although not yet in the
wildemess, I found my Thermarest handy on the plane. The air
was so fresh in Anchorage, and you could easily feel its purity in
comparison to Boston. The next morning we got up at 7 am and
picked up gas canisters at REI, along with some minor things we
were missing before hopping on the 4 pm "Talkeetna Shuttle."
Talkeetna, though typically a small town of around 300
inhabitants, was bustling with tourists and climbers during the
summer months. That night we went to Talkeetna Beach to see the
mountain. The air was clear, though the clouds hid the summit.
The moming of the 21st we ate breakfast at "Road House,"
a climber's favorite. Alaskan-sized breakfasts are even bigger than
the standard American size, and even with my Kazakh-sized
appetite I couldn't finish all of my meal.
We checked in at the Talkeetna Ranger Station where the
ranger gave us a special portable toilet to be used above the 14000'
camp and biodegradable packs to be used below. They told us that
over this calendar year, approximately 1500 people had registered
ali from Kahiltna Airport- Dmitry Shapovalov
21
to climb and twelve parties had successfully summited.
The plane dropped us off at the Kahiltna Glacier Airport
where we had some light snacks and then headed out for the 7800'
camp around 5 pm. Fortunately it doesn't get dark in Alaska in the
summer, so you can climb at any time of day. Nonetheless,
visibility was pretty poor and it was snowing. Most of our gear we
carried in the sleds, only porting our down clothing and sleeping
bags in the backpacks. For dinner we had a hefty mountain meal of
fried bacon with buckwheat. We were finally on the ice.
We took the first few days pretty slowly. Visibility was
worse than the day before and it took 3 hours to get to the camp at
9400'. The weather remained bad throughout the next day with
heavy snow and poor visibility so we decided to make May 23 a
rest day. We spent the day in the bigger tent eating and playing
cards. At one point a little bird came into our tent to warm up, but
once it started flying around and threatening to leave us an
unwanted present we shooed it out. Later Valery Babanov, twotime Piolet D'or winner, stopped by our tent on his way down. He
and his partner Fabrizio Zangrilli were trying to climb a new route
on Mt. Hunter, and were acclimatizing on Denali. Alexey turned
out to know Fabrizio from Peak Lenin, so he stayed and talked.
The next day we awoke to much better visibility and we
left around 9:30 am for the 11000' camp. Though it was possible
to go without using my snowshoes, I thought I would feel pretty
embarrassed if I didn't use them at all during the expedition so I
pulled them out. It turned out to be the only section on .the
mountain where I used them. It was sunny at 11000' and at potnts
we were even walking around in our T -shirts. Up to that point we
were using sleds, but now that it had gotten steep we would be
using double carries. We took some gear and headed out to make a
cache above Windy Corner at around 13500'.
Visibility remained good when we left around 12:30 pm,
rh our backpacks were much heavier than the night before so
'idn't go as fast. There were many other parties at the I 4200'
· when we arrived: Japanese climbers taking group pi
22
~.H
uleir sponsor's flag, rangers' weather forecast tents,
several commercial expeditions. It was pretty cold; durin£.,
night I slept in a down vest and used toe warmers. That night the
altitude had begun to affect me and I had a clenching headache. I
couldn't fall asleep until 5 am, and then I only dozed off after
taking paracetamol.
Even with the painkillers, my sleep was poor and I still had
a headache and felt weak when I awoke the next morning at 10 am.
Though still acclimatizing, we took a trip to the West Buttress
ridge. The steeper section of the headwall had fixed ropes with
angles at some points reaching 60°. Though it was not physically
tiring, my headache matched with the lack of oxygen made the
three-hour climb challenging. Alexey's liver was giving him pain
from a recurring illness so Dima and Zulfiya went ahead to the
17200' camp and left their cache while Alexey and I turned around
near Washburn Thumb and left our loads there. That day I took
several ibuprofen tablets, but my headache did not subside. In the
evening a group of Russians from Vladivostok (Vladimir Markov,
Komsomolsk-na-Amure, Sergey Kopylov, and Andrey Gilev)
arrived who were also headed up the West Buttress route.
When I got up the next morning I didn't feel any better than
the day before. We left the smaller tent at 14200' and trudged for 3
hours to get to the ridge. Just before we reached Washburn Thumb,
Dima's crampon got caught on his pants and he started sliding
down. Fortunately, he was able to self-arrest; had he been a few
meters ahead where it was considerably steeper he would have
been in a lot more trouble. Even after arriving at the 17200' camp,
my headache continued to throb. I couldn't fall asleep until 5 am,
so going up the next day was out of question. The others headed up
for Denali pass in the morning, though they turned back at about
18200' as a result of heavy weather. By nightfall I felt somewhat
better. Many parties arrived at the camp that night, as the weather
forecast was good for the next day.
..
JWing pages:
1ker and 14,200' camp from headwall- Dmitry Shapova/mJ
nber on the West Buttress- Dmit1y Shapovalov
23
Dima, Zulfiya and Alexey went ahead of me since they
were more acclimatized. We didn't rope up on the traverse, as we
didn't have enough pickets for running belays. The route cut across
the 30° slope and gained about 1000 feet before Denali pass. From
this point the route followed a gradual but large plateau until the
summit ridge. The visibility was poor and it was windy but the
wands were visible. It took me 6 hours to get to 19700', where 1
met Alexey and some others headed down. I wasn't as exhausted
as before and was sure that I would summit that day. The
guidebook was giving time estimates at 8-10 hours to the summit
and I had an hour of walking already behind me. Nevertheless,
Alexey thought that I looked tired and might not be able to come
down by myself, so he asked me to go down with him and try to
summit in a day if I felt better. It was a pity to tum back, but I
agreed. I had to be accurate on the traverse during the descent,
since Dima went ahead with the rope; I was careful not to snag a
crampon on my pants.
In the morning the weather turned for the worse and the
forecast for the next day wasn't looking good either. The members
of the Vladivostok team had come to the 17200' camp and had
decided to wait for good weather to summit. After speaking with
them, we decided to descend to the 14200' camp to rest, and then
go up to the summit all together when the weather improved. On
the way down we ran into Ravil Chamgoulov from Vancouver,
who had earned the "Snow Leopard" distinction for summiting the
five 7000m peaks of the former Soviet Union and was now
ascending the West Buttress solo. In the evening he came to our
tent, and we spent lots of time talking and eating. We went to bed
around midnight, and I enjoyed my first fulfilling sleep that night.
Rejuvenated and with promising weather, we headed up to
the 17200' camp to prepare for ascent. On the fixed section I
realized that I had forgotten my ascender at the 17200' campsite
1ad to use a T -block to make it up. At 17200' we had some
dge with salo (Russian bacon, which is more or less 100~ 1 .1-'n+\
26
('limber on a Cornice Below the Summit- Adilet Imambekov
ll1r dinner. My heart rate had improved though my headache had
reappeared.
We awoke to the sun shining for the first day of the
summer, though the cold and windy weather outside didn't seem to
acknowledge it. The wind was covering our steps when we started
and we had to break trail. The traverse had less snow than my
attempt; so we had to front point some sections. On the
part or the traverse the wind was blowing uphill and we had
In \vait I(H· Vladimir who was carrying the rope far behind us. At
point, most other climbers were turning back After Sergey
I went down to Vladimir and asked if we should go down,
27
but he ~·efused and gave me the rope. Looking at him and the others
ascendmg at a slower pace, I decided to give it one more try.
By the time I was on the pass again, the wind had subsided.
I. headed up with ~ndrey after briefly stopping to warm up my
nght foot (by pounng some tea from my thermos on it). Later 1
realized that my right liner
didn't have an insole,
though it had never posed
a problem during training
in the White Mountains.
On Football Field we had
snacks, and I left all of my
belongings except for my
ice axe and camera. It took
an hour and a half to get to
the summit and close to
the top I had to take three
breaths for every step. We
had triumphed!
I slept very well
after the summit and got
Kazakhstan on the Sunu11it!
up late, meandering my
- Courtesy Adilet Imambekov
way down to the 14200'
campsite. After a few hours the others caught up. The day before,
while taking off his gloves to fix his crampons, Sergey had
frostbitten his fingers and toes and we brought him to the ranger
station just to make sure it was nothing serious. Around 1Opm we
hiked for two hours down to the 11000' camp.
Our final morning on Denali I awoke nice and late to warm
and sunny weather. It took 4.5 hours to get to Kahiltna Airport. It
was even warmer and sunnier at the airport, and for the first time in
two weeks I took off my socks and liners, changed my T -shirts and
lown on the Thermarest relaxing in wait for the plane. That
noon I flew back to Talkeetna and had the best bee·· "~'"-!
wich of my life.
28
How to Climb a Stream
Takashima
Sawa-nobori and its history
Climbing a stream? I suppose many people would wonder
exactly what such a past~me i.s. c.limbing ~ stre~m, or, as v:e ~all
, ~· twa-nobori, is a valid chmbmg style JUSt hke rock chmbmg
lt ' t
.
1
k
;md ice climbing. In the. old days, mou~tams
were a p ace to rna e
living as well as obJects of worsh1p. Loggers, hunters, and
herbalists all made their way into the mountains as part of their
trade.
About a hundred years ago, alpinism was introduced as a
in Japan. Mountains, or more precisely ridges and walls,
became prime climbing objectives. Unfmiunately, Japanese
climbers could not find rocks and walls everywhere. Unlike the
Alps, Japan's mountains are mostly covered by trees and grass.
Climbing bushy ridges requires a great deal of effort (and is not
fun at all). Naturally, some climbers turned their attention to
streams, which were abundant in Japan. During the golden age
of climbing, sawa-nobori was perceived as pseudoalpinism and
pursued rather unwillingly. But now, climbing has become
diversified, and more and more people enjoy sawa-nobori.
Cicar
Most climbers dislike being wet. Being wet means death
in certain situations. Sawa-nobori, however, reverses the
normal relation between climbing and wetness. In sawa-nobori,
being dry is abnormal. This paradigm shift opens up a whole
new climbing field, with its own specific gear requirements. Since
practitioners are always wet, they must take care to choose
d(~thing. Like most modern technical clothing, it should dry
qmckly and should be warm even when wet, such as traditional
or more modern polypropylene and fleece.
The most important thing is footwear. Traditionally,
thi (traditional split-toed heavy-cloth shoes) and waraji
lll'illg j)(tges:
versing to the base of the climb- Courtesy Ko Takashima
hout a paddle - Courte.sy Ko Takashima
(straw sandals) were used. Now, most people wear water shoes
specially made for sawa-nohori. These shoes don't slip on wet and
slimy rocks and the soles are made of polypropylene.
Additionally, gear must be reduced to a minimum. No one
wants to swim with a heavy pack. We don't bring stoves; there is
plenty of firewood. We don't bring water either; there is plenty of
it, too! Some people only bring rice and salt. Fish and edible wild
plants are abundant. Tents and sleeping bags arc also
unnecessary. A piece of tarp and a sleeping bag cover arc
enough. The most annoying part of sawa-nobori in Japan is
dealing with insects, such as mosquitoes, horseflies, and leeches.
Nets and insect repellant are useful but the only real way you can
avoid insects is to embrace the water. In Holdcaido, you also
have to think about bears. All in all, simple is best and the lighter
the better.
3. Techniques
Savva-nobori has its own rating system just like rock
climbing. There are six grades (1-6), based on factors such as
length, continuity, and commitment. Some climbing techniques
are unique to sawa-nobori. Waterfalls are, of course, the biggest
obstacles. We have two options; to climb them or to avoid them.
Climbing waterfalls is fun, so we try to climb as far as we can. If
the stream is large or swollen, it is dangerous to climb in it, so we
climb the sidewall of the waterfall. The sidewall is not always dry
and protection is poor in most cases. When you can't climb
either the waterfall or the sidewall, you advance around them.
Sometimes you have to climb rocks, and sometimes you have to
climb bushy ridges. If you have to climb kusatsuki and
dorokabe, you are really in trouble. These are steep walls of
mud with grass (kusatsuld) or without grass (dorokabe). You
should bundle as much grass as possible, push it down, and slowly
b with your feet nailed in the mud (the split toes of Jikatabi
· you leverage in the mud). Kusatsuld is ve1y slippery, ~
:to climb carefully. To climb dorokabe, you need to giv(
32
-~~-·., ..... d feet traction with a suitable tool, such as an ice axe
oth cases, protection is extremely poor. And the final sectior
1e stream is yet another obstacle! If it is grassland, you are
1cky. Often, however, dense bushes are waiting for you. It may
tke hours, or if you are unlucky enough, a day to reach the path
nd the way back to civilization.
If you are interested in sawa-nobori and have a chance to
orne to Japan, I would be willing to guide you. It would be my
leasure to help as many people as possible get to know about
awa-nobori and enjoy it.
edral, sawa-nobori style - Courtesy Ko Takashima
Ten on the Hat
Andrew Richardson, Craig Sovka and Matthew Richardson
To celebrate Pony Boy's long-awaited engagement and
imminent wedding, a group of intrepid Banditos assembled in
southern Utah for Lad's Weekend 2003. This was the sequel to the
infamous Lad's Weekend 2002 (in honor of Hot Legs' upcoming
wedding), which not only saw 11 gentlemen successfully ascend
the glacier route on Mt. Daniel (7960') in the Washington
Cascades, but also set new standards for backcountry extravagance
(smoked salmon, prosciutto and olives, a wheel of brie, and ten
liters of red wine!). Vast quantities of claret once again procured,
the Lads were ready for some real desert adventure: an ascent of
the Mexican Hat, a bizarre sandstone formation just north of'
Monument Valley.
Though half of the jokers there for the climb didn't know a
jumar from a Jagermeister, the AO-rated route (which involved
aiding through a large roof via a rusty bolt ladder placed sometime
around the middle of the last century) went more or less without
incident. Some members of the gang doubted the structural
integrity of the tower, but the Team Geologist assured one and all
that since it hadn't tumbled yet, it wasn't likely to tumble in the
next hour or two. By noon our summit on the summit was
underway, and the entire Fellowship was ready for victory shots
from a bottle of Herradura Afiejo. We left a number of offerings to
the Gods to ensure that the tower would remain standing for at
least a few more years.
This was the sixth ascent of the Hat by Muddy Water, and
Pony Boy's fourth ascent. Other outlaws witnessed there and
known only by their aliases included Hot Hot Papa, China Girl,
Shotgun Willie, and the reticent Cowboy, among others.
34
Mexican Hat- Andrew Richardson
:Aid climbing up the roof- Andrew Richardson
lC
litnbing partner Janet is an energetic grad student who
in ~ lab across the hall. At one point I had mentioned that
looked very athletic; she replied that s.he thought she looked
like a ballet dancer than an athlete. L1ke a ballet dancer, she
rnotivatcd and works herself hard, but like a climber, she tends
that everyone around her is grossly overworked and plays
little. We both believe that we were doing good by
the other to hit the rocks. "You going climbing this
she asked.
1 wasn't actually planning on climbing; Saturday was a day
lab, and Sunday was a trip to the Harvard Mountaineering
cabin on Mount Washington, a work trip to shovel shit out of
outhouse. But fall in New England is the best time of year, and
would be a shame to spend such a beautiful day working. "Yes,"
1
''I'll meet you here at seven."
On the drive up, I developed the unholy thought of hauling
up Recompense. Janet is fearless, and even though she's less
she will follow anything I can lead. Recompense is a
classic route at Cathedral Ledge that I had been wanting
do. As a sustained 5.9, it was a half-grade more difficult than
I had led before, but I had been leading 5.8+/5.9- at the
in a previous weekend; I felt confident enough to take the
end of' the rope on Recompense.
It was a perfect day for climbing; sunny and cool, with the
showing their full colors. Janet didn't feel great at first so
tried an easier route, aptly named Funhouse. We scaled it with
el:f(Jrt, and headed with confidence up a series of ledges to the
of Retaliation, the sister climb to Recompense that was a solid
4
), hut less sustained.
Retaliation turned out to be an enormous right-arching
or !lake. The rock became very steep and seemed to fall
1
Brewster enjoying New England ice- Laura Fox
37
away from the cliff face to the right of the flake, exposing a
hundred-meter drop to the valley below. It was beautiful and
daunting. Two climbers were ahead of us on Retaliation. The lead
was a tall, lanky man around twenty. His belayer was a shorter
man in his thirties, with a deep tan and a short beard. The team
looked strong and experienced, and I expected them to be well
beyond us by the time I had racked gear onto my harness and
arranged a belay.
I started up the easy first pitch just as the leader of the party
ahead of us statied on the second crux pitch. To my surprise, the
leader was having difficulty. He placed a great deal of protection in
the crack, and struggled at every move. He finally called "take,"
and hung from his last piece of protection, resting until the burning
in his hands and forearms subsided. After a long break he tried
again, but still could not make the strenuous move over a bulge. He
gave up and called for his partner to lower him.
Janet and I dangled uncomfortably from our makeshift
stance, getting colder while growing progressively restless and
intimidated. The older man struggled as much as partner, but with
pre-placed protection, he was able to progress more quickly. He
hesitated several times at the bulge and hung on the rope. Finally
he got an undercling, worked his right foot level with his
shoulders, gave a tremendous heave, and stepped up into a tiny
alcove. He rested awhile, then finished the easier climb to the top.
I didn't want to abandon the climb, but it now seemed
tougher than it had initially appeared. We discussed going for
something easier. Janet wasn't sure she could make it up in. her
present state, and I was afraid it would take all the concentrat~~n I
could muster. But given our achievement-oriented personalities,
we would have been disappointed if we had bailed without even
trying.
I began to map the placement of protection, to rehearse the
1ence of moves for getting past the difficult parts. I dipped my
aty hands into a bag of chalk, affirmed that I was on belr" ,,rJ
off. It was strenuous and awkward, but the handhold
38
d the placement of protection was straightforward. Gi
an
· · 1y easy. I c1'1mb ed qmc
· 1 ..
expectations, it was surpnsmg
'. • g my strength and placing gear every ten feet. I placed a
~onseiV 111
'*'
ieee of gear, rested a moment, and pulled passed the bulge
p1inimal effort. I was very pleased with myself as I stepped
t~e tiny alcove above, two solid pieces of protection at my feet
elatively easy climbing above. Looking down at Janet, I could
:hat see that she was also pleased; in ten minutes, we had
su assed what had taken our predecessors over an hour.
~ rp Moving out of the alcove would be difficult; the rocks were
with seepage, and the adhesion of skin and rubber to wet rock
unpredictable, as is the stability of protection. There were two
up from the alcove; the path to the right was extremely wet,
the path directly above was drier but overhanging. I made for
overhang, which appeared to lead to a large, dry handhold after
single move. To my surprise, the "handhold" was actually a
l$loped, narrow lip that would take no hand at all. With nowhere to
and nowhere to go, I called for Janet to "watch me" as I
scuttled back to the alcove.
I looked back up at the overhang above me and
contemplated strategies to overcome it. The worst-case scenario I
could imagine was taking a clean fall onto reliable protection.
to get on with it, I started again on the overhang without
rl:covering complete strength in my hands and forearms.
Two moves up, I could tell that I would fall. I realized then
if I had rested just a little more, I could have used brute force
lo mantle onto one of the tiny ledges, but I was just too tired. I
nevertheless attempted this maneuver, and had nearly gotten my
on the ledge when I knew that I had to let go. I called for Janet
lo "hold" as my fingers melted off the rock. It seemed a long time,
nllhough in actuality I fell no more than five meters. The rope was
taut at the cam, and I sat there dangling, dazed, and
-·"""""'~" to have failed. I called to Janet that I was fine.
l ~vas determined to finish the climb. I looked at the rightext! from the alcove, and realized that despite the
39
condensation, it was the smarter route. I reached out and grabbed
the rock, pulled myself to it, and realized by the third move that I
had either sprained or broken my ankle on the fall; I could bear no
weight on my left foot.
Despite my tough exterior, I had to say, "Uh, Janet, I uhh,
well, I'm really sorry, but I think I'm hurt. Uh, I don't think you're
going to get to do the pitch. I'm sorry. Uh, yeah, I don't think I can
finish here. Maybe ... Owww, shit! Right, yeah, I can't put any
weight on that foot. Sorry." Janet was clearly worried and assumed
the worst. My priority was to get down, and I clipped directly into
the cam that held me, focusing hard through spasms of pain. I had
just started to rig a rappelling anchor, but our friends who had
preceded us on the climb came down just then.
One of the best parts of climbing is the generosity between
climbers, and their kind treatment was no exception. They handed
their ropes to me and I descended on them, hopping on one foot
and collecting the gear I had placed on the way up. They helped us
down the final rappels and escorted me down the trail to the car.
As a final gesture, they offered me two codeine tablets from their
first aid kit.
Lab work was difficult for a while. I was getting around on
crutches at first, but soon discovered that hopping on one foot was
surprisingly efficient. I could get around at the speed of a slow run,
carry my own things, and open doors. My ability to compensate
was noted by my Russian lab mate, who observed my
resourcefulness at the ice machine. I was supported on one leg,
with the injured foot extended behind for balance; my arms
extended over the ice machine to fill a bucket. "Oh man!" he
remarked. "You are like, what you call...you are like ballet
dancer!"
40
e, Last Winter
atie Ives
___ u .....
) paint a white rose, you use every color but white. The
ghlights on the tips of the petals are yellow, the shadows blue.
ut the center of the rose is an icy green
epping into the Flume is like stepping below the day. You look
'to see the sun touching the over-hanging branches of the fir
~es, to see bright yellows and deep forest-greens.
side the Flume, there are only the colors of rock and ice and
ladow.
1e frozen waterfalls hang in intervals, chords of pale green and
ue light. Some are staircases of icicles, layer upon layer of
mging crystals, chandeliers that shatter, as each cramponed boot
rikes, searching for a solid hold.
:inerals collected from the earth, from rocks, carried by the once)Wing rainwater, give the ice an ochre hue. Sometimes ice takes
·ganic forms, resembling primitive plants, mushroom growths,
ant spores.
ce," the climbers shout, as each pounded note of the ice-tool
nds a flurry of loose shards chiming against each other. Much
e falls; the call becomes redundant. The pieces, striking the
~lmets, the legs, the hands ofthose below, are sharp but soon
~rgotten. The next flurry falls.
:trger blocks of ice lie piled against the cliff bottom like giant
tessmen swept off a board, like broken, translucent pillars.
~'-~~1-:d
from the rock, a cylinder of ice, fluted marblel ochre and green, hangs three feet from the ground; an
41
aerial Grecian column. Half of the column falls, with a heavy blow
of the boot. The climber dangles, swears, then drags herself
upward.
A fallen man crouches on the snow, hand pressed to forehead.
Two men lean over him; one places his hand on the man's back;
the other stands, hands in pockets. All three stare at the widening
circle of red on the blue-white snow. There is no movement.
In patches, the water trickles between the icicle forms, as though
the wall hummed with hidden life. Water sprays the face of the
climber, coats his gloves and freezes; the climber has become a
part of the waterfall.
"Are you ready to come down?" The belayer stands with bare
hands raw from the wet rope, feet braced against the snow, in the
cool depths of the chasm. But the climber above hangs silent from
numb wrists and stares through the green heart of the ice, until
there is no more color, nothing more to see.
In the blue twilight, the moon idles across the frozen riverbed,
tracing bluish glyphs in the rippled ice-a glass sheath over the
rushing water. The climbers make a slow procession up the valley
path, below silhouettes of mountains. They attach headlamps to
their helmets, like miners.
Overnight, the ice renews itself; drip by drip refreezes.
42
~~·~:=:er's
History
Tilliam Lowell Putnam
I entered Harvard in the fall of 1941, at the insistence of my
·eat-uncle, Lawrence, two months before my 1ih birthday. Soon
flunked English A and had to take a remedial writing course.
his time I had a much more sympathetic instructor who asked me
' write about something I cared about. That was the mountains. I
)t a much better grade and became a sophomore.
Then I became 18 and there was a war going on. Hemy
all, Ken Henderson and Andy Kauffman (all now deceased, and
1 past benefactors of the HMC) wrote one each of my necessmy
.ree letters so I would be sure to get into the Mountain Troops,
.en forming at Camp Hale in Colorado. I celebrated, if that's the
ght word, my 19th birthday in Kiska, Alaska. But then things got
~tter; we came home and I was sent to Officer Candidate School
,t the fmmer Benning School for Boys). I celebrated my 20th
rthday by being assigned to Company L of the 85th Mountain
tfantry as weapons platoon leader. Before I could celebrate my
1st birthday, I had stopped a piece of German shrapnel with my
ght lung - here went K2, etc. - and ended my army days with
~veral decorations and as L Company's commander.
Back in college in early 1946, I put a notice in the Crimson
1d revived the HMC, declaring myself its president. The next
tmmer I co-led, with Andy Kauffman and Mal Miller, the club's
~46 Expedition to Mt. St. Elias- evetyone goes there, now, but it
as a big deal in those days.
A few years later, Ken Henderson got me interested in the
ppalachian Mountain Club, of which he was then President; I
~came its Corresponding Secretary and looked around for people
1 make Honormy Members, etc. I set up their leadership training
1d certification program and got involved with several mountain
:scues in the White Mountains. You meet real people on those
·~~+n
great fish cops like Paul Dohetiy and Willie Hastings, and
angers like Ken Sutherland and Rick Goodrich. On its
43
centennial year, the AMC elected me as one of those thine,~.
Then Henry Hall and Carl Fuller asked me to beco
editor of the American Alpine Club Guidebooks for West
Canada. I had stayed with those mountains because I could af£
trips there, and because I couldn't consider high altitude with
lung. By my 30th birthday, I had learned a great deal about th
hills and had accumulated a great many friends in Canada. 1
task Hemy had in mind was a real challenge: to follow in
footsteps of scholarly giant Dr. Roy Thorington. UnfortunatE
Roy and I got along poorly. I was young and brashly aware t
backpacking was a superior method of bushwhacking to
beloved horse packing, but I loved and respected him.
Later President Kennedy appointed me to the Natio1
Advisory Commission for the United States Forest Service. T
was real fun; I had some influence regarding policy tow<
recreational users of the mountains - until Richard Nix
unappointed me. In 1968 Nick Clinch asked me to join the Bm
of the AAC and when no one else wanted the job, I became
president in 1974. Soon my mountaineering guru, Fritz Wiessn
suggested that I evaluate the merit in the AAC staying active in t
International Association of Alpine Societies (UIAA), and so
took me to a Council meeting in Geneva. Then he asked me to .
climbing with him at the Baou de St. Jeannet, where he invited r
to dinner at a fancy place and told me that he wanted out and tha
should assume the job of representing American mountaineers
the world body. So I did - for the next thirty years. Along t
way, I became pretty well known as a mountain person; doi1
daily editorials on my TV station in Springfield, MA didn't hl
my reputation- but some of my fan mail might have.
People ask me, since I'm so well known as a climber,
I've ever been up Mt. Everest- "No!" Damn that shrapnel, but
does give me a magnetic personality (which is fine, until you con
+~ those things in airports). Then they want to know if I've ev
imbed the Matterhorn. Gotcha, there; I tell 'em "No, l---L n
oked down on it from the Monte Rosa." That shuts 'em1
44
__,aulll
Report
The cabin is a continuing source of adventure for the HMC.
n November 2003, a party of fourteen HMCers went up in order
o put the cabin aright before the season, which included thenreshman Josh Neff taking a dip in the nether regions of the
mthouse. A small army of caretakers traded off shifts that season
mtil February 2003 when the HMC's own George Brewster took
>ver, finishing out the season with a record length snot-sicle (Notes
rom Cambridge, Spring 2004). Members of the club also spent
ntersession using the cabin as a base for winter climbs and hikes.
This year, a work party found the barrel underneath the
mthouse knocked over again. Josh was exempted from outhouse
iuty this time, and the rest of us proceeded to build a layer of rocks
mderneath the barrel platform, a truss system surrounding the
Jarrel, and a hook to lock the barrel's cable in place, preventing
novement in all six axes of motion.
Long-term projects under current consideration include re~oofing the cabin (expertise and help of any kind welcomed!) and
[nstalling a larger solar power system for the base radio.
Neff, Lucas Laursen, and John Neil Thompson ponder tl
l'e of the outhouse -Joseph Abel
In Memoriam
Andy D. Martin (1972-2004)
Andy Martin received an AB from Harvard in 1998 in Visual ar
Environmental Studies, cum laude. By then his goals had alreac
turned toward medicine. He worked as an ambulance driver ar
took classes required for medical schools. During the late 199(
his outdoor activities were primarily backpacking and climbing
the SielTas and elsewhere. [See pg. 17 -ed.]
In summer 2000 Andy and a friend were hiking up Mt. Whitm
when he developed a severe nosebleed, which led to a diagnosis c
sinus cancer. One week
later he began medical
school at Tulane but soon
returned to California for
surgery and radiation. He
restarted school in 2001
and completed two years
despite
surgery
and
chemotherapy
for
a
recurrence. His third year
was disrupted by a further
reculTence after which he Andy, Mike Dewey, and Mark Roth'
devoted his energy to Memorial Hall - Courtesy Mike Dewj
studying his own rare
cancer in a Tulane lab. A third recurrence this fall caused his deat
During periods of recovery from treatments he took many wall
with friends and family. Among his favorite places were tl
Buttermilks near Bishop CA, where he worked up to v
bouldering routes. He also tried sea kayaking, surfing, ar
explored Peru, China, and Costa Rica.
S(
For
more
about
his
battle
with
cancer,
ww. bounceforlife.org.
-Do
46
~.._,utuership
of the HMC
?cords of membership have not descended intact to the current
ricers. Starred names are !mown bad addresses. Please direct
'rrections to mountain@hcs.harvard.edu or The Harvard
ountaineering Club, F' Floor University Hall #73, Cambridge,
A 02138.
fe and Alumni Members
>rons, Hemy L. 3030 Deakin St Berkeley, CA 04705
nes, Edward 2 Spaulding Lane Riverdale, NY 10471
nason, John Department of Geology Stanford University Stanford, CA
94305-2115
senault, Steve 5 Tilden St. Bedford, MA 01730
kinson, William C. 343 South Ave. Weston, MA 02493
rrett, Dr. James E. 10 Ledyard Lane Hanover, NH 03755
al, William D. P.O. Box One Jackson, NH 03846
nner, Gordon P.O. Box 5027 Berkeley, CA 94705
rnbaum, Ed 1846 Capistrano Berkeley, CA 94707
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ataas, Arne* 2 Ware St. Apt.# 309 Cambridge, MA 02138
iggs, Winslow R. and Ann M. 480 Hale St. Palo Alto, CA 9430 I
own, Richard McPike 490 Estado Way Novato, CA 94947
own, Wil 13 Williams Glen Glastonbury, CT 06033
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1ter, Madeleine 5036 Glenbrook Terrace, N. W. Washington, D.C. 20016
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'llins, Lester A.* 1415 Thompson St. Key West, FL 33040
'ombs, David 528 E 14th Ave Spokane, WA 99202
,x, Rachel 2946 Newark Street, NW Washington, DC 20008
onk. Dr. Caspar 8 Langbourne Ave. London, N6 AL ENGLAND
wid* P.O. Box 823 Cambridge, MA 02142
47
Daniels, John L. 39 River Glen Rd. Wellesley, MA 02181
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Freed, Curt 9080 East Jewell Circle Denver, CO 80231
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Green, Dr. Peter* Caltech 138-78 Pasadena, CA 91125
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Hamilton, Scott D. 3304 Hill Rd. Little Rock, AR 72205-4108
Hamlin, Julie Meek P.O. Box 506 Southpoti, CT 06490
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Hoguet, Robert L. 139 E. 79th St. New York, NY 10021
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Lehner, Michael* 2 Brimmer St., #2 Boston, MA 02108
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r ~.g, Alan K. * 4 Old Stagecoach Rd Bedford, MA 01730
ntel, Samuel J. 608 Flagstaff Dr. Wyoming, OH 45215
rgolin, Reuben 3 Sacramento Ave Cambridge, MA 02138
tthews, W. V. Graham Box 381 Carmel Valley, CA 93924
48
. ·t 1. RobertS. P. 0. Box 8916 Rancho Santa Fe, CA 92067
McUII e'
.
d
, til Michael P.R. 448 Barretts M1ll R . Concord, MA 01742
MeGra •
ohn 5 Maya Lane Los Alamos, NM 87544
tvfc Leo d, J
.
Karen* 2399 Jefferson #18 Carlsbad, CA 92008
Messer,
·I'll,. Maynard M. 514 East F'Irst St. M oscow, ID 8 3 843
'lv!CI,
r .
Lawrence* 894 Weston R d ., Apt. #lA··d
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ty,mer, ·
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Marcus*
Seaside
850
Baxter
Blvd.
Portland,
ME 04103
1
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1v,or o ,
Myles, David C.* 715 Gayley Ave., No. 213 Los Angeles, CA 90024
, ·son Thomas 0.* 130 Pearl St. #301 Denver, CO 80203
N
1 eVI
'
. h
. R d. Sout h Dartmouth, MA 02748
Nickerson,
Albert W. 123 Mis
aum Pomt
Oherdorfer, Anthony H. 150 Fletcher Road Belmont, MA 02178
Ordway, Samuel H. 19409 Ordway Rd. Weed, CA 96904
Page, Robert A. 3125 Woodside Rd. Woodside, CA 94.062
llastcrczyk, Jim 3201 Landover St. Apt 1417 Alexandna, VA 22305-1932
Paul, Miles* 2217 Greenlands Rd. Victoria, BC V8N 1T6
Peterson, David and Darelyn 7814 Friars Ct. Alexandria, VA 22306
f'omcrance, Stephen M. 335 17th St. Boulder, CO 80302
Putnam, William L. Lowell Observatmy Flagstaff, AZ 86001
Reichardt, Dr. Louis F. 900 Darien Way San Francisco, CA 94127
Rich, Dr. Paul Universidad de las Americas - Puebla Sta. Catarina Martir
Puebla, 72820 MEXICO
Riker, John L. 47 E 64th St. New York, NY 10021
Roberts, David 61 Dana St. #4, Cambridge, MA 02138
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49
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50