R. D. Caughron and I met at a summer job at Lawrence Radiation Lab in Livermore CA. Throughout the years our friendship has been woven into a fabric of climbing trips and epics. The first thread of our story was spun when I took RD up his first climb on the friction slabs on Bob's Knob in the Adirondacks. When we reached the top, he planted a kiss on my boot. The knot in the cords between us was tied tighter when we huddled together overnight after getting caught in a thunderstorm in the Cirque of the Towers in the Wind Rivers Mountains. There we learned the hidden meaning of a climbing commitment: if Mother Nature doesn't kill you outright, she certainly makes you stronger; the kiss of relief is not destined to be the kiss of death. Inner strength is a product of commitment, and we needed it on Alberta.

Mt. Alberta is a desolate mountain. It demands an intimate relationship with anyone entering its domain. The natural boundaries of Alberta begin at the Banff-Jasper highway where the Sunwapta River wards off tourists. We drove up from California, registered, and started off on a real adventure. Wading across the swift, freezing water at 8 AM was not a pleasant way to begin the day. However, that discomfort was quickly forgotten because the hike to Woolley Col was full of impressive views. We followed a tributary stream to its glacial origin at Woolley Col. You don't have to be an ice climber to get over the col, but if you haven't done some ice climbing, you probably wouldn't try. This is Alberta's second line of defense; it keeps out the hikers.

Our first glimpse of Alberta's refuge came from the top of the col. The massive peaks which border the Columbia ice field surround Alberta and ensure its remoteness; they are magnificent and spectacular. We were alone in those mountains. A feeling of awesome silence settled in on us small beings as we walked across the glacier and set up a tent at the north end of Little Alberta.

At 4 AM we got up and started out on what we expected to be a 16 hour trip to the top of Alberta with a 10 hour return via the Japanese route. By 4 PM, we were above a lot of the loose rock which is piled on the lower southeast slopes of Alberta, but we were nowhere near the towering summit walls. We found a small notch in the southeast corner where other parties had set up a bivouac. In the remaining sunlight we built up the wall and hacked apart some flat hunks of rock to build a comfortable sleeping spot. RD remarked, "The view of North Twin, Columbia and King Edward was stunning".
The early morning avalanches dropping off North Twin brought our brains back to life from their unconscious refuges. We had our last bites of bread and cheese before beginning the traverse north along the snowfield which lay below the black rock. We traversed until we reached a point which gave us access to a horizontal ledge system that paralleled the snowfield. We climbed up a pitch and continued the traverse along some nasty fourth class stuff, high angle scree mixed with patches of snow and ice. It wasn't difficult but demanded complete attention and ate up a lot of time. Seven hours on these ledges killed our chances of making the summit that day. This was obvious when we reached a vertical column system which had some old rappel slings on it. We climbed 10 pitches of 5.5-5.7 solid rock, angling up and to the north. Finally we came to a couloir which joined the summit ridge at the second notch (from south to north) (the Putnam guidebook mistakenly said to head for the first notch). On the last pitch we crossed to the north side of the couloir and climbed the rock to the notch at the summit ridge. A dead bat greeted us from its crevice grave. It was 6 PM, the view was incredible, but we still weren't at the top.

The summit ridge was long and narrow, 2-4 feet wide, and it was time for a conscious commitment. The deal was that if we went to the top we would have to spend the night there, no food, no water, no shelter. It was a hard bargain, but easy to accept. We headed toward the summit around the cornices and rock spires. It was simply a magnificent place to be, especially at sunset. By the time we reached the 60 foot snow patch there wasn't enough daylight left to make it to the summit and back, so we chopped out a level place in the steep scree and frozen rock. It was large enough for two huddling bodies, a familiar seen for us. We tied into an ice axe belay and to a couple of pins, and settled in for a long night. About midnight it started to snow; flakes were big and granular. RD noticed that they glowed; I said that I thought they were electrified. Seconds later an incredibly bright flash of light confirmed our suspicions… the air was highly charged, and a St. Elmo's ball of fire zipped by. Fate smiled. We were not the grounds for the lightning discharge, and our souls were welded together, not to the rock.

The morning of July 26 was welcome, and we rappelled down the notch and quickly made it to the summit. Alberta was a peak we had earned. The last entry in the register was in 1972, George Lowe and Jock Glidden's climb of the north face, suggesting that we were the eighth party to sign in at the peak register. We scrawled our entry, regretting that we hadn't thought to bring paper, pencil, and a better container to preserve the summit news. The two hour return to the descent notch was a bit nerve racking because a huge cloud had moved in from the east, and partially covered the summit ridge. Luckily it was not a storm front and eventually it blew away. We returned to the luxury of our first bivouac site on the south face after 10-12 rappels and a traverse on the scree slopes below the ledge system and snowfield. We made good time on this lower level, and realized that if we had stayed lower during the ascent we would have saved a day. Our first meal in two days was a cup of hot tea. Simple things are really good, and we appreciated what we had. The next noon we were back at our tent and had a gourmet lunch consisting of canned salmon, mandarin oranges, hot jello, Swiss chocolate, and oranges. Staggering from the bloat we went over Woolley Col and headed toward the river. We spent the night along the way, just loving the downhill trek but still wary of the last test of our stamina, the Sunwapta River. We really didn't relax until were safely across the next morning. We got back to the ranger station to sign in just before a helicopter was to depart to check out the reason our late return. Our only advice to the next party is to read the detailed accounts of earlier climbs (Canadian Alpine Journal 32, 1, 1949; American Alpine Journal 7, 124, 1948-50). Bring another summit register, and allow a bit more time than the guidebook says it should take for the climb.

We did not think that Alberta was a pretty mountain when we first saw it from Woolley Col. However, we were impressed with its isolation and massiveness from the vantage points along the east face. We thought it was spectacular when we looked down to the Athabasca River from the summit ridge, some 5-7000 feet above the river. None of these feelings or experiences were as moving as the parting glances we continued to give Mt. Alberta as we left. That mountain clearly left its mark on our souls, and we were branded with its awesomeness:

"On earth and in the air, in water, and in fire,
The spirits are subservient to him
His glance frightens and tames the wildest beasts,
And even the anti-Christian must approach him with awe."

H. Hesse in The Journey to the East

In 1995, RD and I revisited Alberta after a successful climb of Mt. Robson. We hiked over Woolley Col and stayed in the hut during a storm. I found a fossil in the scree. Then we hiked down to the Athabasca River, and walked out along (and in) the Athabasca River to Sunwapta Falls. We found old campsites with rusty cans, and trails along the way; lots of bear, elk, moose, cougar, and wolf tracks in the river banks along the way. This was the approach route of the first ascent by the Japanese; a very impressive route, both on the ground and on the rock.

- Gerry Dienel