Ice Climbing

The Vertical World of Ice Climbing

by Jeff Edwards

Don Mellor placing an ice screw on Pitchoff in Cascade Pass. Photo by Mark Meschinelli

I’ve paused 15 or 20 feet off the ground on an ice climb called Positive Reinforcement. The rope from my waist harness arcs down to my climbing partner anchored warily below. My objective at this juncture is quite simple. Screw a tube of absurdly expensive stainless steel into the ice, attach a carabiner snap link onto the tube, and clip the rope through that carabiner. Should I then fall, my partner below will hold tight the rope, with the assistance of a friction device, and theoretically prevent my vulnerable anatomy from suffering irreparable harm.

At the moment, however, I’m distracted. I’ve placed my left ice tool high above my head, pick driven into the ice with malice. Setting my feet firmly below, I try to get comfortable and relaxed. Relaxation is, however, an elusive concept in a near-Arctic setting with the forces of gravity operating against me. The struggle to manipulate carabiners and ice screws with bulky gloves and cold hands is obvious. A quick glance over my shoulder confirms what I already know; the far, east side of Chapel Pond Canyon basks in the afternoon sun, but this 80 foot frozen waterfall won’t see a single ray. I should never have left the woodstove-heated comfort of home.

Moving Beyond the Basics
Most Adirondack ice climbers will get their start top-roping at one of several convenient roadside icefalls (See the February 2002 issue of Adirondack Sports & Fitness for a description of ice climbing equipment and beginning technique). Cascade Pass and the Chapel Pond area feature 30-80 foot climbs on which a slingshot belay can be established by walking around to the top and setting an anchor from stout trees. Such a set-up creates a relatively controlled environment in which to learn the basics of ice tool and crampon placement. Don Mellor’s Climbing in the Adirondacks (Adirondack Mountain Club) provides the details about climb locations, pitch lengths, and relative difficulty of the climbs suitable for top-roping.

Inevitably, most veterans of top-roping will someday aspire to lead climb. Leading an ice pitch requires immense concentration, a workmanlike attitude, and pure stupidity. Lots of bad things can happen with a set of Ginsu-sharp tools in the hands and lacerating points strapped to the feet. Ice is a notoriously changeable medium with unpredictable features and behavior. Lead climbing demands a definite leap of faith; ridiculous boldness is essential as is the confidence that the whole house of cards won’t collapse. The sad reality is that terror, permanent disfigurement, and death are all too common in the world of big scale ice climbing. Nonetheless, the self-absorbing lure of such an esoteric pursuit is difficult to deny.

How Do They Get the Rope Up There?
Fundamental to a safe and successful lead is the placement, by the leader, of ice screws at frequent intervals. Clipping the rope, held from below, through carabiners attached to these screws should theoretically prevent an injurious situation in the case of a fall. Once the leader reaches the top of the pitch, he anchors himself to a tree or ice screws and belays the second climber up from above. The second removes the ice screws, ascending to join the leader at the belay. On a climb more than one rope in length, this theme can be repeated indefinitely. Descent in the Adirondacks is usually achieved by a hike off the back of the cliff or a series of tree rappels from which the rope is retrieved each time. Embarking upon an ice climbing journey obviously requires more than just a quick tutorial. Seek professional instruction with an accredited guide service or organization such as the Adirondack Mountain Club before heading out into the savage and unforgiving frozen arena.

Gearing Up
Most leaders will start a climb with a rack of 8-12 ice screws, 25-30 assorted carabiners, and a variety of webbing slings. There is no hard and fast rule for the frequency of ice screw placement. Ice quality, comfort level of the climber, distance from the last piece of protection, and fatigue can all factor in the decision. Some will climb seemingly long distances between ice screws, confident in their climbing skills on solid ice while others will place screws at close intervals, seeking mental security when the ice is less than perfect or the difficulty of the climbing creates doubt. Whatever the strategy, climbing on the lead is always a game of efficiency. Setting ice screws is energy intensive, a task that requires patience and precision.

Balancing the safety of frequent protection with the conservation of precious strength is a delicate waltz. The universal advice given by ice climbers still alive to talk about it is simple and direct: falling is not an option. Better yet, avoid the whole fear thing by finding some well-insured, unattached, hyper-muscular rope monkey to drag your scrawny frame and fragile psyche up the most terrifying climbs.

Topping Out
I was, of course, doing a bit of exaggerated whining on Positive Reinforcement. Once I sunk that first ice screw and forced a little blood into my hands, I was cruising upward, well within my comfort zone. Before long the rhythmic pleasure of sinking tools made every problem and concern recede far below. In such a state, my world shrinks to the nuances of ice texture and form. Each movement is executed with purpose and economy. Everything can be reduced to the penetration of a single crampon point. The occasional pause to torque in another ice screw provides the opportunity to practice a finely honed craft, a kind of decadent artistic expression.

The rope provides a distant psychological support, the sacred bond between climbers irrefutable. One might be tempted to see the crystalline beauty of snow and sky, but it is background clutter. Only with the embrace of the summit cedar or hemlock can my reentry to earthly existence begin. The selfish pleasure of lead climbing makes sharing unthinkable. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Jeff Edwards (edwardsj@northwoodschool.com) teaches English and environmental science at Northwood School in Lake Placid. He also guides rock and ice climbing for Adirondack Rock and River Guide Service in Keene.

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