Great Escape. Nick Bullock.

Jules Cartwright says his farewell to the high point on Savoia Kangri. Paul Schweizer

On May the 21^st, with Andy Houseman and thanks to TNF, (Andy’s sponsors, I’m just the camera man, although as there will only be the two of us I don’t think I’ll get away with seconding all of the hard pitches) we fly for Alaska. We hope to climb the sixth ascent of the Slovak Direct on Denali (Czech Direct, Adam, Krizo and Korl 1984 http://old.risk.ru/eng/mount/reports/czech/index.html ), 58 technical pitches topped by a slog up the Cassin Ridge to the 6194 metre high summit of Denali. (We will I’m sure consider the climb unsuccesful if the summit of Denali is not reached, although, whatever, I’m sure the outing will be an adventure.) 

The base of the climb is difficult to reach and after reaching the halfway point, according to Jesse Huey – one of the team of two, Mark Westerman being the other who made the fifth ascent in 2010 – “Rapping from anywhere above the halfway mark will be almost impossible.”

Riding the Hippy’s new red road bike through the mountain passes of North Wales, thin rubber tyres stickily whistle as I battle the headwind along the side of Llyn Cwellyn, that deep whispering lake rubbing against the base of the moody Castell Cidwm (Woolf Castle). I ride past the reconstructed narrow gauge railway station and on through the hamlet of Beddgellert – ice cream, The Royal Goat Hotel, B&B, beer, milling tourists – past the Red Dragon Bunkhouse and the start of The Watkin Path where Gore-Tex grinding forms that began the day spritely are returning – tap, tap, tap, walking pole points like a piano timer lead the attached withering body’s to their cars.

Churning the steep hill, head down, middle cog – the cars behind crawling as the road twists, lungs full to bursting, another corner, steeper, another corner, higher, past the ice cream van … at last the Pen y Pass and the youth hostel, the cafe, then I’m speeding, flying-freedom, speeding, overtaking cars – Scimitar Ridge, The Cromlech, The Grochan – The Llanberis Pass is a rhyolite blur.

Finally through Beris – legs, body and mind hit the wall, I nearly vomit passing the Galt y Glyn hotel – Pizza and a Pint… no thanks!  

“Czech Direct” aka the Slovak Route. The hardest route on Denali climbs the south face. It’s rated 5.9, WI6, M5, Alaskan Grade VI. We made the 3rd ascent in 60 hours non-stop. Climbing this route left me psychologically drained for over a year. In part due to the stress of being so far out there and in part due to the realization that I had finished what I had started in the Alaska Range seven years earlier. It was my first world-class route.” Steve House commented after climbing the third ascent of the Slovak in a single 60 hour push with Mark Twight and Scott Backes.”  

Its another day. Running the steep and at times nearly single track of Fachwen in the heavy rain – head bowed, two jackets, two hoods, squelching trainers – Denali rises in front of me, the hedgerows are billowing rolls of fresh snow, the slate blocks that form the walls of the single story cottages are now hewn lumps of ice. Fachwen rises above Llyn Peris and the town of Llanberis – cars moving along the road are dots – people trudging the Kahiltna Glacier far below. The deciduous trees lining the lane are wearing a new fresh jacket of broad leaves that hold water and then release like some Chinese water-garden bamboo balancing feature.         

“The Czech Direct is certainly one of the best mixed climbs in the world. It’s crazy that it went unrepeated for 14 years.” Scott Backes

Travelling around the country with Tim Neill presenting the BMC Alpine Lecture Series I laugh and then complain and then moan at Tim about some people’s attitudes who complain about me swearing in the lectures or not being serious or not delivering the correct amount of technical advice. Life in the mountains isn’t clean, pristine, innocent – it isn’t always straight from the pages of a know how to book, it isn’t always good weather and perfect – mountaineering, I like to think, has moved on from the landed gentry conquering with their lackeys to carry the t-pot, but in some people’s minds maybe it hasn’t, maybe we should all just be stiff upper and long live the empire?

Crossing the busy road in London City Centre, people shoulder to shoulder bump and jostle and look at the ground. Walking fast, sometimes they catch your eye, sometimes they turn their head concentrating even more on the damp grey pavement. A steel box attached to the wall near the door of a pub smells of damp ground tabacco ash. Large banners high above the road show the perfect airbrushed forms of models, I wonder if this is how the mountains are seen by some who listen to the marketing pitch of the mountaineers who sell the beauty of the hills like perfume, a commodity for them to get rich, a one off adventure as long as you dont mind sharing your adventure with hundreds of other like minded, as long as you don’t mind walking through their shit?  The pavements, like the shiney ash boxes are full to overflowing with people ground into their existence, into the city life, life is grinding them grey. The guy sprawled on the concrete, leaning against the pen-daubed-tiles of the underpass doesn’t even lift his head and neither do I; I walk past him as if he isn’t there. I wonder if he worries about people using the word fuck? Guiltily I pass his hat which holds a few coins but I don’t increase his collection. I feel ashamed.

The TV programme I watch while waiting in the hotel, or is it a premier prison cell, shows people in Nepal and the jungle being taken drugs for inoculation. Even in the jungle the village headman lords it over the less fortunate taking their food like a fat politician taking taxes to feather their own multi floored, multi toilet, multi flat screen TV, drive-in, sweep-out inner city nest. Like a well to do upper middle class fool in a lecture that doesn’t have the balls to complain to my face but writes his or her complaint about my foul language on the BMC site, they both appal me nearly as much as, I’m sure, I disgust them.

How some people have survived in this world we now live amazes me, but I suppose if you are fortunate enough to have the correct upbringing, which leads to the correct education or have the luck to be born with a tasty inheritance that keeps you away from the squalor and the dirt and the foul words and the drugs and the porn and the hardship and the grey then I suppose a few profanities are going to shock.

“It was a nice climb.” Katsutaka Yokoyama, Yusuke Sato and Fumitaka Ichimura after the 4^th ascent of The Slovak Direct.

Mountaineering also has the ability to shock. No doubt feeling very happy with their speedy ascent of the Slovak Direct the Giri Giri Boys must have been devastated to find that their friends were missing presumed dead on Denali’s Cassin Ridge.

Leaving London I feel fortunate that I have the choice and ability to leave and the choice to use whatever language I decide on that day.

The Alpine lecture at Newcastle on 24/4/12 was very good from Tim Neil. However Nick bullock was a bad example for British climbing to a mixed audience many of which will be the future for Alpine mountaineering. Follow his example after this and someone will kill themselves. He also mixed a fair amount of foul language and swearing into his half hour slot. Get rid BMC or get a hold of him and teach him how to grow up and be professional. Anonymous. (No doubt clean speaking, well educated but lacking the moral fibre and the commitment to sign their name or approach me at the end of the evening.)  http://www.thebmc.co.uk/modules/article.aspx?id=4553

If growing up and being professional means I have to toe the line and answer to the likes of this person I’m happy to remain a child and continue to attempt new climbs around the world and have adventures that inspire others and keep me truly alive. The day a few profanities begin to upset me is the day I die.

Not so long ago I read an article in the Guardian titled ‘Top five regrets of the dying.’  http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2012/feb/01/top-five-regrets-of-the-dying 

The number one regret was ‘I wish I’d had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me.’

Well I am living a life true to myself and I am not afraid to tell how it is and I hope I will continue to live this way and the day I become scared and brought to heel like this person calls is the day I will ask to be shot. 

I will leave the final words to Carl Phillips, someone who doesn’t mind signing their name and who is open minded enough to be a climber and a mountaineer.  

I attended the Bristol lecture just last night and was really impressed, both speakers were great but Nick was epic! He has a passion for his craft that shone through in every gritty story he told! I know people may have criticise him for being dangerous but its fiery, impetuous and daring climbers like nick that inspire and ignite our own passions to push our own limits a little further which is the entire point of climbing/mountaineering. Keep up the good work Nick, don’t let people that may not understand the personality of climbers get to you. You have to live on the edge or you wouldn’t be a climber! I could never do what you do and nor would I attempt it but hearing your stories makes me proud to call myself a climber and I am inspired to learn and do more, that you so much you inspire us all!  

Thanks Carl and thanks to all of the folk who approached me after the lectures with wide shining eyes and aspirations and big smiles and dreams, long may you live free.

Four of the world's leading, conquering, best, scaling, youngest, big-wool-jumpered, coloured-jean-wearing, expedition climbers who teetered on that untrodden piece of garden path on the pecipice of the most difficult to reach back yard in Leicestershire EVER, for the first time today!! (And without oxygen or fixed rope). L-R Jules Cartwright, Jamie Fisher, Owain Jones, Nick Bullock.

 I’m pretty laid back. Well at least that’s what I think. I wasn’t so laid back when I worked for Her Majesties Hotels, but now I’m certainly one happy go lucky.

“Who’s that really laid back guy?” I hear people say as I walk past, “Oh that’s laid back Nick.”

But, (you all knew there was going to be a but) while perusing Facebook, a social medium that I try to avoid as much as possible as it’s all-seeing, big-brother-feel concerns me, I noticed a story posted by John Roberts with a link for a climbing photography article on The Daily Mail website.

I clicked onto the article which featured Alex Messenger’s photography, nothing to get worked-up about as Alex takes some dandy shots, but the title of the article, Hard rock life: Eye-watering photographs capture intrepid climbers in action as they conquer world’s most challenging summits, had me choking on my bran flakes.

Now I know that the Daily Mail, the paper and web version, isn’t renowned for its literacy and substance or even the truth of its reports but I can’t believe that Rebecca Seales, the reporter who penned this title, who is, I would guess, a well-educated person, would and could write something so hyped and untrue and with so many clichés. What was going through her mind when she signed off on this piece of writing? Well I can tell you what it wasn’t – it wasn’t, ‘and there is another great piece of well investigated intelligent journalism’ that’s for certain.

I just can’t believe she wanted to write this, it must have been the payment she received – that will have run into the hundreds of thousands – it must have been this much to justify her putting her name on it. I’m a no-body writer but all of the money in the world wouldn’t have persuaded me to put my name next to this unintelligent uninformed, hyped, clichéd piece of dross.

For those who have not seen Alex’s wonderful pictures and read the article, after reading the title you possibly imagine the pictures are of climbers on Meru’s Sharks Fin, or Cerro Torre, or something on Baffin Island, but no, would you credit, I’ve actually conquered two of the world’s most challenging summits which are Clogwyn du’r Arrdu in North Wales and The Upper Tier of The Roaches in The Peak District. In fact I’ve conquered both repeatedly – get me!

On another matter I really, really hate the word conquer when it is associated with climbing, its appeasing to the masses, its hype, it’s untrue, its lazy writing. As climbers we never conquer, how the hell is a massive mountain conquered by a little person? Mountains are inanimate, they present a challenge for the individual certainly, but the mountains are not a challenge that is ever subdued, or won-over, or beaten to the ground, or slain on the battle-field or dominated. Conquer is a word mainly used when writing or talking about battles and killing and domineering, so I ask the unimaginative to stop using this word in connection with a pursuit and lifestyle that has nothing to do with war and battle and domineering and come up with something new.

‘Another eye-wateringly high shot shows Nico Favresse, 32, from Belgium, 100 metres up scaling The Axe, in Snowdonia, Wales’.

Well – get me again – because when the shot was taken of Nico Favresse ‘scaling’ (I also hate this word when it is used to describe climbing, yes its factually correct, but it’s used so often by the lazy it has become a hyped cliché) The Axe, I was the person stood out of picture belaying him and unless I’m mistaken (which I’m not) we didn’t move together when the rope ran-out and Nico didn’t take a hanging belay half way up the climb which suggests that in the picture – as my ropes were both 60 metres long – Nico is not 100 metres up. In fact the total length of the climb is only 50 metres, a fact any writer (but obviously not Rebecca Seales) could find out in a second on the internet and Nico still wouldnt be 100 metres up in that picture if you stood one Axe on top of another!

‘The summit was given its name due to the blade-like appearance of the rock face.’ It’s not a bloody summit!

Elsewhere, Brit Jordan Buys, 31, from Burnley, Lancs, can be seen clinging onto the underside of a stone face in the Peak District, Staffs. The climb is one of the most difficult in the world and competitors come from all over the world to test their skills.

No they don’t, climbers, not competitors, as we don’t have competitors in traditional climbing, come from all over the world to experience the unique atmosphere and climbing movement of Peak Gritstone. Much respect to Jordan Buys for climbing Paralogism an E7 6C, but E7 6c certainly isn’t one of the most difficult climbs in the world by a long stretch of the imagination which i’m sure Jordan will agree having climbed much harder. Yet again more poorly researched hype for the masses to devour and make judgement. I suppose in the end if you are an unscrupulous, unimaginative, ignorant writer who writes for an audience who are also ignorant and who can’t see beyond hype, glorification and untruths, why should it matter that your writing is utter codswallop as long as it pays the bills?

Speaking to Lukasz Warzecha, a professional photographer who has recently had images in the non-climbing media, he says it is up to the photographers to try and educate the reporters so a more balanced and factual report is published but more often than not the reporters will write what they want.

I know we all have to live and feed ourselves and by Christ, doing that in Britain at the moment isn’t easy, but I would say it is for everyone involved in climbing – writers, photographers, climbers, people in the industry – to take note of this hype and distortion of our beloved activity, our chosen lifestyle – don’t sit back and laugh when Ernie, “Yes and if these idiots fall it costs millions to rescue them and us tax payers can foot the bills. Make them pay everything themselves if anything happens, they won’t be climbing around much then.” writes his ignorant diatribe. We need to stand up for climbers and climbing and tell Ernie how it is because when more and more of these factually incorrect pieces are published and the backlash from the uninformed masses is acted on by the politicians so they can win their next election, we climbers are going to lose out big time.

Maybe, dare I say it, if we really care about our lifestyle and beloved activity it is time for everyone – the climbers, photographers, film makers – to begin insisting on proof reading and editing what is being published in their/our name and if it is full of hyped clichés that damage the reputation and credibility of climbing and climbers we should refuse to work with such people no matter the individual loss of wage or support for that next big trip?

We sat for two days. Snow fell – a thousand-million fat flakes, a maelstrom of white plastering the hills. Unconcerned, near the end of this amazing Canadian trip, we sat, knackered but satisfied, knackered, but wanting just that wafer thin mint to add to a stomach overflowing with ice and mixed and cold. We wanted one more of what The Stanley Headwall could throw at us, but the snow brought about doubt as The Headwall is not a place to be in the fresh.

Two days passed and Saturday arrived, our final day to climb, and we took it.

To The Headwall but not for the route we really wanted to sample, the route we chose would be a safe easy option given the conditions, it would be a nice way to finish the trip.

"OK, its all pretty cushty up here, nice bolts, good climbing, nothing can go wrong!"

Swinging left with a bolt to protect the very thin moves, I climbed the crux of Fiasco with relative ease. ‘OK, I must now be a God?’ Pulling into a groove with a perfect hook, all of the one tooth placements and overhangs behind, a massive block ripped and I was flying. In some ways it was ok, it was well protected, but in some ways it was a bas#*rd, I wanted to climb this pitch clean, this was the first fall of the trip. ‘Robbed’.

Pulling back on I climbed to the top of the difficult section and looked up to what should have been grade WI4 ice protected by screws. A steep groove covered in snow with islands of frozen moss and patches of rotten ice was what I saw. I continued to climb way above the last bolt with only screws on my harness. With each move the climbing became more insecure, farther away from the bolt, more scary. If I fell I would be falling for quite some time until hitting the snow next to our ski’s. Was this what I wanted from our final climb?

Rob had some wires and pegs on his harness but he was out of reach, out of sight. I hung from two insecure placements, standing on two insecure sloping foot holds and after pulling through a loop and dropping it – Rob had climbed to the loop and attached the gear – I pulled it up and eventually hammered two blades and an off-set.

Leaving the gear beneath, a long way beneath, the bulging groove turned into the most wiggy-cheeky-spicy pitch of the trip. These unwanted words ran through my head, Raphael had now begun grading on the Tim Emmett scale after climbing with him at Helmkem Falls earlier in the winter, and wiggy ( a James McHaffie term and one I had introduced into the melting pot to Raphael) cheeky-spicy were not words I wished to use on my final climb.

Teetering, picks in a rotten skin or just resting on loose flakes, teetering, breathing controlled, teetering, higher, higher… the gear was at least ten metres below, I found another wire placement before tapping a rotten skin and rocking over on rounded footholds to reach the belay.

Entering THE GROOVE. "But where is the ice"

"Hmm, i thought WI4 was supposed to be easier than this." THE HORROR GROOVE. Nick Bullock

Rob joined me and set off on pitch two… a funky looking rock-flake and thin ice streak. This climb was not going the way we had anticipated, but I’m sure it would be the final climb of the trip to end all final climbs of future trips.

"I'll just take off my gloves and layback it.!

Sans gloves up the thin ice of pitch two, Fiasco, Stanley Headwall. Nick Bullock

The third pitch of Fiasco, Stanley Headwall. Rob Greenwood.

The glory pitch, pitch four of Fiasco. Stanley Headwall. Nick Bullock

We jump on a plane later today. Fifteen routes in twenty days, great memorable climbs, with great people along the way. This is surely what being a full time climber is about, this untainted adventure in wonderful surroundings without any other reason to be here other than the act of climbing and testing one’s own abilities.

Busy times ahead on my return, the BMC Alpine Lectures and a book to finalise the editing, with images to sort out with my publishers Vertebrate and all before leaving again to go to Alaska to attempt the Slovak (Czech) Direct with Andy Houseman on Denali.

Cheers for all of the help, loan of gear, support, beta, encouragement, but most of all cheers to everyone in Canada for the friendship and for those coming in the future remember one thing, there is a term in the guide book that goes something like this ‘There are grades and then there is being Dr Slawinskied!’

Nick.

The Stanley Headwall. Nick Bullock.

The Stanley Headwall is the naughty child of Rockies climbing. Beautiful, endearing, but also at times a real pain in the backside. Avalanche prone slopes at the base, avalanche prone slopes above, avalanche prone roads on the approach. Though, get it in a good mood and there is no better behaved place where the climbing is most memorable.

An hour and a half ski-in, wild and wonderfully exposed, THE Headwall as it is known by the locals is world class.

Chopper Greenwood and I have just finished two days on THE Wall, where we climbed the classic icefall Nemesis and the testing Extreme Comfort and after a rest I can see at least one more days climbing before heading home, but I also can see the route we hope to climb (try) will spank us. We leave Canada on Sunday and Saturday will possibly be spent prone and exhausted, so its a case of do we or dont we, time, I suppose will tell.

Thanks to Jon Walsh and Raphael Slawinski for info and a little bit of homework for those who are interested here

Nemesis. Nick Bullock.

Rob Chopper Greenwood on the crux of Nemesis. Nick Bullock.

Nick Bullock following the second pitch of Nemesis. Rob Greenwood.

Extreme Comfort topo. Stanley Headwall. Nick Bullock.

Nick Bullock climbing the first pitch of Extreme Comfort, "I may take off my gloves!". Stanley Headwall. Rob Greenwood.

Rob Greenwood, pitch two of Extreme Comfort. "Its a bit of a tricky exit." Stanley Headwall. Nick Bullock.

"Its steeper than it looks." The third pitch of Extreme Comfort, (Monsieur Hulot.) Stanley Headwall. Rob Greenwood.

Rob Greenwood seconding the third pitch of Extreme Comfort. Nick Bullock.

"Its ok, the belay is good, its in the pillar that looks like it may fall down, but its good!" Rob Greenwood.

Rob Chopper, but not chopping too much, Greenwood on the top pitch of Extreme Comfort/Nightmare on Woolf St. Nick Bullock

I slump and the large leather chair wraps its comforting arms around me. A rest today after climbing Whiteman Falls yesterday. The living room in The Alpine Club of Canada’s Clubhouse is spacious. Clubhouse conjures images of austere, frugal, sparse – this clubhouse is anything but. A fire warms the room. The floor is made of wood and polished. Shelving stuffed with climbing journals and books runs the length of one wall. Another wall is not a wall at all; it’s thick wood pillars hewn from ancient pine separating large panes of glass that look over forest and scrub to snow covered mountains. A freight train pulling gravel hoppers rumbles through the outskirts of town. Bright patches of snow dappled with sun lie beneath the trees. A blue and orange nuthatch gripping a large trunk faces down and probes the bark. Pine Martens, like large red ferrets but with broad shoulders and heads and furry legs flit between the trees – backs arched, alert, sharp, alive.

Computer in lap and I receive emails from one of the greats of Canadian climbing, Raphael Slawinski. We are meeting on Sunday to attempt Haunted by Waters, the direct start to The Sea of Vapours on The Trophy Wall. The climb passes a massive roof, followed by two more roofs until meeting that aircraft-exhaust-trail-of-ice, but it does have a few bolts as long as they are not covered. ‘If they are covered in ice just put a screw in,’ I hear you question, but what if the ice is not thick enough for screws? Dilemma. But isn’t this the way? Raphael refuses to walk the golf course road on the Trophy Wall approach, who can blame him when he’s no-doubt done the approach a thousand times, so after much collective email wrangling, today, Chopper and I have to find Eamonn Walsh’s house, another Canadian climbing legend and attempt to fit two bikes into the muscle car.

We are meeting Raphael at the Summit café at 7am tomorrow, Raphael doesn’t like early starts! This makes Chopper Greenwood and I laugh as the morning we climbed Replicant we woke at four, left the hut at five and locked the car to begin walking at twenty to six. No doubt we will also have time for a coffee, maybe a bagel?

Through the glass of the Clubhouse the air is clear and for once the wind is still, the sky blue. I look at Rob Owens blog and the picture of him pulling the moves to get around the first roof and the picture makes me slightly concerned, but nowhere near as concerned as Chopper. Straight shafted axes’s, leashes, body extended. Wow, that roof is big but given that old school gear, how hard can it be? …

Raphael Slawinski doing what he does. It aint Scotland! Rob Greenwood.

…Impossible in its present state is the answer. Raphael has cut loose, swings, pulls, swings, he’s given it a really good shot but the ice isn’t low enough and water worn limestone doesn’t lend itself to dry tooling, “Take.” The luxury of bolts.

I stand and look up at the slither of ice that should be Postscriptum. A quickdraw, disguised in the moss and dirt hangs. I remember using it to pull and stand to reach a skin of ice out right – I remember Dave Hunter doing the same and then struggling some more. The quickdraw is attached to the number one nut from our 2003 Sea of Vapours ascent. The nut that held a twenty-five foot fall, and even though there is more ice now than in 2003 I don’t relish the thought of tapping the skin with no gear and possibly repeating the experience. Raphael climbed a thin Postscriptum earlier in the season and no way is he repeating that experience. Chopper hasn’t volunteered either! “It’s X rated going up there, super dangerous ground fall.”

We kick steps in deep snow – move left, look up … The Wall calls and time ticks.

Cycling some of the approach through the golf course passing the heard of elk was fun and speedy – well, until the tyre went flat on my bike and then it became a thigh burning, lung busting sweat-fest, but it hadn’t saved that much with our relaxed start.

Terminator with the T-2 start looks funky but the ice looks suspect, we move left again until stood beneath Raphael’s new route Exterminator put up early this winter with a crew of partners, Eric Dumerac, Juan Henriquez and Simon Parsons. “So what does this entail Raph?” I ask with trepidation, Dr Slawinski sandbags are infamous, although I truly believe it isn’t because of any evil streak, it’s similar to Mick Fowler who at one time gave every Scottish climb grade VI, because he didn’t appreciate how useless the rest of us are. “Its M7+ Nick, it has some bolts and natural pro.” “How much natural pro does it take?” I asked this as we only had ice screws and quick draws. I had asked Raphael at the car, which was parked three hours away, what gear he had packed and he sounded quite confident at the time that we had enough. In his defence we did have enough gear for the intended route but how often do things change when on missions like this. “So, correct me if I’m wrong, your route is M7+ (read anything into this, it could actually mean Scottish tech 10), it hasn’t had a second ascent and the only attempt was by Jon Walsh, he of Man Yoga on the Stanley Headwall and uber climber, and he was shut down, (all be it in super cold weather) and the route needs gear.” “Yes.” I ploughed a furrow to beneath the line, looked up and saw holds. “Ok Raph, let’s give it a go.” Having the first ascentionist on the team who knew the exact line and the position of the bolts and pegs would, I hope, trump the not having any natural gear.

Chopper Greenwood not looking all that cool or composed. "Its like a whole new game."

Two pitches up and things were looking rosy. The crux pitch was below and one more forty metre pitch would lead to the cave and the final sixty metre pillar of the Terminator. The third pitch of Exterminator followed a crack and traversed hard to the right aiming for the ice of Terminator, but since Raphael had climbed the first ascent ice had gripped the rock, and covered what was a dry tool pitch. Three pegs and four bolts were hidden beneath the cold skin and the perfect torqueing crack was clotted with water ice. I set off, the climbing immediately steep without much in the way for feet.

Starting the third pitch. There would be cams to protect these moves if we had any! A belayers worse nightmare. Rob Greenwood.

Swing, the pick penetrated ice and found the crack. I dug out the first peg. Swing, once again the crack was found. Slowly, teetering, the thin ice skin penetrated, creeping, flick, balance. At the height of the original traverse I continue direct preferring thin ice and tied off stubby screws. It was one of those situations, one of those, should I or shouldn’t I. Do I go for the bolts that were buried with more difficult climbing or go direct with easier but bolder climbing. No choice really, I flicked a pick above and teetered up into crud and no protection and adventure.

"It's OK, i'll go straight up, tied off stubbies are pretty strong. Rob Greenwood.

Stood in the cave at the top of the new direct third pitch surrounded by the drooling ice of The Terminator I looked out towards the Trans Canadian Highway and snow covered mountains and pine forest. The Trophy Wall, certainly one of the most special, unspoilt places to climb in the world.

Dr Slawinski topping out on pitch three. "Ah, a stubby in the belay... Novel!"

Victory, twice on THE WALL in the same trip and more Danish. Rob Greenwood.

[‘Zugzwang (German for “compulsion to move”, pronounced [ˈtsuːktsvaŋ]) is a term usually used in chess which also applies to various other games. The term finds its formal definition in combinatorial game theory, and it describes a situation where one player is put at a disadvantage because he has to make a move when he would prefer to pass and make no move.’]

On my second visit to Canada in March 2004 the call of Mount Rundle and the fabled Sea of Vapours was strong but The Sea was not formed that year and had seen only one ascent by visiting Japanese climbers. Not to be deterred Dave Hunter and I on-sighted the walk in, not as easy as you may think, and in snow and wind and with wild wailing voices running through my mind we threw caution to the cold and strapped it on. The start to The Sea wasn’t in, Postscriptum – the other way to the Sea – also wasn’t in … so I dry tooled the start and eventually, one false start later, and one big fall later I reached a thin skin and tapped my way to the Whipper Traverse where Hunter took us to the thick ice and success.

The memory of The Trophy Wall, a name given by climbers because every route on this wall is something to be treasured, remained engrained in my memory. In the quiet times I could still hear the forlorn horn of the freight train passing through the centre of Banff and in the very quiet times I listened to the squeak of branches rubbing together, I could smell the sap of Canadian pine.

It took Hunter and I eighteen hours, car to car to climb The Sea, and I remember the experience like it was yesterday.

In April 2008 I returned to The Trophy Wall with Ian Parnell and once again the climb we chose was in bad condition. The Terminator, a thick ice pillar cut short where it had broken was climbed too by dry tooling. This start is recognised and called T-2, but the ice in April was even higher, more out-of-reach than normal. I torqued axe picks to reach The Blob and after placing two screws into The Blob, mantled, stood and contemplated. A thick ice roof above was two or three body lengths away and all I could see in front of my face was smooth rock. Teetering, gentle, gentle – I caught sight of the only protection, the screws into The Blob, but kept climbing until a crack, some gear, sanity. At full stretch hooking a hole in the ice, my legs pushed out to the side level with my head, then cutting loose, I performed the only one arm pull up I have ever managed before swinging the other axe, planting it deep, and pulling-up toward safety and success.

Yesterday Rob and I climbed what is for me the final of the big classic three ice lines of Rundle and the Trophy Wall, The Replicant. This is one route I was coming to Canada to climb but much the same as my other two climbs on The Trophy Wall it didn’t come without preperation and effort.

On the second day in Canada Rob and I burbled down the wide Potomac scar of the Trans Canadian Highway and looked up to see The Trophy Wall in the distance. Like massive white icy slug trails the climbs drooled the steep cliff and beckoned. “Game on.”

Returning to the Canadian Alpine Clubhouse in Canmore once again the talk was of poor conditions, ‘The ice is too thin, it won’t happen,’ but I stopped a long time ago listening to the majority of people who have opinions about conditions without any personal evidence. Climbing is full of this type of speculation, especially on the internet and I have always found I prefer to look and try for myself, go have a go, give something a pop and then if it doesn’t work out at least I know for myself.

In our favour, locals Raphael Slawinski, Jen Olson and Sean Isaac all said it was worth a punt and given the really serious avalanche conditions the approach would be threatened but justifiable.

Day three in the country and the call of The Wall was strong. Rob and I walked in half way to familiarise myself again with the thrash through the trees and to see what the snow was like but it then decided to snow and snow and snow some more. The Wall was put on hold.

A week and a half later with a better forecast once again Rob and I walked in, but this time inspired by reading an article in the Canadian Alpine Journal about the first ascent of Tangle Ridge which the climbers prepared their approach by shovelling a trench we took shovels.

Rob, loud young enthusiastic youth, aka, Chopper Greenwood, really found his true way this day and has now gained the name of Bobby Snowplough Greenwood. He stomped, and dug and tramped and thrashed and burrowed and dug and swam and crawled and dug and dug and eventually with much encouragement from me – following in the tunnel a strategic distance behind – we stood on a spur overlooking one of the danger zones, a snow field in the lee of The Wall heavily loaded with fresh windblown snow. Why did Bobby have to draw my attention to that picture of the whole of the forest to our left covered with an avalanche. I stood and looked and in my mind’s eye I could see the plumes of powder blasting trees and rock, billowing and roaring and destroying. “Yes, its fine Rob, go on, go have a look.” I stood and from behind a boulder watched as The Snowplough trundled into action sinking deep into slab. “Wow, there is a really nasty layer here.” “Yeah, I’m sure… keep going, see what happens.” I crossed my fingers and began whistling Adele, or something else to suit the situation of possible loss as The Wall above our present position called.

Bobby Snowplough continued to cut a trough and eventually stood in safety beneath the gully we had to climb to reach the higher snow-field. I minced across the slope to meet Bobby expecting the whole slope to sheer but it didn’t, then I climbed half way up the linking gully but could go no farther without an axe and crampons. “Right then, this is as far as we go today.” But the feeling of not quite doing enough to give us the satisfaction that we knew we would get in tomorrow for certain was strong. Trudging the two hour descent we both continued to cut and deepen the furrow in a hope the snow forecast for overnight would leave us something to follow in the dark pre-dawn hours.

Several hours later, early the following day, I stood on a crest looking at the blue sky and some of the most amazing ice streaks in the world and I knew if you really do want something bad enough and are prepared to work hard enough you will get it most of the time

Bobby and Bullock to Replicant… check mate.

As we drove through K Country on Saturday morning, the snow flew past the windows of Jen’s truck like surf. We were heading to Red Man Soars and Whiteman Falls. Jen had offered to drive and the little boys from the country that stops when two inches of snow falls were agog and wide eyed. Spruce weighed heavy with white stretched for miles and miles and miles. I’m sure when the roar of the truck quietened I could hear the howl of wolves. The radiator on the truck clogged with powder and ice causing it to struggle but somehow we made it to where the road was closed, the parking spot, unloaded ski’s and began the 5km grunt.

I climbed Whiteman Falls eleven years ago with Bruce French on my first visit to Canada. Whiteman made a big impression and going back brought back the memories. Rope frozen into a hard cable, bashing and creeping, cutting a way through frozen petals, straight shafted Charlet Moser Pulsars with leashes that had to be opened with teeth. Eleven years… where did that go?

This time we chose Redman Soars, a cool mixed route to the right and Chopper Greenwood wanting to test his new found skills of delicate left the ground with confidence. It wasn’t long before the repeated pounding had ice flying and the locals laughing. Jon Walsh, he of many a hard new route was on Whitemans and the banter was good. When Jen introduced us I called him a sick puppy, he appeared to like that. Jen pitched in with the piss take also, but undeterred Rob continued with finesse. 

The ski out again went on for too long but at last we reached the truck where Jen pulled out the beer. And very nice it was too!

 Another day and another big drive. Chopper and I once again took on the mighty Icefields Parkway with; thank God, a lot less snow than before but with me threatening to turn around at the slightest whiff of white falling from the sky.

In minus 15 we pulled the muscle car off the road seventy km short of Jasper. “Chilly hey Chopper?” Forty minutes later we geared up and set off up the first pitch of Curtain Call. I climbed Curtain Call four years ago so unfortunately for Chopper, who was salivating at all of that thick ice in front of his bright eyed face – ice, ripe and ready for him to carve some amazing sculpture – but he wasn’t allowed to go the full way.

The climb we were after was called Call of the Curtain, a Will Gadd mixed climb which starts up Curtain Call and goes a tad psychotic in the middle by avoiding the thick ice bulge and climbing a thin streak, belaying, and then mincing along a huge rock-roof before joining the top of Curtain Call. All very pointless but hey, when has climbing ever been sensible?  

Irony, I just love it and it was very ironic that the team member with the name of chopper got to climb the very, very, thin link pitch and hold on a minute, what’s all of that tapping!

The crazy rock roof onto a couple of icicles wasn’t that hard really and even Chopper cruised it without crashing down a ton of icicle with him still attached – got to be a bonus.

A two and a half hour drive through the most amazing scenery, back to Canmore followed and a plan was hatched for the following day which we decided would be prep for something big-ish… let’s see.

As we drove onto the Icefields Parkway, my heart sank. Snow was falling and our stupidly over-powered, automatic hire car with big fat tyres was causing me concern. ‘What if it snows a load while we’re climbing, we could get stuck in the middle of the back of beyond.’ But the thought of the prize at the end of the snowy road kept us trucking and the day before I had discovered that the tyres were M+S, no not a superstore, mud and snow, meaning in my mind we can do anything – get anywhere, never get stuck. My mind had never really seen proper Canadian snow though!

Soloing Snivling Gully in the steel light of, only just day, both Rob and I pummelled the ice until we stood on the massive snow covered shelf splitting the Lower Weeping Wall from the upper. The Start of our climb was only one hundred metres away but in waist deep snow it took a while. For some reason the champion fell runner with big legs and minimal years was behind, don’t quite know how that happened, but sweat soaked and steaming I vowed that this would not become like the coffee out here, ‘regular’.

“Wow, it looks amazing.” Rob’s observation was not hyped, the line is a classic. Corners and grooves and pencil ice cutting a cleft in the overhanging two hundred metre wall.

As soon as I began to climb the horror of Canadian limestone flooded back. This is not Scottish. With very few torques and deep hooks and positive edges to stand it all feels insecure. Sketch the feet drag the pick till it hooks something under the snow and pull. And squirm and thrutch and skitter while throwing as much body onto the rock as possible.  And gear, well yes, there is some but it’s as spaced as Cape Canaveral.

As Rob began on the second pitch the sky, which was already full of fluffy fat white flakes, decided to fatten up some more. The road way below disappeared, the odd snow plough trundled, clearing, growling, clearing and the muffled sound of a car kicking up a plume reached my old ears. My mind started to see us stuck here and possibly be arrested for being stupid tourists underprepared on this big bad serious road, but whooo, up above the climb was going down and at that point it meant more than arrest.

In Rob Owens ,the first ascentionist, description of the route he suggests double cams and we only had a single set, so Chopper Greenwood belayed half way through the second pitch and brought me up and then took on the ‘Sketchy Slab’ And I was glad, very glad in-fact as the sketchy slab certainly looked sketchy and I concluded that Rob with his champion fell running legs was the man for the teetering job.

A fine effort in teetering and clearing a foot of fresh snow then followed. “Go on Rob, you can do it.” I shouted while all of the time thanking my lucky planets it wasn’t the other way around.

The third pitch was the crux and as I waded the snow to stand next to Chopper Greenwood ( a name I have attached after climbing ice the last few days) I could see why. A bulging wall, somewhat reminiscent of a Peak District limestone crag like Cheedale frowned down and beckoned me with a crumbling limestone finger. “You think you’re good enough?”

Half way up this bulging wall I wasn’t sure I was good enough. I held a press up position on the half way ledge, shoulders buckling, calf’s burning, head screaming. Stein pulled to stand, arranged a few bits of gear and then launched. Well, I launched in my mind but looking back I suspect it was more dipped a toe! Owens description ran through my mind,

‘Launch over the first of 2 overhanging bulges with surprisingly good tool placements and good opportunities for gear.’

Well I wasn’t launching and if these tiny hooks that I had to pull my feet level with my head were surprisingly good I would not want to see bad. ‘Bloody hell I’m crap!’

Hanging off one tooth placements I struggled to hold the wasting feeling in forearms. My mind withered nearly as quick as the energy in my arms. Pulling and locking, a front-point placed on an edge level with my chest had me flapping about in a metre of fresh snow just over the overhanging top until the pick caught on a dribble of ice. I pulled and pushed as much body on the rock as possible. I thrashed and cleaned and thrashed but no ice, ‘FFS, they belayed up here on screws’. Eventually, I slithered into a position that I wasn’t going to fly from and the crux was over and I nearly vomited.

Chopper Greenwood took on the last pitch which was a crazy, run-out, decomposing, overhanging chimney topped by a smear of ice. Having big legs but small chest and shoulders he managed to squeeze between rock and ice to give a natural thread runner. I on the other hand struggled to squeeze my very manly shoulders, but at last I popped out into a white snow buried wilderness and success.

It would be easy to say that was the end of adventure but an hour or so later reaching the car at six thirty in the evening the crux of the day was about to unfold. The car and road was buried beneath metres and meters of fresh powder. Ok, maybe not that much but I’m from Britain and I hadn’t seen snow like this since skiing it from the top of the Midi Telepherique in Chamonix and our big soft city car was not going to like this. I decided the only way was once moving hit the gas and keep moving and after an hour and a half of white out, spindrift and powersliding, nearly ploughing into a wall of white never to be seen again – we hit the Trans Canadian knowing that we had just experienced ‘one of those days.’ Hopefully there will be a few more to come before we head home.

 Thaks to Raph, Sean and Jen for the heads up about this route.       

Its difficult being sensible at times but today was a day for sensibilities. Avalanche hazard is high to extreme and wading up to the Trophy Wall was not going to happen. Especially as Jen Olson and Sean Isaac came socialising last night with a bottle of red to join our bottle of red!

In conversation Johnston Canyon was mentioned for a continuation of our warm up for ice strategy, so that’s where we went today in minus 10 and sun.

After three reasonably easy routes I was fed up of warming up so looking at a roof, icicle, cave thing I decided to have a look.

Enough warming up now and as long as the Icefields Parkway is open tomorrow we are heading to Upper Weeping Wall to try a mixed line called No Use in Crying, first climbed by Rob Owens and Jon Walsh in 2008. The climb is given a grade of IV M7 and is 205 metres and looks brilliant, although the ‘spectacular finish on ice and belay on screws’ may be a tad interesting as the Weeping Wall gets a lot of sun and much has melted out. Time will tell I suppose!  

The weather… Oh, what a boring thing, don’t all climbers start writing with ‘And now the weather.’ Maybe we all want to be Michael Fish?

So, Louise Falls yesterday for day one. Jetlag, Budget car hire ripping us off running through my head, (It really messes with my head being ripped off for millions of pounds, note to myself, never use Budget again!) mixed weather (oh no, the W word) but thanks to local info (Cheers Jen) we drove over to Louise and walked in, and geared up and got excited. (even though I climbed L F eleven years ago for my second route ever in Canada)

I was tied on just about to start to climb and I noticed something critical missing from my attire… “Hmm, no crampons.” Trouble was I hadn’t seen them in my bag.

“Bugger,” For the first time ever I had forgotten my crampons and at that moment more than ever I need to swing an axe … “Please let them be in the car.”

A quick run back to the car and phew, there they were.

Ran back passing all of the folk we went past on the way out, ‘Yes I’m the chump who forgot his poons!’ Met Sean Isaac walking out with clients, “Hi Sean, yes I forgot my poons.” Met another guide, “Yes i know!”

But at last we climbed and ‘Oh,’ it was lush.

 Once on top we rapped and lapped the right hand side with a different variation.

Warm up day one, yes, warm up … I had a look at climbing out of the back of the cave, “Yes Rob it’s a warm up honest.” Rob didn’t look convinced. But nearing the point of no reverse I noticed a massive crack running the width of the icicle… “Not today.”

Today we are about to go for a little walk for a look see and to punch a trail, The Trophy Wall looks as fat as I’ve ever seen it and the one climb of the big three I haven’t done, The Replicant, looks like it’s being eating donuts all winter, although the weather (Yeeeeeowes that bloody word, its dumping snow at the moment) and conditions may be a tad interesting, time, as ever, will tell.

Being in touch with Raphael Slawinski and Jen Olsen is a God send both of them being in the know and there advice was ‘Go for it’. Raph has also climbed a new route on the left of the wall so we may go for that also (But knowing Raph its M7 and that could mean anything.) and it doesnt worry me to repeat the Sea of Vapours and Terminator as they aren’t bad as ice climbs go :o)

All said and done if the snow keeps on we may have to re-arrange, but that big bad Trophy Wall beckons. 

POSTSCRIPT:

In semi-blizzard after much umming-and-arring we actually did walk half way in to the Trophy Wall. The snow was deep and blowing and wild and the situation for climbing will be a tad crazy so… 😉