10 10 5318 https://library.americanalpineclub.org/files/original/41951945e644bf5bcec829e9b07cd5b6.mp3 2f246e4897fc4f487ff7b71c9a454f86 https://library.americanalpineclub.org/files/original/64719f1aa13c1444823c510045b17d00.png fd1112ccb887a005a463bfd4cb2951b6 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource The American Alpine Club Oral History Collection Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available The American Alpine Club Library Type The nature or genre of the resource Oral Histories Subject The topic of the resource First hand accounts of historically significant events in climbing, told by the people who were there. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Tom Hornbein Oral History Recorded at the 2013 American Alpine Club Annual Benefit Dinner Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available The American Alpine Club Library Finding Aid Archival finding aids and inventory documents intended to describe and organize archival materials. Biographical Text Laura Waterman (born 1939) is an author, naturalist, mountaineer, and homesteader. The daughter of renowned Emily Dickinson scholar Thomas H. Johnson, Waterman graduated from Hollins College in 1962 and worked as an editor in New York before moving in 1973 to a homestead, Barra, on 27 acres of remote Vermont woodlands with her husband Guy Waterman (1932 - 2000). There, the Watermans indulged their love of the outdoors and of climbing, and became noted figures in the mountaineering and wilderness communities. Despite living "off the grid," they were prolific writers; Laura Waterman was the first full-time employee and associate editor of Backpacker magazine, and has written numerous articles, essays, stories, and books, both individually and in conjunction with her husband. Besides Backpakcer, she has contributed to Appalachia, Vermont Life, and Climbing magazines, among others. Her published books include Losing the Garden: The Story of a Marriage, A Fine Kind of Madness: Mountain Adventures Tall and True (with Guy Waterman),Yankee Rock &amp; Ice (with Guy Waterman), Forest and Crag (with Guy Waterman), Wilderness Ethics (with Guy Waterman), and Backwoods Ethics (with Guy Waterman). Location The location of the interview Henry S. Hall Jr. American Alpine Club Library 710 Tenth St. Ste. 15 Golden, CO 80401 (303) 384-0112 email: library@americanalpineclub.org Birth Date 1939 Provenance The individual, family, or organization that created or received the items in a collection. Collection of Laura Waterman's correspondence, research notes, drafts, and publications related to notable early female mountaineers and climbers. Types of materials The nature of the objects and materials in the collection. This collection contains drafts, research notes, correspondence, and interviews related to Laura Waterman's publications about certain pioneering female mountaineers, notably including Annie Smith Peck (1850 - 1935) and Miriam O'Brien Underhill (1898 - 1976). The collection includes copies of some primary source research material, but the bulk of the collection comes from the period surrounding Waterman's publication of these articles, from about 1970 - 1984. Primary source materials include copies of correspondence from Annie Smith Peck concerning her controversial climb of Mt. Huascaran, Miriam Underhill's articles on "manless climbing," and copies of newspaper and other articles concerning their exploits. Some of Waterman's drafts and notes are written on the reverse of household mail or unrelated drafts or notes written by her or her husband Guy Waterman, providing a snapshot of their lives during this period. Total Linear Feet Total linear feet of the collection. 1 linear foot Arrangement The organization and sequence of items within the collection. The collection is organized in four series: SERIES I, Acquisition Information, 2012, includes correspondence and legal documents concerning the Library's 2012 acquisition of this collection from Laura Waterman. SERIES II, Correspondence, 1975 - 1999, contains correspondence sent and/or received by Waterman, generally pertaining to her research on female mountaineers, but sometimes also containing personal details. SERIES III, Writings, 1978 - 2000, contains drafts and revisions of Waterman's articles on female mountaineers, plus (in some cases) published versions of these articles. SERIES IV, Research Files, 1906 - 1981, contains collections of research notes, interview transcripts, and primary source research material that contributed to Waterman's various articles. Processing Note Any relevant information about the processing of the collection. Processed in June 2015 by Brian Davidson Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource The Laura Waterman Collection on Early Female Climbers, 1906-1999 Subject The topic of the resource An Inventory of Her Papers at the Henry S. Hall Jr. American Alpine Club Library Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource Atkinson, Bill Baker, Mike F. Baldwin, Louise Barrow, Cran Bartlett, Eleanor E. Bates, Robert H. Bein, Kevin Belcher, C. Francis Blaurock, Carl Bryant, Henry G. Bullock, Hugh Cabot, Thomas D. Cahn, Pam Creager, Joe Cross, Leroy D. Devine, Barbara du Faur, Freda Farquhar, Francis P. Field, William O. Gilman, Bradley B. Hall, Henry S., Jr. Hamilton, George T. Hart, John L. J. Hartman, Lynn and Steve Helburn, Margaret Henderson, Kenneth A. Hirshland, Dorothy Hurd, Marjorie Iemolini, Anne Ireland, Julianna S. Johnson, Joseph E. Johnson, Thomas H. Kemsley, William Knowlton, Elizabeth Kocher, Peggy Kogan, Claude Kraus, Hans Larsen, Bob Loucks, Harold and Mary Maddock, Margot Marples, Winifred "Joe" McDougle, Mary E. Millar, Maria (AKA Leiper Millar, Maria) Morin, Nea Murdock, Mary-Elizabeth Newhall, Charles B. Palmer, Howard Peavy, Linda Peck, Annie Smith Perrin, Lester W. Pickering, Edward C. Prescott, Polly Prudden, Bonnie Putnam, Harrington, Raubenheimer, Kristen J. Richardson, Lyle Rose, Anne Rubi, Adolf Scheuer, Thomas Smiley, Ruth and Keith Smith, Ursula Smutak, Ray Stone, Beverley Tallan, Harris Thompson, LaVerne Thorington, J. Monroe Thuestad, Gerd Trott, Mary B. Underhill, Miriam Underhill, Robert L. M. Warren, Barbara Warren, Bill Waterman, Guy Waterman, Laura Westmacott, Sally Whitcomb, Merle Whittaker, Enid Wiessner, Fritz Workman, Fanny Bullock Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource AAC Relation A related resource Of interest to: Hannah Scialdone Kimberley, writing about ASP; Terry Gifford, who has written about ASP Of interest to: Vivian Underhill, hydrologist and queer activist originally from Denver, and granddaughter of Robert and Miriam Underhill Of interest to: Laura Waterman herself, and the Waterman Fund (http://www.watermanfund.org/) Related collections: Papers of Guy and Laura Waterman, ML-106 at Dartmouth College (http://ead.dartmouth.edu/html/ml106.html) Annie Smith Peck Collection, Brooklyn College (http://dewey.brooklyn.cuny.edu/pages/archives/findaid/Peck/) Language A language of the resource English Type The nature or genre of the resource Papers https://library.americanalpineclub.org/files/original/3cff518864f56535aba9972a27b7eeec.pdf 6d3c5006b87c6758245feb8ac6cfd98b PDF Text Text Finding Aid to the Bradford Washburn Collection MSS # 1 A holding of the Henry S. Hall, Jr., American Alpine Club Library 2004 Revised November 11, 2015 �Bradford Washburn Archives Finding Aid Accession #: 2011-01 Repository: Henry S. Hall, Jr., American Alpine Club Library, Golden, Colorado Title: Bradford Washburn Archives Physical Contents and Extent: Linear feet: 45 Total Small & Regular Boxes: 22 (papers and photographs and artifacts) Total Oversized Flat Boxes: 6 (oversized papers and photographs) Map & Print Rolls: 6 Language: English Types of Materials: Correspondence, business records, writings, printed materials, photographs, maps, climbing routes, diaries, ephemera, and artifacts Provenance: Gift of Bradford Washburn Biographical and Historical Note: Born Henry Bradford Washburn, Jr. (1910-2007), Bradford Washburn built a career as a distinguished mountaineer, aerial photographer, and professional cartographer. His passion for mountain climbing began as a youth on Mount Washington in New Hampshire. He refined his skills as a mountaineer while climbing in the Alps including ascents of the Matterhorn, Grepon, and Aguille Verte. Bradford Washburn made his first map at the age of 14 of Squam Lake in New Hampshire and he wrote the series “Among the Alps with Bradford” for young boys at beginning at the age of 16. From those early endeavors he went on to become a professional cartographer and produced some of the most accurate maps on the Yukon and Alaskan Region including Mt. McKinley, the Grand Canyon, and Mount Everest. Washburn also produced to scale, models of Everest and the Presidential Range, which the Everest Models resides here at the Bradford Washburn Mountaineering Museum in Golden, Colorado. Washburn graduated from Harvard and had been an instrumental contributor to the Harvard Mountaineering Club HMC during school as well as a mentor after he graduated. Washburn helped organize and lead the Harvard-Dartmouth Alaskan Expeditions, 1933-1934, just to highlight some of his mountaineering in his college years. After graduating from Harvard, Washburn accepted the position of Director at the Museum of Natural History in Boston, which he helped develop into what is now Boston’s Museum of Science. Washburn maintained the role as Director for over 40 �years and received the title of Honorary Director after retiring from the position. At the beginning of his career, he met and married Barbara Polk, now Barbara Polk Washburn and they had three children, Dorothy, Betsy, and Edward. Bradford Washburn is known best for his aerial photography and the quality and preciseness of his mountain photography. Washburn is recognized for his pioneering spirit and for his exploration in uncharted mountains and glaciers in Alaska and the surrounding Yukon Region. Washburn accomplished several ascents of Mount McKinley, including his first ascent of the West Buttress, as well as ascents and first ascents of other mountains in the Alaskan and Yukon Region. His wife Barbara is also recognized for her contributions to mountaineering as the first female ascent of Mt. McKinley. Washburn was a lifetime member of the American Alpine Club and donated the materials specifically to the American Alpine Club so that members could directly benefit from the materials that Washburn collected over the years. Washburn died in 2007, at the age of 96. During his lifetime, Washburn had published several books, articles, and papers including an account on the controversy surrounding Dr. Frederick A. Cook’s claim to be the first person to summit Mt. McKinley. Several biographies and accounts of Washburn’s life have been published in recent years. Please see the American Alpine Club Library Catalog for published resources. For a detailed chronology, see the following bibliographic reference: Decaneas, Anthony, ed. Bradford Washburn: Mountain Photography. Seattle, WA: The Mountaineers, 1999. Resources consulted for biographical background: Richey, Mark. In Memoriam –Henry Bradford Washburn, Jr. 1910-2007. Published in The American Alpine Journal, 81 Vol.49, p.476-478, Harlin III, John, ed., 2007. Scope and Contents: The collection contains materials created and assembled by Bradford Washburn. Materials in this collection span the years 1895 through 2004. Materials include correspondence sent and received, writings by Washburn, printed materials, photographs, maps, climbing route information, telegrams, diaries, newspaper clippings, magazines, and published materials. The bulk of the materials relate to his surveying of the Alaskan and Yukon Regions and Himalaya Region, specifically Mount Everest. Washburn’s collection also includes papers, photographs and maps surrounding the Dr. Frederick A. Cook Controversy on Mt. McKinley. Arrangement: This collection is arranged into series using geographic locations and projects that Washburn initiated and then ordered chronologically within the series or sub-series. Series I: Alaska, General 1910-2001 Series II: Alaska, Denali National Park, Mount McKinley [Denali] 1898-2004 �Series III: Alaska Region, Other Mountains 1904-1998 Series IV: Frederick A. Cook Controversy 1906-2001 Series V: Canada, Yukon Region 1895-1997 [Bulk 1935-1938] Series VI: Army Air forces, WWII, Alaskan Field Test Emergency and Survival Equipment, Frostbite 1940-2001 [Bulk 1940s] Series VII: Himalaya Region 1951-2001 Series VIII: Mount Everest 1926-2003 Series IX: Europe, The Alps, Switzerland, Chamonix 1926-1999 [Bulk 1926-1931] Series X: New Hampshire, Mount Washington State Park, Mount Washington 19241993 Series XI: Arizona, Grand Canyon National Park, Grand Canyon, Mapping 1968-2003 Series XII: Bradford and Barbara Washburn, Biographical Materials 1914-2002 Series XIII: Barbara Washburn 1940-2001 Series XIV: Photographs 1915-2001 Series XV: Artifacts 1906-1983 Series XVI: Oversized Papers 1922-2000 Series XVII: Oversized Photographs 1912-1997 Series XVIII: Maps 1914-2000 Subject Access Points: Washburn, Bradford—1910-2007. Natural history museum directors—Massachusetts—Boston. Aerial photography in geography. Photography of mountains. Alaska—Discovery and exploration. Mountaineering—Alaska. Mountaineering—Alaska—McKinley, Mount—History. Explorers—Alaska—McKinley, Mount. Cook, Frederick Albert—1865-1940. Yukon—Discovery and exploration. Mountaineering—Yukon. Mountaineering—Yukon—Lucania, Mount—History. Himalaya Mountains—Aerial views. Himalaya Mountains—Maps. Everest, Mount (China and Nepal) Sagarmatha. Chu-mo-lung-ma Feng. Qomolangma. Washburn, Barbara—1914-Alps—Description and travel. Washington, Mount (N.H.) Frostbite. Grand Canyon National Park (Ariz.)—Maps. Processing Note: �Seven boxes of this collection were partially processed and the biographical and historical notes are based upon the previous finding aid by Amy Legg-Rogers during the spring of 2004. The entire collection was indexed, organized, and described by Katie Worley, Graduate Student Project Archivist, University of Denver Library & Information Science Master’s Program, for the fulfillment of her Capstone. Katie Worley was assisted by Marina Valenzuela, a first year student from the University of Denver MLIS program, in the latter part of the process labeling and re-housing materials. This collection was processed under the supervision of Beth Heller, Director of the Henry S. Hall, Jr. American Alpine Club Library. Access Restrictions: The collection is open for research, with the exception of two diaries by Barbara Washburn, which are not available for research until 10 years after her death (September 25, 2014). Physical Access: The photographs in the collection need further conservation and re-housing into proper sleeves. Appointments are preferred when conducting research with this collection due to its storage location, but walk-ins are accepted. Copyright Statement: It is the researcher’s responsibility to obtain copyright permission. Permission to examine this collection is not an authorization to publish. It the text or image or object in question is under copyright, permission to publish should be sought from the owners of the rights, typically the creator or the heirs to his estate. The Library may be able to help assist in identifying the copyright holders. Intent to Publish: Publication of images or documents from the American Alpine Club collections requires permission from the Library Director. Reproduction or use fees may apply. In all cases, the appropriate credit line must be used. Cite as: Henry S. Hall, Jr. American Alpine Club Library, Bradford Washburn Archives, and the material being cited. Container List: Box 1 Series I: Alaska, General 1910 - 2001 Sub-series: Lists FF1 Table, Ascent Data -Mt. McKinley, Transparency, Photographs – Mt. Silverthrone, 1910 June 7 – 2001 October FF2 List of Ascents -Mt. McKinley, 1930-2000 �FF3 Supplies List –Alaska, 1978 April 14 –1979 March 4 FF4 List of Mountain Heights, Article, Correspondence received, 1990; 2001 December 29 Sub-series: Photographs & Stories FF5 Laminated photographs, Stories -Founders of Alaskan Mountaineering, 1949 August 21 FF6 Laminated photographs with descriptions -Alaskan Mountains, n.d. Sub-series: Writings FF7 Inserts for a book or pamphlet, 1936 FF8 Writings by Bradford Washburn, 1941 June 4 FF9 Stories/Accounts of Expeditions and Explorers, n.d. Sub-series: Printed Materials FF10 The Alpine Club Catalogue of the Centenary Exhibition, 1957 November 5 - 1957 December 10 (catalogue) FF11 Loose leafs -Mt. Crillon, Mt. Fairweather, Mt. St. Elias, n.d. Sub-series: Correspondence FF12 Correspondence sent/received, Photographs, Maps with climbers routes, 1977 January 4 – 2001 March 13 Series II: Alaska, Denali National Park, Mount McKinley [Denali] 1898 - 2004 Sub-series: Climb Reports 1910-1971 FF13 McKinley Climb Reports , diaries, logs, trip summaries 1-12, 1910 April 3 – 1954 May 15 FF14 McKinley Climb Reports, diaries, logs, trip summaries 13-27, 1954 May 27 – 1962 May 17 FF15 McKinley Climb Reports, diaries, logs, trip summaries 28-42, 1962 May 20 – 1964 July 12 FF16 McKinley Climb Reports, diaries, logs, trip summaries 43-67, 1965 July 3 – 1968 June 22 FF17 McKinley Climb Reports, diaries, logs, trip summaries 68-92, 1968 August 1 – 1970 September 1 FF18 McKinley Climb Reports, diaries, logs, trip summaries 93-101, 1971 May 29 – 1971 August 13 FF19 Report, tables, lists of ascents -Mt. McKinley, 1903 – 1972 June 26; 1974 Sub-series: Bibliography - Mt. McKinley & Alaskan Range FF20 Descriptive bibliography, notes, correspondence sent/received, 1941-1989; circa 1990 Sub-series: Sourdough Expedition �FF21 Correspondence sent/received, Photograph circa 1949-54; 1999 September 17 FF22 Correspondence sent/received -McGonagall Pass, 2001 September 17; n.d. Sub-series: Belmore Browne FF23 Correspondence sent, Transparency, Printed Materials, 1912; 1956 FF24 Correspondence sent, Photograph -McKinley Attempt, 1942; n.d. FF25 Photograph, Story 1912 Earthquake, 1942 July 23 FF26 Photograph, Route on Mt. McKinley, n.d.; 1912 Sub-series: Climbing History FF27 Bulletin -First Ascents of Mt. McKinley, 1949 June FF28 History McKinley Ascents, Articles, 1949 August 21 FF29 Typed Draft -Mt McKinley, circa 1951 FF30 Historical data -Mt. McKinley, 2002 June 13 FF31 Photographs, Laminated sheets, routes, map, 2004 Sub-series: Diaries FF32 Diary -Henry L. Muldrow, Correspondence sent, 1898; 1984 January 23 FF33 Diary -Harry Karsten, Correspondence sent, 1913 March 14 - 1913 June 14; 1951 May 7 Sub-series: Surveying & Mapping FF34 Correspondence received, Journal, Data, 1942 May 26 -1942 August 25; 1942 September 17 FF35 Instructions, Photographs for Building an Igloo, 1947 June; 2003 April 7 FF36 Typed Article -Operation White Tower, circa 1947-1950 BOX 2 FF1 Portfolio, Maps, Photographs, Pamphlets, 1960 August FF2 Station Descriptions, Laser Observations, and Laser Angles, 1976 – 1977 FF3 Reports -Muldrow Glacier, 1977 July 11; After 1983 FF4 Report -Glacier Depth Survey, 1979 September 24; 1999 January 11 FF5 Maps Muldrow Glacier, Correspondence sent, �1983 FF6 Copper Printing Plate mounted on wood block, n.d. FF7 Charts -daylight and darkness, n.d. Sub-series: Weather Reports FF8 Correspondence sent, Reports, 1947; 2002 October 18 Sub-series: The Great Gorge/Ruth Glacier FF9 Reports, Newspaper clipping, Correspondence sent/received, 1992 June 12 - 1992 August 2 FF10 Correspondence sent, notes, 1993 September 13 Sub-series: Magazine Articles & Newspaper Clippings FF11 National Geographic Magazines, 1938 July; 1953 August FF12 Magazines -Featuring Washburn Photographs, 1949 FF13 Facsimile Article -AOPA Pilot Magazine, 1976 June 3 -1977 March 10 FF14 Newspaper Clippings, 1990; 2001 FF15 Magazines -Biography of Washburn, 1992 January/February; 1993 May-June FF16 Photocopied Article, Correspondence sent, 2003 November 5 FF17 Photocopied Newspaper Clipping, n.d. Sub-series: Correspondence FF18 Correspondence sent/received, 1946 August 18 - 1946 December 24 FF19 Correspondence sent/received, 1951 November - 1953 May; 1989 November - 1999 June FF20 Correspondence sent -Naming of Mt. McKinley, 1975 Sub-series: Writings FF21 Stories/Accounts of Expeditions and Explorers, 1913-1980 Sub-series: Awards FF22 Awards, Invitations, Press Release, 1997 May 8 -1998 November 6; n.d. Sub-series: Published Book FF23 Book, paperback -Robert J. Gleason, 1982; 1991 August 14 Series III: Alaska Region, Other Mountains 1904 - 1998 �Sub-series: Mt. Crillon, Glacier Bay Park & Wilderness FF24 Correspondence sent/received, Booklet, Imperial Cable, Photographs, 1904; 1935 -1946 FF25 Writing on first radio use, Photograph, 1934 FF26 Document, Journal -Harvard-Dartmouth Team, 1934 FF27 The National Geographic Magazines, 1935 March FF28 Pamphlet from the Geographical Journal, 1936 June FF29 Geographical Journal Article, 1936 June FF30 Correspondence sent/received, Map, Article, Photographs -Paddy Sherman, 1958 June; 1977 January – 1977 February Sub-series: Mt. Bertha, Glacier Bay Park & Wilderness FF31 Story -Fairchild F-8 Repair, 1940 FF32 Color Map (cut from larger map), n.d. Sub-series: Mt. Fairweather [Fairweather Mountain] FF33 Correspondence sent/received –history, 1977-1980 FF34 Correspondence received -South Ridge Ascent, 1980 March 24 FF35 Correspondence sent/received -Paul Hodgdon, 1993 September 27; n.d. Sub-series: Mt. Dan Beard FF36 Correspondence sent/received; photographs, 1962 July - 1963 February 26 Sub-series: Mt. Hunter FF37 Correspondence sent/received, Maps, Booklet, Scrapbook pages, 1975 March 26 - 1976 September 23 Sub-series: Mt. Huntington FF38 Photocopied Article –North Face n.d. Sub-series: Mt. Tripyramid, Alaska & Mt. Silverthrone, British Columbia FF39 Ascent facts, 1945 April FF40 Writings -first ascent, 1945 Sub-series: Mt. Deception, Denali National Park, C-47 Army Transport Plane Crash FF41 Photocopied Magazine Articles, 1946 January 2-7; 1997 Summer �FF42 Bulletin Article, Journal Article, 1951 May; 1956 Sub-series: Mount St. Elias FF43 Map, Chaix Hills, n.d. Sub-series: Glaciers FF44 Bulletin, Articles -Malaspina, Crillon, Lituya Bay, 1935 -1958; 1982 Sub-series: Mount Redoubt FF45 Correspondence sent/received -Aleutian Islands, 1998 January 8 -1998 January 22 Series IV: Frederick A. Cook Controversy 1906 - 2001 Sub-series: Correspondence FF46 Correspondence sent/received, 1950 August 8 – 1995 October 24 FF47 Correspondence sent/received -Helen Vetter and Janet Vetter, 1987 March 9 – 1998 November 29 FF48 Correspondence sent/received -Barrill, Marjorie, 1988 FF49 Correspondence sent/received -Marjorie Barrill, Biography, Photographs, Negatives, Cards, Death Certificate, Affidavit, 1989 January 6-1996 BOX 3 FF1 Correspondence sent/received, 1996 January 26 - 1996 August 30 FF2 Correspondence sent/received, 1996 April 3 – 2001 February 28 FF3 Correspondence sent/received, n.d. Sub-series: Cook Trial, University of Alaska Fairbanks FF4 Correspondence sent/received, 1994 January 26 - 1996 October 15 FF5 Report, Opening Statement, Verdict, Data, 1996 February 3 Sub-series: Seattle Symposium Correspondence FF6 Diary --Otto T. Trott M.D., Correspondence sent/received, 1956 July; 1990 February - 1996 October FF7 Correspondence sent/received, 1990 February 21 – 1997 December 22 FF8 Letters, Correspondence sent/received, 1994 December -1995 September; 1996 April – 1996 August FF9 Correspondence sent/received -Heckathorn, Ted, 1996 May 31 – 1996 October 23 FF10 Correspondence sent/received, 1996 July 16 – 1996 September 3 �FF11 Correspondence sent/received, 1996 September 3 - 1996 December 23 FF12 Correspondence sent/received, Photocopies of Articles, Photos, Routes, Journal entries, 1996- September 4 - 1998 April 13 FF13 Correspondence sent/received, 1997 January 8 - 2000 October 2 Sub-series: Research Materials, Debunking Summit Claim FF14 Notes, Encyclopedia Entries, 1908-1909; 1906 FF15 Log Book, 1955 March 13 -1955 April 26 FF16 Correspondence sent/received, Copies of some of Cook’s photos, 1990 January FF17 Correspondence sent/received, Survey Reports, 1998 July 17 – 1998 September 13 FF18 Loose papers, Photographs, Cards, Slides, Correspondence sent/received, n.d.; 2001 FF19 Loose papers, Photographs, Cards, Slides, Correspondence sent/received, n.d.; 2001 FF20 Bibliography, Historical Information, n.d. FF21 Story, n.d. FF22 Correspondence sent/received, Articles, Excerpts from books, Map, n.d. FF23 Correspondence sent/received, Maps, Photographs, Facsimiles of Articles and Diaries, n.d. FF24 Contact Information, n.d. Sub-series: Magazine Articles & Newspaper Clippings FF25 Harper’s Monthly Magazine Facsimile of Article, 1907 May FF26 Facsimiles of Newspaper Clippings, 1909 October; 1990 March -1998 October FF27 Alaska & Climbing Magazines, 1995 April; 1998 May FF28 Correspondence sent, Newspaper Article, 1998 October 2 Sub-series: Papers & Reports FF29 Correspondence sent, Writings, 1943 March; 1996 March FF30 Red Bound Trade Cloth Special Report, 1958 January FF31 Report -Joseph K. Davidson, �1969 BOX 4 FF1 Writings on Heckathorn Expedition, 1994 July 6-17; 1996 FF2 Writings by Bradford Washburn on Dr. Frederick A. Cook, 1995 -1996; 1998-1999 FF3 Writings by Bradford Washburn on Mazama, n.d.; 1996 FF4 Hard Bound Report, 1996 February 3 FF5 Journal Article, 1999 December FF6 Annotated Bibliography, Correspondence sent, 2001 May 8 Sub-series: Frederick A. Cook Society Newsletters FF7 Newsletters by Frederick A. Cook Society, 1974 December – 1989 FF8 Membership Newsletters by Frederick A. Cook Society, 1994 April – 1997 December Sub-series: North Pole FF9 Journal --Polar Priorities by Frederick A. Cook Society, 1990 – 1997 September FF10 Pamphlets on the Centennial Symposium Belgian, Brochure, 1997 September; 1998 May FF11 Writings by Gilbert M. Grosvenor, CBS Docudrama, n.d. Sub-series: Photographs FF12 Negatives, B/W Photographs, Color Photographs, some with captions and notes, 1907; 1955; 1994 FF13 Negatives, B/W Photographs, Color Photographs, some with captions and notes, 1907; 1955; 1994 FF14 Photographs of Cook’s Summit Peak, 1910 June 27 -1957 FF15 Photographs from Special Collection at Dartmouth College, Correspondence sent, 1910 June 28; 2001 March 30 FF16 Title list to illustrations in Report on the Cook Mt. McKinley Controversy, n.d. FF17 Photographs (correspond to illustration captions in FF16), 1958-1959 FF18 Photographs (correspond to illustration captions in FF16), 1958-1959 FF19 Photographs (correspond to illustration captions in FF16), Correspondence sent/received �1958-1959 Series V: Canada, Yukon Region 1895 - 1997 [Bulk 1935 - 1938] Sub-series: Mt. Kennedy & Mt. Hubbard Articles & Printed Materials FF20 National Geographic Magazine, Articles, 1965 July FF21 Reports, maps, 1965; 1971; 1973 Sub-series: Mt. Lucania Reports, Correspondence, Diary & Articles FF22 Correspondence & Telegrams, 1895 May 8; 1937 FF23 First Ascent Story, 1936-1937 FF24 Typed First Ascent Story, [1937];n.d. FF25 Correspondence sent, Zeiss-Ikon Camera Story. [1937];n.d. FF26 Postcards sent, 1937 FF27 Facsimile Diary -Bradford Washburn, 1937 May 30 - 1937 September 4 FF28 Newspaper clippings, 1937 July; 1947 June FF29 Newspaper clipping, 1937 July 25 FF30 Magazines, Articles, Photograph, Correspondence received, 1938 October 4; 1996 - 1997 FF31 Newspaper clipping, 1996 June 12 Sub-series: National Geographic Yukon Expedition 1935 Reports & Map FF32 Report National Geographic Yukon Expedition, 1935 FF33 Map with route, 1935 May Series VI: Army Air forces, WWII, Alaskan Field Test Emergency and Survival Equipment, Frostbite 1940 - 2001 [Bulk 1940s] Sub-series: Printed Materials FF34 Correspondence sent, Leaflet for Foot soldiers, 1940; 2001 January 23 FF35 Correspondence sent/received, Published Works, Article, 1942; 1962; 1963 FF36 Report, 1945 March – 1945 May BOX 5 �FF1 Bound article Frostbite, 1962 May 10 Sub-series: Diary FF2 Diary -Bradford Washburn, 1944 October 17 -1944 December 9 Sub-series: Writings FF3 Story -Dr. Loyal Davis, 1943-1945 FF4 Story-Bradford Washburn, 1943 October 12-13 FF5 Application for Federal Employment and Military Membership Cards, 1943 March - 1946 January Series VII: Himalaya Region 1951 - 2001 Sub-series: Reports & Printed Materials FF6 Booklet, Financial Reports, Research Reports, Packet, 1951; 1981; 1996; n.d. FF7 Report -Dr. Bilham, 1993 December 21; 1994 January 18 FF8 Dissertation -Frederick Blume, Correspondence sent, 1999; 2001 January 24 Sub-series: Correspondence FF9 Correspondence sent/received -Nepal Aerial Photography Flights, 1981 December 16 - 1982 October 30 FF10 Correspondence sent/received -Nepal Aerial Photography Flights, 1981 December 16 - 1982 October 30 FF11 Correspondence sent/received -Nepal Aerial Photography Flights, 1982 September 12 - 1983 December 28 FF12 Correspondence sent/received -Nepal Aerial Photography Flights, 1982 September 12 - 1983 December 28 FF13 Correspondence sent/received -Nepal Aerial Photography Flights, 1982 September 12 - 1983 December 28 FF14 Correspondence sent/received -Nepal Aerial Photography Flights, 1984 January- 1984 December Sub-series: I.D. Badge FF15 Entry pass into Nepal, 1985 July 16 Sub-series: Maps FF16 Maps -Erwin Schneider, n.d. FF17 Maps -Erwin Schneider, Correspondence sent, 1965; 1979; 2001 Sub-series: K-2 & Pakistan FF18 Correspondence sent/received, articles, Map Mount Xixabangma, 1996-1998 �Series VIII: Mount Everest 1926 - 2003 Sub-series: Mapping, National Geographic Society & Boston’s Museum of Science Reports & Correspondence FF19 Correspondence sent/received, notes, articles, charts and data, 1980-1988 FF20 Correspondence sent/received, facsimiles of journal articles, Mapping project information, 1980 - 1989 January 30 BOX 6 FF1 Correspondence sent/received, Application for Funding, Report, 1984 August 30 – 1986 October 23 FF2 Mapping Program History, 1998 January 11 FF3 Contact Lists, Reports, Tables, Photograph, 1988; 1992; n.d. FF4 Correspondence received, Reports, Everest Map Control, 1989 August -1989 December 20 Sub-series: GPS Survey Project Reports & Correspondence FF5 Correspondence sent/received, charts and graphs, maps, conference notes and handwritten notes, 1987 August - 1995 July 23 FF6 Correspondence sent/received, survey data, 1990 -1993 FF7 Reports -Survey Stations, 1990 – 1995 FF8 Correspondence sent/received, Notes, Charts, Graphs, Laser range field data, Articles, Observation logs, Reports 1991-1995 FF9 Correspondence sent/received, Notes, Newspaper copies of articles. 1991 September 23 -1993 June 14 FF10 Correspondence sent/received, Notes, Charts, Graphs, Data, Articles, 1992-1993 FF11 Correspondence sent/received, Notes, Newspaper copies of articles, 1992 April 28 -1993 February 23 FF12 Correspondence sent/received, Observation station logs, Sketches, 1992 May 5 – 1996 January 4 FF13 Laser Range Field Data, 1992 May - 1992 October; 1996 December 15 FF14 Correspondence sent/received, Notes, Maps, 1992 December 18 - 1993 April 2 FF15 Proposal, Correspondence sent/received, notes, 1993 January 6-1993 April 20 FF16 Correspondence sent/received, notes, 1993 January FF17 Correspondence sent/received, notes, articles, 1993 June 14 – 1993 November 23 �FF18 Reports -Absolute Gravity Measurements, Correspondence sent/received, Articles, 1986; 1991 - 1994 BOX 7 FF1 Correspondence sent/received, Proposal, Notes, 1994 February 22 - 1994 March 30 FF2 Correspondence sent/received, Notes, Magazine Ad for Rolex, 1994 March 31 - 1994 July 20 FF3 Correspondence sent/received, Notes, Postcards, Photographs, Articles, 1994 May 26 - 1994 November 1 FF4 Correspondence sent/received, 1994 July 28 - 1995 December 27 FF5 Correspondence sent/received, Notes, Articles, Personal cards, 1994 October 24 - 1995 February 21 FF6 Correspondence sent/received, Report, 1994 November 21 – 1995 April 12 FF7 Correspondence sent/received, Notes, 1995 February 26 -1995 March 28 FF8 Correspondence sent/received, Notes, Itineraries of the team members, Slides 1995 March 28 - 1995 June 26 FF9 Correspondence sent/received, Report, 1995 May 17 - 1995 December 3 FF10 Correspondence sent/received, Notes, 1995 June 3 -1996 January 22 Sub-series: American Mount Everest Research Expedition Reports & Correspondence FF11 Spiral bound memo, 22p. -Charles Corfield, 1995-1999; 2000 September 14 FF12 Correspondence Sent/Received, 1995 March 13 - 1996 June 18 FF13 Facsimile of GPS Permit, 1995 April 3 FF14 Agendas, Summary of Activities, 1995 April -1995 May FF15 Scientific Equipment List, 1995 May FF16 Scientific Agenda, 1995 May FF17 Correspondence sent/received, Receipts, Charts, Research Information, Expenses, 1995 October 18 -1996 September 5 FF18 Correspondence sent/received, Laminated sheets, Reports, Photographs, Postcards, Articles, 1996-1997 FF19 Correspondence sent/received, Reports, Diagrams, Expenses, Receipts, �1996 September 16 – 1997 April 29 BOX 8 FF1 Correspondence sent/received, Research, 1996 December 23 – 1998 February 26 FF2 Correspondence sent/received, Research, 1996 December 23 – 1998 February 26 FF3 Correspondence sent/received, Reports, Copies of checks and receipts, Letters regarding donations 1997 January 3 – 1998 June 11 FF4 Budget list, Gifts received, Correspondence sent/received, Copies of checks, Bills of lading, Invoice receipts 1997 September 11 – 1997 February 6 FF5 Report -GPS Program, 1997 December 11 FF6 Correspondence sent, Report, Articles, 1997 December FF7 Expedition Report, 1998 FF8 Report, Correspondence sent/received, 1998 FF9 Correspondence sent/received, Report, 1998 March 6 – 1998 June 30 FF10 Correspondence sent/received, Report, 1998 March 6 – 1998 June 30 FF11 Correspondence sent/received, Report, Brief journal, 1998 July 2 – 1998 November 1 FF12 Research, Photographs, Charts, Budgets, Reports, Correspondence sent/received, 1998-1999 FF13 Correspondence sent/received, Photographs, Equipment lists, 1999 FF14 Phone Contact Sheet, 1999 March 25 -1999 June 10 FF15 Expedition Information, 1999 March 25 – 1999 June 10 FF16 Emails sent/received, 1999 March 30 – 1999 June 21 FF17 Correspondence sent; Photographs and enlargements -Steve Reneker, 2003 May 15; 1995 May 16 BOX 9 FF1 Correspondence sent/received, Postcards, Maps, Observation station charts, Newspaper clipping, 2000 June 5; 1992 May 21 Sub-series: Snow-Depth Expedition Reports & Correspondence FF2 Itinerary, Expense report, Photographs and Enlargements, 2001 May 23 �FF3 Correspondence sent/received, 2002 March 1 Sub-series: History & Facts FF4 Correspondence sent, Photographs, Writings, 1952; 2003 September 11 FF5 Story -Ed Hillary & Tenzing, 1953 FF6 Photographs, Routes w/ descriptions, 1975 October 15; 1996 October 16 FF7 Photocopies of Russian Meeting with Scott Fischer, 1996 FF8 Discovery Gallery Press Release Photography Catalog, Correspondence sent, 1998 April 24 - 1998 May 5 FF9 Lists -1998 Everest Summits, 1998 May FF10 Lists -Approved Altitudes of Mountains, Correspondence received, Writings, n.d. Sub-series: Diaries FF11 Facsimile diary -Michael Spender, Correspondence sent/received, 1935 May 6 – 1935 October 11; 1991 FF12 Correspondence sent/received, Diary -Charles Warren, 1935; 1991 - 1992 FF13 Correspondence received, Facsimile diary -Edwin Kempson, 1935 May – 1935 August 28; 1991 April 24 FF14 Correspondence sent/received, diary -Charles Warren, Article, 1935 June 9 - 1935 July 27; 1991 April 12 – 1999 June 5 FF15 Journal Article, 1936 February (journal) Sub-series: Magazine Articles & Newspaper Clippings FF16 Newspaper clippings, Copies of newspaper clippings, 1926 October 9; 1991 December 14; 1998 May - 1998 November FF17 Magazines Articles, 1936 October - 1938 December; 1994 FF18 Magazine Articles, photocopied, 1989; 1993 March -1998 March FF19 Writings, List -Sir George Everest Conference, 1990 November 8 FF20 Article, photocopied -Sir George Everest, 1990 FF21 Writings by Bradford Washburn, Reports, 1994 November - 1998 October FF22 Magazine article -Life, 2003 June 2; n.d. �FF23 Correspondence sent, Magazine article, 2003 September 14 FF24 Correspondence sent, Magazine Article on John Hunt, n.d. Sub-series: Photographs FF25 Correspondence sent, Photograph, 2003 May 25; n.d. Sub-series: Maps FF26 Map, Map printing facts, Press review of map, 1988 September 6; 1989 January 28 FF27 Correspondence sent/received, Conference topics, Map, 1989 August 11; 1990 November 8; 1999 January 11 Series IX: Europe, The Alps, Switzerland, Chamonix, Mont Blanc 1926 - 1999 [Bulk 1926 - 1931] Sub-series: Writings FF28 Writings -Mont Blanc Climb, 1926 FF29 Article, The Berlin Reporter, 1926 Sub-series: Diary & Magazine Articles FF30 Facsimile diary -Bradford Washburn, Newspaper clipping, Magazine Article, Invitation, 1926 June – 1930 March; 1994 Sub-series: Maps FF31 Maps -Mont Blanc, 1939; 1947; 1959 Sub-series: Memberships/Associations FF32 Membership Badges, Leather wallet, 1926 – 1931 FF33 Annual Report, Membership card, 1998 – 1999 Series X: New Hampshire, Mount Washington State Park, Mount Washington 1924 - 1993 Sub-series: Correspondence FF34 Correspondence sent/received, Writings, 1932-1933 Sub-series: Writings FF35 Writing -Bradford Washburn, 1924 -1933 Sub-series: Magazine Articles & Newspapers Clippings FF36 News clippings, Photocopied Article, 1926 January 14; 1982 - 1988 FF37 Bulletin, Newsletter, Booklet, 1984; 1988 �Sub-series: Reports FF38 Report -Survey Information, 1978-1988 Sub-series: Maps FF39 Maps -Tuckerman Ravine, 1993 Series XI: Arizona, Grand Canyon National Park, Grand Canyon, Mapping 1968 - 2003 Sub-series: Diagram FF40 Diagram -helicopter flights, Notes, 1968; 2003 April 4 Sub-series: Maps FF41 Newspaper clipping, Article, Mapping the Grand Canyon, 1971-1978 FF42 Maps with sleeves -National Geographic Society & Boston's Museum of Science 1978, 1981 BOX 10 Series XII: Bradford and Barbara Washburn, Biographical Materials 1914 - 2002 Sub-series: Magazine Articles & Newspaper Clippings FF1 Newspaper clippings -Boston’s Museum of Science, 1939 March 3; 1980 June 2 FF2 Photograph, Interview, Newspaper clippings, Magazine Articles, 1983; 1989 - 1998 Sub-series: Reports/Printed Materials FF3 Annual Report -Boston's Museum of Science, Brochure, 1979-1980 FF4 Gallery Flyers -Photography Exhibits, 1987; 1995; 1997 FF5 Visual Artist Diary -Gust Foster, 1999 May 16 -1999 August 22 Sub-series: Correspondence FF6 Correspondence sent/received, 1972-2001 FF7 Donation Letters, History of Washburn as Director Boston's Museum of Science, 1998 June Sub-series: Awards Given/Received FF8 Bradford Washburn Award -Charles Lindbergh, 1972; 2002 November 29 FF9 Award Letter, Newspaper clipping, 1980 October 9; 1980 November 9 FF10 Alexander Graham Bell Award, Newsletter, 1980 December 3 FF11 Program, Staff Newsletter, Donor Speech, �1994 October 11; 1998 June 11 FF12 Correspondence sent, Photocopy of award, 1997 May 8 Sub-series: Quotes FF13 Quotes used by Bradford Washburn, n.d. Sub-series: Obituaries FF14 Family & Friend Obituaries, Articles, Photographs, 1914-1915; 1962; 1998; 2000 Sub-series: Family History FF15 Washburn Family History, n.d. Sub-series: Technical Data FF16 Bulletin, Reports -Topographic and Geologic Surveys, 1938; 1988 Sub-series: Slide- Unknown I.D. FF17 Slide -unknown id -Jay Lamb 1994 September 20 Series XIII: Barbara Washburn 1940 - 2001 Sub-series: Diaries FF18 Loose Leaf Diary -Barbara Washburn (restricted), 1940; 1941; 1947 FF19 Facsimile Bound Diary -Barbara Washburn (restricted), 1947 March – 1947 June Sub-series: Magazine Articles & Newspaper Clippings FF20 Photocopied Articles, Newspaper clipping, n.d.; 1997 June 7 FF21 Smith Alumnae Quarterly, Article, 2000-2001 Winter Sub-series: Pamphlet FF22 Partial pamphlet, story -Mt. McKinley, Circa 1998 Sub-series: Correspondence FF23 Correspondence received -University of Alaska Fairbanks, Circa 1998 FF24 Correspondence received -telephone story, n.d. Sub-series: Awards FF25 Smith College Medal, 1980 Box 11 Series XIV: Photographs 1915 - 2001 Sub-series: Alaska, General FF1 Alaskan Mountains with overlays & hand drawn routes, n.d. �FF2 Alaskan Mountains with overlays & hand drawn routes, Map, 1915-1940; 1997 FF3 Mt. Hayes Base Camp, Ascent route, Mt. McKinley, 1936-1949; n.d. FF4 Aerial Photographs, 1941 October 3 FF5 Mt. Bona, First Ascents List for Mt. St. Elias, 1946 June 16 FF6 Glaciers, Peaks some with overlays & routes, 1948; n.d. FF7 Kings Peak, Mt. Logan, 1952 FF8 Map, Article –Cook Inlet, 1952 March 10 FF9 Mt. Hayes Expedition, n.d. FF10 Glaciers, Ridges & Amphitheatres surrounding Mt. McKinley, n.d. to 1959 FF11 Cassin Ridge, Mt. Huntington, Mt. McKilney, Circa 1960-1970 FF12 Color Transparencies, Slides, 1973-1992 FF13 Mt. Foraker, Kahiltna Glacier, Mt. McKinley, Circa 1977 FF14 Aerial Photographs, n.d. FF15 Mt. Logan, Mt. St. Elias, n.d. FF16 Aerial Photographs, n.d. FF17 Muldrow Glacier, Kahiltna Glacier, Cassin Ridge, Mt. McKinley, n.d. Sub-series: Alaska, Denali National Park, Mount McKinley [Denali] FF18 Aerial Photographs, Correspondence sent, Color Slides, Negatives, Bulletin, 1931-1964; 1993 FF19 Transparency, USGS Contour Map, 1943; 1954 FF20 Ascent markers of various routes 1945 April; 1951 July 10 FF21 South Peak, Alaskan Range Mid-Winter, 1947 June 7; n.d. FF22 Portrait –Bradford Washburn, 1953 July FF23 Cassin Ridge, Tokositna Glacier, Ruth Glacier, 1978; n.d. �FF24 Cassin Ridge, Hand drawn climbing routes Various; 1978; 1990 FF25 Parachute drop locations, Letter by Bradford Washburn, n.d. Box 12 Sub-series Alaska, General Item 1 USAF Aerial Photographs, Muldrow Glacier, 1958 April 21 Box 13 Sub-series Alaska, General Item 1 Panorama with canvas backing, captions -1 of 2, n.d. Item 2 Panorama with canvas backing, captions -2 of 2, n.d. Box 14 Sub-series: Alaska Region, Other Mountains FF1 Mount St. Elias, Photographs with captions on reverse, 1933 FF2 Mt. Crillon, Aerial Photographs, 1935 March FF3 Hugh Miller, Carpenter, Geilsie & Le Perouse Glaciers, 1936; 1941 June 18 FF4 Mt. Hayes Expedition –Henry Hall & Bradford Washburn, 1941 FF5 Mt. Hayes Expedition –Henry Hall & Bradford Washburn, 1941 FF6 Mt. Hayes Expedition –Henry Hall & Bradford Washburn, Route Map, 1941 FF7 Mt. Hunter, Moonflower Buttress, North Face, 1966 August; 2001 June 4 Sub-series: Canada, Yukon Region FF8 First Ascent Mt. Lucania, Photographs from LIFE Magazine, 1937 FF9 Lloyd George Mountains, Hand drawn map, 1938 FF10 Aerial Photographs –Royal Canadian Air force & USAF, 1948 June-1951 July FF11 Aerial Photographs –Royal Canadian Air force & USAF, 1948 June -1951 July FF12 Aerial Photographs –Royal Canadian Air force & USAF, 1948 June-1951 July FF13 Aerial Photographs –Royal Canadian Air force, n.d. Sub-series: Army Air forces, WWII, Alaskan Field Test Emergency and Survival Equipment, Frostbite �FF14 U.S. Army Expedition, n.d. Sub-series: Himalaya Region FF15 China, Mt. Minya Konka –Arthur B. Emmons, 1932 FF 16 American Annapurna III Team –Edward Conner, 1978 Sub-series: Mount Everest FF17 Hillary Step, Northern Approaches, 1960-1992 September 30 FF18 Barry Bishop near Summit –Lute Jerstead, 1963 May 22 FF19 Everest Model, 1992 May 2 Sub-series: Europe, The Alps, Switzerland, Chamonix FF20 Photographs, 1927 August FF21 Summit of Grepon, 1929 July Sub-series: New Hampshire, Mount Washington State Park, Mount Washington FF22 Knife Edge of Mt. Adams –Ad Carter, 1985 Sub-series: Bradford and Barbara Washburn, Biographical Materials FF23 Personal Photographs, 1980; 1997 Box 15 Series XV: Artifacts 1906 - 1983 Contents: Artifacts in resin - rusted fuel cans, burned wood, cotton bag, 1906; 1956 August 11 Box 16 Contents: Rock Samples Everest, Mt. McKinley, Mont Blanc; Glass slides –Rock samples, 1910 July 15; 1947 June; 1998 Box17 Contents: Metal Film Canisters, Flight checklists, Parachute pieces, Pamphlet, Wand piece, Gasoline tap, Piton, Folding alpine lantern, Steel Crampon, Placard, 1910 October – circa 1945 Box 18 Contents: Zeiss Maximar B 4x5 Camera with film cartridge, 1929; May 2009 �Box 19 Contents: Felt boots -pair, Museum placard, 1951 Box 20 Contents: Rubber Boots -pair, Correspondence sent, Museum placard, 1951 July 10 Box 21 Contents: Everest oxygen mask, Leer jet windshield piece, Gavel with Mt. McKinley/Mt. Everest rocks 1978; 1982-1983 Box 22 Contents: Large Camera Magazine for Fairchild Camera, n.d.; 2009 October 5 (deed to AAC) OvBox 1 Series XVI: Oversized Papers 1922 - 2000 Sub-series: Alaska, General OvFF1 Poster, n.d. Sub-series: Alaska, Denali National Park, Mount McKinley [Denali] OvFF2 Weather Report -Mt. McKinley; Survey map, Alaska Triangulation Network; Book Proof Washburn Photograph, note, 1947 May 25 -1947 June 26; 1953; 1960 September 6 OvFF3 Map South Peak -Mt. McKinley; Postcard-convertible Poster – Denali, 1978; 1999 Sub-series: Alaska Region, Other Mountains OvFF4 Map on canvas -Malaspina -Mt. Crillon; Map -Southeast Alaska Glacier Bay -Mt. Bertha, 1934 July 12; 1940; 2000 Sub-series: Frederick A. Cook Controversy OvFF5 Life Magazine, Article, 1956 August 20 Sub-series: Canada, Yukon Region OvFF6 National Geographic Yukon Expedition Reconnaissance Map; Survey boundary map, Alberta & British Columbia, 1922, 1924; 1935 February -1935 June OvFF7 Life Magazine, Article, 1937 September 27 Sub-series: North Pole OvFF8 Map -Ottawa to the North Pole Round Trip, n.d. Sub-series: Mount Everest �OvFF9 Newspapers; letter -Everest Flights, 1933 April 29; 1933 May 13; 1993 October 4 OvFF10 Mt. Everest Nepal/Himalayas Maps, 1935; 1981-1985; 1990 OvFF11 Map -by Schneider, Washburn, Sayre, 1987 January 21 OvFF12 Contour Map -Swiss Photo, Topographical maps, n.d. Sub-series: New Hampshire, Mount Washington State Park, Mount Washington OvFF13 New Hampshire, Tuckerman Ravine Map, 1993 Sub-series: Arizona, Grand Canyon National Park, Grand Canyon, Mapping OvFF14 Arizona, Bright Angel Quadrangle Map, Boston Globe Newspaper, 1962 – 1970; 1978 June 26 Sub-series: Bradford and Barbara Washburn, Biographical Materials OvFF15 Timeline, 1930-1960 OvBox 2 Series XVII: Oversized Photographs 1912 - 1997 Sub-series: Alaska, General OvFF1 Map -Transparency & Photograph -Statistical & Ethnographic Survey of Russian Possessions on the NW Coast of America, 1839 (date of creation), copy circa 1940 OvFF2 Mounted photos on matte board -W. St. Elias Ridge, Mount Hunt, Mt. La Perouse, 1938 August; n.d. OvFF3 Photographs from U-2 Plane; Satellite Photo, Photographs Mt. McKinley 1960 September 6; 1974 July 27; n.d. OvFF4 Muldrow Glacier, Karstens Ridge, Mt. McKinley, Teklanika Valley, Sheldon Amphitheater, Ruth Glacier, Cassin Ridge, Mt. Huntington, n.d. to 1959 OvFF5 Muldrow Glacier, Karstens Ridge, Mt. McKinley, Teklanika Valley, Sheldon Amphitheater, Ruth Glacier, Cassin Ridge, Mt. Huntington, n.d. to 1959 OvFF6 Cassin Ridge, Mt. Huntington, Mt. McKinley, Slippery Creek, Mt. Hunt West Ridge, Karstens Ridge, Wickersham Wall, Circa 1960-1970 OvFF7 Cassin Ridge, Mt. Huntington, Mt. McKinley, Slippery Creek, Mt. Hunt West Ridge, Karstens Ridge, Wickersham Wall, Circa 1960-1970 OvFF8 Mt. Foraker, Kahiltna Glacier, Mt. McKinley, routes and notations, Circa 1977 OvFF9 Mt. Foraker, Kahiltna Glacier, Mt. McKinley, routes and notations, Circa 1977 �OvFF10 Muldrow Glacier, Kahiltna Glacier, Mount McKinley, Cassin Ridge, routes, n.d. OvFF11 Muldrow Glacier, Kahiltna Glacier, Mount McKinley, Cassin Ridge, routes, n.d. OvFF12 Aerial Photographs, Glaciers & Mountains, n.d. Sub-series: Alaska, Denali National Park, Mount McKinley [Denali] OvFF13 Panoramic Photographs -Mt. McKinley, 1945 April; 1951 July 10 OvFF14 U-2 Aerial B/W Photograph, 1960 September 6 OvBox 3 Sub-series: Alaska, Denali National Park, Mount McKinley [Denali] OvFF1 McKinley, Cassin Ridge routes marked -Michael Covington, Pelchat, topographical map, 1961, 1980, 1990 OvFF2 McKinley, Cassin Ridge routes marked -Michael Covington, Pelchat, topographical map, 1961, 1980, 1990 OvFF3 East Buttress, routes marked -Jed Williams; SE, Ruth Glacier, route notations, 1963; 1977 OvFF4 SSW & S Ridge Routes, routes marked, 1978; n.d. OvFF5 Cassin Ridge, routes marked, 1978; 1990; Various OvFF6 East Face -Thomas Dubendurfer attempt, routes marked, 1997 OvFF7 SW & S Faces, routes marked, n.d. OvFF8 Mt. McKinley, routes marked -Ad Carter, n.d. OvFF9 Aerial Photograph, SW & S faces, West Rib, Cassin Ridge, routes marked, n.d. OvFF10 West Buttress, routes marked; Satellite Image, n.d. Sub-sub-series: Belmore Browne 1912 OvFF11 The Belmore Browne saga of 1912, captions, routes marked, 1912; 1942 OvFF12 McKinley 2nd attempt by LaVoy, story attached, 1912 July 1 Sub-series: Alaska Region, Other Mountains OvFF13 Mt. Fairweather; from beach N. of Lituga Bay, �1930 OvFF14 Mount Fairweather West Ridge, routes marked, maps –Gove, 1968 OvFF15 Quincy Adams-Mount Fairweather traverse, routes marked, map, correspondence -James Wickwire, 1973; 1977 January 31 – 1977 February 3 OvFF16 SW Ridge of Mount Fairweather, routes marked, article, charts, correspondence -Peter Metcalf, 1973; 1977 February 2 – 1980 February 11 OvFF17 SSW Ridge of Mount Fairweather, routes, correspondence -Gaskill, Ruhl, Echelmeyer, 1975 July 17; 1977 February 2 - 1980 April 10 OvFF18 Mt. Fairweather, n.d. OvFF19 Mt. Deception, 2 climbers in photograph, 1944 OvFF20 Thunderstorm, Mt. Hayes; Mt. Marcus Baker; Aerial Photograph, Mt. Redoubt, 1938; 1941; 1990 January 9 OvBox 4 Sub-series: Frederick A. Cook Controversy OvFF1 Bradford Washburn, camera model that Cook used, 1995 OvFF2 Dr. Cook's Route up Mt. McKinley (supposed); Map with captions, routes marked, n.d. Sub-series: Canada, Yukon Region OvFF3 Mt. Bertha, 1st ascent route, routes marked, 1940; n.d. OvFF4 Mt. Fairweather Aerial Photographs, overlays, routes marked, n.d. OvFF5 The Cairn of Mt. Alberta -Dr. Ayers, John C. Oberlin, n.d. OvFF6 Mt. Logan -matted with caption, n.d. OvFF7 Mt. Logan; Portrait possibly of McCarthy of Mt. Logan, n.d. Sub-series: Alaska, Denali National Park, Mount McKinley [Denali] MATTE 1 Mt. McKinley from near Wonder Lake, n.d. MATTE 2 South Face, n.d. Sub-series: Mount Everest OvFF8 South Col Route -Dolf Reist; Space Aerial Photograph, SW Storm, 1952 May 17; 1978 July 31 OvFF9 Stereo Color Photographs taken from the US Space Shuttle, notations, �1983 December 2 OvFF10 Aerial Color Square Photographs -Top View, 1984 December OvBox 5 OvFF1 Mt. Everest Model; Article -Steve Gardiner, 1990; 1992 OvFF2 Aerial Photographs, Everest area Glaciers n.d. OvFF3 Aerial Photographs, Top view of Everest, n.d. OvFF4 Mt. Everest Model, routes marked, overlays; Khumbu Approaches, n.d. OvFF5 Mt. Everest Model, routes marked -ascents by various teams, n.d. OvFF6 Mt. Everest Model, base camp 17,500', n.d. OvFF7 Mt. Everest Summit Views -taken by others, n.d. MATTE 1 Aerial Photograph from 12000m, 1984 Sub-series: Europe, The Alps, Switzerland, Chamonix OvFF8 1st Ascent, Chamonix Face of Aiguilles, route marked, 1927 August MATTE 2 East Ridge of Doldenhorn, 6 silhouetted climbers, n.d. MATTE 3 N Face of Grande Torassis French Alps, Moonrise, n.d. OvBox 6 Sub-series: Frederick A. Cook Controversy 10 Mounted Photographs Mt. McKinley, Cook Controversy, documenting where Cook took his photographs, n.d. Rolls 1-6 Series XVIII: Maps 1914 - 2000 Sub-series: Roll #1: Maps Switzerland, 1965 - 1981 Sub-series: Roll # 2: Maps Mt. Bogda/ K-2/ Pakistan-China/ Mt. Everest/ Nepal, 1934 - 1998 Sub-series: Roll #3: Maps Alaska (some straddle Canada Alaska), 1914 - 1991 Sub-series: Roll #4: Maps Denali National Park/ Mt. McKinley, 1953 - 1990 Sub-series: Roll #5: Maps Canada/ North Polar Region, 1935 - 2000 Sub-series: Roll #6: Print Reproductions/ Posters, �1978 - 2000 � https://library.americanalpineclub.org/files/original/9b43aca6fd95a08c8ec70efc91c5ee79.jpg 58f252f916e3f3150f0dab43f84bf448 https://library.americanalpineclub.org/files/original/b9d3e6c99e642d9d6680d4ebe384d0ca.jpg 33f86b4211666b9e958defbd52002330 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Bradford Washburn and Barbara Polk https://library.americanalpineclub.org/files/original/17b951dbaabe9491d7fcfbd4dcc9de2c.jpg 017ca6833c4fdb495b6c3b1b7ee8b1df Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Bradford Washburn and his wife, Barbara Polk https://library.americanalpineclub.org/files/original/cc25445ab26d0a788cab233d60f0a598.jpg 30a8dfe0db5926ffc5f88577f025ccde Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource American Alpine Club Library Finding Aids & Inventories Subject The topic of the resource Resource for finding aids and inventories detailing the holdings of the American Alpine Club Library archives. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available American Alpine Club Library Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource Copyright The American Alpine Club Language A language of the resource English Finding Aid Archival finding aids and inventory documents intended to describe and organize archival materials. Biographical Text Born Henry Bradford Washburn, Jr. (1910-2007), Bradford Washburn built a career as a distinguished mountaineer, aerial photographer, and professional cartographer. His passion for mountain climbing began as a youth on Mount Washington in New Hampshire. He refined his skills as a mountaineer while climbing in the Alps including ascents of the Matterhorn, Grepon, and Aguille Verte. Bradford Washburn made his first map at the age of 14 of Squam Lake in New Hampshire and he wrote the series “Among the Alps with Bradford” for young boys at beginning at the age of 16. From those early endeavors he went on to become a professional cartographer and produced some of the most accurate maps on the Yukon and Alaskan Region including Mt. McKinley, the Grand Canyon, and Mount Everest. Washburn also produced to scale, models of Everest and the Presidential Range, which the Everest Models resides here at the Bradford Washburn Mountaineering Museum in Golden, Colorado. Washburn graduated from Harvard and had been an instrumental contributor to the Harvard Mountaineering Club HMC during school as well as a mentor after he graduated. Washburn helped organize and lead the Harvard-Dartmouth Alaskan Expeditions, 1933-1934, just to highlight some of his mountaineering in his college years. After graduating from Harvard, Washburn accepted the position of Director at the Museum of Natural History in Boston, which he helped develop into what is now Boston’s Museum of Science. Washburn maintained the role as Director for over 40 years and received the title of Honorary Director after retiring from the position. At the beginning of his career, he met and married Barbara Polk, now Barbara Polk Washburn and they had three children, Dorothy, Betsy, and Edward. Bradford Washburn is known best for his aerial photography and the quality and preciseness of his mountain photography. Washburn is recognized for his pioneering spirit and for his exploration in uncharted mountains and glaciers in Alaska and the surrounding Yukon Region. Washburn accomplished several ascents of Mount McKinley, including his first ascent of the West Buttress, as well as ascents and first ascents of other mountains in the Alaskan and Yukon Region. His wife Barbara is also recognized for her contributions to mountaineering as the first female ascent of Mt. McKinley. Washburn was a lifetime member of the American Alpine Club and donated the materials specifically to the American Alpine Club so that members could directly benefit from the materials that Washburn collected over the years. Washburn died in 2007, at the age of 96. During his lifetime, Washburn had published several books, articles, and papers including an account on the controversy surrounding Dr. Frederick A. Cook’s claim to be the first person to summit Mt. McKinley. Several biographies and accounts of Washburn’s life have been published in recent years. Please see the American Alpine Club Library Catalog for published resources. For a detailed chronology, see the following bibliographic reference: Decaneas, Anthony, ed. Bradford Washburn: Mountain Photography. Seattle, WA: The Mountaineers, 1999. Resources consulted for biographical background: Richey, Mark. In Memoriam –Henry Bradford Washburn, Jr. 1910-2007. Published in The American Alpine Journal, 81 Vol.49, p.476-478, Harlin III, John, ed., 2007. Birth Date 1910 Death Date 2007 Provenance The individual, family, or organization that created or received the items in a collection. Bradford Washburn Types of materials The nature of the objects and materials in the collection. Correspondence, business records, writings, printed materials, photographs, maps, climbing routes, diaries, ephemera, and artifacts Physical Contents Extent Total number and types of boxes, cases, print and map rolls, items, folders, etc. Total Small & Regular Boxes: 22 (papers and photographs and artifacts) Total Oversized Flat Boxes: 6 (oversized papers and photographs) Map & Print Rolls: 6 Total Linear Feet Total linear feet of the collection. 45 linear feet Arrangement The organization and sequence of items within the collection. This collection is arranged into series using geographic locations and projects that Washburn initiated and then ordered chronologically within the series or sub-series. Series I: Alaska, General 1910-2001 Series II: Alaska, Denali National Park, Mount McKinley [Denali] 1898-2004 Series III: Alaska Region, Other Mountains 1904-1998 Series IV: Frederick A. Cook Controversy 1906-2001 Series V: Canada, Yukon Region 1895-1997 [Bulk 1935-1938] Series VI: Army Air forces, WWII, Alaskan Field Test Emergency and Survival Equipment, Frostbite 1940-2001 [Bulk 1940s] Series VII: Himalaya Region 1951-2001 Series VIII: Mount Everest 1926-2003 Series IX: Europe, The Alps, Switzerland, Chamonix 1926-1999 [Bulk 1926-1931] Series X: New Hampshire, Mount Washington State Park, Mount Washington 1924- 1993 Series XI: Arizona, Grand Canyon National Park, Grand Canyon, Mapping 1968-2003 Series XII: Bradford and Barbara Washburn, Biographical Materials 1914-2002 Series XIII: Barbara Washburn 1940-2001 Series XIV: Photographs 1915-2001 Series XV: Artifacts 1906-1983 Series XVI: Oversized Papers 1922-2000 Series XVII: Oversized Photographs 1912-1997 Series XVIII: Maps 1914-2000 Processing Note Any relevant information about the processing of the collection. Seven boxes of this collection were partially processed and the biographical and historical notes are based upon the previous finding aid by Amy Legg-Rogers during the spring of 2004. The entire collection was indexed, organized, and described by Katie Worley, Graduate Student Project Archivist, University of Denver Library & Information Science Master’s Program, for the fulfillment of her Capstone. Katie Worley was assisted by Marina Valenzuela, a first year student from the University of Denver MLIS program, in the latter part of the process labeling and re-housing materials. This collection was processed under the supervision of Beth Heller, Director of the Henry S. Hall, Jr. American Alpine Club Library. Access Restrictions Rules governing access to the materials. The collection is open for research, with the exception of two diaries by Barbara Washburn, which are not available for research until 10 years after her death (September 25, 2014). Access Policy or Physical Access Notes regarding how to access the collection. The photographs in the collection need further conservation and re-housing into proper sleeves. Appointments are preferred when conducting research with this collection due to its storage location, but walk-ins are accepted. Intent to Publish Notes for people who want to publish materials from the collection. It is the researcher’s responsibility to obtain copyright permission. Permission to examine this collection is not an authorization to publish. It the text or image or object in question is under copyright, permission to publish should be sought from the owners of the rights, typically the creator or the heirs to his estate. The Library may be able to help assist in identifying the copyright holders. Cite as Citation for the collection. Henry S. Hall, Jr. American Alpine Club Library, Bradford Washburn Archives, and the material being cited. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Bradford Washburn Archives Description An account of the resource A finding aid to the Bradford Washburn archives held at the Henry S. Hall, Jr., American Alpine Club Library. Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived The American Alpine Club Library Archives Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available The American Alpine Club Library Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1894-2007 Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource The American Alpine Club Library Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource PDF Language A language of the resource English Type The nature or genre of the resource Finding Aid Subject The topic of the resource Washburn, Bradford—1910-2007. Natural history museum directors—Massachusetts—Boston. Aerial photography in geography. Photography of mountains. Alaska—Discovery and exploration. Mountaineering—Alaska. Mountaineering—Alaska—McKinley, Mount—History. Explorers—Alaska—McKinley, Mount. Cook, Frederick Albert—1865-1940. Yukon—Discovery and exploration. Mountaineering—Yukon. Mountaineering—Yukon—Lucania, Mount—History. Himalaya Mountains—Aerial views. Himalaya Mountains—Maps. Everest, Mount (China and Nepal) Sagarmatha. Chu-mo-lung-ma Feng. Qomolangma. Washburn, Barbara—1914-2014. Alps—Description and travel. Washington, Mount (N.H.) Frostbite. Grand Canyon National Park (Ariz.)—Maps. aerial photography alaska alps american mount everest research expedition arizona barbara washburn belmore browne bob bates bob reeve boston museum of science bradford washburn cassin ridge chamonix charles warren chu-mo-lung-ma feng climbing routes cook trail denali frostbite glaciers grand canyon grand canyon national park henry s hall jr mount deception mount everest mount fairweather mount hayes mountaineering national geographic society nepal new hampshire qomolangma ruth glacier sagarmatha sir george everest sourdough expedition switzerland tuckerman ravine https://library.americanalpineclub.org/files/original/96ab54e40f8eb0c89371154a58337b16.pdf 0cb6420d10b519208953bb81b1ec0c1b PDF Text Text C. F. Judson: Photographs of Swiss Mountains Title: C. F. Judson Collection of Photographs of Swiss Mountains Dates: Late 19 century Abstract: This collection contains 12 photographs of Swiss mountains in varying sizes and by multiple photographers collected by the Philadelphia pediatrician, Charles Francis (C. F.) Judson. Repository: American Alpine Club Library Provenance: Accumulated by Charles Francis Judson, Late 19 century Housed at NYPL (1916-1929) AAC Library (1929-present) th th Scope and Contents: Charles Francis Judson was a physician who resided in Philadelphia, PA who published several articles on pediatrics in the early years of the twentieth century. Judson was also a mountaineer who authored an article on the Col de Balme for the American Alpine Journal and whose climbs between 1888 and 1892 are listed in Early American Ascents in the Alps. His collection of photographs contains 12 pictures of the Swiss Alps by various photographers. Several of these images are attributed to the noted mountaineer and photographer, Vittorio Sella. Others are by Swiss photographer Alexander Flury of Pontresina and the photographic studio Spooner & Co. of London, England. Subjects: Alps--Pictorial works Mountaineering--Europe Mountaineering--Pictorial works People: Flury, Alexander Judson, Charles Francis (1869-1948) Sella, Vittorio 1859-1943 Spooner & Co. (photographic studio) Locations: Bernina Breithorn Crast’ Agüzza Dent Blanche Grand Combin Matterhorn Monte Antelao Restrictions : No restrictions Access: Housed in the rare books room, the C. F. Judson Collection is non-circulating. Items may be requested and viewed under supervision of staff in the AAC Reading Room during regular library hours or by appointment. Arrangement: The photographs in the C. F. Judson collection have not retained their original order. While a small number of creators are identified, most of the photos remain unattributed. The photos arrived in an album, but have since been removed. The album is the last item in the box. Monte Rosa Morteratsch Glacier Piz Palü Romsdalshornet Weisshorn Zinalrothorn � Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource American Alpine Club Library Finding Aids & Inventories Subject The topic of the resource Resource for finding aids and inventories detailing the holdings of the American Alpine Club Library archives. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available American Alpine Club Library Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource Copyright The American Alpine Club Language A language of the resource English Finding Aid Archival finding aids and inventory documents intended to describe and organize archival materials. Biographical Text Charles Francis Judson was a physician who resided in Philadelphia, PA who published several articles on pediatrics in the early years of the twentieth century. Judson was also a mountaineer who authored an article on the Col de Balme for the American Alpine Journal and whose climbs between 1888 and 1892 are listed in Early American Ascents in the Alps. His collection of photographs contains 12 pictures of the Swiss Alps by various photographers. Several of these images are attributed to the noted mountaineer and photographer, Vittorio Sella. Others are by Swiss photographer Alexander Flury of Pontresina and the photographic studio Spooner & Co. of London, England. Birth Date 1869 Death Date 1948 Provenance The individual, family, or organization that created or received the items in a collection. Flury, Alexander Judson, Charles Francis (1869-1948) Sella, Vittorio 1859-1943 Spooner & Co. (photographic studio) Types of materials The nature of the objects and materials in the collection. Photographic prints Physical Contents Extent Total number and types of boxes, cases, print and map rolls, items, folders, etc. 12 prints Total Linear Feet Total linear feet of the collection. .25 linear feet Arrangement The organization and sequence of items within the collection. The photographs in the C. F. Judson collection have not retained their original order. While a small number of creators are identified, most of the photos remain unattributed. The photos arrived in an album, but have since been removed. The album is the last item in the box. Processing Note Any relevant information about the processing of the collection. This finding aid was compiled by Micah Messenheimer, University of Denver graduate student, 2010, and AAC Library intern under the supervision of Gary Landeck, Library Director, and Beth Heller, Preservation Librarian. Access Restrictions Rules governing access to the materials. No restrictions Access Policy or Physical Access Notes regarding how to access the collection. Housed in the rare books room, the C. F. Judson Collection is non-circulating. Items may be requested and viewed under supervision of staff in the AAC Reading Room during regular library hours or by appointment. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource C. F. Judson Collection of Photographs of Swiss Mountains Finding Aid Subject The topic of the resource Alps--Pictorial works Mountaineering--Europe Mountaineering--Pictorial works Description An account of the resource A finding aid to the C. F. Judson Collection of Photographs of Swiss Mountains held at the Henry S. Hall, Jr., American Alpine Club Library. Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived The American Alpine Club Library Archives Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available The American Alpine Club Library Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource Late 19th century Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource The American Alpine Club Library Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource PDF Language A language of the resource English Type The nature or genre of the resource Finding Aid alps bernina breithorn crest'aguzza dent blanche europe grand combin matterhorn monte antelao monte rosa morteratsch glacier mountaineering pictorial works piz palu romsdalshornet weisshorn zinalrothorn https://library.americanalpineclub.org/files/original/d6869cae92ab4e5dbf410fe915022af3.pdf 21b46e3111a3ab1ac319724584366232 PDF Text Text ���IN RODUC IO •• P• 1 on of the a.co pt d tradition to on le~at t o 1t e f, eubject , alon h r owl.n tno e 10 r tmn I p efer to 1 t the n rrativ lthough I hav. pl~oed a few worae on the · ith in ou r 1 or pl in ju t wby it i oun ain • 1 p lled to oli pet rt to fi' of t i f'or book ofense for mount~in ering thing of o tin the end oft& t non-cl e formed · .ill h .,. th n, boo • concl u ·one f of th ir own, favora.bly prejadic d, I ho . . e, by having read tni"' narr ti e . th f Tho '6 who 0a.1.... e for a.oti'o n fill t m 1 >o·nt d out , b t in its OI re elcome to ef ns • o r, that mo som ing mor ol ·m ere r g r th ir mount &.tiort . Li e bull i ·1tins or che s, it often beco eel! e verit ble E!!eion to it J d in t~ t ine ring a lon up e • Naturo.ll ne fo o edly de· t .. of u ono they find tha;t mounta.ineerin of out oor ports (st m n) . ~1 th t eli ber But to b c thi xeroi cr 1ey c~t1't q it ern lif incr a ·ingly qui t a. It i th t p i ~in of perh p , 11 t at . At of th eat ive longer ibl som thi1g beyond th :y . r P· hin 't o· th i pointment , lure of mer 0 u ane 1 r lie ull and t rrifyin • 0 ed to becom in th · re a. e ottbin tion of an explor r , in rh t fa.ct A 11ttl • beli f th t most climber an po they ping into th ir climbing, though ju t nture ib ..,.. r my actually on i ho phy io 1 0 bunctiou tics likely to tll t assum fying ..... but only sport for tney ar it 1 o t be inner por -- r and than ju t anoth r days �II~RODUCTION p. ii when there were still plnces left to explore, and the kind who used to hunt tigers for the fun of it. Not the men who sought out danger for its ovm sake, but the oneli who found the tigers~ to Of course, tl~e deal with in case they appeared. mountaineer is more certain of finding his quarry--the peaks are always in the same places, waiting for him--but he never knows what they will confront him. with once he finds them and starts climbing. The ttaverage" nan is likely to regard climbers as a rather peculif1r sort, and as a matter of fact this is quite often the case . Climbers do marry and have families and earn incomes . On the other hand, most mountain climbers are lazy and would like nothing better than to lie on a sun-beked slab and let the world pass them by . Yet to secure tho ir slab , they will rouse themse-lves before dawn , grumble their way across knee-deep icy stre~, and :perform severe gymnastics at high altitudes in bitter storms and flapping winds . 'l'hey tend to be extreme individualists, yet their lives and welfare are totally dependent on each other's actions throughout the day and/or night . Hence, if some of tm events I describe sound slightly i·ncredible, not to say bizarre, the blame should be dir\)cted at the type of persons involved rather then at my powers of recollect ion. Mountaineering grows more respectable every day, but the high-angle rook- and ice-men of our time are still reesonebly eccentric individuals . ThoSe I have climbed with in the T este:''l1 ·,rnited States have ranged from veterinarians and Harverd mathematicians to part-Cherokee Indians and science-fiction writers. I have hiked with a young nan who thinks nothing of dwelling and cookinp, �INTRODUCTION'-- P• i i i in a snow cave near Aspen for weeks on end to escape the high tourist rates, is an expert mule-skinner (a vanishing art) and a fanatic cross-country skier, and makes and sells silver jewelry of his o~~ design-- yet despite years in the army and contrary to all European notions about .American youth, he has ~~ - ±earned to drive a car, because it is a matter of principle - with him not to. Then there wa s a certain non-carnivorous Swiss pacifist, who admires Buddhism and has violent (or rather non-violent) objections to machinery, vaccination, and the use of penicillin, and who had been a professional guide in the Alps. To balance these two, I think of Twombly (who bulks large in this book), an- amazing rock climber who is also an apostle of industrial appliances and expert in the installation of electric turbines, a lad of amazing energies who thinks nothing of taking off on the spur of the moment on a three or four hundred mile drive thru the mountains for a picnic, installs and changes his own engines, and has been known to abandon his Cadillac on a thirty degree slope tied to a tree with a rope, while he hurtled onward and up~ard afoot. Most of the climbers in this book are fairly easy to comp_rehend even if odd. King, however, struck several readers of the manuscript who are not acquainted with him in life, as a bewildering personage. out of place here. Perhaps a few extra words will not be D.C. King is a peculiar characterologic a l type who will remain couped up for a year or more studying several remote sciences and writing pulp fiction, living on endless cups of coffee. Then on five minutes notice he will break this routine and fling himself on the most difficult of �INTRODUCTION-- p. iv climbs in the company of us who have often spent months in practice and conditioning, and climb for fifteen and twenty hours at a time on sheer nervous energy, like a bundle of electrified wires. King is famous for drifting into revery or falling asleep in the midst of the most exciting situations, often wh ile sitting on some shelf the size of a dinner plate halfway up a tremendous precipice, shocking the daylights out of those who are depending on him to handle their safety ropes. Yet in times of real crisis, he has never yet failed. It is King who will reduce any given neatly coiled rope into a pile of unmanage~ble loops and knots in five minutes, just by sharing the same ledge with it, lost in thought. He is an expert on mountaineering works, psychoanalysis, astronomy, Egyptology, atomic physics, hitch-hiking, baroque and modern music, the literature of horror and the supernatural, a number of languages, and even "dianetics." It is his custom to discourse on these subjects by the hour with the nearest person on his rope, regardless of time, placeJ or circumstance. Perhaps the King personality will become clearer if I relate how on one occasion he insisted on existing for three days· on a jar of peanut butter. Vve were deep in the wilderness at the time, our nerves fraying, and soon none of the rest of us could eat our own food, feeling such annoyance over his. So we insisted on delegating him to be the one to walk back to civilization to replenish all our stores. A mistake-- for he found the reaction against peanut butter so intense that in the course of the single afternoon it required him to hike the eight miles back to camp, he devoured his oV'm and everybody • �INTRODUCTION-- P• v· else's new sup plies .o f energy-filled chocola te and body-building cheese. He hailed us with sorrow, confessing freely that now we would all have to return to roads and towns if we were not to starve, with such patient tenderness and bland affection in his eye that for a few black moments we a lmost forgave him. I hope this clears up the problem of King. Twombly and the others are men of action, and their deeds will speak for them. There is another reason for some of the perhaps melodramatic touches in this narrative. I am a mountaineer, and I tend to recall events with a mountaineer's mind. Now as F.S. Smythe once pointed out: To the non-mountaineering public, there are only t hree kinds of mountaineering difficulties. There is the vertical, or overhanging precipice, the dizzy ledge, and the knife-like ridge ••• In actual practice, however, they are seldom met with. The Matterhorn, for instance, can be climbed, and not one of them will be found. (Smythe, F.S., The Kangchenjunga Adyentu£~, 1930, p. 300) Nevertheless, tame and sane as most mountaineering is, it is impossible to do much of it without running into at least a few startling situations, and such episodes inevitably remain long.e st in the mind and creep into a book of this kind. Climbers do not r e ally glory in danger or seek out wild storms-- from ninety percent of th:ei:r outings they return in perfect calm and peace, with satisfaction and relief. But it is the other ten percent they remember and talk about. The more outrageous a predicament may be, the more laughable it will become when viewed from the s afety of the campfire afterwards. For this reason, a party is no sooner trapped by a mountain, tramp-tramptramping its way thru darkness and storm searching for some lost �INTRODUCTION-- P• vi haven of sleeping bag and security, wet, cold, hungry-- than some wag will speak up to remind his fellow sufferers how funny all this is going to be someday when we look back on itt ·what a magnificent addition it will make to our stores of anecdotes, what a hilarious time we'll h a ve thinking about it next time we gather about a warm fireplace filling up with popcorn and beer and recalling fond memories ••• and so on, until the grunts of impatience and contempt he evokes are replaced by a few numb-handed cuffs about the ears . But secretly they all know he is right, and it enrages them to think about it. A word about the pictures . There is no easier way to ga in some idea of mountaineering techniques and situations than by looking at a few pictures of them . Unfortunately, mountain pictures tend to be somewhat misleading, a nd it is well to be wa rned about this. Men often appear to be clinging to nothing i;l ~ on a sheer wall, when in reality t hey m~een safe as babes in cradles . On the oth er hand, it i s downright difficult climbs to get good pictures of l"i~ea.•e- that really are exacting. If a climb er is above or below you , a s he usually will be, he will a ppear in the picture to be lying on a sidewalk or crawling down a hole. If he is on a horizont a l level from you, the effect is better though even then he may appear to be leaning against a p ile of masonry instead of part-way up a great mountain. Pictures of scenery are another problem. Before the age of photography, engravers and painters could easily depict their own true . feelings towa rd mountains. Most of them rather feared �INTRODUCTION-- p. vii and disliked mountains as steep wastelands, and you can examine their pictures and find these feelings perfectly reproduced. savage-pointed summits with vertical glistening sides fall off into mind-staggering depths below, while an occasional bird on the watch for carrion circles overhead . Now of course, we too let our attitudes affect the pictures we choose to snap - shoot, but the process is not selectively perfect . The camera introduces an austere realism that is difficult to cope with. In addition, the spread of motor highways has made the process of viewing narrow swathes of wilderness so tame that scenery has become placid, no more alive than a paper post card. I have tried to include pictures which do not make the mountains "savage" - we climbers do not think of them as fierce and dangerous opponents-- and yet do not make them mere subjects for pretty calendars and colored advertisements. A good mountaineering photograph should embody awe and enticement. Awe and enticement: from the passive to the active • •• Seeing the mountain, the traveler no longer shrieks and runs . Instead he is struck by ~~' pauses to gaze, and is pleased. He has advanced to the position of Ruskin, who learned to admire mountains but from a safe distance . Enticement adds the tactile sense to mere vision , the desire to touch , to come to grips with the fortuitous hump of stone and ice before him . Now he has become a mountaineer. �PART ONE: SENNACHERIB �CHAPTER I-- P• 1 PART ONE: SENNACHEniB CHAPTER I-- THE FIRST DISCOVERY Our setting is the Colorado Rockies, not the Alps. There ~ ·a re things taken for granted in Europe-- shelter huts, modern transportation, books and maps and guides-- which simply are not found in most of the Rockies. Here to approach the high hills, one must learn to back-pack and camp out in the open, to make one's way up old mining roads or fire trails or simply bushwack thru wild country. A lengthy climbing trip is more like a1· miniature expedition than an excursion. Vast portions of the Rockies are still wilderness. The land is primeval-- gutted, it is true, in a few places by mining and the erosion that comes from overgrazing cattle and sheep, or forest fires. But in large part it is still genuinely wild and as beautiful as the Utes and early trappers knew it. There is a flavor e.nd character all its own in Rocky Mountain climbing, now largely lost in areas more civilized and regulated and filled with hotels and people. There are genuine deserts and great forests in the West, and innumerable high peaks with ridges and spires of rock so plentiful and worthless for mining that they will· never be despoiled. It is only along the narrow swathes of highways, the remote and scattered cities and towns, that one finds people in any number, and commercialization with its neon futility. Into the higher peaks of Colorado, 52 of them over 14,000 feet, men first began to penetrate for the purpose of climbing summits in the 1860's. a job. Most of them were surveyors, busy doing But very soon some were doing it for fun. By the turn of the century, climbing was an established sport in what was �CHAPTER I-- P• 2 later Rocky Mountain National Park. But in most of the rest of the state, it remained sporadic into the 1920's. Then a few men ~ like Albert Ellingwood, ARhodes scholar who learned to climb in the English Lake District, began to lead repeated climbs up virgin summits until soon there were no more virgin summits to be climbed. But new routes, fresh rtdges and cliffs and variations, appear • r inexhaustkble. In th~s country we went fishing and sometimes hunting as we were growing up. Like most native inhabitants, we did a little hiking but not much. like tourists. Mostly we rode in cars and saw the scenery Then in our teens, we drifted into mountain climb- ing and how it happened few of us can say. Not until well after World War II did our numbers grow to anything appreciable, and there are still but few mountaineers in the entire Rocky Mountain West. Now in climbing, as in life, care must be exercised lest you allow yourself to become bewitched. It doesn't do to know a mountain too well, or become too engrossed in the art of climbing it. For it may easily get into your blood, insidiously absorb whole portions of your personality, and even induce passion. Passion and becoming involved are two things one must avoid in modern life. So says the Peak-Bagger. The "Peak-Bagger" is the Don Juan of the mountaineering world, He i P~~~r willingly repeats the same mountain twice. Instead he is intent on scaling once all the peaks that exceed some arbitrary height-- usually 14,000 feet or 4000 meters. Or if somewhat more sophisticated he is merely out to "get" all the peaks of whatever region is currently the object of fashion and enthusiasm-- Tetons and Wind River range in Wyoming, the Elks, Gore Range, or the �CHAPTER I-- p. 3 San Juans in Colorado. He has only pity for those who bother too long with the same mountain. Opposed to the Peak-Bagger is the Genuine Mountaineer, a rare bird but essential to any climbing group. He is rarely a strict One-mountain man, but he is a devout polygamist. Instead of climb- ~ ing a name so he can forth~ith cross it off his mental list, he becomes absorbed in only a few savage peaks, allowing them to seep one by one into his consciousness, to be slowly savored until they form part of his climbing personality. In a group of mountaineers, there will always be one such individual. All other climbers (the majority) are to him instruments, pliable call boys to be amiably appropriated to his designs. So tha whenever you find a speeding carload of roaring, stubble-faced mount~ineers, flashing away toward some mountain goal which seems illogical considering the more famous peaks they might be heading for, and all but one of them enthused and cheering but wondering jus what the applause will be for, you should direct your gaze on that one-- nervous with anticipation, solitary and morose, feeble in his witticisms, oblivious to the mixed admiration and suspicion of his fellows, huddled to himself in the corner and given to strange outbursts of sullen silence--For he and his kind are the core of the mountaineering world. Rationalizations: That i~ is the warm dampness of the grassy sod above timberline he wants to breathe again, and the hushed sound of the speckled slopes of thousand-colored alpine flowers, whole slopes of rocks cracked by ages of frost into myriads of pointed boulders covered with lichen and burst thru with the green of grass and the paint-dab vividness of the flowers, the si ght of himself before others dancing his rubber-soled feet or clattering his nailed boots �CHAPTER I-- p. 4 over the tops of the sharp rocks, pretending he's a rugged mountainee Or he remembers some huge brown shatter-cracked roll of cliff, warm and dusty to the hands, so that you can climb all day on it and get hot and sweaty and thirsty, and never feel fright from its good firm holds, and your hands never slick from sweat what with the dust rubbing into them like a constm t blotter. You're sitting at a desk or riding a bus sometimes, and you can smell such a cliff and such a summer's day, and practically cry to be back on it, feeling it, sniffing it. Or it's the color against the sky of some thin tall peak with its knife-edge shoulder ridges dropping off like splashed grey streaks from a pinpoint summit. The sort of peak that hovers in the distance, never squat and threatening. Until closer focus sharpens it into a mass of grippy-twisted taffy rock, pitted, black-seamed and white as salt, rolling in beautiful agonized strands-- Teton rock. OR- the mountain is just plainly a vivious mountain, armed with rugged dark rock and tilted banks of snow, the kind of mountain that kicks you in the teeth, and you go back and try again, and it kicks you in the teeth. Such a mountain was Sennacherib ••• Sennacherib was first sighted by D.C. King from the top of Mount Elbert one August. I remember the occasion well. ttWhy, bless my scull" he exclaimed. "My word, will you take a look at that?" * Footnote: These were not his exact words. Mr King is known among his ftiends as a fluent and subtle practitioner of linguistical pyrotechnics. I looked with a stab of pain in my heart. This mountain we were on, Mount Elbert (14, 43l ; feet), was and is the highest �·, ... , ,.,J CHAPTER I-- p. 5 peak qn Colorado and second highest in the United States. We had just had a walking race for the last thousand feet, and I had triumphantly won, and now a single gl-ance established that he had recouped all by first sighting Sennacherib. From this high distance, it looked like a truncated pyramid south and west of us, seamed with alternating vertical bands of cliff and snow. . So far away, it looked enormous, a big solid block just waiting there. Nor did it "gleamn in tired cliche, or "dazzle" the naked eye. Storm clouds were over it, leaving it dull and terrifying in shadow. Surrounded in cha1fis by jealous lesser peaks with round shoulders, it stood contemptuous, bored, and complacent. It infuriated us. Having no maps, and thinking it hardly likely at the time that anyone else had ever noticed such a magnificent mountain, we cast about for a likely name and came up with Sennacherib. That summer we had more of the fresh juice of untamed youth in us than ever before or ever after. Never have I e felt so thoroughly in condition, so competAft and ready for anything. Too young for the war, too old for the dogmatism and mind-hobbling habits of our elders, we were set to outburtonize the universe. The whole world seemed open and free to us, and it was to be a world of space and height, wild and overlooked by ordinary men. Life was a cold water into which you could plunge at will, if you just had the nerve, and you could drink it anft run it around your teeth and then swallow it, and feel the cold harsh joy of it splashing down your throat. �CHAPTER I-- p. 6 Three of us set out on that first hitch-hiking Alpine expedition, hopping from summit to summit, a huge program of peak-bagging mapped out. Hule after rule we shed behind us, determined to live as simply and cheaply as nothing but oun own experience would show us how to do. We abandoned the frantic eating of extra quantities of salt while climbing. unnecessary. Found it Discovered how ridiculous it was to sleep under a lean-to, or build reflector fires, or most of the other secre ts of nwoodcraft" left over from pioneer days to vex and confuse the tenderfobt. We scorned guide books in particular, having classics how restrictive their learned from the use can be. The result was our first enforced night descent off a major mountain, ·fourteen thousand ~ foot Mount Princeton, where we blundered down and around or across an endless series of hideous waterfalls and ravines in the dark. No one using a guidebook could have made such a successful adventure of that night, since they would be laboring under the guilty knowledge of having committed errors. Then, (two days later), '.Pe~~dyl :to leap up Mount Elbert, Twombly found his body wracked with stomach pains. He coul.dn' t go on. King and I got Twombly safely off from Leadville in a bus, to bear his appendix-annoyed body home to medicine and ~ slothful~ness. Then the two of us broke Old Fogy rule number '-" one, about never going deep into the wilderness with less than three people (so one can stay with the injured man in case of . accident, and a third go for help), and eagerly set out to lay siege to Mounts Massive and Elbert together. An astounded salesman, who had taken us for fishermen, �CHAPTER !-- P• 7 gave us a ride from Leadville to Malta, and there we left the roads and took to trails into country neither of us knew the slightest thing about. But instead of siege, it turned into swift rout and slashing defeat for still more of the thousand mind-devils that yet impeded us with fears; reservations, unproved axioms supported by custom and sabotaging our climbing technique. fo~ We found how useless were band-aids blisters, when raw tape pasted ri ght over the wicked looking blister, punched and drained, will at once enable the afflicted person to walk with ease for weeks while the blister heals underneath. We learned how absurd is the use of sun glasses for summer climbing. We laughed unroariously at those who would bring boy scout hatchets on such trips, or forks and spoons when a single pocket-knife will serve to eat with, and to ppen cans too. And platest And cook kits1 Wnen a single skillet will serve for every known purpose of cooking and serving. Ever~ay we tossed our loaded pack boards on our backs, and found it was fun instead of an a gony now that we were in condition. We found how unimportant it is to plan ahead, when you can camp almost anywhere in the Rockies, how there ar e plentiful streams of water, narrow and crooked and icily pure, ardund any great mountain almost any place you need them. How you just stop anywhere you choose; and throw off your packboard, and to s s out your sleeping bag any old place that looks appealing-- a plot of thick grass be~ath the sky, or a bed of fine gravel made easily comfortable by scouring out a hip hole, or, if storm threatened, some resilient thickness of fallen pine needles beneath a densely protective evergreen. �CHAPTER I-- p. 8 In no time you could s~tch out a hole thru the duff floor of the forest for your fire, or throw three or four stones against each other for a fire p lace, and there was always an ample supply of "squaw wood" just waiting to be picked off the ground for the tiny fire that was all you needed for your quick cooking or the leisurely conversation afterward if it was evening. We got a kick too out of all the fancy dehydrated foods and the balanced diets we had heard of, when all you really needed was a can a day for supper-- chili, baked beans, or ravioli-- and a can~ tongue or spam (In those days we still ate spam) for breakfast, and maybe an orange or pocketful of raisins and chocolate for lunch. Luxury became a slice of Or.>umpied white bread from our packs, smeared over with red jam. That week of climbing and hitch- hiking, we lived on an average of 27¢ a day apiece for food, surely cheap enough even before post-war inflationt So we stopped where we wanted, and camped anyplace anytime we felt like it, and slept as long or as short as we desired, and each morning analyzed scientifically our dreams of the night before, and talked of Joyce and Hemingway and Saroyan, our gods then, and of Whymper and Munoery and K~ubel and Mallory, our climbing gods. We talked of what fools our school contemporaries were, to fear climbing and fear ideas and fear living life. And how easy it was to be free if you just had some guts. The nights were chill, and you filled yourself with warm beans and wriggled into your sleeping bag and got the branches or grass out of your face and w:e.nt to sleep hearing the running patter of the nearest streamlet, and the pine-disturbing _ �CHAPTER I-- p. 9 winds. and you woke sleepy with dreams, always later than you planned, and cooked breakfast, t~t~1~\y applying Fre~ the Master to one another. And you ran up Mount Massive in a couple of hours, absorbed in arguments and loudly reconstructing the universe on a basis of justice and logic all the way up and down. Back in camp, exhaust~dn strangely failed to come, so the two of us tossed our packs on our backs and walked off thru a gathering rainstorm, the kind that drips wet from every bushy branch you touch, and feels cold and malignant if you're tired but clean and wet if you're feeling good. Which we were. Then across the rushing Halrmoon Creek on a shaky bridge, once our goal for the day after, and on past to the very base of Mount Elbert itself. That night it rained some more, but we were sp.rj.g in our slowly soaking sleeping bags. Next m:atJning, a leisurely breakfast, made more .leisurely by the twin tasks of scouting around for dry wood and waiting for our sleeping bags to dry, spread out over some bushes in the warming sun. Then the run up Elbert, supposedly the highest peak in Colorado but in reality one of the easiest and fastest to climb. Or so it seemed. And I had won the race to the top, but King had spotted Sennacherib first. "Welll' we thought. "Here is something1n Resolute logic was ppplied to the problem, our sharply / honed minds brought up to a white heat, and the answer came at once, obvious, clear, and smacking of serene sanity. We would climb good old Sennacherib next wintert It ought to be lots of fun 'climbing that amazing-looking eminence in �CHAPTER 1-- p. 10 mid-winter. An excellent target for our first large-scale winter climb. So happily resolved, we ran gleefully off Elbert, tired of tame summer climbing, picked up our sleeping gag s and packs and walked out to the main h ~.-l;hway bj evening. We finished up the summer's activities by a f ast two ~day hitch-hiking trip thru the mountains to Denver, uneventful except for King's practically freezing to death as we crossed 12,000 foot Loveland Pass (a complete surprise for us as far as height and coldness went) in the back of an open vanadium truck . �CHAPI'ER I"l-- l"~ \ 'Y ~'RT OWE.· == SENKf\ e~t.~h-a ,~~~~~6~¥ :S~ CHAP.rER TWO-t+- SEPHT!zOJ.IEai~- ..,-.\1· s vv . e- for ss A (...r Our Christmas assault upon Sennacherib that w-inter was the mo st ponderous mountain endeavor I have ever helped launch, a mass~ve combination -of sheeT will-power and youtnt·ul :fanaticism gr.ound .hopelessly against our clumsy ignorance and 1nexperienc.e. I sha.l.~ never :I"orget standing., 0n the rear of cthe churning logging truck that gave us a rid.e up toward Independence Pass and the base of our peak, standing there awkwardly to see first Twombly jumping off to become a rolling sprawling clump of black arms and lege suddenly stopped in the snow and then .King . ~eaving the truck and .his pack slamming him _at once face .down and flat, and me holding on a moment and then kicking off to fall toward the br-ight whiteness and then in it, thru it, face andhands burrowing helpleesly as the pack on my back rolled and · twisted me about thru the powdery cold snow. And getting up a moment later, frothing white at the mouth and gouging the snow from my eyes ·.·--"'~"-:t:.;.~, ~ to watch- the truck RJi r trdtr a block awa I / It (j 'aliihzae4Nt disappear . i J' Because that ~ pack on my back weighed 67 pounds, and King's and Twombly's weighed accordingly. And we were on our own now, but definitely , the contents of those packs our only safety or hope of minimum comfort. And without experience, the contents of packs tend to be~ome burdensomely weig~d down by the most fearful reactions against the thousand conjectures of what might be, what may ha ppen at high altitude in the mid -winter Rockies. It seems easier to fear blindly, for some reason, than �CHAPI'ER IX-- -p9\ d.. to use logic. We knew that we should probably need a tent, ice axe, rope, possibly a lightweight stove. The few climbing books in the library all mentioned these things. We had an old hunk of sisal t·or a rope, but everything else was impossible to buy. King and I, being advanced intellectuals., were at once be-fogged into a. paralyzing state of inanition. And hereupon Twombly, being constructed upon the principle of endl.ess spasms of energy bound up tightly and explosively, for once pointed hims.elf in a useful direction and shone brilliantly. While King and I mumbled vague encouragement, Twombly went to work. Packboards were repaired. sun goggles were ordered. An ice axe was announced · to be in the maki~. Of course we could only scoff. Make an ice axe: What resulted was an incredibly wicked looking object I painted a uniform midnight black, heavy and indestruct~ble. The head came :from a massive chunk of iron, heated again and again to the point of slight malleability in the roaring fire of his basement stoker furnace, and beat upon .and sharpened with prodigious blows for the few furious moments before it cooled each time, and then back into the fire. Eventually the finished head was screwed, riveted, and cross~braced with strap iron onto a log-like hunk of wood, the other end of which had ·been cunningly affixed w.i th a punch-like point of ste~l, sharp, sturdy, ·and wiggly. For years af·terward, it was Twombly's delight to present this appliance to the gaze of accredited mountaineers used to some sort of basically predictable norm in human affairs, and announce it to be an �CHAPrER II:-- f• 3 ice ~J A li~tle heavy perhaps, and lacking the grace of its commerc:lal competitors, but still a genuinehomemade -ice axe. The sight ot· this axe \i~e!l:.~~ fe\Al'S evefl men lon& u.s ed to the idea of its existence in a temporary state of dull shock. He had already cqnstru·cted a serviceable bowie knife· from an old :t"ile. The finishad instrument was one of precision, notably useful for the chopping of frozen chunks of hamburger into us~ble slabs, and the hacking open of \.:...' tin cans, a feat of metallurgy which it performed regularly and without apparent dulling for many years.~ ~It is not, however, the most conspicuously evil of the knives with which I have been associated. Bill McClain's doubleedged cleaver (he· insisted it be called a "knife") was a more horrifying thing to look at. He always kept it tightly affixed to nis side in a scabbard composed of solid wooden boards. The most dan.g erous knife in the Rocky Mountains is, of course, that currently found in the possessions and chattels of Dave Wilfley, known among his friends as a faaa'Sieel ~~ \\ e ~ a&Qt~er of fabulous tales of western history which he believes to be true. He himself uses this knife only for the cutting down of young trees, the rapid lopping of tough_ old stumps into suitable shavings and"kindling, and the occasional quelling of mutinies. Unfortunat-ely, he also -loans this knife out to the more trustful. The unwounded (those who have not previously used this knife) are usually allowed from one to five minutes of completely tutile efforts to cut something with it. Then they are told by the grinning WilEley that this knife is so sharp• ened as to cut in only one _direct'ion. A reverse of blade direction, anct i t is time for the ordinary man to run-- the knife will t:be n at once pass thru anything in its path: meat, frozen oranges, metal, glass bottles, the fingers holding such articles, boot soles, the table at wh ich one is seated, etc. "We ough~a have a tent also," said Twombly. '•. "Well," said King and I, looking doubtfully around, "we don't know. Tents are pretty complicated." A dubious stroking of our chins finished the discussion. �CHAPTER U-- "'* Three days . ~ater, the constructi-on of a mountain tent was announctd, along with a request from Twombly that we help pay for 1ts material. This tent has since become unaccountably lost, but as I recall it today, it was the most successf'.u.L mountain . terit I have ever s~en. It was sl eek and low~ rising to but three or four feet at its apex., and had the necessary floor sewn right in (essential in a mount a in gale, when it is the weight of your bodies and not some risky combination of .stake.s ..and .c ord that keeps- such a tent .from f~apping away. into outer space). Its most startling. peculiarity lay- in its large amount of internal vo.J..ume, distributed largely in the single-dimensi-o nal form of floor-space (rather than mere. useful headroom). Where other such tents require their two or t fl.ree occupants to lie cramped longi'tl..ldina~J.y aLong the tent floor in parallel slender rows, we were astonished and overjoyed to discover that thi-s teHt allowed four ~ people to sleep -side by side at right angles to t.he tent length. We always slept this way, even with just three of us.; Of course, there were disadvantages too. Every silver lining will invariably be found wrapped in a tiresome cloud. For example, whoev-er slept furthest from the entrance (a round . hole with a flap, sewn in the end of the tent and ke.p.t closed with safety pins} had to crawL twice b,odily over T.he sleeping forms of his tentmates when · undertaking those inevitable nocturnal travels that are found to follow cof:ree or tea in large quantiti.es before retiring. And the t.~nt sloped, of course, clear to the ground in �CHAPrER II-- ' 5" the Q.irections of one's head and f'eet. It is always startling a 1'00~ .~ C!.~n(as to wake up J.y~ng on your back and find 'ifie -;eM Peef slanting . down an inc.n a nd ahal.f . above ·your nose. Q,uite a task, too, to get out oi' a sleeping bag in such conditions, where the slightest upward wriggle will touch your face to the icec oated tent cloth and precipitate a fine shower of ice * crystals over everything in the tent. In fact, getting up in ~Despite a~l efforts at ventilation, most mountain tents collect moisture fram . brea thing all over the inside . of their roofs, where it freez.es into a delicate fros·t. the cold of the pre-dawn, trying and fail_ing. to avoid the showering ice, jacknif.ing .yourself from the depths of a sleeping bag whose outlet is j8lll11led in the V-angle of that sloping tent roof and floor, trying meanwhile not to disturb or injure your com;p_?Ili ons•- all thi s is impossible. w\>.e\~ -a'\a.\~ if' 'f'l\"\ 'M• ~~, In fact , now that I review .the ~~ata , I am unable to understand 1t'lly. we did sleep in this_manner, except t h at we just got in the habit. It was an inconvenient habit. The tent had plenty of ventilation anyway, provided it were used in a conservative and reasonable manner. Th ere was always enough air to supply the candle we kept suspended from the _c eiling by a t h read for illumination. I am at present unable to say why_ this .candl.e never set the tent afire, or the sleeping ba,gs and ~ sweaters on which it several times fell as a result of burning thru its thread support. Actua lly, the tent was only once in any real danger of burning up. · Twombly had constructed a tiny cook stove out of an old tin can with shears and solder, designed to burn that appropriate fuel, isopropyl alcohol. It worked well enough in his work shop, but �CHAPI'ER J:l.-- ~; ~ b the first time he lit it in the tent, at the entrance so as to give it plenty of air, the entire can at once flamed into a roaring orange and blue conflagration,. fire shooting up and about for a foot and ahalf on all sides, completely blocking the three of us from escape out the end of the tent. LQckily Twombly had taken off only one mitten while lighting it, so that with the other mi t.tened hand he was able to grasp the entire blazing stove andhurl it outside into the snow. A charred mitten and seared jacket were a small price to pay for this valuable experience. only twice was suffocation by itself an imminent danger. Trying out the tent for the first time one 7-below-zero night, Twombly was so unwise as to light up his pipe . inside. Twombly with a pipe in his mo.uth. is at once transformed into an irrational being, unable to· attend to the slightest necessities or to comprehend the always nar.row distinction between his sane and insane acts. So that King, realizing the futility of using up what air remained untainted in any more shrieks, came clawing his way out the tent opening to swoon fi ~elie¥e ~a\ ie 'ilte weJra~ at the. foot of the .fire I was building outside. It was hours before the tent again became habitable, and the sternest warnings were given Twombly never. nev-er again to repeat such an irresponsible action. The only other instructive narrow escape occurred th-e time the tent pulled up its stakes and blew down upon us. Trapped and enshrouded within its swirling folds, the ·three of us had no so.oner wormed franti.cally from. our sleeping bags to crawl over, around, and under one another than we �CHAPTER Il:-- f 4 L'T realized we were lost! To prevent panic, we then lay .rigidly quiet while one of us, a volun'te.er, engaged in a patient, desperate, inch by inch search until at last he found -the entrance :hole and an esca pe route. It ia always wise to keep a clear head on such occasions •. Hysteria and foaming at the mouth, by themselves, are .of no av(.=Iil .. At any rate, we acquired enough community equipment after all, and most of it owed a heavy debt to Twombly's barbarous ingenui.ty. As individuals., o.ur chief problem . lay in preparing for the abominabl.e cold that was expected, on every hand. by those who freely avai.le.d of themselves to give us warning and advice . My uncle. for instance, whohas . las ted out many years as a rancher in the.. mountains , announced his frank opinion that we would face nights of 350 below zero. In that case, as was well known, no one could possibly sleep outsid·e in a tent. He predicted maiming by frost-bite , with possible ensuing death. This sheer fear of outrageous· cold maimed and. distorted whatever reserves of logic were left us. We acquired immsnse leather mittens, quite useful , and then added extra fillers of thick wool {totally unneeded) . we packed dozens of scarves for face masks, sweaters, extra socks by the pound lot, and layer after layer of pants and jeans and long-johns. A supreme .err.or was my using the "Monster". The Monst·e r +i ~~-tc.s\-, was the thickest," liighest-necked sweater I hav e ever seen. It was difficult, indeed , to see where the neck ended and the shoulders began- - in silhouette it ap peared designed for use by a fence post. Only the slenderest of youths, or damsels �CHAPrER II-- ~ with remarkably immature figures aould have comfortably worn such a sylph-like garment. When I first succeeded in pulling it down over my head, I remenber to this day how the sleeve pressure projected my arms outward like an ape's in twin rigid curves, and held them there. Even with the sweater arms hacked off, I had to wear the remaining tube-like casing next to the skin if I was to breathe at all, where its gentle steel-wool tex~ure gave the fuzzy-comfy feeling of an old horse blanket, shrunken tight 'b.~ A ~s\.q_vu.h w\ ~ ~a.l'4 u, \,-~ . But I had heard that the most important item in resisting cold was to keep the trunk of the body warm,and I was determined to guarantee this. Nowadays, I would go anywhere in the Rockies in winter with long-johns (optional) and· a pair of wool pants or jeans for the legs, three or four undershirts (to absorb perspiration before it wets your other garments), a wool shirt or two, and maybe a sweater. Many loose layers are what count. If the wind blows, you top everything with a thin windbreaker of some kind, and earmuffs or parka hood . One or two pairs of thick wool socks plus climbing boots big enough to accomodate them with absolutely no cramping, and I have never yet had the slightest case of frost-bitten feet. You ' re not like a soldier or hunter when climbing- - you don ' t have to dress to sit still in the snow or wind for hours on end. You'll be moving steadily, . and· the ' lighter your clothing the better. But then, because we feared the cold, we noticed the cold most, and it is the cold I remember today . OUr campsite was �CHAPTER r.f-- '\'\ so ingeniously located as to guarantee a maximum of four hours of sunlight daily, the sun rising above one ridge at 10:30 a.m. and promply falling below another around 2:30 in the afternoon. we used a round level clearing covered with an even two feet of fine powder snow, upon the smooth surface of w.nich we pitched our tent. The theory was that lying on the soft snow, we could easily fashion hip hol.es beneath .us for luxurious sleeping. After the first several hours, one discovered that enough body heat had escaped his ine:rficient sleeping bag to pierce the tent floor and melt or moisten the snow beneath. The minute the body heat was removed, what was melted turned to ice. After the first night, it was l,il~e sleeping on a jagged pile of marble statuary. It ",was not · uncommon eisa~ at all to be awakened by a comrade in the mi<1dle o1· the night furiously. beating his mi ttened fist against some concrete-like bump rearing up into the tent floor and his sleeping bag. Seldom indeed was he successful. Nor was moving the tent practicabl~ ~Pae;iea~le, as its bo,;tom proved to be secur.e ly t·rozen down in the ice at all poin_t s. A little foretho ught , a few pine bo ghs, would have prevented all this. The first time I myself beat the tent floor, I did accompl-ish one useful thing by accident, the smashing of my sun glasses. For the first time I was given an opportunity ~% l~~~iES that I can apparently do without sun glasses. Though it would undoubtedly be another story in the Himalayas or Arctic, I have since found myself immune to snow-blindness �• CHAPTER :IX-- y.~o and allied horrors in ~Rock~ Mountain winter, snow, and sun.* ~Undoubtedly flocks of readers will at this pointrush out and ruin their eyesight. To prevent lawsuits, let me .say· that many people apparently do_ ne·ed protection fr. om ".excessive glare"-but many others wi.t h. a f _ew ·careful. exp.e.r.iments might find themselves freed. from the tyranny of colored blinkers. To read some ads of late, you would think that nature had only equipped man's eyes for life in a dark e ave, and anything in the light of day will be looked at at .his own peril. I have lately observedpeople wearing colored glasses even indoors, to protect their eyes from the "glare" coming thru the windows, and this I regard as going too, farl I remember well how we struggled to .acquire liquid water . How we to-ok the ''ice axe" out onto the middle of frozen Lake Cr eek and beat a hole a yard in.. diameter and two feet down thru the ice only to find the surface of the free water running briskly a black several feet lower than that. Trying to filL a canteen would have resul te.d, beyond a doubt; in one of us toppling -irretrievably down the hole. Melting snow for water is an endles s task, and we were lucky tofind a place further downstream where ·water came trickling out from the ice in a <"\i\1 f~ frozen rapids a rea. I remember how you~ dip/ a canteen in and fill it, and your mitt~ns would already be spotted with ice _from the splashing . And by the time you _gcrt the canteen back to camp, you had to pierce the fresh plug of ice in its neck with the ice axe or .knif e to get at the water. Instead of washing the skillet he at-e from, Twombly took to merely dipping it in the water , the.n turning it upside dovm and beating out the ice which had a-t once formed around the food and grease particles. I remember too how we built our fire on a platform of green boughs laid out on the surface of the snow, and sat �CHAPTER !1-- -fQ\ around it constantly the first day trying to keep warm and cook something, and in three days of use the fire never burned hot enough to melt its platform .down to ground level. You sat in the snow around it and the fire was up to your waist. And cooking was so slow, with so much ha.c king up of frozen hamburger and canned goods, and our appetites so 'o~A-'tt una ccountably vanished anyway, that we ate~s~x meals in five days and felt exhausted by the effort. Milk chocolate, the old standby, was as tasteful and appealing in this cold as a brittle lump of brown wax. Oranges froze into light bronze cannon balls. You had to take an orange into bed with you to thaw for several hours before it would bear eating. In addition you had your boots in bed, after the first several bitter experiences with their freezing~ and a canteen or so of water , and all your cl.othes, most of· them still on (a mistake-- one should sleep n~ked in a sleeping bag, with all clothing tucked und.erneath. him to insulate s:trategi·c po.ints of contact), and there you were in your thick clothes stuffed between three or four big wool blankets jammed into a tight wool sleeping bag, and it felt very crowded in the tiny tent. Finally one morning the weather looked clear enough for King and ~o set out on the actual climb , leaving Twombly..) who felt incapacitated ... behind. We wor.e . a.ll our clothing, carried no pack, and brought along the rope and so-called ice axe. The latter I had agreed to carry-, soon discovering that if it had any value at all it was probably on the order of that ~ead-headed cane Sir Richard Burton· .carried constantly in London, to strengthen his sword wrist. �CHAPI'ER II-- f~ we had long since discovered (I believe I have neglected to mention this matter previously) that the mountain we still thought of as Sennacher:lb had, after all, .been noticed by previous explorers. For no discernible reason, they had given it the dull, over-used name of La Plata. 14,340 feet in height, it turned out to be the fifth highest peak in Colorado. our contour map disclosed two long finger ridges descending from the summit to the north. It was the northeast of these we elected to scal.e. We had no guide book of course, but it seemed a logical enough route for a winter climb (bear this in mind, reader%). We crossed the creek on the ice with great ease {reme::Plc ~hie alee, @&Ptle ~eader l r, and headed for a huge avalanche chute which we calcul a ted ought to lead us up the snout of our ridge. We found it chucked full of boulders. Boulders piled and strewn on one another and then covered with two feet of loose powder snow are decidedly awkward walking. Especially as their size increases from three or four feet in diameter to ten or fifteen. Not a step could be sought without first probing the snow with the axe • . Every handhold had to be brushed clean f or use. King's slippery nails continu.e d to display the~r slippery qualities~ We made -about 150 feet ?IEEarly in December, King had had his boots magnificently studded with hob nails for the express purpose of aiding him on this winter climb. To test them, he wore them while carrying a temporary Christmas mail route , sustaining a number of severe falls on wooden porches and stairs, etc. (Nailed boots will not stick to wooden surfaces if the latter are planed smoot~Congratulating himself on acquiring no permanent injuries, he could hardly congratulate the state of his new nails, which were worn quite smooth from the week of sidewalk tramping. �CHAPTER Ill-- f 3 the first hour, and then gave the chute up a~ a route. cutting over to the left, we got out of the boulders after the a stiff fight, and into trees and bushes. Her£/going was mucht faster with branches and trunks to haul up with. Five hunared feet and we were on a kind of sub-ridge, steep, with slabs and fallen logs underfoot. Soon it became \4~ easy to stana upright and touch the slope in front of ~ with /our .hands. The snow seemed much deep.e r too. On such 'C'~t. *\~\t\~ ou.c an angle, wading steeply up into it, it ~ii~sQr chest~and sometimes curled about fo ur necksat every ·upward lunge. We were soon changing off the lead every fifty steps or so. Every five minut.es we would rest (far too often) by turning around and simply sitting back into the powder. Very comfortable. Too comfortable. Hard to get up again. At 1:00 p . m., we got above a portion of timberline at last. To the north, the huge grades and mass of Mount Elbert stared across at us. The wind was howling above us now, and we could see cloudy wisps of powder snow blowing scythe-like out into the sky i'rom the ridge crest still above us. Would be nasty up there: Another half-hour's slugging ahead, still not up to the skyline ridge and now seeing minor but forbidding cliffs scattered along it, exhausted., morale flagging, we stopped for good. The fi rst time a major moun-tain had defeated us. I remember sitting there in the cool snow trying to get my breatning back, and then taking a picture of King, and struggliug upright for a picture taken of myself at our "highest", not very proud of ourselves-- And vowing: anytime �in more normal conditions and without the lousy snow, more . daylight, a n earlier start, less bundled weight to carry, we could make this mountain. We would make it by this very same ridge too. Next spring or summer, as soon as possible. You always take your first defeat very seriously. Pride thus fortified with vows and oaths, we turned back, at once delighted to find again h ow easy it is to descend a mountain even when completely beaten as far as going up i .s concerned. Especially in loose snow on steep slopes. You JUst relax and let yourself go into a peculiar flopping moti on , loose-jointed like a straw man, shuffling and toppling down into and thru the cushioning snow, jerking back and forth between the trees and rocks that stick up at you and fly rapidly on past. In no perce i vable ( time, we had lo~t what altitude gained and were back in camp. The next day bright and early, having chopped the tent loose from its ice foundation, Twombly and I hiked six miles down to Twin Lakes, were joined eventually by King who waited for a chance logging truck to lug him along, and the three of us t~en hiked the remaining six miles on out to the main highway in a drifting snowstorm , stop ping once to cook up some horrible macaroni on a sagebrush fire. It took only two more freezing days to h itch-hike the 90 or so miles on home. And it was, at that, the finest mid-winter climb I was ever on, though the most miserable. It gets finer, indeed, everytime I think back upon it. And, we knew exactly what peak to climb first next summer. · �CHAPTERUI-- :-J-5' CHAPTER "'lHRa+- ~NAOIIER l~ - .. SUCCESS The next June, King and I set out together the usual hitch-hiking way, determined to penetrate deeply into the Elk Mount a ins with their half dozen fourteen thousand foot 'Q o,J"t peaks. "f 'irst of all, we would clean up Sennach.e rib , the only so Fi!.v- mountain that had eveP defeated us (innocents that we were) . on the other hand , why cal l it Sennacherib any longer? What with the spring and summer sun , there would be no real problem with snow anymore . Sennacherib had evaporated away, and a mere boulder pile of a La Plata would be left. So we assumed . We dumped our lightweight summer sleeping bags in almost tne same place as the winter camp , and set out at once to knock off this now fangless peak and get off for the more serious work in the Elks . Unfortunately , a laughable little obstacle now appeared between us and the familiar ridge . Lake Creek, branch of the Arkansas River, froz en solid last winter , was now in an annoyingly h i gh spring- runoff stage . It had become a boiling river . King waded into i t first, the climbing rope tied about his waist and myself playing it out from around a stout pine . He got out about twenty feet with th e wat er already up to his waist, and then it knocked him down . He was swept almost to shore, rope acting as a taut pendulum arm , before he could re gain his feet . I watched him get up and slackened on the rope , and he fell down again. He came wading back to me, �panting and soaked, and we agreed the river was too narrow and swift to cross at t h is point. Next we went along the bank for about a mile, seeking a crossing by boulders or fallen trees. At one point, solid cliffs twenty or thirty feet high hem the river between them like a narrow vise, and you find hunters in the Fall have dropped logs and trees across -t o bridge the gap. We found two separate trees still across but wobbly, unstable, with the river thrashing furiously and deep ten or fifteen feet below. It didn't look safe. It scares me to think about it now. So eventually we found a big sandy bend to the river where it was forced to flow out widely and evenly and not so terribly deep. King stationed himself secur ely in the dry sand with the rope, and I tied onto the oth er end about 100 feet downstream from him. I planned to cross with the full length of the rope trailing out in a hundred f oot arc that ought to )'1€. tt\ f. aU~ w c.t -:. o 'Me support me- e-J:.ea?l across . I stripped down to shorts and waded in, the rope comfortably tight about my waist and a big aspen pole in my hands to lean against. Such a hot June day and the water 'at~t.N\~ ilt.'<e.~ was Aterrib ly cold , ~ di a~ely~ and it seemed terribly far going , round stones and pebbles ' rolling under my feet, but found myself I made i t finally · and/~ exhausted on the opposit e bank. W~V" T ~s-\e a~ ~~~ .~ ~e '.>~~'\ht ~1.4~ ~co a. '\oo~ <f>~t'l "'~V\MlA.s ~~ +a.t<,· "''\ ~"~ ~"· ~~~~~~-a~~~~·~ my end of the rope to a big ~ '.~ a S'4t<"•~ o shOtrls ih~t a u,ou.\ st y)\D ·-e spruce while King did likewise on his side. We now had a rope across. The creek was too wide and the rope too stretchy to be suspended high e n ough for a dry arm-over-arm crossing. �CHAPI'ER m-- -y · ~'T We would just have to get wet the next morning when we began noon , t our climb again (for it was SGW oo late to start it today). So I crossed back again, using the fixed rope for a handrail, tugging really hard several times. It seemed about as difficult as the original crossing. Frankly, we weren't very sa~isfied. It was cold work, extremely tiring, and if you lost hold of the r _ope the~Athe boiling rapids a ~rtc~ ~a.c-~ or so downstream to get swept into. With noth ing we could do till the climb on the morrow, we set out walking upstream along the bank on the chance of finding a better crossing somewhere. Two or three miles lro~ where we left the rope suspended, what did we come upon but a sturdy logging bridge beautifully spanning the entire stream! Even meaning a six mile detour tomorrow, this was infinitely superior to that damn rope crossing! S.o back we rushed ~ retrieve our rope and get some sleep for the busy ··h t;ollt ' . . . day t -om&J.:l.'GW. It was King's turn now, so about 4:00p.m., he stripped down and waded into the stream to unti'e the other end of our now useless rope. Holding on tightly to the rope, he worked his way slowly halfway out and it was apparent something was going wrong. The river was too deep, already swirling up around his chest. I watched him twist his_ arma into the rope on either side of him for added support, and pull himself a little furthe r thru the coldly rushing water and then· it got re al ly deep and he went under, losing his footing completely, still holding with his arms. Then I saw him drag hi~head above the surface, the river now sweeping his legs up and out in a downstream slant with enough force to prevent him �CHAPI'ER W-- ~~~ even momentarily getting hie feet down to bottom again. . 1y th e r~ver . h ad eQm& T \ $~\1w~ t remendously during the day 0b v~oue as the sun beat upon ita melting myriads of snowbank sources, and it was now a raging flood to try and cross. I remember cursing us both for fools, a nd standing there agonized and scared with absolutely nothing I could do to help, seeing him out there with the rope stretching low and dragging the surface so that hie head and face were now bouncing viciously in and out of the water. I figured he couldn't possibly make ~'Nlo ""- lost h\~ t"ar it back, and the only question was whether~he c ould somehow by SIN \w.._ j .,_, 7, make shoreAbe:t"ore he was swept into the rapids w*.l:eB ae lee'i ftie grip. Then I noticed he was still trying to pull h imself to shore, toward me. He was l ying with his back against the rope and his f~ce up toward the sky and hi·s arms still twisted in the rope on either side of him, like a watery crucifixion. Gradually he came pulling himself along , his desperati on holding out after all . He arrived on shore with the strength "'"~ b\+s twisted frolli his arms like a wrung dishcloth, and his ~ \ seared a tissuey red from the gnawing rope. Alive now, he knelt in camp and allowed me to use our ~i To e- entire first-aid supply of gauze trying to bandage ~ b~after the bleeding stopped. I resolved, as one does at such times, that the next time I saw anyone come t h at close to being killed, I would quit climbing. It is a resolution I have kept, too, and I am still a climber . Tied and taped, however, filled with warm beans and bundled in his wool sleeping bag, Kin g began to revive astonishingly. Finally he announced he would be fit for �CHAPI'ER 11l -- -y·a~ climbing the next day after all. Maimed to be sure, a piteous shadow of his former strength and manlihood, but still he thought he would like to try. I at once decided he had become a demented and t·oolish creature; but as my own shock began to wear off, I too was taken with excitement at the thought of not, after all, abandoning the expedition, and not even losing another day of it. Only that rope, still insanely fixed and fastened wh er e we didn't want it and couldn't leave it, was a problem. And yet, it was only 6 : 00p . m., still plenty of daylight and me still fairly fresh . I told King I was going to retrieve the rope tonight after all, and mak~ possible the climb tomorrow with an early morning start. He insisted that it was now I who had taken leave of my senses. But my mind reeled madly at the thought of all the time I could save us if I got that foolish rope back tonight! MY plan was to forget about trying to cross the river by \o~,~n'\ wading . I was going to walk upstream to the Abridge, cross, C,.oY't\Q. v.~\-\ \ and then ~down the r i ver on the opposite bank ~ even with our campsite . I would then untie the rope , let King pull it acro-s s, and walk back up to the bridge and then back to camp. A mere siz mile walk , and I still had two good hours of daylight to do it in. So I left him recuperating in his sleeping bag, and set out in tennis shoes for greater speed . An hour later and I had crossed the bridge. Well and good l But now that I was over Lake Creek, I ran into a tributary entering it below me, and found myself �CHAPl'ER 'll[-- 7 30 forced to go up a half mile or so along its bank before I could find a sa:l:'e crossing. I was alone now, and caution seemed wise • ..&'inally I was beating my way rapidly down beside Lake Creek itself. Pretty soon I beat . myself right into a willow swamp. Never never get into Rocky Mountain willow swamps if you can avoid it, I promptly learned and have kept strictly in mind ever since. The stuff was endless. I couldn't even be su re what direction I was keeping in it. MY shoes became soaked t h ru and t h ru, and turned a deep permanent brown 'f't\I.A.t .V... \\"~' oN\ from the ~ iLB:filtPEi:&iRS i cl&th em. I beat and whacked and twisted my way about till the sun was down and light failing rapidly before reaching"shore"-- a clump of pines and spruce. In forest again, progress was again rapid, but it was really getting dark now and I was beginning to worry. I just hoped I could spot King's campfire on the other side when I got that far. And then 1'inally, real night now , I could hear the rapids and then saw the :.t:'ire, tiny orange across from me • .Amazingly, King heard my shouts and came walking to where the rope was tied on his side. Egad! The temptation! To cross by rope now and forget untying it, or tie onto the end and let him belay me across . What if I did lose my footing, with the belay the current would surely take me to his side anyway--For just a moment I stood hesitating , and watched the black rush of waters sweeping by, if anything deeper than in afternoon. Impossible, obviously. I untied the rope from ita tree and saw it at once disappear to be eventually coiled by King on 'tile opposite, distant, impossibly far bank with �CHAPTER I - - · ~"3\ its bright lit~le campfire burning in an insidiously merry fashion. And so I set out to walk back up to the bridge again in a sullen mood, especially when a cert a in miscalculation now unaccountably rectified itself in my mind. I ha~ counted on a six mile walk , three miles from camp to bridge, three more down the opposite bank to the rope-- and now the whole mil~s six miles to walk back again! A twelve mile hike all told, instead of the six I had somehow calculated. I couldn't understand so gross an oversight unless I had been unconsciously thinking ol:· using the rope to cross after all. The willow swamp w~s of course to be avoided on the return. cut~ing away from along the river to miss it, I was soon part vra;y up the ridge slope to the south. I stumbled along, dazea and tired, across this tilted grade , high enough to even see a little out over the trees into the whole valley. Again I found how much you really can. see on a mountain side after dark when your eyes adjust to it. Still, the trees and occasional bushes I waded into made things tough. But I was determined not to go down near the river again till certain I would miss that swamp-. I decided to follow the mountain slope Ior a couple of miles at least, and hope to notice when it turned to let in that tributary stream to Lake Creek. It was an interesting Vilhjalmur Stefansson-like problem in foot navigation in the darkness. I sat down to rest afte1· a m~l.e or so, maybe more.,., I didn't know, quite a lot of struggl~ng ~ ime, and my eyes came to see quite freely out into the night-dark valley. There were no trees below me �CHAPrER '"N-- ·, .3 ~ to blot any of the view. I remember standing up from the rocks I was leaning against and trying to peer down and noticing I was halfway across some kind of cliff of whitish rock. That explained the no trees. I sat down again, scared at my grogginess. I got on across the cliff all right, into the trees again, but it frightened me. Tired, tired, it seemed I was so tired, tired before on many a mountain but not this tired ••• I don't remember the mountain side curving or dropping off, but only finding a crossing, a different one, over the tributary stream. MY feet got wet again but I didn't care. Every step the water slurped warmly about ~~ toes, unable to get out the rubber soles. Back on the logging road, I lay !)~ 'n r U~ 0\M.~ down in a comfortable rut~and looked up at the stars. They were still blinking pleasantly when I I awoke and started walking again. MY cal~ muscles felt like stre~ched leather, while my knees and thighs were just numb from exhaustion and took to shaking lightly whenever I stopped walking for awhile. I crossed the silly-damn river again, at last, on the fine log bridge, and then it was just three miles of highway to camp. I remember walking in and seeing the fire now just glowing coals, King waking with his face showing starlit white from his black lump of a sleeping bag. "Oh, you back? Never thought you'd make it by tonight!" I crawled collapsedly into my bag~ slogging images jumping in my mind, and both of us woke from heat and sweat, our bags in the full hot sun, about noon the next day. �Young enough, you think of revenge against a brute mountain. La Plata had become Sennacherib _again , and we were out to get its guts , ripped and tattered as it had now rendered ours . Methodically now, with patience and cunning , we set out to get this mountain . First off, we would move our base camp up to the bridge and well across it. We decided we had had enough of river crossing, and changed our prospective route to the westernmost of the two La Plata north ridges. We moved out like a slow pair of walking wounded . I loaded my fifty pounds of gear on my baek , and slung King's packboard with 25 pounds more onto my chest, and hobbled along as best I could . MY feet felt tatt ered from their '<"o~ - \A. r n> ordeal in tennis shoes, and King's ~ ~ still nasty and sore , causing frequent unexpected grimaces to crease his face . late Every quarter mile or so we halted to rest . B~afternoon , we had a camp up the valley of the tributary stream , one ridge west of La Plata. Here we stoppe d , gathered a little fire wood , h o\J"'f' ate a leisurely three or four Asupper , and read till i t got dark . Next day , both feeling much better , we got across the tributary and beat our way up to timberline thru thick trees and bush. We knew from the map that a narrow valley separated the north- south ridge we were on from the northwest ridge of La Plata that we wanted to climb . Once over the lower crest of this first ridge , we finally l ooked across at the summit of La Plata-- Sennacherib- - the first time we had actually seen it since the summer before on Mount Elbert. A cinch l �CHAP.rER lll-- . 3* We streamed down into the valley and in a matter of a couple of hours were on the ridge we wanted , making directly for the summit . The climbing now was typical Colorado non technical stuff -- assorted boulders and broken rocks, conies bleating at us, occasional gravel patches and snow banks, green grass and spring flowers , the occasional high-pitched whistle of a marmot . Three or four hundred feet ahead of King on the final dash , I suddenly noticed the summit knob we were headed for was a trifle lower than another to my left. So I climbed the latter and had t h e solid satisfaction of s ilently watching Ki ng , a tiny bundled dot, walk slowly up the other one , look around in delight, and then notice me over here higher tha n he . Eventually he joined me , a trifle disgusted . The fourth day of our second assault on this mountain and we were finally on top. But Ye - ee - cee Gods ! What a laughable , bitter , shock! We gazed over and down the curved northeast ridge , the one we Jlad planned by map to use last winter , and afte r our riverTwo .,.... jla~ crossing this summer . It was a twis t edfm1l e /in length , all over . l3,000 feet and a continual knife - edge of granite hacked into innumerable sawteeth and frequent towers two or three hundred feet in height . On either side of its agonised zig-zag -e.f- crest fell great she ets of c l iffs , hundreds of yards at a time , to plunge finally into slopes of strewn b oulders down to the glacially seooped val l ey below. Ther are other such ridge .s in the Rockies - - the .G !'aft& Tetons of ourse abound with �CHAPrER 'ili-- . .. 35' them-- but at the time it was the most awesome ridge either of us had ever seen. So we were not done with Sennacherib after all. We would perfect our rock technique and rope knowledge, and return some day to knock off that ridge. And maybe the huge north face also, down which we now looked. The discovery of such a terrifying ridge, and such a red-blooded vow to return and climb it , form the artistic c..h •V~-t.f highpoint and logical conclusion of this RaPrat~ve. But nature imposes a form and order of her own, particularly in mountains; and who is to say that what is anti-climax to us is anti-climax to her? Descending steep slopes of boulders is hard, uncertain work. A little way from the summit, we stood at the. top of a snow-filled ravine leading clear to the valley bottom-- a "couloir" as various sophisticates say, with various pronunciations. In April, just two months before, I had slid 2000 feet from the top of Pikes Peak to timberline, using a pole for balance on the steep slushy snow ("glissading" this is called). But King wouldn't try this one. Since I had a stout aspen pole . for an alpens·t ock, I decided to show him how'twas done • So I let myself go, down the ravine, standing and "skiing" and leaning back on the pole for a rudder. Then the snow lost its softness and turned to wind-crust, and I leaned back hard on the stick to slow down and it broke on me. I sat ~i~ O'N. ~-r6 ~0\l~ > . if'l down on the snow ~ sliding ever faster, and tried to dig~the ~<" a. 'or (~ broken half of the pole ~ and it flew out of my hands. I �9-e~ ~~\ ""+ So""'-e.... ~~ 0 fR_~_s 0~ ~ ~:)() \-\~k ~2{~~) ~ '-'t O ....._ ~~ c.D ~~>.. "'"'--eon "-\ ·cl~.vb S ~ J 2t_ <6~ Wb 3~ DV\ to clo (J'o\'~'' ~; Oli'\.LJ! ~· a.se~ <0-o~ DSc.oB ~{ '""'\?' , ~tse> 1W~~~ (Itt\' G Q1 ~' �CHAPI'ER llf-- ?;·3fo tried hooking at the slope with· my heels, but they were rubber, not nai~ed. I should have turned over· and used my toes, but ~~~ wa.~n't. -n~) coming up 1 eoul&B't eoem t~ seeing the boulder§/below and the snow """q,n -ro\\;~'\ a.~d ~~ h.fS off ~'"a.w\.'1'~ to a c:,to~ ending and~.e bouncing tae& over~the roeks and ~~mi&g te P@st ~~\ow about twenty-five feet f¥em the edge of the snow. Not even my camera was broken. That was the first thing I noticed. Then I counted four deep tears in my jacket and a little bleeding place on ~ wrist. One ankle throbbed a little, but it was really very little. I stood up and waved at King, still at the top of the couloir, not to try sliding it. But obviously he ~~ B~JV~r ~~~s tempted. Completely foolish, of course. Idiotic! Today I glissade no unknown slope without a genuine ice axe in my hands, and .it takes practise to know how to hand:Le an axe not only correctly but instinctively so. There is evidence that a huge number, i:t' not most, Moun~aineering accident~ in American come fr~m insufficient knowledge of snow and ice technique. We don't have to master it, like the Swiss, having so much l.ess snow .to co·p e with in this country. So we think we know more about it than we do. Only climbers o1· "the cascades in Washing_ton and Oregon seem to g~lr/ h8:Y& an adequate snow technique. �CHAPTER la.-- ' 131 t: L..L.t MC9- Woo-o CHAPTER 9lU(t- !_HE "R,!Dff~- :BliflO'P :A:OSAUL'P' Time went on, as it so often do.e.Q..•. In fact, several years of it. And no small amount of freshly melte~ snow water trickled, splashed, and flooded its way down the chiseled rock channels of Lake Creek, unseen and ignored by us. The Sennacherib r~dge persister\ly evade-d our solemn oaths to return and cl~mb it, turning gradually into a rather hazy legend that drained ever more distantly into the recesses of the mind.• An awesome memory at first-- until, ever more sophisticatea ~n your climbing, accumulating vast new skills, tools, and tr~cks, "Skill" ~s you felt it must be exaggerated, that ridge. composed of many things in climbing, and tools e,.. alone can add no mean amount to morale and competance. Suddenly army surplus mountain equipment poured onto the market and - into our greedy hands. Those first crude seasons of mountain climbing now behind us t~ok on a distinctly medieval hue, a sort of ciarlc age from which we were glad to have emerged. It was only much later that the inevitable Romantic reaction set in, and the period when_we nailed our own boots, wore earmuffs and sheepskins, and carried a homemade ice axe became the "good old days". For a time, climbers all over the United States suddenly broke out uniformly garbed in the drab-colored outfits (and sometimes, alas, the drab ideas) of the u.s. army. Down-fi~led sleeping bags, wind-proof parkas, face masks, rubber-lugsoled boots, and nylon mountain tents could be picked up for a fraction of their pre-war Yalue (indeed, what other civilian �CHAPl'ER 1'l-- tBi goods can be named that actually became £heaper after World war II than before it?). The amazing new ropes of nylon almost universally replaced their wretched forerunners of sisal hemp or the slightly better manila. Those who could get them were general l y glad to use army pitons and snaplinks. on the other hand, such items as the genuine army ice axe and lightweight army crampons were soon studiously avoided, or else replaced as rapidly as possible with their far better civilian counterparts. Skill is also composed of technology, which may be defined as the accumulated processes and tricks of the past, singled out and retained on a basis of relative merit. No true climber wants to be hampered with mere ruL.e s and dogmatism, but a certain number of them have value-- some knots weaken the rope less than others, certain techniques for party climbing, step cutting in snow and ice, belaying on rock, etc., are preferable to others. Many ways to slide down a cliff on a rope have been developed, some of them both solemn and incredible, but the D~er method is so simple and adequate, ,.,..,.. ,."/ l~a..,.-ne o_,. ~ & t•, e: t. it m1sat as well beAleaPBe ~. The best way to master technology is to teach it. Twombly and I founded a branch of the Colorado Mountain Club at Colorado College, and during four years we spent many an · afternoon teaching novices the basic rules and rhythms of "technical" climbing-- how to rappel, how to climb, don't hug the rock with your body, keep your weight out (your "rear" with stubborn cases who couldn't comprehend where most of their weight was concentrated), move evenly without jerks, stop chinning yourself and learn to use your legs and feet �to raise your body, etc. You use rules and categories with novices, knowing or at least ho ping that eventual-ly they will ~ -rov.J sufficiently adept to know when and how to break them • .And skill is also compounded of experience_, . the lengthy and repeated coping with the new-- new routes, variations, people, weather. Dozens of high angle climbs on the granite faces and fault cracks of North and South Cheyenne canyons, coupled with scores of friction climbs on the bright red, grey or white sandstone spires of the Garden of the Gods perfected our rock technique, balance, tension, use of pitons, foot stirrups, belays, etc. And expeditions onto the almost completely unclimbed cliffs and chutes that line the glacial cirques of Pikes Peak taught us many an intricate lesson in route-finding on a big mountain, speed, when to escape and when to last out a sudden mountain storm, and other problems that seldom occur on extremely difficult but small hunks of . ~'~~ a1'\to G.nf\~ ~\-o~ ~~h·o~~ 1>a.t'~ . rock. W~th .Qraftd: ~etea fgra:;re and the scal1ng of the famous East Face of Long's Peak, we indulged in. Comparative Alpinology, testing ourselves on the well-known routes worked out by other climbing cultures. And besides our own novices, we had by now managed to meet a number of established climbers, frequently older than ourselves. It is always valuable, indeed ·crucial, to break early the constrictive bonds. of one's own generation (so carefully ingrained in us by present-day methode of schooling, with their emphasis uppn seniority, the rigid dividing of students upon the sole illogical basis of age, cr,eating attitudes of scorn and arrogance toward anyone younger, and �CHAPrER l:.V-- f~ltO fear, envy, suspicion, and lick-spittling toward anyone qualifying as an "elder 11 ) . Betsey Cowles for instance. One of the finest woman climbers I have ever met. She knew personally many of those big names in American and even Swiss mountaineering that · we knew only in books. She knew well, and ur~ed us to go ourselves \·- wy~,.,..r..~l> . to the notorious Grand Teton country A· She nad climbed in the 0~~ Alps, made first ascents in South America, and"recently returned from an exploratory expedition on the lower slopes of Everest itself. I remember one day a discussion regarding the value of Colorado peaks in comparison with these other more famous regions. "But you have some really grand climbs in Colorado, some of them never done yet. Take that Ellingwood Ridge on La Plata that Bob Ormes was telling me about." Yipel I thought. What's this? I hurried over to see Ormes himself, one of the very best of the very few Colorado mountaineers who had climbed even before World War II . Oh yes, he knew all about the northeast ridge of La Plata% 'I.~ ";~ fl-tV\5 Ae a. Jrovt.b, he had learned to climb under the tutelage of Albert Ellingwood, an incredible individual who had served hi~ oY' So"M-e. o~ ~ ~~\ i~h ~\ i m~S apprenticeship in tae A~p~ while a Rhodes scholar, and then almost single-handedly introduced technical climbing to the Rocky Mountains in the twenties. They had been ascending La Plata by its humdrum northwest ridge, when Ellingwood spotted the astonishing northeast· ridge across the valleybowl from them. At once he set out for it, announcing his �, CHAPrER 1J·-- lJ~I intention to romp over it alone. "It defeated him,•• said Ormes. "When he rejoined us, he said something about finding himself hanging on a cliff with hia hands, with no more holds for his feet, so he gave it up. I've intended to do that ridge myself, for years." The plot thickened. In a book of photographs by William Jackson, one of the earliest to take pictures of the west, I ran across what was apparently a shot of the mighty ridge itself, taken from the summit of La Plata. It looked ridiculously simple. Then in September, 1948, just back from the Tetons, I wa.s jolted to learn from Roger Whitney, physician at Colorado College, that he and Orrns had finally had a go at that La Plata ridge. "Didn't do the whole thing of course. Cut up onto the ridge in back of the worst looking stuff, and had a good romp then to the summit." A visit to Ormes confirmed this. Not much to the ridge after all, at least not the second half which . they had done. If we could. do the first half, . we'd have the entire thing licked. He showed me a picture of Whitney he had snapped, clinging desperately and unroped to a vertical sheaf of rock. Good Godl--- But he merely laughed. He explained that he had simply had Whitney lie down on a horizontal slab. Turning the picture on end was good for laughs ~ ~ I offer this anecdote as an example of the grotesque humor and general unreliability of the old guard. We of the younger generation, the unsullied avant-guarde, would of course never lower our ideals to the extent of taking fake alpine photographs, and then chuckling over the results. �CHAPrER l.V-- f ·ltd.. In any event, the very next week-end I gathered up a large and confident party to finish off the f'irst unclimbed half of' the La Plata northeast ridge (now known among ourselves as the "Ellingwood Ridge"). We would saunter over this first half, then "romp" over :the easy second half. already climbed by Orms and Whitney, to the summit. It sounded like a good conditioning c~imb , an amusing picnic. No longer hitch-hikers now, but rather sophisticated collegiates, we sped to the base of our peak in a fast car, in a welter of riotously funny jokes, possibly influenced by the wine and beer we imbibed in healthful q~antities to strengthen our determination. ~:00 a.m. the next morning saw us off, an amazingly early start. We had camped for the night at . the old familiar campground wl1ere King and I had once had our notorious river 1'1\o\AJ trouble, but this was autumnAand the stream was but a trickle. We had comparatively little trouble throwing a log across it, and only two or three of us fell · in. There were five of us in the party, prepared for a long day but not too difficult a one. Two besides myself had quite a bit of rock climbing experience. Take John Savage for instance. A young man of infinite craft and rippling muscle, he could be depended upon never to hurry needlessly. How well he demonstrated this on a new route we were doing one day on a granite ·spire in North Cheyenne canyon. Faced with a hold1ess wall, he at once had recourse to Virginia Parker for a human ladder, climbing carefully and slowly onto the shoulders of this girl, whom he could not have outweighed by more than forty �CHAPTER 11.-- ~ ~-.3 pounds. From time to time, he would step gently onto her head, feel cautiously above for handholds, and then back to her shoulders. After ten minutes of this, he stepped briskly off her shoulders and head and preceded unruffled up the cliff, a brilliant display of cold nerve. Later, on the same climb, he again displayed sterling patience and also true Chr~stian charity by failing to respond wi~h the slightest criticism or vituperation when I, leading up a rotten face, s \\\,'t¥\ discharged a shower of stones upon him, tiea t~ ~iten with an.l ~·"' o~ t¥-..~'IV\ -t\.qj. 1o ~ the girl on a comfortable six inch ledge below ~ Hew t:ftat 1 -p;.n,t\. ~'~•r a. ~ ~e. ·~.Jr was d. is~.-t.A1k._t ;r:&fleet.- 'tifJOl'i it, tag-u,ESJ;;l . his silence -w as natural besides pleasing, as he had been knocked temporarily senseless. I was on equally clos_e terms with Salvatore Marino, a rotund radical sort of a person known as "Sal" to his associates. only once did I know him to become rattled. On his very first roped climb, belayed from above, he reached both hands up over a desperate overhang and, on my carefully worded advice, lunged upward ferociously-- pulling the entire eo overhang quaintly off into his arms iR. &weB: s 4 !!!6:l!l'i e :r that he hanging was at once left;suspended on the rope and holding fifty odd pounds of sandstone bundled in his lap. It was how to get rid of this rock without dump_ing it on the climbers waiting below that seemed to unnerve him~ The other two, Dix and Wilfley, had little rock experience but a great deal of hiking behind th • I felt confident we could sling them around anything unusually rugged. Wearing the rope is what slows climbing parties. A party of tnree, roped up, will frequently take twice as �CHAPrER I'l -- l-~ long to cover a given distance as a rope of two. With four on a rope, time taken increases astronomically; and with five you may as well give up. But I hoped not to have to use the rope at all, or at most in just a few places. The initial difficulty of the Ellingwood Ridge consists, logically enough, of that same vast tree and boulder covered slope up which King and I had waded in deep snow that first winter. Now in October it was simple enough, but rather long. Even above timberline the angle failed to level off, and presently we nad ga.ined 3300 feet of altitude before even beginning the knife-edge crest of the rigge proper. It was now 10 : 30 a.m., rather late, as we began the serious climbing. We were at 13,200 feet, and had a map distance of 1.9 miles of sawtooth ridge t~ negotiate before reaching the summit of La Plata at 14,340 feet. In full view now was the tremendous north face, lightly flecked with snow wherever the sun couldn't get at it. The ridge begins very easily. A walk around a curve. We came tramping up to the first towers, forty or fifty feet high, and either clambered easily over them or skirted them 13vT at the base. Aafter a time, still moving easily, talking unconcernedly with one another, it was nevertheless -apparent that the expeaition was beginning to creak. Savage was fresh from a summer of canoeing and backpacking, and I had had a week in. the Tetons to cap a summer of shoveling gravel from freight cars to condition me. As more and more rock scrambling began to appear, we two f oun~ ourselves increasingly having �to wait for the others, or else climbing and re-climbing the same gendarme or tower to find the easiest possible route for the otners to follow on. It was apparent that they were all three woefully out of condition and rapidly tiring. Short pitches oi' rock that any of them would have run over with ease at lower altitude caused more and more trouble up here. Promptly at noon, we all stopped for a long lunch and rest. I at once tried to cheer them up by pointing out that we were now obviously over the worst part, and would very soon come to where Orms and Whitney had begun their "romp." Just a little further and everything would be in the bag•But I could see skepticism enter :ing into the optimism I was trying to brew, taking BJii&J\t.eek its insidious adu~terating toll. A~d \"'Jee.c:J FeR ~ as we set out again, the towers grew successively higher, steeper, the cliffs on the west· side of 9ur ridge increasingly savage'· and foreboding, while others were now definitely be-g inning to grow up below us .to the left. We all began to fear that ·we would get ourse~ves neatly trapped if unable to mak~ t,he summit, since we,would then be forcect to backtrack all along this ·ridge to find an escape route down. About l:UO p.m., Savage and I, again considerably in advance o1· the others, came up against a truly shocking spire, and iriect to find a way to turn it to the right (west). Soon I found myself working out along a sloping shelf of granite going around a. corner. The slope becatne a little unnerving to trust to rubber soles alone, so I grabbed a �CHAPTER !.f-- y: '-' horizontal crack above me for insurance and worked my way along arm over arm. Looking back momentarily~ I was startled to see Savage on his knees taking my picture. "Go on," he yelled. •ti'll find a way around the other side for the uthers. That's kind of a rugged cliff benea~h you." I was surprised because I felt quite good, the crack affording a sound sharp hold; but looking down below me I realized ht; was right. Probably the others would want to rope up for this passage, and the sooner we had to use the rope, the slower a party we would be. I shouted that.I would wait for them ahead un the crest, as I was intrigued with this slab and crac~. Alone, I followed on around for twenty or thirty feet, w.uen the- slab for my feet became vertical, and then the cra.ck itself gave out. But then I managed to work my legs into a kind of chimney which I descended down to a boxlike platform. For psychologic reasons no doubt, I feel my best on a climb whenever other members of the party start to decline, and this little scramble in the hot sun out of the wind was invigorating. I was in shorts though, and already my knees. were a ~ittle cut up. Rather than return the way I had come, I now traversed a series of sloped slabs, found some chimnies lea~ing upward, and eventually reached the crest of the ridge again. No .. sign of the others yet. I was plenty warm even in shorts, so after awhile I lay down on the ridge in a small depression. and promptly went to sleep. I must have been tired-- it was an hour later when I �' ' CHAP.rER It-- y.M-'1 awoke. 2:30 p.m., and still no sign or sound of the others. I yawned and stretched, then went along the ridge a little further. As the theoretical leader of this expedition, I shouldn't run off and desert tnem, but now it seemed vital to gain some idea of just how rugged things were up ahead. So I went on and on, up and down, frequently wide around-- the climbing was becoming a~ost dangerous for an unroped climber. even when his skill was so point~d as mine today. Just a little furtner and I would return. Just around -a few more teeth. Up ahead I could see even higher towers looming into view. Then suddenly I came · around to a small pile of rocks with a pole stuck upright in them. Pulling the pole out, I found the initials R.O. and R.W. cut into it. So at lastl I had reached the point where Orm~ and Whitney had started their climb a week before. And sure enough there was a long boulderfilled ravine here, leading down thru the cliffs to the right to the valley floor far below. The easy route they had used ~v clo_.t'l to come~by. An escape route~for us! I immediately started backtracking to find the others. If they could all get to this escape route, we could hold a council of war. If the three of tnem want.ed to turn back, they could, and meanwhile .p erhaps Savage and I could go on to the summit. Soon I was clear back to where I had gone to sleep, and still no one about. My view to the east was cut off by a huge buttress, and I spent ten minutes getting up on its side to look around for them. And down there, finally, was Savage, way below me and �several hundred feet away. He was perched on a similar buttress and looking back himself, presumably at the others. I quickly established shout contact, and then climbed across and down to him. Once there-, I could see the others, far down in the cliffs and climbing slowly in a maze of tumbled rocks and grassy ledges. The chain of unity and single purpose that gives efficiency to a climbi.n g group had miserably collapsed. We had completely lost the necessary collective morale for what we were attempting. Besides, the three others down there had :fallen in an abyamal error which beginners will make on ridges. You can't always stick to the very crest of ·a saw-tooth ridge, and frequently it is much better to de-scend a little and turn the teeth by traversing along the ridge's side. The temptation, of course, is to climb down lower and lower whenever difficulties arise, and gradually forget to regain the ridge crest, which is meantime rising itself higher and higner above toward the mountain's ·summit. _Soon you appear hopelessly far beLow where you ought to be. - A simple tower fifty feet in diamter on a ridge crest becomes a minor mountain if you are following its bulge too far down . 4;Jelew. And so now they were down there, inexorably entangled ~ ... in cliff's..> am:r scrambling far more tiresome than what they would hav-e- found above·• Savage and I took rapid stock. Obviously the others couldn't make the summit now. Too far behind, they were also probably quite tired, and becoming nervous over their increasingly exposed positions. Should Savage and I, still �CHAPTER 1..t-- f M-'l fairly fresh, go on and try for the top? I guessed we had another three hours of ridge to do. On top by 6:00, we could descend . the easy northwest ridge, but it would be in the dark and rather nasty. Still-.- Knowing what I do n ow, I think we would have been lucky to say the least to get near the summit before dark. But I still wish we had tried. It was the only time, though we didn•t know it ~~r~e ~ime, when I would see that ridge completely free of snow, all dry rock. In any event, ·however, a series of lusty shouts now establish ed that t.ne three below us were not only aware of their hopeless position, but were descending% I thought they were exceedingly rash, but traversing a few hundred feet across and down the slanting boulders and slabs, I was able to see that they had a good escape ravine after all. A moment of hesitation, and Savage and I de:cided we might as well go with them. And hardly an hour later we were on the valley floor, having gone miraculously down among and between a myriad of cliffs. Looking back up at our unconquered ridge it didn't appe·ar so terribly jagged after all. An annoying businessl On we went, always losing altitude, on down the valley t ('f/$~~~,~ beside a tiny stream and an occasional rotted ~ cabin, eventually finding a trail back to the main Lake Creek valley. The exhaustion of muscles and defeat, the endless tired rationalizations and the sense of wasted effort, gradually numbed us. �CHAP.rER It -- y~ SO And recrossing the main stream,~mile or so below where we had bridged it in the morning, proved a tiresome and exasperating task. At one point we nearly lost Sal off a boulder into the frothy rush. It was dark when we finally got across, reached the road, and sauntered back to camp and car, I for one again nursing a rather pricked pride. Actually, we had no cause for recriminations. It had been a good f'ull day and we had learned a few things. We had learned for one thing t hat it was a very big hunk of ridge indeed, not henceforth to be confus ed with picnics. We had learned that future attempts should begin much earlier, to '1'"6 t \""" \:, t .,.l \ ""e a"¥\d. ?. b o ve./ get that initial slogging climbA out of the way. And we had learned that future parties should be much smaller, two or three at the very most. And every member would have to be in tip-top condition. Oh we'd get that ridge next time! �CHAPTER '/... ) -- y~· -5\ 1>ARl oNE! ~E"N K ACt\~ R\S A\ioT~E~ IRi ------- CHAPTER ~\\tE-...., JiZIQJ Fl IBEH!J AOAHf Nineteen months later as I was bemoaning my town-bound state of lethargy, Twombly ran into me, or came close to it (as is his custom when operating an automobile in the vicinity of a pedestrian), and announced the existence of a spare week-end on his schedule. How about a climb? "Well," I remember saying, "there's a kind of a nice ridge affair, over near Mount Elbert---" He at once fixed his eye firmly upon me. "Is that the same ridge you ••• ?" "Yes," I confessed, cunningly adopting a sheeplike countenance to suggest a sense of guilt. It is Twombly's fond illusion that he possesses certain native psychiatric skills. If there was something about La Plata and its Ellingwood ridge that caused an unsolved disturbance in me, it was his duty to help root it out. If I had somehow managed to project all my failures and inadequacies onto a mere sliced-up ridge, a Moby Dick of a white-humped mountain, who was he not to have a go at expunging this symbol's dark hold on my sanity? Knowing I was soon to be married, he agreed we should make this last bachelor trip together in a spirit of reverence and veneration for the follies of our youth, among them La Plata ranking high. The suggestion made, the deed determined upon, nothing now could arrest our mad course. I remember how late a start ~~- from town we got that May saturday afternoon, me spread · out desperately on a living room floor trying to get my u.s. �CHAPI'ER "'/ l -- 'f· -~ census enumeration sheets in order, Twombly sitting there in a chair enwrapped and sweating in his climbing clothes and ever urging me on to yet greater speed, and the final dash about 5:30 past the house of the local census crew leader so I could leave and be done with my sheets once and for all-Then at last we were offl And what I mean is, we were !:~ally" on our way. - The behavior of Twombly behind the wheel of any powered vehicle, especially his souped up second-hand Cadillac, is beyond the pale of adequate description to outsiders. Among the small but inexorably increasing groups of those who have once ridden with him, the mere unfathomable experience of having mutually shared and survived such suffering forms a close bond eve%\ ~eeBt ~u.·h.\.-a\ among the hapless initiates, a topic forAdiscussion, a. <lo\\~ve. riotous laughter, thoughtful silence and mM~eai quaking in ~ ~'('~ i 1 ' "''\ -a 4:a.~ ~(!,h.(~ m"- -e J'\) \o~\ot' . the shoes. Like ~a:Ft~ei~a.t!ag ~BJs 'Battl..\l.., or living thru. some especially notorious blizzard, having spent any length of time in a car driven by Twombly cuts you off forever, somehow, from mere ordinary humanity. It is his fixed belief not only go anywhere a locomotive can that his Cadillac canAaa ~~~iftg a la•••&iivo o&B (he ·has often driven i t up abandoned mountain railway systems, hooking the tires on either side of the track so that not even ~. t on trestles is steering necessary), butAcan also duplicate f r .. ,t in winter and summer the feats of a jeep (who that was there will ever lorget the expedition in which he pursued a jeep with his Cadillac to within a thousand feet of the summit of Al Magre, second hi~1est peak in the Pikes Peak region, driving �CHAPTER ~! ~· -- l· 54 on which to cross, a thin but apparently substantial arch of white, even the most vehement probing with our ice axes fa i ling to collapse it. It would probably have fallen by afternoon, but that was a worry for the future. And as we started up the familiar 3300 fo.ot grind to the beginning crest of the ridge, we were further cneered by finding all the ~wisted piles of fallen logs and boulders evenly cemented over and bu-r ied with three to five feet of hard-crusted snow-- hard enough to bear our weight, but not so hard but that we couldn't easily kick adequate steps up it. It was by far the easiest walking I have ever encountered on steeply-tilted slopes of forest. We gained a full hour in getting up this initial easy climbing, and arrived at 13,200 feet by 10:30 a.m., same time as before. Now to make some time! With just two of us, both of reasonably accomplished dexterity and experience, we hoped to vastly -excel the rate of progress of that hopeless five-man expedition of last time. we were right, too. For a time we really bounded along. We were in light rubber-soled climbing shoes instead of nails "'(ulc> 6~,- orl\cleats, assuming that the ridge top itself would be wellblown. free of snow. But the delightful dry rock soon began its usual practi~e of periodically rearing up into towers and teeth. The first really big tower fQrced us to descend well down around ita left flank. Turning it, we found our only way back to the ridge top to be a narrow funnel packed full of hard windcrusted snow. It was one of the steepest-angled slopes I have encountered. Every few yards upward, we would plunge our �ice axes in full length for security, and rest. The heat from the concave wind-protected snow surface was intense. 'Pe.'t"' ~ ~r.s ! ..... &"a \I y s b o u t J wel';ld&iPOEi if miilybe I fi!hanldn't, after all, purchase some sun glasses so~e d-a··/f But as usual, my eyes were unaffected. aom&iim~. Back on the ridge again, the wind hit us but hardl Every step for awhile involved not only careful footing but the proper balance against the wind. ~uite a bit of dry rock scrambling now, our feet sticking well, and then came the snow again. Hot below the wind level, snow glaring, laborious kicking of steps, sometimes having to cut them out with axes, the heavy panting-- it was almost work except for being so delightful. For snow work has a rhythm and spirit all its own. ~ you""Pa :P9a~ . ,;"" shap.~g your own way, cutting and fashioning it with your own simple tools instead of adapting your body to the caprice of some rigid rock surface •. To slice a virginal slope of firm snow into evenly ascending pairs of foot-size steps is a refreshing enterprise. You can go anwhere you choose. Jtnd-·yuu•:re n·ot injuring' tlie snow. ''fhe snow won ,.t mind. It will soon enough melt or freeze back into Lt$ ~ old sreekness again. By 11:30, we reached the large bastion-like hump of rock on which I had once so gaily hand-traversed. This time we descended around to its left. All at once, where the snow had been hidden from the wind but exposed to the full morning's sun, it crumpled along its surface and let Twombly drop in practically to his neck. A moment later and I was in like circumstance. Immediately we were both floundering abo~t to climb on its surface again, but it was no use and we were �CHAFfER ~: ~ - - l il, hauled remorselessly deeper into it. We relaxed, the snow feeling quite cool and pleasantly wet. Looking out down it~ w \. t"' sv~~~ '~ > we could see it disappear a hundred feet below J ~ Anothing v\r.\ \:,\~ else ~bgu•i:ag '*P. until valley floor was reached, green with timber and far beneath us. For awhile our progress consisted of a neck-deep trench pusned taru the stubborn snow. The stuff was so soft and wet, we thought it might slide away anytime and avalanche. Then we worked slowly down away from the rock cliff and more into the center of the big patch of slanted snow. Snow is usually at its sloppy weakest wherever rocks protrude thru it. Sure enough, out center we were able to get on top again and move with a little freedom . But not much . To stand on such small pressure points as feet or hands meant an instant plunge into the snow. The idea was rather to sit or lie in it and flop your way across its surface , trying to spread out your weight into a kind of body-sized wriggling snow-shoe, trying not to let it start any avalanche nonsense, your hand on the middle of your axe shaft pressing it out horizontally into the snow for added support. Then at last we were across, and nothing had happened after all. We clambered back onto the ridge crest , into the constant wind-bite , walked awh ile, had to detour again down into tlle snow and throw · ourselves on the mercy of its sloppy texture. Slow going. Still, faster than last time. Must be. We wondered where we could have passed the little rock cairn l \· • \'\~ ·tr l ( !i. >''~~ with the initialed stick ~t h av! "'' seen it. �CHAPTER V'.:. ·-- y:61 By noon or 12:30 the sun had stopped shining brightly. Long stratus clouds had shunted in across the sky, darkening everything, and the wind grew increasingly loud-mouthed and vulgar. We dragged out our parkas from the single rucksack, and bundled up. We kept going as fast as was feasible, hardly daring to stop for anything so mundane as lunch. The ridge made a kind of slow curve toward the southeast, and more and more of its snow-patched traverses began to appear in complete shadow, the snow gradually changing from a heavy thick wetness to a dry and substanceless nearpowder. Every step required more clearing off than the last one, and we were relying more and more on handholds. It was getting so we couldn't trust our wet shoes to stick alone without help. The pace slowed noticeably down. Twombly was always the best man I have ever seen for the "e.t rapid crossing of slabs. His quick, controlled Aimpulsive movements together with his stocky build and small height take him with shocking ease across numerous places-- places where other climbers have to pause, and think, and resort to tne most desperately delicate friction tactics. I watched him cros·s ahead of me over thirty or forty feet of snow-showered slabs, and remember marvelling at his confident quick dancing steps-- almost a dribbling motion-- then he disappeared around the corner and I had to fol l ow. Halfway out I made the mistake of momentarily pausing. Then I looked wildly around. The hard slab seemed coated with only two or tnree inches of powder, and I didn't appreciate the rock-sounding ring of my metal axe-point as it hit thru the snow at every step. �CHAPTER V! ~ -- f 51 Looking down, I was further cheered to observe the snowy slabs ending abruptly in a drop-off fashion not five yards below my feet. I became nervous. Then I began clearing snow away for my hands, looking for a hold and meanwnile forced to lean inwards somewhat, lessening just that much the adhesive powers of my planted feet. Beneath .the snow I could find nothing but smooth dark granite, no holds. I kept thinking of my feet, motionlessly trusting to some indentation in thin snow on smooth slab for support. I didn't dare move them, bending only at the ankles to juggle the top nine-tenths of my body hither and yon trying to reach some kind of substantial something to grab and hold onto. Hang it all, this was ridiculous! Twombly had just ~ounded . over this place. Where was all my training and valuable stock of conditioned reflexes? Things were getting out of hand, completely so. Finally I stood perfectly upright, breathing rather heavi- · ly, too .neavily. One of maybe a half dozen times in my life when I have been actually f"rightened on a mountain, my mind ~0 ~a.o"~~ raced desperatly for a time ~ control and reason. This flimsy sheath ot· snow nad held Twombly .hadn't it? It would hold· me. Finally I forced my t·t:::et to start marching, an act of mind-compelled faith , theory and old experience keeping u.~d 1'1\~ me vei·tically upright w11en every impulse i iHiiii& to lean in and cling- - And I got across, and it was as simple as all that! For every such unnerving, there are hours and weeks of complete confidence , catlike and unthinking agility. Ninety- �nine per cent of climbing involves no nervous strain whatever, but there are always just the tiny few moments of dread, in climbing as in any activity or branch of life known to man. Probably there are fewer such in climbing than in most others. "Where were you?" yelled Twombly when at last I rejoined him. I glowered as best I could, the wind now slapping at both our faces, and we hurried on. Everythin.g became slicked up with light snow. Over slabs, round corners, down chimnies and up gullies we were holding on for dear life, for all the world like rank novice'S.• Every simple chute we descended, we were now stabbing out on all sides with our caned ice axes seeking a probe for support beneath the whitishness. Leaving the crest of tne ridge left the wind but became an agony of frothy snow. Leaving the snow came the crest's dry rock, and a howling of wind. By 3:00p.m., bits of snow were flecking about us. Huddling together for a moment out of the whipping atmosphere, Twombly contessed he had had a rapidly worsening headache since noon, and other annoying symptoms were coming on fa-st • ... O.K., let's get around this next hump and take a look-see. Maybe we'll have to turn back." We lurched .a bit furt-her, and came around a corner to see . th e f am~. l 1ar 1+ . _f) i 11 . ca~r~marklng ' the beginning of Orms's and Whitney's ascent with the initialed stick! That settled i t at once and without argument. - ~o further than this, and a storm brewing. Windbitten and exhausted, we turned back, searching for a quick escape. �The very first snow shoot we came to, on the east side of the ridge, Twombly insisted on descending and I was too tired to object. It might take us down. It might hang us up. We might have to climb all the way back up it. Ah well! Maybe fil·teen feet in width, it shot down into a curve a few hundred feet below and disappeared. Twombly sat down at its top, his axe shaft cradled warily under one arm pit in order to serve as a rudder and to be dug into the snow if need be. Then he pus11ed off, sliding rapidly downward and away, a small pile of avalanche forming beneath him upon which he rode gaily down and around the curve, waving encouragement as he disappeared from sight. I sat down myself, fixed my axe in place, and slithered down into the hollowed groove of his avalanche track, riding twice as fast on the harder snow and soon shooting round the curve to again spot and catch up with him hundreds of feet below. Then we both rode parallel tracks, bumping and mushing ' effortlessly downward, twin human scoops, at ease, carefree, happy and contented. Bosh to riding snow on long boards or clumsy tobaggans! You've got to sit right in it and get wet thru your blue jeans and deliciously cold all over your thighs and bottom, watching it kick up past your face and arms, letting !1 carry you along, before you can appreciate the nature of snow. No more of this constant int·er~~'sl'r!lga of objects between ourselves and whatever we take delight in, striving to keep wood or tin between our precious spoiled bodies and the coldness of the lovely snow! (True, it is best to at · least wear clothes-- only madmen and Englishmen might slide naked in the snow-- but this does not �CHAPl'ER 0 I -- y• \, f diminish the torce of the argument!) In ten minutes, we lost fifteen hundred feet of altitude, and reached the valley floor. The rest became laborious. Our pants were wet with an inclination toward freezing. And as we got down closer and closer to Lake Creek, the snow on whose frozen surface we had walked so easily in the morning became softer and more treacherous. 6~ter a day in the hot sun, and . ~i:> \ow . . . no w~nd ~7eF neFe, ~t had become s~cken~ngly sloppy-- too much stringiness to wade thru with ease, but not enough support to walk the top by. Every few steps, we would stumble or trip, ~gasp or swear. Any break in the simple rhythm of walking when you're tired is both annoying and tiresome. And of course, back at last to Lake Creek, we were way too far downstream to hope to find our snowbridge, even assuming it was still in existence. Dead tired by now, we scouted hopelessly around for a ford. Finally, in desperation Twombly executed one of the prodigious leaps which are the delight of his friends and landed on an ice-covered boulder. Frog-hopping over a couple more, he clambered onto the opposite bank. Of course, I at once disclaimed such nonsense. Wearing ~~: e~~~le ruckf?ack, and carrying a camera and films, I was not going to risk getting soaked; and besides it was all foolishness anyway. So we walked along on o pposite sides of the creek for a confused trunk-and-willow-tangled half hour, shouting abuse back and t ·orth. Finally, disgust intervened, and I waded right ~nto the idiotic stream, getting soaked to the knees, damn ~ear falling flat on my face three times, and �CHAPrER y_~. -- t - (,~ emerging at last like an embarrassed sick cow, and with the same agility, on the other side. Back at the faithful Cadillac, the world now dark and a blot of weariness, Twombly announced that his headache was even worse. He couldn't possibly drive back, and would I? Wou\~ I1 Relief followed disbelief, and then came shimmering happiness, my soul restored, my manly strength and determination at once refreshed. I became a bundle of bubbling morale and purpose. And if I may modestly make the claim, for the first time in recorded history the Twombly Cadillac was propelled and guided .c1omeward in a thoroughly sane and altogether rational manner. �PART TWO: THE ART OF ROCK CLIMBING -- �CHAPTER Vt~- y.~ PART TWO: THE ART OF ROCK CLIMBING CHAPTER VI-- ITS ORIGINS "Clinging to slight discolorations on the rock, we forced our way upward, inch by inch, yard by yard ••• " urn extreme cases, when there is absolutely no foot hold in sight, it is necessary to imagine a hold, double it, and use it ••• " "Jammed inside the crack, he t:ought his way higher, higher·, the walls dr•wing ever nearer together and compressing his . f,J•'\ \ stalwart frame to t~ce its usual length. Higher up, the crack seemed to close completely, and as he disappeared into it, we thought him a gonerilu Such are the action-packed phrases which the public has learned to associate with rock climbing. What the public doesn't know is that rock climbing is not only the supreme sport of mountaineering (the sppreme ~is ice climbing), but its fundamentals may be learned by almost anyone in a brisk afternoon. To master them, of course, takes somewhat longer, usually a lifetime. Like most fundamentally simple rituals, however, the origins and causes of rock climbing are difficult to discover. For cemturies, people have struck at balls, bags, and blocks e. of solid matter with sticks and pol~. Yet it is difficult for the student to explain modern baseball as a logical outgrowth of its predecessors. What we know as "baseball" is a group of habits and arbitra~y doctrines built up in rather :~&~~ fashion over the course of the last hundred years. To �CHAPTE!R V!-- ~· ~'t- an outsider, its rules and procedures may appear hopelessly haphazard and absurd. It is necessary for him to play the game to understand, not pursue its history or try to reason about it. So too, neither history nor logical necessity can explain the evolution of modern rook climbing. To say that it is merely a matter of climbing large rooks, and that uncounted thousands of people in all parts of the world have been doing this in a loose and disorganized manner for a long time, gives little insight into the tradition as it exists today. Arrian, the Greek historian, mentions organized squads of' rook climbers in Alexander the Great's army who not only trained themselvus s tb·"-· seaie city walls and cliffs but appear to have employed a form of piton to drive into cracks and aid themselves thereby. Yet Arrian's climbers fall hopelessly outside the modern tradition and must be ignored. Similarly, that fascinating ascent of ~ Mont-Aiguille in Dauphine in 1492, which, Rabalais tells us nresembles a toadstool, and which no one, in the memory or m-an, ever scaled~ except Jean Doyao ••• {an) engineer, reaching the top thanks to his marvelous enginesn-- intrigues the modern ' climber. He fe~ls a kinship with its impulsive spirit, its lack of utilitarian motive, its ropes and even its ladders and t.ec:."'~\ i~•s other "engines." Yet its skills and new ~eehftfee were promptly allowed to die out, perhaps because of its major flaw-economically, it was so expensive as to require ro¥a.l subsidy. Rock climbing in the modern sense is roughly a hundred years old. Based upon the use of the rope, it is a highly for- tuitous bundle of customs, technique, and dogma that have derived their source almost exclusively from the Swiss Alps and the �rock climbing ciamters .:,(bf Great Britain. Almost all American climbing, almost all the climbing in the world draws its methods and rationale rrom this standard European tradition. Only in s the last decadeAhave Americans made substantial contributions or their own, mostly technological as might be expected. The use of :mylon rope is a conspicuous example. , The trouble with most rock scampering is that it is too utilitarian and practical to get anywhere. or common sense. Such is the fallacy In the Rocky Mountains as in switzerland, the peasa ats have to be shown what climbing can be by tour~sts and disinterested outsiders berore they take it up for themselves. It is yet another instance or the familiar truth that Necessity is very seldom the true Mother or Invention. Items of value are usually discovered thru id±e curiosity and play, sometimes solemnized as ''rree inquiry." After a thing is dis-covered, it is often found that there is a use for it, seldom before. Thus, it is certain that the cliff dwellers or Colorado and New Mexico did a lot of scampering to and from their caves and ledges; but I would wager that they would be less adept at trying a new route or variation to their homes than a modern college girl who has just joined a climbing club. The Ute Indians used to scale Longs Peak, which entails at least a little climbing on all fours, yet they never became sklllfull mountaineers because they climbed ror a purpose-- to catch eagles on the summit. Having once devised a good practical route to get up and down, one can hardly imagine the elders giving approval to any or the young bloods who might feel a desire to vary it. Engineers of the Hayden Survey in the �1870's climbed a lot or ~ajor mountains, including, they said (though the Wyoming legislature later officially denied it) the Grand Teton; but they never became real mountaineers. In our own day, like the forest rangers who know every tree in their district but scarcely an acre of the ground that lies above timberline, few of the ranchers or sheepherders or hardrock• miners of Colorado ever develop beyond the nursery school stage as climbers; and even fewer have any desire to do so. And examples of ludicrous inadequacy on high-angle rock occur each year in the ~est when sheriffs and fire departments have to go to the rescue of picnickers trapped on rocks-- huge ladders, grappling hooks, the lowering and tugging of mighty ropes, hoarse shouts-- 'tis plmnb pitiful to behold. And so the United States largely paralleled Switzerland in its climbing, ~though never on the same scale. First came the Gentlemen of Means and the Lady Tourists, inspired by scenery and glimpses of the Absolute, leaving their accounts behind them in such journals as Appalachia or books like Isabella Bird's A Lady's Life 1n !h! Rockies. Their existence made possible immense hotels, many of which have now burned to the ground, ~~ towns like Estes Park or Manitou §prings, and guide-lecturers / ~ j .,o.tv-r..J c........ Yl ;!. ~~~~~ C,l ....f , ·") 4J\ • ~,. · ' '"' :"t. M; such as Enos Mills. Here and there an occastonal Whymper type appeared-- climbing for adventure on slender funds; such would be John Muir, the "Thoreau of the West." But the type \..1 was rare. And then came the divergence from the Swiss analogy. The invention or the automobile acted to prevent the growth of fixed climbing centers, which would induce many local people t6 �CHAPTE.!R VI-- l fo'r . gi v_e up ranching and become guides, and thus help spread the cult among large numbers of the native population. Except in such few places as the Grand Tetons, Mount Ranier, and Rocky Mountain National Park, prokessional guiding never developed in the West. So climbing tended to develop as a week-end recreation among small groups of city dwellers in the ~est; or it became a vacation treat for city dwellers from the iast. In either case, there were few guides or guide books, and each little group that formed had {t~ !a!gelyi formulate its own methodology, based on what it could learn of the European tradition. Often a single man would be the nucleus for such a group~ ~~ as Albert ~ )> Ellingwood whoAlearned to climb in the English Lake District as a Rhodes Scholar, and returned again and again to the Rockies in the twenties, pioneering in roped techniques and first ascents in such places as the Tetons or the Crestone Needle area. In the early 1930's, an astonishing climbing group spnang up in the sparsely populated "western slope" area of Colorado, calling themselves the San Juan Mountaineers. Members such as Dwight Lavender, Carleton Long and Mel Griffith became exceitlent mountaineers, pioneering first ascents of the north face of fourteen-thousand foot Mount Sneffels, for instance. The extent to which they used European methods but had to improvise on their own is quaintly demonstrated by their pitons. them themselves. They made As a substitute for snaplinks or karabiners, they hit upon the brilliant notion of leaving the eye of their homemade piton open like a hook. When it was driven, the rope �CHAPTER VI-- 1· b~ was then slipped in and the hook pounded shut by hammer blowsl Spread by clubs with constitutions and classes and official handbooks, rock climbing has grown tremendously since World War II. It has also felt the influence of the eivilization into which it has been transplanted, and rather ominous Americanisms are creeping into its dogma and ten)iets which are the terror of purists and the delight of those who revel in mechanization. What used to be called nroped climbing," is today increasingly being called (I hesitate to use the word, but truth must be served, and freedom involves the toleration of what is personally loathe some)- rtt;echnical clim.b ing. n Notable and perhaps notorious in this respect is the Sierra Club of Califronia. The photography and quality of the articles in their Sierra Club Bulletin are perhpas the finest in the United States. shall see of the 11 But certain climbers, particularly as we Englishn school of thought, are horrified at the mere use of pitons. They would get apoplexy reading some issues of the Bulletin. Articles such as nExpansion Anchors I for Use in Rock Climbing" (a sort of laboratory report on comparative strengths of expansion bolts to be inserted into . holes drilled in solid granite) leap out at the eye. One casually comes across such gracious statements as this, redolent with piney tragrance and the heady sense of open air and virgin wilderness- "The belayer's coefficient of friction is about -0.5, which means he can hold 150 pounds by applying only 15 pounds to the free end of the rope around his waist." ~rom lessons in physics, we turn to tales of ~dventure: �CHAPTER VI-- y.~~ uordeal By Piton,rr the official report of' a climb that involved .five days and ·.four nights on the north wall o.f Sentinel Rock in Yosemite. One of the two involved, John Salath/, is a fantastic climber in his early fifties who evidently designs and makes his own pitons. He also participated in a second climb to rank with "Ordeal By Piton,tt namely the first complete ascent of' Lost Arrow, ani unbel~evably smooth pinnacle in Yosemite. I submit a short list of technical data concerning this 103 hour rock climb, not in implied criticism (for I understand the challenge such an "unclimbable" spire exerts), but merely with the thought that whereas for most of us climbing has been in the nature of an exciting quest, often a chase, men like / Sal a the and Anton Nelson have turned it into a form of' s·iege: Into a single 30 pounds of pack they stored 6 quarts of water (.for 5 days), 4 or 5 pounds of food per man, and a no. 2 can of fruit juice with which to celebrate on the summit. The two men carried a single 120 foot 7/16" nylon climbing rope, 300 feet of 5/16" rappel line, 150 .feet of quarter-inch rope .for hauling up the pack, and two 150 .foot fishing lines (though no fishing was to be done. We Coloradoans have never quite understood what they use those fishing lines .for in California.) Each man had 3 multiple-knotted sling ropes, together with duralumin stirrups to make standing in them while suspended from pitons .for long periods easier. 18 pitons were carried and used hundreds of times; same were of' 60/80 carbon steel, to be driven directly into "rotten crackless granite no other device could overcome." Others, we are told, were of' �------------------------------T-----------------------------------------CHAPTER VI-- y.1o 40/60 carbon steel with vanadium, and some of 10/20 soft iron, similar to the mountain troops' angle pitons w~ich most climbers use with blithe unawareness of their technical metallurgical features. And lastly, expansion bolts to fit a 3/8" hole were carried, with appropriate rock drills and spoons to dip out the granite dust. Of 1,450 vertical feet of rock spire, 650 feet were accomplished ~he first day in 13 hours of climbing. The second day yielded 350 teet, ·rthe third and fourth 200 feet apiece, and on the fifth morning the final 50 feet was accomplished with the aid of 2 pitons and 10 expansion bolts. It might be added that such a magnificent, or perhaps appalling, example of tour ~ force climbing is bound to occ wherever a relatively restricted climbing area is used by large numbers of excellent climbers, ever on the lookout for a "first ascent." It is beginning to occur, for instance, on the East Face of Longs Peak. It would occur in the Alps or even Britain more often than it does if the weather were more dependable. Over there five straight days of mild warmth without storm would be too much to count on • . Finally, it may be asked whether people ever climb for sport uninfluenced by the European tradition? The answer is yes, once in a great while, and some of the scattered examples are fascinating. For every once in awhile in the West, you will run into a chopped step in some eliff, or an iron pe g driven by someone who could only have been animated by a desire to see what the world looked like from on high. Several of these great iron �CHAPTER VI-.- f· '1\ pegs can be round in the most unlikely places in the Garden or the Gods near Colorado Springs. Bob Ormes tells of a "Chimney Rock" in northern Colorado which he scaled at great pain with conventional techniques only to find that it had already been climbed by someone who had patia~tly drilled a series or holes up a completely smooth face and set iron rods in them ladderwise. / Upon inquiry, he was able to actually locate the man I and found that he had no knowledge of Alpinism or even knew there was such a thing-- but he had conceived a desire to stand atop that rock, and he had gone out week-end after weekend drilling his holes until he achieved his desire. And most towns in the West within hiking distance of large rocks or clirfs generally have quite a lot of rock scampering for fun carried on by the kids and adolescents who have not achieved a mature outlook on life. vVhen I was in fifth grade, a number of us took to riding our bicycles :flve eor "' sixPmile out of town to the great ~ s of the Gods. !'-.S stone{itGwers known as the Garden Here we would eat lun4h in a secret cave, lie around in the sun, and scramble about on the bright red rock, scaling summit after summit until we had done all five of the majo.r ones and added variations too. We never thought of our- selves as potential Alpinists, because we knew in a vague way that they used ropes and carried small pick-axes and generally wore shorts with broad suspenders. But some of the places our agility carried us safely over are astonishing. I have since climbed a few roped, and marveled at my childhood folly. By eighth grade most of this activity had ceased, and we turned to other things, notably the more difficult and agonizing pursuit �CHAPTER VI-- ~.'1 .3 enmeshed in prejudices, and in nine cases out of ten labor under the illusion that he would "get dizzy on heigb.tsl" �CHAPTER VII-- t 'T'f PART TWO: THE ART OF ROCK CLIMBING CHAPTER VII-- HOW TO LEARN IT Now let us plunge directly into the problems of "technical" rock climbing. How does one pick up such an erudite art? It is probably safe to f ay that an overwh lming and crushing majority of the world's proper rock cli~bers have learned their craft from live teachers. Direct supervision is the usual rule. this reppect we differed considerably. In We were probably the last climbers in the United States to be self-taught, or rather book-taught. We did not carry books around while climbing, nor did we go so far ast o memorize suitable passages that might apply to emergencies. But we did pick up our basic lore in books and libraries; and then we went out and tried it. Now this wouldn't have been so absurd if we had only had the proper books. Geoffrey Winthrop Young's Mountain Graft, for instance, is just about as fine a climbing manual as could be written. It is so good that I kknow several veteran mountaineers who religiously re-read it again at the start of each new climbing season. But we couldn't. And well they may. It wasn't obtainable in our town during the war, and besides we had never heard of it. Inst ~&d, what we unearthed in the various libraries were a few scattered tomes by such worthies as Raeburn and Abraham. Under these good solid Englishmen we learned a form of Victorianism, much of it sound as thick-beamed ~ansions and heavy oaken furniture, much of it quaint, and some of it absurd and antiquated as the • gingerbread and gewgaws that have come to s~bol~ze Victorianism. �We learned the proper knots and the proper terms; but we also learned that no proper climber is ever without his heavy nailed , boots, either tied firmly like ball-and-chain to his feet or slung in a rucksack on his back. After one had thoroughly mastered the slippery intricacies of nailed boots, then occasional indulgence in those new-fangled "rubbers" might be permitted, not before. If by some chance the nails were to prove unbearably slippery for an especially difficult passage, it was permitted to remove the boots and climb in wool-stockinged teet (but never, we solamnly learned, in two pairs of socks- that would be dangerous). Now climbing barefoot would be far safer than either nails or stockinged feet, but like other farms of nakedness this did not appeal to the Victorians. (Or perpaps it was less practical for them than for those dwelling in sunny Colorado.) I blush to recall that thruout our first two years of serious rock climbing, we were habitually shod in hob-nailed boots, whi ch we nailed ourselves. At first we used ordinary hobs, but toward the end I acquired a number of pounds of the large Swiss edge nails and clinkers, and spent a continuous 22 hours hannnering them into an enormous pair of ;I..ogging boots.* Footnote: Nails of course have their place on s·now and ice climbs, although even here the new rubber cleats are tending to replace them. Once in a great while it is possible to hook a nail on some tiny nick of rock on which rubber wouldn't catch, but in general rubber is far superior. In heavy rain or sleet, it ~s~ossible that nails fare better than rubber, but in the$orf.1~ 'R ockies this is seldom a serious consideration. We also learned that to belay a man you wrapped his rope one or more times around a stout 11bcllard," whatever that might be. �CHAPTER VII--~-'1~ We judged it meant a vertical or projecting spine of rock. This seemed all ve~y well if belaying someone below you, but what about your lead-man? If he were to fall, would not the abrupt shock of his weight brought suddenly upon a rigidly wr%Pped rope tend to snap it? Indeed it wouldl Indisputable figures seemed to show that the rope would break on a ten foot fall. !Now since a lead-man must obviously fall twice the distance between himself and his belay man before the latter can hope to arrest his fall, this meant that he could climb only five feet above his belayer before passing beyond his zonw of protection. And new belay positions are usually twenty to sixty feet apart1 But this didn't trouble the Victorians at all. For they __ had a slogan all ready, which one had only to commit to memory: must not fall1" "The lead-xpan ........... Well, well. That was simple enough. Furthermore, so far as we could find out, in the course of a long and eventful climbing career, Abraham never once fell while leading. Nevertheless, it was a harrowing matter for us to read of those who mistakenly broke the rule. relate with solemn gusto case after Abraham would case of rock climbing accidents in which, fortunately, the rope had broken round its bollard in time to kill the leader but spare the rest of the party from being swept away also. The list of his climbing acquaintances had been considerably shortened by just such occurrences. To have the rope break when a lead-man tumbled seemed to be a matter for congratulatory telegrams and bellringing of one sort or another. �CHAPTER VII-- .y.'\'7 Fortunately, our despondency was alleviated when we ran into the handbook prepared by the American Alpine Club for the benefit of the army mountain troops. There we learned that by passing the rope around our wedged bodies rather than a rigid chunk of stone, and by employing the running belay, which allows the rope to run freely around the body and thrtt the hands when the first shock of the falling man hits it, after which he is brought to a gradual halt, it was frequently possible to save the lead-man. This was a distinct boost to our morale.* Footnote: Using the much stronger nylon rope of today and the running belay, which certain American clubs rather engineericall term the udynamic 11 belay, falls of forty and fifty feet, at least one of eighty and another of ninety feet, have been successfully held. But nylon ropes will snap under apparently trifling strains sometimes. And regardless of this, any fall is still dangerous- a man can bash against a lot of ledges and protuberances falling forty feet, even if the rope does finally hold him. The careless attitude some climbers now have toward falling is disheartening-- must every safety device mer~ly urge us toward greater recklessness? So far, none of us had tried any leading. Once a week, Twombly and I would bicycle out to King's house, then situated on a hill no~theast of town in the midst of a number of yellow sandstone bluffs. None of them were over fifty feet in height, so why undergo the perils of "leadingn them? have. a man on top to belay. We could alJfays When he thought he was in a sound J position to n6~d, ·one of us below would tie into the rope and jump up and down on it several times. If we couldn't pull the man off or make him yell for mercy, we judged it safe and began climbing, letting him take up the rope as we advanced toWard him. Belayed from above this way, you can hardly fall six~nches without being jerked to a safe halt (which is why as �CHAPTER VII-- y· 1S a rule no one is in danger on ordinary climbs except the leadman, the only one who cannot be belayed from above). At first, having only the word of books instead of live instructors, we were properly distrust~ul or any but absolutely fool-proor belays. We generally chose a stout tree on top o~ the cliff to be climbed, and at rirst wrapped the rope around it with turn arter turn as the novice mountaineer below climbed higher and higher. This would have surriced to hold a falling elephant or a small armored car, and it gave us a great reassurance of sarety. Soon we passed the rope but once about the tree and then drew it continually tight as slack appeared. was safe. This too As a rule, the one climbing seldom mounted more than 18 inches at a time without yelling "Take upl" ( fi'inally, we dared to wedge ourselves into ,some impregnabl) • holet or astraddle the base or a tree, and pass the nope about our hips or waist for a belay. ~\ The "body belay," this is the most fundament~l belay in rock climbing. Under a teacher, we could presumably have mastered it in five minutes, but at least this way we were thorough if slow in learning to rely on it. The books also advised a nstanding shoulder belay" but this was ·something else again. A good tug could be held, but any real strain tended to break one's strength at the waist and pull him violently to his knees in a quick attitude or prayer. So we abandoned shoulder belays with disgust, although if a teacher had advocated it we would doubtless have become willynilly lifelong adherents. It is the treacherous standing shoulder belay that is most often depicted in illustrated whiskey advertisements o~ Holly- �CHAPTER VII-- p-1~ wood shorts on climbing. * Footnote: I have argued the merits o:f shoulder belays with grown men who ought to know better, and a:fter a hundred ye a~ s handbooks may still be found advocating this pernicious psoudo~ belay. Only i:f tied upright to a hi gh piton do I think a person justified in using it. Just a little experiment, one would think, might have eliminated a lot of rubbish from mountaineering doctrine as it developed. Of course if no one ever falls, it is a ~are belay. In that case, why use a rope? J Now Twombly was the son of a contractor, and as a parttime cappenter he had kept in close contact with scaffolds, the scaling of roofs and such. Thus his natural agility from childhood had not been allowed to atrophy, and from the beginning he was far and away the most skillful of us all. Indeed, his rhythmic climbing skill was that of a wildman and a positive source of danger to those who tried to copy it• While helping to rebuild an attic into a third floor apartment, he would l~t go with his hands and trot like a little demon across a q1c1ously sloping section o:f roof to grasp, ju) in time, a saving handrail on the other side. best. This was "rhythm" or balance climbing at its But a carpenter on the job, seeing this modest young man perform such a feat so easily, ~d not to be outdone by a lad still in his teens, sought to :follow him across one day, getting halfway over the sloping roof before his nerve ran out on him and he stopped. Immediately his feet flew from beneath him and the luckless carpenter slid ominously off the third story roof to fall on his back across all six wires of the elothesline below, breaking them and also the force of his fall. He was so infuriated that he picked himself up and went home, overpowered by anger. In such ways, Twombly learned he could do things impossible for other men. Almost at once, we learned that he had dared to .... �.,CHAPTER VII-- y· ~o to hang rope from ht~ fire escape and was teaching himself to rappel by sliding down it every afternoon before supper. I still remember the cold horror with which King and I silently regarded him on our next rock climbing session, looping, as he was, the rope around a large bollard of rock in preparation for a rappel. Rappelling was fully illustrated in the AAC handbook, of course, but it looked to be something that no ordinary man would attempt until years of dizzy heights had steadied his hand and heart. Sfj One sees the bullfight, so he knows it is done, but oneself's selr would never dare descend into the arena. But there was Twombly, doing it before our eyes-- rope wrapped about his body so that its sliding friction against his clothes would provide gradual braking power, feet planted toee upward against the sheer rock face, his· back out over space and his eyes looking into the sky. Letting the rope slide freely, he simply walked backwards down the cliff and pronouneed it easy. And so my first rappel was a matter of stooping on the edge of a crumbly yellow precipice draping myself in a rope, drawing it between the legs and around the thigh, over the chest and off the shoulder to hang freely behind, hands sweating in the mild warmth of the day, the rock very white and very bright with deep dazzling pencil-pains of unacknowledged terror in the tender balls of my feet, and at last leaning out backwards over space, hands gripping very tightly to the rope which I knew I shouldn't do, and walking foot past foot along the rock wh\ I .. ·+ \, (' ·Y"" {; •. t~ I. '3. r slipped me down in p·a inful jerks, looking constantly up ~-~ ~ �CHAPTER VII-- f· ~\ Twombly grinning from above, yelling at me, yelling to nLean out ljorel It's easieru- and arrived on the ground, and cool*y· unwrapping mysel£. Well, not so bad arter all1 But the · next time is even worse. For having once rorced yourself to meet a peril and somehow getting thru it, it is twice as difficult ~o face that peril again, looming just as red and leering as before. minutes to nerve up to. My second rappel took me £ifteen The third not so much. or four more apiece that first day. We did three The next week, we beturned and rappelled all morning, climbed all afternoon. Our arms were bruised from lacerating stones, our hands cut and swollen, I £or one had acquired a deep neck-bum where the sliding rope had escaped my collar and seared £or a time the bare flesh. But time heals trivial wounds. And rappelling grew to be tame, along with the little knolls and miniature precipices to which we had so far confined ourselves. In keeping with our system which accidentally repeated the historical development or climbing by learning the old rules first, ontogeny went right on following phylogeny as we began to approach major cliffs and . yearn for the higher peaks. It has been pointed out, for example, that the early rock climbers sought an apparent security by staying well within the darker recesses of e,ru.llies and deep fissures, rather than venturing out onto the more openly exposed slabs and sunlit ledges. And so they tended to con£ine themselves to chimney climbing (a ehimney being a crack large enough for a man to get inside of). In similar fashion, our caution kept our first experi•~tal �CHAPTER VII--?·~~ roped climbs of any length well imprisoned in the chimneys and gullies of the Garden of the Gods with its good red sandstone. Only occasionally did we venture out on the windy ridges and wrinkled faces we had treated so casually as grammar school scramblers. The same wariness channeled our first major first-ascent, the southeast side of Specimen Rocki on the Tenney Crags. Arrived at its base after a climb of several thousand feet up an abominably steep gravel slope dotted with yucca and pines, we were awestruck by the great sheer faces of open granite, as if chopped with a cleaver, and seamed with tiny ledge systems. H1 mmmnn? To cling to those seemed hardly enticing. Indeed the whole rock seemed much larger than it had looked from the city. A gigantic tooth biting into the sky. So we pr~ently stuck to the great central chimney system, which happens to be one of the two most difficult routes on the entire rock. Installed by acclamation as lead-man, Twombly led the way with capable swarms up a double crack and thru a series of jammed boulders and slabs. Here and there one had to cling to bushes growing from hidden recesses, and I developed an antipathy to relying on bush handhh~ffids which I still nourish; so this part seemed difficult. Then we found ourselves deep within the base of a sixty foot cnimney, twenty feet inside where it was dark and smelled of old nests and clinging loam. The rock was terribly smooth and polished hard black rock, and the walls narrowed together h~~h above our heads. King, then I tried to lead up the thing, Twombly, then then we tried standing on one another's shoulders {which the books termed a courte �CllAl'TE:R V!I-- l~3 ., echelle). None or us could advance an inch. At last Twombly jammed his back against one rock wall and his drawn-up kneea against the other. Wedged ti ghtly, he didn't slip downwards, though each moment he ~elt himself settling deeper within his clothes rrom where they were pressed flat on the rock. With shoves from below as long as we could still reach him, and then a desperate scrabbling with hands and elbows for non-existent roughnesses on the rock while he kept that constant pressure of the doubled-up knees, he slowly scraped and wormed himself upward at the rough speed of a yard-and-a-half per minute. His tremendous Coiled strength drove him eventually past and then back onto a belaying ledge. He had made it. King and I soon followed, puffing and straining one after ~ the other even though now belayed from above. * We all felt Footnote: We have several times repeated this chimney sincfi, but even with p itons and much greater experience with tight chimneys, it is still a wicked place to manage, especially the first s,l~ppery ten feet. incredibly tired, but happy. Soon on the summit, we chewed a lunch mashed and mauled from the terrific pressures exerted ~ ~ 4. r ·•cl( ' upon itAbetween someone's back and solid rock. We felt tinglingly happy. The route off down the back side proved disappointingly S' o easy but our happy feelings weren't to be thwarted~ we rappelled down a harder place. Dike most climbers, as our technique improved we learned not to keep too deeply within c~imneys-- though one's natural impulse is to get inside where the walls narrow and hug the climber with false security. Far better to stay out where the full legs may be brought in1;~lay instead of lmees and back. �CHAFTE!R VII-- f· 'i'i- Frequently it proved easier to about keeping the back braced, and instead keep a hand and foot on each wall and use what few holds may appear. But i£ no holds exist, almost every chimney can still be climbed by pressure alone. Very soon we were venturing out of those incessant oh.imneys, c:.\ ~~ £inding the narrow ledges and rough slabs to either~not so airy after all. Almost always a belay would appear where needed to restore confidence. We were growing cocky now, and would have become worse but £or a jolt that threatened to permanently intimidate us as climbers. For on a high cli£t above the little town ot Cascade, King as lead-IJlan tried his hand at a "layback" (o£ten pro~tounced "lie-backn but usually written layback), the most difficult feat ot gymnastics in the standard repertoire. Facing into a right- angled vertical corner of rock (like the corner in a room), he inserted his £ingers into a vertical crack that ran up the angle. Then by bracing his teet £lat against the upright granite in fromt of him, he created sufficient cross-pressure that he could walk upwards, foot following foot about eighteen inches beneath the shifting hands and fingers. Twenty feet above us~ his fingers slipped fr.om the crack and down he came, boot-nails grating in one long metallic whine against the granite until he plunged swooshing into a compact pile of wet snow which fortunately nestled on a tilted ledge below, ~uBt as Twombly the belayer began to take his wlight on the rope. lead-man never £alls1 The Or rather never ought. Nobody hurt, we felt d~ned lucky, and chastened. Giving up that cliff for the day, we filed o£f, rather soberly, heavy �CHAPTER VII-- ~.<i~ with thought. There was an answer, but at first we hated to consider it: pitons. There were also, of course, more rigorous training sessions, a more carefully developed sense of what we could safely attempt. But more was needed than just this. We ha~ begun to get an uneasy impression that no matter how expert a climber may be, he can hardly expect to control all the odds against him all the time. On every difficult climb there were usually {,1 a few places extra-ordin~tily difficult- climbable, legitimate undertakings, but hard enough that a good climber might, in all good faith, slip from them. Long practice could give him an almost uncanny ability to judge the soundness of questionable holds, tell him when to grasp and when to caress, teach him even how to use broken and loose holds with s afety. care and skill, do so. ~ hD tJ ~might But with all break on him when it had no right to Furth.e rmore, the good belay man could probably gi ve ~c reasonable protection to his leader. within a radius of perhaps t wenty feet, provided he applied the running belay correctly at the moment of crisis. But beyond that, the danger of rope breakage was far greater (especially as we hadn't yet been able to acquire nylon-- only manilla hemp). Apart from ropes breaking, you could bang yourself up seriously even in a ten foot fall. So we came back to the piton. With a good belay man the primary defense, the piton is the best secondary defense that rock climbing has devised. But for us, pitons were still rather awesome, if not awful, implements, tools to be used with �CHAPTER VII-- y.ifc, care and respect-- ir ~ !11• It seemed a solemn matter, ror some or our books had warned us against the pernicious use or pitons as ir it were a matter or good sportsmanship and fair play not to use them. Caught orr guard by our innocence, we early rell prey to the snares and rhetorical webs of R.L.G. Irying and his Romance of Mountaineering. Irving is a typical Englishman, and theref6re a rierce upholder or the English reeling (which used to be a school or thought but has now become a creed) that pitons are too ar~tificial, too machine-like, too unrair an advantage over nature to be cricket. As we shall see rurther on, the question is not a simple one, it is an ambivalent one, to be solved by geography, anthropology, and historical ortttoism. I But in our ~aae, the question was simple: if we were to climb at all on the kind of rock we had available, which in addition to sandstone consisted largely of slowly disintegrating granite walls of which much was good and some was treacherous, we would ha.ve to master pitons. Unlike most converts, we were still shy. hold? Did pitons really We were suspicious or these little objects, narrow blades of soft iron with a hole or ring in the end thru which to run a rope. They didn't look very strong. Twombly and I scaled Cameron Cone, a 10,700 foot peak with 300 feet of cliff on the east face of the summit, and got ourselves mildly trapped on a cracked slab. The situation called for a piton; so we took the first of our supply of three and hammered its entire eight-inch blade into a narrow fissure until only the ring protruded. Breathlessly I untied the rope from �CHAPTER VII-- f· i'f my waist, threaded it thru the. ring, and tied in again. But would this thing reallx hold if I fell? Cautiously, we drove a second ~iton beside the first. Again I had to untie, to thread my rope thru both rings now, and tie myself in again. H'mmmnn? We neither of us thought it looked very reliable. How did we know they would hold? With extraordinary care, I let myself down beside the twin pi tons until low enough to put my weight on them. seemed solid. Gently I hung on the rope. They Then Twonbly fed it thru the rings until I could dangle freely and swing back and forth. I dismissed a momentary urge to climb b~ck up and ' ~ put the third piton Atoo, for they seemed to hold all right. Within a few minutes we had discovered, both at once swinging from the two pitons back and forth in wild joy, that there is nothing like a soundly driven piton to reinforce the sagging will. And further, that while nothing looks so spectacular in photographs as a man dangling from a piton above the yawning depths- except perhap a p!teture of a simple rappel- :n.rl).thing in fact is so comparatively non-nerve-wracking. Today we would no more go cliff-scrambling without four or five pitons in our pockets than an Englishman would venture onto glacial ice unencumbered with a suitable, artificial and most un-natural ice axe. One matter that called for immediate remedy, though, was this business of having to untie from one's safety rope, thread it thru the piton, andre-tie. Karabiner/would be the answer h J~..-.._. Jt... ., ~......~ } ,....,....... to that (also variously known as carabiner , carribiners, ·or snaplinks). We couldn't get the regular ones, s~mple oval rings of steel with a snap-gate to ~~mit the piton ring and then the �rope. But Twombly discovered at a mail order house a saddle cinching appliance with two rings, one to be snapped to the piton and the other to the rope. us well, usually. We bought a number and they served Not always, of which more later. We found after all that our aesthetic feelings weren't hopelessly outraged by pitons- that the sight of three o11 four of them driven cleanly into the rock five to twenty feet apart, their sparkling karabiners carrying the rope well and true, was a 'good sight. Nor did we leave them behind to clutter up the scenery (one of an Englishman's worst ' nightmares); for eighteen months, we had only six pitons which we had to drive over and over again, the last man on the rope being strictly charged to retrieve them as he climbed with a hammer of his own. Nor, for that matter, did we get in the habit or conspicuously over-using them. work. In the first pl 8 ce, it was too much hard In the second place, we still climbed much in the Garden of the Gods. This fine red sandstone almost never yielded an adequate piton crack when you needed it. rock was too soft for a tight fit. And if it did, the You would be coming around beneath some overh~nging b•ow of rock or hamming your way up a l~fty crack or somesuch, and precisely when you would give good money to have a piton in, and your belayer shouting that he wasn't sure if he could hold you or not-- there were never ~ny cracks. Or else there was, though shallow looking, and you drove in that piton and tried to drive it deep and you pounded and pounded on it and found it was just wearing the rock away into sand as it bore in so that when yo~ applied that gentle testing tug it pulled right out again and left a little oblong hole behind, shaped to fit ••• �CHAPTER VIII-- y· ~, PART TWO: THE ART OF ROCK CLIMBING CHAPTER VIII-- HOW TO TEACH IT With this elementary mastery of the tricks and perversities of pitons, our rock climbing entered upon a new phase. We haYd- 'o itre..'Y\ 1' began to assume the -l'l:s.a ei'b'beft sTa\les and the grizzled man~risms of ttExperts." From fledgelings WE; found ourselves metamorphosed into "teachers.n Friends began to look up to us not as wild young men but as veteran Alpinists, odd Chaps but probably trustworthy. Under our persuasive eloquence and gentle tugging, one after another allowed himsel.f tohbe roped into rock climbing under our tutelage. Some were simply talked into it. Others we kidnapped, luring them into automoblles on guise of a picnic or driving out to see some fine view. But the view, they soon .found, by some mischance could only be seen from a high pinnacle; even as their protests mounted, we were taking out rope and pitons £rom concealment in the trunk or back seat and matterof-.factly tying loops about their waists. But the laugh, it seemed, was on us. knew as much as we. In no time, our pupils All our hard won secrets seemed to evaporate almost instantaneously into common knowledge. A .few tense minutes, an easy afternoon on the basic elements we had spent so many strenuous months mastering, and we would .find only rt our hard-bitten smiles and grizzled ma~erisms left to us to denote our superiority. bluf.f? To what horri.fying extent is leadership We found that under a half-way competent instructor, anyone in condition to run up andr~dewn a .flight of stairs could be taught the technical motions o.f roped climbing in forty-five �CHAPTER VIII-- f· q6 minutes, more or less • . Of course, one finds there !! somewhat more to climbing than is found in the handbooks or the first afternoon. Mountaineering is eventually a matter of politics, judgment, empathy, group psychology, aesthetics, and an innate and intuitional ability to sense danger and "feel" a party's way up a new route or think its way out of lostness or S ~brm. ability to deal with accidents. It i s a matter of heart and brain, warmth and cold, a matter of both. It requires the icy Nerve must be leavened with courage, including the courage to turn back. No one ever finishes mastering the intangibles. * Footnote: And this, the matter of prolonged self-discipline, is why the best age for climbing Everest is likely to be between 25 and 35, or ev·e n 45. It requires a man, and not a mere athletic young scatterbrain. As we climbers older, we come ·t o admit this. But in teaching the elementapy crystallography of climbing, the defipite angles, the visible facets, the established structure, little time is required. Our experience here is generally borne out by others in the field-- F.S. Smythe, for instance, teaching rock climbing to English oennnandos ~J during World War II; or various of the civilian instructors for the u.s. Army's mountain training program at Camp Carson near Colorado Springs. All are surprised, gratified, and sometimes chagrined at the ease with which their bag of tricks can be let out. We found rappelling a good case in point. The original three of us went thru a rather sustained emotional ordeal before we really felt at home in so dangerous a looking technique. Now even under the most careful supervision, most every climber �CHAPTER VIti-- y· Cf\ will have a few bad moments when making his first rappel. But by his second attempt, he is beginning to master it, and on the third he will be having fun-- he is hardly aware of the h, speed with which ~v i rginity is past and gone. ' Now let us see to go about teaching rock craft; and how, on the contrary, we soon went about it. The best method is that advocated by Geoffrey Winthrop Young, the great English mountain writer. The beginner proceeds at once on a series of reasonably simple complete climbs, under the direct tutelage of one or more expert climbers. He pick6 up the terminology and the techniques as he ' comes to them, learning by doing. He is at once brought into contact with a far greater variety of situations and methods than the rival method can cover in an equal time. For this other method is the class method, and it has no depth. Instruction must be li~ted to a ·s mall number of stand- ardized motions, taught at a speed set by the most hopeless pupils. Instead of leading, the leader must seek out a small boulder, minor cliff, or convenient stone wall, and set his charges to practicing endlessly until they somehow become ready for -the "real thing." Inherent in the Class System is the folmowing scheme of things: A small core of one or more devoted instructors will be found, hopelessly outnumbered and exploited by a circle of pupils, the proletariat. The central issue (placing the pupil on a chunk of rock and prodding him into climbing on it) is soon obscured by a self-enlarging periphery of pulp, skins, and propaganda, a spinning phantasmagory of publicity, posters and �pictures, lectures and blackboard diagrams, mimeographed sheets, volored slides, movies, eyecatching displays of rope and heavy equipment, handbooks loaned out and seldom re~arned-- topped, if any energy is left, by one or more solemn excursions to a supply of boulders and practice by turns. The tendency seems aiways to be the same: larger and larger classes, attendance drives and official records, minutes-of-thelast-meeting, and sooner or later a demand for grades and medals of merit, badges and colored ribbons and official hat-band ornaments-- so that an Adva~ed Novice of the First Degree may be properly distinguished from a Beginning Expert, Second Class. Thus, by its greater breadth and its freedom from the methods of quantitative measurement, the tutorial approach based on the long introductory climb is cle.a rly the best. The class method, in contrast, fails to foster the necessary tradition plus intelligent non-conformity. * Footnote: Granted, this is only the age-old problem of Ritual, aggravated by the fact that we are living in the Age of Paper, which must affect even so heroic and mythological a pursuit as Alpinism. Man is never without his ritual, or his life would have no shape. Ritual there must be, in climbing as well as bullfighting or setting up a savings account. And yet, although it is still difficult to appear in a toga or go barefoot in polite society, the devoted efforts and courageous sufferings of a small minority of stout hearts have won for us all the right to wear comfortable color-splashed shirts or mocassins in place of the hideous-high collars and the black pointed shoes of our honored progenitors. Hence, to exist eDd bope ~~Q perhaps bri~g fopta tpQit. ~en in our present age of universal progress and pathological fear, the logical thinker, the blazer of new trails, the lead-~an of the future must be permitted to exist and hope and perha~s bring forth r·ruit. Now as freshmen in college, Twombly and I became innocently �CHAPTER VIII-- f· ~3 involved in the rormation or a Club for climbing. A vague inchoate desire on the part of a few people around campus sudaenly snowballed into a series of furtive meetings and tentative plans. Before anyone quite understood what was pappening, the thing got out of control and we happy few found ourselves resolved into a Membership, wrapped up in a Constitution, and affiliated with the Colorado Mountain Club. On the other hand, the latter is a worthy organization, there is no better way to master technique than by teaching it to others, and it is exhilarating to be leaders. Anyone with the remotest prior knowiedge, of course, at once became a leader. And the club developed a magni- ficent esprit de corps, such as I would never have given it credit for. To be on the inside, a member in the small compact cult, can be very stimulating. We may quote Arnold Lunn on thts point: People dislike aristocracies not because aristocracies are exclusive, but because they themselves are excluded ••• The principal difference between that rine thing esprit de corls and that1unfine '_-:_th:fing:resp:b:tt de i cilltsue is that one be ongs to the corps and one is excluded from the clique. Incidentally the power of esprit de corps varies inve:esely with its size . 11 (Lunn, Mountains of Memory, 1948, p.9 Such discussions of the bene.ficial stimulationPto be found from life in small groups smack, of course, of Philosophical Anarchism. rather than the defense of Aristocracy. At the risk of being called a Bakuninist, I will merely say that looking backwards, none of us would have missed being in this club. But at the time we often wondered what we had created. A slow and ordered growth, transmitted gradually from ftiend to friend, isn't quite in the scheme of things for a typical American club. It must s tart right off with a bang. And so �CHAPTER VIII~-- f' ~* the beginning of each new school year found us conducting large classes in elementary rock climbing, and sometimes snow- and ice-craft. The trouble was that this system seldom produced by itself any new lead-men. The only hope for replenishment came to be the minor dissidents who learned their first lessons and then broke away to climb on their own awhile, finally trickling back into the organi~ation as reliable experts. This made for a certain amount of political in-fighting, but it was the only way. Meanwhile, we discovered there is something more to a olub than the sum of its officers and membership. A club is an ~ and lives a life of its own, setting its own pace and its own rules of behavior according to a logic inaccessible to any of its members or factions. No sooner would we weary of the whole thing and try to turn our attention elsewhere than we would find ·H"-e that the sheer inertia possessed by ..aAclub had kept it wobbling • r~ght on behind our backs, suddenly and incomprehensibly picking up new members and demanding new meetings and more conducted classes and slide-showing sessions, · making its own schedule apart and without heed to the lethargy and ennui of its "leaders. 11 And -so the leaders would become inspired again and devote their precious hours to posters and articles, earnest exhortations, the button-holing of friends. At once, membership would quadruple, !'ruooding and overwhelming the organization with a wealth of material too great to handle. Its. inefficiency revealed, interest would at once slacken, the new membership fall off by 75% or so, and the vital core would be left with three �CHAPTER VI!I--l· '15' or four genuine converts to salve its swounds. I well remember riding out to the Garden of the Gods one day to conduct a casual rock climbing session, two ropes and a few pitons on the seat beside me. Eleven people were lined up when I got there, and by the time the first half-dozen had been induced to make their first rappels, there were seven more arrivals, and by mid-morning the total was twenty-eight. I was not sure just what to do, surrounded by two ropes, four pitons, and twenty-eight students with glad hearts and expectant muscles, their eyes full of trust, eager to imbibe forthwith the Higher Mysteries of Alpinism. Hence, we would take care the nextt time to trot out our full muster of seven or eight good instructors, only to find but three or four beginners show up as grist for our mill. This was a matter of woe and chagrin to whoever was currently heading the publicity campaign; but it made for an admirable day of serious climbingl At any rate, herewith follows our general mode of club operations, which I submit not in hope that it will help other clubs solve their difflkct)lties- we found there were no solutions beyond endurance and simple faith-- but rather as an objective and idealized account of the working of an ideal club. We thought it advisable to start off our prospective climbers with a regular meeting in a properly ordained meeting hall. Close friends can often be persuaded into the wilds by conversation alone; but the anonymous member of the group wants to know what he is getting into before he will trust himself to leave town �CHAPTER Vl:II-- ~· ~~ We generally concentrated on showing colored slides of climbing, happy groups chewing hot dogs together, beautiful calendar-like shots of high peaks and green forest, and the T~c...AA fcdLo"-v..td -rot~· c:.l1..:.....bt~·8 f:\~~ty~·t!s ~ like .·I\ It is well to have a lil)eral sprinkling of old hands in the audience whose crackling laughter and shouts help create that essential esprit de corps, and serve to spread a warm feeling of well-being and the notion that these-are-just-everyday... events-of-gladness up there on the screen. ' Otherwise, rock climbing pictures are likely to terri~y young novices. Some of our old hands got the idea that such pictures f~ightened the wits out of too many beginners, and that this was necessarily bad. So for awhile we tried showing only pictures of the hot-dog type- happy faces round the ;· campfire, groups of excited trailwalkers out on a rousing hike, squirrels and birds twittering in the trees. But of course this just bored the old hands, and baffled the new; the proper prairie-firespread of enthusiasm was lacking. So we went back to ·showing the most hai~-raising exploits available on f'ilm~ and found it brought the custom.e rs flocking. The only happy exception proved to be the picture record of the club's expedition to the Grand Canyon one spring ( five fellows, four girls strong). Very little rock climbing was involved, but three days of back-packing into the hidden depths of the Grand Canyon, swimming in its chocolate-colored water, cooking with drift wood, sandstorms and rainstorms and sleeping on the desert beside the cars during the long thousand mile trip to and fro, all this seemed exotic and adventurous. �CHAPTER VII!-- \>.9, Having stirred up a red-hot enthusiasm with sensational alpine photographs, it was proper to strike before the iron cooled. We would immediately sign up everyone in sight for the next Saturday class. It was incumbent, of course, for all the old hands to at once hold up their hands, whether they intended to go or not. Mr. Newcomer saw hands shoot up all around him, and of course then stuck up his own. We used to trap quite a. few that way. * Footnote: Skiing clubs, o~ course, find it easier nowadays to attract large numbers of fresh members. For skzing, once a wilderness sport, is now a recognized arm of city life. On a site easily accessible by modern highways, a chair lift or rope tow is set up. Refreshment stands follow, along with hotels and facilities for quick beers. Fashion designs the clothes, s.nd experts are hired to post suitable warnings on snow conditions so that those who wear the ntogs" of skiers need never trouble themselves with a lmowledge of avalanches. When only the snow is left pristine, though packed by a thousand tracks, the area is said to be ''developed." Those who think the above is merely typical of vulgar American civili~ation should consult Arnold Lunn's Mountains of Memory for the situation in Eunope. We're all in this thing together, and all Western C~ture will rise or fall by our united efforts. »ractice Climbing When the appointed day arrived for the actual climbing, only about half the signers ever showed up. But we kept track of the names and often caught the others for later sessions. It seems to be difficult for college students or young stenographers and clerks to g~themsel~es out of bed before noon on a free day. Sometimes none of the instructors arrived either-- often they had sat up late the night before making plans and drinking coffee and discussing politics-- they needed their rest. But in this case it was usual for the novices to phone or call upon them in person in their rooms and hoot and shame them into putting in a proper appearance for duty. �CEAPTER \TIII-- r· q~ Once or twice, there is reason to believe that neither instructors nor novices showed up at the take-off point, but this was never proved. It used to be exhilarating to come down to one of these early gatherings. You never lmew whether anyone at all would be there, or whether a mo b might be waiting; nor how many fellows or girls or cars far transportation. It was possible to take a bus, but this involved a lot of walking besides., paying the girls' fares. You never even knew if the weather would permit serious climbing, although around Colorado Springs it is usually clear and reasonably warm for climbing thru most of the winter. It ~ it was much below room temperature, your first task was to find suitable storage space for the heavy coats, sweaters, mufflers, and goloshes people will bring to such events. The old hands soon learned to wear at most an old sweater with the sleeves rolled up, blue jeans, and boots or sneakers. If it started to snow, they had only to roll their sleeves down. Better organization might have prevented some of this uncertainty, but better organization might well have destroyed the essential spirit of our club, its happy informality and aliveness in the open~ which, I dare to assert, were its values. Almost invariably, we began by going to the Garden of the Gods, a swarming touristmecca in the summer, but reasonably quiet in other seasons. Its red, or greyish-white, sandstone is much easier to stick to than most granite. Also its holds tend to be more rounded and smooth, so that the climber must rely more on rrtction and balance than on grip-holds. all to the good. This is Beginning climbers show a tendency to climb �CHAPTER VI!I-- y·'1'\ as if on a series of ladders, and constantly Bast about for a good sharp-edged griE from which to cling, and perhaps chin themselves. The proper idea is to learn to use the smaller holds, the ripples, keeping the weight on the legs and feet while the hands supply the light touch of balance here and there. For this reason, it is interesting to note that girl climbers develop a good style more rapidly than males. They haven't the strength to chin themselves many times, and so they learn to rely on the feet and the light touch known as ttrhythm." Rhythm ''Rhythm'' is the g:eeat· word among climbers 1 their standard trade secret. Is is supposed to be analagous to the balance of the bicycle which is preserved by motion. Rhythm climbing is trbalance 11 climbing, smooth motion dancing lightly from hold to hold, never jerking unnecessarily, never awkwardly clinging or hugging into the rock too much, never getting out of step. a A rhythm climber will move right across -& seemingly smooth slab using minute pock-holds and momentary pressures from which, if he were to stop or hesitate, he would slip. Rhythm seems hardly more than the agility or "smooth co-ordination 11 found in ordinary sport-- any athlete knows he must overcome awkward jerks if he is to do well. But rhythm is also a habit of mind, an attitude, ~exquisite delicacy by which the master floats himself effortlessly past difficulties. If "rhythm" had not been borrowed from sport and the dance, other words would have done as well. for example. "Weightlessness" A climber in perfect condition seems to lose his �CHAPTER VI!!-- ~.\oo sense of poundage and the need to push and haul his body upwards- he seems instead to move by the sense of touch • • Climbing becomes intuitive instead of ant~-gravitational. Like most words which depend on connot ation more than exact definition, nrhythm climbing" is much misunderstood. It is often thought to be some kind of quantitative secret, a substance or trick to be sought out and attained. If you can get your novice to torget his fear and "loosen up,n to convert his body of heavy bones and water-filled flesh into a supple affair:: of nerves and flexible cords ••• you will find him on his way to "rhythm.n Nerve and Rope Confidence Nerve is a sort of controlled indifference to great height and exposure. It has nothing to do with cowardice and bravery. In addition to l'hythm, the climber must learn to feel a sense of reliance on the rope. Two short-cuts to this consist in belay practice and rappelling. We had a permanent piton affi~ed in the rock about twenty feet off the ground. After threading a rope thru it, one of us would tie himself to it in a sort of rope chair, e.mimb up, and jump off. A belayer on the other end of the rope had to hold the weight. As they grew more expert, we could jump with more and more initial slack, finally attaining six and eight foot falls which they learned to bring smoothly to a halt. Then we tied one of the novice bela~ers in and let him or her do the falling. This is called learning eonfidence in the r o~~~r �ClrAPTER VIII-- f.lol We generally roped the girls in first. If a girl sees a fellow get scared and back out, you'll have a wicked time getting her to try it herself. But after several girls have succeeded, one by one, laughing and squealing at such gay sport and their own daring, the more conservative ....male -has to climb into the ,. ~..,-.-~.(}0 harness. It was surprising the things that would, and wouldn't, break morale. I had just started off one class by demonstrating the correct knots, and then I tied in for a practice fall, The rope, an ancient length of sisal hemp, promptly snapped and I lit in a dusty heap on the hard ground. For a moment there was an awful silence-- then as I hastily started to stammer out about now don't you worry about little thing like this cause alla other ropes you peopl'la use are newer and won't break, depend on that-- they just b~oke out laughing, and we had a better than usual time of ito But fastest way of all to learn rope confidence is to rappel. Ahl mountaineer. There is nothing like rappelling for the stripling It is excellent bracer f'o"'v"' f!lll his self-respect. looks spectacular yet it is soon learned. It Astonishing photo- graphs may be easily snapped to send off to frightene4 relatives and awe-struck friends. One must learn to trust the nope, and to lean out on holds and avoid hugging the rock with chest and stomach. What better means to accomplish this orientation than by sliding down the rope half a dozen times, bouncing the feet against the cliff as if on a vertical gym floor? Does the beginner have the usual notion t hat it is a lot harder to climb down than up? Does he fear getting marooned on some extra- �CHAPTE'R VIII-- y·l o~ ordinary pinnacle or isolated ledge? You teach him to rappel and he thinks that here at least is one sure-fire method by which he can always get down. You encourage him to believe that a man can rappel down high-angle rock, vertical rock, and overhanging rock. tie can rappel in mid-air if need be. And all this is quite true1-- providing the rope is long enough to reach the ground ·or some adequate landing point, and providing a good hitch is available for the anchor. Not always will the necessary thee or projecting rock or piton crack be found-- but this you skim rapidly over. As also the possibility of your rope jamming afterwards when you are all down and wish to retrieve it by pulling one Qf its double strands or flipping it from its hitch. A jammed rappel line is. one of the more embarrassing situations in mountaineering, since it means someone has to climb back up the rope, probably hand over hand, to free it. But there are other awkward exigencies possible. For instance, sometimes instead of letting the rope run round his body, a climber will wrap a rope seat about his thighs and snap it to the rappel line with a kar abiner. This results in a considerable saving of one's hide from rope burns. Now probab~y Bob Ormes is as expert a rappeller as you' 11 find in Colorado, . but one day we were rappelling one by one down a huge 120 foot crack to see if it looked climbable, and Ormes sliding calmly down in his rope seat managed to run his shirt-tail into the karabiner along with the moving rope and h&lplessly jam it. Dangling there with all his weight on the jam, he could hardly free himself without a knife and that could be dangerous. It was purely fortuitous that one of us was still above with a spare rope �CHAPT.&."R V!!I-- f· \o~ which could be promptly lowered to help hiw out or his dirriculty. 1":\ I my~self was only recently engaged in making the exception~ ally spectacular 110 root free rappel rrom the overhanging rock tip of the "Maiden" (near Boulder, Colorado), spinning round and round as I descended for there was no rock wall in reach .by which to brace the feet, when to my exasperation I did the same thing-- ran my idiot of a shirt-tail tight into the karabiner. Luckily the shirt was in a state of advanced decomposition, an old green thing I had been wearing in the hills for years, and with a savage grunt I tore it out. Otherwise I would have had to use a knife, and it is now known to be possible to cut one's rappel line in two with a knife by accident, as only recently occurred in another part of Colorado. The truth is that rappelling is potentially ·dangerous. It is almost too easily learned and too flippantly relied upon. When familiarity breeds comtempt, troubles appear from nowhere. * Footnote: Rappelling is much over-rated anyway. It is seldom really needed as a last resort and takes too long to set up if it isn't. But many climbers are ready to rappel at a snap of the ringers. Only six times have I been lt.'bsblb.te·l,-ors compelled to make an escape by rappelling, and this is probably more than average. Rappelling is valuable as a potential tool-it helps in rescues, or a few special climbs such as Devil's Tower in Wyoming. But it is astonishing how many columns and boulders are festooned and decked with old and new sling ropes these days, in the metons in Wyoming for example. The Problem ~ Danger We are arrived back at the problem of danger again. Cockiness rears its shameless head again and again. Just as we had to race it when teaching ourselves, so it came up with our pupils. Remove their fear of non-existent dangers so that they may climb, and a few will always become cocky and like �CHAPTER VIII-- f' lO* unto idiots in high places. This is the age-old moral problem of how to transmit the benefits of experience to those who have not yet passed thru it, and presumably might be taught to avoid some of the plotted pitfalls~ It is impossible, all too often. Leaders become mere equals, and find they must apparently stand aside when they see contempt for elementary precautions springing up. One can only hope one is not a msre fuddy-d~ddy getting old (one of the unexpected questions participation in a club brings up)- and perhaps wait in silence for the inevitable accident and pray it will instill caution without killing the recipient in the process. And pray also that one doesn't catch oneself hoping that an accident will occur to prove one right. Since World War II, the technological advances made in climbing equipment have served to aggravate the situation. For reasons that turn some p~ople toward pessimism, a large number of the safety devices of our time have served only to increase the danger in which 20th century man dwells. Better brakes, defrosters, improved tires, and super-highways have largely served only to increase the speeds at which Mr. Moron-at-thewheel thinks he may safely travel, with a resulting higher and higher accident rate. The t»O.n\"aMse tendency is found in mountaineering. The invention of n ylon rope, immensely stronger ·and more stretchable than the older Dopes, has considerably increased a man's chances of coming out of a given fall alive. The result is that there are more falls, and more risks taken. Similar results attain from the great advances in piton technique and manufacture. �CHAPTER VI!!-- r· l o5' Now it must be apparent that the value of rope or pitons is not primarily a matter of technological stress and strain. It is psychologic. Such tools are subtle magic by which to control and increase morale. The psychologic effect of the rope in linking isolated beings together in a common enterprise, with shared risks, is of far more importance than the technological strength or that rope, though such strength naturally contributes to the effect. It is easy to stand on a mantelpiece in a living room, but more difficult a thousand feet off the ground. If' you are linked to a trusty comrade or relying on a firm piton, though, it is as easy as pie and so you dbn't fall. If you do, the rope or piton has failed in its primary task, and must now rely on its mere tensile strength to help you. Here we maymention again the English aversion for pitons. W.H. Murray has remarked: "Like the queen of Spain's legs, a piton not only ought. never to be seen, but must not be supposed even to exist.u {Murray, Mountaineering in Scotland, 1947, p.l27). Much of this argument is quaint, typically British, typically insular, and Pypically mad. Pitons are no more artificial than * ropes, nailed boots, ice axes, or man-placed chocKstones {a horr·ifying Briticism). And properly used, they do not clutter up the scenery with unsightly ironmongery. But we must admit that from his aversion to pitons, the British climber must necessarily undergo a longer and more careful apprenticeship than other climbers, before he dares to undertake difficult and severe leads. For today as 60 years ago, he must not fall1 * - - Footnote: I ·note that occasionaly pitons are creeping into the British world-- Scotland for instance. And an occasional Englishman will admit in the Alpine Journal that he has been �CHAPTER VIII-- y· \ o~ on climbs in Austria, for example, which have no natural belays and thererore require pitons or else discarding or the rope, a most unnatural proceeding. One still finds, however, the queer advice that if you must carry a piton, take no hannner but instead rely on finding a convenient loose stone when the time 'comes to drive it in1 And there is another advantage to the British position. In an island which has a strictly limited area of cliff face, to be rationed out to a very large number of elimbers, it is imperative that the better routes don't become encumbered with the abandoned pegs (the British love to call pitons "pegs") or foolhardy striplings. For with an hour's instruction, a shiny new nylon rope, and' a bag-rull or pitons, it is possible to get the idea that you are ~qual to anything on earth, pref'erably the most famous and appealing climbs in reach. If you can't climb them , you simply nail your way up them with piton after piton. The tradition that all good climbers remove any pitons they have used and leave the rock clean and fresh for their successors is either not so strong as it was, or else there are more bad climbers. We shall see how some of the most delightful climbs in Colorado are beginning to bristle with so much ironwork that knowledge of routefinding is no longer necessary or fun. Difficult rock has become mechanical exercise. But the world's foremost example today is found, alas, in the beautiful North Cheyenne Canyon near Colorado Springs. Here the policies of the u.s. Army have so nailed and studded the nooks and crannies of what was once a magnificent virgin climbing area that you can hardly see the rock for the rusting pitons. There is no longer occasion for prudent climbers to carry their own hardware here-- any difficult spot will be found �CHAPTER VIII-- t· \ o"l garnished and adorned with at least a dozen army pitons. Hard routes, easy routes, places where once we picnicked, even trees and the larger bushes are ~reed with oxidizing ironware. But let not a note of bitterness seem intended. For some of us have learned to pull them out as we climb and add them to our own stock; and the news has spread, and now half the climbers of Colorado and Wyoming have conducted special trips to North I!Jf f It &"'-'\ f Cheyenne Canyon to replenish their stockEtt- and the army howls, as if it invented pitons or the rules governing their civilized use, or first thought of scaling the walls of North Cheyenne Canyon- apparently unaware of the solid public service it has rendered in helping to make climbing cheaper and within the reach of all who are within beach. �CHAPTER IX-- t>· \o<( PART TWO: THE ART OF ROCK CLIMBING CHAPTER IX-- THE PERILS AND .D ELIGHTS OF RED SANDSTONE of Means To the Gentlemen/who first learned to climb in the Alps, the rocks q \.\.\\ ~'(5 and ,. gw.lle~ of their native England seemed primarily J2.Eactice areas, all very well in their own way and full of valuable experience, but not ~al mountaineering . Real mountaineering was to be done only on the continent under the protection of hired guides. · It was only gradually that later generations of climbers with more limited funds at their disposal found that the local hills could supply some genuine climbing that had value in its own right. / This tendency is now growing in the Western United States I know at least one climber who dislikes major mountains, also. Bcorns "real" mountaineering, but has a delight in scaling the small cliffs found in the Garden of the Gods and the two Cheyenne Canyons near Colorado Springs that is quite genuine and valuable to him. Most of us prefer the bigger peaks, but for every chance you get to tackle one of them, there are a dozen opportunities to go out for an afternoon or a Sunday and scramble around on what we call "low-altitude" rock. Hence, let it not be thought that we merely practiced or gave lessons in the Garden of the Gods. We also practiced fun for fun's sake there. One day Twombly and I decided a new solution must be worked out on the Kissing Camels, highest and most massive formation in the Garden of the Gods. The "Garden" is an area of great hogbacks of sandstone, usually red, originally laid �CHAPTER IX-- y· \ o'\ down by the sea in great horizontal layers which were then tilted upright by various geologic processes . The results are startling to most tourists, though disappointing to some- great slabs standing on end, fifty to a hundred feet thick and sometimes three hundred and fifty feet high. . We began ;iiirith the idea of ex:ploring the east face of the Kissing Camels (so-called because a plainly visible hole passing thru its skyline crest givew the impression of two long-nosed heads kissing above it). This face is probably three hundred yards across, quite vertical and smooth but for a minute ledge system seaming it from north to south. A portion of this ledge system was accessible from the top, so we knew if we could get that high we could always get dovm by the simple scramble on the other side which we had long ago mastered as children, a descent quite simple even in darkness. At the south end of the C&..mels, this east face ledge dips to within thirty feet of the ground . .Jordan Bayless and I had tried to climb onto it once here when we 'IJ'Itere in sixth grade . Wisely we had given it up then. Twombly won the toss to be lead-man, and tied onto one end of our 120 foot nylon rope. I tied into the middle, and on the other end we tied Ben Wendelken , a comparative novice. We thought it wise to tie not only the standard "bowline" knot about his waist but to add a shoulder loop for good measure . This left him tied in a kind of rope harness, so that if by some odd mischance he were to get flipped upside down, he could not fall · out of his waist loop. It wa.s our custom to always use shoulder loops if enough extra rope was available , though they were scorned by some. �CHAPTER IX-- ~. 1--\ 0 At last we were ready to face the rock. roping up is a sacred moment for climbers. This ritual of It serves as a dividing line to separate their irresponsible journey of arrival to the cliff or mountain from the more serious time ahead, the time of actual climbing. Twombly led off with a rush, climbing in and out of three great vertical bowls hollowed out of the -~~'at\~ rock by wind ~ action. and 11 balance 11 , Though linked by catch-words li x e "rhythmn climbing styles actually differ greatly . Twombly is short and stocky with tremendous arms , a powerful little man of bone and muscle and really incredible spurts of energy. His whole pattern of living is based on the intense moment or day followed by intense rest or change of pace . So when he climbs, he will rush up ten to thirty fe e t of rock at a time and then stop, cling, lean vigorously this way and that surveying his situation-- then when you think he must be baffled, he will spurt up another short stretch of rock. Often it is impossible for those who follow to comprehend how he managed to cover the rock between stops, for his style is impossible to imitate . Being short, he le~rned long ago to use holds left alone by those with longer reach, and hence he is often able to cross slop·e s of rock that appear to be absolutely unclimbable . I regard him as the finest friction climber I have ever seen. So Ben and I watched him pause some twenty feet above us, and then go scooting out the side of the highest hole onto a tiny sloping ledge, twist round a kind of corner, and rush straight up until his hands gripped a rock lip at arms' reach above his head. A pause for consideration. Then in one continuous swarm he chinned himself past the lip and swung a �CH..A..PTER IX- - r ~ \' foot onto it . Thirty fe e t more and he announced he had reached a large bush sufficient to belay behind . It was my turn . I worked u:p into the vertical bowls and found myself strangely unnerved . happened . We found this often When you have done much leading , you have grown used to the freedom and unhurried pace it entails . Suddenly swi tching to second place and following up rock already climbed becomes paradoxically difficult . Though in perfect safety from Twombly ' s belay above , I found myself unable to get out of the bowl . I called down to Ben to note how Twombly drew up my rope with care as I climbed , permitting no c areless slack to develop . Thus I was .. in perfect s afety . At last I deliberately jumped out and hung from the rope about my chest to demonstrate how safe I was , Twombly now holding my weight . Ben knew most of this , to be sure , but I found it helped me to get over the jitters . Suddenly I was climbing smoothly again . I was "in form . " Leaning out from the hi@1est of the tilted bowls, I found that I could work a left foot tenderly onto a sloping inch- wide ledge . There were no handholds, -so that it was ·necessary to step on the ledge and ~ee;g _goi~ round a blind corner until sudd_enly I could reach the high rock lip . We always found thd.e step around the corner an exhilerating passage on repeat climbs; but lately a mysterious hand hold hds appeared just where needed , and the corner is easily passed . ever had trouble with it . Friends smile to hear that we Truth is , some unprincipled person must have cut or hacked out this insidious hand hold . Such is one of the liabilities of soft sandstone . �r CHAPTER IX-- 'f· t \ ~ At any rate, I soon ref)laced Twombly behind the bush and yelled for Ben to come onf• A new style was in the making- for '\:/ Ben is extraordinarily tall and slender. Tall climbers usually develop a sort of slow writillng style based on their superior reach, in place of the rapid flutter of little men or the cat-like crawls of medium men like myself. beginnings in Ben. as we had done, We saw its crude Unable to scramble into the vertical bowls he would stretch up his long arms to some impossibly distant hand hold, then walk his feet up the entire length of rock to as near the hands as possible. Then he would endeavor to straighten up again and launch another looping grope for high hand holds. Mumbled grunts and exclamations, and the rope would suddenly move up a couple of ;p. rds . We would leo\( over and see him below trying to pend ·:' a long angular leg so as to pla.ce his foot on some ridiculous hold just below his neckand hold our breath . Once he got onto a knee-hold and we smiled. "'"'-l Knee-holds are t. t a~ e.e, because they are so n ard to get off again without losing y:o ur balance. But as the climb progress ed, his speed picked up and his skill increased. He was on the way. Now we climbed past a vertical crack wr iggling up the wall to our left . We decided to leave our ascending ledge and try the crack. A half-hour and we were back on the standard ledge. Neither Twombly nor I could in any wav unravel the mysteries of the crack. It was striking that from the ground, the ledge we were on had appeared tiny and difficult t·wenty feet wide and simple . once on it we found it The crack had looked easy enough, and once on it we found it imyossible . �CHAPTER IX-- f.ll.3 A hundred feet further u p our ledge, however, we spotted another crack, possibly to be reached by a traverse. We could only try. Twombly first, failing to make the first fifteen feet across onto a likely looking traverse ledge. Above his head and reach, a thick leaf of rock leaned out from the main wall. Replacing Twombly and guarded by a double rope belay (for as middle man I had two ropes leading from my waist), I managed to grasp the leaf with my fingers and swing out from it. Hanging from my fingers, I walked my hands along the leaf for two yards and reached a six inch ledge on which to stand, finishing the uhand traverse.n Walkint:, sidways along the ledge I found ~yself at the foot of the vertical crack all right. it. But I didn't like I was too far from my belayers and would have a good long swing before they could stop me. I glanced back at the leaf from which I had hung and decided to flip the rope in behind it. Now I was literally bound to the cliff. So I decided to stay bound instead of going on, and belayed Twombly up onto my six inch ledge. -'8 .. "\'\ With Yfeseoellrew holding me in place by keeping my rope tight behfnd the leaf, I belayed Twombly on past me and up the crack • For a time he wrestled with it dubiously. The usual pause, then two wild rushes and he was at its top, only to wriggle completely inside it and out of our sight. We hadn't counted on this. Soon a disembodied voice came ftoating down out of the gaping hole to say that he was safely wedged inside the finest belay in the Garden of the Gods. So, tightly held from above by the �CHAP~'ER IX-- y·ll~ invisible Twombly, I was able to free my rope to Ben from behind the leaf and belay him up to me. Soon we too had vanished into the narrow upper reaches of the crack, just wide enough to squeeze inside. Wrigt:,ling in darkness and an atmos- phere of red dust scraped from the soft rock, we all three emerged covered with red streaks into a pleasant hollow, a horizontal bowl filled with green bushes and sunlight. We had abandoned our easy east ledge and were involved in an adventure. For we were on the lower crest of the main hog- back now- if we failed to progress, we could always rapp el back down. But where now? we grew ap~rehensive. Sever al false leads failed to pan out, and I noticed a steeply slanted shelf that seemed to curve around a corner out of sight. Again with a double-rope belay, Twombly and Wendelken each entrenched in the bushy depths of the bowl until on l y their heads peered out at me, I started round the corner. Almost at once a knobby foot hold snapped off cleanly and rolled down the rock into space. This was disconcerting, but I had several other points of supp ort at the time and all was well. routes-- A disadvantage of pioneering no one has been before you to clean off the unsound holds. As I passed on around out of view, I found myself on the west face of the Kissing Camels, looking down a drop of perhaps 200 feet. I looped one rope around a projecting spine of rock and told Twombly to come on. Just under the spine was a tiny wind-blown hole, from which I hastily withdrew my hand when it encountered something suspicious. By the time Twombly had come in sight, my head was surrounded �CiiAPTER IX-- y· \\S by looping bees flying tight curves. By the time we frantically worked Ben around, they were beginning to swarm and we fled in terror from the scene. Fortunately there was a wider shelf now by which to flee. But it soon ended against a vertical abutment. Twenty feet above our heads, the latter was pierced by a chimney; but the intervening rock was absolutely smooth, a deep red in the direct afternoon sun. We basked in the reflected warmth awhile. Then Twombly backtracked a few yards and surveyed a tiny hole in the rock above his head. Neither Ben nor I thought it would go, but we got into as much of a belaying position as was possible and hoped for the best. There were no cracks .for pitons or good positions for belaying, but we were on a shel.f eight or ten feet wide though slanting downward. If Twombly fell, he would tend to roll down it but the major force of his fall would be absorbed by it and we could do the rest. We neither o.f us consciously thought any of this out, but the mind le arns to automatically brace itself for pulls and tugs and shock absorptions in various directions. A good belay man is an instinctive belay man. · After several upward lung es he got one hand in the hole. With a spring, he dr ew his body up past the hand as far as the hip. The hole had changed from a finger hold to a palm hold, all his weight resting on the hand and its straightened arm held stiffly from the shou lder down. Then he discovered a little two-finger nick for the other hand, sufficient to enable him to release the palm and stick a toe into the little hole. �CHAPTER IX--l" \\~ By a movement curious to watch, he straightened up on the toe and stood there resting, looking thoroughly implausible. Then with a grunt of "Get ready !" he leaned out to the left and let himself out the full length of one arm from the finger nick. Now he could reach a horizontal flake a quarter-inch in width with the fingers of his free left hand. It was enough to hold him on while he slapped a foot far to the left onto a vague slant, follow it immediately with the right foot drawn from the toe hold, and~~~dboth feet together along the rock to a definite dip on which he could stand. To the accompaniment of two miserable croaks (which we meant as cheers), he walked ten fe et along the dip and climbed into the base of the sought-for chimney1 It was getting that palmed hand out of the hole, we found, and slipp ing in a toe as replacement, all in the same motion, that se emed so difficult. And then standing upright and letting yourself out to the left from one finger nick to the othef~.,;t.,. """ 1"J finding the latter a quarter -inch flake which couldn't possibly hold you on, and finding it did as your feet worked to grope onto the dip-- all this was what made the place seem difficult. I haye since led the same pitch five times on repeat ascents, and it has never yet seemed easy; even though now, as you might know, someone has wedged a piton high above the finger nick. The piton helps, but not much. Next came the chimney. Eighty feet of it. Our sever al hours in the sun had combined with the absorbent red rock to make us thirsty by now. We began to look forward to the climb ending itself soon, enjoyable as it was. The chimney wasn't too bad 1 though its walls slant out in a bad flare as one gets �CHAPTER IX-- p· \~1 higher, and directly thru one's legs is the oiled parking area ror tourist cars at the base or the rock, 250 reet below. A number of black dots were down there now, pointing at us from time to time. Then things got easy and we walked all together for awhile, reaching a short length of narrow ledge, climbing down into a dip, and up again toward the final crest of the rock, where the hole went thru and the camels kissed. It was a narrow crest, a yard in average width and still fifty feet high from where we were, coming down to us in segeral great steps. The first we conquered at a rush. But the second stopped us. Twombly stood perched at its base, baffled. So I left Ben neck deep in a broad fissure as a fool-proof belay and climbed up to Twombly. Together we stood now on the crest of the hogback, the east face falling 350 reet down rrom our right. On our left, the drop was 200 feet into the deep trough that was the easy way down if and when we reached it. Above us now rose a final fifteen foot step, a kind or harrow holdless nose. Neither of us could gain anything up it with direct assaults. Round its corner to the right were a few wind-holes. Perhaps1 Seated, I fed Twombly rope as he tried to negotiate the wind-holes. I had an uneasy feeling that if he fell he might pull me off after him leaving only Ben to hold our combined dangling forms. him back. So at his first sign of hesitation, I called He reported that possibly someone with more reach could make it. So Twombly sat in position and I tried ·the corner and the �wind-holes. Twombly belayed me with one rope, and Ben held, the other from his impregnable fissure. If I slipp ed, Twombly was to let his rope slide freely and allow Ben to take the final shock. I got onto the wind-hole eaten corner, but it wasn't as easy to go on as I had hoped. rotten and crumbly. Tbe rock was suddenly very At that moment the wind hit us all together and we held on tight till the gust blew itself out. I found myself half-blinded with sand so I came back round to Twombly. The wind was blowing l i ke a cqpricious whip, and we were getting concerned. To get this near the top and have to retreat all the way we had come would be intolerable. But quite possible. Again I tried the wind-holes. And back I returned. Twombly climbs in spurts, some men in a smooth writhe, some like nervous birds in a constant chatter. on difficulties. The latte~ fits me I returned twice more, and got a little higher talking all the while, but finally I had to confess defea.t. Ben suggested one of us get on the other's shoulders. We decided it might work, but the corner was too loose and risky. Then we decided to try it after all, only dinEctly up the snout. It was properly termed a courte-lchelle, we informed Ben, this matter Qf standing on someone's shoulders like a circus performer. Twombly stood braced a gainst the nose of rock, and I cautiously stepped from one of his thighs onto his shoulder. The feet must be kept well up on the neck muscles. · along the shoulder is intolerable. Too far out With the big drop on either �GHAPTER IX-.- -r· \''\ side of us, we were both nervous, and Ben below perhaps even more so-- he was now simultaneously belaying both Twombly and I. ) But the wind died for a spell, · and I felt high above for finger holds. Just as I had feared, I found one, not the good sharp kind you know perfectly well will hold you, but the soft rounded variety which you know will probably suffice ••• Raising one foot up the rock off Twombly's shoulder, I had him support it with an upthrust hand while I tested my high round possibility. There was no way to fully test it without trying it, and suddenly I was using it and climbing off of Twombly and finding more holds-- well, as simple as that. Up and safe, I straddled a knife-edge of crest now and C\ S 1-y~c -f 0'1 ~ c.-""~" o.l ' -- worked my way along it horsie-back until I could brace and hold Twombly's weight on the rope. He and Wendelken then climbed up the exposed nose by going arm over arm up the rope, and we were up! Filled with a rather thankfUl sense of triumph, we moved piggy-ba9k, a leg on either side of the ridge crest, now six inches or so thick, working our way directly over the famous hole anion for about sixty feet to a laPge platform where we . had been before. The climb was over. The trip down, by the old reliable trough, took about ten minutes. It had taken us five hours to get up. With an average group now, we do the same route in two hours. One afternoon, Twombly, Alexander, and I repeated it as an exhibition climb for the Colorado Mountain Club in just under 45 minutes. It remains the finest single climb in the Garden of the Gods by virtue of its variety-- no other climb so short has so many friction pitches, cracks, chimneys, courte-~chelles., and knife-edges. �CHAPTER X-- ~.\~0 PART TWO: THE ART OF ROCK CLIMBING CHAPTER X-- FALLING • Few sports are performed in such isolation as mountaineering. Like hunting and fishing, it is almost never a spectator sport. Except for the members of his own party, the average climber never has to worry about performing before an audience. Hut those who have caused a crowd to collect below have certainly not enjoyed the experience. It might be all right to be under the observation of a telescope from some hotel veranda miles away, but to have a live crowd visible beneath you, and sometimes audible, is an annoying experience. For it is impossible to escape feeling that a large proportion of them are watching to see you fall. Individuals are all very well, but collectively the crowd has a morbid desire to see something sensational happen before their eyes. We have several times received uneasy proof of this, particularly in the Garden of the Gods which in summer is filled with tourists and sightseers. One day we were repeating the fine climb on the Kissing Camels that w~ had first done with Ben, and .among our number was a girl. And in the croVt.rd that gathered below was her mother who had come out especia lly to watch us. We paid no attention to the milling dots below or the cars that honked their horns from time to time. But on returning to the ground, we were upset to hear the mother's amused report on the crowd's reaction. Some were all for calling the fire department, although precisely to what end was not apparent ' since we were obviously not stuck or calling for help. Others were impatiently exclamatory over the fact of there being such �foolish dare-devils in the world. But most of them waited for 2~ hours in breathless excitement-- occasionally punctuated by someone's horrified discovery that one of the blue-jeaned figures up there appeared to be a girl. see us fall. They were waiting to Toward the end, one young man got so ex~$• t ed he attempted to climb a series of steps artificially hacke d out of the rock near the parking area in his leather-covered shoes-not surprisingly, he slipped, tumbled sixty feet down the steep rock, and broke his wrist. On another occasion, Gregg and I were ascending the center buttress of uEagle Cliff'' in South Cheyenne Canyon. A tremendous crowd gathered below including two truckloads of soldiers; and so many automobiles stopped to watch that traffic was completely blocked for four hours, to the despair of the authorities. Of this crowd we were at first completely oblivious, so absorbing was the climbing. Finally, about 600 feet up the cliff, Gregg succeeded in reaching the top of a broad 85 foot chimney which had stalled us for nearly two hours. As I followed, removing pitons, I fiound it necessary to hold onto a two-inch chock stone with one hand while I leaned down and stretched the other to free my rope from a karabiner. This •. allowed five feet of slack to appear in a careless loop below me, so that when the chock stone suddenly pulled out in my hand, I plummeted a straight ten feet. my fall. Gregg, of course, had no difficulty holding But like a sudden muffled gust of wind, a great sucking sigh came floating up from below, a sigh of mixed horror and unmistakable delight. We were outraged, furious. We wanted to throw stones at them and put dents in their shiny automoblies-a f~olish reaction, of course. �CHAPTER x~- 'f· \;t~ In ordinary conversation, too, the problem of falling is . the most interesting one to the typical non-climber. you stand such dizzy heights?" he would ask. spin? "How do "Poesn't your head And what about falling?" The climber, poor man, can onl y reply that he does not get gtidy when climbing, and he almost never comes even close to falling. One of the pleasures of mountaineering is its constant emphasis on safety, its ingenious drives to promote caution and minimize the consequences of error. It is not because he might fall that he climbs, and as far as he is concerned the falling question is irrelevant and irreverent. And there is another reason for passing over the subject. Football coaches are notorious for refusing to predict victory for their team in next week's game, no matter how overwhelming the odds in their favor may appear to be. Fear of causing a jinx, the primitive fear of the magic of boastful words somehow ? upsetting the apple cart i/ something the child learns very early. Because danger does exist, ~hough it is almost constantly kept at ba~ because one might rall, man, climbers are reluctant to go into any discussion of the subject whatever. Falls are tabu. This magic superstitious attitude appears in another form in the belief of some climbers who not only decree that the lead-man must not fall, but that you must never climb with a man who has fallen and survived. At first this seems a pretty shrewd J~, in the light of modern psychology. He who has fallen has shown that he possibly has some hidden desire to fall-or else that having survived once, he is likely to knuckle under �) CHAPTER X-- f"'-1~ again when the going gets tough and relax into the irresponsible ease of a fall. Nevertheless, I think experience disproves such views. The old fashioned sounding theory that the man who has fallen will probably learn his lesson and not be so recMless the next time seems to be borne out in practice. There arG a surprising number of climbers who have had their one fall, and years ago, and who never seem to fall again. per~~s years They still are to 15e ·: 1found on the most exacting climbs 11 and the slight but 1 • perceptible margin of caution they maintlan beyond that of those who have never slipped is, if anything, an ;. advantage. -..e\c\~M Now falls4stem from mechanical failure, but rather from some momentary flaw in judgment, which is a compound of mind and body, as is weariness and confidence. It is often pointed out that most falls occur due to breaking hand holds or foot holds. But even this is usually a breakdown in judgment, not a complete and unavoidable accident. For example, thru the years our little group climbed, I think, every square yard of rock that was climbable in the Gardon of the Gods. Yet despite its s6ftness, and occasional . rotten nature, not once did any of us fall while leading. The extent to which we had unconsciously learned to use the rock without breaking it was revealed when we introduced others to it. The ''Hammer· Orop" is a climb in the Garden of the Gods which involves a final pitch which is absolutely vet-tical and exposed. I still remember the first ascent, belaying Twombly �CHAPTER X-- y· \ ~4 rrom a deep crevice as he climbed out and around a corner to go straight up this final forty feet, and shouting that it was too exposed and he would have to use a piton. For minutes, he fumbled searching for a usable cradk, and then he dropped hi·a hammer and watched it spin,_: slowly away from him and fall an uninterrupted 300 feet before striking the ground. This annoyed him .into going on without pitons and we have since repeated the route dozens of times, never rinding loose holds on it. the first t~m~ Yet we conducted a person new to sandstone over it, one Cooley by name, he broke off three holds in succession into hie haada and broke a fourth so unexpectedly as to fall two feet before being caught by the rope from above. The first Ma'C"~no time Sal M~tioa climbed it, he broke off a chunk the size of a monkey's head, and dangled for a time on the rope. Later I led three girls up the place, and all three of them broke off at least one hold apiece. any .weak spots left. for a fall. I could hardly believe there were Unsound rock then, is seldom an excuse We must look more deeply for the reasons behind a fall. The first striking mishap of my oar~er provides an apt case history. Twombly and I were fascinuted by a great slanted fault-crack in North Cheyenne Canyon, whose middle portions bulged out in an awesome overhang. ~ The firVt time we dared r~ approach it, a sudden rainstorm rlushed us from its vicinity-~ retiring to a green picnic pavillion across the roa~ we watched the 400 root crack drain huge expanses of open rock so that it became a waterfall, concentrating and directing the stream in veritable fire-hose strength. �CHAPTER X-- i ..i"~ A climb for dry weather, we decided. Returning on a Wednesday afternoon, we penetrated to a point directly beneath the horrible bulge in about five minutes-- and spent two fruitless hours without gaining another yard. Finally we drove a piton and rappelled back to the ground, the first time we had to leave behind one of our precious six pitons. Saturday we had to return. So the next Arrived back at the piton, Twombly tl ed himself firmly to it, and I tried to inch past the overhang, which formed one side of the fault. There simply were no holds~ I could get up about five feet on the tiniest of knicks, only to slide rapidly down again. At last I caught a few nails on a bit of roughness long enough to enable me to drive in a piton above my head. place. I retired exhausted, and tied myself in Twombly's He reached the new piton, drove it deeper, and after ten desperate minutes got in another a yard higher. before had to rely so directly on pitons. perh~ps We had never The third one I drove eighteen inches higher yet-- then Twombly again replaced me and discovered how to climb the crack. Instead of facing the rock in orthodox manner, he faced outwards, at first with a hand and a leg on each side of the crack, but then, more success .~ .; fully, with both hands palms down beneath his hips and one leg drw~ up tightly underneath. The other leg stuck out to bnace agai nst the overhang. It was an odd position, apparently quite unsound, yet it worked. In no time he was past the bulge and out on a thin ledge, anchored to a fresh piton. I was already very tired. Now I had four pitons to remove, hanging with great discomfort in the rope to remove the upper three, one by one stubbornly retaining themselves · as I beat ,.·\.!. , ( i'''~··· ,.; 'L J. . r' ,.. , ''··Y' _ ..~ ;Jt. �CHAPTER X-- y·\~b them up and down with my hammer and rattled them and pulled and pried (and this is the biggest argument against pitons-- the agony of lliabor they so often entail!) At last, they were all tinkling from my belt and I turned with quiet desperation to negotiate the rest of the overhang, carefully and wearily getting in the position Twombly had invented, finding it did work, moving up inch by inch, finally stopping. I was too tired, :Wet he 1felled, "You've got it made, just a little highertn I had to catch my heel under me long enough to make another of those necessary upward wriggles on my palms and I wanted to rest and wished the rope were a little tighter and then it tightened hard and I went swooping out past yards and yards of rock in one long gusty swing, twisting at the end and rolling back in another swing, and directions reversed again and back, relaxed and bump-bump-bumping over the smooth rock carefree as a girl on a roller coaster surprised to find she isn't being terrified. I came to a stop in my p~ndulum swing about 20 feet from my point of departure, dangling freely on the rope and beginning to yell and rave. weight Almost at once my idle hanging changed the loop about my ribs to a fierce hoop of steel, binding and constricting my furious lungs and choking me. Inflamed and angry, I at last got face-to the rock and swung myself painfully back into the cracko I was vioiliently impassioned, and shouted up to Twombly that the rock must have chipped or a nail come loose from my boots, and furthermore why had he tugged me off balance like that? Then one sweating hand slipped and what did it all do but happen again, back and forth in that violently uncontrollable swinging, from which I �came up this time gaspingly-- to rind Twombly laughing. He said he had never before in our association heard such language pour from my usually placid lips, in such a prolonged eruption. I regarded the whole matter as an outrage. W~en at last I rinally reached him, we had a good long rest and discussion. What chiefly intrigued him was the ·':. ea.se with which he had been able to hold my successive falls. Though tied to an anchor piton, he had not once been pulled tight to it for support, rinding instead that the single row of edge nails on his boot-heels hooked against a tiny ridge had enabled him to hold his position. I too was interested, but inside I was puzzling over that furious unreasoning anger that had engulfed me. It was the first time I had ever experienced such total loss of emotional control. We went on, and perhaps unwisely I led the next ~6ugh pitch, like the pilot who thinks he must fly again immediately after his crash lest he lose his nerve (a roolish theory I think). I found myself far more nervous than usual, and still dead-tired. The belay I reached, extremely uncomfortable with my legs pulled up against my chest like a swimmer doing a jelly flo.a t, seemed by its protracted pain to cancel out my failure below. For it was obvious that ho sprung boot-nails or tugging ropes had caused my slip-- it was I who had allowed myself to fall. Tired, and knowing Twombly would hold me, something within me had relaxed. I knew it was primitive, and but superricial psychoanalysis, but I relished the painful belay as atonement !-~a.ve 'i c;l~C1.QS ~ dQ.note \u..c,u s~c.. h·Qn. for my idiocy below. �CliAPTER X-- ;a.<~i On the North Pillar of Hercules in South Cheyenne Canyon there is a high trough, in places merely a crack, called the Devil's Slide. There is another more famous Devil's Slide in the Pikes Peak region, but it can be easily climbed unroped; whereas we judged this more obsnure one never to have been climbed. In March, 1946, we found our mountain club well established'.-; ' but those of us who were leaders be gan to yearn to do some real climbing again. We were tired or instructing on easy routes, and wanted to get off by ourselves for a day, and try something difficult. Twombly and I spent a couple of hours reconnoitering the Pillar of Hercules one afternoon. After re aching the summit, we looked down the Devil's Slide from above. Then Twombly rappelled down it as far as the rope would reach, and climbed up again reporting nothing too difficult, if we could once get past a certain overhang. Then we walked down an immense slope of gravel and loooe stones, paralleling the Devil's Slide-- at the halfway point, we discovered a narrow ledge by which we could traverse into the slide itself. That settled itl For such a traverse constituted an escape route also, arid we determined to climb the entire "slide" from the bottom, next Sunday. The Saturday before I took two novices and King up a new route in North Cheyenne, over very rotten rock. As a variation, I succeeded in doing a forty foot hand-traverse, which King pro~unced very severe as he followed on it. even attempt it. The others didn't Thus I achieved an undue sense of pride. �CHAPTER X-- ,.,~, Sunday ¢orning found Twombly, John Gallagher, and myself standing on the oiled highway immediately at the base of our Devil's Slide. necessary. We had the entire day to spend on it, if We were the acknowledged leaders in technical climbing in the club. ~~e were reasonably competent, but still young. There was something more-- we had a brand new manilla climbing rope to use; and we had our faithful six pitons, plus a couple of new army ones a ~nd had given us. But we still had our old substitute karabiners, each with its two small spring clips, one for the piton and the other, rather tightly, for the rope. LL A regular · karaginer is~muoh larger oval steel ring with but one steel Clip. Thru it, a rope will freely pass. Thru ours, the rope could be pulled, but it wouldn't glide. It was to be the last climb on which we used these unsati§factory, antiquated, karabiners. Twombly won the toss to be first lead-man, and up he went. We negotiated one difficulty after another. there was 80 feet of four inch crack. In particular, With his tremendous muscles and compact power, Twombly did a ~ar better job on this crack than either Gallagher or I. Sixty feet up it, he drove a piton, and crawled out horizontally along a fly-ledge to a broad platform. Here we followed, and all three of us then ate our lunch. There was just room for us to sit side by side, backs to the cliff, legs swinging over the platform edge. We felt pleased with ourselves, and perhaps unduly cooky. After this crack, nothing could be much harder. As we ate, a man on horseback rode along the highway below. We shouted, and he stared up at us in wild disbelief. �CHAPTER X-- t·l~O Lunch over, we piled back into the fray. The upper 20 feet or the crack still to be done proved more difficult than the bottom 60, but we all made it in good order. Then the climbing was quite easy, and we worked up into a deep fissurelike cave, whose roof f»wmed the overhang we had feared might stop us. Tied to a piton and sitting in a hip-deep depression inside the cave, I paid out the rope as Twombly tried for the overhang. He soon found why this cave had formed-- the rock was incredibly rotten. It was like paper-mache or wet cardboard, and he pulled off great shreds of it as he climbed. In places he had to ·leave the shreds where they were and climb on them, as he would otherwise have stripped the rock clean or all possible holds. At last, rirteen feet out and above us, he succeeded in driving a piton behind a hunk of attached rock the size of a loaded book case. We were greatly relieved-- although ordinarily no one would trust too much to such a piton in such weak rock, any kind of protection seemed good here. Relying on this piton, Twombly then set out to reach the upper lip of the overhang. Just under it, he clung for five minutes, hoping to find some way to get higher. But at last he confessed himself baffled, and after a rather excruciating climb back over the rock just gained, he rejoined us. Now we dared to give an experimental tug on the piton he had placed up there. To our surprise, it held. It must .be stronger than it looked. We discovered that in our intent survey of his movements, neither John nor I had remembered to take a picture of him in his exposed predicament. So I gave ~mbly the camera, �CHAPTER X-- ~~~ cocked and ready. For it was now my turn. Tied into the lead-end or the rope, I set out with Gallagher my belay man in the hip-hole depression, and Twombly nestled in the extreme rear of the cave to take a picture. I promptly discovered the unbelievable rotteness of the wall on which Twombly had climbed. It required exquisite delicacy to cross, never trusting to a single hold alone, always the tense effort to distribute one's weight equally on all available holds. I began to hate that wall. Past TWOmbly's piton, I finally drove a second one, also rather shaky but better than nothing. Arrived beneath the lip, I found my superior reach could just touch the edge or what l?oked like a Bhelf-like hold. Ir I could grab onto that hold, I could cast orr my reet and pull myselr completely above this overhang. Once beyond, the rock should be sound again. I couldn't make the grab. Too much would depend on it. I looked about, and finally climbed slowly down a couple or yards. They thought I too was turning around, but I went over to the right a bit further and as high as I could go from tv""here, to reach a vertical fissure. new army pitons . Into this I drove one or the A piton in a vertical crack is not likely to be as strong as one in a crack that is horizontal. But I frankly thought the rock better, and therefore the piton of more worth than the two others below me. Now I could climb back up to the overhanging lip and make the attempt. hold above me. Soon I could again just touch that possible shelf nwell, get ready!" I told them; and at that moment Twombly snapped a picture-f' This thoroughly rattled me, �CHAPTER X-- 't.l3~ ~d I paused £or hal£ a minute or more. Then I felt up for the hold again and simultaneously located with a free leg an unsuspected foot hold below my waist. At once I stepped upon it, and reached for the promised hand hold. Three things happened in the rext instant: I found the new hold to be no hold at all but merely a small shelf slanting downwards with a better looking grip just beyond; my rope jammed fast in its three successive pitons and I started to yell to Gallagher to loosen it; and to make the rope come I pushed down hard on the new foot hold and it broke. For just a moment I hung on my hands as they slid slowly off the slanted shelf. Then vdth reliet I dropped backwards into space waiting for the first piton to catch me, then I was bouncing and carroming off surfaces and everytime I stPuck my head I thought with delight how right Wbymper was when he reported that a falling man feels no pain as he bumps his head and there was a shattering noise and a tremendous tug on my ribs and back that couldn't seem to stop--And then I was hanging head down staring at the road so far below down there. To my surprise there was the man on horseback again, looking up at us. My first thought was that it was too badJthe unfortunate impression he would get about climbing from seeing me thus upside down. just rode off slowly, out of sight. To my surprise he Then I twisted upright, picked my bent glasses off the rock, and yelled to my two comrades above that I was rrall right." I climbed up the rope arm over arm to them, thinking how fortunate that I had supplemented my waist rope with a shoulder loop, not knowing in adva~e �that I would fall upside down. Arrived back in the cave, they helped me to sit down and I found I couldn't talk. just a moment ago, this was ridiculous! and grunt so I stopped trying. I had tqlked was All I could do~gasp They were saying something but I wasn't interested. Finally I Qegan to shiver, and then the cold seemed intense. I had never been so cold. With gestures and a few croaking noises, I conveyed that I wanted thei.r sweaters. shirts. Finally I put on the two sweaters and one of Twombly's The shivering bec·~e controllable at least. All I seemed to want to do was rest. Ten minutes of this, and I could talk again. Twombly told of his frustration when he uaw the slip begin, with nothing but a wretched camera in his hands, and thefi\'·rwatching Gallagher as the .weight came on each of the three pitons in succession, raising him bodily from his seat in a big jerk each time though he was doing his best to keep the rope running loosely, and each time dumping him back as they pulled out, one piton after the other, all three of them. When the final shock came he let the rope run freely and slowly fielded me to a halt. The final piton had pulled off with the entire slab of rock which supposedly held it fast; but so rotten was this slab that it had showered down on me in harmless f~~kes and soft chunks. This was a magnificent job of belaying! Especially con- sidering that the rope was not nylon but manilla hamp, though fortunately new. From the amount that had run out when the fall ceased, nearly forty feet, we estimated the total fall at about 55 feet. On the way, I was informed, I bounced off two projecting rocks, and this, plus the energy absorbed by the �miserable pitons before they pulled out, helped explain how such a fall was possible without snapping the rope. But pri- marily, it was the sound belaying. In what followed, we were lucky, luckier than we deserved. For there was first of all that escape ledge we had worked out days before. Two~bly now left Gallagher to tend me in the cave and also to belay him. Using the entire 120 feet of rope, he was able to climb down and across the escape ledge to the gravel slope, untie and run down for help. The two of them could undoubtedly have tied me into a rope chair and simp~y lowered me from one belay to another. But by now I was beginning to feel sharp pains in my back, and we guessed ribs were broken and perhaps there were internal injuries. Within an hour, Twombly had rounded up enough climbing manpower from the campus for a rescue, plus a stretcher from the athletic department. With several mountain club members tied to pitons in the cave to handle my ropes [ t. wa:sc $~ra!Jped to the stretcher and lowered .down the cliff as far as the yescape ledge. Here I hung for fifteen minutes while a trolley was fashioned with rope and karabiners to get me across to the gravel hillside. While hanging and waiting, the stretcher folded up with me inside so that I devoutely wished I were no longer in the thing. But at las'fthe waiting was over, and I was pulled across. Then an hour's carry down the gravel slope (and no labor on earth is equal to carrying an old-fashioned stretcher with a man aboard down a hillside of loose rdck), and I was loaded into a pick-up T.;,.,.v, 1< and driven to the hospital. So we came out very well, all told. Two broken ribs, cuts �CHAPTER X-- ~·\35" and gashes on the arms and head-- I could hardly have had an easier time of it. And never since have either Twombly or I had a bad reck climbing accident. group accident. On analysis, we reali~ed it had been a The entire party had lost its sense of judgment, insisted on recklessly attempting hideously unsound rock with poor equipment. Though we all knew not one of those pitons was really to be trusted, we had kept on beguiling ourselves with the slogan that a little protection is better than none at all- whereas a little is worse than n:o ne if it has to be relied upon. us fools. t· vve had allowed a cumulative recklessness to make To our credit, we could only find that when the worst did happen, we had had enough belaying skill and knowledge of rescue technique to keep it from getting worse. learned a great deal. In sum, we It would be foolish to say that it was worth it, but we were better climbers afterwards than before. A word about the "Go back up and ~ly again, m@n, before you lose your nerven school of thought. It was, of course, freely predicted by non-climbing friends that I would never climb again. But I felt I had learned enough to deserve to give myself another chance. After four weeks, King and I went on two vast excursions into remote portions of the base of Pikes Peak, and on the second I was even able to do a little simple rock scrambling. In July-- four months after my fall-- I went on a roped climb again, as second man to Twombly on our first ascent of the so-called "pillar" ll-limb in North Cheyenne Canyon. On the first �CHAPTER X-- y- \~~ two pitches, though Twombly kept me belayed securely from above with a tight rope, I shook as with the ague. But then things settled down, and I found it was a delight again. �PART THREE: PIKES PEAK �PART THREE: PIKES PEAK CHAPTER XI-- LEGEND, BUST, & REALITY When I was still quite young, I met a waitress in Arizona who had worked for a year in Colorado Springs at the foot of Pikes Peak. "I got so tired of waking up and seeing that moun ... tain up there every morning, made me so mad I just couldn't stand it any more. So I quit and I left, and I don't want to ever go near it againl" Mountains, it seems, affect different people in different ways. Her attitude was a shock to me. For all my life up to then Pikes Peak had been one of the unquestioned marvels of the world, something you were fortunate to grow up at the foot of, something that drew thousands of tourists and their pocketbooks from all over the country with the clockwork regularity of each returning summer. Pikes Peak- "America's most f~ mountainl" As children growing up in Colorado Springs, this fact was a normal part of our environment and we took it for granted-the legends, the brochures, the publicity as real as the great grey hunk that rose in enormous blob a few miles west of our little city. The other hills formed a solid wall, blue with forest or purple after we learned to sing the words about "purple mountains' majesty;" but Pikes Peak at the rear of the view, so much larger, was Er~• awesome, in winter sprinkled with white powder. In winter we would be wakened at midnight on New Year's Eve to see the pretty lights-- little sprays of cherry-red fire, rockets and bombs. For every New Year's saw �CHAPTER XI-- "f· \?>~ without fail the stalwart members of the AdAmAn Club {strange men pictured in the newspaper each year in their Eskimo suits) ascending the mountain thru blizzards and cold to shoot off fireworks in celebration of the glad event. We early learned the legends, heard them anew in school and told them to the tourists, especially the one about poor old Pike. Poor old Zebulon Pike tried and failed to climb the mountain that was to bear his name, and declared, a.s everyone knows, that no man would ever be able to reach its top. Poor old Pikel Not to know back in 1806 that someday this selfsame mountain would have a cog railway and an automobile highway winding to its very summit, with thousands of tourists riding up every summer and treating themselves to coffee and doughnuts in the restaurant on top. At the <:l.ge of eight I lost this humorous contempt for Pike. I attended Camp Catamount, operated by the YMCA in the woods northwest of Pikes Peak. From there the mountain loomed entirely differently. A new hump, "Little Pikes Peak," dominated the scene. Though but halfway to the summit, i t was a tremendous hike in itself and was made only by the older boys. We ourselv~s were lucky to achieve but the very first stepping stone, the "little crags." That first year of mine at camp was apparently the last year the officials tried to run a hike all the way to the top of Pikes Peak itself. Only the strongest of the older boys went, mostly counselors; and we heard them coming back long after hours on the second night-- exhausted, cruelly torn and wrung of strength. It was terrible, they confided, especially the night out they had spent in blanket rolls. �CHAPTER XI-- y.l ~9 Now poor old Pike had tried to climb his peak in Novemb~ of 1806, not in summer. In a bitter wind-lashed blizzard, he had marched his little troup northwest from the Arkansas river, hoping to scale the "Grand Peak" in a single day. He could hardly have chosen a more difficult route-- innumerable valleys and ravines filled with chaparral and yucca cut across his path, together with rocky timbered ridges and the second and third highest mountains in the region. After three miserable days K~ee.- thru we:i et-deep snow, a foodless night in a cold cave that local historians are forever trying to locate, and one false summit after another, he found he had not even reached the base of his "Grand Peak." His men were still in summer uniform, ragged, wearing "light overhauls and no stockings; 11 and when one of them ventured to complain, Pike swore to himself to inflict disciplinary vengeance when the time was more propitious. Wisely, he decided to turn back. Under the conditions prevailing, he wrote, "No human being could have ascended to its summit." And this the innocent statement that legend and commercial \nv~ enterprise ~ seized upon and transformed into the wild and laughable claim that no man ££Uld ~ climb this peak. Poor old misquoted Pike J True, he could scarcely have predicted the speed with which so fierce a mountain was to be tamed. By 1820, James had made the first ascent, fearing several times as such beginners often do that one false step would hurl him to his doam . In 1859 the W0'1'\ mountainAfnd promptly lost much of its good name. Thousands of men streamed out to find gold, with the general slogan "Pikes Peak or BustJ" animating their efforts. They found, (a) that Pikes Peak could barely be seen eighty miles or so from their �CHAPTER XI-- t l *0 diggings at Denver, and (b) that there was no gold. Back they came, the greater bulk of them, with "Busted, By GodJ" painted on their w~gons. Those who remained found the gold all right, but it was in a different place and besides, that's a different story. Meanwhile, the first woman had ascended Pikes Peak, one Anna Holmes who wore hiking bloomers, carried a larger pack than her husband, and was said to believe in free love. Soon horseback trails and a carriage road wound to the summit. An army weather station was maintained on top (originally it was to have been a heliograph station, by which to flash mess a ges by mirror regarding Indian activities). And soon a practical joker started a tale which is still believed in some quarters, to the effect that a young soldier and his family were attacked by rats one winter's eve on the summit, and his baby devoured. The '80's saw the construction of a cog railway; and in 1916 the present * automobile h ighway was constructed, the "highest in the worldJ" Footnote: Or at least in the nation. Or at least until Denver built a rival highway up Mount Evens, 149 feet loftier than Pikes Peak. The Colorado Springs Chamber of Commerce at once yielded the point. Which is odd, for altitude surveys are never so accurate that they won't bear re-checking. Furthermore, the road on Mount Evans does not go to the summitJ A final rocky mound exists with a trail winding up it. Whether this mound is higher than 149 feet, I would hesitate to say. But as a loyal Pikes Peak booster, I think it must be. As a loyal climber, I think the best solution would be to dynamite both highways to smithereen~. But to laugh at Pike, I decided-- essentially because he did not own an automobile-- was rather silly and unc alled for. As we shall see, those who have climbed the mountain in winter have a ma rked tendency not to laugh at Pike, a brave if ignorant greenhorn when it came to climbing. For the truth must be faced: Pikes Peak is a big mountain. Its massive bulk extends seven to nine miles from north to �if CHAPTER XI-- y.\*1 south, an immense sprawl of stone that almost constitutes a range in itself and should have split into three or four major peaks instead of but one. Its summit is entirely too large, a quarter of a mile on a side, a huge absurdly flat area that looks as if nature had shorn it off on purpose, alas!, to provide room for the parking of dozens of shiny automobiles on a summer's day, the debarking point for the cog railway, and l!o summit houses serving food,, coffee, and trinkets. But mark this-- its size alone keeps it from being wholly or even largely tamed. Isolated and huge, no wonder it was long familiar to the Indians and Spanish when other peaks, often slightly higher, were but nameless spots on the horizon. Standing out in the Front Range, almost on the plains themselves, it is the most obvious landmark of its kind, a great flattened cone of red or brown from the west, bluish-grey from the flatlands to the east~ The mountain totally dominates the hills that cluster at its base. Unimpeded by rivals, it towers to an ultimate 14,110 feet while its lone satellite barely achieves 12,000~ This solitary grandeur makes it a somewhat unique Footnote: Called Almagre, Sierra Almagre, or Old Baldy. Drop a match almost anywhere in Colorado and Wyoming and you stand an odds-on chance of starting a blaze on a mountain named Baldy, Bald -Mountain, Old Baldy, Bald Top, etc. For hundreds of peaks rise above timberline, a nd each appears bald to the local inhabitants. phenomenon for the Rockie~-- Grand Teton, Longs Peak, Sierra Blanca all rise from the midst of major groups. Climb any major peak within a hundred miles and Pikes Peak will stand clearly visible as a lone upswept cone, while other fourteenthousanders in the distance will appear as mere lines of points, �CHAPTER XI-- y.\'i~ mingled jagged dabs to be untangled and identified by experts or a detailed map. This matter of basal size comes as a surprise to many a hiker. To climb Pikes Peak on foot from Manitou Springs, you start at about 6500 feet and walk twelve miles of trail or nine miles of cog-road to gain nearly 7600 feet of altitude. Few peaks in the Rockies can match this. Mount Elbert for instance, highest peak in Colorado and second highest in the United States (14,431'), has a base over 10,000 feet high, lea ving you but 4000 to master to the summit. But, say the scoffers, how can you really care for such a mountain, with that preposterous summit flat as a drive-in theater and attracting the same sort of people, those who want their adventure diluted by car windows and comfort? It is so preposterous a summit that one enthusiast even attempted to fly a sailplane from it, getting himself towed into the air by an automobile racing across the flat. Unfortunately for him, success no sooner seemed assured than his glider hit the summit house. And, go on these scoffers (who are not to be turned aside by entertaining anecdotes), not a year goes by without the mountain's being subjected to a Labor Day auto race, every suw~er finds youths riding up it on three-speed bicycles, burros carry intrepids up the east face for the sunrise, and one individualist, Larry Hightower by n&ue, actually pushed his cross- * country wheelbarrow to the top in early winter. Footnote: Yes, there is such a thing as a cross-country wheelbarrow. In defense, we who pas s ionately care for the mountain can only point out that it is, after all, very large and very complex. �CHAPTER XI-- ~·\"3 Cog Railways and auto roads cover very limited swath es and share in common an intrinsic flaw-- they must hold to the gentler slope$ if t h ey are to reach their objective at all. And so it follows that wherever Pikes Peak is most conspicuously dull and unexciting, there you will find your cars and your trains winding slowly by with their loads of tourists struck talkative with awe. Leave these narrow routes f i t only for wheeled traffic and you will find an endless mountain of twisted ridges and glacial cirques, split into one sub-summit after another. From each new direction a new structure is revealed, a new shift of slope and cliff, meadow and timberline. If the we a ther seems too tame, wait five minutes and it will change-- by fourteen different routes I have thirty times scaled this mountain and never yet found i t twice the same. It embraces snow, wind, calms, sleet, rain, fog, heat and hail, peace and savagery. Piker though I may be, I admire this mountain. In its own way, I believe i t to be a great mountain. Stand in the middle of Pikes Peak Avenue in Colorado Springs and gaze up at the Big Hill. This is a famous view and appears on many post cards. You will see a great central hump, rather fierce looking, supported by a shoulder on either side. Up the left - hand shoulder runs the cog railway, a barely visible streak although sometimes the plumes of smoke can be seen with ease. Up the right sh oulder, but largely hidden, winds the auto highway. Now i t is this cog-ro a d, nine miles long, that has done more harm to the cause of Pikes Peak foot-climbing than any other single factor. It is an abominable affair to walk on1 �CHAPTER XI-- ll "'"' A steady plodding gr ade, always up, averaging sixteen percent with a horrid maximum of twenty-five percent, it requires always the same tired set of untrained muscles, the same ankle bend, the same downcast eye-view of feet plopping one after the other from tie to tie between the two tracks and the third Sf~ rail of greased cog-teeth. It has an endlessne!~~ about it that is depressive. Visiting climbers as well as beginners try it once and vow never again-- the comn1onest rough trail with uneven grade to vary the muscle strain is far easier than a railroad bed .. It was by this hopeless route that the three of us, aged fourteen, first ascended Pikes Peak; and it very nearly killed off our mountain enthusiasm at the start. Knowing little of mountain lore at that time, hopeless innocents, we relied on the advice of our elders to use this route. Little did we realize why it was they shook their heads in such amused fashion. For doubtless they too had once tried the peak by the cogroad. And doubtless that was why so few of them ever cared to climb it again. (For it is traditional for almost everyone in Colorado Springs and Manitou to try to climb Pikes Peak at least once- after that, they ride upJ True, not even babes will get lost in the trackless woods if they have a railroad bed to follow. I would nevertheless think myself cruel and reckless to recommend it to the most rank novice, woman, tourist or child~ Footnote: Of course, a few warped individuals will run up and down the cog-road time after time. While hitch-hiking once I got a ride with a man who told me that all his life he liked to beat records, when not other people's, his own. Thus, for a whole summer he rode to Denver by bicycle every week-end (a distance of 75 miles) and beat his record almost every time. �CHAPTER XI-- f· l ij 5' For years he had been similarly afflicted with the cog-road, conducting solitary races with himself up it until senility set in sufficiently to prevent his breaking his record anymore. So naturally he quit. Once, he walked the nine miles to the summit, down again to Manitou; encountered a party just starting up and turned to accompany them to the top again. This I consider outright madness. So the three of us set out that ~ummer, and endured agony as generations had before us and will·, unless warned, afterwards. The last mile seemed intolerably steep, a grade of one in four, and fog enveloped us a s we stumbled thirty feet, ten feet, fell collapsing for breath, got up and rushed on, fell, rushed, fell, crept. After nine hours we reached the summit house at 4:30 p.m. Even at that altitude, our brains gasping for oxygen, it was easy enough to calc ul a te t h at we were going to get home rather l a te. And so we did. My principal memory· of this trip is that endless plop-plop-plopping in the dark down the ties or t h at infamous length of interminable cog-road. We discovered for the first time what anyone dead on his feet from exhaustion will sometimes find- that you. can go to sleep on your feet while walking (or canoeing, I am informed). And when you do get home to bed, your over-worked knees and legs tremble and shake for hours, effectively preventing real sleep. Particularly will this happen if you insist on walking the cog-road. For days afterwards, we hobbled about like specimens of some Ancient Man. So that rules out the left-hand shoulder. How about the one on the right, with its auto highway? Surely it would seem that there is no tamer way to ascend a mountain than by walking up a highway. But we forget we are dealing with Pikes Peak, which is after all a great mountain. �CHAPTER XI --1· \*fo One November morning, Twombly and I skipped town with its hard work and trifling pleasures, and lightheadedly set out to hitch-hike as far up Pikes Peak as we could get. Then we planned to hike on to the summit and come down the eastern slope back to Manitou. Snow had fallen for several days past, but the sun was out this morning and the mountain was brilliant with white. From the summit blew long streaming banners of ioe crystals and snow. We had no trouble getting up the Ute Pass highway to the town of Cascade, but there we had to wait until nearly noon before getting a ride with an adventuresome trio of roaming students from California. They were anxious to see just how far up the famed Pikes Peak highway they could drive in such wintry weather. For two hours we battled steep grades covered with drifting snow, but just below timberline the going got too tough and the car stalled. So after a few futile pushes, we helped them get turned around and gaily said goodby to our one easy method back to town. When they had driven down out of sight, the two of us began trudging thru a foot of powder snow to Glen Cove, a watering place in summer with a few buildings and the inevitable curio shop. ( "' s:· oc •) From here,Awe had seven miles to go to reach the summit. Meanwhile the sky had grown grey, where it wasn't a depthless white, and more snow was beginning to fall. But we were not aloneJ From one of the smaller cabins came a thin exhalation of smoke. Inside we found a girl practically weeping with cold. She had come with two male companions to ski and now they were off somewhere still skiing while she was cold and couldn't even keep the �CHAPTER XI-- "f· l ~7 fire going. We blew i t into warmth again for her, and ate a little cheese for ourselves. At three o'clock back came the males, frozen to a near-cardboard stiffness. No one could stand such cold, they avowed. After a final warm-up, they w·e re going to make a break for it and ski as rapidly as possible down to their car where it too had stalled out. They made no offer to take us with them. begged, but we had our pride. We might have Possibly 3:00p.m. on a wintry November afternoon was a poor time to be setting out for a -fou'Y'te~ --t~ o u~~""J - 14 , 900 foot summit. But Twombly and I hoped to make it, 2600 feet higher and seven miles further, by nightfall. Once on top, we knew we could always make our way down to Manitou in the dark by trail, especially if enough snow had fallen to glissade as far as timberline. So we sauntered out into the growing snowstorm. Soon we had put on all our spare sweaters under our wind-proof jackets, but somehow we were still cold. Above our heads a loud whoosh-whoooshing could occasionally be heard. The wind was coming up in gusts, but we were still sheltered beneath the ridge on our right, the "Little Pikes Peak" of the old days. Once above timberline, we suddenly decided to abandon hope for the summit. Instead we would go but a few miles further \S·C)O fe.c.t and dropl\into the Bottomless Pit. From there the town of Manitou was but nine miles distant by trail. But a few hundred feet higher the road swung out from behind shelter onto the main ridge and full into the wind. Within minutes we ~ were again changing plans rapidly. For glanc~ ing at Twombly's face I observed that his nostrils had turned an ivory white. A moment later and he remarked the same of mine . �CHAPTER XI-- f· l'fi +k.e. For a minute, both of us turned backs toAwind and held mittened hands to our f a ces in an effort to thaw out our noses. It wa s the first major frostbite either of us had ever exper"#= ienced (and the last for me). The wind was a bullwhip wind, screaming and cutting at us with tiny blowing fragments of ice, "' 1-eto stand still buffeting us one way and the other in gusts, w~ against it was intolerable. It was time to get the hell down off this mountain. Past 4:00 p.m. now, darker and more wind-cold every moment, it would be a lost cause to try and catch the skiers and their car now. Far below our feet, our ridge dropped off into an unknown valley that eventually ploughed below timberline and scooped like a great gouge to the northeast. Already it was in heavy winter dusk, but eventually it had to intersect Ute Pass, in five or maybe ten miles. We guessed it would come out near Cascade somewhere. At once we fled down from that wind, hurtling ourselves off the round exposed crest into the sudden quiet below, stumbling on down and down steep powdery snow swathed on a semi-frozen rubble of rocks and loose gravel, down-tilting treach ery that almost made us warm again from effort. Fifteen hundred feet lower, the angle lessened abruptly and we entered a rounded cirque with frozen clumps of brown grass sticking thru the wind-etch ed snow. In growing twilight we h ustled ourselves along right into a frozen willow swamp. For a time everything was a flurry of catching crackly willow wands, breaking or sna ring us at every move, even the grass about their roots like crackling strands of glass. Fortunately �CHAPTER XI--y- (4'\ there was a solid ice underfooting or we would have been wading and might have had to turn and find a way around. Then the swamp ended and, to our surprise, a few stars shone. Night now, but no more active storm to fear-- just bitter cold and the rush of wind above us on the ridge tops. Now came an abrupt plunge do~~wards, for the cirque had narrowed to spill abruptly into a steep · rock-jammed valley. Down into its ominous depths we dropped, meeting not only the first timber with great fallen trunks intertwined, but now huge stones, boulders to climb over or go between, piling thick enough to replet,ce the trees and eventually as large as small houses or shacks and packing cases, all jumbled together. We had descended similar places before- "Hurricane Gulch" with its man-made ladders directing the way down its tangled rocks-- but this seemed far worse, unknown and at night in cold that gripped like marble and soft powderous snow that frothed and slid beneath our questing boots. As if in a tired dream, I observed Twombly's dark form setting out across the knife-edged top of an enormous tipped boulder down whose snow-flecked smoothened side I looked in vain to see any bottom. This was dangerous. So we tried to turn it by climbing up the side of the valley to follow a contour above such piled-up difficulties. Almost at once,(as soon as we had climbed high enough to be breathing fast and breathlessly, the dry hollow lung-searing gasps you find yourself making in high altitude and extreme cold when you have gone too fast for a few yards}, we found our way blocked by a great projecting turret of smooth stone. How high did it extend? Could we rise yet above it? �CHAPTER XI- ... y \50 Nothing for it but back to the valley bottom. Down we turned, with Twombly at once hitting slab rock beneath the snow and then without pause clinging his way down beside a convenient fallen log. But a stub branch broke as I followed and for twenty feet I bumped painfully do~~ the slippery slabs tearing at the log for something to hold by. With ripped mittens I regained Twombly and we were back at the knife-edged chunk of stone, too large for a mere boulder. But now our nerves were frozen cold as steel and together without a word we balanced our way across the tip to embr a ce a tree for safety on the other side. 1'hen down again, holding to trunks and roots, into more giant boulders, between them, over them, past silent snow-crusted waterfalls, along fal len logs and thru thick assortments of bushes that gave promise of the rocks thinning out. How many miles of this we wondered? Then for a moment we were standing hemmed between pillars of rock and I slid, tried to stop and kickingly lost my balance. Sat-down hard, I shook my head, felt around and realized we were on a frozen pool of ice. At that moment what did we hear but a truckl Twombly extended his ice axe to help me to my feet, and we stood there listening in disbelief, the calculated disbelief of children who hope to receive proof of Santa Claus after all. A truckl Yes, a grinding motor hum, something to beg a ride from-- why not? We looked in awe for the headlights ••• Then the trickling motor hum became all trickle and no headlights shone, and we grew numbly aware it was but water trickling somewhere beneath all this ice. :Blasphemous disillusionment, ruin of dawning faith, essence compounded of intolerable disappointment! �r ' CHAPTER XI-- l \S" \ So we went on, cynics for life now if life would allow, bashing our trackless way thru a nagging wilderness of night and cold-- was the steepness and plunging tangle lessening? By imperceptible degrees our valley became a tame valley, and after a time miraculously produced a trail across the stream from us. Beyond enough pace to maintain bearable warmth, there were no more problems. A trail would bring us out somewhere, for it is the inherent nature of trails to lead from a place to a place. I remember that we stopped to rest several times now, and always got u~ in thirty or forty seconds dumbfounded ·by recurring waves of cold- the only cold so unaffected by sweaters and coats we had ever felt. Moving, we kept warm. Moving, we kept flexible hinges in our pantslegs, now frozen solidly above and below the knees, a pair of cylinders on either leg from the snow which had earlier turned to melt in the warmth of the car and later the hut at Glen Cove, and now solidified. Even the seats of our pants were freezing up. Only fast shuffling strides, broken occasionally by tripping or other miS:steps, kept us comfortable- and every quarter of an hour we would walk for a time with mittens pressed to our faces, trying to keep thawed those troublesome noses. About midnight, we ~gain encountered the Pikes Peak highway, long since cleared of cars by blizzard and nightfall. Within another hour we had picked our way down the final thousand feet of bush-ridden slope to the tiny Ute Pass pleasure resort of Cascade. Here luck rejoined us and we found a house still alight with a party just breaking up. Inside . telephoning, I observed Twombly's hair to be covered with ice crystals, as were his - �CHAPTER XI-- 't lS"- eyebrows and lashes. From my nose, I painfully plucked a clot of icicle. But luck left us again. Evidently we still had not been taught a sufficient lesson for our presumption and arrogance of pride. Neither of us could arouse by phone friends, relatives, 'o r transportation of any kind. So at 1:30 a.m. we forced ourselves out into the cold again to walk the four miles dovm to Manitou and bus or taxi. But a car stopped-- and we hopped in with alacrity to gain a ride with the most startlingly-drunken sot of a driver we had ever been trapped with. A yelp of animal joy and he took off down the pass, careening and whooping like a psychotic crane in sudden idiotic charge of one of civilization's playthings, rolling happily around the ice-stripped curves of one of the steepest mountain highways in Colorado, known for its accidents, using his brakes to create gleeful sliding effects but never to stop or slow down, hugging always and irresistably the inside lanes of the curves, inevitably doomed to crash head-on with the next car we met, yet meeting no cars, scaring the two of us as two such hardened climbers had seldom been scared before. Better a dozen knife-edged slabs, a hundred icy pillars or frozen waterfalls or downed trees, a thousand tubs of devils' worth of all the horrors of peak and cold and night that geography could devise-than another helpless five minutes .of the kind of ride he gave us. Dangers of mountaineering? At any rate, we finally hit on the device of persuading him �CHAPTER XI-- ~· \ S3 he needed yet another drink-- he stopped in Manitou and went off in search of it-- at 3:00 a.m. in the morning-- and the two of us folded ourselves like frozen tents and thankfully stole away. our benefactor had forgotten who we were anyway-- dark mumblings of plots and wild-looking creatures getting into the rear of his automobile somehow while his back was turned, had made his conversation rather difficult toward the last. �CHAPTER XII-- 'f' \5~ PART THREE: PIKES PEAK CHAPTER XII-- BARR' S - THE PROPER ROUTE But enough of these tiresome horrors. One might soon come to the erroneous conclusion that there is no way to scale this vast inert mass of unfeeling matter without undergoing bodily torture and mental cruelty. The truth is, Pikes Peak must be approached directly from the east if its true savor is to be properly relished. Again stand in the middle of Pikes Peak Avenue in Colorado Springs. Disregard the two enormous shoulders, which we have now learned are not for civilized men to employ as foot routes, and consider the great central hump of the mountain-down from the summit flows a steep but smooth slope of grass and boulders, dipping after two thousand feet beneath timberline and thm soon after disappearing behind several smaller mountains in the foreground. One of the latter is the famous Mount Manitou with its astonishingly steep incline (up which pulley cars are pulled by cable), looking like a vertical scar thru the trees in daylight, a great hook of lights at night. This eastern slope is the key to Pikes Peak. From the town of Manitou Springs winds the excellent Barr Trail, twelve miles long, climbing first up 9000 foot Mount Manitou and then across a broad valley, almost a plateau, to Barr's Camp, past which it climbs again in a series of magnificent switchbacks high above timberline and eventually thru a tight series o-f tumbled cliffs to the summit at 14,110 feet. Hemming in this final slope above timberline are two great glacially carved �CHAPTER XII--~· 155 valleys, shaped like horseshoes and full of fine rock climbing in summer, ice and snow climbing in winter. And so in summer, we would step down from the bus at Manitou Springe into the midst of traveling stares and goggleeyed paintings, and sometimes only bored looks and sometimes jeers, and walk the crowded street-fuls of tourist folk and hawkers crying their wares of trinkets and packaged scenery. one learns to balance on his toes beneath the heavy pack, spinning away from the honking automobiles, the hurtling pedestrians. With careful timing, it was generally possible to sneak off with all the canteens and fill them with the natural soda water with which the town abounds, bubbling from many a spring and well. It was this peculiar water that drew the Indians to the Manitou springs for centuries before the whites replaced them as tourists. But only by practice does one acquire the taste (Twombly and I are fanatics for it), and the others eventually learned to keep a frantic watch on the communal water supply, lest they find it all carbonated when walking the thirsty miles up the trail. Having tasted it but once, they will train their massed dislike on all its forms, especially the fine powerful liquid that gurgles from the "Iron Springs." Gradually one passes thru the outskirts, meeting fewer people as Ruxton Avenue changes into Ruxton Canyon and the beginning of the Barr Trail appears. Now you meet only a few hikers, occasionally a burro party riding up to see the sunrise from the peak the next morning, sometimes a forest service baby bulldozer {a "beetle") engaged in widening and smoothing what is �CHAPTER XII-- -p· lSto already one of the smoothest and tamest of mountain trails. In summer, some always prefer to cut off the first three miles of this trail ·by riding up the cable incline to the summit of Mount Manitou. But I was prejudiced against the incline short cut. I rode it one mor·ning with a huge load _.9f supplies to be back-packed up to the mountain club, and arrived on top to find that two cardboard containers full of milk had burst within my loaded rucksack. In winter the town is different. The streets are silent with the crisp incredibly crystalline air of very early morning, the shop fronts deserted and boarded up. Only an occasional scrape or clink of nailed boots rings out to audify the careful measured tread with which you walk the concrete or cross the patches of pure water-ice that have solidified here and there over the Thus a sidewalk. -It:- razzle-dazzle Coney Island of a town in summer now becomes a rather pleasant beginning taste, a familiar appetizer to the climber as he warms up for yet another try at an ascent of some kind. The only sad note he finds is that now all the iron water is locked up for the season, and he can on~y pass the shelter built over its source with do~mcast countenance, realizlng it is .i-s- even now bubbling inside, used by nobody, seen by no human eye. Six winding miles of tra.il and you have gained four thousand feet thru scattered timber, over occasional intersecting streams, and between and once beneath overhanging giant boulders. Deer and rabbits are often seen, and now and again in summer a grouse will spring whirringly into the air with that enormous unexpected flapping of wings that never fails to startle ·o ne ·., or;_.m-ore · �CHAPTER XII--l \S'f members of the group into jumping into the air themselves, with momentary fright and bewilderment. As you ·begin to approach Barr's Camp, you get a number of equally startling views of Pikes Peak itself, looming above you incredibly near, individual trees and rocks upon it clear and detailed. It now looks ridiculously close and easy, and this you know is an absurd illusion of foreshortening but it never fails to create a renewed sense of well-being and optimism. Barr's Camp- halfway stop in miles and altitude. Just a couple of cabins set in enough of a wooded depression that you must climb the roof of one to see your mountain. Barr's is the standard spot for rest and food in summer, and an overnight stop for the burro riders who rise dreadfully early the next morning and set out for the summit by sunrise. In winter, though, Barr's Camp is far more than just a placid lunch stop. It serves the same function as the shelter huts in the Alps-- not only a warm place to sleep the night before a climb, but also an emergency shelter in case of trouble. It adds just the reserve that you so~etimes need to justify expeditions in stormy weather, etc. Its very existence is a reas.s urance that helps thwart collapse in extreme situations. A shelter must never be used primarily as a refuge from disaster but rather as a source of strength. One .F ebruary day, nine of . ' us scaled the peak from Glen Cove, and left the summit at 4:00p.m. , intending to walk down the Barr Trail in the moonlight. We would never have tried it had we not known that Barr's Camp was t h ere below to catch us halfway if we needed help. A thousand feet below the summit, we were suddenly compelled to cut steps and .. move one at a time across snow that was very steep and wind-crusted. �CHAPTER XII-- -p· t5i Soon we could only move in short guarded passages, sliding sometimes dovm short patches of hard crust with the few equip ped with ice axes blocking and controlling the descent of the others. It was not a major mountaineering situation, but as our progress became a crawl instead of a brisk walk, the time stretch ed out and muscles began to flag. At such times it is a good thing to have a few girls along. We had five, and the gallant efforts of the males to aid and ch eer them added much to our spirit. A leader properly allows such antics to course along, watching c a refully that the party does not pass the point beyond which courtesies and insults sap its strength. Timberline was beautiful, the air crisp and still, but then we lost our moonlight t:)' 'V'\ ov-1 .. and the trail plunged into knee-deep powderA For yard after yard we waded, sloughed, push ed our way, the males gallantly taking turns at the exhausting task of breaking trail, the tli:omeelvoe girls gritting their teeth and trying not to stumble too often. and A do\m-hill fight but a fight nevertheless,jthe trail wandered off three times, was l oc ated aga in by flanking parties, and the snow never les s ened but stood always mutely about us, with rocks concealed and roots to trip over and t h e gallant ma les woncl.ering wha t on earth kept the girls going when they themselves were as tired as they ha d been in a good long time. And finally the answer to wh at kept us all g oing hove into sight, and Barr's Camp, deserted and silent/quite friendly. We stumbled thru the door to drop in exhaustion into chairs and onto the floor wh ile one heroic soul cre a ted a fire in the stove. It . """ ~ 1<-t d~ " most of t h e group again felt like wasn't until 11:00 a.m. Athat walking, with six more mi les of knee-deep snow to sally thru. �2Q / I CHAPTER XII-- 1· \5, But daylight helps a lot. But Barr's is an area more redolent with hallowed memories of good times than a mere life-giving refuge. One bitterly blizzardynight toward the· end of November found no fewer than twenty-eight of us hemmed into the main cabin and pressed about the glowing stove with its cherry-red smoke pipe, some singing, some sitting quietly in stupified contemplation, while the public-spirited passed multitudes of hamburgers dripping with catchup and onions high over the heads of the stuffed to the yet famished- hamburgers passing hour after hour in endless profusion from a second stove in the adjoining kitchen under the loving supervision of Salvatore Marino , master fryer, and his picked assistants. Such moments remain forever imbedded in the mind, packed in imperishable crazy mosaic -- the massed harmonics of chewing mouths, startled noises, screams, hoarse rollicking songs, wild cheer that bubbled and frothed like beer from a newly-punctured can at high altitude. A~d the constant roar of the wind~driven stove, at work roas~ing those closest yet never equal ·~ to the demands of the overcoated individuals condemned to the outerstellar cold of the further reaches of the room. And abov~ all, of course, the odors! Meat frying, onions being sliced, puffing pipes and wet boots, socks hung drying on the stovepipe to slowly scorch and finally burst into a burning black before being noticed by the agonized owners who had relied on the naturally-assumed intelligence of certain wretched girls to remove them at the proper time. Outside, a small stream that flows nearby had frozen and spread, continually blocking itself and expanding, until a �CHAPTER XII-- 'f· \'-0 smooth sheet of transparent ice had formed over vast areas directly in the path of the route for flowing water. It was an interesting and salutary sight to observe a volunteer setting out with hygienic care to cross its glassy surface, in either hand a heavy bucket of fresh water, and begin to slide slowly sidewise do·wn along its imperceptible tilt, standing immediately in alarmed balance, not a muscle quivering but still sliding faster with both feet now moving rapidly in irresistable parallel, danger hardly suggested before it is looming before him and plucking his feet from beneath him to go clattering and careening thru ever-thickening stands of saplings , a splashing bucket held tightly in either hand even as he at last makes his inevitable smack into a solid tree and solid halt. Next time someone else can go get the blessed water J A hilarious evening and a hilarious trip. Which is odd, because by every rational standard, this entire expedition was a ridiculous failure. Nothing about it took place as planned. Too many people signed up at the last moment {twenty-eight is far too many for a single shelter cabin) . Far more snow appeared on the lower reaches of the trail than the most enlightened mind~ could n ave predicted. Instead of reaching Barr's in the usual three easy hours, it took us six. Several less-experienced hikers had to:partially carried the last mile.by their comrades . Then the comrades had to be carried. Once inside the cabin warming and feeding, we heard the howl of the wind and it became apparent there would be no serious climbing on the morrow (you don't try to h andle twenty-eight people in a gale on a mountain). �CHAPTER XII-- ~· \ ~( Hence, the entire trip was doomed- . and yet hilarity reigned that night. Humor appears then as an expression of the forbidden or supposedly unpleasant, sometimes the merely unexpected. Mismanagement is solemn business until carried far enough- then it becomes ludicrous. Mountains must possess the power to thrust the climber into totally unexpected situations if they are to win his lasting allegiance. Caprice and the unpredictable are their charms, as of women. To know in advance that the weather will be perfect, the guides impeccable, the landmarks inescapable, to proceed with faultless chronometers and maps and ironclad assurance that all that the mountain will bring is knoVtrn in advance- would be the death of adventure in the hills. Fortunately it will never be achieved. But most laughter in the hills is equipped with a delayed fuse. Its workings are those of a tale a friend tells me, of rounding the corner of a ruined building and bumping stomach to stomach with a German soldier, both bumpers fully armed and in a state of patriotic alertness-- and both at once taking to their heels in opposite directions. A moment of mutually stunned surprise followed by a running terrifying experience, and within fifteen minutes and ever since, the height of the ridiculous and hence the ludicrous. The friend enjq~~ telling this tale almost as much : ae he would not enjoy having it happen again. Similarly, the following June eight of us set out after a fine night at Barr's to scale the excellent cliffs of the 11 CraterJ' We included in our number that same Salvatore Marino who was such a peerless hamburger man (and incidentally an expert at �CHAPTER XII-- -p-l ~~ spaghetti dinners also). He was also gifted with an exquisite talent for finding loose stones on rock climbs and dislodging them. The overhang of red sandstone which he pulled off into his lap has been mentioned. It was but one of a number of such incidents for which he soon became famous. Even on an ordinary grassy slope, if a loose stone could be found it would be Sal who would find it and in the .same instant set it in motion. "I've done it again!" he would chirp in shocked amazement. But those who ran scattering from beneath him didn't really mind, because it was recognized that dislodging rolling stones was Sal's special province, his handicap in life. Nobody can be perfect. So the eight of us, divided into three roped parties, were scaling the fifteen hundred foot cliffs, and Sal was wrestling with the problems of a forty-foot jam crack, belayed from above. Completely out of nowhere came a resounding BOOMJ-- the loudest single sound I have ever heard in the mountains, like thunder in a clear blue sky or a couple of field guns being fired off in unison. And the rest of us looked out in surprise and bewilderment across our horseshoe-shaped valley until on the cliffs opposite we could pick out the puffs of dust, at once growing into minor dirty clouds, following one after the other down the face of a precipice in close pursuit of a colossal newly-toppled boulder the size of a tank or granitized haystack, which slid thru space to bounce and strike the rock walls three kettledrum blows before smashing with infinite deliberation into the talus below, perhaps 1200 feet beneath its point of departure. We all breathed a sigh of relief-- except Sal, of course, �CHAPTER XII-- ,. \ b3 who hadn't been able to locate the cause of all the noise, being occupied to the point of di~traction with this intricate cracksplit wall up which he was jacking his rather rotund frame. Hearing three unintelligible BOOMZ BOOM1 BOOlU 'a and a final crash, he at once jammed a foot with all the force he could summon into the depths of his crack, and h eld on for survival. All very well for the moment, but new moments always follow, and the static must become motion if life is to go on. But for Sal the static seemed now to threaten a new and permanent state of being, for a big foot shod in a clumsy boot is not to be withdrawn from a four inch crack without a fierce struggle, if it indeed is b~ to ~ withdrawn at all. With the rest of us shouting advice, Sal struggled and clung to his position, dangling from a nylon thread and that jammed foot, high on the most delicate pitch of an exposed rock climb. Try as he would, he could not dislodge that foot. Belayed from above, he hung on the rope about his waist and worked furiously on the foot with both hands, but to no avail. Twists and squirms only added to the gasping pressure from the rope tight about his waist, slowly working its way up his rib-cage. Finally he planted his other foot on the smooth rock before him and, leaning far back, shoved out with all the might of a well-muscled leg. No good. A lost soul, he hung dejected and spent. A rock-roller he might be, but poetic justice was going ·, too far now. At last, John Alexander, leading a rope below him, scaled the crack up to the chocked-in foot, managed to untie its laces, and in a sharp no-quarter struggle succeeded in working the foot out from its confining boot. Freed, Sal at once climbed �CHAPTER XII-- ~.\b~ on up the crack with one foot bare while John pried his shoe loose. When he was s afe and able to rest, it suddenly struck us that this was all rather funny. Even Sal laughs about it now and then, though with marked res t raint. Yet by all rational considerations,the incident was a dreadful one, to be taken as a serious object lesson and not something to laugh about. Yet we climbers are amused to this day, though exposed curselves to an identical predicament at any time. A foot hopelessly ensnared, the rope wearing grooves about one's ribs, man but a plaything to the mountain gods, a fly for their sport- this should be a. ·~. solemn affair. It is hard to imagine anything more annoying in mountaineering, unless it be a jammed rappel line or a rucksack which drops off into space the instant you set it down to extract your lunch from it, or perhaps a freshly driven piton that you hope will insure your safety only to have it leap from the rock a s you blithely start to test it~ Footnote: A variant on the latter theme is a tale Bob Or mes loves to tell on himself. He was anxious to make safe a spectacular climb which was on sound rock except for one little stretch near the top composed of .high-angle gravel. So he had some special pitons forged, and when he next attemp~the route he drove a piton eighteen inches long the full length of its blade into . the rotted rock. Feeling much better, he then climbed the pitch of gravel with great ease and relief for the first time. Safely over it, he turned to belay his second man, gave the rope below him a careless flick, a.nd out snapped the eighteen inch piton with the greatest of ea sel Having seen and heard scores of such anecdotes, I draw the obvious conclusion that, while climbers approve of things going well, and appreciate those standard p leasures and unexpected rewards a peak sometimes bestows, it is the unwarrant ed and outrageous tricks it plays which \'i:Ywill remember most vividly afterwards, and laugh about. �CHAPTER XII-- -p· \ ~5 But such a statement is heresy, and all mountaineers worthy of their salt will of course arise at once and denounce it as rubbish and nonsense. Why I remember one perfect trip, when nothing whatever went wrong. MY notes tell me that for various unusual reasons, I had had but fourteen hours of sleep to cover the activities of four successive days. On the fourth night, a Sunday morning, I slept from 2:00 to 4:00 a.m. and then joined John Savage for an assault on Pikes Peak. He was in equally tip-top shape, and we wer e eager to scale again the mountain which had defeated us not so long before. He had not seen Barr's Camp since the night of the twenty-eight, the night his socks had been allowed to burn to a crisp. We left Manitou Springs at 5:00 a.m. in the davm's early light. At 8:20 we arrived at Barr's and chewed a few raisins for breakf a st. Snow was beginning to fall. At noon, we were at timberline in a near gale. Just below 13,000 feet, we had to cut about fifty steps in hard snow, even though still trying to follow the trail. Then complete fog swooped in, the wind died, and we were enveloped in a white nothingness. We soon abandoned the buried trail and cut directly upward. For an hour, we moved past ghostly towers, getting h igher and n igher into a silent world. Then we got on a narrow couloir of snow that rose steadily upward. We could now see but ten feet in any direction, but I judged we must be somewhere in the cliffy formations just beneath the summit where the trail wind~, in summer, up a series of sixteen switchbacks called the "golden staircase" (I know not why). So ie aaey e-.we;e:• we had only to �CHAPTER XII-- p-\~b keep going up and we were bound to reach the top eventually. Soon we had to begin cutting steps. Each of us would cut in turn, zigzagging up snow of a constantly steepening angle, ten or fifteen steps to a zag. Savage was the proud possessor of a brand new ice axe he was anxious to try out, and it was hard to restrain him. Instead of delicate horizontal nicks to fit the inner side of the boot sole, he insisted on chopping out great bucket-like steps in which one could as easily sit down and wait for him as stand. The snow was clean and crisp, winter snow packed by wind instead of spring melt- two or three strokes usually split out a step, though Savage generally expended seven or eight. After a time, things began to get sensational-- the snow became unbelievably steep, so that Savage had to cut room for the lower part of the leg to create his plate-sized steps. We were surrounded now by a complete and depthless white, and only when directed on the dark body of the comrade could the eye make out the falling snow and occasional sleet. After three or four hundred feet of this eery affair of chopping a ladder up into space, the weirdness resovled itself, the angle suddenly lessened, and we walked onto the top not far from the summit house. Back in the full wind now, we had to struggle ag&, inst it, finally gaining the shelter of the empty and sealed stone house. We cowered behind it and wondered what to do next. We had been in our shirt sleeves cutting the steps, but now we quickly donned parkas and mittens. After a few half -hearted attempts at eating a lunch (I dov1ned two bites of cheese, hard and tasting like candle), we decided the fun of a �CHAPTER XII-- ~· \~'l day like this lay in the climbing, not the goal. So we plunged off into the fog and over the eastern edge again. Once, in bright sunlight, I had glissaded this slope down to timberline on swift slushy snow-- a miniature avalanche had formed under each member of the party, which he rode swiftly down between cliffs and out into the open for nearly two-thousand feet. But now, we hesitated. High, we looked down thru fog and found it disquieting to consider a descent down so . steep a drop of hardened snow. Then it occurred to us to take a twenty foot length of sling rope from my rucksack and tie ourselves to either end. Then we sat carefully down at the top of the snow, braced our axes for effective grinding into the crust, and pushed off. Down we sailed at a rapid rate, soon finding for sure that whoever was above could stop the one sliding below in short order by grinding his axe deeply into the snow and gouging,_ himself to a halt. The little rope did the rest. This was far faster than belaying each other in a constant series of starts and stops. Down we went, faster and faster until we were slithering along like two chips of snow, filled with an animating roller-coaster glee. For a time our descending tongue of snow turned this way and that between minor cliffs and we swooped like birdmen from side to side, riding our axes for rudders. But all too soon, it fanned out into gentler slope and smaller boulders, and a few hundred yards above tim~erline (roughly 12,000 feet) we finally stopped and had to get on our feet again, and walk like earthbound men. But it was easy walking, and with great strides we raced dovvn along a plunging stream course, sliding upright now and �CHAPTER XII--'?·\~~ again for short distances on our feet, sometimes breaking thru the crust (always softer below timberline) and wallowing for brief stretches to the waist. Then we found ourselves enmeshed in a thicket of frozen bush es and myriads of aspen saplings growing but inches apart. Too strong to push thru and too weak to be walked upon, they cut our pace to a crawl. For awh ile we could only curse and thrash our way, laughing or gas ping when one or the other lost his footing or was swapped across the cnest by a springing branch. At last we came thru onto the Barr Trail just a short distance above the camp. Here we paused again to eat. Then on down the trail some more, and at 7:30 p.m. we were returned to the streets of Manitou Springs and waiting for a bus. It was not yet even fully dark. An amazing trip. I have seldom felt so fit after a moun- tain. Its peculia r flavor lay in its almost total success, a surprising and astonishing event, quite unpredictable. We remembered best the final steep slopes of hard-crusted snow-never had we been on such in so impenetrable a fog, exactly the color of the snow. The world had seldom se emed so unusual, so impersonal and white. �CHAPTER XIII .... - ~ "''\ PART THREE: PIKES PEAK CHAPTER XIII-- WE TRY THE CLIFFS The summer we began in earnest to explore the cliffs of Pikes Peak was a very wet summer, a dripping summer. Day after day the same clouds would form, - threaten, hover, drizzle, and sometimes pour. It hurt the tourist season, and it hurt the climbing too. The region is usually a semi-arid one, and the thousands of t~ lawns in Colorado Springs would go speedily back to sparseness and desert were it not for the great reservoirs on the lower slopes of Pikes Peak, built to catch the melting water from the winter snow. Water is the great problem of the West, for there is not enough in the Rocky Mountains and never will be. Valuable as the dams and irri- gation projects are, they will never be able to supply all the arable land. This is all right with some of us who do not believe that man's happiness depends upon his using every acre f)<T- of ground in the entire world to support more and more Ahimself. At any rate, thruout this particular summer, the water came down in unwonted -{lilltfi lil!!W&.Ii:iear quantities. Breaking our usual rule, Twombly and I hiked part way up the cog-road again, for we wanted shelter from the storms. Accompanied by a new recruit named Welbaum, we spent the night in an old railroad car, permanently moored beside a water tower five or six miles up the track. All night long the rain dripped and poured on the roof while we tried to sleep on the hard floor~boards. We must have all three fallen asleep by 3:30 a.m., because that was when we were all awakened by the idiot beam of a flashlight �CHAPTER XIII--l \1b probing at our snug interior thru the windows. "Hey you guys, look in herel Gosh, they must be sleepinl" See? There's people inside. Luckily . for them, they were gone before Twombly could disengage himself from his bag and round up his ice axe and launch measures of retaliation suited to his mood of outraged sensibility and indignation. But when re-settled, we were not once but twice more roused from peac eful slumber into a warlike ferocity by parties ofloud~mouthed hikers on their way up the cog-road for the sunrise. Of course, we should have kno~m that whatever advantages the cog-road might momentarily seem to have , disadvantages to more than outweigh them would promptly pop up. We resolved never again to spend a night in the railroad car regardless of the state of the heavens above. But by 6:00 a.m., the rain had stopped and a few fragments of sunlight hadeven broken out. We built a fire outside and ate a horrible breakfast of C-rations. A group of hikers came by whom we knew , and expressed their grave concern over the weather. Even they, mere walkers and glad to ~e mere walkers, might turn back. We scoffed. and high adventure! It was a day for rock climbing So put out was I by their ridiculous pessimism that, getting down on all fours to huff and blow on our campfire, to prove how easily fires still burned despite the so-called dampness, I knelt too close. of eyebrow was singed off. An extensive area It gave me an awesome and savage appearance, and ·they soon left. The three of us cut directly cross-country from the cogroad, thru timber and scattered underbrush, making for the �CHAPTER XIII-- -p· \1\ entrance to the Crater just below timberline. The Crater: southernmost of the three great blunt valleys, hors~eshoe-shaped, gouged from the east side of Pikes .Peak by glaciers, now dried up in the unfortunate heat wave the earth has been suffering since the last ice age. The Crater can be plainly seen on a sunny day from that same Pikes Peak Avenue in Colorado Springs, a great hollowed cirque just to the left of the summit and the easy Barr Trail slope, looking as if some gigantic ice cream scoop had taken out a primeval bite from skyline down to timberline. King and I had scouted it the previous winter, working our way up a route that required no rope-work alongcthe left edge. The center and right sides were steep faces of solid granite, from 500 to 1500 feet high. At 10:30 we were on the floor of the Crater, skirting a delightful shallow tarn and bits of old trail (of which great sections had been blocked for many years by enormous slides of talus and scree- years ago, burro parties used to come in, but today few people see the Crater at close range). We roped up with myself in the lead, Twombly second, and Welbaum third. The sun was now out for certain, the fog that had earlier filled the Crater was dissipating, and we felt ·very very good. Our objective rose high above us-- a giant outcrop like an enormous solid tower, probably 500 feet high, with its base a thousand feet above the valley floor. We had named it "the Bastion." In a swift series of not unreasonable pitches, we mastered a. 'f\~Mr\4-'-IS the first thousand feet of relatively easy slabs and eai:mni<*f, broken by intermittent ledges covered with thick grass. We all �CHAPTER XI I I-- f>· \., 01.. felt in top form. But on arriving at the base of the Bastion itself, we found we had a real climb on our hands. It was split by an enormous multi-fingered crack, actually a chimney, from top to bottom. a distance. This we had seen before from Close up, it looked like a long rough climb.. We decided to play it safe this first time and look for an easier route. Working our way around the base to the left, we encoun- tered a new chimney system that had the appearance of great feasibility (as routes often do from below). For a single pitch, all went well. Then I came up against a sudden stiffening of angle, concurrent with a spa.rsening of usable holds. I q~t could~just so high, a yard below what appeared to be a fine rock edge, but no higher. Finally I planted a piton at my highest point and came back down to let Twombly have a try. Being middle man, he of course had two ropes going to his waist. So after finding that he could get no higher than I had, he left one of his ropes clipped to the piton, climbed down a few feet, and put his weight on it. Then with Welbaum and I each feeding him a separate rope, he walked around a buttress corner to our right, the hanging rope tension giving him just the added pressure he needed to stick the barely-existent holds he found. Safely entrenched above, he belayed each of us up the same place in ·turn. Welbaum finally slipped and swung bodily around the turret-like corner, held from above. I more or less made it under my own power, with the help of a few rope tugs, but as usual my awe for Twombly's ability to cross friction slabs was increased. Again I went into the lead, deep inside a chimney this time. At first it yielded well under the standard cross-bracing . �CHAPTER XIII-.o. y.l13 o.f legs and back. But then, one belay higher, the chimney narrowed as it rose, finally forming a Gothic arch. As I worked up into this, I knew it was necessary somehow to climb • ,...,.. out from the chimney altogether. But highAunder the roof of the arch, my hand groped onto an excellent hold. Thrusting my head up inside the narrow walls , I found myself suddenly enveloped on tot.al darkness. Twombly thought. ! had got it stuck (i.e. my head) , but I shouted down that this was not so. True, the confines were so narrow that I could turn it in neither direction, but I could move it back and forth with eyes held straight ahead. When moved far forward, I could suddenly see again, looking down between my lege r to ·; a foot on either side of the chimney, then on down along the rope to i-o Twombly below and much further downAWelbaum's head looking as if it were idly surveying the scenery round abou~ But I had Footnote: After the novelty wears off, men who are last on the rope seldom pay much attention to the goings-on of the leadman above their heads. It involves too much neck strain, constantly looking upward. End men spend most of their time sitting in idle revery, waiting for those above to solve whatever is being solved and call for them to come on. ------------------------------------- this good hand hold and I hated to loose myself from 'it. Moving my head back up to a comfortable position, I was again unable to see anything. This went on for several minutes, my head bobbing up and down in the same stone-confined arc. I was unable to see how to advance, or how to get out from under that which I was inside of, or how to bring myself to release that fine hand hold . Now it felt so good that every other roughness about me seemed too weak and questionable to use. the folly of remaining too long gripping a good hold. Such is �CHAPTER XIII---y.l1'-' Finally it seemed best for Twombly to climb up to me, do belayed by Welbaum. Finding he could~nothing directly to release me, he went on past, staying well out in the chimney (an important lesson I had evidently not yet learned), and was soon able to achieve a fine belay on the grassy top of the arch. Now I could release my h~- gh hand, sag onto the rope in a short jerk, and swing freely from beneath my prison to the climbable portion outside. Soon I was past Twombly and in the lead again. I would have long since forgotten this episode were it not for Twombly's repeated re-tellings of it, embellished with the claim that my head had been stuck fast, and he had had to release it by manual means. Sometimes he insists that he was forced to crack the rock from around it with his hammer to free me. All this I deny. To the best of ~~ recollection, the affair transpired as related above, and I will not believe that my head was literally jammed fast. This would be worse than a jammed foot. At this point, the patient Welbaum called our attention to the weather. Busy as we were, we had failed to notice the re-forming clouds. One of them, shaped like an ethereal Spanish galleon, was forming at eye-level a scant half-mile from us out over the Crater. way above. Several broad grass ledges rose with granite facing, one above the other. I had. Hurriedly I climbed to reconnoiter the I ran out quantities of rope, at last all I had reached a grass insert, a little platform , and above me rose a few thin cracks for what appeared to be sixty or eighty feet. They looked terribly difficult and unyielding, with little assurance of better going above. I remember that �CHAPTER XIII·- p_· \'15"' ~ast glance up that forbidding wall with those parallel cracks splitting up it, alone as I watched and out of sight of Twombly or Welbaum. Well, we would indubitably return someday, I thought. Someday we wiil1 l. scale those very cracks, from this identical spot. We have never returned yet. I am the only human being who has seen that view from that spot, standing in that rich grass on that particular ledge. At the time, our one job now was to turn around while we still could. A storm might well be brewing. I returned to Twombly, and the two of us rappelled the chimney to Welbaum. We decided to rappel past the b ad place also. For precious minutes we searched clumsily about for a good rappel hook. We were anxious to get the rappelling over before any lightning began to strike, for then it would be especially dangerous. The anchor of the rope on top and the feet against the cliff would provide two points of contact with a great potential difference. This lesson in applied physics we carefully imparted to Welbaum, as we at 1ast found a little stub of rock imbe.dded in grassy sod for a hitch. Welbaum had never rappelled before, and by the time we had it explained, sleet was falling. But still the thunder and lightning held off, and down the rope slid Twombly. Then followed Welbaum with understandable slowness and extreme caution. As my turn came, we heard the first definite clap of thunder. In two or three great sliding bounds, I had joined them. Kneeling to coil the retrieved rope, we had sleet and rain slapping about us, blowing in horizontally in the fierce updrafts up of wind sweeping/over the top of the crater. �CHAPTER XIII--"f.l.,~ Free from the Bastion now, we still h a d 400 feet of mild cliffs to negotiate before we would be in striking distance of the summit house. Hurriedly we mounted them, a twisting route around and behind and underneath great leaning pillars and severed slabs. Just below the final crest, we found a small cave and decided to sit it out. For a time the sleet came thick and wet-- thankful we were to be off the serious rock climbing anyway. Then it let up, and we clambered out and shook ourselves. Over the last cliffs, we found ourselves on broad flats of boulders nor far from the cog-road track and but a few blocks from the summit house. The clouds were still boiling very low and a tremendous wind was sweeping past now. As we started to make a run for it, Welbaum and I became conscious of a loud buzzing- •r wombly' s earmuffs. Welbaum had never heard such buzzing before, a familiar sign of electrical activity on high peaks. "We'd better get a move on," Twombly suggested. And just then the thunder returned with a tremendous crash and we hurried all right. Down came sheets and sheets of rain, followed by pellets of ice and hail in bushel-basket quantities. Ordinarily one should get off exposed ridges or squat down low in lightning storms, but there was the summit house up there just a little further, with its guaranteed warmth and safety. We fled like stampeding rabbits, running, gasping, falling. Twombly and Welbaum scurried across the track but I continued on my same side. A train had just left the top and was steaming down thru the storm toward us. Twombly and Welbaum began shouting some- thing, but all I got was that we were still roped up. All that �CHAPTER XIII-- y. . t"T'I came to mind as I ran wa s t h at when lightning hit a roped party it usually spared the middle man, and I wa s tied to one end. Then with t h e train steaming sixty · feet away, I realized what they were trying to convey, both literally shrieking at me now-- we were still roped and I was across the track! Like a hunted animal I bounded over to their side and the train went fiercely chugging past, tourists' faces filling the windows for one startled succession of moments. Then it was past and we were wa lking toward the summit again. All I could say in i ~ c1- defense was Athe cog engine would -probably have pressed the rope to the tracks and cut it with its wheels, not dragged us all along like three cans tied to a dog's tail. we were too soaked to get very dry, once in the summit house. But we were safe from lightning and we could get warmed up. Advantages did / inhere, we silently admit t ed, to cert a in aspects of this man-tamed mountain-- namely the shelter, coffee and doughnuts available on top after a conscientious day's toil at mountaineering. And if really tired, if exhausted to the point where the pricks of conscience no longer stung, it was sometimes darned convenient to hitch-hike down the highway in place of the nine or twelve mile wa lk back to Manitou. But we were that tired less often than might be imagined. On the other hand,just how tame ~the mountain? Every ascent we made that summer ended in the sum.mi t house with our. ringing out soaked sweaters and warming numbed fingers. And where we climbed, on the actual cliffs, no other human voices or accoutrements manifested themselves. Though the Crater was �CHAPTER XIII--~. \'\'a easily visible from Colorado Springs-- even the Bastion-- eyes practiced to see it were few and far between. An occasional biologist hiked to the little tarn tq gather from its waters a non-edible form of shrimp (or at least one did). Twice the Barr Trail touches the edge of the Crater from above, so that hikers and burro riders may look over into clean cool space and perhaps toes a few boulders into the abyss {never dreaming there might be climbers below them). But otherwise the Crater is invisible to ordinary eyes because it is not seen from either the cog-road or the highway. Though he has occasionally glanced up at the eastern slopes of Pikes Peak thruout his lifetime, the average old-timer in Colorado Springs has never noticed, or been c·u rious about the Crater. Hence, we felt alone when climbing it, and its walls seemed still primeval. Directly across from the Bastion, on the north face of the Crater, we worked out a magnificent route for ordinary high-altitude rock climbing. It had cracks (such as the one Sal jammed his foot in), laybacks, chimneys, slabs, overhangs, a vicious patch of 80° grass that has to be climbed, and an excellent cave affair from which escape is only to be gained by a finger tr~verse and an upward lunge for a two-finger hold that is unfortunately out of sight. Our first ascent of this route took five hours, sustained two rain storms. When we had unroped at the top of the cliffs, and had but a few hundred yards of steep boulders to ascen4, the mountain again taught us to watch for its whims. canteen strapped to his waist. Twombly had a German army Hearing an ominous grating crunch, �we glanced toward him and saw a huge angular stone the size of a bulldozer rolling to attack him. Before our eyes it slid to where he was last visible and smashed into a second huge stone with a shrieking crash, immediately followed by the powerful tang of granite dMst in our nostrils. Twombly has ever afterwa rds nourished a characteristic distrust of larg e detached boulders. For he had but barely touched this one, yet somehow jarred it out of b a lance so that as it came careening at him he had barely time to step to one side-- it caught the canteen protruding from his hip and stamped it flat against the second stone with the force of an enormous die press. He could never look a large rock in the face after that without being reminded of the odd loss of his prized c anteen. But it was not the unpleasantries and whims of the mountain that intrigued us, but its rugg ed variety. Directly north of the summit i s a second glacially-scooped valley, the Bottomless Pit!) It is better kn own to the populace at large than the Crater, becau se the auto highway touches its brim once. Tour hack drivers stop at the vant a ge p oint and allow their passengers to get out and stretch and incidentally gape over the edge into fifteen hundred f e et of depths. The numbers of tourists who inquire as to whether it really has a bottom or not is said to have markedly declined in recent years. From the summit it may also be seen if one t a kes the trouble to walk over to the brink north of the summit house. it is twenty-five hundred feet deep. From there, Evidently men have thought �fit to drive golf balls over the edge, for on three separate occasions we have found old rotted golf balls in the rocks and gravel of the bottom. To drive a golf ball into a hole a half- mile deep must be rare sport. Several times we had penetrated into the remote fastnesses of the Bottomless Pit and loo.ked .over its awesome cliffs- none so high singly as those of the Crater, but more of them, arranged in stair-step tiers. Years before, regular burro parties were conducted into the Bottomless Pit by a branch trail from Barr's Camp. The trail still existed in par t s, though almost never used. A quarter-mile section had been hopelessly blocked by fallen trees, swept from position and piled helter-skelter like matchwood by winter avalanches ••• Gradually as you round the corner into the Pit, its bottom rises slightly above timberline. Several mouth-watering falls and cascades appear, a gay stream trickling thru the boulders and luscious carpets of green grass in sunmer. In winter, the the falls freeze solidly; and/great decks of cliffs, pierced by vertical shoots packed with snow, are overpoweringly sa¥age and beautiful. Here we made the last exploratory climb of that wet summer. We decided to let the Bastion alone awhile, but we were determined to at least try out the Bottomless Pit before winter put an end to the summer climbing. We tackled the lower face of a high thin spur of rock, and found it hard enough. went too smoothly for much to stand out. Yet things There was one peculiar chimney in which for awhile my feet were higher than my head as I climbed from beneath its blocked top. I remember well that �CHAPTER XIII-- f· \if our third man this time weighed 195 pounds and fell five times, each time belayed by me- and when he got to that vicious chimney, he thr~wcaution to the winds and climbed it arm: over arm up the rope, the pressure of his weight gradually constricting and burning me about the waist and wearing out my fingers. But we had told him not to hesitate to use the rope for aid if he felt he needed it. And I remember that no sooner had we over- come the final serious difficulties, with Twombly negotiating a two-inch crack for thirty feet, than down came the usual rain followed by fog and then snow. Safely we rappelled down the other side of our crest of stone into a steep ravine filled with loose sliding material. The latter made it an endless affair for hundreds of feet, but we were out of danger and there was no need now to hurry. extraordinary . Our luck all summer with storms was As usual, tourists gaped with astonishment as we surmounted the topmost rim of the mountain, passing instant~ aneously from alpine ruggedsiness and solitary grandeur into a ' '-"" tangle of muddy parked cars and people in high heels and thick coats , shivering. welcome. As usual the summit house felt warm and We relaxed and the storm went on and eventually we were out in it again to pick our way down the mountain, mile after mile of cool snow-filled air and winding trail, timber, Barr's Camp, and finally Manitou Springs in the dark. Not for nine more montns would it be feasible to go rock climbing again on Pikes Feak, for winter had arrived. �CHAPTER XIV-- y· tt:.t PART THREE: PIKES PEAK CHAPTER XIV-- ENTER C. GREGG- A major luminary drifted into our little group. were constant influxes all the time-- There comets and asteroids would appear in our midst, spin gaily with us awh ile, and then drift off into other galactic systems. Part of this constant shuffling of orbits, of course, was inherent in a mountain club based upon a col~ege. While not limited to students, its membersnip was heavily weighted with them. Some transferred; others graduated; many married and had families and disappeared forever . Due to the GI influx in the college, the average age of our males tended to be rather high- 26 to 29- but our numbers were nevertheless necessarily unstable and capricious. In addition, the majority had to leave three months every year, the summer recess, and this was the finest period for highaltitude rock climbing. Hence, the addition of a permanent star of the first magnitude was a rar.e event. In this respect the arrival of c. Gregg may be likened to the explosion of a super nova in our midst, one which was to glow and bubble with virtuousity for many years-- indeed, the end is not yet in sight. Now the rest of us were rather short and. slight in appeari"W ance-- wiry undoubtedly, strong and compact, fierce little men who were by no means so light and frail as to be in danger of blowing off our cliffs in nigh winds-- but still not always as large as nature had apparently doun:ted on t when ~ she .c· spaced the holds and irregularities on certain climbs. The addition of Gregg added untold inchew to our reach in all directions. �CHAPTER XIV-- f~\.13 standing well over six feet and possessed of extraordinary leg power (he was an expert pole-vaulter), it was as nothing for him to stand in a vast straddle, his feet on holds eight and nine feet apart, motionles ~ for minutes at a time while he thought what to do next{except for an occasional throbbing vein appearing on his calves if he was wearing shorts). In fact, the climbing had scarcely begun for Gregg until he had succeeded in spread-eagling himself over the smooth face of a cliff, one foot here and the other on some imperceptible little nick way over there, arms similarly spread until he was so flattened against the rock as to appear a cardboard manikin pasted there. And I have fed him rope on at least one occasion while he mounted a chimney three yards wide by placing both pa~s against one wall, both feet against the other, his body curved in a kind of cantilever arch. Gregg at first sight appeared to be some kind of fairhaired boy, an illusion fostered by his blond hair. One soon learned he wa s not so innocent however, and almost overnight he developed into a climber of consummate and diabolical skill. His movements were massive and deliberate, compa red to Twombly's or mlne, but they generally flowed eventually over places that often caused strong men to weep who were shorter and had to follow him. \s Gregg wai an engineer and a geologist. • \S He~ also, unfortunately, both a boot-burner and a be~.::.Q~che~, capable only recently of illustrating both these tendencies in the course of a single expedition during which he led an unsuspecting �party of four persons, beguiled by his blond wholesomeness of ap pearance, twenty-five miles thru several remote portions of the wilderness for the sole and single purpose of locating four bottles of beer which he had cached,· or thought he had cached, in a flowing stream some years before. The very night following the failure of this unlikely enter prise, he allowed the boot he was drying to burn to a cinder in the campfire, twelve miles from t h e nearest road, r a ther than interrupt a train of song he was intent on expounding . (for he is also a singer of songs, as often as not of the wholesome variety). For a time it was my belief that Gregg would solve the stormy wea ther problem on Pikes Peak for us. Twombly and I took him over our fond route on the Kissing Camels-- and all three of us nearly collapsed of thirst before it was done. Not even the wind blew to cool us on that long knife-edge of sun-reflecting sandstone. Next, I ma de a first ascent of Eagle Cliff in South Cheyenne Canyon with him-- it was only a six hour climb, but in full summer heat the rock was warm enough and dusty enough to draw from us and absorb our rapidly out-going moisture content. Never had I heard dehydration mentioned as a serious danger on an afternoon's rock climb, but when we reach ed the summit, both our tongues were p ositively blackened, flap ping soundlessly like old flippers of dried leather. We dash ed at once down long slides of gravel and minor cliffs to f a ll full length in the stream at the bottom, lap ping up its water like camels in from a long safari during wh ich they had swallowed quantities of blotting paper. �CHAPTER XIV-s ~· \'16 So I tried Gregg out as a charm against the weather on the Crater cliffs.. Sure enough, up we went on our standard route across from the Bastion, and not a breath of wind stirred, not a drop of moisture or cloud vapor drifted anywhere near us. We could hear little trickles of water tinkling along the rocks from minute springs here and there, but they never appeared on our route. For a time near the top, we lay and gasped inside a square-sided cave ~lled with cool grass. We took only an hour and ahalf for a climb that had required five hours the year before; but even so we were like two loaves of bread afterwards, dry and cracking from prolonged baking. Shirtless and in shorts, we walked the ?5° sunlight across the summit like polished expressionless chunks of wood, to enter the summit house and ~-·beg for a little water. -t k~t Again tourists gaped at us, Abundled as usual in sweaters and thick coats, dashing from the newlyarrived cog-train into the summit house lest they catch their death of cold. They believed in advance in the cold of so mighty a summit, and they were not the ones to linger outside to test it. So of course it was now time to plan a final attack on the Bastion. All the next week, a hot July sun beat down. I was currently working as a laborer, helping to construct a race track for midget racers. In the cloudless heat we toiled and suffered, gazing from time to time on Pikes Peak in the distance, still decorated with white fingers of snowl Came the week-end and we were off-- Gregg, Gallagher, Kramer the Austrian, and myself.. Up to Barr's Camp we roared. On we tramped to timberline. From there we cut across the tilted meadowland at 12,000 feet into the base of the Crater. The sun smiled and bowed out. �CHAPTER XIV--~- \ib Clouds piled overhead. Do~~ came the rain and hail and sleet in protracted buckets-ful wh ile we cowered beneath a leaning slab. So we gave it up, walking to the summit one more time by the easy eastern slope as a conditioning exercise. At work the next week, the rain ceased and the skies beat down upon my bared back as I swung my pick or labored to dig post holes. Gregg h ad secured himself a delicate position transferring flowers in a greenhouse, so as my skin turned deep brown, his took on a greenish hue. Among my fellow laborers, slaves to the wage system, was a newly-discharged Major from the air corps. Slyly I worked my wiles, spoke of the cool contentment of Alpine week-ends in the midst of perpetual snow. He was soon convinced, and the next week-end saw five of us r""') packed into his converti.ble at 5:00a.m., driving to Glen Cove. \_.--' From there . we hiked to the exposed ridge on which Twombly and I had once endured frost-bitten noses, and walked an easy mile along an ancient wagon road into the North Pit. From here we climbed a thousand feet to a saddle in a ridge, and before us fell the Bottomless Pit. Gregg and I chuckled with contentment, the Major gasped with awe. The other two were silent. Now we ran down the other side of our saddle, taking great leaps down the steep loose gra vel (one of t he most exuberant pleasures in Colorado mcuntaineering). In the bottom of the Pit, we found yet another golf ball, and the entrance to a mine wh ich various hopeful men had bored many a year before. We were preparing to repeat the ro u te Twombly and I had found the summer before, but in rolled the week-end storm front, down swooped the leadenfingered clouds, and upon ou.r· h eads fell hour after hour of • �r CHAPTER XIV-- l· \ SI'J clattering rain and hail. Abandoning the main cliff, we made our way up a stair-case of minor rocks and ledges. After a time I heard the major mumbling that this was worse than combat, so we ro p ed up in orthodox fashion and went on. It wa sn't much of a climb, but the weath er made it actually interesting. At least it was a cooling change, the Major admitted, from that oven of a race track. Since this sort of thing can't go on forever, we decided to try once more. ~~. ~.""~:t w~~ L< We returned Ato South Cheyenne Canyon, scene of our greatest triumph over the weather. We got but a hundred i of> et "'--e.Y"" feet off the ground, both of us standingAon a foot-wide indentation ~et ~~+D tu~ethe~~R a &e smooth and sleek~ corner of polished granite -as ygw. r~tigl'ii Eieeil'e-- and down came the rain again. The altitude was too low for hail or sleet, but the silvery rain more than made up for this, stinging and slapping at us and running down the rock pa st us in solid sheets of liquid. We could only shudder, ask ourselves whether it was worth it, '"""\ meanwhile shifting about uncomfortabl¢y on our ledge together as """ to take a piton from we searched and hunted for a usable crack which we could rappel out of this watery holocaust. As always, really needing to rappel, the necessary cr a cks for anchors were desperately hard to find. Down at last, we walked the glistening pavement toward the bus stop, glad to admit that nature had won out and there would be no Pikes Peak forays for awhile. Instead we went to the Tetons in Wyo¢ing toward the end of sunw4er, and it only stormed six out of nine days upon us there. The next summer, however, we were ready for a new try. With -p,· t our eye on a new ascent in the Bottomless AeeeBi, four of us set �CHAPTER XIV-- l \&~ out before dawn, John Alexander piloting us in his jeep. Up the highway we stole, past Glen Cove, to the base of the final cone at 13,000 feet. Here we parked the jeep. The sun wa s just rising, and we were well ahead of any weather that might form. Loaded with ropes and pitons, we get out, tramping down over the edge into the Pit by a new route, an intricate maze of steep grass and small cliffs wh ich required no rope work. In an hour we had dropped down from 13,000 feet to 11,500 and the bottom of the Pit floor. Three excellent possibilities for new routes presented themselves. We ch ose the easiest in appe a rance, still dubious over the weath er. I won the toes of the coin for the lead-man position, and soon found I was in one of those on-again off-again moods which occasionally afflict the climber. seemed to do properly. At first there was nothing I I found myself reaching and lung ing for holds like a school girl. All the little mistakes I warned my pupils in the mountain club about-- reaching too h igh for holds, leaning in, getting on knee holdsnow myself. I seemed imp elled to make Then all at once on a long lea d, I seemed to click out of it and found myself fingering and toying up exposed slabs with the ease of an old raconteur running thru a repertoire he knows cannot fail to please. Up and up we mounted, and the sky developed a deep but peculiar cobalt blue. Then I got out on a traverse. Carefully belayed by Gregg, I tripped lightly over a few y a rds of open f a ce and grabbed the top of a chunk of rock that clung to the wall like an oldfasioned heavy gilt picture frame. It looked out of place on the white granite, and I glanced around for other holds. None �seemed to exist. Again and again I would start to swing my way up onto the clinging chunk of rock, but somehow I couldn't. After a time I grasped a finger hold with one hand and managed to direct the other to the top of the chunk and give it a good test-pull. Without a word, it tipped noiseles s ly out into space and fell for hundreds of feet before crashing to bits on the boulder piles below. This confirmed my judgment. I had been leery of that chunk from the start. But I also found myself finish ed as a leader. I had suddenly become nervous. Try as I did, The rock wa s now clean with new sharp holds revealed, but I was helpless ·· to get up them. I tried all the usual me a sures, logical self-assurances, jokes to the others and a constant monotone of meaningless talking like a baseball player in the field. I even slapped my trembling thighs and calves (I was in shorts), a measure which often calms them; but nothing worked so I turned over the lead to Gregg. He soon managed to work past where the chunk had so l a tely resided, but a few score yard s high er he r an into difficulties himself. Standing on a narrow platform, he found that even his arms couldn't reach anything holdable higher. Finally I came upright up beside h im and stood/on the shelf tied to a waist-high piton. Gregg at once climbed eagerly up on my shoulders. We presented a ludicrous picture, our two partners informed us. There stood I, like David bearing Goliath upon his back. After poignant minutes, the latter at last moved one boot from my tender neckshoulder muscles and, ste pping high on an upraised hand of mine he lunged for a possible hold, found it, and hauled himself out of sight over a horizontal corner. �CHAPTER XIV-- 'P· \(\o The rest of us following one by one found it rather sensational. Gregg had reached over a smooth eave of white granite to lunge onto a sloping shelf t wenty feet deep. It was like stepping from the very top of a rickety stepladder (myself) over the edge of a cathedral roof of solid stone. And t h e roof ended in a new wall more upright again, cracked for thirty feet by a fissure just large enough to take the toe of a boot. But its edges were smooth and rounded, affording no .~' sharp grips for fingers and toes pulling on cros ~ -pressure agains~ each other. Gregg wrestled, I wrestled, Gregg again mounted my shoulders-and suddenly ,reversed himself into a new technique for climbing stubborn cracks. To the accompaniment of rising cheers from his audience of three, he turned with back to the crack and thrust his left heel into it. With the right foot caught against a vertical flute of rock four feet away and both palms at waist ... height for push holds, he jacked himself up, very slowly, yard after yard, unable to see the crack behind h is heel, like climbing a chimney only three or four inches de'ep. I found my legs rather short for such a straddle, but Alex and Gallagher were wearing packs and so had to climb it facing in-- even more difficult. I was now in an on-again mood. Not so much my confidence as my ability seemed to have returned. ~fuile Gregg remained atop his crack bringing up the other two, I free-cli mbed at the end of a hundred feet of slack rope exploring ahead. The angle was much lessened, though for the first time t h e rock was less solid, " and some of its beams and ledges were gravel1Y· Semi-rotten rock ~ was something of a specialty for me, having climb ed much on it in the two Cheyenne Canyons at lower altitude. So I led on for �CHAPTER XIV-- -p· \<il several hundred feet, arriving eventually in the top of a ~ shallow chimney that became a mere grave~y hollow, to shallow \._.....- for pressure holds. For a few minutes, I tried to pin up it, driving three pitons. But the highest one popped out when I tested it, and I resolved to attempt a flanking movement. Leaving my rope clipped to the two sound pitons, I descended below Gregg and let him hold my weight as I swung on direct tension, penduluming across a smooth face into a dry water trough twenty or thirty feet to our right. the going easy. thirstily. Up this I found A little water even was flowing, and I drank Seventy feet higher, I discovered a way out the side of the trough'} to the left, and so arrived eventually directly over the .n eacils of the others and the shallow chimney. Above me a deep narrow chimney cut up thru the cliffs for a hundred cl\ 'tf. feet, and that was all ••• that was the top of our Jt'ilreif.. We almost had it made1 To save time, the others came directly up the shallow flaring chimney in which I had imbedded two pitons. All agreed it would never have been climbed direct without a belay from above. Clouds were now blowing rapidly overhead and we wanted to get past all difficulties as soon as possible. Leaving Alex to belay Gallagher up, Gregg and I moved on up the few ~ easy yards of our new deep chimney. Then we heard a piteous howl. it was Gallagher's duty to remove the two pitons. As last man Usually he carried an extracting hammer for such purposes tied to his belt by a thong. Today however he was using Alex's which had no thong. geology pick Having loosened one of the pitons, he tossed the hammer aside for a moment, of course tossing it into �CHAPTER XIV-- ~-l ~;l the void. He had forgotten it wasn't tied to him. We heard i t bounce, clunk, rattle and finally fall into a long silence before hitting the rocky-floored valley. So back Gregg and I descended, a five minute delay covering our efforts to lower a new hammer to Gallagher. I made several remarks down to Gallagher on how close we were to the top if we could just hurry. · Back Gregg and I went into the new chimney~ but still Alex didn't follow, still he belaying Gallagher far below. ~-a{ ~straddling a boulder At last we discovered the latter was having trouble retrieving the second of the two pitons. Its blade was a Jparently bent in a curving fissure, and it wouldn't come out despite a furious pounding with his new hammer. Finally we told him to ignore the rule of taking out all pitons. For heavens sake, leave the thing in and come onJ Soon Gallagher's embarrassed face made its appearance, and we were s paced for the moment about ten or fifteen feet apart, all four of us strung out. Gregg and I were just essaying the new chimney for the third time when a tremendous clap of thunder broke out, followed at once by a mighty roar and whoosh of wind. Then in all too familiar fashion, the heavens split and fell upon us in a solid white· pepper of graupel {frozen rain pellets often confused with hail), at first stinging our bare necks .and falling like white sparks and then like grains of rice that bounced and rolled down the cliffs making great leaps like agitated particlesj and b(>_(..~~ then ~1 at g~gQ, like bins and bins of rice pouring down 8ft ~e in a white flood as if some madman on high were dumping load after load upon us as furiously and insanely as he could bring up new supplies. • Caught by surprise, we just stood rigid in our places �CHAPTER XIV.... -l.l,3 e:~ a:"' -a and took it,)fikeAboxer, cowering without protest under some opponent's sustained flurries wondering how long he can keep it up. I must say,we had been in mountain storms before-- only the summer before, Gregg and I had scaled Mount Owen in Wyoming 's Tetons in a day-long blizzard. But never had we felt so thick a fury as this one brought, in the midst of a difficult rock climb. We soon gave up shouting to one another, the pounding noise being too overpowering. I glanced down my shorts and bare legs to find my boots already covered to the ankle by piled graupel pellets. I lifted one foot to shake it and saw the hole it left immediately refillwith fresh pellets. I found I could form my palms into a cup and they would instantly fill to the brim. In curiosity I glanced back at Gregg ten feet below me and was startled to find him but a darkened blob. Alex and Gallagher had completely blotted out. All ·one thinks of at such times is that it is still, theoretically, summer, and summer storms can't last forever. In a short though ~i1~~;i;i~ fifteen minutes , the pellets turned to rain and we sighed with relief. another, though indistinctly. Now we could see one Now Alexander could make an effort to retrieve our jackets from his rucksack. Obscure piteous groans broke out from Gallagher but no one could determine what was the matter, for more pellets c a me down. More rain. Then suddenly it let up completely, and forty-five minutes after it had begun, the sun was out again {though being on a west wall, we remained in deep shadow). As we recovered in the l u ll, I drew my blue jeans on over my legs ·and soaked climbing shorts. �CHAPTER XIV-- 7· \'\ "- Meanwhile the source of the Gallagher difficulties had been located. It seemed he had been unwittingly standing directly beneath a kind of funnel in the rock, which had directed a continuous stream of ice and slush upon his head thruout the storm. Wearing all our spare clothes, we felt the time had come to finish the climb once and for all. Teeth chattering at a markedly reduced rate, I led for the fourth time up into the deep inset of +"~· a-chimney. AlasJ Where we might have romped ~ to easy victory an hour ago, we now found everything plastered with icy mush. It required a slow twenty minutes of extremely cautious work , plus two pitons that would hardly have been required nad the rock been dry, before I reached a place of security, astraddl~ a peculiar pointed shaft of rock that stuck up like a fence post. I was somewhat worried. A final twenty feet of difficult rock rose above my head, steep and wringing wet. But Gregg spotted a possible alternative. With direct rope tension holding him from my impregnable high-point, he was able to swing out of our narrow chimney and work his way across a tilted slab twenty feet below me. of rock confronted him. A final eight feet A three minute pause, filled with vexatious experimental movements and step-downs, and he had ......, unravel;t.ed this last mystery and disappeared, soon yelling that \,.....o' he was on the crest, basking in direct sunshine. One after the other, the rest of us swung out from our deep shadow, joints stiffened from waiting. Gallagher as last man was of course the coldest, and he slipped from the narrow chimney and swung �CHAPTER XIV-- -y· l~b on the rope in a long graceful glide across the smooth slab. All very well, but along the way he somehow got turned around and finished up dangling face out, his back se parated from the wall by his rucks a ck. He res embled a turtle on its back and wa s similarly helpless for a time. But all was well, and we were all four soon gathered on the crest sunning ourselves. Miles out to the east, our storm was pummeling the plains, the grasslands, and the city of Colorado Springs. After a climb like that, a final assault upon the Bastion seemed almost anti-climax. As · so often occurs, the ultimate goal is found less im portant than the routes which prepared for it. Yet for three years I had kept my eye on the Basti_on as the major objective in Pikes Peak climbing. I h a d vowed to someday try it again by one or the other of its forked chimney systems. Jmd so in August, in partial fulfillment of the requir~ements for conditioning ourselves for a forthcoming attempt on the much higher north face of Sierra Blanca, and later the Tetons, we launched ourselves upon the Bastion. We drove first to the very summit of Pikes Pe ak by automobile, hoping we would meet no mountaineers along the way. From there we walked a few blocks . south to the yawning edge of the Crater, and worked our way down the simple cliffs till even with the base of our Bastion. We ignored the chimney in which I had once partially entrapped my head, and went right into the major chimney which splits the entire formation from top to bottom. �CHAPTER XIV-- f• l'\ (, It proved to be a series of huge confined steps, twenty or thirty feet high. Once again we were voluntarily immersed in the depths of a deep gully. ination. There was no call for the imag- Itwas a matter of butting our way up one obstacle after another, all arranged in a vertical row. For a brief preliminary section we were out in bright sunshine on a steep "garden"- a pitch filled with clinging clumps of grass ·almost . . Nc ~ I!.'V" ·e.. unbelievably rich and green. ::£iiellt creatures ever got -Pnear i-rh. ) to graze or paw'"~ Nestled in savage and forbidding cliffs, its survival chances were vastly superior, blade for blade, to grass in more conventional meadows. Here I had one of those sudden flashing feelings of regression into. the events of my childhood. leading. Gregg and I were alternately On going far out and above him, I found that I had left him with all the standard pitons 'and hammer. required a piton. Fortunately I always carry a coupleof little wafer pitons in my shirt pocket. i.:t ii .p~eo&. Yet now I 4v'i'"• Diligently I plucked one ~coem I_ts little two inch blade punched with an iron ring looked quite adequate. For a hammer-like utensil, I adopted the inefficient British system, searching about for a suitable loose stone. At last I uprootedone the size of a monkey's head, digging it out of the turf. Skillfully I banged away at the piton with it, feeling like some paleolithic man. In a matter of minutes the rock about the target area was chipped and discolored for a radius of ten inches or more, along with the hand that held the piton. With the latter safely lodged in its crack, I found to my exasperation that I now had to go thru that �CHAPTER XIV-- 1· \<\1 old rigamarole of unroping, threading my line thru the piton ring as thru a needle, and then tying in again. This combina- tion of ancient techniques occupied some fifteen minutes, and Gregg following simply knocked the piton from the crack with hammer, leaving it to glide about freely on the rope between us rather than untying to work it off the end. The rest of the climb found it sliding loosely up and down the rope as one or the other of us climbed above or below, its rattling tinkle contributing notes of archaic music to our quaint excursion. Twice we found the holds or chimney walls so wide-apart as to require a"Gregg," a general term covering all extraordinarily unlikely leg-splits and spread-eagling movements. Only Gregg could perform them properly, and the rest of us dangled and bounced like marionettes on threads as we sought to follow his toe holds up them. At last we encountered a super crack, five inches wide. This made foot-jamming difficult, for it was too broad-. . On the other hand, it was too narrow to get inside of and use a chimney technique. in our blood. Again we felt the lure of Briticisms stirring We searched about for a loose stone to insert in the crack for a. chock stone. more amiably disposed. Perhaps the stones in England are None worked properly. here. So we tried an old trick Bob Ormes had mentioned- simply tying a spare length of rope into a big knot and jamming tha,1 in the crack. We had all the time in the world for such experiments this day. The weather was perfect. At last Gregg surmounted the crack by one of his out-facing heel and toe techniques. In four hours the Bastion was ours. No wind had blown. No rain had fallen. From the top, I tried to look down on the �CHAPTER XIV-- y·''\i route "!'e1:11;o Twombly and Welbaum and I had tried three summers before. It looked quite imp ossible. But this meant little. From below, a difficult route often looks easy. Or an easy route app ears imp ossible. impossible. From above, all routes appear cl.ttW'V\ ~~ Hence, p eo p le lo oking ~Athe windows of office buildings are horrified, and would never catch themselves climbing such things. Well, we had had some rough summer d a ys on this old hunk of mountain, this tame Pikes Peak. But now it fairly fawned and purred upon us, like a doting old g randparent, a genial taskmaster, often stern, often outrageous, who had trained us well and was p leased to note our progress and triumphant success. �PART THREE: PIKES PEAK CHAPTER XV-- ANTICS IN WINTER In winter, Pikes Peak is a different mountain. If the greater part of it is wild and unpopulated even in s ummer, it is almost always unpopulated thruout, in winter. Only a few caretakers remain on some of the lower slope reservoirs. If the skiing ; is good, you can drive u p the north shoulder as far as Glen Cove, the road being kept ploughed that far. But .for most of the mountain you must walk. If rock climbing is the special joy of summer, and sunlight on the sharp naked cliffs,- and the trees dwindling to green shrubs at timberline and then the mountain bursting out in that gras s of incredible green, cut here and there by intricate silver streams and dotted with tho u sands of alpine wild flo wers that require tweezers almost to be picked, yet in mass course thru the green in great streaks of color- -- then it is snow that gives form to winter climbing, and wind that gives form to the snow. Pikes Peak holds itself aloof from the rest of the Rockies. ]l ost :places, snow starts early and once started keeps right on coming, piling up in thick banks of powder (the delight of skiers) that slowly consolidate, avalanche from time to time, pack and re-pack, and in spring melt gra dually into flowing water. Pikes Peak like a range unto itself sets its own pace. it is plastered with white in October. But Sometimes Sometimes it is February or March before it really g ets its snow. In january I have climbed it on bare rock most of the way. As a rule, the heavy �CHAPTER XV-- "f· :too sustained snows come in March and April and sometimes last into May and June. The scientific method by which to measure the mountain's varied winter conditions is to climb it each winter on the same day, regardless of weather or other considerations. Oddly enough, something very like this has been going on now since 1922. Every December 31st since then has seen the AdAmAn Club (which adds one new member a year-- hence the name) scaling Pikes Peak to celebrate the New Year by shooting off fireworks from the surnmit at midnight. Sometimes these annual jaunts find a mountain so tame that jeeps can easily make the smmnit and stray motorcyclists are wont to come roaring up to make fun of the AdAmAn'ers and then beg for a place inside at their warm fire in the summit house • . Other years the snow piles up and steps have to be cut here and there. was made a member was a rough year. The year in which I Tremendous winds blasted at our faces with icy particles, slapped us around with gusts, and enveloped us in screaming clouds of snow-spray. Two men were blo·wn bodily from the roof of the surnmi t house {not so serious as tb.e snow was packed up window-high to fall ~ o~. We found the snovl' about the iron door eight feet deep and so wind-packed and hardened that we despaired of cutting thru it. Luckily Crabb and I succeeded in working the blade of an ice ~~ axe in behind Q~8 Qf +bQ w ~·""' J o w iron~shutten Crabb removed his mittens and pried i t loose to gain entrance by a window, and sustained some minor frost-bite for his pains. into a sleeping bag and let him counter. We bundled him recuperat~lying on the lunch �CHAPTER XV-- t~o\ Usually we would walk to Barr's Camp the 30th of December. '1.\ha t night Harry Standley, one of the original founders of the Ad.ArnAn Club (and the greatest mountain photographer Colorado has produced) would fry a series of magnificent steaks and the group wolot.J..d dine in high spirits. Radio broad casts v.rould be made back to civilization from time to time, and we would laugh-- filled with steak and lively~ after-dinner c onversation, we felt more civilized than civiliaation. to the summit. Next day, up the Barr Trail Sometimes a fe>N of us would vary the route. One year Gregg and I ascended a 2400 foot snow couloir, roped. Members of the club arrive on top anywhere from 2:30 p.m. to 6:00 or 7:00. It was the duty of the first comers to get inside and build the fire. Soon the little group (kept purpose- fully small because there is just so much room around a single stove) was all seated inside, eating slowly, talking, playing An occasional guest cards. lay on a table or counter, recover~ ing from a touch of mountain sickness. One year we carried up a tube of oxygen for such complaints. One man was completely cured by five whiffs, another was sick the whole evening after taking three. These long waits for midnight were very good for Twombly and I and a few others of our generation. It was the first prolonged contact we had had with older men, gathered from all over the state, who believed in climbing. morale. It was good for our The old anecdotes of past trips and other mountains, delights and ludicrous occurrences, held us spell-bound. To think that these men, like Harry Standley, had felt the same things we felt, and could laugh in common! �CHAP'rER XV-- 'f· ~o ~ The very first year, we contributed material for another anecdote, or rather Twombly did. Melting a pail of drinking water from a chunk of ice, he set it off the stove on the table beside a similar pail of keroEene . Later he felt an urge for tea, and of course succeeded in heating a cup of kerosene rather than water. The expression on his face at first tasting this unique beverage was cause for gene~al merriment for some time. By nine o'clock, most of the group usually felt rather sick. The stove burned coal and every change in wind direction brought a gust of air down the pipe to puff a quantity of coal gas and dust into our room . It wa s a distinct relief to get outside and set off a few preliminary rockets as signal to the good folks in town that we had made the summit "safely." This quaint custom apparently stems from the early days of the Club , when _there were many persons of timorous nature who are said to have begged the AdAmAn ' ers to reconsider such a mad proposal as scaling the mountain in mid - winter . But it has value today e. •"""'11o t ST1.f up t ,·( ( for the little children who es~la He~ ~e ~~ ~ ~ midnight, but still get to see some of the pretty lights at nine o ' clock . For us on top , the lights of Colorado Springs appear as if you could jump right into their midst . On a good night Pueolo, a town thirty miles or so to the southeast, seems only sligr1tly less bright, while Denver is very impressive - a vast sprawl of lights eighty miles to the northeast. Then back inside to get warm and breathe more coal gas . One year bottled gas was tried for heating . The air was clean to breathe, but scarcely warmer than outside . In addition, a mule or two had to be brought inside (used to carry up that was an easy year) for -fear they would freeze . th~ radio-- It seems �CHAPTER XV-- -y· ~o3 ""'("'l:> 6 -"M probable that the muleB kept the el~~ from freezing rather than vice versa. It was the next year, 1950-51, that finally produced an adequate solution to the heating problem. Modern science was brought into consultation, minds whirred in mutually profitable intercourse, and a startling innovation was devised: a wood fi~. Housed in an old oil drum, its cheery flame gave warmth and beauty to the room without polluting the atmosphere. After the midnight show of man-high rockets and magnesium flares and bombs shot from an excessi-v ely loud mortar (at least one veteran of World War II refused to go near it), set out for home. all would On a good night the twelve miles of Barr Trail or seven miles of highway to the Cove were delightful. Soft powder generally cush~ed the foot and made an endless downhill , shuffle of it. Those who had ice axes could leave the road at the top of the Glen Cove cirque and glissade down a steep tongue of hardened snow for a thousand feet in the dark. Glissadin~-- this is the ultimate touch by which to know a mountain in winter. Skiing is all right in its p lace. Skiing yields a marvelous sense of air-borne balance, a tingling bird-like swoop down a white slope. But skiing depends wholly on rather artificial extensions of one's natural appendages, the feet changed to long wooden slats and the arms become lengtny ski poles with metal points that feel no cold. In glissading, it is l£E-- properly clothed to be sure-- who slide the snow, achieving an intimacy sometimes almost unbearable, s ometimes requ iring hours before a fire for recovery afterwards. �CHAPTER XV-- lAb* :- F.S. Smythe, one of the finest of the English mountaineers, described glissading in its more claeeical aspects in the following words: For the benefit of the uninitiated I should explain that ther~ are two methods of glissading. One is to stand upright, and the other is to sit down ••• A certain degree of expertness is necessary for the stand-up glissade. Many commence in elegant style. With ever increasing speed, they slide dova1 the slope. Presently, as the speed becomes fa s ter and faster, they become flustered. From stability they are reduced to instability; their elegance, their dignified de portment is. lost, their b a lance is upset, they struggle wildly to regain it, then the snow comes up and hits them on the nose. They go head over heels, their ice-axes are snatched from their hands, their hats torn from their heads, their rucksacks wind themselves round their necks, endeavouring to strangle them, snow is forced down their collars, up their sleeves, and. into \r«.e·.·-r . their pockets and trousers. Over and over they go in a ·'i'~ "'- series of somersaults, to subside finally at the bottom ".~ere they rise to their feet vowing it was good fun ••• "--This is one other variety of glissade ••• glissading on a rope ••• What usually happens is this: the leader, without troubling to enquire whether the second man is ready, shoots off with a great velocity, despite the agonised cries of the latter. In a moment or two, the rope tightens on the second man who has barely time to start, snat.ching him forward on to his head, and squeezing the breath out of him. The jerk arrests the leader, who hurls an uncomplimentary remark over his shoulder at the unfortunate second man, who meanv.:hile slides, or somersaults pell mell past the leader. Then the leader ••• in his turn is dragged in the wake of the second man. And so it goes, a vicious cycle, until they have reached the bottom, where they sit ·~, side by side ••• roundly abusing one another. (F. s. Smythe, The Kangchen,jung~ .Ad ve:g_!~, 1930, pp. 284-285) . But glissading in the Rockies is often more complex than . this. It is often possible to glissade satisfactorily in snow but two or three inches deep, though one's bottom bumps a bit on assorted rocks and. roots underneath. We have glissaded five and six hundred feet at a time in such snow. And several times below timberline we have glissaded deep banks of powder snow, so insubstantial as to require that we lie headfirst on our stomachs down the slo:pA and plunge along • . It feels somewhat �CHAPrER XV-- 'f· ~o5 like swimming, and the trick is to steer a way between the firs and spruce like a human tobaggan. In spring the snow is apt to be wet and slushy and fast-though now an ice axe is seluom needed for a successful halt. one brilliant sun-blinding afternoon on such snow stands out. One by one we slithered rapidly down a valley wall, across its snow-filled bottom, and part way up the opposide side. Twombly glisten in~ came last, seated in the gliQ;eBeftiB8 rut we had formed and hence making twice our speed, sliding like a bundle shot from a sling down to the very valley bottom only to immediately vanish from sightJ Where we had last seen him, only a small round hole remained to tell the tale of his disappearance. Seconds later, we we're helping him squirm out of i t - he had fallen thru the crust into a waist-deep stream of running water, bridged over and hidden by the insubstantial snow. But the finest glissading is found only at high altitude down narrow ravines and couloirs, especially in the colder and windier parts of winter when the snow is brick hard and of solid texture so that bootnails and axe points grind thru it with a high-pitched whine, eery to hear at night. One December, four of us holed up in a cave just below timberline in the North Pit, a glacially carved cirque due north of the Bottomless Pit on Pikes Peak. We spent the morning of the first day practicing glissading on a thousand-foot slope of steep wind-packed snow under a bright and heatless December sun. For greater speed, we ·Wore rubber-soled boots, instead of nails or cleats. Down the slope we would stream, crouching on our feet and leaning back on the shaft of an axe for momentary b a lance or steering. �A loss of footing and it was immediately necessary on such hard snow to dig the axe shaft into t he surf a ce as a brake, or sometimes to roll completely over on one's stomach, holding the axe by its· head and gradually grinding its pick-blade into the snow. The important thing was not to lose the axe in the struggle: At 3:00p . m., we stagg ered back to our cave. The other two had had eno ugh, and refused to leave the fire again. Gregg and I resolved to round out our short winter day with an ascent of a nar r ow twisting couloir-- over 2000 fe et n igh by my topographical map -- which we had long had our eye on . It began promptly at timberline , its b a se a broad spread ~ of avalanched snow , funnel t ed dovv-n like an alluvial fan or the ~ bottom half of an hour glass . The snow wa s quite hard , and we easily walked its tilted surface . Soon the angle grew increasingly steep , and rock walls moved in upon us from either side . The couloir became a n ar r ow ravine a few score feet in width with se veral bends and sinuous curves . It was filled with typical early winter snow, packed not by sunlight and melting but by the constant nagging winds, the cold high-altitude winds that sweep the powder from the exposed ridges and steeper faces and blow it in swirling clouds into the narrow ravines like this that seam and writhe down the slopes . Once collected there by wind (less . often by avalanche), the powder is set upon by the same savage winds day after day, and hardened into wind - crust . At first, wind - crust is but surface crust , with loose snow still l)f underneath, and then the most d angerous~all avalanches are possible . Great wind-slabs a foot or more thick break off and roll together in grinding piles sufficient to crush a man's ribs �CHAPTER XV-" p.~o'l or head. In powder or slush, he has only to fear being buried. But this snow was packed solidly to the bottom. Gregg · ~• began cutting steps as the angle grew to require them, swinging with a light flicking stroke and striving for the slight outward twist that makes for clean-split steps. The good step-cutter swings more like a sculptor than a wood-chopper. Beginners often raise the axe above their heads and bring it with lightning force dovm into the snow, making a clean hole shaped to fit the full blade of their axe, but little else. As he chi pped them out, we moved lightly from one step to the next, spaced as far apart as a long stride would allow to save time and labor. Big ragged chips snapped out as he cut, and began sliding rapidly do\\TD. the surface past me with a light pleasant noise like chunks of balsa wood sliding dovm concrete. Hard with the close texture of brick, such chips are weightless when held in the hand, rigid and light with sharp broken edges, not the heavy dripping blobs you cut out of J)pring snow. When eaten, a chunk is completely tasteless and completely clean, delicious though pure. For five hundred feet we punched our little steps in zigzag lines. Then to our surprise the couloir widened somewhat and we found a new half-inch layer of snow had been blown in and glued to the harder surface beneath. or soft plaster. We found it like cake icing Holding our axes in readiness to check a slip, it was possible to climb it just by kicking little nicks up it with the edges of our boots. Such a technique requires constant motion, , and we soon reached the upper fourth of our couloir where it forked. We took the left-hand fork and went on with our gentle kicking and found it quickly less a fork than a. broad �merge with the hillside and soon a mere tilted walk. From the deep shadow of our cirque we issued forth onto the backbone of Pikes Peak at nearly 13,000 feet and into the last rays of dying sunlight. We looked about us eagerly, not expecting to see anything in particular, and had a surprise. of the final sun~ it Dovm the base cone of Pikes Peak to the southeast of us we made out three black dots moving down thru boulders toward a section of the deserted highway. In twenty minutes they had reached us, a strange meeting on what we thought was ar1 abandoned winter peak. It was Twombly, his wife, and Dwight Hamilton the schoolmaster, a tough experienced man in the mountains who only recently finished climbing all 52 peaks in Colorado over 14,000 feet high. Wrapped in parkas, hoods, scarves, and face-masks, and padded internally with sweaters and other woolly thicknesses, they were on their way back doV\rn from the surruni t to Glen Cove. They had climbed in a day-long wind to investigate a report that lights and fires had been seen on top at night, leading to the fear that someone had broken into the cache of fireworks stored for the Ad.A.mAn Club. But they found all was well. We talked awhile in the wind, promised to meet again with the two men come New Year's Eve (for no women are allowed on • .:II \j AdAmAn jaunts-- t~e~ &Pe-still a ~preserve for men only), and separated, they to walk on five or six miles to their car, we to descend the high chute we had just conquered and return to our cave. It was vv·ell past 5:30, and we now had the whole brute of mountain to ourselves again. Gregg's face was reddened and unnatural in the sunset lighting, and the enormous hole yav.ming at our feet was in darkest shade. We judged that Crabb and King �CHAPTER XV-- l· ;lo'} probably thought it was night by now, and were already cooking our supper for us. Back at the top of our couloir, we sat down on the surface of packed snow and arranged ours elves for its descent (we judged -•' a standing glissade inadvisable in the near-darkness). First we checked the wrist-thongs that linked our precious ice axes to our bodies. What would a man do if he lost his axe sliding into a 2000 foot hole in the darkness? Such a possibility is not be. even to thought of, lest it give the gods ideas. Then Gregg pushed off, slidin g slowly until the tilt gradually steepened, then with increasing speed and soon leaning to one side and touching his axe point to the snow with an immediate fly of spray as he sought to regulate his rapid motion. I snapped a picture of him just before he glided out of sight round the first sharp bend, and then stowed the camera away inside my parka and drew on my mittens again. and already my hands were cold and numbing. So brief a time The picture came out dark, the snow a dark blue with the rocks black and Gregg a huddled shape- one of my favorite kodachromes, though to outsiders a thing unreal, al:most surrealistic. The camera records, but seldom reveals except to a tiny few. For a time then I sat still, warming my fingers. I was a bit nervous over the whole affair and rather excited. A nature philosophy must comprise more than the beauty of summer, the romantic glow of the painless, real as these sometimes are. It must also account for the bitterness of cold, the tug of mindless wind, and take note of the deaths of hunted crea tures to provide sustenance for -e15!ieP hunted hunters. Hence the difficulty of a nature philosophy, the hard rocks of paradox, the inadequacy �CHAPTER XV-- 1· ~~ 0 of the Romantic Poets. Yet they were right to prefer heart over head, their mistake being not so much distrust of the body in which both are housed, as an attempt to disavow and forget it. Hence the many deaths from consumption, the ugliness of their smoky cities.• Gregg was by now far below. Even the h ighest crags and most ragged skyline points had lost their flaming tips of final sunlight. The sky was still greenish-grey but everything earthbound was in shade and darkening black. Far below and miles away the City of Colorado Springs was alreadyalight with thousands of sparkling pin-pricks and time for supper was everywnere spreading, filling kitchens and restaurants and hamburger joints with warmth and people, only the cold left outside. At such a time it is hard to hate even a brassy tourist town and its Manitou satellite, even the long strings of gawdy neon that clustered and flashed along the streets and outer edges of tov.rn, the night clubs and motels and motion picture .· palaces, cheap painless substitutes for adventure and lived life, as insignificant from up here as the tiny dots that housed them. I pushed off and found all attention at once diverted to the scene closer at hand. Or rather closer to my face, the moving snow now eighteen inches below my eyes as I rushed along, buttocks and thighs whishing rapidly down the frozen surface and my hands in sudden alarm beginning to press the head of the axe into the hard slickness beneath me from which came instantaneous spumes of flying snow, and I pressed harder and harder till the sliced snow spewed as high as my face for a few seconds and then I was stopped. Holding ti ght to the �CHAPTER XV--~ . ~ \\ imbedded axe, I brushed the snow from my glasses, looked out into the dark world below me again, and realized it was fun. Again I let myself go, sliding f a ster and faster for sixty or seventy feet until my speed threatened to run away with me. Then the same careful braking to a halt, grinding in the pickP~ter point of the axe and spewing my face with icy fragments. a few jerks and starts, I began to get the hang of the thing, keeping the shrill cutting blade of the axe but an inch or so deep to maintain control but not forcing a complete halt. Soon I caught up with Gregg who had stopped at a convenient rock planted like an island in the snow. His dark form was still easy enough to make out against the deep blue snow. we were tempted to rope up-- neither of us had hard snow before. For a time gliss~ded such Above us there remained no trace of our sliding bodies beyond the thin parallel grooves cut by our two axes. But one best glissades unfettered by ropes and another person's motions. We knew there was no ice, only hard snow and our blades could slice thru tha t. So for hundreds of feet we slid along side by side, drop:eed~. ~ -t""r-t. together would be more like it, forAseemed no friction to this surface whatever. Only the whine of our grinding axe-points seemed to connect the space thru which we hurtled to reality. And every time we gasped and spra.;vAd to a halt for rest, we could feel our trousers frozen just so much more rigidly, our bottoms just so much more cold. Our wrists feeling fit again, we would drop for another breathless fall with impassioned whine of steel in snow, steer our way past occasional jutting rocks and around corners that loomed ahead in the darkness, and finally �CHAPTER XV-- ?· ~ ldstop again. Never had we ridden such a porcelain surface of cold. At last all came to an end. We arrived as doomed on the lower out-pouring fan of snow that spread from the base of our couloir. For a time we turned left and rode the fan's edge into a stream course that plunged thru the first trees, a wav filled with colossal fallen boulders in summer but now cemented over with yards-deep depths of snow. But even this ended quickly , the angle became horizontal, and we had to cease our slide and walk upright as ordinary men. On the other hand , our wrists and fingers couldn't have lasted much longer anyway . All 's well that ends as well as it began. A few hundred yards of waist -deep powder snow between the trees and we found the merrv glow of fire that signalled our cave and home. Well , they told us (the two stay-at-homes), they had just been considering getting out to search for us, but they found themselves so warm and cozy beside the fire that they decided it would be better to wait and hope we would yet show up whole. That pight we ate for hours, slowly cooking and devouring the soup and beans, the meat and cocoa one craves in winter camping. The talk was. long and desultory, the most relaxed of bull sessions. I believe people would forget how to make such talk if a few of them did not flee cities and "realities" from time to time. For people in the cities live in a world of paper, interrupted from time to time by brief sessions behind the wheels of automobiles to transport their minds to and fro. Spiritual Man has achieved his ultimate triumph in the City, and �bodies have been relegated to mere shapeless blobs of jelly which follow the hunks of Pure :Mind around like pups on a leash. Now and again I would step outside, wallow a few yards in the soft snow and the forgotten cold of the night air. It was good to stare a few minu-ces up at the dark towers and linking ridges that reached so high about us. The silence of the mountain, black ink against a sky given depth and space by myriad thousands of stars, left only the wind doing any talking and that inconsequential. The silence of the endless non-humanity all about- tall trees 111.ri th branches brushed and hung with powdery snow, their inner trunks thick and darkest dark . At last before we got to bed the moon itself came out, and the trees Co-"~'~\' '""··~.!,. at handJtwi th the windswept heights impossibly far above u~ wQP9 filtered and developed like weird negatives, depthless chiaroscuro of black against perfect white of light . One of the few moments when I, suave rationalist, have understood mysticism. �PART FOUR: THE NORTH FACE QE SIERRA BLANCA �CHAPTER XVI-- Y· ;t\+ PART : FOUR: THE NORTH FACE OF SIERRA BLANCA CHAPTER XVI-- THE FIRST TASTE One pitch-dark evening in mid-September, three or us huddled together as comfortably as possible to spend a night in the wilds. As veteran campers, it might be assumed we would be properly bundled up in warm sleeping bags, close to a cheery fire. Such was not the case. Instead we had each been shiver- ingly reduced to such pitiful stratagems as stuffing newspapers • up our trouser legs and beneath our shirts for whatever shreds of extra warmth they might afford. As bed we shared a sloping slab of solid rock, to which we had tied ourselves with loops of quarter-inch rope. Our position seemed in every way deplor- able: we lay at approximately fourteen thousand feet above mean sea level; below our feet, the edge of our slab dropped ott into an abrupt half-mile of space; above us lay our ultimate goal, a summit a hundred hopeless yards out of reach. For impenetrable darkness had swallowed and betrayed us in our hour of need. In such miserable circumstances, the mind reflects anew on the tangled skeins of human destiny. It considers from a fresh vantage point the modern wisdom that all things are but relative, that a logical train of cause and effect may everywhere be traced, that life is not black and white, of pure evil and faultless goodness. Life is supposed to be a dull and proper grey. This is not so in mountaineering. For there things lean heavily one way or the other, for better or for worse but seldom in between. Marooned and isolated in polar cold high on the north face precipice of one of the wickedest peaks in Colorado, �we yet remembered, fondly and with exa~peration, how well our trip had started, how pleasant and heroic were its embrJpnic antecedents, above all how toastx warm. For when days were cold and wintry in Colora~o Springs, and yo,u felt mugged in and depressingly town-bound, it was always a good idea to scurry into Harry Standley's photographic shop · It was always warm inside, and y~u for a few minutAs' browsing. could talk to Harry or look at some of his pictures. Harry Standley was the grand old man of local mountaineering. A co-founder of the AdAmAn Club, he had long ago climbed all fifty-two of the state's tourteen-thousanders, many of them time aftP,.., time. He was also the greatest mountain photographer Colorado has produced. A hiker all his life, it was in his forties that he took up serious mountaineering, going to Albert Ellingwood among ot~~• ~or advice. From then on he tramped the high places, seeking relentlessly the fleeting mome'ftt, the form in flux, the dappled beauty of great hills. A small man, spare and almost frail in appearance though with a face like etched granite and just as strong, he was infinite in patience, prodigious in skill. He accumulated thousands of negatives, hundreds of good pictures (aold all over the West for framing, calendars, · and Suhday rotogravure sections), several dozen great ones. A one man show he put on at the Colorado Springs Fine Arts Center several years before his death proved an overwhelming experience to those who kn~w mountains or the West. He had begun as a commercial photographer, and he ended as an artist. Indeed, self-chiseled and somehow self-evolving, I believe he is the only genuine artist Colorado has yet produced. out a life for himself. In addition he was a man, and ' carved �CHAPTER XVI-- \>· .;H\o Harry never took much to roped climbing, and insisted crustily that he was no such alpinist as this younger generation believed in being. But the places he lugged his quaint box camera, when you know those places, and the airey points on which he set up his tripod (where few angels would dare to tread without a rope), left you sometimes gasping. He was very definitely one of us, and had been, we realized, long before we were born. On ·the walls of his shop, he had t a cked up enlarged photographs of all fifty-two peaks in Colorado over four-t eenthousand feet high. You would come in with an idea for a climb and talk it over with him. Constantly bustling about, for he was always busy doing so-.t hing, he would tell you how "we" did it first, and then that other time from the other 's ide, and the year the lightning crackled and the hail poured and ttwe" beat a ludicrous retreat. All in all, he judged this or that to be the easiest or most striking way up the peak, but of course he didn't think we would be interested in the easy ways. we were grateful indeed. su!'fered Often enough, Harry was the first mature guidance we {tc0~ccasionally\ help us, prideful and arrogant as we were. So you asked his advice, and then you looked at the picture of your prospective peak, studied it, tried to get the valuable details firmly in mind, and then you went and climbed that peak only to come home and forever remember its shape and mood, not from climbing and seeing it in person, but as you first saw it in the photograph. Mark the result: his view of Sierra Blanc• was from the north.\/It is always to be climbed from the south, or '8v1' C)i f -rT• 'W\0 sa~ .. ~..~ c(,~lts B l a"""c. ~ f~ &t. "t\.l'r'ti.. �CHAPTER XVI--~.~\1 at most from the west along a knife-edge ridge. But from the moment we saw it pictured as an incredible north face, we were doomed whether we knew it then or not ~e~ come to grips with that north face. We began innocently enough. Determined to launch yet another of our winter climbing expeditions, we sought for a major peak as close as possible to a major highway to provide adequate traffic for rapid winter hitch-hiking. We planned to really · travel light this time, with a minimum of .food and sleeping equipment. If a bad storm brewed, we would at once walk out to the highway for safety. We didn't even take the tent, which in any event had apparently been lost. ing bags. tion. Only single thickness sleep- It was to be a short, light-pack, hard-hitting expedi~ 14,......,363 foot Sierra Blanca, with u.s. 160 running near its base, seemed a logical choice. After we had seen Harry Standley's north face shot, and shuddered, he hauled out a view from the south and pointed out several logical routes. On the whole, though, he was doubtful of our success. Th~ four of \1.5 On Christmas Day, ~eft the highway w1 thin sight of' the town of Fort Garland (once an outpost to control the Indians), ten ·or fifteen miles due south . of Sierra Blanca. Unfortunately we found our peak quite invisible, along with its two companion fourteen-thousanders. The entire countryside was smothered down flat by oppressively low clouds, thick and dark, (like banks of sweet-smelling factory smoke), so that little illumination got thru. We had planned to go a little further to the town of Blanca, from where the usual route began nowadays by means of a side road to the Arrowhead Ranch nestled close to our objective. �I But the final vehicle to kindly offer us a ride proved to be driven by a front-seat load of Christmas wine-bibers, with absolutely no inhibitions whatever about driving on the left si de of the highway as often as the right, veering happily from one lane to the other until our backseat nerves had had enough and we asked to get out, assuring them with smiles and complicated oratory that this desolate wilderness was precisely where we wanted to leave them. As an interesting side light, it may be reported that scarcely had this ancient automobile finally driven away from us than it ran completely off the roa~ a a\m:aFe.Q.~ard.s furthe~, rolling on its side in i';fte. ditch. Its occupants emerged at once, unhurt and laughing hilariously, and continued their journey on foot and out of sight. We ourselves set out in a general northwards direction, walking cross-country over sage and brush-covered flatlands (the brush being the notorious nchaparral" that so annoyed the early travelers in the region). At nightfall, we stopped and camped in a clump of pi~on trees. We assumed we were nearer the base of our peak than when we set out. After a refreshingly brisk night in our sleeping bags, during which the freezing solid of a bottle of wine was the only incident of unusual interest, we arose to find the clouds lower, if anything, than before. In semi-fog and a low raking wind, the four of us set out again, walking northwards. ~-.~'.&~ ~~" .. Intersecting a b~e-wir& fence, we carefully pinned several sheets of newspaper to it to serve as route markers in case we returned in the dark. We had left our camp and sleeping bags behind. Gradually we entered into a country of low mesas Which seemed �CHAPTER XVI-- f· a\~ inexorably to make us veer to the left. This was :fortunate for we eventually stumbled quite by accident into the Arrowhead Ranch, where we tried to pick up instructions f'or the climb ahead. The owner thought our prospects f'or success were rather slim. For once, we tended to agree, the fog being complete now, thick and moist, mixed with .falling flakes of snow. But there was always hope of climbing above it into sunlight. After a few hours beating our way up the bottom of a long curving valley, we began to run into close-set · clumps of chaparral, waterfalls of solid ice, and numerous oris-crossed tree trunks. We decided to abandon the valley bottom and force ~ way up the slope to our right, knowing that it must eventually become a ridge-top supposed to lead directly to the summit of Sierra Blanca. . All was now covered by thick new~fallen snow, and perhaf s that explained our failure to notice ' a trail Which we must have intersected part way up the slope--a trail ! '~. was late:r. : to walk several times, perhaps a rugged trail (one from which mules have been ·known to fall and~ ·Hll themselves), but nevertheless a trail which competently by-passes such obstacles as a hundredfoot waterfall, passes an admirable cabin for such purposes as shelter, and eventually proceeds above timberline into an enormous cirque at the base of the final pyramid of Sierra Blanca. In any event, we somehow walked right past it and went on to the top of the ridge which we then followed for several more hours. It was snowing thickly now, but there was little wind. Around 4:00 p.m., we suddenly emerged above timberline. Now here was a problem: we had come unknown miles, and had unknown miles ahead of us. We guessed we still had at least �CHAPTER XVI-- 1>· ~~o 2000 feet of altitude to gain. People had climbed the mountain by this ridge, we knew--but it was said to be a fearfully longdrawn-out process. Its only virtue lay in the ease with Which it could be followed in solid fog and blowing snow. Of our group, King had only recently come back from Chicago, and he was still imperfectly acclimatised. A second, Standard, had never tackled a major peak before. A hurried council of war revealed two l ~~cl 'o'\ \wo'l't\'ol"\) distinct areas of opinion: there were thoset\Who wished to abandon, 1 the whole climb forthwith, and there was him (who shall be nameless) who wished to bivouac around a fire all night, perhaps in the abandoned mine tunnel we had passed in the valley bottom, and go on for the summit in the morning. But the others hated the valley, and as compromise I had to agree to descend our riqge on the other side toward the plains, find timber and a flat place, and perhaps bivouac there. So we crashed down-slope at a great gallop, glad to be gone from that eery ridge, found no flat places but many trees, found darkness soon upon us and the storm !~creasing, and finally determined to go on back to camp, assuming we could find it. We entirely missed the ranch, found an odd-looking road, eventually ~ . left it for more probable looking melsa, and in omnipresent ~ darkness walked from mesa to mesa, stumbling down and up numerous shallow intervening ravines the like of which we most certainly did not remember from morning, and occasionally thrashing our way thru the bushy chaparral which we knew had so notoriously annoyed the early travelers. Midnight drew near, and then departed. I All at once, with an abruptness that was startling, ~ three �CHAPTER XVI-- l.:l:J\ of us ran simultaneously into a barbed wire fence. At once two went one way, two the other, following along the fence in search or those pinned newspaper sheets. After a considerable period, both halves or the party finally gave up, turned around, ~d last came again within earshot of each other ,and rejoined. newspaper sheets. at No It was decided to cross the fence and walk on to eventually reach the nighway. We couldn't miss the highway, and once there would hope to hitch-hike either direction to a town or farmhouse for shelter. We weren't scared or desperate, just thoroughly tired and disgusted. Scattered b1J,t hOw!• stumbling along thru the ubiquitous brush and over the invisible cactus and sage, what should happen to us but to have young Standard, Standard the novice, the least eYperienced among us, the one we took along for comradeship rather than any as yet undeveloped climbing acumen, to have him shuffle directly into a tiny circle of four sleeping bags and a dead camptiret A surprised yelp that soon became a great shout brought us all on the double with incredulous belief to our happy beds. To accidentally discover this minute base camp in the dark on a flat and characterless plain after over twenty hours wandering thru fog and unknown country-- this we regarded as a remarRable piece or good fortune. Next day we walked on out to the highway and set ott for home, clouds still low and ominous, and never yet having had a good look at the mountain we ~proposed to climb. Thus it became imperative that this peak be one day scaled by a suitable mountain-humiliating, man-pride-restoring route of ascent. \..e ~~ sya.t.L ~:\o\M.c.n -\-e "t ""' dQ.note ~~u.> Sec.\-~ n b~'\~ nn~ r"\ •n n...._.t ~a.c:t~. ) �CHAPTER XVI-- -y·l~:t Sierra Blanca, we now learned, had a history that was long and honorable. For a time, it was considered to be the highest peak in the United States, though on the basis of present day figures (which are by no means infallible), its 14,363 feet make it a whole 132 feet lower than California's Mount Whitney. This is longer than a standard climbing rope or an average tall tree, while measured in yards (44) it would constitute a substantial gain in any football game. But its reputation as the highest made it, with Longs, one of the very few Colorado peaks that quite early attracted mountaineers in the modern sense, in addition to mere prospectors and surveyors. Their accounts of attempted ascents, usually failures, dot the pages of such journals as A,ppalachia 't hruihit the 1870's, '80's, and '90's. Most such attempts were made from the direction of Fort Garland by horseback, after riding up General William J. Palmer's narrow gauge railroad over La Veta Pass. The same complaints about the notorious chaparral, the same clich&s of inspired . description ring out again and again. Wherever cliffs and towers are seen, their sides are invariably said to be "smooth as Bunker Hill Monumenttt (a clue to the class and -locality to which most of these worthies belonged). Each time, the abrupt glacial ciraue below the southeast face of Blanca (into which we were ~ make our escape) elicits notes of astonishment. giddiness. "Here Dr. Bell had to give up, on account of He determined to spend the day exploring (that) titanic amphitheatre ••• we almost envied him; for all who have seen that tremendous place consider it, in its rugged, savage grandeur, second to none in Colorado." (Charles G. Van Brunt). �CHAPTER XVI--y·~~3 The author goes on to tell of his party's rugged descent thru the thick timber and chaparnal in the dark- "for a night above timber-line at that time of year, with no fuel or even wraps, was not to be thought of for a moment." Samuel H. Scudder, attempting to make the first ascent in 187~ (he was turned back at 13, 500C,feet on the same south ridge on which we had our winter fog walk), was even more impressed with the 11 titanic amphitheatrer; !•. " t1 0ur eyes descend again wistfully into that deep dread basin, bearing the marks of the scourge . r7' of rain and hail, frost and ice, still as dea.th with its darftling c.., pools of icy water.u Inspired by Scudder, the redoubtable Frederick H. Chapin, veteran of many important ascents in what was later Rocky Mounts.~ National Park, also tried and .failed, as did Charles E. Fay. 5 1 mr;· Fay in 1888 tried the mountain .from the incredibl:Y flat San Luis valley on the western side. From here, he promptly ascended the wrong mountain, also over 14,000 feet high and known as "Little Bear" today. To his dismay he found one of the most striking knife-edge ar~tes in Colorado between himself and his true goal, Blanca. Of course, ••• "a night without shelter, fire, or even a wrap at that elevation was not to be thought of;" and he had to retreat, but not before his' astonished eyes had picked out a second party ACross the valley also trying the summitl Hurrying to Fort Garland, he learned that this second party had at last made the summit, stood on the highest point in America, only to return to Fort Garland and learn from the local inhabitants that in all likelihood engineers from the Hayden party had ascended it back in 18?51 �CHAPTER XVI-- -p-~~'f sc..h•/•T 's aPP~ tite... This is the sort of clue that whets the ae&le&P's epe~i\ea Back one goes to the official government reports on the Hayden Survey of 1875 (thruout the seventies Hayden conducted a remarkably thorough survey of the Colorado Rockies, considering that much of them were still ninfested" with Indians- indeed, Hayden's measurements are still the basis for huge tracts of land th&>ut Colorado). Sure enough, Franklin B. Rhoda made one of his many ascents under Hayden's direction, reaching the summit of Sierra Blanca on June 19, 1875. Like any properly serious scientist, he duly reports the exact altitude determination (14,464 1 ) , and states that the mountain is composed of "hornblendic and micaceous schists very firmly cemented by a white or grey quartz." The titanic amphitheatre is reduced in his careful prose to ngreat precipices many hundreds of feet in height." ·The last few hundred yards below the summit, a marvel and a toil to modern hikers, become a "very steep slope of cubical blocks of a very biaok kind of rocktt (a line of prose which contains more "k" sounds than most poets could ever hope to achieve). But arrived on the summit at 12:00 noon, Rhoda suddenly forgets himself and breaks out into rhapsodic prose: "It we seek for grandeur, where can we find· a greater or more precipitous descent than the north face of the peak, where a stone thrown out into space will fall a half' mile without striking?" {This is the first and only mention of' the north face I have ever found in the mountain's literature). Indeed, he feels that the view is superior to anything he had seen in the San Juan and Uncompaghre Mountains, rugged as they are, for Blanca contains "such a beautiful subordination of parts." �But now rollows a shock: on the very summit, Rhoda and his men round "a curious circular excavation 6 to 8 ieet across, surrounded by a wall or loose rock 1 to 2 .feet high, which must have been the work of an Indian." Moreover, here a note was found from "J•T." who, Rhoda blandly assures us, was probably the first ascender. "I understand that he staid all night alone on the summit, which must have been a strange experience." (Indeed, we are tempted to add, the sort o.f thing one really ought not think or .for a momentt) So who was J.T.? Further delving thru old documents reveals the almost forgotten Wheeler Survey. There we learn that on August 14, 1874, Gilbert Thompson and Frank De Y. Carpenter climbed the peak and spent the night tosether on it. They too round the artiricial excavation and concluded it must have been used as an Indian watchtower. So rar as I now know, they were the first whites to reach the top. It is good to know that, as in the case or Longs Peak, Indians beat the whites up such a magniricent mountain. Back to Harry Standley's shop to look at that picture of Sierra Blanca. Harry had caught the north .face of the mountai'""'n ~ a day or so after a light snow.fa_ll, just enough to emphasize the speckled dark lines of ledges, fault-cracks, gullies and buttress ridges. Ir a route could be picked out in advance · from a mere photograph, this should do it• In ract, King spent an entire afternoon in the shop drawing the .face from this photograph and sketching in possible climbing routes, connecting up �CHAPTER XVI--l ~~\Q various hope~u~ looking ledges and cracks into a firm zigzag pattern. "We had Bob Ormes along, the day I took that picture," Harry remarked. non our way up Old Baldy ·· Bob saw that Footnote: This particular Old Baldy is the third fourteenthousander in the group, though much less rugged ·than either Sierra Blanca or Little Bear. Further up the S~re de Ohristo chain are four more, the Crestone Needle group, three o~ them affording magnificent climbing. So that this little visited range has seven fourteen-thousand foot peaks, five of them with al~ine faces of the first magnitude. Blanca face and wanted to start right over and have a go at it. Of course, you wouldn't cateh me on it. I believe he came back to it another time and went up it somewhere or other." The next step, of course, was ·to pay yet another call on Ormes. Oh yes 1ndeed, he too had been infatuated with that north face. In 1938 or '39, he had returned with Wilm to ' reconnoiter, and s•cceeded in reaching the top to the right of the main face by a long gull,y """' and buttress ridge. "Ha.d very \:.1 little trouble. Oh, we did put on the rope once or twice as I recall." In the course of this climb, he had sha.pped a picture of the main face when half-way up beside it. He dragged it out-- a steep wall, tearfully down-slanted but covered with tiny breaks and cracked roughnesses. r.\ were no obvious r~outes. . ~ It looked possible, but there In this way it differed from the East Face of Longs Peak, for instance. The ~J: ' Face is a smooth polished s•rface, broken in a few quite definite places by gigantic cracks and a single great horizontal ledge, so unmistak~ able as to bear the name "Broadway." On such a face, there can be little question where the routes will go-- you have only to �CHAPTER XVI--l ~~'7 • . follow some obvious crack system. But our north face of Blanca with its tilted mazes of metamorph~ed quartzite had no such obvious routes standing out in bold lines (despite Kina's pencil sketches). A party would have to discover its route as it went along, yard by yard. Numerous traverses and minor retreats could be expected on such rock, along with unforeseen overhangs and other unpredictable exigencies. There was one other problem: Dorothy Schwartz informed me that when she looked " down this face from the summit, it appeared that all the strata slanted downwards. It was like a steep tiled roof in Which all the sharp edges afforded no grip, being situated on the downward side of each overlapping tile. To climb onto a down- sloping mantlepiece is vastly more difficult than one tilting upward. The most famous instance of this phemomenon is the use which Edward Whymper made of it on his first successful ascent of the Matterhorn. He noticed that the parallel stratified layers of rock making up the mountain emerged on one side tilting downward, and on another side upward. Obviously even a steeper face with sharp up-tilt holds would be earier than one of less angle but with nothing protruding to hang onto. But the strength and general climbing qualities of the rock were good, Ormes claimed, as good as firm granite. When you have ·climbed on good firm granite in which the tiniest protuberance ca~ ~ u~ually be fully trusted, and then climbed on the so-called "rock" of an otherwise beautiful range like the Elks . near Aspen, Colorado-- which are composed of rock wit~ the ·s \'trength and stability of a million sheets of graham �crackers piled loosely upon one another-- you come to regard and granite as the equivalent of the gold standard, && you accept no substitutes. But this stuff was good, Ormes said. So it was agreed that one day soon we must ascend, or try to ascend, that north face direct. was enthusiastic. Ormes was excited. King was willing to go. Gregg �CliAPTEn XVII-- P· 2~1 PART FOUR: THE NORTH FACE OF SIERRA BLANCA CHAPTER XVII-- NORTH FACE RECONNAISSANCE Back rrom a horrid trip to the Tetons in Wyoming, I round myselr with four rree days berore I again had to register as a student. But one by one, Bob Ormes, Gregg, and Twombly proved to be tied up. Only King was available for a Blanca attempt. But finally an evening's frantic telephoning located Chuck Ormsby to go along with us as a third man. He was an experienced rock climber, though he had done little with full-scale peaks. On September 11, 1947, we set out in a borrowed Hudson. The days of hitch-hiking were receding along with our youth. But we had a brand new 120 foot nylon climbing rope and 200 feet of thin manilla rappel cord to raise our spirits. We were annoyed, though, on circumnavigating Pikes Peak up the highway along the Arkansas River to note that it had received a light covering of new snow or frost above timberline. In the Tetons I had met nothing but snow, hail, and rain for ten days-- it would be unfair if Blanca too ha d had its first winter storm, though its very name implies "white mountain." . Soon we left the Ar~ansas valley for the high town of Westclifte and the beautiful Wet Mountain Valley, a broad flat incredibly rich ranching country nearly 8000 feet high. Thruout its whole length, it is bounded on the west by eighty miles of the Sangre de Christo range, a continuous wall of jagged alpine structures. Soon we had turned to go up the Huerfano River, past the tiny hamlet of Redwing, and on to the left, the road getting gradually more and more tired and �feeble, now and then seeming to disappear altogether. Hills grew sufficiently steep that King and Ormsby had to get out and push while I furiously gunned the Hudson up the crests. We began to wonder if once in this country we could ever drive out again. Eventually we were stopped some seven miles from the base of our peak. A jeep or pickup could have gone further, but now we had to abandon the Hudson (carefully draining its radiator water) and hoo~ it. Shouldering packs, we set out, walking south now up a huge wild valley, passing a dead and rotting calf and soon after getting our first view of the north face of Sierra Blanca-breathtaking, steep, sharp-pointed with long gracefUl cu~es dropping off to either side. sible. It looked ethereal and quite impos- It also looked a suspicious greyish white-- snow had indeed fallen recently1 Eventually, we walked into a ruin of ~ shacks, the kind of rotting remnants of mining endeavor which romanticists think picturesque. Near an old bunkhouse and a pile of decomposing stove wood that must have been cut for a decade's false expectations, we camped. Ormsby the hunter acquired a couple or squirrels for his dinner, but King and I contented ourselves with civilized fare. Next day we awoke to have a closer look at our peak. There were scattered clouds about, dirty-looking and hence possible harbingers of storm. Moreover, gazing carefUlly up the tremendous precipice with King's 8-power fieldglasses, we were alarmed to find not only snow, melting and dripping in the sunlight from �CAiiPTER XVIl--l '-~' ledge to ledge, but also hundreds or rickety looking icicles festooning the main face from top to bottom. From time to time a few would break off and smash to pieces in a thoroughly audible manner. We judged it proper t ·o do no serious climbing this first day, but rather let the sun do all the melting it could. t.t..., ~ To the right of the main face protrudeni:.;a a1;e~ bu~ess, extending into the sunlight further and longer each day than the more deep-set rock to either side. free of snow already. It seemed comparatively It was this buttress, and possiblj the deep gully to its right, which Ormes and Wilm had apparently climbed in 1939. We decided that if we did any climbing at all this trip, it would probably be up that bu~ess. Meanwhile, with a day to kill, we left camp around 10:00 a.m. to get an even closer look at the face and to possibly brush up on our technique. In other words, to play around. Almost at once we encountered a minor preliminary bank of cliffs, perhaps two or three hundred feet high. Looking for an easy way thru this first obstacle by which to speed up the climb on the morrow, we got into a deep-set gully and preceded to swarm up it. In a very short time, we found unroped swarming inadvisable and paused to don our new nylon cord. Just as had been feared, the rock was good but ~ have a deplorable tendency to slant downwards. But it was well split-up by frost action with clean cracks. It would be good piton rock. Suddenly a loud swift whirr-rrr-rring rushed past our heads and spanked into the talus slope below, even as Ormsby was pronouncing it a jet plane overhead. t"to-..e. We informed him that it was a falling ee&~e; one of the weirdest and most disturbing �CHAPTER XVII-- V.;t3;t sounds a mountaineer can hear. All great cliff faces spit stones at the unwary from time to time, especially after a night of frost cracking, especially down gullies. out of this one. It was time to get So King, leading, climbed a near-vertical wall to our right for some forty feet, then ran into trouble. He needed a piton, and with that forethought which is the delight of such haphazard enterprises as this gully adventure, I had all the hardware hanging on mz belt. So with Ormsby belaying the two of us, I slowly climbed until King could reach a piton from my outstretched hand. followed the delicate transfer of my hammer. Then I felt distinctly ill at ease waiting for him to whack the thing in place. m was wearing the only rucksack in the party, loaded down with three large lunches, three jackets, several sweaters, a canteenload of water, the extra rope, and an ice axe which I had stuffed in my belt like a wooden sword. A less competent appearing mountaineer could hardly be imagined. At last he got hls piton ·properly tapped into place, and I was able to move up to it and hook myself on securely. Such a pack as the one on my back was nothing on a trail, but on a steep cliff it felt ridiculous and top-heavyo But we hadn't expected any genuine rock climbing this morning, so perhaps it was excusable. King was now able to mount five feet higher to a small overhang. As is usual at such places, there seemed to be just enough bulge to make things awkward. Using his hands to conduct a blind exploration high &.bove :- h1-s : he&a~ he found a sound crackhold for his fingers, swinging up over the difficulty with �CHAPTER XVII-- y·l33 unexpected ease. Soon a shout floated down from somewhere above to the effect that he had found a velay. Now it was my turn. I frankly hated the idea of surmounting th 8 _t overhang with such a weight on my back. But I looked down and saw Ormsby grinning up at me forty feet below, so I unsnapped from the piton and addressed myself to the sheer labor at hand. First I was pitched vertically and then compelled to lean out until most of my weight and all the pack's hung from my wrists. One by one I stretched hands above the lip of the overhang and felt blindly about for the hold King insisted was there. I found it and pul~ed myself upwards with a mighty heave, yelling to King to take up the cslack in the rope and hating the pack and getting just my chin above the overhang to catch a glimpse of my hands and straining wrists when an awful and irresistable force gave me a mighty tug from behind. Out into space I sailed, fingers and wrists snapping from their hold without even a struggle, and in the next splitsecond I was dangling abruptly beside the piton · I had lett so short a time before. Wl th the slack in the rope that had momentarily appeared as I tried the pull-up, I had fallen a good ten feet before King held me, bouncing _for a few quivering moments on the springy new nymon cord as if suspended from a thick rubber band. Fortunately, the long axe shaft I wore in my belt hadn't snagged on anything enroute. Snapping back into that original piton again to rest, my gasping exasperation filled the morning air with crisp language. A glance showed that a stray loop had formed in the rope between me and Ormsby and managed to coil itself about �CHAl?TE!R XV!I--~·AS'J- a jutting rock. Berore Ormsby could rlick it loose, it had tightened and plucked me rrom my overhang like a ripe piece or fruit. I gave Ormsby a short lecture, (perhaps not really deserved), on the duty of a mountaineer to preserve tree tram entanglement the length or rope extending to the man above him as that man climbs upward; and again launched a rucksack-hindered assault on the overhang. This time, with plenty of strong pulls on the rope from King above, I at last made it. Now came another shock-- the belay from which King had so easily held my rall. 1: found him seated with his knees drawn up under his chin and his heels hooked in the roots and trunk of a tiny stunted evergreen tree1 Perhaps this plant was strong as an average piton, but to me it looked ridiculously frail, especially to hold a ten foot rall. I felt it might ' have ' the emplacement strength of a clump of grass or five or six dandelion stems. So King received a piece of my mind also, and then I settled down behind the same miserable little bus~ and belayed Ormsby up to us. A couple more easy pitches, and we broke out of this first bank of cli£is onto the final slope of talus, loose boulders and gravel, leading up to the base of the main face or Sierra Blanca. So far we had not conducted ourselves very auspiciously. We ha~otally mis-judged the difficulty of our gully, running willy-nilly into some really tough climbing. We had demonstrated ineptitude for party climbing, showing ourselves to be but three individuals with little collective strength and apparently not much judgment. We had displayed bad rope handling, sloppy �piton work, abominable pack distribution. But we had proved one thing-- it would be easier to wal~ a half-mile or so out of our way tomorrow and skirt this first absurd bank of cliffs by the easy boulders to its right, than climb the damn gully again. After a lassitudinous consumption of our enormous lunches, we broke up. King and Ormsby wound slowly back to camp by easy boulders, while I went up to examine the route for tomorrow more closely. The large patch of snow we had noticed from afar at the very base of the main precipice turned out to be a minor glacier, a sheet of ice three or four hundred feet high. I still had my ice axe (though I had got rid of the packt), so I decided to cut steps up this ice and try to connect with a ledge of our buttress ridge at its upper right eo~ner. Thus we could use the pre-cut steps tomorrow and quickly gain a large hunk of our buttress without having to climb its lower base on rock. " Besides, I like to euX steps. compared to s cme regions. . .. We do so little in Colorado It was good ice too, not .too hard. Ten or twenty strokes usually fashioned a large enough step, sometimes but five or six. The steps had to be fairly large because neither of my partners would have axes to a~d their balance tomorrow. Here and there, the recent snow had showered down over the ice, and it was possible to emplpy the broad adze blade in place of the pick-like point for faster cutting. In about forty•five minutes, I reached the rock ledge and rested. The upper reaches of the ice had proved quite steep. All at once the wind came up in a biting gust as I was �sitting there in revery, and I became conscious of being quite cold. A r~e cloud of snow followed, completely enveloping me and blotting out all visibility in any direction. When the cloud dissipated, I could no longer see the steps I had cutt They had become filled with powder snow and blended per.fectly into the smooth surface slant.i ng down past me. Holding to the cli.f.f with one hand, I employed the other in swinging the axe, Hacking out a huge step for both i eet in the ice. gingerly let myself down onto it. Then I Cutting a hand-hold for balance, oi felt about in the loose surface around me and finally located one of the buried steps. From here on, the problem became very simple. I had only to descend from step to step, stopping each time to balance on whatever foot and leg currently held my weight, and feel ar ound with the axe in the snow ahead for the next step, clear it of powder, and repeat the process. full concentration. It was exacting work, requiring At such a time, you forget all ahout being alone, or even in danger. The world holds no problem greater than the next step, and it is 'ultimately .to be solved. If I slipped, I proposed to ride the pick-point of my axe down the ice, which ought to slow me somewhat and in an~ event would give me some rudder action to control the point at which I would leave the ice for boulders and gravel. But I would not slip. An intense half-hour followed. And then, I was suddenl~ near the bottom and the ice was much less steep. With a sigh, I let myself go and rode the axe down for experiment. quick swooshing descebt1 A very �... ,, Out of the troubles once again, I strolled serenely back down the many boulder slopes and eventually into camp. Look- ing back once, I observed that already my line of steps had been covered up with more blowing powder snow. That night in camp, we decided it was too icy a slope for the other two to accomplish anyway without ice axes. all the way. We would climb on the rocks In addition, King reported that he and Ormsby had watched the narrow gully to the right of the buttress for a few minutes and found it full of~hirring missiles. In addition, it appeared to be floored with steep ice. · It was apparently ordained and inevitable that the only ' teasible place for any attempt at all would be up the projecting buttress. We determined on an early start, so as not to have to come down in the dark. �CHAPTER XVIII--r·~3~ PART FOUR: THE NORTH FACE OF SIERRA BLANCA CHAPTER XVIII-- THE BUTTRESS RIDGE Oversleeping somewhat the next morning, we skimped thru breakfast and got away well after 6:30 a.m. Walking far to the right around those first cliffs that had caused such troubles the day before, it was nearly eight o'clock before we were in position to rope up and come to grips with our buttress proper. If the Hayden party were correct in assigni.n g 2500 feet to the main face, we judged we had a probabl£ 2000 feet of rock above us now. The day was beautiful, gli s tening, the sky blue as only Colorado can make it blue, so blue as {to - ~m~~ have grain, the grain o:f glazed · china. But already portions of our buttress were in the deep shadow a north wall so often gets as winter approaches. I led onto a long shelf-system ala ting up to the left, by which we hoped to {q ui;k~ir:umvent the lower base of our buttress. King was second, and Ormsby followed on the end carrying a hammer to remove pitons and a rucksack for all three of us, though it was stripped down this time to such bare essentials as thin windbreakers and a few newspapers. Things went smoothly until we encountered increasing amounts of loose snow flecking our holds. Once on the main b~~ge, the rock should be drier, but we weren't on the main bulge yet. A slanting shelf twenty feet wide required a piton for a belaying point-- a child could have skipped rope across it it -it were ~rae of snow. We hoped to make faster progress soon. Not until the shelf suddenly ended in an abrupt out-cropping �CHAPTER XVIII-- t ~~'\ of rock did the snow disappear. I climbed out onto this, a kind of protruding corner affair, and found the full exposure of several hundred feet of cliff below me. I remember scuffi~g my soles furiously on a grainy slab to roughen them and get the powery whiteness off. \Then I started on around the corner. Soon I found myself cli1!lging well out of sight of my partners. Two feet above me was a good cr~ck, and I quickly drove a piton into it. I couldn't seem to move on around my corner so I started to move up it, the rop-e sliding ea·s ily until my fine piton was uncomfortably far below me. I f6und myself lodged with one leg in a flaring crack and no particular holds in sight by which to advance or retreat. It was a rather lonely position, and at once I maneuvered a ·t iny wafer piton from my shirt pocket and managed ~o e-igh:~ it into the flare-crack above my head. It seemed to hold my weight, but it didn't look particularly good to risk a fall on. S.apping my rope to it, and praying there were no Englishmen watching, I grabbed the rope on either side of the karabiner for a handhold and pulled myself bodily upwards, spotting a good rock hold for the other hand high above. A brief convulsive movement, not particularly adorned with rhythmic grace, and I was past the bad spot. I explored arotind for twenty or thirty feet above, found myself moderately trapped, and whacked in another piton, a good one this time. Tied to it, I shouted for King to come on. Around the corner he came, though hidden tram sight until that familiar shock of red hair came into view. At that moment ·- two or three chunks of giant icicle saw fit to fly past us (again reminding Ormsby ot jet planes). I to~d King to try �CHAPTER XVIII--l ;t40 and go on around instead of doming up to me. Belayed from above, he managed to climb and pendulum completely around the corner into a black recession in the cliff. Ormsby soon followed, man- fully bearing our rucksack and removing the two pitons enroute. Then the two of them protected my descent by a di£teren~ way down into their black recess. our ears. More icicular chunks sailed past We ought to hurry an.d get on the crest of the buttress proper. r An hour had been lost getting around this first bad corner. Then we hit more loose snow. For a time we moved as if in a china closet (except that we were the china), delicately and with agonizing slowness. Then I had to wrestle, with extreme care, up a thirty foot chimney, wide and shallow and lined with blocks of snow-covered brick-shaped. stone. A constant cross- pressure, feet braced wide apart on opposite chimne7 sides, was "ia.u.~e. necessary at every move and a~Q&e for rest. I kept wi shin·g I was wearing the nailed boots of my adolescence instead of such slick rubber~soles. Two more pitons seemed necessary for safety. But from on high, I had good news now : as King and Ormsby one by one came swearing up the chimney. over. Our troubles were We were on the crest with its steep but good dry rock. Disappointingly, the sun had now wholly disappeared in favor of deep shade; but we judged with constant movement we wouldn't get very cold. The going now became easy. We alke4 past pitch after pitch, sometimes climbing them one at a time but more often all three of us together. If a place seemed only moderately nasty, King would belay OrmsbJ who wore the pack, and I would go on �CHAPTER XVIII--~·~~\ without a belay. This may sound foolish, but with no pack myself, on easy rock and feeling fit, it was justified. I had freakishly injured my shoulder in the Tetons just previously, but so far I had had no trouble. For a good thousand feet we climbed with ease and satisfaction. For amusement and variety we had such items as one vertical hunk of white quartzite with a small waterfall tinkling down it. Here a single inch-wide crack supplied the only hold for a swinging hand traverse, and another piton was driven. Atop it I found the usual boulder to tie myself to and bring up King. The rock indeed slanted downwards quite generally, so that few pure body belays were found. But cracks for pitons or detached stones large enough to trust for direct belays abounded. But when two-thirds of the way tip, we ran into the major obstacle we had been expecting since noon. Indeed we had picked it out long ago from Harry Standley's photo as a m-~jor problem. Our ridge-like buttress flattened out and rose abruptly like the upper ' bridge of a lnan's nose. Thru the fieldglasses, it had looked negotiable by a traverse around to its left; but s -now 1 t suddenly looked eafier to skirt · it to the right, though that might bring us into snow again. Well, we would try it. We could always return and try the other way. Up a slab of coal-black rook we crept, and then onto a broad shalf that seemed to continue horizontally for two hundred feet or more. After we had followed _the greater part of . it, . " we observed a parallel shelf above~ It proved to be arduous to reach, and I was forced to drive a piton for direct aid and employ a foot-sl1n& to reach it. As King belayed Ormsby �up this horrendous place, I s~pped a pteture of the overhang, puffing and steaming with his freight load on his back. What we were wondering was whether this could possibly be the route Ormes and Wilm had covered. Ormes had mentioned something about "putting on the rope once or twice," but nothing about direct-tension piton pitches. . 7 . ~J' We were in very deep shadow now, acutely aware that the afternoon was passing on, growing less and less. But it looked as it, past a hundred feet or so or snowy slabs, we would be on easy cliff again. Hurry was the word. I romped this way and that, and found myself on a complicated system of six-inch ledges, following up this one, traversing that one, zigz~ging back and forth, up and across. At one point I had my feet going up parallel rock cracks a yard apart. Eventually I encountered a sound prong or rock and tied myself thereto. I was thirty feet to L.the right as well as J):tgb above the others. So that when King finally reached me, remarking that he disliked this pitch more than anything else -all day, it was apparent that poor Ormsby, hindered by his pack and an intense distrust of snow-covered slabs, might well swing in a thirty foot pendulum if he slipped. We offered to haul the pack up separately by rope, but he decli'Ined as it would take too much time. Inch by inch he worked his way up thru the snow streaks. ~ Kin}(belayed him with extraordinary care, and I check-belayed King. At such a moment, time comes to a stop. The usual Ormsby grin was missing, replaced by a fierce frown of concentration. Moved by some perverse instinct, I could not resis~snap-shooting a picture as he clung, somehow, to the very worst of that pitch. �CltAPT~R XVIII-- ~·"-at.3 Then he was past it and the grin reappeared. The color shot came out with the whole cliff' in deep blue shadow and Ormsby a desperate black bundle. · A picture incomprehensible to outsiders but for us capable of arousing a peculiar tightening and nostalgia to this day, Ormsby out there alone and near-dangling in isolate struggle high on one o.t' the great mountain faces o.t' Colorado. Thus, "personal art," understood by only three people, has its peculiar value not as communication (the false lead of the arts) but as invocation, a moment wd~h recall. We felt a collective sigh of relief', then pushed on higher together. There was still a lot o£ snow, but the rock was now broken into all sorts of jutting holds and belays were frequent. For three-hundred feet or more we climbed with the smoothness of a single mind, noticing without fear the final descent of the sun to the west. Once on top, we coula always descend one way or another in darkness, to t:tie south toward Fort Garland or the Arrowhead Ranch if need be. Or once below timberline, we could build a fire and easily last out the night in modest comfort. Then all easy slabs narrowed abruptly into the top of a reversed "V". ·we were on the crest of the ' buttress again but it was sharp and thin. One by one we crawled over a couple of pointed teeth and then came hard up against a blunt smooth-faced tower. High above, it seemed to \eeome knife-edged and jagged again, but here it was round and perfect, serene in its absence of all disfiguring breaks or cracks or other usable irregu~arities. Or was this the same beloved buttress �CHAPTER XVIII-- f·~Lt'+ at all? Ormes had mentioned nothing about such awesome :-~1::c.t structures as this. For a few moments, we were dumb-founded. ·pyr ~ ) V"l work. Then we got to We would turn it to the right, not because that was looked ea~ier or practicable but because it was the only possibility dealt us. Once past this round-turreted impassable, we would have to be very near the top of our north face, instead of mere prisoners to its vast surface. With some assistance from King's 's houlder, I drove a high piton. Clipped to this, I had myself lowered a .bit below King and Ormsby into a deep bottomless chute on our right. Twenty feet below my piton, I placed my feet flat ag~inst the side of the chute and walked out of it, hanging in tension from the rope, With several well-directed kicks I propelled myself in a great pendulum until I could just reach the.holds I had in mind. At once King released the rope from tension, freeing me to stand up on the new-won rock without being pulled back again into the chute. I stuck, remained standing, and looked about with new hope. I found it possible to climb straight up twenty teet or so until the rock leaned out against me barring further progress. Here I drove a second piton, a firm horizontal in a snug crack. For the moment I had exhausted my fund of inspiration, so I played King across the smooth face that separated us. minutes of brisk scrambling and furious reached me. A few dangling, and he had Leaving him firmly tied to the new piton, I let him pay out rope to me very slowly while I essayed the unknown surfaces to our right. Round a small corner I went and found �myself standing on a rotted lea£ of gravely stone, slightly separated £rom the main wall. Below me, I could make out our little chute dropping ott into the deep gully that flanked our entire buttress from top to bottom. Ithad the appearance of a narrow twisting ice-tilled void, the ice like White frosted glass. The difficulty with standing on my leaf was that there were no handholas. a balancing act. above me. The feet were firm, but the position required Guarding against undue awkwardness, I felt No holds, but my 'ingertips brushed several cracks. I tried to drive a wafer piton but it stopped and bent over after a penetration of a half-inch at most. but I s~pped into it just the same. I felt a likelier cr·tck higher. Not very safe, Standing on tip-toe now, In ten minutes I had another iron water in it, driven as well as I could manage not being able to see what I was doing. I hoped it was a bulge !was reaching over, with good holds just beyond these two suspicious pitons. Vlhen I had hooked a karabiner fuiblingly into the invisible wafer's iron ring, I SRapped in my rope and knelt carefully down in a crouch on my rotted lear ready to grab it ; -,t 7 with my hands ~ of anything gave way. Then I put as much weight as possible on the rope thru the piton to test it. King pulled from his side too, but nothing occurred beyond a disquieting oztoak. I decided I might put a limited amount of trust in it. Pitons are seldom as sound as they should be when you think you need them most. Standing up again in my cramped q~arters I knocked out �CHAPTER XVIII-- ,.~'+\o the lower wafer as unreliable. wise did it. Two hammer blows delivered side- Then I launched myself with asmuch of a hop as possible, and hauled myself bodily past the little piton until I could cram a knee against it. I found myself on a steep slab lightly covered with snow. Replacing the heroic knee with the right foot I gradually uncoiled myself up the slab relying on the good little water for support. reach, it seemed, were luscious holds. Just beyond I decided the clinging snow would have to be relied upon for support. I pressed my left foot in it and slowly wormed upwards, my palms flattened in the snow for extra friction. CarefUlly I drew the right foot from its piton foothold and was ju.s t·.·working it up even 1 with the left when everything gave way and I went sliding down, quickly hooking that right foot on the little iron wafer again. I found I had had a scare, though not a word came from the other two who were watching me in silence. I decided it was the friction of the rope drawing thru the karabiner which had held me back ~ and caused my slide. Against a few alarmist statements from King, I drew several yards of extra slack up thru it to accumulate a reserve for the required movement up to those holds which looked better and better. Again with flattened palm·s pressing in the snow along with boot edges, I squirmed up past the edge of the snow and at last found good rock to hang onto. This ou~weighed, for '-' a few minutes refreshing rest, the fact that I was now hunched beneath an abrupt yard-outward ·overhang. Presently I drove another wafer piton in a shatter.. crack �at the very rear of my little cave-like depression. Using it for moderate rope tension, I let myself out gradually ~gain to the right, working around beneath the overhang on my knees and using any ripple marks I could find for handholds. An ominous squeaking sound brought me up short. I could hear the piton grating about in its shatte~crack. This would never - do. Using as little tension aid as possible, I knee-ed my way back to the lett and regained the piton. coming loose. It was definitely For just a moment I had a touch of panic, look- ing for another crack in the dusk, which was twilight in under this overhang. Considerably to the right, I lobated ·a semi-vertical crack. For several minutes I banged away at a vertical piton, driving it two inches into the crack. Then I could thankfully snap my rope to it, and in greater security I pounded some more at it until my hammer hand began to ache. I could see the soft Swedish iron of the piton blade flattening and expanding into a tight tit. This piton had to be good. me perfectly. I now felt in rare spirits, except that I didn't want to leave its security. Finally it satisfied I remembered about the others, and yelled down to them a report on how things were going. There was not much for them to say. They knew as well as I that failure here might force a retreat for hundreds of feet down those snowy slabs to find anoth~r way. Finally I decided my arm and wrist were rested and it was indubitably time to go on. Letting King hold my weight direct on rope tension thru the new piton, I leaned out from �beneath the overhang and walked several foot-slap paces to the right and out from under it. Ahail: Things were vertical, slightly outward, but my feet had found another rock leaf, quite thin, and my hands eno·o untered a touch of a hold for balance. go upwards, I had to go off rope tension. To The nylon cord hung loosely from my waist now, and my fingers and toes did the supporting. With a solid piton so near, I could only try. Stepping from the leaf, I clung witht'the right hand and struggled up the smooth rock, boot soles pressing flat against it for whatever support they might find, my entire body haggling for inches of' further height and advance. A high-thrust left hand groped into a three-finger hold speckled with snow. At once I released the right and piled its clutching fingers on top the left, pulled upward, reached and cursed for another hold of any kind but didn't find it, found, my fingers numbing with cold. So I let myself down again hanging from the left hand's three fingers and stretched a leg for the low low foothold that Should be there but seemed to have vanished. I was hanging with three fingers to a smooth sheet of rook and the fingers felt cold as compressed snow and then let go. Without thought or sensation I dropped off' into space and relaxation in the cool ' rushing air, dark rock swooshing quickly up past me ••• With a cheery twang the rope caught me-- of course, I had forgotten its existence-- not fifteen feet below and sl~ed me knees first against the cliff, to spring up arid down on the quivering nylon strands like a bouncing bag of' grain. King had held the fall perfectly I thought, the shock was imperceptible �CBAPTJm XV!I!-- r'-~~ except for this knee business. Quickly I climbed up my rope arm over arm with a rush of power to regain the piton and there gingerly examine the bleeding knee and fight back against that unreasoning flood of blinding anger that customarily sweeps over a fallen man, trying to laugh at my idiocy in attempting such a place in near-darkness. King swiftly drew in the new slack until he held my .weight snugly against the piton, and I felt myself breathless and defeated, totally used and wrung of all strength and conviction. So they let me rest, and ~' and sag in the comforting loop about my chest, King and Ormsby very quietly talking over OUr new situation. Gradually they let me enter the r conversation too, as my irrationality wore off. ably clear.!""headad. Suddenly we were all remark- Approaching. darkness had justified our attempt, plus the firmness of that piton else why had I driven it with such force? Ormsby suggested using a fiashlight up really thin rock. You see the bottom of every jutting hold perfectly, but everything topside you might wish ~o grip is in black shadow. Fa~stening it with adhesive tape to the head corrects this . sometimes- it was doubtful on rock as steep as this. Besides we were all tired and this was the foremost consideration. I couldn't hold myself responsible for further attempts, especially in the dark. Nor was it my belief that either of them, or anyone else, could go on safely in present ~ onditions. Of this they had no proof beyond my word but I was the group at this end and as a group we accepted the decision. There remained retreat or bivouacing. 'Each of us had �CHAPTER XV!I!-- 1 .~so descended numerous slopes of snow, ice, boulders, forest, and minor cliffs in the dark and would have no hesitance in doing so again. And I had much experience rappelling down short rock spires at night. But to descend a 2000 foot precipice, even by protracted rappels, was entirely another matter exhausted as we were. It could be done, and doubtless none of us would collapse, but it is when dead-tired that mistakes of judgment or muscle-tone occur, and disaster. If we had to retreat, we could probably equal in two or three hours of daylight an entire night's distance of rappelling and flashlight work. Since retreat was not imperative, and advance temporarily impossible, the obvious course was to bivouac. We had no illusions 1 t w·o uld be easy, but 1 t might rest us from twelve hours continuous rock-climbing. some sleep-- Possibly we would even get in bitter cold, it is best to try and sleep all you can anyway. Men who try to keep in constant motion under the delusion that to go to sleep will mean freezing to death usually just wear themselves out. Sleep •akes cold more endurable, and you'll always wake up before you freeze to death1 (See arctic writings of Vilhjalmur Steffansson). ' Making an endless loop of rope thru the high pi ton beside me, so as to quickly regain in the morning our highest point of engineering progress, King and I slid down the rope to rejoin Ormsby and arrange ourselves close together for mutual warmth on a down-slanting ledge of stone. Tied in place, we felt secure and soon we were chattering merrily. For a time the supply of emergency newspapers and wind-proof jackets helped check this, but soon the chatter went on, quite involuntarily. �CRAFTER XVIII-- l~5\ We felt like a trio of Central Park hobos spending a peculiarly bitter night on the o·sime t uheomtortable bench. After an hour or so of this, we arranged the 200 toot rappel cord in tangled coils beneath our bodies for insulation from the bare rock. This afforded welcome hope and effort, but like most utopiac goals never fully achieved itself. From time to time, Ormsby would wonder what time it was, and we would guess midnight or two a.m., knowing full well it was probably only nine in the evening and little children were just going to bed out in the real world. Our world was harsh and freezing, but to accept it as real would condemn us to extreme philosophic pessimism about the nature of reality. And this we refused to embrace. We were three indomitable examples of Man in all his heroic reao1ve, his unshakeable bent to hold out for a better future, his capacity for endurance and surmounting odds-- all night we endured and kept ourselves alive by flinging curses at our fate, maligning the mountain about us, and heaping insults upon ourselves for gross idiocy in ever taking up mouhtaineering. Thus the night passed, perhaps the coldest any of us have ever spent anywhere. �CHAPTER XIX--,.~~~ PART FOUR: THE NORTH FACE OF SIERRA BLANCA CHAPTER XIX-- THE NEXT DAY. I remember I was just starting to re-arrange for the thousandth time my parka hood whose rabbit fur and thick smelly cloth I had kept about my .face all night so as to breath~ stuffy but body-warmed air instead of taking it straight-- when I opened my eyes in surprise. The dark cli.ffs about us had acquired perceptible shades of green. It was turning light. Yet we hardly stirred, preferring the safety of disbelief to the possible flippancy of hope. But the trend continued, details grew easier to make out, darkness became rocks and sky and even our faces became visible. Peering over the top of our slab, we made out a deep glow to the east. For awhi~e low clouds on the horizon filtered the warmth; but then with a suddeness that was almost shocking c·omplete sunlight flung out on our cliffs and we rose with che• ring croaks to sit on the crest of our slab in the heat of the dawn. as ripe :for sun-worship as men can be '• Once again we were We let it shine and shine in undiluted force upon us, basking for two hours while we sighed with happiness and tried to rub away some of the arthritic stiffnesses we had accumulated during the night. Ormsby had had his ~eet wrapped in the rucksack all night, but even so they were numb and nearly frozen. King found it difficult to remove his hands from his jacket pockets, having held them. there so long trying to warm his stomach regions. For myself, breathing air that had not only lost its frostiness but was pure and fresh was enough-- after a night with my head in a sack, so to �speak, or at least my nose. It took nearly another hour to straighten out and re-coil our rappel cord whose 200 reet had become endlessly and unbelievably entangled in knots and loops while we lay on it ror insulation. Meanwhile we ate countless mouthruls of snow in a vain attempt t~ssuage the thirst which had grown on us since our last water at base camp yesterday morning1 Thawed and warmed, we felt revived enough to joke about Twombly and Crabb and other members of the mountain club who were scheduled to climb Mount Sheridan today (which was Sunday); and were even .~lnowd pnobably bundled in warm cars driving over to the .foot of their beautiful, if easy, mountain. Finally we were set for nenewed action, to retreat or to try and go on again. Of course we would go on1 Leaving Ormsby still on the shelf we had spent the night upon, as reserve support, King and I mounted arm over arm up the fixed climbing line to our highest piton. Huddled underneath the ' familiar awkward overhang, I left King firmly tied to the stout piton which had held me so well the evening before. Outside of a slight stiffening in the injured knee, I felt fine, infinitely better than the night before in the same place. First I decided to abandon the route from which I had fallen, and seek to turn the overhang on its left. For a time I hel&i' · onto King's head as the most conveni8t\t grip, and then came a ·nice forty-five minutes negotiating twelve feet of rock, placing a piton, cranin~y neck this way and that, and . .finally removing the piton and climbing back down to the red-haired hand hold again, the finest grip for yards around. No sir, it just �wasn't going to go that ~asily. We would have to climb the place of the fall. For the second time, I hung on rope tension and traversed my way to the right, past King and the worst of the overhang to the thin gravely foothold which had disappeared when needed the night before. Instead of going upwards, though, I went fUr- ther to the ribht to a slight right-angled indentation. I drove a horizontal piton ·as high as I could reach. Here For a time I let King hold my weight on it as I surveyed the situation. Then I placed my feet flat against the holdless rock a yard beneath the piton, · and leaned out with the rope taut about my waist. I could reach a yard higher than before, and to the left over there was the three-finger hold from which I had slipped in the dark. A little jockeying and swaying and I was able to reach it sufficiently to drive a thin wafer piton into it for about an inch. easily spring such a piton. Dirac~ outward rope tension might So instead of clipping my waist rope to it, I took a short loop from my pants pocket and fastened it to the wafer as a foot stirrup. Maneuvering a foot . into this, I was able to gradually stand erect on it, my weight being thus directed straight downward which helped the weak piton just that much to stay in place. Now I could reach still higher. Eighteen inches above the wafer, I found another slight crack and hammered a piton slightly into it also. I fastened a second rope stirrup to it (my last one) and stepped writhingly up again, higher than ever. Letting my hands crawl along the rock like two crabs, so as �CHAPTER X!X--,. ~55 not to disturb my one-legged balance, I felt them pass over a shelf, snow-powered. Brushing aside some of the white cold stuff (down it filt~red onto my hair end neck) I unburied a granite hand hold, the first since leaving King's head. For just a moment I looked down-- the rope from my waist wriggled down thru the piton ten feet below and then curved beneath the overhang to King, hidden beneath it belaying me. Much .further below the ice-filled gully whisked along toward i· the valley floor so far below. The trouble with ~ging on pi tons for direct aid is that you must then ~'- ilt~uggte · *tth yourself to leave their security when the time comes. At . this point, Ormsby called up, nliow's it look?;" and I at once got in motion. Clinging with both hands to the shelf above my head, ! nahoo:tsimd Jb!fisted my foot loose from its rope loop, then chinned up the relentlessly smooth face, found a higher hold for one hand, worked a knee and then both feet onto the shelf, and stood upright at the bottom of a twentyfoot chimney gouged into the rock • . I groaned at its box-like snow-swathed sides with their promise of more piton work, and then fortunately glanced to my ri ght. A stout ledge six inches wide · led out from the chimney and disappeared. At once I turned to follow it and worked my way around with r~diculous ease for five yards, as if circumnavigating a silo. Below my feet the rock evid•atly dipped sharply in to form the worst overhang of all-- Ormsby and King cheered, and proclaimed that I was outlined against the sky in the most spectacular photograph of the whole climb, except that I had the camera instead of them. Chuckling with satisfaction, I found myself climbing �up twenty feet of outrageously easy rocks while they shouted a professed horror at my predicament, and stepped into a ten foot bowl filled with large boulders. horn of rock and let out a whoop. I tied myself to a sharp Far below were Ormsby and the hidden King, and above me rose a p~e of easy slabsl • I It took a full hour to get King and Ormsby up to me, but we were none of us in doubts now. We had it licked. Ormsby faithfully lugged the pack up, removing piton after piton (altogether we had driven eleven to cvercome this mauvais pas As he came over the final edge into the little bowl, I snapped a picture which caught to the fUll his grinning triumphant face, wind-beaten and cracked-lipped though it necessarily was. An hour more and we surmounted the ~st of tlie buttress and the final little piece of shoulder ridge to the summit of 'Blanca itself. It was, as Rhoda proclaimed, a magnificent summit. To the south-west we saw 14,040 foot Little Bear, connected to Blanca by a long curvl ng two mile ridge that looks haphazardly suspended in air (we were later to do parts of it in a warm foggy blizzard). To the south of us was a great ciraue filled with boulders leading to timberline and the curving valley we had come up in that winter trip. To the east was Old Baldy, 14,125 feet, also more or less connected to our summit by a notched serrate ridge. And north of us, peak after peak of the Sangre de Christo Range, with the Crestone Needle group looking absolutely unbelievable from this ~ection. �CHAPTER XIX-- "f.'- 51 Now how to go about returning to camp? ~1 Summits are beauti- climactic scenes, but they do not permit the camera to simply fade out happily with every problem solved. We had to get down now, and none of ·us for a moment favored trying to descend our north face. toward Old Baldy. Ormes had told of doing the east ridge He said tt had been "easy" but it looked wicked and we had somehow lost confidence in Ormes's notions of what constituted the "easy" after ascending .a buttress he and Wilm had reputedly climbed with but ''one or twon uses of the rope. Or had they employed that ice-filled gully? It Perh~s then it had been free of ice. was something of a mystery. So we determined to descend into the "titanic amphitheatre" at the southeast base of Sierra Blanca, the one which is "in its rugged, savage grandeun, second to none in Colorado." Far below we could even make out the ''darkling pools of water'' and felt· ourselves wracked with a terrible thirst. So for a time we descended the south ridge, down the L cubical black blocks of stone, and then prepared to drop off to the left. At that moment Ormsby's squirrel-hunter eyes picked out three moving dots far below in the cirque to our right. Thru King's fiel~lasses they proved to be two men and a girl slowly picking their way up the lower portions of the standard route up Bi~ca. We shouted but got no answer. And we found ourselves too thirsty to wait and meet them. Down we climbed, ~ppelling and further on for 100 feet. at one place for 80 fe~t, The rest of the way we found to be steep but easy enough to free-climb. We unroped and rushed �down a thousand feet of grassy ledges, across loose boulders, and directly for the darkling pools, little high-altitude lakes of motionless, crystal clear water. Gasping with pleasure, we drank up thousands and thousands of gallons of water, our first liquid in thirty-two hours. Next we had to cross the Blanca-Baldy ridge, now to the '-' north of us. sad.dle. We walked along its base looking for a feasible Ormsby saw a gap but King and I knew better and insisted on walking much further east and climbing much higher thrp another gap. Once thru it, we at once observed that Ormsby's gap would have been vastly simpler, so we generously complimented him for suggesting it. assured him. You can't be too canetul, though, we Sound conservatism supported our choice, at least in the long-drawn-out long run. Now we were several thousand .feet above our campsite, with only steep boulder slopes below. Ormsby had found a number of blackish crwstals which he pronounced possibly good silver ore. Leaving him to fill his rucksack with about forty pounds of the stuff, King and I skipped on down to our fabled camp among the ruined buildings. At 4:30 p.m. we were not only there but stretched out in the grass enjoying a can of beer. And yet, oU!5was still a hard lot. We had just accomplished a heroic .feat of mountaineering, managed a subtle escape, and were now tired and de,erved a rest, garland-tossing girls. cheering crowds, and Instead the deserted valley was calm and quiet and green with aspen leaves. 1 And we still had a lousy _seven miles to go to reach our car. ----- Our dramatic sense made these constant anti-climaxes painful to bear and in poor �taste. At five o'clock we shouldered our packs, one for each ot us now, and tramped toward the car. Soon we were in darkness again, and it was not for two hours that we again smelled the rotting calf and knew we were getting close (yet another example of the woodland secrets by which the skilled hiker may direct himself~. At the car at 9:00 p.m., we unlocked the doors, crawled in, and relaxed. w~y Then we switched on the headlights to light our to the stream. with water1 For we still had to re-fill the radiator Back and forth we stumbled, having nothing larger than quart canteens to carry it in. At las~he deed was com- plated, and again we climbed inside. I wor_k ed the starter and nothing whatever happened. Where oh where was the sound of that powerful motor kicking over? Obviously, we must have run down the battery by using the headlights. For an hour we sat in silence, hoping at least one of us would stay awake. Then I tried again and it had rech~ged enough to start. We drove thankfully away, round curve after curVe, punching in one fender on a jutting rock, up and down hill and aale, and at last onto the main highway again. At Walsenburg, we stopped for a midnight supper, the neon lights garish and unreal, people's faces looking dead. Then we took off for Pueblo and Colorado Springs, just ninety-five miles to go and home-next thing I knew, King was prodding me in the ribs. i I was driving on the left side of the ~ypnotic White highway-line, �no one knew for how long. Since we had not really slept now for 42 hours, this was understandable. Uivilization was too much for us and we turned into the first convenient side road, stopped, and flung down our sleeping bags to drop into instantaneous sleep. Next morning we made it on home. tired of mountain climbing. Temporarily we were �CHAPTER XX- ~- ~1.\ PART FOUR: THE NORTH FACE OF SIERRA BLANCA CHAPTER XX-- THE NORTH FACE DIRECT BUT-- and an intriguing but it was-- we still had not conducted a direct ascent of Sierra Blanca's north face. Our buttress had been to one side of the highest, most impressive precipice. Ormes expressed due surprise at the troubles we had had, and remarked that the direct face would doubtless be even more exacting and severe. Still, we all agreed it was worth a try, with the possible exception of King who kept insisting on how cold he had got the last time. For almost a year, we sbhemed and cogitated. In August of 1948, the time had come for another try. Once again, neither Ormes, Gregg, nor Twombly were free. Nevertheless, we assembled a strong party of four. Dave Jonson was able to go along-- he had spent the summer working as a ~aborer on the Pikes Peak highway, so he was well acclimatised. John Alexander was fresh from a number of summer rock climbs including a horrendous one in the Bottomless Pit on Pikes Peak. At the last moment, King allowed himself to be drafted again after all. So far as I know, he had not done any climbing since the adventure on Blanca a year ago; but this was his way. scorned practice climbs and conditioning. He For months at a time he would remain couped up at his desk, writing pulp fiction or studying various occult scienc~s. Then he would hurl himself into a climb on five minutes notice. And strangely enough he always seemed to come thru as well as if he had been training :for weeks. · �CHAPTER XX--~.~~~ On August 18, the four of us se~ out in Alexander's jeep. Aside from same tire trouble at Redwing, we made good time. While waiting there we learned from the local inhabitants that no rain had fallen for three weeks in the vicinity. all right with us. This was Mountaineers thrive on dry weather. There is a new sport growing up in the Rockies, which consists in seeing how far you can get a jeep up ' into country formerly passable only on foot or horseback. Of this sport John Alexander was an outstanding devotee. Equipped with four- wheel drive and a power winch, there were no discernible limits to the places his jeep might penetrate. In winter or summer, he never hesitated to plunge it forthwith into yard-deep drifts of powder snow or swamps and stands of small-size timber. On this occasion we certainly hoped to ride closer to our face than we had in the Hudson, but nothing like the ride Alex gave us had been remotely expected. For hours we bumped, gunned, braked to screeching halts, clawed thru bushes, crawled over boulders the size of washtubs, and crashed thru trees and saplings. With impassioned whine the jeep waded creek after creek of swollen roaring currents. At one point I Qbserved water slopping onto the .floor boards beside me while the jeep rolled and slid sidewise in the current like an old side-wheeler laboring across the Mississippi. But Alex was unconcerned. At last after crossing several hundred yards o.f crag-toothed chunks of stone, we came to ' a place where the entire mountain-side had fallen across our way into a 45° slope of tuwbled stones, and with this for an excuse malie Jobp·:· :. stop. We all got out, examined �CHAPTER XX-- r·~t,.3 ourselves for bruises, and easily walked the scant mile or two to the abandoned mine dwelling again for a camp. While the others prepared a fire t::.and supper, Alex and I set out at 5:30 p.m. for the little glacier at the base of our face. I knew that for this year's ascent, we would have to cut steps all the way up it, and I hoped to get them cut in advance. But it took us an hour to reach it, and we had cut about 30 or 40 steps before it was time to return for supper. Not a cloud lay in the evening sky, and the air had the sweet tang found only above timberline in summer at the close of a quiet day. Only the occasional high-pitched whistle of a marmot broke the calm. That evening, we formed our final · plans. We would consoli- date our equipment into three rucksacks, so that the lead-man would have no hinderance at all, and the other three could each carry as little as possible. We would use two climbing ropes of 120 feet each, so we -could dispense with the extra burden of a coil of rappel line. Ifi forced to rappel, we could knot the two clinbing ropes together and slide down 125 feet of cliff at a time. We had about 18 pitons of various types, two ·ice axes, and each man a hammer. Since there were four of us, we planned to use a special technique: between the lead and second man we allowed the entire forty yards of a single climbing rope. The second man tied also to one end of the second rope, then the last two at 20 yard intervals along it. This gave the lead-man a maximum amount of free rope by which to reach belays on easy rock without having to use pitons. For much of the face we expected to be easy, but so down-slanting �CHAPTE!R XX--l· ~~~ as to afford few natural belays. Having no pack, the lead-man was hardly likely to fall, even if his leads were occasionally a hundred feet or so long. There were four of us-- two is ideal, extremely fast and adequate if both are quite skillful or if help is relatively near (as for instance, on the East Face of Longs Peak). is much slower, but safer in case of accident. Three We ourselves were in completely isolated country, and i~ trouble brewed we would have to get out of it entirely on our own. With four, we stood a far better chance of safely moving an injured man; if necessary, one could stay with him, and two could belay each other down for help. As for four men being 1 too slow, we would endeavor to work the "double hop r r - every third move, two men are in motion simultanebuBly, each bel~ed from above. t\ This, plus the leader climbing without a belay on easy rock, would make us nearly as fast as a three-man rope. We never favored splitting a four man party into two separate ropes of two men each unless circumstances were unusually . favorable. For here a peculiar psychological danger lurks, though at first sight trivially. The party's collective judgment as to the difficulties of the climbing being done is insidiously undermined. Inevitably, a kind of unacknowledged competition developes between the two ropes. Ji,:;..._, ~<> c. 'l"n cS!~ t\ ~ :"""'""""' ~~ uJ \ ~J.J., ~ ~ \.e ...~ ~... 'Yua.t. \-o 6~olc-e.. ~ ~~OV\ ~ As long as those behind keep following, the lead rope thinks the climbing must be easy enough, and goes on and on. Since the lead rope is finding things so simple, the second rope feels it must follow without complaint. And if a vicious passage is encountered, two lead- men must be exposed rather than one, backed by the other. �. r·:r Next morning the :four o~s le:ft camp at 5:45 a.m. Skirting the lower bank of cliffs in oOediance to last year's lesson, we worked our way up the talus slopes and reached the first ice at 6:45. Here we roped up, and I began to cut steps. They had to be cut large-- we had but one other ice axe for bel~ying, and we didn't want anyone to co~ slipping out of his steps and drag the rest of us down. For an hour and a half, I fash- ioned one step after another, 268 in all (for King counted them). There are few finer feelings in the world than early-morning step cutting when you are feeling fresh and the sun shines brilliantly down upon your work. Ice sprays up to your race and sometimes down your ~ack at every stroke, and the big chips go splattering down the slope in a merry fashion. At ' 8:15 we finally reached the rocks above the glacier. The sun was now quite hot, quickly drying us of any lingering traces of chipped ice and water. The two axes were stowed away in ruck- sacks, though we were tempted to toss them down the ice to be picked up the ~xt day. The rock was clean and warm, and for a time quite easy. Only King remained dubious. We noticed that his pack contained a suspicious round bulge, and under questioning he at once confided that he had rolled up an eiderdown sleeping bag and brought it along in case we had to spend a night out1 Such lack of faith, such depths of skeptical pessimism, indeed nihilism, were only to be expected of a person such as King. The rest of us preferred to climb unburdened by doubts and bulky extra poundage. �CHAPTER xx~- t· ~~b For 400 feet we moved upward in a series of zigzags. The rock was greenish, sometimes brown, now and again an incredible orange. Sometimes it was bright blue. To our extreme left was an impressive tongue of ice sweeping down from a dark notch that bit the crest of the Blanca east ridge. Once it had looked like a fine ice climb, but now we heard stone after stone whisking and shooshing down it. Those who stand up well under canon fire might enuoy such a climb. Jonson remarked that the stones sounded like jet planes. I':' Finally, creeping up a smoothened .water~course of blackish . \.:,; rock, we had our first iffficuat pitches of the day. A wide standout traverse beneath a sharp overhang, Alex belaying me by hooking the rope to an inch thick h~~ of rock, created a few anxious moments. Both Jonson and King had axe h@ndles protruding from their rucksacks like walky-tal~y aerials, which caught an::d scraped the roof of the overhang as they moved beneath it. But they did well, Jonson even smiling for a picture. Next came steep slabs and chimneys, the rocks encrusted with unusually thick lichen. Soon we ha~eaChed a broad upward- slanting shelf of grass, fully five feet in width. For two hundred feet we walked along it, beneath fearsome and harmless overhangs. Looking west across the face toward the buttress we had climbed last year, we judged we were half -way up now. So nice was our grassy ledge that we compared it to "Broadwayu on the East Face of Longs. King at once suggested ~name it for posterity, "The Boulevard of the Heroes of the Revolution;" but this seemed perhaps a trifle flamboyant. �~ As we lett it tor another easy dry water~ourse, ~ several voiced what all had been noticing tor some time. The sun had gone behind clouds. The next half-hour involved a sudden bit of' nasty rotten rock, a short retreat, two overhangs and the ascent of a climbable flute of rock but six inches thick and twenty feet high, and then a wicked dhimney. As I sat atop this, bringing up Alex's rope (he was second man), I telt the first rain. By the time the last two had negotiated these difficulties, we had to pause to don parkas or jackets. This made the packslighter, I was told, but the rain quickly cut our ~eed by three-quarters or so. "' \..:..' On up another waterfeourse, the rock glistening with wet and smoothene4 from centuries of rain and ice. Soon perfect films of water were coursing down over our holds, and freshets began to form and trickle. We began to employ pitons where we might have strolled with ease had it been dry. Then the rain turned to a wet sleet that stuck to our clothes and my glasses and of course the slabs. Looking down, we found the entire valley fogged and indistinct, swathe4 in rain streaks and low coursing clouds. It occurred to us how happy the rancaers must be cheering the end of their three week droughtl Finally we left the watercourse in desperation and took to the ridgy rocks to the right. They proved just as steep and just as wet, but at least the holds were sharp and deep cracks appeared now and then. The sleet turned back to rain, and we were able to conduct a sweeping necessary traverse. Thirty feet to the right of Alex, I drove a piton and climbed straight up to drive a second. Hanging on dr~ect tension I clawed my �way gingerly toward a slanted jammed stone ten more feet to the right. Clinging to this in bear-hug fashion, I managed to implant an angle pi ton beside 1 t, and on more rop.e tension clutched and swung my way a full twenty feet more to the right. Here I found myself rounding a corner into yet another idiotic watercourse. Determined not to be forced into another one of those, I fingered and arched my way up a series ' of cracks to a two inch foothold and drove a horizontal piton. Tied in safely, I found on bringing up Alex t~at I had drawn 95 ' feet of rope from him before finding this first good belay. ' Indeed, before he could reach me, Jonson the third man had to climb '· to the jammed stone and re~•n clipped to its angle piton, while Alex and I solved the next mysteries. Rain has a bad effect on climbers, at least in the arid west. ,so We are~unused to it, we hate it. was badly shaken, and cold. By now, each of us individually Only the strength of the group, linked magically together by thin nylon cords, sustained us. No one fell or slipped, and we continued to move as one long groping spirit, nourished by all its parts. For two hours now, so complex were the traverses and jutting formations up which we wove our way that Alex was the only member ot the party I had seen, and that at rare intervals. Twice the going became absolutely holdless, and I had to bring him up, arrange him on some nicety of foothold, tie him solidly to the cliff, and stand for minutes <'-i' end .itop his shoulders or up stretched hands. Always a wet crack for the fingers or a knob for a toot was eventually found. We had to fight against a tendency to �~- /"' ---.. ( completely distrus ~ our wet soles and cling too much with our Finally, out ot sight above Alex, I came to hands and wrists. an overhang of overhangs. but a single piton. It was rotten, too outtlung, and took Then I glanced to the right and fortuitously pendulumed tor twenty teet, touhd an easy way, and reached steep grass and imbedded stones above, the first wide place :for us 1all together tor three hours. I decided on a joke. As each of the three benind me· were bel~yed up to the grass, . I neglected to inform them I had awung around and circumvented that overhang. Seeing their ropes going straight up it, they climbed it direct, yelling and cursing and flailing their arms about :for non-existent holds. Cruel? Each in turn broke into a broad grin when I informed him of the deception. I would guess .our morale jumped 200 percent from being together again and laughing. And now the rain finally stopped, but it was very late in the day. All of us be gan to have a certain :feeling-- but we ignored it and hoped for the best •. The summit seemed perhaps 600C':feet above us. We flung ourselves up a new watercourse . into which we were unwillingly forced. It went well enough until narrowing into a smooth-walled chimney. Finally I :found the walls too vertical and glistening to climb, and too tar apart to jam up. So I turned the lead over to Alex, who was wearing nailed boots and might stick to the wet rook better than I. He succeeded in driving an angle piton {the 17th - piton of the day) into a dirt[illed pocket; but he could go no higher. Amid a clamor that we ~ to go on, I tried it again, but I could get no higher than Alex. Finally the piton began �CHAPtrER XX-- l· ~1o to loosen in its dirt pocket, and I came down. It was almost darkl Back we went a hundred feet down to one of the grassy ledges again. Fortunately the grass was now drying out. have to spend the night. Here we would Perhaps it would not be so bitter as the year before-- we were somewhat better equipped. But I felt it was fortunate neither Alex nor Jonson had had to bivouac before at close to 14,000 feet. As it was, I could assure them it wouldn't be too bad; and by the time they knew me for the liar I was, it would be morning again. We drove a lBrge Swiss piton five inches into the rock "' '-" and tied ourselves and all the equipment to it b:-- y lengths of rope. ODD ledge this time w~s broad enough that no reasonable man should roll off it; but in the unli~ly event or anyone getting to sleep, it was well to take precautions. Three of us felt a deep. sense of comradeship and moral unity as we directed fishlike stares of disapproval at King. For he was already busily engaged in rolling out his warm eiderdown ~ag and making himself comfy for the night. By 8:30 we had eaten •ost of Alex's hard candy, our only food, and settled down for the night. o~t of the wind. Alex crawled into a hole Jonson and I Huddled back to back for warmth, and actually slept now and then. One of us had a little rope for insulation to lie upon, and the other a crumpled rucksack. With our ·backs warm, each kept his arms and hands folded across his stomach for fnontal warmth. Jonson tied a scarf over his fade under my direction, while I again kept my parka hood over mine to breathtthe semi-warmed air. �011APTER XX-- f· ,_,, It wasn't too bad. That is to say, it was horrible but we might be induced to try it again ror a thousand dollars or a medal or the chance ot an ascent up another peak like Blanca. And at least we three were not exposed to the ravaging pangs or guilt which King should have felt. Next morning the sun came bounding ove~he eastern hori zonn. and once again found itself greeted by hoarse croaks and cheers. By 6:15, we were thawed sufficiently to go on. We left the chimney-like watercourse, still dgmp, and gladly climbed out on the slabs to the right, now dry and warm in the sun. We were again on a b~ ge between two high-angle watercourses, a bulge dotted here and there with g~een tufts of grass and altogether superior to darkling ravines. Belays were fifty to a hundred feet apart, pitons cracks few, but the holds were sharp and adequate; after yesterday's 13 continuous hours of climbing and a night of rest, we were all four supremely keyed up and in keen climbing form. There is no better feeling in the world than sunny slabs, sharp airey holds, and yourself in perfect mood and ~~'\~ a whole climbing party in exuberant co-ordination. Hundred foot pitches fell with ease. A traverse across a smooth thirty toot slab with but a single half-inch ledge ~ for the feet and no handholds went like a lark to one after another of us. In the rain and cold of yesterday afternoon, we could have never Hone it. Somewhat higher, however, we were brought to a halt by the foremost obstacle of the morning. Our ridge ~slackened to form a wide grass ledge, then rose abruptly in a final tower-like brow, twenty feet thick and perhaps a hundred feet in lleight, �It looked impossible to climb direct, yet a glance showed we were hemmed in by snow-plastered watercourses on either side, each deep and forbidding. Going directly up the tower some twenty ~eet, I sank a good horizontal piton, and le~t Alex tied firmly to it. Then I climbed down from him and set about to try and out~tianking movement to the left, not because it looked easier but because it was sunny and the right side was still in cold shadow. We loved the sun. Sure enough, though, a foot-wide ledge began to pass around the tower. I followed it for thirty or forty feet, and found myself directly above the ~loor of the deep ravine, a hundred ~eet below. We would have been trapped down in th at if we had secceeded in climbing the chimney of the evening before. I shuddered and then detected twenty feet of easy climbingcabove me. I romped up it, traversed ten feet to the right, and found myself thirty feet across from Alex, whose back and one arm I could see by leaning out from the cliff. So far, so good. I drove a piton, upside down oddly enough, and clipped in. It was obviously going to be a pinning job. holds adequate for ordinary climbing. There were no This being the case, there was nothing to do but be patient and set about it. King and Jonson had by now both reached the grLSS shelf below Alex and were calmly lying on it and watching operations: like impersonal spectatchrs. With three pitons and the use of one foot sling, I advanced sixteen feet upward. lower me ~rom the highest piton for a rest. Then I 1~ Alex �Dangling from pitons and hanging in space supported only by a thin rope about the waist or a foot stirrup-loop looks hideous to outsiders. Even King and Jonson expressed alarm about my appearance. But the truth is that nothing is easier so far as 11 nerven and "skillu go. for the next piton crack. Qne merely hangs and looks It is almost a passive situation which would be thorroy.ghly boring except !'or the exposure. Mostly it is just plain hard work. One pounds and pounds until the arm aches and the ha~ clutching the hammer threatens to cease functioning. Then one rests if one can. The usual pleasures of mountaineering, the movement and the rhythm, the sense of lightness and well-being, are l~gely gone. Glimbing has metamorphosed into work, a temporary job that must be done to open up more climbing ahead. This is the only justif'ication for direct aid piton work, so-called "tension" or "sixth grade" climbing. * Footnote: Certain American clubs have taken to "grading" their climbs, usually one thru six: grade four requires belaying, five uses pitons for safety, and six uses pitons for direct aid. A seventh grade has been proposed, in which pitons are absolutely needed but cannot be drivenl The English, hating pitons, often classify their climbs easy, difficult, severe, and very severe. Thus, the English prefer to call a spade a spade, while Americans. give it a number instead. But both spades and numbers are largely subjective, if not fictional. If climbs must be classified, I w9~ld make them "easy,rr "difficult,u and "too difflcul t. 11 · , · When too much friction developed on my rope, pulling thru fnr a so many karabiners, I brought Alex over for a closer belay. He traversed dieectly on tension, instead of following the ledge I had used. Halfway across he balanced for a moment on a single boot nail hooked on a nick of reck, and I smapped a picture. Blurred and hurried it was, as I was holding his rope �CHAPTER XX-- Y'~14 with one hand and manipulating the cgmera with the other; but again we got a picture meaningful and vivid, though a doubtful something to outsiders. Now the cracks f='. ended, and I had to traverse left, stepping tv overh four foot gap to an angled corner, a kind of triangular pillar fastened along one side to the main tower. As I started up this, shaking my foot angrily loose from a stirrup loop hanging to a piton, Alex began cheering. conquered. He thought the difficulties But &top the pillar, where I had expected to find a yard-square pla tform, I found myself clinging like a gibbon to an inch deep eleft hard against the main wall. On every side of me the rock was smooth and holdless for ten or fifteen feet. Meanwhile I had no place for my feet or hanging legs • • For a time I rested on a forearm and wrist wedged into the cleft, to take the weight off my fingers. Then, yelling fo:r an exceptionally loose rope from Alex.,I ' ' wanted not the slightest down-pulling pressure to unbalance me-- I walked my feet up the column face till just below the dlinging fingers. With much weight now on my parallel planted feet, balanced by one set of fingers in the eleft, I took out a final wafer piton and placed it in the e.left. While the one hand held me on and also moved the piton up and down the cleft, the other groped for the hammer at my hip and then tapped at the little blade. Finally it found a bit of crack, and with repeated hammer blows sank in a full half-inch. Knotting a section of my climbing rope to it, I told Alex to pull down with all his weight while I held on to the rock and watched the behavior of the piton. Alex, forty feet below, �ORAPTER XX-- t· ?.15 pulled gingerly and bent the piton blade but didn'~ affect the part in the crack. Somewhat reassured, I clipped a karabiner to it, clipped my rope in to run freely, and crouched as low as possible while still holding to the rock of the cleft, and let mz weight come on the little wafer piton. Slowly it bent over, with the deliberate yield of soft iron, but the point held in place. A time for action? Hanging full upon the rope and piton, I released my finger grip and let Alex pay me out ten feet down, hanging like a box in a stevedoring ~~. Then I swung slowly across the rock, helping myself by judicious footwork, and completed the final ''tension traverse" of the day by grabbing a vertical rib of rock and suddenly pulling into a foot-wide fissure filled with good holds. Alex gave me a free rope, and in a minute I had climbed an easy forty feet to a fine belay. I could see from here that there were no more serious obstacles to the summit. In an hour, the others had followed, swinging freely from the pitons I had placed, grumbling but happy in the lmowledge that we had made it. Jokes filled the air. ' I scurried about like a press-agent, taking pictures. last man, removed the pitons. King, still grim-faced as Then a hurried scramble and at 11:15 a.m., we stood again on the 14,363 foot summit of Sierra Blanca. We had employed 18 hours of ha.rd rock clim~ing, spent 27 hours all told on the face, and employed pitons in 26 places. Till noon, we rested on top. With the route known, in dry weather, doubtless we could repeat our climb someday in six or seven hours. Someday it would doubtless be considered an �an easy day for a lady, as all impossible climbs are said to~entuall~beoome~ _ ____..,r quite satisfied. But for now we felt fUll and replete, Glancmmse at the two mile serrate ridge that connected with Little Bear, I noticed that the latter peak itself has an imposing East Face. I suggested a vow be immediately sworn to so~ day climb that too. Guffaws and derision met me from all sides, and even I felt a little fmolish.* ~ Footnote: Nevertheless, a year later, Gregg and I tried to scale this imposing east face of Little Bear. Though not so high as the Blanca north face, it is even more smooth and precipitous. After seven hours climbing and 22 pitons, we were but 200 feet from its bottom. At that point, I split a thumb with my hammer, and we rather thankfully rappelled down. But someday we must return. Innumerable routes are probably possible, and to anyone desirous of copping for himself the non-existent glory bb.t quite real personal satisfaction of a first ascent, I suggest a visit to the Little Bear east face. · Then we left, hungry and somewhat tongue-blackened from ,...... thirst, r~peating the delightful drop into the southfeast ~ cirque of Blanca with its darkling pools of water. looked green and inviting. To us they There we drank our first water in 32 hours, and then slogged on ~orth over the high ridge and down to camp ·by 4:30p.m. Alex proved a more stable driver than I had in the Hudson, and at 3:15 a.m., August 21, I was home in bed for the purpose of sleeping. �PART FIVE : ROCKY MOUNTAIN NATIONAL PARK �CHAPTER KX!-- l. ~'l'l PART FIVE: ROCKY MOUNTAIN NATIONAL PARK CHAPTER XXI-- THE EAST FACE OF LONGS PEAK No one is fully accredited as a climber in Colorado until he has scaled 14,255 foot Longs Peak, and he is not considered "(oeK to have arrived as a~climber until he has done it by the East Face. In fact, the eastern precipice of Longs Peak, 2200 -as feet high with 1700 of thatAgenuinely near to the vertical as {.~ a granite wall can be, is known am6fig 0010rado climbers simply ·--· · ·- ' - - - - - - -- - - - - - - - - - - - Footnote: There is almost no such thing as a truly vertical precipice to be found on actual mountains. To the person unfamiliar with mountains, many a steep hillstfde a:gpears vertical, but such is not the case. Rock: tilted at 30 can be difficult if it has few holds. 60° rock often require s strenuous climbing. Rock past 75° or so seems more than vertical to the mountaineer because he has to lean out from it to climb it. For these reasons, statements concerning ttvertical" walls are likely to be smiled at by experienced hikers and climbers. Yet the East Face of Longs is the nearest to a true vertical that I have ever seen, the face of Half Dome in Yosemite being perhaps the nearest comparable ~tructure. Inde~d the upper half of the East Face seems to slightlY\overhang~ luckily it can be skirted to the left, as it seems absol~tely nnclimbable (but so did Lost Arrow). as The East Face. - No other area of tilted acreage in the state is so widely known in its minutest particulars. The narrow horizontal ledge that divides the preeipice from end to end half-way up is universally known and acclaimed as "Broadway." Other ledges may be found on other peaks and compared to Broadway, but to give them the same name would be blasphemy. Broadway is Broadway as the East Face is the East Face, and there are no substitutes. ' Actually, it is a good thing to have one peak and one precipice so venerated. It serves as the only common standard �CHAPTER XXI-- y-~1S by which the state's climbers may measure themselves. It is the one place they sooner or later must all climb and compare notes. In this respect, it serves the same function locally as the Tetons in Wyoming seem to serve nationally. Even if you haven't been to the Alps, if you have once climbed ' in Grand Teton National Park you have automatically secured for yoursel.f a footing with the best people and the best clubs all over the country. · It is not di.f.ficu ~.t to see why Longs gained its reputation. First of all it is by all odds the most frequently climbed peak in the United States. Fi.fty thousand ascents are said to have been made, by persons ranging from tourists in oxfords and high heels to the finest climbers in the United States, children of five and men of eighty-five, cripples and surveyors ot\e. and eagle-hunting Indians. At least~child or two was carried up in his father's rucksack. Yet even by its easiest route, it is not simple. Seven miles of magnificent trail wind slowly above timberline from the standard campground, eventually -\\,0 leading intoAttBoulder Field." It is possible to ride horses this .far, but to gain the final .fifteen hundred feet, you have to get off' and walk. Thru the "!eyhole" most people go- a deep notch thru the north ridge-- and on to the rear of the peak, up a steep trough, across the "~arrowsn (an appalling ledge to be~inners) and up some interesting scrambling to the summit. In places this "easy" trail is 11liJply a series of bull's-eyes painted on the b ar e rock by park rangers. Some more daring hikers leave BouAd•r Field and go directly up the steep north face, helped in one place by a length of cable �fixed as a permanent hand-rail. Falls, storms, l~ghtning, and exhaustion have killed close to twenty people thru the years; actually an amazingly low number considering the crowds to be found on the peak on any given summer's day. Thus the first reason for Longs Peak's standard notoriety is simply the fact that it is the most climbed of ~peaks. Thruout the state of Colorado the highways funnel thru their little beads of attached towns and villages enormous numbers of tourists and commercial traffic; but as we have seen the ' ' effect of this is to create extremely narrow swathes of population, leaving the mountains and forest areas largely untouched. Only in Rocky Mountain National Park (of which Longs is part) does this situation change, and people in large numbers leave their automobiles to hike and sometimes climb. Like other national parks, it represents a courageous and largely successful effort to present a wilderness area intact and reasonably unspoiled to mass groups of sightseers. As more and morep~eople become mountain enbhusiasts, the programs developed by the national parks and the recreation programs of the national forests represent the big hope for the future. For it is unfortunate that wherever the development of mountain scenery has been left to the unco-ordinated efforts of individuals competing for profit, the results can usually be summed up as offensive vulgarity and astonsihing lack of taste (including, I must sadly admit, areas adjacent to my own home town of Colorado Springs~. The contrast between a well-publicized national park and a similar area that is only national forest or public domain �CHAPTER XX!-- f· ;;t~o I is sometimes startling. One f ourth of July wee~end, six of us back-packed ten delightful miles up to Capitol Dake at · the · foot htt: Ca13!tgi Peagt; · ':L'ha wea1\ib.e.r · 'was · pe:rlf'~at~ . ·the day was gorgeou:;, the country as beautiful as any mountain area in the world. Yet in the entire three days we were there, the only other humans we encountered were two men packing in by horse to an bbsaure lake for fishing, and a lone cowboy who watched over several thousand head of cattle scattered for miles over the forest meadowlands in tiny little groups . In addition, Capitol f eak with its knife-edge ridges and tremendous open faces is as impressive a mountaineer's mountain as the Grand Teton. Yet most all the faces are unclimbed, and the northwest ridge and face we scaled had evidently been done but once before, in the 1930's . Now a Fourth of July week+end at Rocky Mountain National Park finds the trails alive with moving people, the parking areas jammed with autqmobiles . Often all fires · are banned, and rangers and fire look-outs peer in constant nervousness f'or the tell-tale smoke plume that began as a cigarette stub tossed lightly away . And ordinary weekf days are almost as crowdedo An average summer bringsnearly a million visitors to the park, of whom thousands hike and hundreds scale Longs Peak . But there is a second reason why that small fraternity who call themselves mountaineers should reverence Longs Peak. For ' Longs is not only popular, it is a magnificent mountain. It has its two easy routes (and they are not so easy) and its large wire waste basket on top to handle the dozens of lunch wrappings daily, but it also has its western slabs and its �CHAPTER XXI-- 1· ~i\ south ridge to Meeker (a ''blood-chilling" ~ge to the early pioneers, who ror some reason rirst tried to climb Longs by it), and above all its East Ftce. When accused of being a Ohe-mountain man for devoting all his climbing to Longs Peak, one ranger is reported to have replied, "Why not?" For Longs, he said, had everything. Sound 'rock, endless variation of route, wasy climbing and climbing to rank with the rinest in the nation, even ice and snow climbing up the so-called Mills Glacier. N Now while all tourists seem to take in Rocky Mountain National Park when they come to Colorado, the native inhabitants who live south of Denver orten ignore it for decades on end. They have mountains of their own near-by, with better fishing and more hunting. Consequently it was rather late in our apprenticeship before we tackled the East Face. We had pioneered a number of virgin routes on Pikes Peak and other hills, but the East Face was literally the first time we attempted a standard climb of known difficulty that was reasonably famous. On the advice of' Bob Ormes, we decided to try the Alexander Chimney route. Ormes had been Longs Peak ranger f'or several seasons, and knew the mountain well. At the base of the East Face is a tiny lake and, of all things, a shelter hut (one of the very few in the entire Rockies). ~~ ..... "'~\~ It is fiveAmiles by trail to this Chasm Laie hut. From there the three of us picked our way up a steep talus slope ~to Mills Glacier. No sooner had we come in full view of the East Face at close quarters than we heard a couple of cannon reports ring out. Glancing up at the polished granite walls, �CHAPTER XXI--~· d.i~ we observed a stone the size of a bathtub falling with occasional stately bounces down the cliff to land in a cloud of spray on the glacier before us. Thus the natural awe we alrea.dy entertained for the area was further enhanced. There was Broadway, a continuous line zigzagging across the face half-way up. Once to Broadway, we knew from Ormes, one's mountaineering troubles are largely over. It is easy to go on to the summit or escape to a tongue of Mills Glacier to the left. Thus, only the lower half of our face presented genuine problems. It is split by three principal cracks, vertical wriggles, which are all climbable. We gazed at Alexander's Chimney, the crack we were to climb, with renewed respect for Professor Alexander; for he had pioneered the route alone, way back in the twenties. What is more, having reached the summit thus, he w~s not satisfied until he had pioneered another route down, a new way to the n t rough. " Gregg and I kicked steps up the narrow tongue of Mills Glacier till even with the base of our chimney. A "'jump across the yawning chasm separating the edge of the glacier from the granite, a b;n<~~d, and we rejoined King who had insisted li J on scaling easy rocks. ne didn't want to get his feet wet until necessary. It was very soon necessary. Once inside the chimney, we found ourselves scaling a waterfall. "It's been a wet summer," the ranger had said, and there was still snow packed and melting do.n from Broadway. For a time we wondered just what kind of a climb we had got into. Three bel~s involved sitting in �swirling pools of flowing water. midst of falling water. Twice we had to climb in the By the time we had negotiated the first six-hundred feet, we were drenched thru and thru. Aj that point it is necessary to leave the ch-ctmney- a jammed chock stone ! the size o£ a small bathroom completely bocks it, except for ~ y'VY an evil way in behind lined with wet moss and never yet seal~: ·f;~ Alexander must have been a man of great imagination or faith c t ,o-0 .,l,. 'I\ -("£ when he pioneered the climb. Leaving the chimney benea th the chock stone, you work your way directly out onto the exposed face on a progressively narrowing ledge-system. '0 After a hundred feet or ~, the ledge ends and you are eight or nine hundred feet directly over the glacier below, and for once "directly overn is hardly an exaggeration. "Keep going until it looks like you might be able to climb upwards," Ormes had . said. Sure enough, as the ledge gave out, we looked above us and saw a few vertical cracks for finger holds. oJV. ~"-\L-c.: feet were vicious, and took nearly fifteen minutes to figure ~':,.(, -jff ~ out and lead. ~crt 0 u{Jc. " ·~ :J The next sixty • But the belay at the top is magnificent. As I settled down to belay the other two up, I observed that it was raining. We had been so soaked in the chimney and so engrossed in the thin ledge traverse that we hadn't even noticed (the first and last time rain fell on us unawaresl) 0®P<~gg, coming second and burdened by the pack , and an ice axe, slipped from one crack doing a layb'aekk , and fell heavily on the rope. This was the first time I had ever held his weight on a rock climb. As King followed, Gregg lowered me part-way down the slabs while simultaneously belaying King and I got an excellent photograph of the latter with his tight lmps and thin jacket, w. �CRAPTER XXI-- f· ~i* completely unruffled in the rain going up one of the most exposed pitches he had ever been on. After that, the first thing we knew we ~ were on Broadway; and our troubles were officially over. It wasn't until later that we learned that Alexander's Chimney ·is normally a dry or almost dry climb. But we wondered how anyone could have trouble with it, except for that one exposed sixty foot pitch. For from bottom to top, it is strewn with ironware, pitons of all descriptions, some obviously homemade and left in place for decades. From Broadway we went on to the summit, reaching it at 6:30 p ·~m., seven hours after leaving the Chasm Lake hut. The sun shone brightly while we ate our "lunch," and then clouds boiled up and we calmly decided to leave. Never having been on the mountain before, we judged the trail ought to leave the northwest side of the summit. The first drops of rain were falling even as we reached the northwest edge and stood gaping down the horrid precipices. Back we went to the w~stebasket, \ where a yard by yard search finally discovered one of the park service bullfs-eyes marking the trail. Down came the rain in sheets as we followed the bull's-eyes down the south and then the west face, across the notorious-_narrows'' and into the "t rou gh •·u It was almost dark now, and tremendous cataclysms of lightning and thunder were ttanging off the summit above us. In the murky treachery of the trough, we lost the bull's-eyes and each other. Gregg and I finally re-encountered one another in what we judged was the keyhole, but no King appeared. 0 Finally we back-~~~~k , to eventually establish shout contact with �CHAPII'ER XXI-- ~- '-~ him in a second notch, much higher, which he was bound and determined was the proper keyhole . (Months later we learned there is indeed a nralse" ~eyhole.) Finally we previiled on him to rejoin us. Past the keyhole, we encountered a hut, ? deserted and apparently boarded up. ·~'> This surely couldn't be the Bouft.der Field hut we had heard about. (Later we learned it was the Agnes Vaille ~ut, built in honor of' this woman, a f'ine mountaineer, who died on the way down from a mid-winter ascent of' the East Face). So on we plunged in the plunging rain and darkness, down into an immense bowl of' boulders. A tremendous lightning !'lash pointed out the proper hut f'ar below us. r~ As v,·we drew nearer, we heard wild shrieks and then a steady moaning. Reaching the hut at last, we encountered a youth wandering in a daze just outside the door. We got him inside, and found that he and his buddy had settled down for the night, with their feet comfortably pDopped against the stove in which they had a warm fire going . Now if there is anything that draws lightning, it is a warm column of air rising from a stovepipe. The first bolt burned both their feet and scared them out of their wits. When the second bolt struck, the one had simply fled outside. We got them both bedded down again and over their hysteria (warmth is perhaps the ·supreme antidote for ordinary shock in the mountains) and debated what to do. There was an emer gency telephone but naturally it was out of order. King said he was feeling tired anyway so he thought he'd just remain in the hut until morning. Meanwhile Gregg and I would go down and notify the ranger. If King didn't come by . 9:00~.m., we would send a rescue party up for the �two lightning victims. On the other hand a night of rest might do wonders for them. So at 10:00 p.m. Gregg and I set out, with seven miles of trail in the tangle of boulders and blinding rain. On our right loomed a 13,000 foot mound known as Mount Lady Washington. I knew the trail partially encircled this, so we bore constantly right to intersect it again. Sometime in the next hour the rain stopped and suddenly we found ourselves able to see a little, To the southeast, a few clusters of lights began to appear thru rifts in the clouds- Denver, for ~ or fifty mimes a.way. And above us a few score yards was the summit of Mount Lady Washington. In comic opera disgust, we plunged straight downhill, realizing we were several thousand feet above our trail. After an immense per,,J:>d of expectations and hopes, we finally found it, too tired to care. On and on, eventually below timberline and then at long last, the campground. · No ranger. We decided he might have gone from his little house down to Hewes Kirkwood Inn, so we tramped another distance down ' the road to that. We met him driving his pick-up, and told him of the possible need for a rescue party the next morning. " He said fine, because it looked as if he would be heading a rescue party up the mountain in the morning anyway. the East Face. Three youths were reported lost on We were just offering to go along when it struck us that these must be us! That is, we were the only East Face party that could possibly be "lost." we almost si~d At any In this way, up to go on our own rescue party. rate, King appeared early the next mDrning, so the ranger didn't have to go anywhere. King said the two youths �' CHAPTER XX:t -- 'f' ~i7 had so recovered from their lightning ordeal that th~y had gone on up the cable route at dawn as they had originally planned. Thus our first encounter with the renowned Longs Peak produced a little good rock climbing and a great deal of extra adventure as an added unexpected dividend. climbs we were -not so lucky. In succeeding We returned several times in later summers, gradually knocking off the standard routes. Generally they were fun, but so ~onfined to deep chimneys and filled with other people's pitons that no one could possibly get off the route. No imagination whatever was required. The only exception to this seemed to be the route with the hardiest reputation of them all, "Stettner's Ledges.u Joe Stettner and his brother Paul, two extremely competent climbers from chicago, conceived and pioneered this climb in the thirties, apparently using not a single piton! It was said to be the most exposed climb in Colorado, and possibly the best. Though seldom tried at all, it has thus far caused one fatality and one severe injury- both app arently due to momentary carelessness or flaws of judgmento And so the first time we tried it, we scared off easily. Gregg, Dave Jonson, and I made our way as high as "lunch ledge." If we had only known it, there were but two major difficulties -above this, but down came a rain and graupel storm, and we at once set to work rappelling to safety. A hundred feet at a time, we dangled down the smooth walls on my quarter-inch nylon rappel cord. As our feet touched the safety of the ~lacier again, the rain ceased arld the sun came out into a perfect blue sky. We felt rather foolish. �CHAPTER XXII-- y· ~~ PART FIVE: ROCKY MOUNTAIN NATIONAL PARK CHAPTER XXII-- CLIMB.ING WHILE RUNNING A FIRE LOOKOUT It was not until the summer of 1951 that my wife and I -- l~arned to really) savor Hooky Mountain National Park, For that summer we operated a fire lookout perched on the summit of 11,436 foot n'Twin Sisters,tt just across the valley from Longs Peak. The summer before we had honeymooned in another lookout in Wyoming, 23 miles by trail from the nearest civilization. Supplies had to brought in by horse or jeep once a month. That summer we had a total of six visitors, two of them sheepherders with 2200 sheep. A third was an unfortunate soul from the mid-west who had never seen mountains before and . somehow got his new Kaiser automobile headed up our jeep trail. Since he noticed a series of telephone poles following alongside the road, he waw convinced it must lead to some sort of civilazation. After snapping an axle, he set out on foot, fearful of bears and other predatory beasts, and was ca.stonllshed beyond words to (W find the ci viliz~tion .< he sought perched top a mountain in the form of a 14 1 XJ 14' lookout cabin. Getting his car towed back to town was, as may be imagined, a complicated task. At such a lookout, you spend the day from 6:00 a.m. to 6:00 p.m. looking for smokes, computing fire danger data, and checking places where lighting strikes. It is an ideal life, with plenty of time to read and relax. Only don't miss spotting a fire1 Meanwhile, your only other chores are chopping up a supply of wood for a cooking fire each day, and walking the mile or so down hil\~ to the nearest spring for water. A two day supply can be carried in a couple of canvas �CHAPTER XXII-- 1'" ,.iCJ water bags slung on a packboard, or sometimes a five-gallon G I water can. Some lookouts catch rain water to augment their supply, but it never rained enough for us to do this. '.ei'2 "1 The r~ ft.bokout cabin is perched on the extreme summit of your mountain, and it has a series of windows or plate glass all the way around. In addition there is a catwalk encircling the cabin outside, and this you walk for a slow intensive check once an hour, or sometimes three times an hour depending on the fire danger. You must memorize every detail of the land- scape with which you are surrounded, all the landmarks, the innumerable minor ridges and valleys. If you spot a plume of suspicious smoke, you plot it on a map and take its exact ~earing on you fire-finder instrument. If a second lookout tower also spots it, the two of you have only to exchange bearings to b~ able to plot the exact location of the fire. If you alone can make it out, you count ridges and guess its location as well as you can. Then the fire crews set out under a ranger on the sometimes agonizing task of locating the flareup and extinguishing it. Sometimes they flash mirrors and you tell them by radio how near they seem to be. As for fire- fighting itself, there is no harde~ nastie~ more miserable job in the world-- and few more important. The lookout station on Twin Sisters was a different experience in many ways. The same marmots waddled about as neighbors, and an occasional cony. * But instead of six visitors Footnote: Both are mammals dwelling above timberline-- the marmot is the size of a small dog, gets very fat, lets out an extraordinarily man-like whistle that can be heard for a mile, and hibernates eight or nine months out of the year. A cony is an obscure type of miniature rabbit, with small, round ears, who stores grass and cures it into hay and lives an active �CHAPTER XXII-- ~·'-~o life even in winter. Conies are seldom seen, being furtive creatures with a remarkably low death rate (and hence a low birth rate also). But • armots like nothing better than to lie in the sun all day on an exposed sl~bo Their young play like kittens, and a full-grown marmot can ~ight off many of the smaller carnivores. I once saw one successfully stand up to a golden eagle and drive it off. Marmots lead the most nearly ideal life of any creature I know. They look and act like true ph~losophers. (human), we had dozens each day come hiking up the trail which gains nearly 2000 feet in 3~ miles. Many of these people have been coming back to the park for their vacations for thirty or forty years. Some know the country about better than a mere lookout could do after several years experience. Meeting such mumbers of people enthusiastic about hiking and the beauties of mountains was a new experience Jtor eus. All told, we had nearly a thousand , visitors in the month of August alone. was fine except when a lightning storm brewed. This Then we had to take in everybody we could round up into our nine-by-·f ourteen foot hut with its lightn~ng rod protection. bed, stove, Chai.ttS, ta~~e,~and The hut had a shelves, and not too much room. most we crammed into it at a time was eleven people. The Twice in one week lightning knocked the telephone out of eommission, each time scaring Ginnie anew despite her resolves to treat such phenomena as mere phenomena. \ But Ginnie and I found ~only) real drawback: a fire lookout must be manned every day, for forest conflagrations do not observe weekfends and legal holidays. time. They break out any Hence, one of us had to be on duty every day. I was hired to work five days a week, and Ginnie was official lookout the other two. Thus we could never do ~ climbing together. Once a week, she set off for civilization with the laundry in her rucksack. Running down the telephone line for more �CHAPTER XXI!--~·~~~ speed than the trail, she would meet a girl friend at the highway, drive into town and do the laundry (the summer before we did it by hand), go hiking with the girl, and then return in the evening to face the unwelcome three and a half ~les · back up to our hut. Such antics put her in tremendously good condition, and she rattled off mileages of 10 and 15 miles of hiking nearly every time, twice going over 20 miles in a day. Still, it is a matter of chagrin to me that she and I have still done .far more climbing together in the Tetons of Wyoming than in my own Colorado. She has not once accompanied me up the East Face. And of course, nearly every weekcand, I left her in charge and went down the mountain for some climbing of my own. Usually Gregg met me at the bottom {having driven hts car each time 140 miles from Colorado Springs). We discovered there is a really astonishing amount of fresh climbing in the park. For example we tackled t he stupendous north face of Hallett Peak, by the Emerald Lake chimney, apparently making a second ascent of it. We found it to be an Alexander's Chimney and then some. Every hundred feet or so, an enormous chock stone would be lodged between its walls. by which Only this time there were no airey ledges to~;:;. tra~e_::~J around such obstacles. One either had to w~ek in behind them or, more often, pin one's way out from underneath them with pitons. Such a climb involves constant hammer work, and the frequent use of rope slings and tension techniques. It seldom re quires imagination-- I would prefer an open face climb any day, on small but variable holds-- but there is pleasure in the mere physical exertion, the constant hard work and effort. We found the bottom half scattered with pitons-- several parties had been turned back before the crack �CHAPTER XXII-- y· '-"" was finally climbed. The top third had no pitons in it at all. It was as virgin rock, and such is the way all routes should be. For every climb should be a fresh ascent for the climber. is not concerned with being first. He There are thousands and thousands of p otential "first ascents" thruout the West, and no one need deny himself such a pleasure once he is competant to seek it. Those who limit themselves to the more fashionable areas alone are likely to be imbued with an extravagant sense of the value and rarity of first ascents. Seven hours saw us up our Hallett face, extremely tired and happy. For only nerves stretched taut for hours know the full pleasure of relaxation afterwards. In another two hours we had made our way down an ice eoul .it~r to Lake Haiyaha, and then back to the highway for a couple of beers. All summer, as visitors would gaze at Longs from our tower, I would point out the East Face to them. Always they eventually drew from me the admission that while I knew it well, I still had not completed the best route on it, Stettner's Ledges. True, we had tried it in early June again. Leaving Ginnie in charge of fire-watching, I nan down Twin Sisters, met Gregg in the dark, and we hiked the 5~ miles to the Chasm Dake shelter hut for the night. We were to be joined by a chap named Wylie, a wild youth whose tastes ran to expensive little foreign automobiles and rock climbing. He was currently working as a r") bartender in Estes Park, and was to quit work at 2:00 a~.m. v and hike up to join us by dawn. Long after dawn we awoke to find the sun quite warm and bright and no Wylie. For an hour we dawdled over breakfast, wondering whether to go on or wait. �CHAPTER XXII-- y-~~3 Walking out the door to empty some scraps, I observed a suspicious green thing lying elongated in the grass. in a sleeping bag. It was ~ylie asleep Arriving in the dark, he had located a friend's cached bag and _spread it down outside so as not to disturb our sleep. In the middle of the morning, we finally set out, working our way across deep hard snow around Chasm Lake and onto Mills Glacier. An immense amount of steepening step-kicking finally brought us to the base of Stettner's Ledges. Since the previous winter 40% more snow than usual had fallen, the entire East Face was still quite icy, and Broadway was literally plastered with snow and ice. Sometimes a little ice is a help on difficult rock-- if you need an extra foot hold, you hack it out whePe~er needed. Thus you fashion a eustom-built route for yourselves which no one else can possibly duplicate unless they follow on the same day. For even deep steps in ice melt and grow round-edged in a day or so. But the ice was no help this day. Where we might have wished it, we found the rock smooth and bare, with our boots still wet-soled. Where dry rock would have been all that was required for our happiness, we found only pkcked snow and brittle ice. • One pitch of forty-five feet, a SitJdlple narrow chimney when dry, required close to an hour's step-cutting before I could reach the top of it. Five hours of vicious entanglements with frozen water, and we had only reached "lunch ledge" again. It can usually be reached in an hour with ease. Perhaps we were but Colorado nincompoops, hopelessly deficient in ice training. But at any rate we had had enough. It was no longer fun. So �CHAPTER XXII-- -, . d-'\tf down we rappelled in long hundred-foot sections at a time. Once, passing a tiny grass-filled cleft in the granite, Gregg discovered a somewhat rusted ice axe imbedded in the sod. Someone must have dropped it the summer before, or earlier, whether f'rom t:ne ·L S.t ettner route or the Broadway ledge above we couldn't decide. - Miraculously, it had stuck on the one protuberance in hundreds of feet of polished granite that might catch it. On September second, with hhe summer rast drawing to a close, I rinally had another crack at Stettner's. in supreme physical condition . climbing. I was by now Never had I felt so fit for Besides back-packing two miles for water every other day or so, I had climbed on week ends with Gregg and Wylie, and gone on long hikes of my own. Arter a winter spent indoors reading and working at being an intellectual, there could have been no finer summer contrast. One week end, I ascended Longs by the cable route (never having done that before), walked the ridge toward Meeker (at one time a famous knife-edge which baffled the early pioneers), then plunged southwest across Mount Orton to a beautirul body of water known as Thunder Lake. Here I spent the night in a deserted ranger station, being wakened about midnight by a group of boy scout leaders for whom, being something of an official personae,e, I had to find a C}lmping spot. Being now wide-awake, I found a copy of SchJberg's What Makes Sammy Run? " I finished it before dawn, slept a couple of hours, then sot up to scale the peaks to the rear of Longs. me, from its west ridge. Pagoda defeated Chief's Head proved simple enough, though its northeast face looked from above to be equal to anything on Longs. t ~~der I hoped to take in McHenry Peak also, but a storm came up, and I descended with an immense amount of �trouble into Glacier Gorge. Thru here, I walked past lake after lake, deserted in the rain. Toward evening, I encountered Bear Lake, to which a highway winds, caught the last car leaving it with my thumb, and rode to the baue of Twin Sisters again. In two hours of ni ght-time toil I was a gain in the hut on top. Every climber should undertake a few such solinary scrambles, and most do. On the other hand, the rule is to neve) admit it. _./ The one .thing beginners must all be cautioned about over and over again is not to climb alonet 0nl:r after years of experience and a little soul-searching should a mountaineer ever go out alone, and even then it is wise to inform someone of his intended route in advance. Solitary climbing is frowned upon by all good climbers, all clubs, all park and forest officials, and every available instrument of publicity. And quite rightly. Nevertheless, it is as I say, occasionally done by most of the hallowed names of outdocr life-- Thoreau, John Muir, Whymper of Matterhorn fame, Enos Mills of Longs Peak fame, F.S. Smythe of • British, Hjmalayan, Alpine, and Canadian Rocky fame. But if the fact is once brought into the open, it will be pounced upon by every lone idiot in the hills as self-justification. For tnstance, there was the Chicago postal employee, who read of climbing in books and decided to try it once. He had money to ride the train to Buena Vista, Colorado, where Mount Princeton seemed the most obvious target. Setting out with a pocketful of raisins and chocolate, he got lost on the upper reaches of the peak in a storm, and wandered for three days before finally stumbling to a cabin near the Mount Princeton hot springs, snow-blinded and frost-bitten in hands and feet. Back he went �CHAPTER XXII--~· ~~1. to Chicago, having ~ ade a mess of his first and last venture in mountaineering. So my wife put her foot down, and I was obliged to climb in company for a while. For example, with Dr. Alex Benedikt, a fabulous hiker who may be found each summer vacation inhabiting every trail and every summit in and out of the park for miles around. With the good Doctor I tramped 18 miles in 8 hours, knocking off the pin-point summit of Lone Eagle Peak on the way while he slept at a lake at its base. In such condition were we that we talked the entire day long, steadily settling all the world's problems, without once being obliged to stop for rest or painful recuperation. warranted 1·{ . We stopped when the view At such times, one realizes how completely mistaken was the woman psychiatrist who informed a friend of mine that he climbed to punish himself and combat hidden guilt. Climbers • are not more masochist$vthan anyone else who finds that by doing a pleasurable thing well, by developing until he can easily work at it hard, its pleasure is increased. Miles roll off and the mind rolls on in fantastic awareness. But back to Stettner's Ledges. also in supreme condition. My partner for this day was Robert Craig, an ex-guide on Mount Rainer, graduate student in philosophy, climber of ten years experience in the Pacific Northwest and Alaska, had been teaching rock climbing all summer in North Cheyenne Canyon as a civilian instructor for the army. ~ Indeed, he hadalso run off an advanced class in an ascent of the buttress ridge on our beloved north face of Sierra B~anca.. At midnight the evening before, the lookout phone rang, woke ut up, and Craig's voice could be �CHAPTER XXII--~-~~~ heard on the other end. He had just arrived in the town of Estes Park and wanted to do Stettner's next day. At 5:40 a.m., I took off from the lookout tower, and ran the phone line down to the valley below. At 6:15 I found Craig and his entourage camped and sleeping at the Longs Peak campground. At 7:30 we finally left for the climb. had done the first 5~ miles to Chasm Lake. At 9:45 we I quoted all these times because this was the first climb on which I carried a watch. Ordinarily I detest the use of wrist watches on mountain climbs. But this time :Q determined to obediently measure our progress in terms of ohronometrioal units. At 11:00 a.m., we roped up on the glacier a~he foot of Stett~•~ 's Ledges. We had perhaps a thousand to twelve-hundred feet of rather vertical rook to scale. At 12:30 we were eating lunch on "lunch ledge." Up to here I felt I could climb the route blindfoldedo above, it was all new. But A long delightful n~nety-foot pitch leads to a six-inch ledge and a waist-high piton. Here Craig led past me, and up a 30 foot crack by jamming technique. He stands well over six feet in height, and it was amusing to watch him contort his toes and ,fingers inside the crack, the rest of him hanging out in space like so much laundry blowing from a clothesline. Then I led on past again, up another crack. At the very top, it suddenly widened too ~uohyo CQnveniently - ~ ~ take a foot. But there was a small jammed chock stone. Suddenly I remembered a tale told by Ormes years before, how when he led up Stettner's, he at one point untied and threaded his rope in behind a chock stone, then tied on again. to climb past the chock stone. At once I was unable Nervousness overcame me, and I seemed forced ~h~w _ utilize this jammed stone before �something in me would let me go on. But I did Ormes one better. Instead of untying my safety rope, I simply wrapped a loop of sling rope from my pocket about the chock stone, and clipped the climbing rope to it with a karabiner. ended, and I wentl ~asily past. At once all hesitancy The rest of the climb was delight- ful-- several chimneys, a couple of long airey traverses, and a final tie-in with the top of the Alexander Chimney route. At 4:30, we reached Broadway, and halted for 20 minutes. We both agreed Stettner's Ledges had been one of the finest rock climbs we had ever had. And the weather had been perfect. A few miles away, somewhat lower than our level, was Twin Sisters, the lookout tower, and my wife. I had told her that I might flash a few mirror signals to her from the face, but it was now too late in the afternoon. We were in deep shade. At 5:00p.m., we walked blithely onto the top of the steep tongue of Mills Glacier. The last time I had been on it, its surface had been soft snow, easily glissadeable. hardened by shadow and mild cold. ice, 1200 feet high. Now we found it unexpectedJ In fact, it was a ribbon of At noon we could probably have kicked steps down it. Now we found we could only drop into the bergschruna or broad crack between the fee and the rock cliff along its edge. For two hours we descended step by step, some- times fifteen or twenty feet inside the moat-like crack, sometimes near the surface of the ice. With a proper ice axe, all would have been much easier; but who could have thought an axe would be of value in September after a long summer's melting. At 7:45, we reached the Chasm · Lake hut again - to find two chaps inside waiting to make their first ascae-t of Alexander's Chimney the following morning under a professional guide. �CHAPTER XXII-- p·~11 Their eyes glistened ih the firelight as they fed us the remains of their supper and listened to our tale of the fine day we had had. They were just beginning their mountaineering careers (though one was at least in his forties) and we wished them all the luck in the world. At 10:15, we were again at the Longs Peak campground. I phoned Ginnie th~ all was well, and crawled into the ranger's loft for a night's sleep. It had been a perfect day. �EPILOGUE: SENNACHERffi AGAIN �EPILOGUE SENNACHERIB AGAIN uwell," we thought. Three of us in the darkness bent beneath the log of driftwood as we raised it, pushed, struggled to walk up beneath its weight, straining forward until at last we got it shakily upright-a final shove and we watched its slick hard length topple heavily away from us and splas~ into the stream, a dark beam across the black rush of water. nwel11" we said. ( We huddled together at the thick near-end of the log at our feet, and wondered if the other end had spanned enough stream to land on the tiny island just visible out there in the noisy darkness. The log seemed fr~ enough, though trembling from the bb~ling froth just beneath it. I thought of Geoffrey Winthrop Young's belief that mountain climbing was almost the only 19th century invention for good. nsteam, electricity, have brought evil greater than their benefit: mountaineering alone has revealed a natural force only for good." (Alpine Journal, v. 54, P• 97) So I jerked the head of my ice axe up into my hand, holding it like a cane, and began edging my way across the log. Nailed boots will not stick a round surtaoe of wood, especially when splashing water has frozen into splotches of icy sheathing, spattered here and there along its surface. So you do not cross like some tight-rope artist, arm-balancing his point toes in a gay dancing walk. You assume instead the portable tripod fl. position, your feet atop the log at right agles ~ to it, the �EPILOGUE•- y· ~ol round curve of the glassy wood more or less caught between your heels and nail-studded insteps. Then dipping your axe into the water on the upstream side, you lean out on it, axe and legs forming the tripod, feet sliding along the log sideways like a crab, yhe axe moving quickly now and again from where you have just needed it to where you next require it, plunged firmly to the bottom. It is necessary to dip the axe on the upstream side of the log so that if you lose touch with the bottom, the current will sweep the shaft against your log and give you some chance of recovery. Put it in the down- stream side, and the current will pull it out from you at every move, eventually pulling you out after it in a he.adlong fall. Meanwhile you arNhold and jerky and mirthless, wishing the sun weren't still so hidden by the dark rim of the earth. Safe on the other side, I held a pole for a fixed handrail, and the two others were soon with me. We decided we were less wet than if we had simply waded the icy stream. Well, I thought, here we go again. We crossed the edge of a frozen willow swamp and started up a steep timbered ridge, a mighty blob of dark. we were approaching timberline. By da~ We were off on yet another attempt to do the Ellingwood Ridge up La Plata from end to end-- once again Sennacherib had woDked its wiles. For such earlv morning climbing, it is best to go into revery. You walk very slowly, very deliberately, slow enough that you don't have to stop for rest, winding your way meanderingly back and forth when the slope gets steep, never lunging into the big chopping steps a novice would tire himself with. You �EPILOGUE-- ~· ~o~ drop off into thought, only half aware of the automatic trudging motion and the rising cold of the wind against your face, the cold in your nose as you breathe, and time passes swiftly and between the breaks of consciousness you seem to rise swiftly, tod, with little perceptible effort. At timberline the sun flashed out, and at 8:30 we were at the beginning of the crest of our ridge at 13,200 feet. It was drusa.ppointing-- snow had fallen in deep powder everywhere, and the wind hadn't blown it free as we had hoped. All three of us wore nailed boots or rubber-cleats, and carried axes at my vehement insistence. But the powder would slow us, and we felt our climb a forlorn hope already. But we could do no more than try, and off we set to follow the two miles of '* twisted ridge, up anddown, interminable with saw teeth and towers, toward the 14,340 foot summit. As we climbed we sounded like a lightly equipped herd of dairy cattle. For pitons tinkled from our waists, and we carried our axes suspended loosely on straps from our wrists, the metal catch clinking, the wooden shaft bop-bonking freely -from one rock surface to gnother r'\ Occasionally the sound w~ould cease, for we had v sometimes to hold our axes as sharp-pointed canes for crossing as we moved. snow-brushed slopes of slabs and boulders, or balancing on slippery crests. For camp anions, I had Andy Spielman, to whom I had taught the rudiments of rock climbing several seasons before, and who was now a competant lead-man in his own right. And Hal Wade, president of the mountain club, Cornell graduate, veteran of much hiking and peak climbing with enough technical experience th~ he didn't need to be told what to do. �EPILOGUE-- f· l\l:3 For an easy quarter mile, we made rapid progress. the climbing got tougher, and the powder began to tell. Then We had all spent the summer on fine dry rock, and the snow worked on our nerves. Soon we were but crawling along, and huddling from time to time in indecision. Finally, for the first time on this ridge, I advocated putting on the rope, improved. At once, our progress Linked together, we moved together, and drew strength along the rope from one another. From time to time, we glanced across the valley at the parallel ridge to the west, up which members of the mountain club were supposed to be walking. But we never spotted any. Then we found ourselves atop a seventy foot tower, abruptly trapped. Down to .t he left curved a long chute. Leaving Andy atop the tower for an anchor, Hal and I dropped gingerly down the chute for sixty feet. Then Hal planted himself behind a large slice of granite and payed me out another sixty feet of rope. Down and round I went, as if descending a spiral without sh'i.irs, when a gust of wind came howling up the chute as I stood on a single miserable foot hold, at once enveloping and blinding me in a cloud of blowing snow. For a moment I just stood wi!h eyes closed and gasping, rather eagerlr seeking the comfortable feel of the rope about my chest. But Hal went right on paying it out, and for a moment I leaned out and threatened to topple, meanwhile yelling to him 't o hold tightl These blessed stretchable mylon ropes that keep on lengthening as you put weight on theml Then the cloud blew away, and I brushed powder from around:"lmy ~ eyes andWl.Ose and signal}:ed my immediate return. '-' Such incidents slowed us hugely. A descent down a second �EPILOGUE-- l "?>oaf chute, sliding in loose snow along pQlished slabs, poking at the wall beside us with our axes for guidance and occasional support, and we were past the obstacle, only to meet new ones. Tower after tower followed, traverse after traverse. It was not that the snow was dangerous, just that it created a constant strain, a growing tiredness. At 1:20 we finally reached the cairn of rock with the familiar stick in it bearing the initials of Ormes and Whitney. For a time we stopped and ate, chocolate and cheese and dried apricots. Andy announced he now had~little hope of making the summit by this ridge, though not much. We lay out of the wind and sought to rebuild our strength with food and our confidence with rest. We had been climbing for nine hours. But we found the going no easier as we moved on. Towers and more towers, each as we crawled to the top proving to have an abruptly descsading snout on the other side, forcing us to backtrack, descending this way and that looking for traverses and tower-turning ledge systems. Finally, one required ~ three rope-legths of descent, thru chimneys and over tilted slabs, and at last into the bottom of a snow-filled grotto filled with sharp-topped boulders and deep holes dropping between them. Once out of it by a delicate traverse, we looked above to see an absolutely smooth wall, as if cut by a butter lmife, 200 feet in height. Gingerly we traversed from beneath it, Andy for a time taking ove~he lead. Up a slippery chimney, and then a friction slab, blown free of snow, and A~dy disappeared around a corner. Hal followed, and then I, �EPILOGUE--l ~o~ struggling now, as all men must when they r~elinqui sh the honor of leading, with a rucksack on my back. Up the bare rock we went, Hal eventually belaying at the base of a wide flaring chimney. Andy is ordinarily a beautiful rock climber, but now in the wind and tired he a.ppeued to be tottering. A little higher and he drew in some slack rope, looped it, and cast it high above his head to snare a projecting granite beam. was too much, and we called him down. adequ~tely This We were too tired to belay him for such a task as that, and we judged him too tired to leai it safely. The three of us came back to a common ledge and s at for a time in the heatless sun. It was 4:15 p.;m. Andy announced he had been a.b le to see at least three more gigantic towers ahead of us, before the final upswing of the ridge leading tot he summit. The mountain had beaten us to our knees. It was September 23rd of the ne-:kt ~"ya ·ar, after the summer as fire lookout in Rocky Mountain National Park, that I returned for the last time to the Ellingwood Ridge. over in his convertible. would fall. Gregg and I drove This time I absolutely knew the ridge We spent the night at the familiar campgruund beside Lake Creek; and I filled him in on the manner in which this mountain, Sennacherib, had affected my climbing life. I recounted case after case of humiliating failure to finish off its northeast ridge. I told how King had nearly drowned trying to cross the placid stream flowing ne.arby, and of the troubles . we had had thru the years from rock towers and snow and storms. But we would get it on the morrow, that was certain. �EPILOGUE-- "f· ~ole. Next morning, we awoke at 3:10, cooked a substantial breakfast, and set out an hour later. I knew something ridiculous was bound to happen to hinder us, but it didn't seem to appear. Since I knew the mountain was jinxed, I hoped that whatever was going to go wrong would happen soon and get itself over with. But nothing happened. Gregg and I at once round an excellent means of negotiating the stream. A great spruce had fallen across, and we walked its root-thick trunk with ease. Past the stream, we round ourselves still on the tree-- it didn't touch the bank on the other side after all, but instead hung eight or ten feet above it, bouncing a little under our weight. At last Gregg managed to lower himself from a branch, and drop off to the stones and sand below. Then he braced himself and guided my feet as I too swung down from the tree trunk and dropped. We were safe across the river, and still nothi~g had happened1 At once we set up the timber slope toward our ridge crest. Suddenly we looked one another in the ~ye. Where was our rope? We had left it behind in the car. So ~aek we went to the fallen tree, and Gregg stood on my shoulders to reach it again. He scrambled up, balanc ed across the stream, and disappeared. When he eventually returned, it was already getting light. Nevertheless, we passed timberline at 5:45, and reached 13,200 feot crest at 7:00. Well and good. For two hours we scrambled merrily along, Gregg from time to time pauSing to inquire when the difficulties would begin. At 9:30, we reached �EP !LOGUE-- r· ~,, the cairn with Ormes's and Whitney's initials. believe my eyes. Always before it had been past noon before we reached this spot. • I could hardly At 11:00 we stopped for a lunch. The sun remained out, the snow was negligible, and there was little wind • The horrendous troubles of tower-turning and ledge-hunting failed to put in their expected appearance. Everything ran like clockwork, aasily and almost too simply. At 1:08, we stood atop the summit, 14,340 feet above sea level. Our sixth attempt and the r~dge had been conquered. Had we triumphed? ascent? Perhaps over ourselves. We would never know. Was it a first Indeed we had no care how many people mi ght have preceded us provided they left no trace. The pleasure of a first ascent, or a fresh ascent, lies in the additional intellectual and physical tension it excites, and the consequent deepened feeling of accomplishment when the tension has been worked out. ~ut Nor is this tension anxiety, or suffering, rather concentration on a definitive goal. we were more alive, that was all. At such times And only nerves thatJ~:ha:ve bee"h stretched like taut telephone wires singing in the wind know the full pleasure of relaxation afterwards. "To most of mankind, a very powerful desire is the appetite for adventure," wrote Robert Marshall as he de:rended the preservation of wilderness areas. "But in an age of machinery only the extremely fortunate have any oecasion to satiate this han~ering, except vicariously. As a result, people become so choked by the monotony of their lives that they are readily amenable to the suggestion of any lurid diversion." ("The Problems of the Wilder·ness," Scientific Monthly, Feb. 1930) �But was our climbing itself a "lurid diversion,tt to be classed with fascism and witch-hunting and class-hatred, the principal evils of our time? ourselves. Surely we harmed no one but And perhaps we could even doubt with honesty that we were being harmed. "Many men would cease to desire war if they had opportunities to risk their lives in Alpine climbing," wrote Bertrand Russell. This we believed, though we could never remember having desired war. But in addition to outward love and brotherhood, a man must turn toward himself sometimes, and see if he finds anything worth preserving. As climbers we did not feel we were courting death, but we were frankly glad to risk ourselves from time to time to find just wha.t value we set on this life of ours. And this we preferred to do with our own two feet and self-reliant fingers, sharing what risk there was with a willing comrade or two; thinking our occasional troubles and hardships infinitely preferable to that day-after-day-- humdrum life in the city which pursues its "securityn with monomaniacal fury, wbrships its god of ease, and accepts a.s inconsequential its everyday environment of so many insane, so many neurotic, so many bloody de(\ths in shattered glass and twisted metal. "Oh, I expect to be killed in an auto accident,n a Detroiter confidently informed me. "It's all right with me. A quick fast way to go. With the shock and these modern drugs, they say you hardly feel it. Better than growing too old, I guess." To which, as climbers, we could only reply boshl our lives m~re than that. intolerable. We valued Death as a statistical accident was The only value of death is to point out the values �EPILOGUE--1~~ of life, and life devoted to interminable comfort, even death in comfort, is no life at all. In addition, perhaps we were still young. merely exuberant with egotistical triumph. foolish mystics or lovers of nature. And perhaps And perhaps but Or even-- Good Heavens1-- enthusiasts. But we were very happy, sitting on that summit with all the world at our feet. �TENTATIVE BIBLIOGRAPHY l c.CMC~ Abraham, George Dixon. First Steps to Climbing. Robert M. McBride , 1925. c, v ~o~ ~ . ~.;: s t~ r; New York, "tN·.::_ vBird, Isabella Lucy. ! Lady's Lire in the Rocky Mountains . London, John Murray , 1894. Mountaineering in Colorado: ~ Peaks vChapin, Frederick H. About Estes Park. Boston, W.B. Clarke, 1890. vHenderson , Kenneth Atwood. The American Alpine Club's Handbook of American Mountaine ering. Boston , Houghton Mifrlin , 1942. Robert Lock Graham . The Romance of Mountaineering . London, J.M. Dent, 1935. ~ Irving, vKing , Clarence. Mountaineering in the Sierra Nevadas . New York, w.w. Norton, 1935. \ ~.Cf\";;o<Laven(ier, David. The Big Divi'de. New York, Doubleday, 1948. F 5q I ~ L ~4 t q"f~ (': pr:_r*' vLunn, Arnold Henry Moore . Mountains of Memory. London, Hollis and Carter, 1948. vMills , Enos A. The Rocky Mountain National Park. Houghton Mirflin , 1932. vMuir, John. Mountains of California. Boston, New York, Century , 1911. --./Mummery , Albert Frederick. Mil Climbs in the Alps and the Caucasus . Oxford, B. Blackwell, 1936. vMurray , W.H. Mountaineering in Scotland. Dent, 1947. London, J. M. vSmythe, Francis Sydney. Kamet Conquered. Victor Gollancz, 1932. London, vSmythe, Francis Sydney. Kangchenjunga Adventure. Victor Gollancz, 1931. Leslie. The Playground of Europe. G.P. Putnam's Sons, 1909. ~stephen, London, New York, vToll , Roger w. Mountaineering in Rocky Mountain.National Park. Washington , D.C., u.s. Government Pr1nting Office, 1921. v Tyndall , John. Hours of Exercise in ~ Alps. D. Appletonv lft~ ~ondon , �--- - -- -------------~-----:~-------------------------------------- TENTATIVE BIBLIOGRAPHY continued v Ullman, James Ra~ey. High Conquest: the Story of Mountaineering. New York, J.B. Lippincott, 1941. , t..- Whymper, Edward. Scrambles Amongst the Alps in the Years 1860-69. London, J. Murray, 1871 • .yYoung, Geofi'rey Winthrop. Mountain Orai't. Charles Scribner's Sons, 1920. New York, vYoung, Geoffrey Winthrop. On High Hills; Memorfes of the Alps. London, Methuen, 1933. MOUNTAINEERING JOURNALS The Alpine Journal, The Alpine Club, London. The American Alpine Journal. The American Alpine Club, New fork. fjV' Appalachia. App}achian Mountain Club, Boston. Canadian Alpine Journal. Canada. Mazama. The Alpine Olub of Canada, Banff, The Mazamas of Portland, Bregon. The Mountaineer. The Mountaineers, Inc., Seattle, Washington. The Scottish Mountaineering Club Jounnal. Mountaineering Club, Edinburgh. Scottish Sierra Club Bulletin. · sierra Club, Berkeley, California. Trail and Timberline. Colorado Mountain Club, Denver, Colorado. �MOUNTAINEERING CLUBS Foreign The Alpine Club, London, England . their journal) (Longmans, Green publish British Columbia Mountaineering Club , Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada . ~ Canadian Alpine Club~ Banff, Alberta, Canada. Climbers' Club, London, England. Hawaiian Trail and Mountain Club , Honolulu , Hawaii. Scottish Mountaineering Club, Synod Hall, Castle Terrace, Edinburgh , Scotland. Major Clubs in~ u.s. American Alpine Club, 113 East 90th Street, New York, New York. Appalachian Mountain Club, 5 Joy Street, Boston, Massachusetts . Colorado Mountain Club, 1400 Josephine Street, Denver, Colorado. Iowa Mountaineers, Inc., State University of Iowa, Iowa City, Iowa. Mazamas Club, Pacific Building , Portla~ Oregon. Mountaineers , Inc., 523 Pike Street, Seattle, Washington . Prairie Club, 38 South Dearborn, Chicago, Illinois. Sierra Club, 2061 Center Street, Berkeley 4, California. Smaller Clubs in the u.s. ----------- -- --- --- Adir~ndac Mountain Club, Albany, New York. Green Mountain Club, Rutland , Vermont. Montana Mountaineers, Missoula, Montana o Pennsylvania Alpine Club, Altoona, Pennsylvania . �MOUNTAINEERING CLUBS continued Potomac Appalachian Trail Club, 1916 W~shington , D.C. S~nderland Place, NW, Spokane Mountaineering Club, Spokane, Washington . Librarian or the American Alpine Club: New York, New York. ~ 47& ifth venue~ \ l~ �ROLAND C. GEIST, HIKING, CAMPING AND MOUNTAINEERING , NEW YORK HARPER AND BROTHERS, 1943, p.282-86. , PARTIAL LIST OF HIKING AND MOUNTAINEERING CLUBS OF NORTH AMERICA CANADA -- The Alpine Club of Canada, Banff, Alberta. The British Columbia Mountaineering Club. P.O. Box 674, Vancouver, B.C. Canadian Youth Hostels Association. P.O. Box 284 Place d(Armes Montreal, Quebec . ' · ' Sky Line Trail Hikers, 318 Windsor Station, Montreal , Quebec . CALIFORNIA Berkeley Hiking Club. 1049 Spruce Street, Berkeley. California Alpine Club. 917 Pacific Building, San Franeisco. Contna Costa Hills Club Inc. 1689 TelegraphyAvenue, OaklanQ. Federation of Western Outdoor Clups. 1145 Green Street, San Franeisco. Pacific Crest Trail System Conference, 125 S. Grand Avenue, Pasadena. Ramblers. 3346 Wood Terrace, Los Angeles. Roamer Hiking Club Inc. 3509 lOth Avenue, Los Angeles. Sierra Club. 1050 Mills Tower, San Francisco. Triangle Hiking Club. 220 Golden Gate Avenue, San Francisco. COLORADO Co'( ~~ct"\;; Colorado Mountain Club. University of Colorado. Mining Exchange Building, Denver. Dept. of Mountain Recreation, Boulder . CONNECTICUT Connecticut Forest and Park Association. Box 1577, New Haven. New Haven Hiking Club. 45 Pulaski Street , New Haven. Schaghicoke Trail Club. New Milford. Yale University Outing Club. 980 Yale Station , New Haven. DISTRICT OF CDTIUMBIA Appalachian Trail Conference Inc. 1624 H Street N.W., Washington , D.C. Wanderbirds Hiking Club Inc. 1323 Clifton Street N.W.' Washington, D.C. ILLINOIS Chicago Parks District Outing Club. 4014 Melrose Street, Chicago. Evanston Hiking Club. Y.M.C.A. Evanston . North Shore Hiking Club. City Hall , Winnetka . Prairie Club. 38 South Dearborn Street, Chicago. INDIANA Evansville Hiking Club. Evansville , City Recreation Dept. Physical Culture Hiking Club. 27th and Pa. Streets, Indianapolis. �MAINE Bates College Outing Club. Lewiston. Eastern States Mountain Clube 65 Pleasant Avenue Portlana. Maine Apline Club. P.O. Box 165, Lewiston. ' MARYLAND Mountain Club of Maryland. 127 East North Avenue, Baltimore. Wanderlusters. 2103 Hollins Street, Baltimore. MASSACHUSETTS Amherst College Outing Club. Amherst. American Youth Hostels Inc. Northfield. Appalachian Mountain Club. 5 Joy Street, Boston. Harvard Universi~y Mountaineering Club, Cambridge. Massachusetts State College Outing Club. Amherst. Mount Holyoke College Outing Club. South Hadley. New Eng~and Trail Conference. Amherst. Williams College Outing Club. Williamstown. Mexico Club de Exploraciones de Mexico. P.O. Box, Apartado Postal 1908. MICHIGAN Detroit News Hikers, c/o Detroit News, Detroit. Wolvering Hiking Club. 5156 Wabash Avenue, Detremt. MINNESOTA Minnesota Hiking ¢lub. McKnight Building, Minneapolis. Minnesona Municipal Hiking Club, City Hall, Minneapolis. MISSOURI Missouri Walk-Ways Association. 613 Locust Street, St. Louis. MONTANA Montana Mountaineers. 504 East Pine Street, Missoula. NEBRASKA Omaha Walking Club. Joselyn MemiDial Library, Omaha. NEW HAMPSHIRE Dartmouth College Outing Club. Hanover. University of New Hampshire Uuting Club. Durham. NEW BIERSEY Hudson County Trail Hikers. 47 Mercer Street, Jersey Cit~ Interstate Hiking Club. 344 Innes Road, Woodridge-Paterson. Nature Friends. lOB Leslie Street, Newark. �... • Un~versity Outin? Club. 116 Livingstone Avenue , New Brunswick . Un1on County Hik1ng Club. 63 Georgian Court Elizabeth Woodland Trail Walkers . Ho-ho-kus. ' • NEW YORK Adirondack Mountain Club . 55 Liberty Street New York 1 American Alpine Club. l40 -East 46th Street , ' New York. • Catskill Mountain Club. 50 Morningside Drive, New York . City College Hiking Club. Convent Avenue 138th Street New York. College Muting Club. 260 West 260th Street , Riverdale' Camp and Trail Club. Lake Placid. • Cornell Outing Club . Ithaca. Explorers ' Club. 10 West 72 Street, New Yonk. Fresh Air Club . New York Athletic Club, 180 West 59th Street • Hamilton College Outing Club. Clinton. Inkowa Outdoor Club . 625 West 164 Street, New York. Metropolitan Council of Geography Teachers . Columbia University, N.Y. New York Mountain Club. Box 188,Tuckahoe. New Yo~New Jersey Trail Conference. 268-67 Street, Brooklyn. New York Ramblers . 77 East 208 Street, New York. New York Hiking Club. 600 Simpson Street, New York. New York Univer&ity Outdoor Club. 251 East 105th Street, New York. Rensselaer College Outing Club. Troy . Walkers Club of America. 548 Third Avenue, New York . Wanderbirds . 556 Fairview Street, Brooklyn . Westchester Trails Association. County Center, White Plains. Yosian Brotherhood, c/o World Telegram, 125 Barclay Street, N.Y. OHIO American Walkers Association. 2722 Ida Avenue , Norwood . Central Ohio Hiking Club. 2400 Glenmawr Avenue, Columbus. Cleveland Hiking Club. 6401 Pleasant Valley Road, Cleveland. Dayton Outdoor Club. 3rd National Bank Bwilding,- Dayton . Fleet Foot Tribe. Hamilton . Heart of Ohio Hiking Club. 286 Markison Avenue, Columbus . Hiking Club of Springfield. Y.M.C.X. Springfield. International Walkers Association of America. Canal Winchester . Kent State University Hiking Club . Kent . Miami Valley Hiking Club. 5325 Springfiled Pike , Dayton. Toledo Hiking Club. 1018 Jefferson Avenue, T~ledo . OREGON:: Angoras. P .O. Box 12, Astoria. Chemeketans. 1180 North Winter Street , Salem . Crag Rats . HoOd River . Gulick Club. c/o Camp Fire Gir£s, Portland . Mazamas. 520 S . W. Yamhill ~t~@et, Portland. Obsidians. Eugene . Pathfinders. 534 N.E. Prescott Street, Portland. �... Trails Club of Oregon. P.O. Box 243, Portland . Traskonian Hiking Club. Tillamooko Wy 'east Climbers. 8823 N. v~illamette Boulevard, Portland. Y.M.C.A. Mountaineers. 831 s.w. 6th Avenue, Portland. PENNSYLVANIA Allentown Hiking Club. City Hall, Allentown. Blue MoUntain Club of Pennsylvania. 717 Linden Street, Easton . Blue Mountain Eagle Hiking Club. 226 North 6th Street, Reading. Bethlehem Hiking Club. Recreation Department, Bethlehem. Geographical Society of Philadelphia. 200 Witherspoon Building, Philadelphia. Horseshoe Trail Club. 1411 Walnut Street , Philadelphia. Susquehanna Trai-lers. Recreation Department, Wilkes -Barre. Wanderlust Club. Board of Education , Philade~phiao TENNESSEE Cumberland Hiking Club. 510 East 5th Street, Chattanooga. Smoky Mountain Hiking Clubo P.O. Box 1454, Knoxville . Unalta Mountain Blub. Greeneville o UTAH Wasatch Mountain Club. 224 s. State Street , Salt Lake City. VERMONT Green Mountain Club. Rutland. Middlebury'Collage Outing Club. Middlebury. Norwich Outing Club. Northfield. WASHINGTON Cascadians. P.O. Box 123, Yakima. Klahhane Club . P.O. Box 126, Port Angeles. Mountaineers Inc. P.O. Vox 122, Seattle. Mount Baker Club. P.O. Box 73, Bellingham o Mount St . Hemans Club . P .O. Box 843, Longview. Olypians Inc. 2119 West 2nd Street, Aberdeen . Spokane. Mountaineers Inc. West 1227 Fifth Avenue , Spokane . Wanderers . 518 East 12th Street, Olympia . WISCONSIN Kettle Moraine Bike-Hike Club. 7 Church Street, Oshkosh. Muni Hike Club, 1758 N. Ninth Street, Milwaukee . University of Wisconsin Hoofers. Madison . Wisconsin Go -Hiking Club. 1518 W. Columbia Street, Milwaukee . th\) \~ 4 \C\'t~ \;c:.t O.V\~ ~huu.\t\ k ~ -a.c.~\-t. ~r '0'\\'Ylo'c-. Q.luJo~. ""M'b..\c'" c.,\u..bs S\"'ut.. .I 9o t '1J ib...... ~'" ~ t.MNu."'t -k.\-e.~ h""'- a.·vU~. 11\~ o'\kr \\~t \$ ~dU.. '"Zut~ \b-r Yn.6S1- � Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data Typed with handwritten notes. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource The World at Our Feet by Stanley Boucher Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1950s Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource PDF Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived Virginia Boucher Private Collection Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available The American Alpine Club Library https://library.americanalpineclub.org/files/original/ed4975a747fdb843149a7cae8660d7e2.jpg dab529ae88b38d1af718371c2213d035 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Bradford Washburn Photographs Description An account of the resource Bradford Washburn (1910-2007) built a career as a distinguished mountaineer, photographer, and professional cartographer. He is best known for his aerial photography and the quality and precision of his mountain photography. The Bradford Washburn Photographs consist of 178 photographs dated 1929-1994 (bulk 1930s-1979). The majority of the images show mountains and glaciers in Alaska, particularly Denali and other locations in the Alaska Range. Each photograph is framed, and most are signed and dated by the photographer. Photographs with accession numbers in the range 2008.2.1-175 were acquired by the American Alpine Club in 2008. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Washburn, Bradford, 1910-2007, photographer Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1929-1994 (bulk 1930s-1979) Visual Materials Visual materials and three-dimensional objects. This item type includes elements for local fields that do not map to Dublin Core. Stack Location Physical location, e.g., room name or number, range/section number, shelf number, etc. Fine Art Room: Rack 1, Position A 1 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource 001 - Snowfield Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource Undated Description An account of the resource Negative 6940. Title supplied by cataloger. At lower left, within image: 6940. Subject The topic of the resource Photography of mountains Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource Photographs Extent The size or duration of the resource. 1 item Medium The material or physical carrier of the resource. Framed Type The nature or genre of the resource Still Image Is Part Of A related resource in which the described resource is physically or logically included. Bradford Washburn Photographs Alternative Title An alternative name for the resource. The distinction between titles and alternative titles is application-specific. Glacier https://library.americanalpineclub.org/files/original/919b4cb1fea8664215c6b225f13bf153.jpg 1a2b003f0faa8eaa466e69e359333a74 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Bradford Washburn Photographs Description An account of the resource Bradford Washburn (1910-2007) built a career as a distinguished mountaineer, photographer, and professional cartographer. He is best known for his aerial photography and the quality and precision of his mountain photography. The Bradford Washburn Photographs consist of 178 photographs dated 1929-1994 (bulk 1930s-1979). The majority of the images show mountains and glaciers in Alaska, particularly Denali and other locations in the Alaska Range. Each photograph is framed, and most are signed and dated by the photographer. Photographs with accession numbers in the range 2008.2.1-175 were acquired by the American Alpine Club in 2008. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Washburn, Bradford, 1910-2007, photographer Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1929-1994 (bulk 1930s-1979) Visual Materials Visual materials and three-dimensional objects. This item type includes elements for local fields that do not map to Dublin Core. Stack Location Physical location, e.g., room name or number, range/section number, shelf number, etc. Fine Art Room: Rack 1, Position A 2 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource 002 - Aerial river delta Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource Undated Description An account of the resource Negative 8644. Title supplied by cataloger. At lower left, within image: 8644. Subject The topic of the resource Photography of mountains Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource Photographs Extent The size or duration of the resource. 1 item Medium The material or physical carrier of the resource. Framed Type The nature or genre of the resource Still Image Is Part Of A related resource in which the described resource is physically or logically included. Bradford Washburn Photographs Alternative Title An alternative name for the resource. The distinction between titles and alternative titles is application-specific. River with gravel bars https://library.americanalpineclub.org/files/original/ff2cfa311a6603f4f2ff243e4d03993a.jpg 491e3fa2b9c788f823a363fb94e9605e Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Bradford Washburn Photographs Description An account of the resource Bradford Washburn (1910-2007) built a career as a distinguished mountaineer, photographer, and professional cartographer. He is best known for his aerial photography and the quality and precision of his mountain photography. The Bradford Washburn Photographs consist of 178 photographs dated 1929-1994 (bulk 1930s-1979). The majority of the images show mountains and glaciers in Alaska, particularly Denali and other locations in the Alaska Range. Each photograph is framed, and most are signed and dated by the photographer. Photographs with accession numbers in the range 2008.2.1-175 were acquired by the American Alpine Club in 2008. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Washburn, Bradford, 1910-2007, photographer Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1929-1994 (bulk 1930s-1979) Visual Materials Visual materials and three-dimensional objects. This item type includes elements for local fields that do not map to Dublin Core. Stack Location Physical location, e.g., room name or number, range/section number, shelf number, etc. Fine Art Room: Rack 1, Position A 3 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource 003 - Mountain Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource Undated Description An account of the resource Negative 5872. Title supplied by cataloger. At lower left, within image: 5872. Subject The topic of the resource Photography of mountains Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource Photographs Extent The size or duration of the resource. 1 item Medium The material or physical carrier of the resource. Framed Type The nature or genre of the resource Still Image Is Part Of A related resource in which the described resource is physically or logically included. Bradford Washburn Photographs https://library.americanalpineclub.org/files/original/9af95b2e2418c580ee37d429ba897e87.jpg 9c6b1e199f9d6493a556c92397cb0e44 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Bradford Washburn Photographs Description An account of the resource Bradford Washburn (1910-2007) built a career as a distinguished mountaineer, photographer, and professional cartographer. He is best known for his aerial photography and the quality and precision of his mountain photography. The Bradford Washburn Photographs consist of 178 photographs dated 1929-1994 (bulk 1930s-1979). The majority of the images show mountains and glaciers in Alaska, particularly Denali and other locations in the Alaska Range. Each photograph is framed, and most are signed and dated by the photographer. Photographs with accession numbers in the range 2008.2.1-175 were acquired by the American Alpine Club in 2008. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Washburn, Bradford, 1910-2007, photographer Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1929-1994 (bulk 1930s-1979) Visual Materials Visual materials and three-dimensional objects. This item type includes elements for local fields that do not map to Dublin Core. Stack Location Physical location, e.g., room name or number, range/section number, shelf number, etc. Fine Art Room: Rack 1, Position A 4 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource 004 - Mount McKinley: A beautiful afternoon Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1977 Description An account of the resource Negative 7282. Provenance A statement of any changes in ownership and custody of the resource since its creation that are significant for its authenticity, integrity, and interpretation. The statement may include a description of any changes successive custodians made to the resource. Donated by Cody Smith via Panopticon Gallery, Boston, 2008. Dealer's list, number 140. Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant Denali (Denali, Alaska, United States) (mountain) Alaska Range (Alaska, United States) (mountain range) Subject The topic of the resource Photography of mountains Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource Photographs Extent The size or duration of the resource. 1 item Medium The material or physical carrier of the resource. Framed Type The nature or genre of the resource Still Image Is Part Of A related resource in which the described resource is physically or logically included. Bradford Washburn Photographs Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context 2008.2.140 https://library.americanalpineclub.org/files/original/a5670b5a10548520fe39608f1ba7b9fb.jpg 3d6403cdc66e36ecd1a1e28bdd167437 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Bradford Washburn Photographs Description An account of the resource Bradford Washburn (1910-2007) built a career as a distinguished mountaineer, photographer, and professional cartographer. He is best known for his aerial photography and the quality and precision of his mountain photography. The Bradford Washburn Photographs consist of 178 photographs dated 1929-1994 (bulk 1930s-1979). The majority of the images show mountains and glaciers in Alaska, particularly Denali and other locations in the Alaska Range. Each photograph is framed, and most are signed and dated by the photographer. Photographs with accession numbers in the range 2008.2.1-175 were acquired by the American Alpine Club in 2008. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Washburn, Bradford, 1910-2007, photographer Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1929-1994 (bulk 1930s-1979) Visual Materials Visual materials and three-dimensional objects. This item type includes elements for local fields that do not map to Dublin Core. Stack Location Physical location, e.g., room name or number, range/section number, shelf number, etc. Fine Art Room: Rack 1, Position B 1 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource 005 - South face of Mount McKinley Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1978 Description An account of the resource Negative 8033. Provenance A statement of any changes in ownership and custody of the resource since its creation that are significant for its authenticity, integrity, and interpretation. The statement may include a description of any changes successive custodians made to the resource. Donated by Cody Smith via Panopticon Gallery, Boston, 2008. Dealer's list, number 161. Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant Denali (Denali, Alaska, United States) (mountain) Alaska Range (Alaska, United States) (mountain range) Subject The topic of the resource Photography of mountains Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource Photographs Extent The size or duration of the resource. 1 item Medium The material or physical carrier of the resource. Framed Type The nature or genre of the resource Still Image Is Part Of A related resource in which the described resource is physically or logically included. Bradford Washburn Photographs Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context 2008.2.161