I felt the joy drain out of my body as soon as we rounded
the wall and I laid eyes on it. Suddenly, reaching the summit with our 2015 No
Barriers Warriors to Summits team seemed painfully out of reach.
Josh, Margaux and I had departed the team’s high camp
earlier in the morning to scout the upper section of the route for our summit
attempt the next day on Gannett Peak. The
previous day had been spent eyeballin the upper crux of the route, a left
slanting couloir that appeared from a thousand feet below to have an anemic
amount of shitty ice protecting it’s access. Even from our camp perspective we
were skeptical of the upper flank conditions.
If that ramp of ice wasn’t safe to climb, the summit would be
unattainable.
Gannett Peak is about as remote of a worthy climbing
objective as any in the lower 48 States. Our team of 10 veterans, 5 guides and
2 photojournalists spent the better part of 5 days trekking deep into the Wind
River Range of Wyoming, passing through some of the most breathtaking alpine
terrain I have ever laid eyes on. Every one of the 26 miles of the approach
were well-earned… not the least of which was the final mile leading into our
high camp. The “boulder field” was a linear
mile of uninterrupted, VW Bug sized boulders that had the look of middle earth
meets the album cover of Houses of the Holy. Our 2 amputees and 1 super-blind
dude got their money’s worth climbing up, over and down each of the hundreds of
massive rocks.
But in spite of all the fireball terrain and big-ass
boulders, we arrived as a complete team into our high camp…. tired but
satisfied and excited about what lay ahead.
All the lead up work had been done. Training was complete. The long
approach was behind us. Only thing left to do was power through a solid summit
day and stand on top of our objective.
That being said, my concern for route conditions grew deeper
with each glance I stole of the upper route. As the sun cast down on the upper
snowfield, the reflection off the snow mirrored a sheer face of what appeared
to be very old, desiccated ice with a potentially broken up snow bridge leading
to the climbable ice. The inexperienced eye would see it as shimmering beauty, beckoning
for boots and traffic. But those of us with dozens of years climbing in
variable alpine conditions knew better. We knew that weeks of higher than
average temperatures would have melted the seasonal snow away, leaving only the
thousands-of-years-old ice exposed. This is the kind of ice that is hard,
crumbly and tough to protect. It’s the kind of ice that a few of the leadership
team could handle with some minor effort… but the thought of putting our 10
participants on this terrain made my hands sweat and my spidey senses tingle.
Each of our hard charging participants have proven
themselves competent and experienced in the theater of war… but their alpine
climbing training consisted exclusively of our 3 training trips we had
facilitated over the previous 4 months.
Not a lot.
Remember, our goal all along with No Barriers Warriors is
not to make these men and women mountain climbers. Our mission is to provide
them with a transformational experience that uses the mountains and rivers as a
backdrop. Even from a half mile away I knew it would be tough to get everyone
up and down that section of mountain safely and efficiently.
It was clear that we had to go up and lay eyes and feet on
the route. As the expedition leader I knew that the ultimate “go or no-go”
decision rested firmly on my shoulders, so I would need to go. So on the morning of our “rest day” Josh,
Margaux and myself departed high camp to go explore the upper reaches of the
mountain.
Fun… just straight up fun. The climbing was complete with
low 5th class scrambling, glacial traverses, low angle snow climbing
and splitter blue-sky conditions. We had a blast over the course of a few hours
gaining an upper position. We rounded the corner of the “gooseneck” headwall
and finally got close and personal with the upper couloir.
Shit.
The first obvious eye catcher was the 20ft deep, sunken
bergschrund that separated the upper ice from the lower glacier. Bergschrunds
are the features that form as the ice that is pasted to the steeper flanks of
the mountain separate from the lower angle glaciers. Often times there is a
snow bridge that exists that provides easy access on to the upper slopes. The
same little snow bridge that existed when Charlie and Josh reconned the route 2
months prior still was in place. But now it was a sad little 1ft thick, droopy,
unsafe marshmallow.
Well OK, we can get over that. Will take some work to get
everyone over and back across that thing… but we can do it.
Then we looked up.
Above the gap we could now clearly see the condition of the
ice that protected the summit ridge. Just as I had guessed...stretching from side
to side of the couloir was 60ft of glistening, boilerplate hard, 10,000-year-old
ice. Dripping water cascaded down its face. Once again I thought of a handful
of ways we could get our crew up that section of ice but I continued to
stalemate on how we would safely get everyone down this terrain.
But damnit…we knew that if we could just get by that 60ft of
terrain we would have a fairly cruiser ridgeline all the way up to the summit.
Might as well have been made of 2ft thick glass.
I sat deflated as I contemplated alternatives. Each one
ended in the same comment, “We might be able to get em up that way but there is
no way to get them down that same section safely.”
In typical Josh fashion, the 27 year old ex SEAL continued
to suggest multiple alternatives…. the best of which was climbing around the
ice… “maybe we can circumvent the entire headwall. Let’s go check it out.” An
hour later and some fun rock-block scrambling lead us to the edge of the
headwall… and a 1,000ft sheer cliff.
No go.
Down we went… occasionally blasting out a “Fuck!!!!!” with
disappointment. We had worked so hard to get here as a team and we would be
going home without a summit.
Back through the sweet terrain and into camp to join up with
the rest of the team. Ultimately to tell them that their much desired summit…
the same summit that they had worked for and dreamed of… would remain out of
reach.
I wasn’t bummed for my own summit aspirations. Over my 20+
year climbing career I have been turned around countless times due to unsafe
conditions. I was accustomed to dealing with the “no summit blues”. All of the
common axioms were a part of my long developed alpine mentation…
“The summit is optional but coming home is not.”
“The mountains make the music, we simply listen.”
“It’s about the journey…not the summit.”
And yes, all of this is true… but when I broke the news that
we wouldn’t be able to summit, there was no cute little quote that would quell
the disappointment the group clearly felt. As much as we had tried to frame up
the possibility of not touching the summit, this was still a massive body blow
to the group. Tears, frustration, disappointment. We all felt it. For many, it
was just another one of the many obstacles that was keeping them from
completing the ever-elusive “summit.”
Then the magic happened…
The team requested a participant only meeting… all the
leaders were asked to step away.
Thirty minutes later we rejoined the team and listened to
them request an opportunity to venture up, as a complete team to this high
point… to go as high as they could… to lay eyes on this piece of unsafe
terrain… to feel the power of the mountain and let it judge them for who they
are… to conclude that they had done nothing wrong in this journey and to
confirm that they had done everything right. It was just the mountain dishing
up a shitty sixty feet of ice protected by a big ass moat.
Then I knew we had done our work. We had set the table
appropriately. We had invited our guests and they had joined us for a lengthy
feast. The appetizer was good… it whet our appetite and made us hungry for
bigger things. The main course was delicious… we took in all of the miles and
smiles and felt full. But alas there would be no desert…. the cake would not be
served. We wanted to end on a sweet note but would instead have to reflect on
the fact that our bellies and souls were full.
We had feasted.
The next day I began what would be a 2-day evacuation of one
our participants that was sick as a dog and spiraling towards full kidney
failure. He warriored through all 26 miles back to the trailhead on 1 foot, 1
prosthetic, a horse and a shit ton of grit and will.
That same day, September 11th, the rest of the
team climbed up to my same high point, took a look at the bergschrund and 60ft
of ice and said, “Yep, I get it. Don’t want any part of that.” Although there was still disappointment
within, the team had now faced that barrier, looked it square in the eye and
said, “F You!!!”
I heard stories of how each of the team yelled out names of
their friends, fellow warriors and family that had been lost or deeply effected
by the events of that anniversary 14 years prior. Powerful to say the least.
My best bro and long time adventure partner, Erik was the
founding father of No Barriers. From the beginning the tagline has always been
“What’s Within You Is Stronger Than What’s In Your Way.” I know that’s true
most of the time.
But sometimes 60ft of shitty, unsafe ice IS in your way. And it IS stronger than you. And it IS blocking you from reaching your desired summit. And it IS NOT moving.
This is a fact of life.
When we encounter these immovable objects, it’s critical to
be resourceful, look for work-arounds and think outside the box. Then, once we
have exhausted all alternatives we have to come to grips with it. It’s not that
I’m OK with it. I just have to acknowledge it’s existence. It’s not going
anywhere. But we are. Moving on. Setting our sights on the next summit… the
next objective.
And so we climb on.
