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Avery
climber
New Zealand
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Topic Author's Original Post - Feb 17, 2017 - 05:28pm PT
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1st Ascent: Bill Denz and Scott Woolums, April 1982.
Kichatna Spire’s East Face
Scott Woolums
WE COULD HEAR THE roar of powder avalanches coming. Seconds later they would hit our porta-ledges, smashing the tent flies against our faces while we waited out a 48-hour storm. The spindrift had already soaked our bags and us in this miserable camp. Bill Denz and I were deep in our own thoughts as the winds buffeted our ledges. Five hundred feet of overhanging granite were below us and 2500 feet still to climb. We read or scribbled our thoughts down. On the second day I had to move, to do something different. In all my clothes and then covered with a Gore-Tex and Thinsulate suit, I crawled out into the wind and spindrift. Belayed by Denz from inside his ledge, I managed almost a full rope-length before retreating freezing to my porta-ledge for a hot drink and another long night.
We had flown to the Shadows Glacier two weeks before in early April and placed Base Camp at the foot of the huge east face of Kichatna Spire. We had chosen this time of the year since in my experience in the Alaska Range April has the best weather. We were the earliest party to try a route in the Cathedral Spires. I had read accounts of waterfalls, wetsuits, rockfall and 30-day storms on the precipitous walls. It was a gamble to be so early, but it paid off. In April there was no water running off the big walls. The snow was so light that we could blow it off the face holds. Temperatures dropped to -20° F but the weather was usually clear during the early spring high-pressure systems.
It was hard to envision this as the wind bit intensely during our first two days on the face. On the first day we had climbed three A4 pitches off the glacier and worked our way up a small prow which led to the major comer and crack system in the center of the face.
Sunshine warmed our ledges on the fourth morning. Both of us were anxious to start grinding away at the pitches above, glad to be moving after being confined for so long.
Finally, on the seventh pitch, at the top of the prow, the angle eased. I was free-climbing in mixed terrain, first 50 feet, then another 60 feet and still no real protection other than a poor small stopper. I climbed another 50 feet and heard Denz yell, “No more rope!” What now? I traversed, hacking out massive quantities of ice, and at last smashed an angle placement into the ice and rock. I tied off 15 feet of haul line and moved up some more to where I could place an A1 Friend. After belaying Denz up and hoisting our two haul bags, we were at our second camp.
For the next couple of days the climbing was vertical with short overhanging sections. Everything was chocked with ice, forcing us to chip and scrape for each placement, which limited our free-climbing. The routine was the same: fix three leads and then pull camp up. We had strings of hook moves, Friends behind loose flakes or seams into which we bashed small RPs. Fortunately the rock improved with the altitude and the worst, at the start, was behind us.
We placed our third camp almost halfway up, under a huge roof, which from below had looked like the major obstacle. Luckily for me, it was Bill’s lead. I belayed from my ledge, enjoying the sunshine while he tackled a 25-foot, upside-down, flaring groove. Just cleaning this pitch was as hard as anything I had led so far!
The next day we started up the overhanging flared chimney above the roof, very strenuous climbing for 200 feet. The weather took a turn for the worse. It was as hard as climbing to stay warm in the hanging belays in the spindrift. I had all my clothing on plus Bill’s duvet and my half-bag. Fortunately the powder avalanches hissed by about ten feet out from the belay.
Clearing weather got us started early the next morning and, moving camp up, we attacked progressively easier pitches above. The clear weather brought bitter cold, a trade-off. We climbed almost in a trance, putting pitch after pitch behind us, past our fourth and fifth camps, but still in great weather. We traveled at a snail’s pace, having to clear each placement and finding only rare protection in the free-climbing sections. Late on the eighth day, we fixed rope to the bottom of the summit icefields and rappelled back to our porta-ledges.
At first light we could see from the thin, high clouds approaching bad weather. We threw minimal bivouac gear into our packs and kicked off our haul bags, watching them bounce only twice before sliding out onto the glacier nearly 3000 feet below. We were now committed to getting down soon. We had thrown down all our extra food, fuel, ropes, hardware and our porta-ledges. We climbed the fixed ropes to the summit icefield and then fourth- classed up a steep snow-and-ice gully, interspersed with several mixed sections, to the summit. It was odd to be able to see 360° around with no more rock above. The granite spires of the Cathedral Mountains rose out of the huge deep valleys between them. But by now, the storm was moving in fast, with the wind whipping in from the south.
We were committed to traversing the mountain and started down the north ridge, the first-ascent route. After weaving around mixed sections and traversing ice and a corniced part, we began to rappel. The increased wind was blowing our rope horizontal. At each rappel we crossed our fingers, hoping the rope would not hang up on the many perlon-eating flakes. Our prayers didn’t help; our rope hung up. Bill jümared up and freed it. After ten rappels, we came to the top of “The Secret Passage,” a 1500-foot-long couloir. With perfect snow conditions, it took us an hour to descend to the glacier.
It was a relief to walk on flat terrain again. Bill grabbed the haul bags and I retrieved the snowshoes we had stashed at the foot of the climb for the endless walk back to Base Camp. We collapsed there with no thought for anything but sleep.
We were scheduled to fly out the next day, but instead of the plane, a seven-day storm came, dropping five feet of snow. On the first decent day our pilot, Jim Okonek arrived. As we flew out through the clouds, I felt it had been a dream. Had it actually happened? Then I looked at Bill’s big grin. I knew it was very real!
Summary of Statistics:
Area: Cathedral Spires, Kichatna Mountains, Alaska.
Third Ascent by a New Route: Kichatna Spire, 2748 meters, 8985 feet, via East Face, April 1982 (William Denz, New Zealander and Scott Woolums, American).
American Alpine Journal 1983
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Manimal
climber
SLT, Ca
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Feb 17, 2017 - 05:55pm PT
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Wow, just wow. Threading the needle using only dead reckoning. This just doesn't happen anymore. This is the lore that feeds the flame. Thank you for posting.
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Avery
climber
New Zealand
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Topic Author's Reply - Feb 17, 2017 - 10:11pm PT
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1st ascent: Bill Denz and Scott Woolums, April 1982
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Avery
climber
New Zealand
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Topic Author's Reply - Feb 18, 2017 - 01:30pm PT
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2nd Ascent (New Route) Dave Black, Mike Graber and George Schunk. June 1982
Kichatna Spire: East Face Prow
Michael Graber
TUCKED AWAY in a comer of the Alaskan Range lies a maze of glaciers and rock known as the Cathedral Spires. Approximately 45 miles southwest of Mount McKinley, the Spires are famous for Yosemite-like walls and terrible weather. Kichatna Spire, the highest peak in the area, towers over its neighbors like a giant, ice-encrusted tombstone in the center of a graveyard. Its honey-colored granite walls drop straight down to glaciers on all sides. So difficult is this peak that after its first ascent in 1966 (A.A.J., 1967, pages 272 to 278), it took 13 years and at least seven failures before it saw a second ascent (A.A.J., 1980, pages 473 to 480).
The east face of Kichatna is one of the largest, continuously steep rock walls in North America. More than a face, it is a series of three vertical to overhanging buttresses stacked side by side. The left buttress is the longest. Nearly 1000 meters from glacier to summit and practically ledgeless, this prow sweeps straight to the summit.
In June 1978, Alan Bartlett, David Black, Alan Long and I flew into the Spires to attempt this face. During the month we spent there, we had several close calls and miserable weather. The sheath on a fixed rope broke and Black slid back down the first pitch until the rope’s sheath bunched up and his Jümars locked. Bartlett took a long leader fall and accidently knocked a large block of granite loose. It fell and struck Black, knocking him off the belay stance. At the top of the eighth pitch a storm moved in and, after lying soaked and cold in our hammocks, we rappelled back down the route. The overhanging sections were technical and dangerous. Once back on the glacier, we were still forced to wait out the weather for 17 more days until we could fly out. Needless to say, we weren’t anxious to return.
Four years later, however, the memories of our ordeal on Kichatna Spire had faded enough so that Black was able to convince me to return. We had a difficult time finding a third; the wall had a bad reputation. Although George Schunk knew the Spires and had heard the rumors, he accepted almost immediately. I often wondered about my partners; they had subjected themselves to the high-pressure brutalities of medicine and law to the point where even Kichatna Spire seemed like a vacation.
Our strategy this time would be different. We knew that our route had at least one good ledge approximately 500 meters off the glacier. Our plan was to fix the initial 120 meters and then, when the weather appeared stable, climb day-and-night until we reached the ledge. At this point we would have two choices. If the weather was good, continue for the summit. If the weather was bad, face the ugly affair of rappelling back down the route. In any event, we wanted to avoid another bivouac in hammocks during bad weather.
The month before we were ready to leave, we received the disappointing news that the face had been climbed. However, their ascent was not on the line we had attempted, but on the buttress to the right of ours. Their route was a fine one. Yet we felt that the exposure and directness of our route justified a renewed effort. We didn’t have the first route on the face but we felt we might have a chance at the best one. The question of disappointment quickly disappeared and we were ready to go.
In mid-June 1982, we found ourselves back on Kichatna Spire, fixing the first two pitches. The climbing seemed to go more smoothly this time—maybe it was the Friends or maybe it was the fact that we had been here before. Late in the second day, Schunk and I rappelled as the first storm moved into the range.
The next three days passed with intense inactivity. During moments of inspiration, Black lectured on mountain medicine, Schunk told us of our rights under search and seizure laws and I addressed ways to improve a parallel turn. For exercise we stepped out into the blizzard to go to the bathroom.
Avalanches roared in the distance as we jümared up the ropes and hauled the bags. Black ran out a pitch so far that we had to unclip his rope from the anchors and tie on the haul line. I jümared over an overhang on a rope that we had left during our escape four years before. After 18 hours, we reached our previous high point and found our haul bag and equipment, mysteriously just as we had left it. The side of the bag that was against the wall was bright orange. The side exposed to the sun had been bleached white.
Leading quickly, Schunk disappeared over a small roof and broke into new territory. The first rays of sunlight nicked the summits of Augustin and Gurney. Every major peak within 160 kilometers was visible. The weather was perfect.
Too perfect. Loosened by the sun’s warmth, blocks of ice broke off from near the summit and like a flock of doves, flew past our belay. In a matter of minutes, our crack turned from a drip to a small waterfall. Leading as fast as possible, Black angled left toward cracks that appeared safer. A piece of ice exploded in his face and left a small cut on his cheek. Meanwhile, Schunk and I put on all our Gore-tex and scrambled to avoid getting soaked.
We traded leads up awkward, overhanging cracks. Our energy began to fade—we had been climbing continuously for over 30 hours and we were badly in need of a ledge. Using tied-off knifeblade pitons, Schunk angled a few meters across a 65° slab to a jam-crack and free climbing. Black and I were dozing when Schunk yelled down that he had reached a ledge.
When we arrived at the ledge, I saw that although not big, it had potential. While I melted snow on the stove, Black stomped and kicked away at the snow to make a suitable spot for two and Schunk arranged the third sleeping spot—a Porta-ledge hanging to the side of us. Around midnight we finished dinner and passed out.
I woke three hours later from cold feet in wet socks. As the sun came up, the summits of nearby peaks turned bright orange and then immediately faded to a dull grey. High clouds were moving in from the south. The party was over. I tried to go back to sleep but ended up staring at the sky and worrying about the weather.
We munched granola and Black took the lead while Schunk and I packed the bags. The right-facing comer required our largest pitons lengthwise and all of our tube chocks. Schunk and I were singing Jackson Browne songs when we heard the telltale “pop” and the jingle of weightless hardware. We looked up and saw Black in the middle of a backwards swan dive. The rope came tight and he pendulumed into the wall, head first.
Unhurt but shaken, Black came down to gather his wits and Schunk went up to finish the pitch. Above Schunk’s belay was another wide chimney, full of ice and ominously dripping. Doing anything to avoid this chimney, I aided up cracks to its left and then stemmed across the chimney to cracks on the right. I was in the chimney only a few moments, but this was sufficient time to be struck by a sizeable piece of ice.
The sky grew darker, the cloud ceiling got lower, but we were moving well. It was going to be tight but I felt we had a good chance in our race against the weather. Besides, the quickest and safest way down from where we were then might well have been from the summit and down the north ridge. There was no question of retreating.
Finishing the sixteenth pitch, Schunk mantled onto a ledge, only the second such refuge we had thus far found. A stiff wind brought spindrift down on us as Black rapidly aided up another leaning dihedral. At the top of the dihedral, a large icicle loomed perilously, forcing Black to the left to avoid it. Above his belay we found a steep gully which allowed easier climbing. Expecting more of the same, Schunk charged around a comer but there found one of the climb’s more difficult pitches; a F10 offwidth. The next pitch was ice. Hanging from Jümars, I strapped on our only pair of crampons, pulled out our only ice-axe and led what we hoped was the last hard pitch. My only thought was to get the hell out of this icy chimney. The rock was crumbly but the ice was good and I climbed to a keyhole underneath a large chockstone. As I poked my head through the window, I could see the summit only a pitch away.
I found a sheltered ledge on the lee side of the ridge and belayed the others up to discuss our next move. We felt like zombies as we tried to talk, spent from 75 hours of climbing with very little rest. Embick, who had done the second ascent, had told us that the summit ridge would be tricky and we could see that he was right. Everything that we no longer needed was tossed back down toward the start of the route. We climbed simultaneously, I with the axe in one hand and a haul bag in the other and Black and Schunk with monstrous loads. Feeling the press of time even stronger, we had sacrificed safety for speed. More than on the steeper climbing below, there was no room for the slightest error as we threaded our way around rock towers on the narrow ridge to the top.
One by one, we arrived at the summit and collapsed. A mixture of feelings flowed through us from exuberance to a nervous concern over the descent. The summit had been reached, but our race with the weather was not over.
We gathered our gear and carefully traversed the corniced north ridge, Black and Schunk without crampons. The ridge widened and we moved together until an icy section and strong winds forced us onto the north face. The wind continued to trouble us for the entire ten rappels. Even so, we were so exhausted that while waiting our turns to rappel, each of us kept falling asleep. Obviously concerned with this potentially dangerous state, we passed around a bottle of amphetamines and faced the last few rappels.
We kicked steps down the Secret Passage and walked out onto the glacier. After 90 hours of climbing with only five of rest, we felt safe at last. Jabbering and laughing, we skied back to camp for a celebration of warm food and hot tea. After our energy finally fizzled and we fell into a long and badly needed sleep, our victory was made even more poignant by the storm which settled in and kept us tentbound for the next six days.
Summary of Statistics:
Area: Cathedral Spires, Kichatna Mountains, Alaska Range.
Ascent: Kichatna Spire, 8985 feet, fourth ascent, new route on east face, June 23-27, 1982, (NCCS VI, F10, A5).
Personnel: David Black, M.D., Michael Graber, George Schunk.
American Alpine Journal 1983
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EdBannister
Mountain climber
13,000 feet
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Feb 18, 2017 - 06:53pm PT
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bump
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Avery
climber
New Zealand
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Topic Author's Reply - Feb 18, 2017 - 07:38pm PT
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2nd Ascent (New Route) Dave Black, Mike Graber and George Schunk. June 1982
Climbing 75 (Thanks to George Schunk)
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Avery
climber
New Zealand
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Topic Author's Reply - Feb 18, 2017 - 08:12pm PT
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2nd Ascent (New Route) Dave Black, Mike Graber and George Schunk. June 1982
Thanks to George Schunk
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feralfae
Boulder climber
in the midst of a metaphysical mystery
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Feb 18, 2017 - 08:38pm PT
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Enjoyed reading the TRs, thank you for posting.
feralfae
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Avery
climber
New Zealand
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Topic Author's Reply - Feb 19, 2017 - 03:41pm PT
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3rd Ascent (New Route): Yu Hak-Jae, Shin Dong-Seok and Han Tai-Il. 1992.
Kichatna Spire, East Buttress. On June 9, Koreans Yu Hak-Jae, Shin Dong-Seok and Han Tai-Il completed a new route (VI, 5,10, A3) on the east face of Kichatna Spire. The 4500-foot high face had excellent cracks and chimneys. There was severe rockfall in the first 650 feet and a difficult, slightly overhanging chimney filled with ice and snow near the first bivouac site. They took nine days to do the climb. The other members of the party were Lee Bong-Yoon, Shin Sang-Man and Kim Jung-Bo.
American Alpine Journal 1993
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Avery
climber
New Zealand
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Topic Author's Reply - Feb 20, 2017 - 04:51pm PT
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4th Ascent (New Route): Jay Smith and Nathan Martin, July 2001.
Kichatna Spire, As Good as It Gets.
In July Nathan Martin and I completed a new route up the center of the central buttress on Kichatna Spire’s east face. This was the sixth ascent of the peak, with each ascent creating a new route. The east face is the mountain’s most continuously steep and largest face, rising 3,000 feet above the Shadows Glacier. Ours, the fourth route to ascend this face, rises directly to the summit. It is more than half free climbing and is composed of generally very good rock, though it becomes a bit flaky on pitches 12 and 13. From there to the summit the climbing is mixed, involving rock, snow, and easy ice.
We first attempted this route in July 2000, in capsule-style with a portaledge and haulbags. This attempt failed after we spent 11 days on the face and completed nine 60-meter pitches. From our high point we had hoped to complete the route in a single push, leaving the ledge and haulbags to be picked up during the descent. We climbed only two and a half of the days, the remaining days being spent cooped up in the ledge trying to stay dry in torrential rains. Water poured in through the fly’s clip-in loop, ran down the straps, and flooded our 3-by 6-foot home. This occurred after meticulous preparation to safeguard against this exact scenario, which I had experienced before on Middle Triple Peak. The best laid plans…. Stubborn and determined though we were, retreat became a dash to safety after five days of continuous downpour turned to snow. As water froze and turned to massive, life-threatening sheets of ice, we rapped. We descended in crampons down overhanging rock walls covered in verglas and flowing with icy waterfalls. Full survival mode.
Two weeks later the snow level dropped to 3,500 feet. Jay Hudson came to our rescue two days past our intended pick-up, after four attempts to fly in. We were the last climbers in the Alaska Range, and he wanted to quit worrying about us. This was nearly his demise. Upon landing, his plane sunk in the mushy snow, its wings iced up, and visibility diminished as darkness closed in and snowfall increased. On our fourth attempt to take off we became airborne but could not gain altitude. The iced wings, tail wind, and payload kept us mere feet above the crevasse-and-rock-strewn glacier at over sixty m.p.h. Jay turned to me and said, “We’re not out of this yet!” But there’s a good reason why we fly with Hudson, and before long we were talking about beer and showers.
Though I had just experienced one of the worst expeditions of my 20 and we had spent weeks on our backs, after two beers we were making plans for the next year. Hudson wasn’t sure that he wanted to be included and walked out of the Fairview shaking his head and mumbling about selling his planes and taking up fishing.
In 2001 we were back but had just missed one of the finest spells of weather in recent history. People had been summiting left and right in Alaska, while I’d been working the Eco-Challenge in Fairbanks. A month of fantastic weather was coming to an end. Though it had rained for the past two days, Hudson flew us in through improving skies. Within 24 hours we had BC established and four pitches fixed. Then it rained for eight days. On day 10 we started our alpine style attempt and 52 hours later were back on the ground. Our ascent had been completed in rain, snow, and swirling clouds, the summit reached in a total whiteout, and the descent made in a raging storm. The wind had howled, and our ropes hung up. We had given it our all, and we were successful. Thank God it was over. Yippee!
As Good as It Gets (VI 5.11c A3+), completed on July 10, is named for the quality of the climbing—also for the atrocious weather the route was climbed in.
Jay Smith, AAC
American Alpine Journal 2002
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