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Mixing
It Up: M11 and Motherhood Abby
Watkins
Ines
papert picks up her son Manu and hangs him by his
arms from the warm-up structure. We are in isolation
at the Ice World Cup. Eight men and eight women
pack the tiny room, stretching, tightening crampons, €ling
picks. Manu giggles and flails his legs around
as Ines spots him. She smiles and encourages him.
I look around at the other climbers, most are tight-lipped
and focused. Between entertaining Manu, Ines casually
warms up and stretches, then walks out and hikes
to the anchors of another IWC €nal route.
For
Ines, motherhood and top-level climbing appear
to be the most natural of combinations. For most
people, just one of these occupations takes all
of their energy. After Manu’s birth, Ines
stopped working at her job as a physiotherapist.
She discovered, “I was more motivated and
successful in climbing... and wanted to prove that
the climbing lifestyle is not €nished if you
have children.”
In
the 2002 Ice World Cup, Ines put her foot outside
the boundary line in the €rst competition,
disqualifying her for that round and ultimately
denying her the top place on the podium in the
overall standings. Her mother shook her head and
sighed, “I guess we will be doing this again
next year.” Ines returned and swept the Ice
World Cup in 2003, winning all four events by a
sweeping margin. Winning may look easy for Ines.
However, behind it all is a long stretch of hard
work; the organizing of babysitters, the choosing
of safe climbing locations so that Manu can come
along, the sheer motivation of making time to train
and practice technical moves, the preparation of
ice tools and crampons. The competitions represent
the split-second encountered when crossing a €nish
line.
Although
focusing on competition climbing for the past few
years, Ines does not identify herself as a competition
climber. She also cranks on real rock and ice,
witnessed by her completion of Mission Impossible
M11, Europe's hardest testpiece in just two attempts.
(see inset) For now, however, she avoids hazardous
climbing saying, “I would like to do more
alpine routes but my son is still very young and
needs his mother...but in some years I would like
to do more in the mountains, perhaps an expedition
with girls.”
Ines
is clearly setting new standards, taking climbing
in her stride on the side of a dedicated motherhood.
She inspires us to rethink our own preconceptions
of women and climbing—perhaps it is more
natural to us than we ever imagined.
Abby
Watkins
Not
many people can set numerous speed-climbing records,
onsight 12b and lead M8+ mixed lines. But Abby can.
These days, she could probably do it with her eyes
closed. This hard-charging lass has taken home several
competitive titles, put up alpine lines in the Nangmah
Valley in Pakistan and participates in a four-person
aerial-dance company that performs internationally.
What’s she been up to lately? “Well, I
just spent a week hanging upside down in my BD harness
rehearsing and performing aerial dance. This kind of
work tests the comfort of my harness more than anything
else.” We’re happy we can help Abby.
The
Ines Side Story
White
Out / M10
(Isenfluh, Switzerland)
“There was nothing but ice. Then we realized that the ice was missing just
in front of the exit. The last hold was under a roof six meters ahead of the
belay. No protection with ice screws was possible. We had to move to an ice plate
at the right, which was off the original line, but this was the only way to do
the route.”
Mission
Impossible / M11
(Val Savarenche, Italy)
“We knew the Mission from Bubu’s stories, took to it with all due
respect and felt deeply impressed. The route is a long overhang – a terribly
fine line. I wanted to do it on-sight very much, but it was my turn to check
out. We wanted to warm up in Haston Cave, but the hooks were bad, and we started
the Mission without warm up – our mistake! I managed to reach the crux,
but it took two attempts. Another challenge was the transition between the roof
and ice curtain: There was a long rope distance, and I was not sure if the ice
curtain was stable. Fortunately it was bombproof and opened my way to the top!”
Twin
Towers / M10
(Ueschinen Valley, Switzerland)
“The Twin Towers was my first M10 route. Good luck and bad luck are
always very close with such mixed routes. The crux at the Twin Towers is rather
technical. I decided to make a dyno left-hand to a side hook. It is vital to
grasp it perfectly. I like the technical perfection. Dry tooling in the rock
may look like brute force, but what you really need is a lot of good sensation.
I do not grasp the hook directly, but use the ice tool, but I still have to feel
the tool fit.”
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Waterfall
Ice Kim
Csizmazia
Like
a slide show that will not stop, images of my favorite
climbs come into focus in my mind. I see Polar
Circus, snaking its way up above the Icefields
Parkway. There is Bridal Veil Falls above Telluride,
a humongous blown-glass sculpture funneling a vertical
creek. The Promenade at Lake Willoughby is next—on
a mile-wide, 500-foot cliff of ice that reminds
me of a Robert Frost poem because it stands out
as the proudest line.
Then
there is The Sorcerer, harnessing and manipulating
the native magic of the Ghost River Range in Alberta;
Weeping Pillar looking classic, massive and steep.
Finally a sideshow with afternoon rambles like
Professor Falls and Cascade Waterfall close to
my home in Canmore.
• Cobra
Ice Tools with Android Leashes
• Sabretooth Crampons
• Blizzard Harness with Ice Clippers
• 12-15 Turbo Express Ice Screws
• Six quickdraws
Light & Fast Scott
Semple
The
key to climbing light and fast is accepting failure
before you begin. If failure is a tolerable outcome,
then there’s no need to pack the kitchen
sink to ensure your success. When “What if?” is
replaced by “Let’s see what happens” the
terrain invariably melts away and the magic carpet
ride begins.
Ham & Eggs
in the Ruth Gorge of Alaska is the perfect, low-commitment
objective to experiment on: an easy mix of snow
and ice rises 3000’ from the upper glacier
to the summit; 15 pitches lead to the col, and
then steep snow continues to the ridge and along
to the top. All 15 rappels are usually fixed.
• Cobra
Ice Tools
• Sabretooth Crampons
• Prototype BD Harness
• Four 13 cm Turbo Express Ice Screws
• Handful of Stoppers
• Few small Camalots
Leashless Jared
Ogden
This
past winter I helped put up several new routes
in a fisheye-like cave near Ouray. Fistful
Of Steel climbs out from the cave’s nearly
horizontal roof for 50 feet—to a 30 foot
hanging pillar of ice.
Being
equipped with the right tools made the first
ascent of Fistful of Steel possible. The intricate
moves, inverted heel-hooking, and sustained difficulty
set against a dramatic backdrop of snow-covered
San Juan mountains made this my favorite route
of all.
Limitations
are always mental. Rules are self-imposed. The
tools are available—all we have to do is
break the rules.
• Fusion
Ice Tool
• Prototype Bolt-on Crampons
• Chaos Harness with Ice Clipper
• 13 cm Turbo Express Ice Screws
• Positron Quickdraws
• Half Dome Helmet
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The
A-Strain Raphael
Slawinski
Some
say M-climbing is nothing more than sport climbing
with ice tools; a contrived and pointless activity,
born on the overbolted choss heaps of Vail and
Haffner and destined to remain there. But me, I
believe it is the best thing to happen to alpinism
since the drooped pick.
Andromeda
Strain is one of the grand courses of the
Canadian Rockies, a 700-meter ice couloir interrupted
by mixed pitches. In 1983, when it Finally
succumbed after multiple attempts, it was one
of the hardest routes in the range. Barry Blanchard
led the crux rock band at half-height: “After
two hours in the chimney I’ve gained 70
feet. The climbing is an intense mixture of free
moves, aid moves, mixed climbing and the constant
clearing of snow mushrooms.” Since 1983
much has changed in the alpine world. Detailed
beta and Fixed gear have helped to draw out
the sting of many former horror shows. But more
than anything else, it is the vision and skill
fostered at M-crags—along with improvements
in tool design—that is responsible for
demoting routes like The A-Strain from “desperate” to “classic.”
Regardless
of skill, in the Columbia Ice Fields the weather
ultimately makes or breaks a climb. My partner
and I have each already attempted The A-Strain several
times. It is with a sense of déjà vu
that we walk up the Snocoach Road, moraines and
glacier under a miraculously starry sky. After
a couple of dry summers the lower couloir is harder
than I remember it: powder snow, instead of ice,
over loose rock. We reach the crux rock band just
as it grows light. I start up, stemming and palming
gloved hands. Arriving at the base of the aid section,
I begin leapfrogging tools and frontpointing up
the crack. This is not rock or aid climbing—this
is M-climbing! Higher up, the rock disappears beneath
a coating of feathery rime. With our ice tools
as extensions of our limbs, steel fingers hooking
invisible edges, we scratch our way into the upper
couloir. A final traverse mixes up crampons,
picks and hands, and leads to a polished tongue
of vertical ice. And then we are on top, an incongruous
snow and scree slope. Much downclimbing and some
rappelling later, we are back at the van before
dark.
Like
it or not, M-climbers are beginning to leave their
mark on the alpine world. From fast and free ascents
of former desperates to futuristic new routes,
they are redefining what is possible, and doing
so in style.
Raphael
Slawinski
If
there’s anyone who can make M9 look easy, it’s
Raphael. When the ice forms up in early winter, Raphael
dives head first into mixed and ice lines and “totally
overdoses on it.” By March, he’s absolutely
sick of winter and prays for warm rock. As Raphael
puts it, “everything to excess!” Yet,
perhaps this explains his impressive list of difficult
climbing accomplishments. Married, with two hairless
cats named Xena and Puzzle, Raphael claims his cats
figure as prominently into his life as climbing does. “In
fact, they’re part of the reason I try to climb
everything in a day… so I can get back to them!”
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A
Legacy Douglas
Heinrich
If
Mugs were still alive, he would be traveling the
world exploring new, untracked terrain. His insatiable
desire to discover untouched, remote, alpine regions
of our planet left his files full of aerial
photographs and topo maps marking the “next
big project.” Always reticent to divulge
the actual location of an unfamiliar massif for
fear of “the word getting out,” he
understood there was more than a lifetime of untouched,
pristine terrain, but also knew our resources are
fragile and finite.
In
Mugs’ future he would have been settling
down in his funky house in Draper, Utah and adopting
a slightly slower-paced routine. Like most explorers
and alpine fanatics, Mugs was torn with the desire
to enjoy the comforts of Western society and the
drive to explore the unknown reaches of the world.
Impassioned about his home and securing his financial
future, he struggled with the challenge of finding
a female soul mate who could deal with his eccentric
lifestyle and his alpine idiosyncrasies.
Mugs
needed to give his body some downtime to recover
from years of hard use. Training and climbing locally
to stay fit overrode the luxury of rest. He
realized life is linear: there’s a beginning
and an end, and what lies between the two points
is the journey. With Mugs there was no time to
rest.
If
Mugs were still alive, he would applaud the accomplishments
of the Mugs Stump Alpine Award recipients as well
as other inspirational alpine ascents of late.
Understanding the evolution of athletic achievement
and embracing the next generation when they had
soul, respect and integrity for the environment
was a mantra for him. Mugs professed what he called “the
higher intellectual form of the experience.” Disturbed
about the ever-growing population of climbers who
take and don’t give anything back to the
sport, he would stress about those who didn’t
have a clue about style, access and the valuable
resources that we explore.
The
new mixed craze might have left Mugs guessing,
but then again he slowly embraced sport climbing
when it was new to the USA in the 1980s. Before
his tragic crevasse-fall death in 1992, Mugs was
psyched about speed climbing in the Valley, Zion
and alpine routes like the Cassin Ridge, expressing
that we were just beginning to realize what it
meant to go “fast and light.” He knew
that pro€ciency at all genres of the sport
is what produces the best alpinist.
As
an alpine leader Mugs evolved the trade and the
tools of the trade—he was a visionary. For
him the journey was the joy, and it still saddens
me that his journey came to an early end, but his
energy and smile will always be with the few who
were close to him. If Mugs had a legacy to leave
us, it would be: “Appreciate the approach,
the route, the summit, the descent and the journey
back home. Most importantly, appreciate your partners.”
Douglas
Heinrich
Doug
Heinrich has put up more routes in the Utah area
that most of us can hope to climb in a lifetime.
Quite simply, this guy gets after it! He’s
also set speed-climbing records in Zion, competed
in ice comps and put up some of Utah’s hardest
mixed lines. These days you’ll find Doug
developing products for Nordic Trac and putting his
energy to good use running up the trails of the Wasatch.
After working as a product manager for Black Diamond
for many years, Doug continues to use and test BD
products in his climbing pursuits. We miss you round
here Doug!
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What
if? Kennan
Harvey
When
climbing standards rise almost as fast as rabbits
propagate, it’s hard for a climber’s
legacy to survive solely on their resume. Historical
import requires the rare occasion when someone
climbs with such style and vision that their lead
is embraced and promulgated by subsequent generations—many
of them. Terrance “Mugs” Stump was
such a climber.
Of
course Mugs climbed well—the Emperor Face
on Robson, the East Face of Moose’s Tooth
and the Moonflower Buttress of Mt. Hunter to name
a few. By the early nineties his knees were shot
from his football days at Penn State, and from
the mountains. It was painful to watch Mugs hobble
the short approach to American Fork, yet he still
soloed the Cassin Ridge in 27 hours round trip. “In
a day” was just beginning to rally climbers
in ’91, mostly only in perfect-weather Yosemite.
Mugs, however, learned locally and acted globally. “The
Cassin wasn’t the ultimate,” he said.
We were all blown away while Mugs was just sensing
the future. Some feel he also sensed his own demise
the next year in a crevasse on Denali, his favorite
mountain. Visionary—that was Mugs.
What
if fate differed and Mugs was still alive? Obviously,
without the Mugs Stump Award the significant
climbs from the past decade would be less. If he
were alive, his friend Steve Quinlan suggests Mugs
would have his own guide service in Alaska, complete
with Park Service bickering. Or, Mugs could have
gone through the ranks at North Face, as well as
the women, and would now only be kayaking because
of his knees.
“I
should move back into my van,” Mugs often
said, “get rid of this house. How can I transcend
the material plane with all this crap?” At
50-plus he’d be a curmudgeonly hero vigorously
criticizing media climbs and sponsored climbers.
I hope he’d be spending more time photographing.
Surely he would be exploring the remote lesser
ranges of Alaska and sailing and climbing throughout
Antarctica.
As
a gear freak, he would be climbing leashless and
likely wearing a Pecker for an earring since he
climbed the Streaked Wall with tied-off concrete
nails. WindStopper and Schoeller would hang at
the front of his closet. Everything light was right.
Michael
Kennedy described Mugs “as a dedicated athlete
and seeker after a higher truth beyond the physical
manifestations of his chosen sport. Mugs saw climbing
as a celebration of boldness, purity and simplicity.” In
this way he is very much alive today. Ultimate
adventures still embody his spirit of bold lightness
and these parameters prompt equipment designers
to make further refinements. Overall, I think he
would approve of our community’s efforts
to explore, watch lofty sunsets and travel fast
enough to hang out afterwards around the camp€re
or stove with our friends.
Kennan
Harvey
Kennan
Harvey’s initial ice climbing experience involved
the first two pitches of Bridal Veil Falls while on
a college ski vacation. “I figured I was a good
carpenter and would also be a fine ice climber.” Kennan
recalls. “On the descent I tripped on my crampon
straps and fell into the back of my partner, knocking
us both down the gully. Not exactly like carpentry.” Now
I’m branching into all facets of adventure photography—even “family
camping, a far cry from previous years when I spent
more time on a portaledge than a bed.” Presently
you’ll find Kennan in his self-built, 100-percent
solar-powered home in Durango, Colorado.
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