Shades of The Ice

"A journal from the second attempt of Black Ice Couloir 1997."

When a Japanese climbing friend, Nishira-san mentioned going to the Grand Teton National Park, my mind suddenly drifted off to memories of when I used to live in southeastern Idaho and attempted several classic routes of the Teton Range. The most memorable attempt was of the Black Ice Couloir with Tony in the Summer of 1974. Recently graduated from a New England college, Tony and I were new to the Teton area. We entered the Valhalla Traverse from the Lower Saddle and climbed an ice couloir thinking it was the Black Ice Couloir. We sadly realized, as we topped off the couloir, that we were at Gunsight Notch instead of the Upper Saddle. Disappointed, we descended to the Teton Glacier and returned to our camp at the Moraine campsite. We ended up making a full circle of the Grand Teton. A ranger at the Jenny Lake Station laughed at us and said we might have been the first to circle Grand Teton in one day.

That same summer Bill March came to Idaho State University (ISU) after resigning his position as head of the prestigious British National Climbing School, Glenmore Lodge. Before school started, I climbed in the Idaho Primitive Area with a group from the Idaho State University Outdoor Program (ISUOP). Bill was among the group. While Bill was at ISU, he published an ice climbing textbook, MODERN SNOW & ICE TECHNIQUES, and signed on my copy:

"Yuki, With best wishes for many successful ice climbs including the Black Ice."

His words about the Black Ice and my unsuccessful first attempt with Tony had haunted me ever since, and I was determined to do the Black Ice last fall. On the morning of September 12, I was in Jackson Hole. With my Japanese friends curiously watching, I started packing for the Black Ice Couloir climb. Because I would be carrying my rucksack on my back while ice climbing, the rucksack had to be light. I packed the absolute minimum - no spare clothing, no extra food, and a bare minimum of climbing a nd bivouac gear. This approach may be criticized; however, I knew my abilities and limitations. More importantly, I would not overstep my limits. In my days at ISU, Bill March had gauged my conservative approach to be wise.

At ISU in the Fall of 1974, I had registered for mountaineering safety courses designed for a recreational education degree. It was the first time in my life I had to study mountaineering for a final examination, and I was delighted with a break from engineering classes. These two-semester courses were taught by Bill March and covered safety aspects of all types of climbing. Before the first semester began, Bill asked me to become his assistant for the class. It was odd since several better climbers were also taking the course. Some of them even volunteered to help Bill. However, Bill said that he needed only one assistant and that I was the most qualified. Lessons learned from the courses were too numerous and nearly impossible to describe in writing. According to Bill, one of the most important rules in alpine climbing was speed, not only climbing quickly, but also reducing wasted time when stopped for necessary tasks such as setting belays and preparing rappels. He always carried a bare minimum which contributed to his speed. I still follow his style.

At 12:20 p.m. I finally started out on the Garnet Canyon trail and headed toward the Lower Saddle. A few hours earlier would have been better since the Valhalla Traverse bivouac site was beyond the Lower Saddle. In addition, the Valhalla Traverse would require some route-finding and rock moves, so it would best be done in the daylight. At 5:30 p.m., I arrived at the Lower Saddle. It was a relief to see that the sun was still high in the sky. To take advantage of the last source of running water before the bivouac, I searched for two collapsible water bottles in my rucksack. "Darn! I forgot one of them." I would need at least two quarts of water for the night and the next day. All I had was one and a half quarts of water. If it ran out, I would have to make water from melting snow or ice.

From the Saddle, I walked and swayed in the strong cross wind for a few minutes until a faint foot path appeared on the left side of the broad ridge. Although I hadn't been there for more than 20 years, I was able to find the trail to the Valhalla Traverse. Several cairns led to the left side of the Enclosure. After crossing loose reddish, rocky gullies, I was blocked by a short vertical rock wall. Traversing the wall brought me to the first of several small ridges which jutted out from the mountain along the traverse route. These rigelets were miniature in comparison to the true ridges of the Grand, yet they obliged the trail to maneuver around them. My recollection was that the Valhalla bivouac site was a short distance from the Lower Saddle. My anticipation rose each time I arrived at a new ridgelet. Finally, at 7 p.m., I arrived at a ridgelet with a bivouac site. Unfortunately, the bivouac site was surrounded by short walls and was exposed to the elements, so I traveled beyond the ridgelet about 50 meters to see if there was a better site. However, there was no bivouac site, and it was getting dark.

After returning to the previous ridgelet, I prepared the bivouac and boiled water for a cup of tea. However, I could not find any tea bags. Unfortunately, I packed while I was chatting with friends. This reminded me of Bill March forgetting his sleeping bag on one trip and his climbing pants on another. He was very attentive to his wife, so he probably could not ignore her presence while packing, especially if he were leaving her home alone. However, even if he did forget his sleeping bag or pants, he did not cancel or shorten the trip and managed to do without them. He always improvised. In fact, he wrote a book, IMPROVISED TECHNIQUES IN MOUNTAIN RESCUE. I also discovered a miscalculation in the number of meals. One meal too short! I drank the hot water with nothing in it. Losing my appetite because of high altitude, I had to force myself to eat about half of the Mountainhouse spaghetti dinner. I saved the remainder for breakfast, and thus, the food shortage was solved! I decided to boil the rest of the water instead of adding iodine, since I lost the iodine neutralizer tablets on the way up. The iodine water would taste nasty without neutralizing it. My hand accidentally bumped the handle of the titanium pot, and all the water spilled. At first, my mind said to kiss the Black Ice goodby and go down the next morning. Fortunately, I had Bill's spirit - improvise. I remembered a snow field about 100 meters away from the bivouac site. I would have rather been resting, but I took a stove, pot and water bottles to the snow field in the dusk. In about 30 minutes I made one and a half quarts of water from melting the reddish snow. It was cloudy and too gross to drink, and there was sand at the bottom. I boiled it and added iodine. So much for taste.

The western cone of zodiacal light over the Idaho plain disappeared, and it became pitch dark. It was windy but a beautiful night. Below in the far west, in contrast to the cold silver star lights, there were tiny orange lights scattered across the Idaho plain. I looked in the general direction of Pocatello, and my mind drifted to wonderful memories of my ISU climbing friends. We climbed, skied, camped, drank beer, and celebrated my wedding together. Have you ever seen an ice-axes gate for the bride and groom to walk under or seen Bill March in tuxedo? During those years, I thought it would never end. It's hard to believe that it was twenty years ago. The wind was singing a song, "~ Those were the days, my friends, I thought they'd never end ~." During the night, either wind noise or the thin air, or a combination of both, caused me to wake up several times.

In the pitch dark I woke up, peeked through the opening of the bivouac sack and saw a flash of light across from me on a rock wall. I raised my upper body and looked down the slope toward the Lower Saddle. There were two headlamps moving in my direction. It was 6 a.m.. Oh shoot! I should have been up over an hour ago. Two men arrived at my bivouac site in the pitch dark. They told me they were going to the Black Ice Couloir and knew I was also.

Immediately, my mind was struck by a bitter memory. Last winter in New Hampshire, I was climbing the Black Dike when, without warning, a falling ice block knocked off by a guided party above me hit my shoulder. As a result, my right collar bone was cracked. Fortunately, my partner, Al Hospers, led the last pitch and belayed me quite tightly as I climbed mostly with one arm. This experience caused me to worry about these two men. They told me they were fast climbers. If they were far above me, the falling ice pieces would reach me at high speeds. I'd rather be closer to them, so that I could see and hear any pieces coming down.

However, watching them leaving at a fast pace, I knew it would be impossible to stay close to them even if I left there at the same time. It took almost one hour to get ready to go. Putting in contact lenses in the dark was difficult enough, but the strong wind made it worse. A gust of wind blew off the right lens from my finger tip.

At 7 a.m. in the morning glow, I left the bivouac site. From there the Valhalla Traverse went slightly downward and then split into two paths: one continued downward and the other upward to a blocky ridgelet. In my first attempt of the Black Ice, Tony and I had continued to descend at this point. As a result we did not see this ridgelet. At the ridgelet there was another bivouac site surrounded by tall rock piled walls. From there, the route abruptly turned to the east, entered the north side of the Enclosure, and traversed an inclined rock ledge. As the inclined ledge became steeper, it was definitely a 4th class rock climb, a serious undertaking for an un-roped climber. Eventually, it turned into 5th class. Fortunately, the route finding was easy since foot prints and rope marks were left on the snow patches by the two-man party ahead of me.

As I got closer to the Enclosure Ice Couloir, the atmosphere became very eery. Oddly I started hearing human voices. When I arrived at the short steps which connected down to the base of the Enclosure Ice Couloir, I found the two-man party. Why did they take so long? Also, where was the 5.4 section described in the guidebook? I had a 25 pound rucksack on my back and wore heavy mountain boots and thick ice gloves. Perhaps the 5.4 section was overrated as compared to the east coast standards. The next difficult section was a 5.7-ramp. Could it be like an east coast 5.6 or easier? The party was not too far ahead of me. I was very pleased and felt success at my fingertips. They were preparing to down-climb the steps to the base of the Enclosure Ice Couloir. They realized that I was fast, and without my asking, let me pass them. On the steps the snow was harder, and crossing the base of the Enclosure Ice Couloir called for crampons. I swiftly descended to the couloir and crossed over to the other side.

When I began to climb onto the second ramp, confusion arose. Steve, one of the two-man party, thought that the correct route was a snow field below the ramp. Before crossing the couloir, I had checked my photocopies and identified the second ramp which would lead to the Black Ice Couloir. However, Steve said he had climbed the Black Ice via the snow field below. Then, he added that it was very difficult to reach the Black Ice from the snow field. By that account, he said he could have been on a wrong approach. Therefore, the ramp might be the right one. The confusion shook my confidence. Since he had already reached the Black Ice before, I thought that whatever approach he had taken had to be the right one. I studied the photos again. However, the more I looked at the photos, the more confused I became. Since the photos were taken from the sky, they did not provide any definitive clues. The ramp appeared to be steeper than shown in photos. If the Black Ice Couloir were visible, the approach route would be easily determined. I decided to check out the ramp. However, the one contact lens added to the confusion. It was already after 9 a.m. and approaching the time to forfeit my chance at the Black Ice. After a fruitless search of the approach route, I returned to the base of the ramp and asked Steve about the descent route for the Enclosure Ice Couloir since he had done it before. Now the Enclosure Ice was more feasible than the Black Ice, so I changed my mind and decided to climb the Enclosure Ice. I could hear Bill's British accent voice,

"Yuki, you can climb the Black Ice."
"Bill, I cannot do it now, but I will be back."

I swung the ice axes and kicked crampons into the white-greyish marble looking ice. The ice was dry and hard. By repeating simple motions - kick, kick, and swing, swing - I moved upward about 10 meters. My calves became exhausted rather quickly. At almost every 10-meter interval, my calves screamed for a rest. I stayed at the right side of the couloir where it appeared to be protected from falling rocks and ice pieces. I heard someone calling me. "Bill?" I thought and laughed to myself. It was Steve from below. With wind noise I could hardly understand what he was saying, and at first I thought they were coming up the Enclosure Ice. Not so. He was asking me to not drop ice pieces since he was going to be on the couloir in order to move down to the snow field.

After watching him step out of the couloir, I resumed swinging and kicking and moved upward about 100 meters. The right side boundary suddenly recessed back, and the couloir became 100 meters wide. The new right side "shore" was 100 meters away. Since occasional small ice pieces were falling off at the left side, I chose to climb diagonally to the right to reach the new right shore. Before reaching the right shore, I was in the middle of a huge ice face and frequently took rests in the three-o'clock position. At one time I cut a large bucket with the ice axe for a more comfortable resting position. Eventually, I reached the new right shore. I continued climbing the ice along the new right shore line for another 100 meters. At 10:30 a.m., the couloir abruptly ended, and there I was in a little snow bowl. Unlike the Frendo Spur in the French Alps, a vivid memory of solo climbing in the recent year, which has a dramatic final section consisting of a vertical ice curtain, there was no climax to this climb. Obviously, I was very disappointed.

After attaching the ice gear to the back of my rucksack, I scrambled up to a rocky ridge and looked for a descent route on the other side. Steve said that there should be a dihedral at the east end of the col. The dihedral was there as described. It was not hard to descend. About 100 meters down the dihedral, I found a bundle of slings for a rappel anchor. My 50 meter 8.2 mm rope was the just right length for the rappel. So far, Steve's information was very accurate. The rappel was between two plum vertical walls - like a very wide chimney.

There was not much view from the chimney floor, and the second rappel anchor was not visible. I coiled the rope and started to walk out of the chimney. Within a few steps, I discovered verglas. However, it was too late! Instantly my feet were in the air, and I was sliding on my derriere. I was expelled out of the chimney and immediately saw a 45 degree cliff on my right side. I was in a panic. My body was sliding toward the edge of the cliff. If my body passed over the edge, I would tumble down a hundred meters. My bare hands could not grab anything on the verglas. By natural instinct, I leaned back by pushing both feet against the verglas. The sharp metal edges of the ice axes and crampons on the back of my rucksack scraped ice and finally grabbed rock beneath the thin ice layer. Abruptly, I stopped sliding at the edge of the cliff. It was a close call. After carefully getting up from a dead-bug position, I put crampons on to avoid a similar situation.

The second rappel anchor was a few meters below the edge. On the way to the Valhalla Traverse, rappel anchors appeared one after another. After the last rappel I stood on the Valhalla Traverse somewhere between two bivouac sites.

At 12 o'clock I returned to my old bivouac site to rest. I realized that if I had known I was going to climb Enclosure Ice instead of Black Ice, I could have left some gear at the bivouac site. After a short rest, slowly I hiked back to the Lower Saddle, and down to the Garnet Canyon Meadow. It was almost 6:30 p.m. when I arrived at the Lupine Meadow parking lot. I was dead tired.

Once back in Massachusetts, I checked the INTERNET's Newsgroup, rec.climbing. There was a reply to my post sent prior to the trip. I asked for information regarding the Black Ice Couloir conditions. Here is the reply:

Subject: Black Ice Couloir conditions
From: giddings@lhotse.physics.ucsb.edu (Steve Giddings)
Date: 19 Sep 1997 13:50:28 -0700

Sharpen your crampons and tools, the black ice is (as of 9/13) in good condition. Solid ice to the top. The 5.7 approach pitches had been nicely frosted with snow and ice, however (strap on those crampons).

Steve Giddings

There was no mistake that the reply was made by Steve whom I met on the Valhalla Traverse. So, I sent him the following E-mail:

Steve,

If you were on the Black Ice September 13, I may have met you there. I remembered one of the climber's names was Steve. In the early hours of 13th I was bivouacking at the Valhalla Traverse, and your party passed me. Later I caught you at the base of the Enclosure Ice Couloir. I am glad that you finished the Black Ice Couloir. You must have found the right route to get there.

The information you gave me for the descent from the Enclosure Ice was very helpful. I finished the Enclosure Ice and descended to the Valhalla without any hitches.

Thanks again,

Yuki

Immediately Steve replied:

Greetings Yuki,

Yes, we did meet. I am glad that the Enclosure worked out ok. Regarding the Black Ice, in fact the ramp that you were on initially was the correct one. From there one must go up a dihedral. However, in our confusion, we spent quite a while exploring the other traverse options. We didn't start on the Black Ice Couloir itself until about 1pm or so, after doing the approach pitches. We finished just at dark, around 8pm.

Nice to have met you, and perhaps we'll meet again.

Best regards,

Steve

Darn it! I kicked myself so hard. If they were not there, I would have continued up the ramp and entered the Black Ice Couloir. I would have finished the Black Ice Couloir by one or two o'clock, and hiked down to the Garnet Canyon Meadow area before dark. Probably I would have bivouacked there. It would have been a sleepless night because of an empty stomach and the excitement of the climb. Lying inside my bivy sack I would have perhaps shouted into the heavenly star-filled dark sky, "Bill, I made it."

Now at home, I am lying on my bed and looking at stars through a large ceiling window. I hear the familiar British accent,

"Yuki, you can do it."
"Bill, watch for me the next time. I will do it."

THE END

Copyrite: Nobuyuki Fujita, February 1998.