Gregory Karl
10-09-2011, 04:53 PM
The moon had set hours earlier, so at 6am, Mastergrasshopper and I met by the light of our headlamps at the intersection of the Boquet North Fork and Route 73. Since the Dix Range seems to be Glen's second home, it was natural that he should lead the way on the herd path. A few short minutes later we were rock-leaping across the swollen river in the dark, the first of several crossings. If I hadn't been fully awake before, I was now.
Not long after reaching the South Fork, we turned off the herd path and ascended north up an outlying mountain (3,460 elev.) that forms an eastern ridge of Dix. The going was easy, if occasionally steep, and there was a lot of open rock on the south side of the ridge. From there we got our first good look at the new slide, a tributary to the old Beckhorn Slide, with which it shares a broad lower wall. Glen had a plan for the whack over to the slide: Descend among the patches of open rock to the north, cross a drainage, contour around an intervening ridge, sort out the tangled maze of drainages in Dix's east basin, and then ascend the correct one to the bottom of the slide. Those long views are deceptive, however—it always looks farther than it really is—so we ended up crossing the main drainage in the basin without realizing its significance. It just seemed too soon, so we twisted reality to reflect where we thought we should be on the map. From the furrow of a further brook we spotted the new slide through the thinning foliage, but it was clear we were too far to the left and that the brook was running on the wrong heading. So we did an ascending traverse to the right, crossing the correct drainage but unaware we were doing so. The next drainage over, like the first one, was on the wrong heading, but now we were aimed too far to the right. So we zagged back left on another ascending traverse, convinced that the one in the middle was correct and wondering how we had failed to recognize this the last time we crossed it. In short, we futzed away an hour finding the route to the slide but at last were convinced we had it right. At about 3,700 feet this was confirmed when we spotted the slide debris above us. We climbed over stacked trunks and mud to the base of the lower wall, and while I changed into my approach shoes, Glen started to climb.
The lower pitch was pretty steep and streaked with mud, but it was comfortable to climb on all fours. At its top was a little wall that had captured a couple of trees and large quantities of mud. I could have gotten around it to the right but didn't want to leave the slide if I didn't have to. So I cut back left and followed Glen's route up a muddy step. Above this, we were on the new slide proper, ascending a muddy section with a gentler slope. It was 1:00, we had been out for seven hours, and I hadn't eaten anything since my breakfast pizza at 4:30 in the morning. So, from a comfortable rock below the intimidating upper pitch of the slide, we lunched and studied the climb ahead.
When we were ready, Glen, in his climbing shoes, seemed to zip ahead up the steep face, whose white slabs were scarred by muddy narrow seams that slanted a bit right as they climbed. The best indicator of how challenging I found this climb is the fact that I only managed to get one pic from the upper pitch. My hands were in constant use and I was simply too busy with staying safely glued to the wall to even think about photography. For about fifteen minutes the adrenaline was pumping pretty good. I thought it should be possible to use friction to climb on all fours up the slabs but I couldn't command my body to do it. Instead I followed a narrow muddy seam up the wall, hooking my fingers underneath the edges of the slabs and flakes to either side and jamming my toes into whatever cracks I could find. If it wasn't for those underhanded holds, I would not have made it. Several times my eyes sought in vain for a safe way off the face and into the cripplebrush but there was no good way to do this. So I committed to the climb. Several moves had me worried but nevertheless went smoothly. The last obstacle was a point toward the top of the seam where the underhanded holds gave out about a foot too soon. I plotted how to get up this last bit, spotting a little depression up on the slab to the right where my right foot could get purchase. But it was covered with dried mud. With my left hand hooked in the seam I meticulously cleaned the rock with my right hand, wishing I had brought a whisk-broom for this purpose. (To my surprise, Glen later told me that rock climbers sometimes carry one for just such situations.) When all was ready I found myself watching with a strange, calm detachment as my body, almost of its own accord, executed the move my mind had been rehearsing. There was never a point where I said go—I just felt myself moving and before I had time to be scared I was up and the hard part was over.
Meanwhile, Glen had been trying to work his way up the last steep bit of the headwall, in a V between a slanting slab and a nearly vertical wall to his right. Due to deep, gloppy mud he was forced to back down. (Hey Glen, please fill in the details here if you want—I wasn't really able to witness this because I was rather busy below.) We both headed for the same exit into the cripplebrush, and I have never found a steep wall of skin-flaying pygmy spruce so inviting. Fifteen minutes of hard work with two feet of forward visibility later, I heard Glen announce that he was on the trail. A moment later I was up as well.
A relaxing snack near the summit followed as the weekend traffic crossed in both directions. It was sunny and warm and the views were spectacular. We met Jay H from the forum (and friend), had a nice chat, and then started down the trail to 73. We had discussed bushwhacking down the Round Pond-Bullet Pond corridor near the end to reach the cars parked by the North Fork, but by the time we reached Round Pond it was nearly dark. Not wishing to navigate unfamiliar swamps and thickets by headlamp, we opted for the 1.8 mile slog down the road under a nearly full moon. It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be.
Thanks Glen! That was great fun.
pics here:
https://picasaweb.google.com/curugroth/NewDixSlide
Not long after reaching the South Fork, we turned off the herd path and ascended north up an outlying mountain (3,460 elev.) that forms an eastern ridge of Dix. The going was easy, if occasionally steep, and there was a lot of open rock on the south side of the ridge. From there we got our first good look at the new slide, a tributary to the old Beckhorn Slide, with which it shares a broad lower wall. Glen had a plan for the whack over to the slide: Descend among the patches of open rock to the north, cross a drainage, contour around an intervening ridge, sort out the tangled maze of drainages in Dix's east basin, and then ascend the correct one to the bottom of the slide. Those long views are deceptive, however—it always looks farther than it really is—so we ended up crossing the main drainage in the basin without realizing its significance. It just seemed too soon, so we twisted reality to reflect where we thought we should be on the map. From the furrow of a further brook we spotted the new slide through the thinning foliage, but it was clear we were too far to the left and that the brook was running on the wrong heading. So we did an ascending traverse to the right, crossing the correct drainage but unaware we were doing so. The next drainage over, like the first one, was on the wrong heading, but now we were aimed too far to the right. So we zagged back left on another ascending traverse, convinced that the one in the middle was correct and wondering how we had failed to recognize this the last time we crossed it. In short, we futzed away an hour finding the route to the slide but at last were convinced we had it right. At about 3,700 feet this was confirmed when we spotted the slide debris above us. We climbed over stacked trunks and mud to the base of the lower wall, and while I changed into my approach shoes, Glen started to climb.
The lower pitch was pretty steep and streaked with mud, but it was comfortable to climb on all fours. At its top was a little wall that had captured a couple of trees and large quantities of mud. I could have gotten around it to the right but didn't want to leave the slide if I didn't have to. So I cut back left and followed Glen's route up a muddy step. Above this, we were on the new slide proper, ascending a muddy section with a gentler slope. It was 1:00, we had been out for seven hours, and I hadn't eaten anything since my breakfast pizza at 4:30 in the morning. So, from a comfortable rock below the intimidating upper pitch of the slide, we lunched and studied the climb ahead.
When we were ready, Glen, in his climbing shoes, seemed to zip ahead up the steep face, whose white slabs were scarred by muddy narrow seams that slanted a bit right as they climbed. The best indicator of how challenging I found this climb is the fact that I only managed to get one pic from the upper pitch. My hands were in constant use and I was simply too busy with staying safely glued to the wall to even think about photography. For about fifteen minutes the adrenaline was pumping pretty good. I thought it should be possible to use friction to climb on all fours up the slabs but I couldn't command my body to do it. Instead I followed a narrow muddy seam up the wall, hooking my fingers underneath the edges of the slabs and flakes to either side and jamming my toes into whatever cracks I could find. If it wasn't for those underhanded holds, I would not have made it. Several times my eyes sought in vain for a safe way off the face and into the cripplebrush but there was no good way to do this. So I committed to the climb. Several moves had me worried but nevertheless went smoothly. The last obstacle was a point toward the top of the seam where the underhanded holds gave out about a foot too soon. I plotted how to get up this last bit, spotting a little depression up on the slab to the right where my right foot could get purchase. But it was covered with dried mud. With my left hand hooked in the seam I meticulously cleaned the rock with my right hand, wishing I had brought a whisk-broom for this purpose. (To my surprise, Glen later told me that rock climbers sometimes carry one for just such situations.) When all was ready I found myself watching with a strange, calm detachment as my body, almost of its own accord, executed the move my mind had been rehearsing. There was never a point where I said go—I just felt myself moving and before I had time to be scared I was up and the hard part was over.
Meanwhile, Glen had been trying to work his way up the last steep bit of the headwall, in a V between a slanting slab and a nearly vertical wall to his right. Due to deep, gloppy mud he was forced to back down. (Hey Glen, please fill in the details here if you want—I wasn't really able to witness this because I was rather busy below.) We both headed for the same exit into the cripplebrush, and I have never found a steep wall of skin-flaying pygmy spruce so inviting. Fifteen minutes of hard work with two feet of forward visibility later, I heard Glen announce that he was on the trail. A moment later I was up as well.
A relaxing snack near the summit followed as the weekend traffic crossed in both directions. It was sunny and warm and the views were spectacular. We met Jay H from the forum (and friend), had a nice chat, and then started down the trail to 73. We had discussed bushwhacking down the Round Pond-Bullet Pond corridor near the end to reach the cars parked by the North Fork, but by the time we reached Round Pond it was nearly dark. Not wishing to navigate unfamiliar swamps and thickets by headlamp, we opted for the 1.8 mile slog down the road under a nearly full moon. It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be.
Thanks Glen! That was great fun.
pics here:
https://picasaweb.google.com/curugroth/NewDixSlide