Tweet
Disclaimer
PICTURES
***Correction to the title. This is WEST RAMP Slide. Like other slides, it's picked up other names after the first descent.
Spring of 2011 led me to Mt. Colden’s southermost Avalanche Slide (West Ramp) last spring. The steep ledges and open slab of the initial 300’ were spectacular, as were the views of Lake Colden, Flowed Lands and the MacIntyres. I believe it yields, perhaps, the area’s most spectacular view of the lake. I’ve wanted to revisit the slide since then. I didn’t expect it to be this winter. “Nangaparbat” expressed interest in it many months ago and, during a conversation, mentioned climbing it...soon. I asked if he wanted company and the preparation began.
----
We met at the Loj and began our trek to Avalanche Lake at 9:05 a.m. The temperature read 17F, but felt rather warm and dry. We’d been communicating for quite awhile on the forum, but got acquainted en route to the slide. I already had a deep respect for him and I walked alongside listening to fascinating stories and facts about Nepal where he’s recently explored.
Less than two hours later, we were walking on the glistening surface of Avalanche Lake in the mid-morning sun. Clouds to the south swirled like a great tsunami heading for “our” slide. The recent rains and quirky winter weather created a rich pallete of ice on the surrounding area. The mountains bled beautiful formations that created a small swell of concern at what we’d find on the footwall of the our destination. NP is a technical climber. I’m not currently, but have a healthy curiosity that sometimes pushes against the limits of my comfort zone. This would either put an early end to my day as I turned back, create a 2,000’ bushwhack along the slide or yield conditions that were outside my normal comfort zone, but worth attempting after serious assessment of the conditions. I was read to accept any of the options.
I recognized the drainage immediately by its width and the confirmation rose like a great white wall to the east. The bushwhack went rather well, easily on the stream bed at first and a bit more strenuous in the waist deep snow for another 20 minutes. Only occasionally did we plunge through. The terrain was rugged and mined with erratics, blowdown and spruce as it gained pitch upon approach. We found our way to the base at about 11:20, some 6.5 miles from the Loj.
Some of the ice flows looked familiar…I remembered layout of the features/ledges, the anorthositic jewels, hidden deep underneath. We had a snack, rehydrated and swapped snowshoes for crampons as I looked up at what I imagined could be my greatest challenge this winter. I know the feel of anorthosite underfoot, but I’m much more uncertain on ice. NP was encouraging, “We will get you up this in winter!” I was already in the process of picking what I thought might be a safe route across to the northern side.
As it turned out, the conditions were perfect. It was swollen with ice, but enough encrusted snow broke up the flows to pick a safe route. We climbed rather quickly, much more so than in spring. I focused on each foot and ax placement until I felt the bite of metal in ice. The first ice flow gave me a few problems as the front points didn’t provide the necessary purchase. Even low on the slide, I knew a fall would be a big disastrous. It didn’t so much shake my confidence as annoy me. I needed a more aggressive setup and now had to be extra conservative. Nangaparbat picked the route and, with the eye of an experienced climber, led the way obviously taking my first problem into serious consideration. I followed, comfortable in his company and, soon, on the climb itself. Every step was a learning experience. I love being out solo, but I wouldn’t do this alone in winter. I also wouldn’t do this without the aid of the encrusted snow without using rope.
Once more comfortable in my footing, I watched the perspective of the lake change behind the foreground of ice. I soon realized that we were following the same route that I did less than a year ago. It was like visiting an old friend with a new friend as a partner. After 200’ vertical, we were just beyond the ledges and on a smooth convex slab (buried somewhere below our feet). One hundred feet up the steep slab, I saw flows of ice that marked a lessening of pitch at the center portion of the slide. Things were going well.
The bottom was no longer in view and the trees were losing their individual features, appearing as more of a carpet of branches covering the land to the lake. I felt my stomach do a quick turn as I looked directly below over a field of ice. A slip would end more than my day, but again, my crampons were biting well into the consolidated snow. NP hooted his excitement from a bit higher which brought me back to the task at hand rather than the “what ifs” that occasionally scampered across my mind.
Nangaparbat kept a keen eye on my progress and climbed ahead to shoot pictures every now and again. In the meantime,the cloud ceiling was lowering and occasional gusts became a bit more steady. Loose snow blew in wisps down the slide, swirling over the bulges. Algonquin’s summit, was swallowed from just above the top of the Bear Paw Slide. Snow showers then moved in. It was the perfect winter day with just a touch of moodiness to the weather. Blue bird skies make for incredible shots, but so does a low foreboding backdrop of clouds.
Once above the first 300’ vertical, the slide decreased in pitch and we rested, appreciating the splendid climb. I was still reeling from the adrenalin of satisfaction, but needed a bit of food and water to put the spring back in my step. We’d a long way to go ascend on the slide and then there was the task of trudging through the spruce to the cliffs below and south of the summit. The center of the slide was completely snow covered with a semi-supportive crust. Nature threw us an occasional curve as we plunged through to our knee or hip.
PICTURES
***Correction to the title. This is WEST RAMP Slide. Like other slides, it's picked up other names after the first descent.
Spring of 2011 led me to Mt. Colden’s southermost Avalanche Slide (West Ramp) last spring. The steep ledges and open slab of the initial 300’ were spectacular, as were the views of Lake Colden, Flowed Lands and the MacIntyres. I believe it yields, perhaps, the area’s most spectacular view of the lake. I’ve wanted to revisit the slide since then. I didn’t expect it to be this winter. “Nangaparbat” expressed interest in it many months ago and, during a conversation, mentioned climbing it...soon. I asked if he wanted company and the preparation began.
----
We met at the Loj and began our trek to Avalanche Lake at 9:05 a.m. The temperature read 17F, but felt rather warm and dry. We’d been communicating for quite awhile on the forum, but got acquainted en route to the slide. I already had a deep respect for him and I walked alongside listening to fascinating stories and facts about Nepal where he’s recently explored.
Less than two hours later, we were walking on the glistening surface of Avalanche Lake in the mid-morning sun. Clouds to the south swirled like a great tsunami heading for “our” slide. The recent rains and quirky winter weather created a rich pallete of ice on the surrounding area. The mountains bled beautiful formations that created a small swell of concern at what we’d find on the footwall of the our destination. NP is a technical climber. I’m not currently, but have a healthy curiosity that sometimes pushes against the limits of my comfort zone. This would either put an early end to my day as I turned back, create a 2,000’ bushwhack along the slide or yield conditions that were outside my normal comfort zone, but worth attempting after serious assessment of the conditions. I was read to accept any of the options.
I recognized the drainage immediately by its width and the confirmation rose like a great white wall to the east. The bushwhack went rather well, easily on the stream bed at first and a bit more strenuous in the waist deep snow for another 20 minutes. Only occasionally did we plunge through. The terrain was rugged and mined with erratics, blowdown and spruce as it gained pitch upon approach. We found our way to the base at about 11:20, some 6.5 miles from the Loj.
Some of the ice flows looked familiar…I remembered layout of the features/ledges, the anorthositic jewels, hidden deep underneath. We had a snack, rehydrated and swapped snowshoes for crampons as I looked up at what I imagined could be my greatest challenge this winter. I know the feel of anorthosite underfoot, but I’m much more uncertain on ice. NP was encouraging, “We will get you up this in winter!” I was already in the process of picking what I thought might be a safe route across to the northern side.
As it turned out, the conditions were perfect. It was swollen with ice, but enough encrusted snow broke up the flows to pick a safe route. We climbed rather quickly, much more so than in spring. I focused on each foot and ax placement until I felt the bite of metal in ice. The first ice flow gave me a few problems as the front points didn’t provide the necessary purchase. Even low on the slide, I knew a fall would be a big disastrous. It didn’t so much shake my confidence as annoy me. I needed a more aggressive setup and now had to be extra conservative. Nangaparbat picked the route and, with the eye of an experienced climber, led the way obviously taking my first problem into serious consideration. I followed, comfortable in his company and, soon, on the climb itself. Every step was a learning experience. I love being out solo, but I wouldn’t do this alone in winter. I also wouldn’t do this without the aid of the encrusted snow without using rope.
Once more comfortable in my footing, I watched the perspective of the lake change behind the foreground of ice. I soon realized that we were following the same route that I did less than a year ago. It was like visiting an old friend with a new friend as a partner. After 200’ vertical, we were just beyond the ledges and on a smooth convex slab (buried somewhere below our feet). One hundred feet up the steep slab, I saw flows of ice that marked a lessening of pitch at the center portion of the slide. Things were going well.
The bottom was no longer in view and the trees were losing their individual features, appearing as more of a carpet of branches covering the land to the lake. I felt my stomach do a quick turn as I looked directly below over a field of ice. A slip would end more than my day, but again, my crampons were biting well into the consolidated snow. NP hooted his excitement from a bit higher which brought me back to the task at hand rather than the “what ifs” that occasionally scampered across my mind.
Nangaparbat kept a keen eye on my progress and climbed ahead to shoot pictures every now and again. In the meantime,the cloud ceiling was lowering and occasional gusts became a bit more steady. Loose snow blew in wisps down the slide, swirling over the bulges. Algonquin’s summit, was swallowed from just above the top of the Bear Paw Slide. Snow showers then moved in. It was the perfect winter day with just a touch of moodiness to the weather. Blue bird skies make for incredible shots, but so does a low foreboding backdrop of clouds.
Once above the first 300’ vertical, the slide decreased in pitch and we rested, appreciating the splendid climb. I was still reeling from the adrenalin of satisfaction, but needed a bit of food and water to put the spring back in my step. We’d a long way to go ascend on the slide and then there was the task of trudging through the spruce to the cliffs below and south of the summit. The center of the slide was completely snow covered with a semi-supportive crust. Nature threw us an occasional curve as we plunged through to our knee or hip.
(I'm entering my autumn years I guess)
Comment