August 16 2010
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Climbing the “Cassin” on Denali – a solitary journey
1.
It’s been snowing for days and I am going bonkers at the Ski Hill (NE Fork) camp (cca 2400 m alt.). Tent bound since the 13th of June I start doubting I’d be able to get on the “Cassin” on this trip and I’m getting sure my acclimatization is wearing out by the hour now… I’ve listened my music, I’ve read my books, I’ve weighted my options all the while the snow was incessantly falling…
Then it’s 20th morning and the sun is shining and the skies are clear. Mark, back at KIA, mentioned something about a break in the weather for the weekend and I guess this must be it. I am weighting my options: go light – no tent, no sleeping bag just the stove, my Sirius down jacket and compressor pants and some bars and gels. Or plan for a three days ascent and go heavy: tent, sleeping bag, food, haul line in case I need to pull my bag, some cams and screws in case I need an anchor… It’s all about weight and weighting my options.
I’ve never done the route and weather proved to change swiftly. I may have lost my acclimatisation while doing book-worm work in my tent for the last seven days. Caution takes over the judgment steering and I opt for the heavy option; and heavy it is. A Firstlight tent, the super-cosy Valandre Odin sleeping bag, the Valandre Sirius Jacket, compressor pants, jetboil, one gas canister, one nalgene bottle, three muesli breakfasts and three servings of freeze-dried food for dinners and a handful of bars and gels. A 50m ice line, four cams, four ice screws and four titanium pins, a few biners and slings, two ice tools and spare blade, crampons, two Kong ducks, MP3 player, camera, sat-phone, topo, and a million of bits and odds one manages to allow to creep in when packing a backpack. The relentless snow meant a deep approach so add to the collection two ski poles and two rental snow-shoes that would go up the route as well. The decision weighted heavily on my soul and the backpack on my shoulders.
Afternoon comes I set off together with Teo and Marius who were headed for the West Rib. I’m hitching a partial ride through the Valley of Death and I’m glad to be doing so. Crevasses aren’t a few and the avalanches pour down on both sides of the valley, sweeping our tracks mockingly. After the ice fall Teo and Marius decide to camp and I carry on alone. I travel convoluted ways combining instinct and imagination and ultimately punch through a snow bridge and raise m heart rate in the process. I extract myself, ‘dust off’ and carry on. It’s a déjà vu. I’ve spent the springs and summers of 2003 and 2004 soloing on the Tacul while staying at the Torino hut and crossing the glacier alone, punching through in a game of nerve wreaking Russian roulette. Just as acclimatisation, the ‘getting used to’ factor tends to wear in time though….
I am nearing the bergshrund and I see a coloured spot on the snow. I move towards it and suddenly realise it might be the body of the fallen Belgian climber Joris Van Reeth.[1] Not a sight I wanted before my climb but it is too late. I am right in front of it. It is a VauDe backpack, face up, half buried in the snow. I sigh of relief then figure out that the body of the unlucky suitor to the ‘Cassin’ might be buried below. I shake away the dark thoughts and hurry to the bergshrund.
Below the ‘Japanese Couloir’ I stop and brew. Since I’m carrying bivy gear and I have no plans to challenge any speed records I’m trying to be consistent to my ‘safe is on’ approach and I decide to climb the major ice and snow sections at night and the rock during the day. My reasoning is that most likely the ‘Japanese Couloir’ would get some ice and rock-fall during the day and after the last week’s snow dump and high temperatures slush is not what I want to be soloing.
2.
It’s 4 am on 21 June 2010. I set off for the route. I burry my tools into the deep snow over the lip of the ‘shrund and try to pull over. The lower part crumbles under my feet. I still cling on. Then I hear a thud and I know. I am too heavy. Both lips of the ‘shrud crumble at the same time and I dive below. Size helps and with arms stretched I wedge in not too far. I clamber back out and reassess the strategy.
I dig a ‘seat’ for the backpack, tie the rope to it, gingerly cross, lightweight, the ‘shrund and go all the 50m till the rope stretches. The ice is either very brittle or sugary. I don’t enjoy much the climb here, at least not as I hoped that the ice would be. I dig in to place a screw in healthy ice, set my Kong ducks and begin to haul. The backpack goes under the lip of the ‘shrund and remains, obstinately, stuck. I down-climb to it, hack with my ice axe, climb back up and resume the hauling. This time successfully.
Backpack on my back I continue up the couloir. After a while I come across an anchor (probably from here the Japanese lowered Sam Van Brempt, Jori’s partner). Half a rope length above there is blood and tattered rope. I don’t feel like climbing over it. I move upwards though then the proximity of the stains make me slow down. I down-climb. The topo mentions a 5.6 (IV+ UIAA) rock variation. Nevertheless I traverse too much to the left (probably) and I end up on significantly harder slabs. I circumvent the spooky spot, however, and end up on the ice. I finish the couloir digging through funny snow mushrooms on brittle ice. It’s 8 am and I am setting my tent on the ‘Cassin Ledge’. I’ll wait for the night to come to tackle the ‘Cowboy Arete’. It’s bee a long day anyhow so I brew, eat my muesli and chill wit music in my ears.
By 1 pm a helicopter circles around and I witness the attempts of the rescue team to recover Jori’s body. Then I notice two figures at the bottom of the ‘Japanese Couloir’. I will have company it seems.
At around 9 pm my company arrives. Two charming Canadian climbers, Nancy and Felix, set up their tent on the crammed ledge and we start chatting. Then I start packing.
3.
1 am, 22 June. I set off. I am a bit worried about snow conditions on the next section. I climb enjoyable rock sections to the snow arête (‘Cowboy traverse). I find it inconsistent and I cannot make up my mind. Good ice alternates with deep snow and sugary ice. I cannot get used to it fast enough before it switches back and forth. I near the final portion of it and I see the cornices. I move leftwards, lower and continue, stubbornly. Then my leg punches through. It seems the cornice is bigger than I could see. I extract the offending limb and move even lower, on steeper ground. I exit on the glacier and I stop for a pictures, a drink and a few gels. I guess I reached the point of no return. I contemplate the beauty of the landscape and I feel truly happy.
I continue up the glacier and I find the next crux, and I find it disappointing… I was expecting something bigger but in a couple of moves I am over the 70 degrees section and back on the plodding routine. I continue upwards, then I disappoint another hidden crevasse. I reach the bergshrund below the ‘1st Rock Band’ at the same time with the sun. I stop to brew.
I wish… The stove won’t work. I shake it, I punch it I pray to it. To no avail. I find it ironic that it should le me down now, after what I considered to be the point of no return… There is no point in dwelling on it. Practical solutions are what is needed and the only practical solution is to dismantle the thing to bits and take it from there. Easy said than done though – never dismantled a Jetboil before and my degrees are in Philosophy, Anthropology and Classics – nothing more remote from engineering…
Simplicity, however, is on my side this time ad the thing is not too complicated; but it is definitely broken. The seal is busted and the small copper pin that punches into the canister is broken off. It falls out of the device into the soft snow and encourages me to dig and pan for it like a Klondike gold-miner. Found good time later it now remains to be fixed. Teeth, knife and V-thread tool accomplish a perfunctory but useable finished product and some threads form my quite expensive outfit come to replace the seal.
A couple of hours have passed and I am roasting on the glacier but I am happy to be able to brew again. I enjoy some more muesli and I doze in the unforgiving sun.
Finally I move over the ‘shrund and into the ‘1st Rock Band’. I pass the ‘M shaped rocks’ , the mixed sections and I am staring at a wall full of tat, trying to identify the ‘narrow gully’ to take me to the ridge crest. I chose the most leftwards one and I climb it to a small ridge. However the description in the topo and what I see don’t seem to match. I faff around then decide to abseil back and look for another gully. There is no other gully that looks closer to the description and I climb back up to the small ridge. Then I carry on right over mixed ground to steeper walls. Nothing really matches the topo or the description I have and I climb up and down some lines.
By now the clouds are moving in and looks like it’s going to snow. I’m wasting time and I’m beginning to get wasted. One more try, packless, yelds no success. The climbing is too difficult for the route to be here. I haul the bag around a corner and the corer bits the sheat of the 8.1mm. The core sticks out and I wonder what else can crown this wonderful day.
With the bad weather moving in I decide to look for a bivy spot and I can see none. I begin to abseil back towards the M-shaped rocks. Then I hear voices and I come across Nancy and Felix. They have another topo. I have a hard choice to make. I should go lower and bivy. I am tired. It’s getting iffy and the snow started to fall quite seriously.
On the other hand I am couple of pitches below the real bivy. Three minds are better for route finding and I don’t fancy going back to the ‘shrund. I decide to go up.
Felix leads the narrow gully to the small ridge. Nancy offers me one end of one of her two strands and I tie in. I climbed that pitch twice today. Speed is the key. O the small ridge we discuss options. Right is not one of them – I climbed it out already earlier. Maybe straight ahead? I untie and I set off with Felix close behind. Altimeter shows we are 100m below the bivy. He belays Nancy and we discuss again options when she reaches us. Then we set off again, this time in parallel. Felix is on my right, couple of meters distance. The terrain eases off and right ahead turns into a ridge. Altimeter show we’re 50 meters below the bivy ledge.
Then one of my tools pops off and I peel off with not so kind words coming out unwillingly. The backpack pulls me off, spins me around and I land on my back on a slope. I grab a boulder and I stop 4 or 5 meters below. The fall was no biggie but must have looked scary as hell. Felix is speechless. Nancy asks if I am ok. I stand up, dust off and wave OK. I am tired indeed. I resume climbing and reach Felix at the stance.
Its snowing heavily and the spindrift avalanches are burying us on regular intervals. He belays Nancy and we are waiting for the topo. With the ridge in front of us and the bivy 50m away seems like the reasonable direction. It’s getting cold and I am shivering. Felix the same. As Nancy arrives and we consult the topo Felix sets of. I am ready to follow a few meters behind on the 50 degree slope but he knocks down stuff like hell. I postpone. He leads off half a rope length and announces dead end. He down-climbs for a ways and moves slightly leftwards on easier ground. Nancy and I shiver at the stance and dig ourselves out from the spindrift avalanches. I am getting cramps in my right leg. The rope stretches and Felix stops. Neither of us feels like waiting and I wont solo with someone above knocking stuff on my head, nomatter how easy the ground is. I pick a strand of rope and follow few feet behind Nancy, the final 40-50 m slope to the bivy ledge above the ‘1st Rock Band’ (4785 m).[2]
We settled in for the night and I was quite frustrated to notice that my futile attempts earlier that day were on the wall below the bivy ledge…. The stove working was a good surprise and food was a welcomed addition.
4.
23 June. Lazy morning. Taking pictures. I decide to leave today after rather than before Nancy and Felix. The crux pitches are on rock so no need to hurry. Sun would do me good. The bad weather of yesterday is but a memory.
They set off around 11’ish am and I follow three or so hours later. Getting to the second rock band brings in uninteresting snow climbing but awesome exposure and vistas. Getting into the second rock band however changes things dramatically and I enjoy some of the nicest, fun-filled climbing I ever soloed on a big mountain.
The traverse below and upward from the triangular shaped roof is on nasty ice – as most of the ice I found on this route and it leads me to the most puzzling bit of climbing I did on this route. The topo mentions an obstinate, second, 5.6 (IV+ UIAA) slab next to a steep rock corner. I did found the steep rock corner and the tracks of Nancy and Felix leading to them. I did found, low in the corner, a stuck old, rigid stem Friend. However I did not found the easy slab… The corner offered finger sized parallel cracks for about 5 or so meters with a top-out on a deep snow, 50 or so angled slope. I tried to climb the section and found it to hard to pull on the whole 5 m on finger locks with the backpack on. I stretched a tool above and it sunk in powder snow with no purchase whatsoever. There was no ice left in the cracks below and my Spantiks did not fit in fist-sized cracks. Outstretched on a small foothold on my left foot and with the right bent behind me creating some sort of illusory opposition on the other wall of the corner I felt stuck. I down-climbed and thought. I could climb the thing without a pack on, no problem but if I cannot find an anchor above in the snow slope I’ll be in another tight spot trying to haul my bag. Frustration was swelling inside especially since the topo indicated this as the last technical rock climb of the route.
Suddenly I took a practical decision. I took of my backpack, pulled from the lid a .5 Camalot, threaded a 60cm dyneema sling through it, put the back pack on, put the cam in, climbed to my highest point, grabbed the sling on the cam at its end and pulling upwards, in opposition, I managed to suffle my feet higher, smearing the vertical wall with my cramponed Spantiks. I locked my fingers, pulled myself closer then grabbed a good hold and pulled myself up, letting the sling go. The cam and the sling remained behind orphaned and my soul heavy for having to aid what the topo suggested as a 5.6 slab and the route offered as a steep, finger-crack corner… Of course, there is always the possibility of being off route… I decided not to dwell on it to much, bid farewell to the cam and carried on on boring snow and ice slopes until I saw to my right the tracks of Nancy and Felix joining the tracks of Mark and Jesse, coming from the Slovak route, the day before.
With the night approaching I reached the bivy above the ‘3rd Rock Band’ at 5350 m alt. where Nancy and Felix were just getting cosy. I enjoyed a massive bowl of broccoli soup courtesy of my new friends and proceeded to set up my shelter. In no time, after dinner and brewing I was in the land of dreams.
5.
24 June, around 9am. Morning came and with it a new decision-taking session. Nancy and Felix were breaking the camp and getting ready to leave for the summit. I, for one, enjoyed my solitude on the route as much as the social interludes at bivis with my new friends. I was, however, not in mood to ‘enjoy’ the hordes going down the West Buttress. With no muesli left I wrestled with a frozen bar and decided for a late start. Said goodbye the Nancy and Felix and put on the music.
At 4pm I finished packing my backpack and set off. The feeling for the day, with the hardest climbing as well as the most interesting climbing, behind me, was one of ‘endlessness.’ Everything seemed to last forever. The crest, the ridge, the ice slopes…. It went on, and on and on and on. It became boring. I was feeling fit and in top shape and looked like my acclimatisation held. Not even he slightest headache nor sign of fatigue, of course other than due to normal exertion. Mentally, however I was weakened by boredom… The amazing views of Alaska range helped restoring my upbeat.
At around 5800 m I stowed away my ice axes and pulled out the ski poles. When I turned around the last boulders and onto the final meters to Kahiltna Horn the wind hit me like a freight train and it pulled, out off my hand, one of my ski poles. I watched the poor walking aid taking a flight down the South face of Denali but I was too tired to feel sorry for littering…
At 11pm I was on the summit of Denali trying to stand upright and take photos of myself. It was cold, although my Valandre Sirius Jacket was keeping me warm and cosy, and the wind was one of the strongest I ever encountered. The view was amazing and the feeling was of awe and not a shred of solitude!
6.
25th June, 2am I walked in ‘West Buttress High Camp’ (5330 m alt.). I looked for the cache I asked a friend to leave there for me but there was none. I set the tent, swallowed the last gel and brewed the last cup of water before my canister died. Then I went to bed. In the morning I packed up, drank some water from the rangers and headed down with the direction ‘NE Fork Camp’. Just before the fixed lines towards Basin Camp my right leg went deep through the snow crust and I fell flat on my face. My knee swell and took me ages to get down to ‘Basin Camp’. I looked for the second food/gas cache I asked the friend to leave there and this one wasn’t thee either…. In the end I got fed by a nice guide from AMS, Forrest and I continued my travel downhill. Unfortunately it was extremely slow. Walking downhill was unbearable so I walked backwards on each hill I had to descend. By the time I got to ‘Motorcycle Hill’ I was wasted and dried up. I set up the tent for the night. In the morning I resumed the funny walk – normal walk uphill or on flat terrain, backwards walk on downhill. Got to ‘NE Fork Camp’, packed my stuff, loaded the sled and carried on to ‘KIA Base Camp’, punching through each and every possible snow, sorry, slush bridge. I stopped caring 20 minutes out of ‘NE Fork Camp’. I arrived that night (26th) at KIA where I found Marius and Teo who got there a day before me, after having climbed the West Rib. Next day Lisa fed us real meat and potatoes and Mark and Ralph were the most charming company. We flew out a day later with plans for the Moonlight Buttress next spring…. [3]
NOTES
[1] http://www.adn.com/2010/06/08/1313383/belgian-mountaineer-killed-on.html
[2] the climbing here is on a 45 at most 50 degree slope with mixed moves up to 5.4 (III UIAA). If roping up on this section disqualifies my climb as a solo then so be it. Nevertheless the rest of the 2450 m height difference (40 or so pitches) I climbed without the assistance of ropes (mine or other’s).
[3] this climb would not have been possible without the help of my sponsor, URSUS, my equipment sponsor, VALANDRE and the full support of my FAMILY! Thank you all!
Why are you climbing, dude?
- What am I doing here?
- Inching my way up – what a stupid question!
- No – what am I actually doing here,? Like in ‘what the hell’ am I doing here?
Still a stupid question – like the classic ‘why do you climb’? Difference is that I have neither a clever remark like Mallory’s nor a soapy one. I don’t even have a moronic answer!
- Because it is a stupid question! That’s why!
- Then why am I asking it?
Here I am, half way up a hundred and something meter wall, it’s pitch dark and I’m nothing than an insect, a firefly with the speck of light from my torch shining on the ice encrusted rock. I am tapping gingerly on anorexic seams of ice and I reach for blind spots – blind as in devoid of light and blind because of overhangs. I’m loving it!
- ‘Why do you love me?’ asked she once – another moronic question.
- I have no bloody idea! I just do,! For you being you I guess… If I were to sit down and look through all the reasons, truly, your legs aren’t as long, your hair not as black, your…. I don’t know – taken down to bits you’re quite a mess actually, yet I love you…
Taken down to bits, this is stupid. It’s cold. I have no idea where I am going except that I’m going up. I see about a meter around me. I have screaming-barfies in my hands and the holds are quite often a joke. It is a mess, yet, I’m loving it… I walked past this wall in the morning, on skis. I saw ‘a line’ – of course this sounds pretty much like a critic seeing a ‘something’ in a canvas splashed with paint in a gallery. Yet it doesn’t mean it’s not there. I am on it actually. This beats art!
I came at night only with my ice tools to solo this line. Its beyond onsight – it is no-sight almost. If I fall I won’t even see the ground rushing towards me. I am a blob of dim light on a black canvas. Oh, and I’m loving it.
I swing my ice-tool over a small roof. It sticks. I am stretched. I swing the other one next to it. I can’t reverse. I am committed. I cut my feet loose. If the tools rip off I’ll plunge to the valley below – a hundred or so meters. How long would it take to reach down? I have no reference as I dangle encapsulated in my black universe. I pull over the lip. I cut the cornice. I’m on the small pointed summit. It’s a first ascent. I am happy! I’m loving it! Who the hell cares why? I’m busy doing it!
FA – “Johnny Double” M5, WI4, 30m
“Saturday 27 March 2010 I was eying the remnants of the ice-falls at Balea Lake in the Fagaras Mountains (the Carpathians). A swing at the lowest ice dagger and its subsequent collapse indicated a no-go – the heat of the last week transformed all (snow and ice) into sugary mush.
Around the corner, however, slightly in the shade, I noticed a line that looked like a go. I put Ioana on a belay quite a ways from the wall, put in a screw to protect the belay and headed up the rock-face. Although quite rotten and wet the climbing wasn’t that hard per-se; wiggling in a no.1 camalot in a fragile, flaring slot and moving above it proved to be the crux, sweetened by another, backup no. 0.5 camalot in an equally flaring/crumbly slot one meter higher.
Rock dispensed with I moved onto ice where it seemed more stable, however not before i sent down the lower part of the ice curtain… Screws bottoming out and not really holding into the snice I chopped two holes into the curtain and sling them then moved up. I cut the cornice and dug for some belay on the upper plateau, until I found some healthy looking icicles. I belayed Ioana up then we abseiled back and I continued the descent on skis (with two tumbles on the wet slush).
We named the 30 m route “Johnny Double” and graded it M5, WI4.”
From “Johnny Double” M5, WI4 FA(?), posted by Cosmin Andron on 3/29/2010 (3 items)
- Is this the Swiss-army knife you were looking for? :p Photo (c) Mihai Cuibus
- Route marked with red Photo (c) Mihai Cuibus
- Route marked with red Photo (c) Mihai Cuibus
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One up – one down.
29/30 January 2010
I’m at my mother’s house in Northern Transylania – I haven’t been home since Christmas and now, barely arrived from the train station, I’m getting my skis ready. I’m leaving in ’15… When I returned home from Asia, a year ago, I promised longer times at home – a promised I fell short off…
In the evening, on the way back, the phone rings. Tomorrow it’s ice climbing – my partner tells me not to worry about a thing: ‘Just bring your axes and crampons. I’ll bring the rest. We are leaving at 7:30am. I’ll call you at 7:00.’ I’m dropping my skis off and I eat dinner. I’m actually talking with mom… true, about my skiing day, but I’m sharing…. I forget to ask though… Phone rings again. I’m off to the pub for a quick drink. 8 jack & coke and several hours later I’m back home. It’s 4am and I don’t fancy counting how much time I still have for bed. I crash.
I’m up at 8am. Why no one called? I pick up he phone: ‘Sorry – I fell asleep’ comes the answer. ‘Anyway, it snowed all day and traffic is a nightmare.’ Plans are changing. We go climbing. I re-pack in haste and I pick up the skis as well – there is a couloir I hope I’ll have the time to ski if all goes well. Couple of hours later (apparent unplanned delays..) and we’re off to ‘Rooster’s comb’ one of my favourite places o earth – my first climb, my first epic, my first sow in july, my first outdoor date…
On the walk in the day is beautiful – a bit on the warm side with blue clear sky. In places snow is a pain and we’re not moving too fast. The plans are taking shape: climb ‘the four dihedral’s’ route (5A, VII+ UIAA).
The rocky outcrop looks amazing in the distance. I feel like I need a different experience; a more intimate one. I don’t feel like freezing at belays so I let my guys know that they should climb as a team of two while I’ll have a go at the Western ridge (direct start, 3B, VI UIAA). A few camera snaps and they’re off, around the corner – I’m looking up trying to figure out the line.
The start is quite physical – I could have cheated on a gully around the right side but that would defeat the purpose. It’s sunny but the cold is quite crisp. Few meters up I figure out that there are some flakes I have no idea how to hook. Then I figure out that the ice-clippers I normally have on the belt of my backpack are well and safe at home – the spring leashes are with Justin, two counties down south… I’m showing my axes behind the rucksack belt. I feel like a two-sworded Cossack; when lay-backing on the flakes, however I feel like a Cossack in pain with the adze scratching my ribs.
First flat platform and I’m having screaming-barfies. I’m growing soft – seems like I’ve lost the exercise of climbing gloveless. I forego the barfing but I do a bit of screaming and as soon as I can shove my hands back in the gloves and extract the adze from between my ribs I’m off again. Next bit is a silly water-ice curtain. One swing and the whole thing cracks. I trust only one foot and one hook on it while am clinging gloveless on the wall left of it. Dismissed in a few moves and I’m on a platform. Suddenly the wind picks up and it starts snowing. One chocolate bar, a short phone-filmed panorama and I’m off again. Nice face climb moves on a vertical wall take me to a sound ridge. I lay flat few times hoping not to join Dorothy on her flight from Kansas to Oz. During some respites in the blowing and howling am reaching the top. I pull on my parka, I cut a small platform lower down the ridge and I am bracing myself for the wait for my mates. I crank on the iPod shuffle and I begin ‘dancing‘ with my upper body on Red-Hot Chilly Peppers.
One hour later the phone rings: one ice axe dropped and snail-like pace beforehand means my friends will have to abseil so I have to make my own way down. Back up on the ridge, some scrambling down a gully, a traverse and later some down-hill running across an avalanche slope puts me back to my backpack and skis. Water, chocolate and more waiting before we begin our way back. Darkness is on. Forgotten head-torches (all three of us) makes downhill skiing in the backcountry a very interesting proposal. Not soon enough and plenty of bruises later we’re back at the car. Time for a pub soon… Tomorrow it’s skiing again then the 12 hour train ride back to Bucharest.
6 February 2010
‘What the hell!?’ It’s five to five in the morning and the train leaves at five thirty – there is no way in the world I can make it. I’m checking the train-times: next is at seven thirty. How could I sleep through my alarm? Maybe going to bed at 2am didn’t help but the nice dinner and small home party the night before made it, at the time, feel well worth it.
I’m checking my backpack again – I don’t want any surprises like the Saturday before. A thought crosses my mind: maybe I should throw in a rope this time – for abseils in case I need to… I chuck in a 50m 8 mil and and ATC guide. The bag feels heavier and I frown. Instinct tells me to stop moaning and have a tea.
The train crawls – two hours plus one hour delay and I arrive in Busteni. I leave my trainers, spare t-shirt and Steve House’s book, freshly arrive in the mail on Thursday at the Romanian Alpine Club’s guest house and I hit the trail. It is late, I am late and the route I’m trying I have been told is a day’s enterprise. It doesn’t look good so I’m speeding up through the snow. One hour later I am at Costila hut. Couple of chocolate bars, some water and a chat with friends already there and now it’s really really late… 1pm already …
I ask about the route – pointing to some imaginary lines helps but just a bit. I’m planning on climbing Costila-Galbenele Ridge (3A, VI+ UIAA) but have only a vague idea of where it goes. I leave the hut and I sprint up on the frozen snow, up on some rocks and through bushes following some tracks. I’m now in front of a long slab (I remember Justin mentioning it). Tracks go left but I decide to do it right and I hop on the slab. I do hate conglomerate and it does not love me much either. I clean loads of snow and I wonder how to place my crampons on rounded pebbles. I’m climbing the thing but not a happy bunny at all. Near the top some traversing to the left and I am in front of a section I’d have no problems climbing in summer but now, with crampons and all, it just locks me out. I down climb and rest. I just cannot bring myself to make some moves on pebbles while arching my back outwards to traverse below an overhang. Indecision costs me precious time – 15 minutes later I’m doing the moves and I hate myself for doing them with doubt in mind.
Back on a snow slope and I look down – two guys are rigging an abseil on the slope at the right of the slab I just climbed. The wind is quite strong and snow clouds are moving in. I scream at them asking for directions. They point in the direction of the route but I cannot fully understand the answers I’m getting. In the end I wave and try to set off. ‘We were trying the route too but the weather has turned bad. We’re going down. You’re sure you want to carry on?’ I nod, wave and sprint up the frozen snow. I’ve climbed through worst weather – that’s not my worry. I worry it’s too late and I worry I’m wasting too much time figuring out my way.
At the wall I believe I see a peg somewhere up so I set off. Up there I start thinking I am most likely to be off route and the pegs I have now on my right are probably abseil pegs. I am below an overhanging crack and I see no more pegs. Justin said here should be plenty…. Anyway, it looks like it takes me to the ridge and after-all with all this snow who the hell can figure it out?
My stomach is killing me – must have been the wine from last night. Or the Jack? Regardless I feel sick and the pain annoys me. I put my axes around my neck and I muscle through the crack. The wind picks up even more and the spindrift is awful. At the first rest I’m putting on my ski-googles. The route does not seem to through where I am so I am traversing right. I’m feeling the climbing more serious than I expected. I am trying to block the negative thoughts about the pebbles i’m hooking and my uneasy stomach.
Soon i’m on some frozen turf and I take a rest and a photo. I’m running up on it and I stumble upon the route – pegs and bolts and all on a ledge. The wind and the spindrift are too strong though. I hunker down in a hollow in the rock and I’m breathing under the collar of my jacket. Parka is on soon and I’m still waiting. I try some moves but the wind pushes too much and I retreat under my rock. ‘Within temptation’ playing in my shuffle competes with the wind and I’m waisting more time….
Twenty minutes later I have only the snow blowing into my face to worry about. The wind has let off and I’m taking advantage. The passage is not easy though clear to follow. I climb too deliberately. Suddenly a gust of wind hits me midway up the section. Adrenaline kicks in and I realise I have to act fast. I have a 5 mil bit of cord in my pocket – about half a meter. I stretch towards a peg and I thread it through. I knot the thing and slip my hand through the loop just in time. The wind is back on schedule again. I feel a bit like a flag for the next ten minutes. My axe is well jammed, or so I like to believe, but I’m not sure about my front-points perched on rounded pebbles. One more break in the wind and I throw in the last moves I have up to the ridge. Some more running on the last few meters and I’m in front of a new headwall.
Now where? Suddenly my phone alarm rings – it’s 4:30 pm. Suddenly the mystery of my alarm not waking me up is solved… I’m feeling frustrated at my own stupidity.
I fish out the phone from the lid of my backpack and I call Justin who is at a bouldering comp. ‘It’s 4:30 and this is where I am. Which way should I go? Left? Right?’ The answer is unequivocal: ‘Down mate! You still have ways to go, the hard bits are ahead and you only got half an hour of light’
Damn! Two sips of water and the rope comes out. I find the abseil anchor and I thank my instinct for nagging me to take the rope with me. First abseil it’s over. Fog is on, snow is on. I tie one end of the rope to my harness and i start down-climbing – I don’t want to waste time pulling it. Suddenly it’s getting a bit sketchy. I find a dried out remnant of a tiny pine-tree somewhere on the right and I rig an abseil around it. Then down-climb and bushwhack in the dark till the hut – empty now. I chuck all the gear in my backpack and I start skiing on my boots downhill, back to Busteni.
I am calling Justin to tell him I’m off the route and on my way down. ‘We were worried for you! Good you’re safe! Justin is not here right now – he’s having X-Rays! We’re at the hospital. He landed between mattresses and broke his shin!’ Go figure – indoor bouldering…
Half an hour later I begin hearing the music and the commentators near the ski slope – it’s the finals in the International Ice Climbing World Cup. I’m heading down there just in time to see a tiny Korean winning the finals. Pretty impressive. Quite a few friends around and festive atmosphere breaks the magic of solitude.
I don’t feel like hopping on the night train just then so I let myself convinced to join the party – some hot food and a few glasses of wine to take my mind off the one that didn’t go up….
Walker Spur, North Face of Grandes Jorasses (Cassin Route)
In October 2009 I tried climbing the Cassin Route with Paul Popescu (18) of Cluj. We got horribly rained on on the approach evening and on the climb day totally soaked throughout the day and all night long (in the wettest bivy I have ever been). The following day with even worst weather coming in we called it quits and abseiled off from 1/3 up the wall. On the walk out we had stunning weather only to see that from 3:30/4 pm the storm set in. Our friends were caught up at Aig. du Midi station for 36 hours, unable to descend due to storm. Paul remained in Cham and I returned to Bucharest, back in time for work 
This was Paul’s first alpine outing and am sure not the last…
Photo gallery here:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=395061&id=563600564&l=0c9f3e94ba
Goodbye Riccardo Cassin
Article by Vinicio Stefanello and copied from Planet Mountain
07/08/2009
Goodbye Riccardo Cassin
Riccardo Cassin passed away last night at his home in Resinelli at the foot of his beloved Grigna mountain. Cassin was one of the world’s all time absolute mountaineering legends. He had celebrated his 100th birthday on 2 January.
It’s going to be hard to get used to the idea that Riccardo Cassin is no longer with us. It’s difficult already, now. Not only because Riccardo had lived his 100 years intensely. And not only because he is an absolute mountaineering legend. But because that man, sculpted in rock and made for the mountains, that “Rock man” as Fosco Maraini defined him, was a reference for all. Riccardo Cassin represented the essence of alpinism, of man who sets himself objectives and reaches them. And Ricardo managed to do the same in his private life too, not just in the mountains. The mountains which he loved to define as “my girlfriend.”
Cassin represented the prototype of an alpinist and man who never stopped, who knew how to look forward. Riccardo knew how to beyond obstacles. He had intuition and, above all, he knew the best way to overcome the obstacles. He was stubborn. Obstinate even. Difficult, if you want. He was the leader who wanted to climb first, always and regardless of everything else. He was the head of a patriarchal family. But also a man who, in the mountains just like in life itself, knew how to make decisions and assume full responsibility.
Cassin was the man who chose to fight for the partisans because “the Germans had occupied our land and our house. What else could I do, other than send them away?” He was the mountaineer who remembered with pride that he had never lost a climbing companion and this goes to show the importance of all those men were who roped up with him. It is not due to chance therefore that he described his climbing partners as “all great alpinists”. And he was the sun, husband, father and grandfather who wanted to be an example for all. Perhaps this is why he was loved and respected by all. So much so that he was adopted as a brother, father and grandfather by climbers of all ages. So much so that for everyone he was simply Riccardo.
It’s difficult to think about a “legend”, or simply about a mountaineer, who is not connected to his achievements. Or about someone who does not show disinterest in what happens afterwards. In this too, Cassin was special. He was open to the future and like all great men he was always curious. It is for this reason perhaps that he never stopped, that he looked to the future, to youngsters, with great interest. It is for this reason that often he was on the side of the new generations instead of the mountaineering establishment. Perhaps all this is due to the fact that he, born in San Vito al Tagliamento in Friuli on 02 January 1909 and emigrated to Lecco as a young man in search of work and fortune, had this desire to renew himself in his DNA. The desire to give credit to the hopes of those who need to build their future using their own resources only. So much so that, starting out as a blacksmith’s apprentice in Lecco he soon became factory head, then company director. All this happened while he studied at evening classes and, on Sunday’s he began to climb at the Grignetta, before widening his range of action first to the Dolomites, then Mont Blanc and then mountains in the rest of the world.
It is difficult to remember the thousands of stories of his mountaineering life. Just like it is difficult to remember his more than 2500 ascents, and more than 100 first ascents. It is difficult to explain what he represented for Lecco and for alpinism, but also for the Ragni di Lecco group of which he is certainly one of the key symbols. What is certain is that what remain are beautiful routes and achievements which left their mark in the history of alpinism and, above all, fuelled the dreams of a myriad of mountaineers. Such as, to name but a handful, the first ascent of the beautiful arête up the Torre Trieste in the Dolomites, carried out in 1935 together with Vittorio Ratti. And that same year with Ratti, Cassin amazed the world by overcoming the incredible overhangs up the North Face of Cima Ovest di Lavaredo. Then there is the 1937 first ascent up the legendary NE Face of Piz Bernina, together with Rarri and Gino Esposito. And the mythical first ascent of the Walker Spur on the Grandes Jorasses in 1938, together with Esposito and Ugo Tizzoni.
Then came the expeditions. First of all the missed expedition to K2 for which Cassin, after having taken part in a reccie and the preparations, was unjustly excluded. “I cannot forget…” said Cassin, remembering that episode. Even if perhaps it was precisely this great delusion which provided him with the means of proving his valour as an expedition leader, first with the ascent of K2’s magnificent neighbour, Gasherbrum IV (7925m) which was summited by Bonatti and Mauri in 1958. Then with the great first ascent of the South Face of Mount McKinly in Alaska, during which all 6 Ragni di Lecco expedition members summited, including Cassin himself. On that occasion Cassin was congratulated via telegram by the President of the United States of America, John Kennedy. As if to say that these were things of times past, of when alpinism was still a dream and adventure.
Now that Riccardo is no longer here all of this remains. His history, his routes and his achievements will continue to make people dream. Etched forever, just like the memory of a man who never deprived himself of life itself or of the mountains. A man who never spoke too much and, when he did, always spoke clearly: all you needed to do was look him in the eyes to understand. What counted were the facts, for Cassin. But what also counted was the kindness and that quick-witted smile which made his eyes shine when he was happy. This is how I am, they seemed to say. This is how Riccado Cassin always was and always will be. A man and a legend who all alpinists called Riccardo, and who will be sorely missed.
Riccardo Cassin was a member of the Ragni della Grignetta group and honorary member of the International Academic Alpine Club, the Groupe Haute Montagne and the mountaineering clubs of Italy, the USA, Spain, Switzerland and France. He leaves behind 3 children, 7 grandchildren and 4 great-grandchildren.
Peretele Vaii Albe: ‘Ultimatum’
Simbata 1 august si duminica 2 august am incercat parcurgerea solitar a traseului lui Titus Gontea, Ultimatum. Un proiect ambitios, tinind cont ca din ce stiu este prima tentativa de repetare a traseului, s-a dovedit a fi mai mult decit pot eu sa fac in acest moment si am abandonat dupa parcurgerea unei lungimi si jumatate.
Pentru mine traseul a fost cam mult – solitar, la vedere si pe o roca pe care nu am rulaj aproape deloc insa o experienta placuta.
Fara ajutorul lui Justin si Vasile nu as fi reusit sa ajung la perete si le multumesc inca o data. La fel si lui Titus pentru beta si imi doresc sa aud cit de curind ca o echipa sau un temerar au reusit parcurgerea integrala, dintr-o singura intrare a unui traseu care este, inexplicabil si injust evitat.
GHM/FRAE – Stagiu de Big Wall 13-19 iulie 2009
GHM impreuna cu FEDERATIA ROMANA DE ALPINISM SI ESCALADA propune:
Stagiu pe tema Big Wall – premiere si reamenajari in teren de aventura.
Perioada: 13-19 iulie
Locatia: Cheile Turzii/Cheile Aiudului
Se adreseaza tuturor celor care sunt interesati de tehnicile de premiere in big wall si de tehnicile si etica de reamenajari in teren de aventura.
Instructori/Coordonatori: Leslie Fucsko, Antoine Rabatel, Cosmin Andron si Justin Ionescu.
Vor fi prezentate echipamente utilizate si moduri de utilizare ale acestora,
Ultimile tehnici in domeniu
Modalitati de progresie
Dificultati si cotatii
Etica big wall si etica in teren de aventura
Realizari la nivel mondial in big wall
Pregatire si logistica specifice
Importanta stilului si viitorul peretilor uriasi …
Specificitatile de stil si de teren de aventura din Romania.
Cazarea se va face la cort.
Necesarul de echipament/ participant: o sa fie alcatuite mai multe echipe autonome, deci este nevoie de tot materialul disponibil/participant pt escalada la liber si artificial. Material de protectie mobila, pitoane, ciocan, scarite, coarda, etc. Casca obligatoriu !
Conditii de participare: experienta in trasee de lungimi (minim gradul 5A) si in trasee cu protectie mobila. Cunostinte temeinice de construire a unei regrupari si parcurgerea unui traseu echipat atit la liber cit si artifical.
Taxa participare : 450 lei
Inscrieri pana la data de 07 iulie 2009, se ahita un avans de 200 lei.
Numar maxim de participanti 12
Relatii suplimentare: leslie_ghm [@] yahoo [.] fr
tel : 0744251397 Cosmin Andron