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Avery
climber
NZ
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Feb 16, 2015 - 06:28pm PT
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American Alpine Journal 1981
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Ed Hartouni
Trad climber
Livermore, CA
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Feb 17, 2015 - 10:38pm PT
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In one of last summer's great coups, Kitty Calhoun, Jay Smith, Steve Gerberding, and Dan Osman put up a new route on the West Face of Middle Triple Peak. Their’s was the second ascent of the West Face, the biggest wall in the Kichatnas of Alaska.
The sustained Ride the Lightning (VI 5.10 A4) involved mostly aid climbing, with a few easy ice pitches near the top. From an advanced basecamp an hour from the 3800-foot wall, the four fixed eight pitches over five days, climbing in teams of two. A typical day lasted 17 to 19 hours, beginning with a hike to the base, jugging the fixed lines, then leading a pitch or two, the harder ones taking up to nine hours. The team launched into capsule mode atop pitch eight, with one team leading and the other hauling, but was quickly chased back to basecamp by an 11-day storm. Once it cleared, they spent six more days camped on the wall. After 20 total rope-stretching pitches, they summitted on July 24.
The climbers rappelled the route in a grueling 24 hours, only to find that the glacier was too soft for their pick-up plane to land. They spent the next seven days boot-packing a landing strip on the Tatina Glacier, before the bush pilot Cliff Hudson could pluck them off.
Charlie Porter and Russell Mclean climbed the West Face and made the first ascent of Middle Triple Peak in 1976. Their climb took 10 days and was also a storm-plagued ordeal. (Prior to the Middle Triple ascent, Porter had made an impressive and quick solo of the Cassin Ridge on Denali - 36 hours from the top of the Japanese Couloir.)
Climbing 172
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Avery
climber
NZ
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Feb 17, 2015 - 11:44pm PT
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Thanks Ed
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Avery
climber
NZ
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Feb 18, 2015 - 04:58pm PT
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American Alpine Journal 1998
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Avery
climber
NZ
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Feb 21, 2015 - 03:40pm PT
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Kichatna Spire: "Voice of Unreason", 2005. (Sean Isaak, Rob Owens and Roger Strong). Cont...
Thanks to Roger Strong
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Gnome Ofthe Diabase
climber
Out Of Bed
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Feb 21, 2015 - 03:56pm PT
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WOOHA Woot Woot!,
CA- CHING!!
thanx for posting it is the one TRIP that got away in my minds delusions of Grandeur!
edit , I am awake any way!
https://vimeo.com/115852227
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Bldrjac
Ice climber
Boulder
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Feb 22, 2015 - 04:31pm PT
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I know Jack (Roberts) climbed a bit here.....with Rick Reider maybe? Here's a picture that I'm pretty sure is from there. Wilderness Experience used one of his pictures as an ad for a time....I have the posters, but not the originals......if anyone has a decent picture, would love to see it for my collection!
Pam Roberts
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Avery
climber
NZ
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Feb 23, 2015 - 10:24am PT
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Great pic of Jack, Pam.
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neebee
Social climber
calif/texas
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Feb 23, 2015 - 02:32pm PT
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hey there say, man oh man! i LOVE this thread...
glad i learned of this place... thanks sooo much Avery... and saw ed's new post here, of recent...
wow, most special ,too--to see that pam has a 'jack was here'
new post and hopefully MIGHT get more pics...
thank you pam, for sharing your memory post, too...
hope you get some contacts with more pics...
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Avery
climber
NZ
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Feb 24, 2015 - 09:39pm PT
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American Alpine Journal 1999
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Clint Cummins
Trad climber
SF Bay area, CA
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Feb 25, 2015 - 10:42pm PT
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There's an earlier account of the 1966 FA:
Cathedral Spires 1966
by RICHARD G. C. MILLIKAN
THERE we were: at 28,000 feet, the wind howling mercilessly.
Art had the last lead into the unknown. An A4 pitch here
would be disastrous. Even Leigh would need a super effort for
such in this weather. But there was no turning back now.
Setting: interior of an igloo in the heart of the Kichatna Mountains,
Alaska. Four bearded and rather ragged young men lean
expectantly over a chessboard scattered with small pieces of
cardboard. Another reads on his snowy bed. The game is "Everest,"
a meager attempt at alleviating the boredom of being
cooped up in our ice houses. For ten days now the storm has
been blowing, never ferociously, but always hard enough to discourage
any climbing.
Our pilot, Eric Barnes, of Anchorage, had left us on this "Glacier
of the Shadows" some 100 miles S.W. of Mt. McKinley two
and a half weeks earlier, eager, expectant, but mainly awed at
the fantastic profusion of huge granite walls surrounding our
forlorn camp. "The Spires" were discovered in 1899 when Joseph
Herron, catching a glimpse of these jagged peaks from a low pass
twenty miles to the south, officially named the three he
could see: Mts. Augustin, Gurney and Lewis. Unnamed was the
highest peak of the group, designated on the map only as "8985."
We called it Kichatna Spire. Its summit towering 3500 feet above
our basecamp was our primary objective. The first climbers came
to the Spires in 1965 (AAJ 1966). In a month of stormy weather
they managed to climb three of the lower peaks.
Dave Roberts and Dave Johnston spent our first afternoon
in the Spires reconnoitering an approach to the steep north
ridge of Kichatna Spire. "How many RURPs do we have?" was
their comment on close-up view of the rock walls. We let that
pass! Instead, the next clay Pete Meisler, Dave Johnston and I
found ourselves tromping up a long steep snow couloir in swirling
mists. Cut off from our companions by the fog, and from the sky
by the near vertical walls of the gully, we felt alone, yet alive to
every new sound in the wind as we explored where no man had
been before. The couloir ran all the way to the north ridge of the
mountain, 2000 feet above the glacier and less than 1500 feet below
the summit. We were elated; this was our "Secret Passage."
Above we could see one steep rock pitch, requiring no doubt some
aid, then only fog.
The next day, September 5 (late for Alaskan climbing), while
the two Daves struggled up one pitch on Kichatna Spire, Art
Davidson and I climbed the icefall behind basecamp to have a
look at Mt. Gurney. As we broke through a small cornice at the
top oŁ the icefall and came out on a smooth and brilliantly sunlit
pass, we could only gaze about us in awe. To the south we got
our first view of the massive Triple Peaks still shrouded in cloud
and glimpses of more granite walls behind. The east ridge of
Kichatna Spire, like a flying buttress, curved smoothly down to
where we stood. Behind us, nearly masked by the bulk of Gurney,
Augustin's 4100 foot snow fluted north face stood serene in the
sun.
A thousand feet higher, Art broke through another cornice at
the top of a difficult ice pitch to new splendours. On the southwest
ridge of Gurney now, we could look down on Lewis Peak and its
surrounding glaciers. It was late so we had to return. Above, a
short vertical rock step was followed by steep snow and then as
the most obvious route turned a corner, we could see no more.
Leaving a rope over the ice, we hurried down to base camp
losing only one glove to the greedy bergschrund.
Two days later in the tail end of a short storm, Art finished
nailing the first steep wall on Kichatna Spire while Pete, Dave
Johnston and Jerry Bernass (who was with us for the first two
weeks primarily to do some photography) belayed from mounds
of down jackets. Meanwhile Dave Roberts and I made the first
ascent of the expedition. Climbing a long but generally easy snow
slope off the west side of the glacier we reached a col between
two 7300' peaks. Above, several pitches of delightful mixed rock
and snow climbing and then a short snow ridge led to the summit
of "Vertex" Peak, the northernmost of the two. All day it had been
snowing, but now as we approached the summit, the weather
suddenly cleared. Augustin's huge face lay directly in front of us
and way off to the north we could pick out Mt. Russell crouched
under the bulk of Foraker, with McKinley behind. It was a perfect
day's climb.
It was nearly two weeks later as we sprawled about our chessboard
bemoaning the weather in our now palatial snow home.
Before the storm had really settled in, Dave R. and I had managed
to push the route another 200 feet on Kichatna Spire and in a
break Art and Pete put in two steep ice pitches reaching a narrow
platform at 8000 feet. For the next twelve days it snowed almost
continually. Eric made a remarkable landing during a lull to
bring in some much needed gas and to take out Jerry, who had
heroically and almost single handedly built our igloo, but unfortunately
had had little weather suitable for movie taking. The
following clay, tired of waiting for the weather, Dave J. and
Pete climbed a small snow peak clown glacier while Dave R. and
I explored for a route to the high glacier to our west. Climbing
up to the northeast shoulder of peak 8520 we contoured around,
then dropped clown a steep snow chute to the new glacier. As it
was early in the clay, we decided to climb a small snow peak lying
between this glacier and the Glacier of the Shadows. Twenty
feet from the summit there was a loud crack- we were off! Dave
shouted something and then started a feeble clog paddle; I sat up
to enjoy the ride. 400 feet lower and undamaged except for the loss
of an ice axe, we came quite gradually to a halt. Shaken we
returned to basecamp by a different route which avoided all steep
snow slopes. In between our few excursions we added extensions
to our igloo and played football on snowshoes. Inside we tried
chess, "Botticelli," reading and that timeless pastime, eating.
On September 21, we could wait no longer. In two weeks we
had to be back in Anchorage. Though it was still snowing, Art
and I started slowly up the Secret Passage armed with tents,
sleeping bags, elephant feet and three days' food. We were to
make an all out push for the summit of Kichatna Spire. Dave
Roberts came with us as far as the base of the couloir. He would
like to have been with us, but this had to be a two-man operation,
and since he could not, he worried for us. Snow conditions were
far from ideal and our experience on "Avalanche Peak" the week
before had made us wary. We climbed very slowly upwards in
deep fresh snow trying to stay close to the rock in case of an
avalanche. Near the top of the couloir in near darkness we pitched
the two-man tent under a prong of rock. All night long, fresh
snow slid by our front door, but here we were safe.
The first clay of autumn looked much like the last of summer.
Leaving our tent and sleeping bags, we worked up the fixed
ropes above in wind and snow. We could not make good time;
ice had to be cleared from the ropes and some of them had to be
dug out where they were buried. Still, we reached the previous
high point by 2:00 p.m. Above, two long ice chimneys split a
vertical wall of rock, but leaving our packs we traversed left on
a downsloping snow ledge. The snow lay thin on the smooth
rock slabs, all too ready to slide over the brink to the glacier
2000 feet below. Treading softly and placing pitons in the underlying
rock whenever possible, we put in four pitches before having
to return to our bivouac site. We were optimistic about our
chances the next day. The route ahead looked straightforward
as far as we could see, but most important, the weather was
rapidly clearing. In the soft evening light across the way, Gurney
now stood completely clear of clouds high above those little
dark spots down on the glacier that marked our base camp.
Next morning we were off early. Part of our stove had fallen
off our ledge the night before, so there was no question of breakfast.
Quickly we crossed the four pitches of the previous evening.
The weather was perfect; not a cloud to be seen. Our only worry
was that in the hot sun, the snow would become less and less
stable. Diagonaling up and left for several pitches, the going was
easy. Mostly we were on snow lying thin over rock slabs. Then
Art led straight up a more difficult pitch of mixed snow and rock
beneath some ominous overhangs. After I had led left, Art
tackled what turned out to be the crux of the climb; a short aid
crack followed by 80 feet of difficult fifth class. Above here rime ice
covered every piece of exposed rock. Protection was impossible on
the next pitch, but fortunately crampons held in the crumbly rock.
Then we were on the summit ridge. For several rope lengths we
could climb continuously, then the ridge turned into a narrow double
corniced affair 200 feet long and culminating in a giant snow
covered boulder delicately balanced. This was the summit block.
Art inched up this last tricky pitch while I uncomfortably gave
him a psychological belay. Then he was up!
For 20 minutes we gazed at the view. Everywhere around us
were jagged peaks still laden with snow from the storm. In the
distance Foraker and McKinley stood out clear. Then we had to
hurry down. We reached our bivouac just after dark and signalled
to basecamp that we were safe. The next day we met the
others at the head of the Secret Passage. They were elated at our
success, but decided rather than trying to send another party to
the summit, to use our remaining time trying another major peak
Pete and Dave Johnston continued up to retrieve hardware and
fixed ropes; the rest of us returned to basecamp and delicious
water.
We still had nearly two weeks before we had to return, but we
had decided that rather than spending all this time climbing, we
would spend a week exploring the rest of the range and then
walking out to Rainy Pass hunting lodge 30 miles to the south. In
the remaining six days then, we decided to have a crack at Peak
8520. Two days later we moved our camp to the high glacier
Dave and I had previously explored, in good position for an
attempt on the North Ridge of the mountain. The weather had
turned foul again. For four days we waited for a break, but it
never came. In the meantime the two Daves climbed "Avalanche
Peak," this time without misadventure, and several of us explored
down glacier climbing another rather unimpressive peak along
the way. But now it was time for our exploratory traverse, so we
returned to base.
Eric flew in and took off with all our now unnecessary climbing
hardware and the next day we started our "October Traverse."
Shouldering our 55 pound packs we snowshoed down
our now familiar glacier. Then crossing the bare, rock-strewn ice
near the foot of the glacier, we climbed back up to a windswept
pass and then, breaking through a cornice, struggled
down through waist deep snow in the gathering dusk. The next
day we crossed the Cool Sac glacier (where the '65 party had
sat out its month of storms), then hiked by two yet unfrozen
lakes. We saw our first life in more than a month: a few ducks
and some scattered bushes. Leaving the lowlands we headed up
the Tatina Glacier weaving back and forth between open
crevasses.
The next day as we slogged up the upper Tatina, the clouds
began to break giving us gorgeous views of the countless unnamed
peaks bordering this white highway. By evening we had
crossed the pass at the head of the glacier. Descending the
"Monolith Glacier" beneath the gigantic west faces of the Triple
Peaks was eerie in the approaching dusk. We camped between
two giant walls; throughout the night huge chunks of ice broke
loose above our heads to come crashing down with a tremendous
roar. Though we thought we were well clear of the cliffs, we
couldn't help but shiver a little in our bags.
We frolicked on a huge glacial table the next morning, then
descended to the Kichatna River. Life! Alder bushes, red and
green mosses, rushing water, hear tracks. Two Dahl sheep looked
down on us from the golden grassy slopes above. At dark as it
started to rain, we camped in a small cottonwood grove and
had a wood fire.
Two days later we reached the luxuries of Rainy Pass Lodge.
We had fought through alder, waded knee deep in slimy moose
trails, hip deep in marshy swamps and finally waist deep crossing
the roaring Happy River. We had slept in a warm hunting cabin,
run into countless moose, and knelt in the fresh snow to pick
blueberries. We returned to Scotch whisky from tall glasses standing
barefoot on a bearskin rug in front of a blazing fire.
Our feelings were mixed as we hiked those last twenty miles.
We thrilled at sight and sound of living things after so long
where there were no living things, yet even now we could wish
to be back clinging to a wall of ice and rock with the wind in our
faces. While we looked forward to civilization and all its comforts,
we were already making plans for new journeys into the
wilderness. Says Dave Roberts: "What if we had climbed a certain
mountain? It is still there, surrounded by summits no man
has ever visited, offering, as only the wilderness can, this world's
last illusion of paradise."
AREA: Kichatna Mountains, Alaska Range, Alaska
PERSONNEL: Art Davidson, Dave Johnston, Pete Meisler, Rick
Millikan, Dave Roberts and Jerry Bernass (first 2
weeks)
ASCENTS: 7300 (Vertex Pk.) Sept. 7, first ascent
6500 ( Manila Pk. ) Sept. 17, first ascent
8985 ( Kichatna Spire) Sept. 23, first ascent
6900 (Avalanche Pk. ) Sept. 26, first ascent
6500 (September Point) Sept. 27, first ascent
[photos posted]
from Harvard Mountaineering 19 – May 1967
http://www.harvardmountaineering.org/wp-content/uploads/2014/09/1967.pdf
p.51-58
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Avery
climber
NZ
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Feb 26, 2015 - 01:27am PT
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Thanks Clint, for a very real contribution.
By all means post some pics, there always welcome on this thread.
I was just 3 years old when these climbs were completed!
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Clint Cummins
Trad climber
SF Bay area, CA
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Feb 26, 2015 - 02:21am PT
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Thanks, Avery. I added the photos.
By the way, the photo below is flipped left to right:
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Sierra Ledge Rat
Mountain climber
Old and Broken Down in Appalachia
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Feb 26, 2015 - 04:04am PT
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Manly stuff
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Larry Nelson
Social climber
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Feb 26, 2015 - 08:03am PT
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Avery,
Thanks for all of your effort in bringing one of the great climbing threads to the forum. I have been fascinated by this thread from day one. This area would be a National Park if it was in any other state.
Thanks to all others, and sorry my contribution is only a bump.
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Avery
climber
NZ
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Feb 26, 2015 - 04:23pm PT
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Thanks a lot, Larry.
With any luck, there should be some really good stuff on the way. I've contacted some of the Kichatna's main players and had a very favorable response. It's all just a matter of them finding the time.
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Avery
climber
NZ
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Feb 26, 2015 - 04:28pm PT
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Does anyone know who took this wonderful pic?
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Avery
climber
NZ
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Feb 28, 2015 - 05:52pm PT
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American Alpine Journal 2005
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SuperTopo on the Web
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Let us know!