Winter Dance

I don't have a good feel for the Fahrenheit scale but I do know that negative temperatures are cold. Down in town, the car thermometer read around twenty degrees and the early morning air felt almost balmy on my face. However, as we drove up Hyalite Canyon, it started plummeting, finally bottoming out below zero. The inside of the car was cozy but I could imagine the almost liquid chill on the other side of the glass. I know, ice climbing is supposed to be cold. But I'm soft, and especially when there's mixed climbing involved, with the attendant pulling and locking off, I like more moderate temperatures. There was nothing for it though. Between clinics on the weekend and final exams at the university later in the week, I had just today to go climbing. Sometimes it's motivating to be on a schedule, as there's no coming back another day.

After twenty minutes' walking we located an old boot track heading steeply up to the left. After a few more minutes we even warmed up enough to strip down to base layers. "Maybe there's an inversion," Adam commented hopefully. However, we didn't think so an hour later, as we struggled to tighten boots and harnesses with bare fingers quickly growing numb. A stiff breeze whipped across the snowy crest of the rib, carrying away any warmth we might've generated on the approach.

"The thought of climbing hard right now isn't very appealing," I complained. "I guess we'll just have to climb easy then," Adam retorted.

Eventually, after many pauses to rewarm our hands, we were ready. Crampons and tools on, wearing a belay parka and insulated pants over all the other layers, I followed Adam awkwardly across the exposed traverse to the base of the route.

The legendary Winter Dance, an Alex Lowe masterpiece.

"Which pitches do you want?," Adam, ever the gracious host, asked. I had my answer ready. The bolt ladder on the second pitch is the technical crux of the route, while the third pitch was the question mark. A couple of people had already told me they didn't think there was enough ice on it to make it go, at least not without much loose and runout choss climbing. "You've done the route before. Do you mind if I take pitches two and three?," I replied.

Splattered with ice, the first pitch looked straightforward and Adam made quick work of it. As I followed though, I revised my opinion of it. After a cold night the ice, thinly spread over compact rock, was brittle and fragile. Teetering on shallow placements, thinking about the stubby screw I'd removed already a few metres down, I was glad of the rope overhead. At least we seemed to be somewhat sheltered from the wind, and I even warmed up enough to shed puffy jacket and pants.

Adam Knoff starts up the first pitch of Winter Dance, a deceptively tricky concoction of thin ice and loose rock.

I leaned back on the anchor and craned my neck. "What's the second pitch like? Is it onsightable?," I inquired. "It's pretty hard to read. I onsighted it though," Adam informed me. I had intended to try hard anyway but now it was fight or fly. Taking wasn't an option.

A few metres of dinner-plating ice let to a bulging roof. Clipping the first of the dozen or so bolts Alex Lowe had drilled more than twenty years earlier, I put any doubts about what kind of shape they might be in out of mind. Leaning out on a gloved lieback, I hooked a gritty edge and began the dance: lock off, probe with a tool until it settled on something positive, trust it, lock off, repeat. After what seemed like a long time, and probably felt even longer for Adam at a cold belay, I whooped as I hung back on the four or five bolts in suspect rock that made up the anchor.

Yours truly launches up pitch two of Winter Dance, originally an aid ladder, subsequently freed in a determined effort by Kris Erickson and Whit Magro. Photo: Jean-Francois Girard.

Adam Knoff nears the hanging belay atop the second pitch.

A sea of cobbles and crazy mushrooms: the same scene from below.  Photo: Jean-Francois Girard.

While I pulled in the rope as Adam quickly followed the pitch, I turned my attention to the next ropelength, the one I'd been told wasn't quite in. All in all it didn't look too badly, with giant mushrooms and hanging columns offering some options. The questionable bit was an ice blob just a few metres up. As Steve used to say, I'd just have to go rub my nose in it.

What with the belay being hanging and my rope management skills somewhat deficient, it took us a while to reorganize.  Eventually though, with a full ice and rock rack dangling off of my harness, I set off again. A couple of fixed Spectres in decomposing rock below the blob would prevent a factor-two fall onto the belay but wouldn't keep my from hitting the mushroom below. "I guess I'll just have to climb like I mean it. Watch me!" But the sticks on top of the blob were good and soon I was sinking a solid screw into the next mushroom. The rest of the pitch unfolded more or less as expected, with much cleaning of massive daggers but secure thrutching between hopefully more solid columns. After the hanging belay, a comfortable belay cave was a welcome change.

Warmer but still not warm: yours truly at the second belay. Photo: Adam Knoff.

Established atop the crux blob at the start of the third pitch... Photo: Adam Knoff.

... and negotiating surreal ice formations higher up. Photo: Adam Knoff.

While Adam and I enjoy Winter Dance, a couple of friends tackle the neighbouring Nutcracker. Jean-Francois Girard starts up the crux third pitch of that route. Photo: Adam Knoff.

After paralleling each other for three or four pitches, Winter Dance and The Nutcracker come together and share the last pitch. Last year, when Jess Roskelley and I climbed the latter route, the final ropelength began with a fragile pillar that had us questioning its reasonableness. Now though a massive if still translucent column led to the top. Grabbing the screws, Adam swung through. Soon he disappeared from view, and only the ice falling past the cave window and the rope snaking through my belay device told me of his progress. I was left to my thoughts of that stormy afternoon a year ago. Afterwards I saw Jess again at another climbing festival, we exchanged texts and phone calls, but The Nutcracker was the last time we climbed together. Climbing gives a lot but it also takes away so, so much.

A relaxed Adam Knoff starts up the fourth pitch of Winter Dance.

Back at our packs and poles on the approach rib, we watch Jean-Francois Girard climb the last pitch, lit up briefly by the low December sun.