Ice climbing in Icicle Creek Canyon, February 26th, March 5th, 2000

February 26th

A bunch of ice climbing newbies converge on "The Icicle" in an attempt to find some ice based on some dubious beta.

Greg struggling up the stream bank

 

Well, we find the ice, but a small river bars the way. The beta we got included a note to the effect of "Make sure you follow our track, we found one of the only ways across the stream.". Matt boldy pioneers a route across a snow-covered log. The narrow log proves easy for the skiing members of our party, but the lone snowshoer, Jeff, has a more difficult time.

However, not quick as difficult a time as Greg has surmounting the opposite stream bank. After crossing the log, an exposed traverse is made up a snow-ramp (what's under the ramp!? To be discovered next weekend!), followed by a steep slope to the safety of the flats above. It is this steep slope that nearly does Greg in.

Jeff Vanderwerf, a member of the Icicle Canyon WTO squad

 

Once across, we head to the first piece of good-looking ice. Matt sets up a top rope, and we all get into gear and give it a shot. Jeff's getup is slightly frightening. Or stupid-looking, we can't quite decide. Matt and Greg are the only ones to top out on the steep, hollow-sounding climb. I blame my failure on an ice chicken-head on which the belay rope got caught, giving me a scare because there was lots of slack and causing me to pump out. Yeah right. Jeff blames the extra weight of his tear gas cannisters.

I walk over to the right a few hundred yards and encounter a group of 3 climbers, the only others we will see today. Above them is a beautiful, long, steep climb. They tell me they just climbed it, it was about grade 4, and it was in good condition.

Thinking it might be a first ascent, one of them tells me "We named it 'Mr. Seattle'." They then turn to each other and chuckle. Inside, I think "What a stupid name, and it's probably not a first ascent anyway". A very respectably climb nonetheless, and beyond me.

Matt ascends the vertical face

 

Later in the day, I try an easy-looking lead, but am thwarted by a soft snowy ledge 10 or 15 feet up. I take an excellent dump and we head on home as the snow starts to fall. Jeff, the lone snowshoer, is a victim of a suprise attack by three anarchist/skier types, who zip by him on the logging road, and pelt him with snowballs. Well, what can you except when you provoke these types of people by dressing in riot gear?

March 5th

Back again a week later with Dave, it is a beautiful, warm, sunny day. Very warm in fact. We find the same water crossing, but no!, part of the snow on the log has collapsed! I can not ski across! Dave, on showshoes, straddles the log to cross, hacking away at the snow on the other side in order to climb up onto it. By doing so, he makes the log less and less skiable! Curse him and his deviant non-skiing ways!

I, determined to ski across the stream, head further up looking for another suitable crossing. After much bushwhacking and no decent spot visible, I give up. It's been at least half an hour since I last saw Dave. What does he think I'm doing? I just want to get across this stupid stream! While crossing a small substream, I remove my skis and notice a binding is loose. A screw is gone. Oh no! Those incompetent f***s at Marmot don't know how to install a binding! I realize I'm starting to have a bad day. I head back to the initial log crossing, and leave my skis behind. On the otherside, I posthole, verrrrry slowly, up to where Dave is staring at a cliff. One of his snowshoes has broken, and he is no longer wearing them. Ah, then we remember, it is March 5th, National Broken Equipment Day.

Dave hacks his way across the log

 

The ice is a melting, dripping, rotten mess. Leading is out. The face that was climbed last weekend is now but a fleeting memory, being mostly detached from the rock behind it, and lacking the top several feet.

Dave sets up a toprope near some interesting ice formations, using pitons wherever he can, and we start up a semi-detached dead vertical pillar of ice. He tackles it no problem, but the ascent eludes me as I pump out, until an easier way is found up by stemming against an even more detached, thinner, icicle. We take comfort in the excellent bond between these icicles and the air behind them.

Dave, and the stemming variation

 

We follow that up with some easier mixed climbs, and on each one of them, large chunks of ice peel off (sometimes frozen moss too). Dave backs off of one climb after a piece of ice as large as him, and to which the rope is attached via ice screw, moves an inch or two when he pulls on it.

Phil, and the stemming variation

 

As darkness approaches, we call it a day and begin to pack up. Dave checks out a pack he saw at the base of a cliff earlier in the day. A pack with no other climbers around. Unfortunately, it is now gone. There will be no new gear for him today.

On the way back, while crossing the stream, he makes a discovery. He discovers what lies beneath the exposed snowy ramp leading from the log to the upper stream bank. Nothing. Well, partly another log, but also some nothing too. He falls in up to his shoulders, but averts a plunge into the watery bouldery depths with a last second ice tool maneouver.

We plunge step up the opposite slope to the logging road, broken snow-travelling-devices in hand, and make our way down to the truck and then Gustavs in the beautiful authentic Bavarian village of Leavenworth where we meet Shane, a local skier and climber and also our server, and where Dave lies to me and tells me that I get free refills on my strawberry ice tea, but I don't.