Control (aka Wilson Adventures IV: Living in Paradise)

"And walked upon the edge of no escape,

And laughed I've lost control."

- Joy Division

The slender thread of Living in Paradise drapes down a series of overhanging limestone bands high on the south face of Mt. Wilson. Just getting to its base is an adventure, requiring either climbing a route through the lower cliffs, or making a long traverse across steep snow slopes above those cliffs. When I climbed it almost ten years ago with Eamonn Walsh, we opted for the traverse. Even though we had a memorable day, carrying on over the summit ridge and down Lady Wilson's Cleavage, the sideways start was a niggling imperfection. Ever since then I'd wanted to return and ascend the route more directly.

Then last year the Totem Pole, a rarely-formed ribbon of ice in a claustrophobic gash worn deep into the rock by running water, came in. Here was a chance to climb up Wilson's south face on nothing but pure water ice. I liked to think Guy Lacelle, with whom I'd attempted Living in Paradise before, would've appreciated the aesthetics of the line.

March had already come to the Rockies and every day the sun traveled higher in the sky. However, the forecast was for a cool and overcast day, perfect for venturing on a snow-laden south face. As grey morning light filtered through thick clouds, Juan and I walked up hard avalanche debris below the Totem Pole. The weather and conditions were exactly what we'd hoped they'd be: we were in control.

Snapping on crampons, we continued unroped up the initial ice steps. They weren't hard, but all of a sudden I was aware of the pack straps pulling at my shoulders and of the space opening up beneath my boots. Every tool and crampon placement needed to be precise. A hundred metres higher, the ice kicked back into avalanche-pounded snow, and the risk drained away with every upward step.

Once we tied in, the main pitches of the Totem Pole felt casual. It wasn't long after uncoiling the rope that were were coiling it again for the slog to the base of Living in Paradise. Following the track we'd punched in on a reconnaissance a week earlier, we hugged the base of the rock: avoiding the steep, unstable, facetted snow, remaining in control.

It was a relief to step back onto avalanche debris below Living in Paradise. The air at the base of the route crackled with cold. We didn't linger: some dried fruit, a sip of tea, and I shuffled right from the ledge we'd kicked into the snow slope onto vertical blue ice. Near the top of the pitch the column seemed to tip past vertical, the rope hanging free of the ice. I tried to make every swing count, to spent as little time as possible hanging from one tool while placing the other one. It felt exhilarating to be up here, a small moving speck on a vast silent mountainside, treading a fine line between control and chaos.

We swung pitches up the next few easier ropelengths. Focused as I was on the ice in front of my face, I didn't notice the clouds overhead giving way to a clear blue sky. It was while anchored to a small ice outcrop in a broad snow couloir, taking in the rope with Juan out of sight below, that I felt the sun's warmth on my back. I'd barely had time to think about the massive snow bowl lurking above the last pitch when a deep boom echoed from the walls of the gully.

My breath caught in my throat. I looked up, expecting to see a giant white wave shooting over the lip of the ice a hundred metres higher. For a panicked second, I wondered whether I could make myself small enough to hide beneath the rounded ice bulge in front of me. It was a ridiculous thought. From one moment to the next, we'd lost control.

A couple of minutes later, a wide-eyed Juan joined me at my exposed stance.

"What the fuck was that?"

"An avalanche, just not down our gully. Should we start rapping?"

"It'll be faster to run up to the base of the last pitch."

Hearts pounding, breathing hard, we kicked steps up to the shelter of the vertical ice and overhanging rock of the last tier. As the mountain continued to boom around us, we breathed a sigh of relief. We were back in control - barely.

Stripping off layers in the heat, we sat on our packs and waited for the sun to go down. After an hour of lounging, I grew bored and climbed the last pitch, figuring the steepness would protect me if anything came down. Then it was back to watching the sun as it slowly dipped towards the craggy shapes of Mts Erasmus and Amery on the other side of the Saskatchewan River. Eventually, after the chill of the late afternoon had silenced the mountain and forced us back into warm layers, we threaded the ropes through the first of many v-threads and slid down towards the shadowed blue depths.

It wasn't until we'd found ourselves among the darkened firs on the valley bottom that we relaxed. For a while up there we'd lost control. But a butterfly had flapped its wings and an avalanche swept down an empty gully instead of the one we were in. Others haven't been so lucky.

The south face of Mt. Wilson, with the line of Living in Paradise, and the massive snow bowl above it, clearly visible.

We approached the upper tiers via the rarely formed Totem Pole.

Above the Totem Pole, we followed our track through facetted snow from a reconnaissance a week earlier.

The first and proudest pitch of Living in Paradise. Photo: Juan Henriquez.

A chilled but psyched Juan at the base of Living in Paradise.

The start of Living in Paradise. Photo: Juan Henriquez.

The snow-laden upper reaches of the south face of Mt. Wilson.

The last but not least pitch of Living in Paradise. A welcome shelter from a mountain waking up in the afternoon heat, and something to do while waiting for the sun to go down. Photo: Juan Henriquez.

As sunlight faded and the temperature dropped, we threw down the ropes for the first of many rappels into the guts of the Living in Paradise gully. Photo: Juan Henriquez.

Summary: An ascent of the Totem Pole into Living in Paradise, March 2018.