Below is the next installment in the Outside the Ordinary series that I write for the Alaska Star (scroll past the photos for the article).
Ben looking at his next move
Me on Ripple
Ice screws
Ben repelling
Ben free climbing
Me doing my first-ever lead ice climb
Some people call it plastic. I call it frozen butter. It's the light-blue, pliable ice that makes for great climbing.
On a recent outing to Eklutna Canyon my friend, Ben Corwin, and I found ideal conditions on Ripple — a well-known, full-pitch ice climb.
But our adventure began long before we arrived to the frozen wall.
We pulled up to the Thunderbird Falls parking lot early. The sun barely illumined the sky as we crawled out of the truck and loaded up our packs.
I mentally went through the checklist:
“Crampons, check. Ice tools, got it. Helmet, rope, ice screws, harness, belay device, lunch, water, warm clothes.”
I snapped my gators over my boots and we were off.
Instead of dropping immediately into the canyon, we followed a trail along its southern rim. Ben got beta (a tip) that the first part of the canyon still had open water, so it would be best to descend on a small trail a half-mile or so up.
To make a long story short: Ben and I dropped into the canyon too early, bringing us face to face with open water flowing along a sheer vertical rock face.
This left us with two options: turn around and climb out of the canyon or make a mad dash through the water to the other side of the creek.
We chose the latter, and it went surprisingly smooth. We not only stayed on our feet, but we also maintained dry feet.
We followed a snow-packed trail for a mile farther, occasionally crossing ice bridges and weaving through alders.
Ben let out a happy chuckle as Ripple came into view. The climb glistened baby blue. And even better, nobody else had laid claim to the route, opting instead for climbs farther up canyon.
We walked to its base and ran our fingers along wet ice. A soft “drip, drip, drip” reverberated through the narrow canyon, mingling with the muted sound from the creek as it rushed and rolled below a layer of ice.
Ben is an avid ice climber, who spends the better part of his winter tackling the various routes that cling to Alaska's peaks and canyon walls.
I, on the other hand, hadn't ice climbed for five years, and wasn't certain I even remembered how.
As Ben and I prepared to get on the ice, the Saturday crowds rolled in.
Most of these climbers greeted us with a friendly smile or hello as they passed us by to find ice farther up canyon, except for one. This one disruptive climber hopped onto Ripple without asking us, crossed our rope and sent ice chunks crashing down — not only rude, but also unsafe.
Fortunately, the climber soon left, and with him — our disgust.
It didn't take Ben long to ascend and set up an anchor. He worked with ease and precision.
Then I was up — literally and figuratively.
Maybe it was the pliable, plastic ice or perhaps it was the technique I learned in the ice climbing class I took years ago; whatever the case, ice climbing felt easy.
I looked for the little depressions in the ice, sunk the ice tool in those spots, kicked in the picks on my crampons, kept my heels down, sang a little song and found myself at the top of the climb. Ben lowered me with the rope and I gave a broad smile.
We spent the morning on Ripple, taking turns climbing and belaying.
It was a balmy day, and there didn't seem to be much of a hurry to anything.
Ben made an off-handed comment that I should lead a climb. Somewhat to my own surprise, I didn't hesitate. I felt so solid on the ice that leading a climb was the natural next step.
We reviewed how to use ice screws, which a lead climber places incrementally to secure themselves. Then we loaded my harness with enough ice screws and quick draws to ascend the short pitch. I tied myself into the rope with a figure-eight knot, listened for Ben's assurance that he had me one belay and swung my tools into the ice.
I made each move with confidence and focus. I even stopped for a few minutes mid-climb so that Ben could tie off the rope and get out the camera.
I arrived at the top with a huge sense of accomplishment, having completed my first-ever lead climb on ice.
I dug out fruit snacks and Nutter Butters for us to chomp on while cleaning up and taking down the climb.
We packed up and headed home, winding along the river all the way back to the car. We even avoided the open-water crossing from the morning.
“Another great day in Alaska,” I thought.
The Web site www.alaskaiceclimbing.com is a great source of ice climbing information. It includes detailed descriptions of dozens of climbs in Alaska.
To buy all the gear needed to ice climb brand new would cost several hundred, if not thousands of dollars.
For beginners interested in learning how to ice climb, I would recommend finding a competent friend, going out with a guide or taking a class. Various local organizations and companies offer classes and guiding services, and they generally provide gear.
Editor's note: Eklutna Canyon is owned by Eklutna Inc. and therefore requires permission to access the land. I learned this after my trip when doing Internet research to add some finishing touches to my article. Routes in Chugach State Park, accessible from the Eagle River Nature Center, provide good local-ice climbing alternatives.Labels: Alaska, Alaska Star, Amy, Ben, Eklutna Canyon, Ice climbing, Outside the Ordinary, photos, winter
Me up on top
