Skiing Silverton (Baptism by Fire) and the Ouray Ice Climbing Festival

A long overdue post.... Silverton.... Silverton, Colorado is a magical place. It invokes many contradicting emotions. Number one being fear. Number two being excitement. This could explain the feeling in my stomach as we clicked into our bindings and made our way to the only chair lift on the mountain. As we gained elevation and arouse out of the treeline and I could finally see some of the upper mountain, I was fairly certain I may loose my breakfast of eggs and green chili's. See....aside from one short rainy evening at Mountain Creek back in NJ, I hadn't been on ski's in over 10 years. Like many other skiers of my generation, I had retired my ski's for a snowboard when I was very young. Now, the purity and traditionalism of ski mountaineering has steered me back. Along with the fact that I can climb water ice 5 in my Dynafit touring boots. Now here I was standing on the crest of a massive bowl reading a "trail" map that first states, in bold, "You could die here today!" Surrounded by remnants of the explosives used during that mornings avalanche control session. I tried to gain my composure and settle my pulse. It didn't work, but Jared was ready to go. I turned on my avy beacon, zippered up, and dropped in. The first run wasn't pretty. My legs were jello and my ski tips chattered across the stiff snow pack. Somehow, I made it down the 2000 foot run still standing. And Stoked! Immediately wanting to get back up to make another run. By the end of the third run I had gotten much more comfortable and began testing myself a little. Trying to, and failing, to keep up with Jared. Regardless, Jared was proud of me. I was proud of myself. My snowboard hasn't been out of the bag since. After Silverton I was treated to the most beautiful and scariest drive I've ever been on. We made our way from Silverton towards Ouray (Affectionately known as the "Switzerland of America"), Via the Red Mountain Pass. Through avalanche tunnels and around blind curves we went, passing plow trucks that were plowing rock fall off the roadway. As we winded our way down, Ouray came into view. A small quaint little town nestled in the valley below Box Canyon. We made our way into town and met up with some of Jared friends. I was amazed at the massive amount of ice within the park. It was like an ice climbers playground. We all spent the evening soaking in the hot springs while the snow fell. After getting beat up by Silverton, this was a welcome treat. The next two days were spent at the ice climbing festival. Meeting some of the friendliest people I've ever had the pleasure of meeting. We did several super fun climbs and I got to witness some of the worlds top mixed climbers, both male and female, struggling up the competition routes. We ended our last day in Ouray running around town trying to find a gluten free cake for B's birthday. In case you were wondering, There are no gluten free cakes within a 30 miles radius of Ouray Colorado. The next day we made our way back over the Red Mountain pass, through Silverton, and stopped in at Cascade Canyon to check the ice situation. We found some terrific mixed routes and a super wet pillar that made for some sketchy sticks. Jared set up a top rope on an M5 and gave it a shot. Having never truly climbed mixed before, I wasn't sure I wanted to give it a go. But Jared wouldn't have that! I tied in and shook out. "Night Shift" begins with its crux right off the ground. Several powerful and burly moves demand full body tension leading up to a vertical section with tiny crimps and shallow thin slots. As I made my way up through the crux, I realized what all the hype was about. Mixed climbing is some serious fun! It demands the utmost attention regarding your tool and foot placements. One millimeter off and your crampons are popping out of the little pocket or your tool just skates off the hold. Before I knew it I had onsighted my first mixed climb. We moved over and set up on an M7. Jared almost had it until the sequence near the top screwed up his concentration and he took a hard fall. I was eager to try, and felt great until about the half way point when my forearms started to burn and protest. After taking a hang, I completed the route. I was super happy that Jared psyched me up enough to get on the routes, and today, I'm a mixed climbing fanatic! My time in Colorado was all too short. It had been all that I expected, and much much more. I got to experience some new things, do my first true crack climb, scare and surprise myself at Silverton, send my first few mixed climbs, and spend time with such a great friend. Hopefully I'll be back next year!

DURANGO, SILVERTON, & THE OURAY ICE FEST!!

I had finally made it. As I exited the 747 and walked down the ramp, I couldn't believe it. I was finally in Colorado....and it was.....well....FLAT. Thankfully I turned to find the Rockies off in the distance, looking rocky, but still far away. After a short delay in the nicest airport I have ever been in, we walked onto the tarmac to board the RJ. Finally off to my final destination, Durango. The flight was scenic, but I wanted to be in the mountains climbing and skiing, not flying over them. Immediately noticeable was the fact that there was hardly any snow at the lower elevations, and as we flew over the San Juan's, the situation didn't improve much. After nervously waiting for my bags containing thousands of dollars of gear and ski's, I walked through the "airport" to find Jared, a friend from grade school I hadn't seen in over 9 years. I sat outside enjoying my first smoke in hours, as a salty pickup truck pulled up and out came a guy, with full dreadlocks. As the guy walked towards me, I couldn't believe it. It was Jared....and aside from the hair, he had not changed one bit. Colorado seemed to of preserved his youth. His composure, his upbeat tone, and his energy was all there, like we were still playing roller hockey on the local tennis courts back in NJ.
While driving into Durango, I couldn't believe what I was seeing. I expected forests of Aspens and Birch trees. Instead, I saw sand, dust, low scrubby vegetation, grazing Mule Deer, Ram crossing signs, and Prickly Pear Cactus! I was in the desert!! Durango sits close to the Southwest Border of Colorado and New Mexico, and the desert seems to creep its way up to where the mountains begin, where the ice,snow, and bitter cold dominate the landscape.
We spent the first evening catching up, talking about old friends, and what we had been doing since we last saw each other. I envied his stories, and was eager to live the life of a Coloradoan for the next 7 days. We put a new battery in his jeep so we could get around, and were in bed early, with plans to go climb the next morning. Little did I understand that we were not going to climb ice like I had assumed. Rather, Jared planned to introduce me to Colorado crack climbing at East Animas. I was in for a surprise. Both due to the fact that we were about to be sweating under the warm sun while climbing in t-shirts... in January, and also the fact that I thought crack climbing would be relatively easy compared to face climbing. I was wrong...I was VERY wrong. In the east, we do a lot of face, and any vertical cracks are just wide enough to get a #3 quad cam in, let alone a full hand. Most of our cracks are horizontal, providing bottomless jugs, to the smallest crimps. I was in for a real beating, I just didn't know it yet.
We began on a 80 foot top-rope, graded a 5.8. It was an awfully awkward mix of face and crack climbing, including a off width chimney to top out. The sandstone texture was much smoother then the Granite cliffs of New Hampshire, and I initially thought it would be a welcome change for my hands that have recently taken a beating between climbing and laying brick and travertine tile. Once again, I was wrong. After the 5.8 we hopped on a burly looking 5.11. Jared struggled and hollered through the moves, piecing them together after a battle and several falls. Next up, I started off the first couple of bouldery moves feeling great. I simplified the sequence and felt like I was floating. It felt natural, until I got about 15 feet off the deck. Then an awkward match provided a "rest" while I made a mess of the next couple of moves in my mind. I went out right to a vertical sloping pinch and stuck like glue. I was almost past the crux, the rest would be easy sailing...until I went up with my left to a tiny vertical crack that felt like I put my tips onto a serrated blade. I tried several different positions and holds before popping off like the rock like a felled tree. I was pumped as I gasped for O's. Living at 410 feet above sea level certainly has its disadvantages. We were at roughly 12,000 feet, and two short climbs in and I was spent. Ready for a nap, I took my sweet time and procrastinated before giving the route another go. Finally I got my breath back, got back on, and quickly popped back off. That was enough of the 5.11's for the day.
We sat around snacking, hydrating, and talking about our next move. "Texas sucks", Jared states, and starts pulling rope. Huh? "Texas sucks". Ok, why does Texas suck?? "No!" Jared states and laughs. "It's a 5.9+ route down to the left". With slight hesitation after looking at the route. I agreed. It was a single vertical hand crack up to an overhanging seam where the roof jutted up and over your head and the face narrowed down to nothing. At this point I was told you have to traverse right 15 feet around the corner, where the exposure reveals itself, and then downclimb slightly to the anchors. Alright, but this is your lead I told him. As I belayed and watched Jared jam his way up, the sun began to take a dive towards the horizon. By the time he reached the anchors and was out of sight, the sun was all but gone.
I tied in and called climbing, wedged my hands into the crack, trusting that I could jam them well enough to pull off of, and started up. As I gained elevation my technique began to improve, but the climbing became harder and harder every move. By the time I reached the traverse, I was fully pumped. My forearms were solid as the rock. Somehow, I was able to stem and get my body into a position that allowed a no hands rest. Balanced 90 feet off the deck on just my feet, I realized how bad I hate traverses as a second. As soon as I removed the cam, I was eligible to take on hell of a whipper before the rope caught me. In this position, stemming and stuck into the crease on the side of the cliff, I was alone for a moment. I couldn't see Jared, or Rose (Jared's Dog) who I left chewing apart a stump at the base. All I could see was a gorgeous sunset with Durango in the foreground. I quickly gained my composure and unplugged the cam which was above my head. I couldn't see around the corner to see exactly where I would stop if I fell at this point. I jammed my left hand into the seam as securely as I could, chalked up my right, and blindly reached around the corner out onto the exposed face. Finding a little crimp, I moved my feet onto tiny dimples in the face, and poked my head around the corner only to find that Jared was around 15 feet below me on a ledge. I timidly worked my body over the outside corner and onto the face. I tried to quickly take in the situation. Jared had plugged in two cams up high and right, but after I unclipped them, I would either fall into the open air below the roof, or deck onto the small ledge he was belaying from. I carefully completed the traverse, unclipped the cams, and slowly down climbed down to the ledge. I was absolutely exhausted, cotton mouthed, and my lungs burned. But successfully completed my first Colorado crack climb. It was way more strenuous then I had imagined. It requires totally different techniques and while they are not difficult, they are at most times awkward. At times it seems like you may not get your fist out of the crack if you put too much weight on it. There seems to be a fine line between a solid jam, and a solid predicament. I have seen video of climbers getting various body parts stuck in cracks and having to be rescued. Be it shoulders, arms, knees, hands, or feet. I thoroughly appreciate all of my limbs and I'm glad they were all still with me. I cant imagine climbing 5.13 crack, it must be like repeatedly smashing your limbs in a door and hoping you will be able to remove them. As we rappelled down in the dark, I was super stoked to of been given the gift of that successful climb. We finished off our day with a beer at the base and hiked back to the jeep to go enjoy dinner and some rest back at Jared's apartment.

Day 3 to be continued....