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The Weekend Thing
By Raphael Slawinski
We had been planning the usual three-day trip up The Wild Thing on the northeast face of Mt. Chephren, with sleeping bags and all that entails – like sleep. Unfortunately work got in the way, and all we were left with was a two-day weekend. The weather and snow stability were just too good to pass up, and so the idea of climbing The Wild Thing in a continuous push was born.
Hour 0 (2:30 a.m. on Saturday, February 21): Realize alarm is about to go off. Get out of bed.
I never sleep well before big climbs, and this time was no exception. I was too excited about what was to come to relax, and found myself checking my watch every hour. It was a relief to finally get out of bed and get going.
Hour 1.5 (4:00 a.m.): Pick up Eamonn in Canmore. Stop by 24-hour Tim Horton’s for breakfast. Eamonn gets Boston cream, I get apple fritter.
The trick to forcing breakfast down at an ungodly hour of the morning is to do it while you are still half asleep. The deep-fried pastries slid down easily while we sped along the dark, empty Trans-Canada Highway.
Hour 4 (6:30 a.m.): Start skiing toward face.
We met Dana, who drove down from Jasper, at a point where a small drainage crosses the Icefields Parkway. It is not an obvious spot, especially in the dark, but we knew it well from previous Chephren adventures. A packing session made quicker by the fact we were not bringing bivy gear, and we were on our way.
Hour 6 (8:30 a.m.): Start up first pitch.
We booted up the giant cone below the middle gully, a silent reminder of the avalanches that sweep down it at the first hint of bad weather. We had all been caught on the face in a storm before, and it was not an experience we cared to repeat. But this time the weather was perfect, and soon we were swinging at green ice and styrofoam snow. Taking the direct start meant slower ice climbing instead of faster snow slogging on the original start, but that was what we had come for – to climb.
Hour 16 (6:30 p.m.): Put on headlamp. Start up crux pitch.
The day had gone smoothly, aesthetic ice pitches alternating with snow gullies pounded hard by spindrift. After spending some time apart while simul-climbing, we found ourselves reunited at a small stance below the notorious crux pitch. Daylight was fading fast, but the way ahead was obvious, even by headlamp. An awkward squeeze chimney was followed by a delicate traverse across a smooth slab, after which a corner led up to a roof guarded by a large snow mushroom. Fortunately a thin crack on the left-hand wall bypassed the ‘shroom, and offered perfect pick and pin placements. Another easier pitch and we were up the crux rock band.
Hour 21.5 (11:00 p.m.): Dig out ledge. Sit on pack. Wait for Eamonn to make veggie freeze-dried meal.
I was afraid of losing our momentum and wanted to keep climbing, but Eamonn wisely insisted we take a break and rehydrate. While I shivered and Dana dozed slumped against me, Eamonn melted snow and produced litre after litre of wonderfully hot liquid.
Hour 23.5 (1:00 a.m. on Sunday): Stand up. Realize am cold and miserable. Start up next pitch.
Even though the night was unusually still and not overly cold, we grew chilled. Fortunately, bivying was not in the cards; unfortunately, getting going again was harder than sitting and shivering, at least to begin with. The next pitch, while not especially difficult, was loose and demanded concentration – something I was having problems with just then.
Hour 28 (6:30 a.m.): Fall asleep standing at belay. Have tie-in keep me from falling over.
Sometime in the predawn darkness I ran out of steam, and gratefully handed over the sharp end to Eamonn. My body insisted that the early hours of the morning are better spent sleeping than climbing, and I took advantage of the down time at belays to give in to its demands. Fortunately Dana was there to pick up the slack and take over belay duty, unlike the previous year on Mt. Wilson, where I found myself falling asleep while belaying Jon. But that is another story.
Hour 33 (11:30 a.m.): Top out on cool ice runnel 10 m below summit. Be very happy.
It was funny how, when the sun rose once again over the valley far below, I felt refreshed as if I had just woken up from a restful sleep. I eagerly took over the lead for the last couple of pitches, a vein of grey alpine ice tucked in the back of a near-vertical gully. I threaded the needle under a chockstone, and the next thing I knew I was blinking at the bright noonday sun on a windswept scree slope. Soon my friends joined me, and we walked up the last few metres to the top.
Hour 37.5 (4:00 p.m.): Posthole back to road.
We broke through to the ground with each step in the deep, rotten snow on the valley bottom. Fortunately Dana caught a second wind, and led the way across Chephren Lake and through the woods. It felt surreal to walk the last few hundred metres to the cars, tourists whizzing past, while we looked up at the huge face that had engulfed us not so long ago.
Hour 39 (5:30 p.m.): Have Eamonn buy me latte in Lake Louise.
The rumble strips on the road were doing double duty by the time we pulled into Lake Louise. Eamonn was passed out on the seat next to me and I was not far behind, trying hard to suck enough energy from Iggy Pop to stay awake. Fortunately a serious dose of caffeine soon worked its magic, and we were once again on the way, a lesser hazard to ourselves and others.
Hour 41.5 (8:00 p.m.): Arrive back home.
A shower, a quick bite, and I collapsed into bed. When I woke up in the morning, the entire weekend seemed like one big hazy dream – which I suppose it was.
An account of the sixth ascent of The Wild Thing (VI M7 WI5) on the northeast face of Mt. Chephren (3266 m), Canadian Rockies, by Dana Ruddy, Raphael Slawinski and Eamonn Walsh. It was also the first ascent of the direct start to the route, and the first ascent of a Canadian Rockies grade VI in winter in a continuous push.
We had been planning the usual three-day trip up The Wild Thing on the northeast face of Mt. Chephren, with sleeping bags and all that entails – like sleep. Unfortunately work got in the way, and all we were left with was a two-day weekend. The weather and snow stability were just too good to pass up, and so the idea of climbing The Wild Thing in a continuous push was born.
Hour 0 (2:30 a.m. on Saturday, February 21): Realize alarm is about to go off. Get out of bed.
I never sleep well before big climbs, and this time was no exception. I was too excited about what was to come to relax, and found myself checking my watch every hour. It was a relief to finally get out of bed and get going.
Hour 1.5 (4:00 a.m.): Pick up Eamonn in Canmore. Stop by 24-hour Tim Horton’s for breakfast. Eamonn gets Boston cream, I get apple fritter.
The trick to forcing breakfast down at an ungodly hour of the morning is to do it while you are still half asleep. The deep-fried pastries slid down easily while we sped along the dark, empty Trans-Canada Highway.
Hour 4 (6:30 a.m.): Start skiing toward face.
We met Dana, who drove down from Jasper, at a point where a small drainage crosses the Icefields Parkway. It is not an obvious spot, especially in the dark, but we knew it well from previous Chephren adventures. A packing session made quicker by the fact we were not bringing bivy gear, and we were on our way.
Hour 6 (8:30 a.m.): Start up first pitch.
We booted up the giant cone below the middle gully, a silent reminder of the avalanches that sweep down it at the first hint of bad weather. We had all been caught on the face in a storm before, and it was not an experience we cared to repeat. But this time the weather was perfect, and soon we were swinging at green ice and styrofoam snow. Taking the direct start meant slower ice climbing instead of faster snow slogging on the original start, but that was what we had come for – to climb.
Hour 16 (6:30 p.m.): Put on headlamp. Start up crux pitch.
The day had gone smoothly, aesthetic ice pitches alternating with snow gullies pounded hard by spindrift. After spending some time apart while simul-climbing, we found ourselves reunited at a small stance below the notorious crux pitch. Daylight was fading fast, but the way ahead was obvious, even by headlamp. An awkward squeeze chimney was followed by a delicate traverse across a smooth slab, after which a corner led up to a roof guarded by a large snow mushroom. Fortunately a thin crack on the left-hand wall bypassed the ‘shroom, and offered perfect pick and pin placements. Another easier pitch and we were up the crux rock band.
Hour 21.5 (11:00 p.m.): Dig out ledge. Sit on pack. Wait for Eamonn to make veggie freeze-dried meal.
I was afraid of losing our momentum and wanted to keep climbing, but Eamonn wisely insisted we take a break and rehydrate. While I shivered and Dana dozed slumped against me, Eamonn melted snow and produced litre after litre of wonderfully hot liquid.
Hour 23.5 (1:00 a.m. on Sunday): Stand up. Realize am cold and miserable. Start up next pitch.
Even though the night was unusually still and not overly cold, we grew chilled. Fortunately, bivying was not in the cards; unfortunately, getting going again was harder than sitting and shivering, at least to begin with. The next pitch, while not especially difficult, was loose and demanded concentration – something I was having problems with just then.
Hour 28 (6:30 a.m.): Fall asleep standing at belay. Have tie-in keep me from falling over.
Sometime in the predawn darkness I ran out of steam, and gratefully handed over the sharp end to Eamonn. My body insisted that the early hours of the morning are better spent sleeping than climbing, and I took advantage of the down time at belays to give in to its demands. Fortunately Dana was there to pick up the slack and take over belay duty, unlike the previous year on Mt. Wilson, where I found myself falling asleep while belaying Jon. But that is another story.
Hour 33 (11:30 a.m.): Top out on cool ice runnel 10 m below summit. Be very happy.
It was funny how, when the sun rose once again over the valley far below, I felt refreshed as if I had just woken up from a restful sleep. I eagerly took over the lead for the last couple of pitches, a vein of grey alpine ice tucked in the back of a near-vertical gully. I threaded the needle under a chockstone, and the next thing I knew I was blinking at the bright noonday sun on a windswept scree slope. Soon my friends joined me, and we walked up the last few metres to the top.
Hour 37.5 (4:00 p.m.): Posthole back to road.
We broke through to the ground with each step in the deep, rotten snow on the valley bottom. Fortunately Dana caught a second wind, and led the way across Chephren Lake and through the woods. It felt surreal to walk the last few hundred metres to the cars, tourists whizzing past, while we looked up at the huge face that had engulfed us not so long ago.
Hour 39 (5:30 p.m.): Have Eamonn buy me latte in Lake Louise.
The rumble strips on the road were doing double duty by the time we pulled into Lake Louise. Eamonn was passed out on the seat next to me and I was not far behind, trying hard to suck enough energy from Iggy Pop to stay awake. Fortunately a serious dose of caffeine soon worked its magic, and we were once again on the way, a lesser hazard to ourselves and others.
Hour 41.5 (8:00 p.m.): Arrive back home.
A shower, a quick bite, and I collapsed into bed. When I woke up in the morning, the entire weekend seemed like one big hazy dream – which I suppose it was.
An account of the sixth ascent of The Wild Thing (VI M7 WI5) on the northeast face of Mt. Chephren (3266 m), Canadian Rockies, by Dana Ruddy, Raphael Slawinski and Eamonn Walsh. It was also the first ascent of the direct start to the route, and the first ascent of a Canadian Rockies grade VI in winter in a continuous push.
