2010 Issue - The Harvard Mountaineering Club

HARVARD
MOUNTAINEERING
NUMBER28
MA Y,2010
THE
HARVARD MOUNTAINEERING CLUB
CAMBRIDGE, MASS.
In Memoriam
Charles S. Houston
August 24, 1913 -September 27, 2009
Robert H. Bates
January 14,1911- September 13, 2007
Club Officers
2009-2010
2007-2008
President: KEVIN JoNES
DUNBAR CARPENTER
Vice President: DuNBAR CARPENTER
Secretan;: Jo HENDERSON-FROST
Treasurer: }EN NAN
Cabin Liaison: LEAH Born
}AMFSWATIS
Librarian: NADINE LEHNER
Gear Czar: JAMES WAns
Wall Liaison: KELLER RINAUDO
President: JAMES WATIS
Vice President: HANNAH WAIGHT
Secretan;: PErER McCARTHY
Treasurer: ETHAN WAXMAN
Cabin Liaison: CHRISTOPHER HELLER
Librarian: LoUISE HlNDAL
Gear Czar: LAUREN ONOFREY
EMMA FRANKLIN
Wall Liaison: SAMUEL BROTHERTON
Journal Editor: JAMFS W ATIS
PErER McCARTHY
FACULTY ADVISORS
2008-2009
President: KEviN JoNES
Vice President: HANNAH WAIGHT
DEAN WILUAM A GRAHAM
LEer. DAVID MoRIN
JAMFSWATIS
Secretary: Jo HENDERSON-FROST
Treasurer: NICK ERICKSEN
Cabin Liaison: NADINE LEHNER
Librarian: JACKSON SALOVAARA
Gear Czar: JosH ZAGORSKY
Wall Liaison: KELLER RINAUDO
Ode to the Mits
by I'ErER McCARTHY
Oh how the mittens
Keep my fingers in friendship
Soul toasty and warm
Copies of this and previous issues of HARVARD MOUNTAINEERING are
available on request for $10.00 each from the Harvard Mountaineering
Club; #73 SOCH; 59 Shepard st; Cambridge, Massachusetts 02138, USA.
Contents
HMC SUMMER GRANT: THE NORTH CASCADES
Dunbar Carpenter, Karen Lovely, Jim Mediatore, Lukas Filler, and Caroline Pihl 6
THREE BOYS AND THREE MOUNTAINS
Brian Schroeder, Dunbar Carpenter, and James Watts 23
THERE IS ADVENTURE IN NEW ENGLAND
Coz Teplitz 33
THE PERFECT SKI (MIS)-ADVENTURE
Kevin Jones 35
SAWTOOTHS: FIRST FIRST ASCENT
CLIMBING IN RED ROCKS
BUG-A-BUGABOOS
REFLECTIONS ON THE ICE
BANDIT WEEKEND
EL PICO DE ORIZABA
CIPHERED
BATES AND WASHBURN OBITUARY
HOUSTON OBITUARY
James Watts 38
Coz Teplitz 41
James Watts 43
Eugene Kwan 47
Peter McCarthy 50
James Watts 52
Mark Thompson 55
Jackson Salovaara 65
Peter McCarthy and James Watts 67
CLIMBING NOTES
69
CABIN REPORT
69
CLUB ACTIVITIES
70
MEMBERSHIP
71
HMC Summer Grant: The North Cascades
by DUNBAR CARPENTER
HE Harvard Mountaineering Club has a long and illustrious history of activity in the mountainous regions of North America, a history that today' s club both reveres and struggles to live up to. In recent
years, the HMC has had considerable success as a climbing club, as we
have managed to generate high levels of enthusiasm for the sport in
the Harvard community. As a mountaineering club, however, there is
room for improvement. This entails leaving vertically challenged New
England, as well as building a sufficient body of skill and experience
for the challenges of the alpine environment. To this end, the HMC
Summer Climbing Grant, brainchild of club president Kevin Jones,
was founded. The grant is intended to fund an annual HMC summer
climbing expedition with an emphasis on alpine climbing and the acquisition and honing of mountaineering skills. The following is the
story of the first HMC Summer Climbing Grant-funded trip.
In pulling together a proposal for this trip, I took my cue from the
HMC climbing camps of years past. The tradition of summer climbing
camps goes back to the 1950s, when the club began taking semi-annual
trips to the mountains of Western Canada for the purpose of "instruction in the fine points of not only leading in all types of conditions, but
T
On the approach to Boston Basin the expedition was slowed by heavy packs, a steep
and snow-covered trail, and the need to navigate through a whiteout on the second day.
Here Karen Lovely, Jen Nan, Amar Vutha, Bryant Etheridge, and Lukas Filler trudge
upward from tree line in warm but foggy conditions.
Photo, Jim Mediatore
The kitchen area of base camp, located a few hundred feet below tree line in Boston
Basin. Amenities included nearby running water, a spectacular view of peaks and faces
across the valley, and afternoon sun to dry clothes dampened by the melting snow.
Pilato by Caroline Pill!
also in taking charge of an expedition as a whole" (Harvard Mountaineering, 1953, p. 25-29). The summer trip of 2008 was, in part, an effort
to revive the tradition of alpine climbing camps, which ceased being a
regular part of club activities in the 1970s.
The main goal of this trip was to get people comfortable on glaciated
alpine terrain. As the most heavily glaciated region in the contiguous
United States, the North Cascades seemed to be an appropriate location. The North Cascades also have the advantage of being accessible
(a couple hours drive from Seattle), offering moderate yet impressive
climbing, and being in territory vaguely familiar to several club members. Our specific destination was the aptly named Boston Basin in the
Cascade Pass area. In Boston Basin, we would be surrounded by rocky
ridgelines, glaciers, impressive faces, sharp peaks, steep snow slopes,
and deep, heavily forested valleys plunging below. Trip members included an eclectic group of Harvard graduate students, undergraduates, one faculty member, and one MIT alumni: Jonathan Barlev, Dun-
[7]
View of Boston Basin, with Cascade Pass beyond, from the southwest side of Forbidden Peak. Here Dunbar Carpenter and Jonathan Barlev approach a snow gulley to gain
Forbidden Peak's West Ridge. The large mountains on the horizon are Dome Peak (left)
and Glacier Peak (right).
Photo, Jim Media tore
[8)
bar Carpenter, Alexander Cole, Bryant Etheridge, Lukas Filler, Karen
Lovely, Jim Mediatore, Paul Moorcroft, Jen Nan, Caroline Pihl, Rikka
Strong, Adam Traina, Amar Vutha, and Hannah Waight.
The trip began with seven of us meeting up in Seattle on June 10,
packing into rental mini-vans, picking up food and supplies, and
heading for the tiny mountain town of Marblemount, WA. Of course
there were the travel complications requisite of any large expedition,
brought on by a missed flight connection that forced one of the vans
to stay in Seattle until10pm before making the three hour drive to the
mountains. At Marblemount, the Seattle crew was joined by Paul, Jen
and Jonathan coming off of a short trip to Squamish.
The following day involved checking in at the ranger station, picking up last minute supplies, driving 19 miles up the dirt access road
and packing gear into packs. This process somehow managed to take
up the entire morning, giving the trip a characteristically late HMC
start. With 60 to 70 pounds on each of our backs, it was about 1pm
when we began the 6 mile, 3000 foot approach to Boston Basin under
a light drizzle. Six hours of hauling later, the whole troop was thoroughly thrashed, and we decided to make camp at what turned out to
about two-thirds of the way to our eventual base camp. We had hoped
to make the entire approach that day, but our late start, heavy packs,
and an excessively steep, snow-covered trail through slide alder and
over mudslides made such progress impossible.
Day two involved whiteout conditions, more hiking under heavy
loads, and a lot of wondering on the snowy slopes around tree line
before we settled on a base camp location that was near where we
thought Boston Basin should be. There was plenty of snow, including a fresh dose that had fallen about a week prior, so making camp
involved shoveling out platforms for tents, as well as building a small
arena of benches for a kitchen. A lavatory was made behind the upturned roots of a fallen tree.
We awoke to another morning of poor, whiteout conditions, so a
small contingent returned to the vans for extra supplies. The rest of us
explored the area, trying to get our bearings in poor visibility. In the
late morning, the clouds began to lift, and by afternoon we were seeing
blue sky and sun. We learned that this pattern of fog in the morning
followed by clearing up later in the day and at higher elevations was
fairly routine and that one should not be dissuaded from climbing by
poor morning visibility. We took advantage of improving weather that
afternoon by practicing self-arrest, building snow anchors, and working on other snow skills.
[ 9]
The following day saw a large group attempt on Sahale that terminated unsuccessfully after we got on a ridge too early. But this attempt
did succeed in raising our comfort level on mid-June Cascadian terrain. From then on, a daily pattern developed whereby several small
groups would set out each morning for an objective, usually returning
by mid-afternoon for a large meal and a chance to dry out wet garments. Evenings were full of storytelling, plan making, and more cooking. By nightfall people began hitting the hay.
Several days in, Alexander, Rikka, Adam, and Caroline joined us
after having driven across the country from Cambridge.
Whiteouts, occasional drizzle, wet slides, scorching sun on the
snow, and bergschrunds were among the challenges encountered. Several marmots, a bear, a coyote, and perhaps a half dozen humans were
the major fauna sighted. We quickly learned that early starts were the
way to go so that snow would be firm for the approach. On several
nights the snowpack never froze, but the post-holing was rarely bad.
There were perhaps a dozen summit attempts in all, and each one is
a story unto itself. Below are four of these stories in the words of their
participants.
Sahale and a Team of Four
by KAREN LOVELY
NOTHER day of adventure in the North Cascades was upon
us. Lukas, Hannah, Bryant, and I rolled from our sleeping bags
around 4:30am, hoping to begin the day's climb before the sun softened the icy crust that kept us from post-holing through the snow.
After adjusting our eyes to daybreak, boiling several litters of water
apiece, nourishing our appetites with oatmeal and warming up with a
cup of tea, we began the ascent out of Boston Basin toward the summit
of Sahale Peak.
The climb began with a trek across snowfields with Johannesburg
rising from the valley to our southwest, the summits of Forbidden and
Torment looming behind us, and Boston Peak just to our northeast. We
crossed through the snowy debris that remained from an avalanche of
a week or two earlier and began a steep ascent up an icy snow-covered
slope that brought us to the Sahale Arm. On an excursion a few days
prior, a larger group of us had attempted to summit Sahale. In the
A
[ 10]
Right: Karen Lovely taking in
the spectacular view from a gendarme on the South Ridge of Sahale. This was the expedition's
first summit attempt, and one of
several on Sahale. The peaks in
the background are on the opposite side of Cascade Pass.
Photo, Jim Mediatore
Below: Bryant Etheridge making
his way up summit pyramid of
Sahale (8680 feet) via the South
Route. This was the first of several successful summits of Sahale
bytheHMC.
Photo, Lukas Filler
earlier attempt, we followed a rocky ridge off Sahale Arm, scrambling
over boulders, climbing several exposed sections of class four rock,
and ascending a steep snow-slope to a nice lunch spot. We were forced
to retreating when we realized a long rocky traverse was still between
us and the summit.
Today, however, we were determined to summit our first peak
of the trip. We arrived at Sahale Arm mid-morning, and rather than
climbing the ridgeline, we roped up to cross the Sahale glacier. With
the snow still deep for late spring, we traveled to the far left edge of
the glacier, avoiding the crevasse buried near the glacier's center. The
heat of the sun was melting the icy crust and forcing us to work for
every step as we sunk into the snow. After ascending the final snowy
section, Lukas led a short pitch of rock that brought us to the summit.
Although it was low grade class five rock, in mountaineering boots
and with backpacks the rock ascent to the summit was not easy. Upon
reaching the summit, we were presented with our first conquered peak
of the trip and a three hundred sixty degree view of rocky peaks and
clear blue sky around us.
After rappelling from the summit, crossing back over the glacier,
and reaching Sahale Arm, we arrived at the steep snow-covered slope
that had taken us nearly an hour to climb that morning. Lukas ran
ahead, jumped, and glissaded down the slope in a matter of minutes,
leaving Bryant, Hannah, and I above. Down below, Lukas pounded
his feet into the ground and marked a line straight across the bottom of
the slope. It was the finish line for a glissade race between Bryant, Hannah, and I. Bryant and Hannah both sat down, ice axes at the ready, in
position to push off and barrel down the snowy slope. I stood a few
steps behind, confidant that I would win the race with a running start.
When the race began, I took off ahead of Hannah and Bryant who were
careening down the slope behind. I lost control and somersaulted again and again and a few more times. Hannah and Bryant raced on.
A gust of wind blew, stealing Bryant's hat and carrying it down a slope
we did not plan to descend. Bryant bounded after his hat, post-holing
with every step, and disappearing into the woods far below. Hannah
must have won the race. After finding Brian and making it down the
slope, we headed back into camp full of stories and ready to refuel and
prepare for many more days of adventure on the peaks surrounding
Boston Basin.
[ 12]
Fair and Softly on Forbidden Peak
by JIM MEDIATORE
HE easy back and forth up the glacier hasn't been punctuated by
T
pangs of discomfort in my gut, which usually precede an ambitious climb in the mountains. Dunbar, Jonathan, and I are looking
forward to a rare day of mild, sunny weather on a classic alpine rock
ridge perched high above Boston Basin. It's early season in the North
Cascades- we walk on top of the deep, frozen snowpack, we make our
own path, no other parties will compete with us for our line; the day
will be long and sun-filled. Hence, I did not feel any pressure to keep
up with the guys as they switch-back across the white rolls of ice on the
way to the short couloir breaching the south face of Forbidden Peak.
"Fair and softly goes far" recommends Cervantes; "It does not matter how slow you go, as long as you do not stop" Confucius taught
me (via a Celestial Seasons tea box if I recall correctly). These are my
mantras, punctuated by the cadence of my squeaky crampon steps in
the styrofoam snow.
I typically bristle with enthusiasm at the prospect of ticking a route,
a mountain, from my mental tick list, particularly one sufficiently noJonathan Barlev and Dunbar Carpenter on the approach to Forbidden Peak (8815 feet).
The team gained Forbidden's West Ridge by ascending a left-trending snow gulley
(barely visible here, at center just below the ridge line).
table to be included in Steck and Roper's "50 Classic Climbs in North
America". In years past, a beautiful route on a splendid peak like Forbidden would have focused all of my concentration, to maximize success and minimize failure. This ridge is the plumb on this trip and to
have come across the country and slogged through all the snow to get
up here in early season, well it might seem a tragedy to not make the
top given all the effort. But those strong feelings are from a time earlier
in my climbing career, such as when my partner and mentor, Mark,
would sift through his rack at the beginning of a pitch and say something like "hey Jim, what year were you born in again? '72? This Pollack nut is older than you are!!!" Now I am the one with gear older than
some of my partners. One's perspective on life changes as the years
go by, as difficult life experiences accumulate. Abstract concepts like
'objective hazard', 'suicide', 'neurodegenerative disease', 'divorce',
'cancer' become painfully real. Taking life for granted becomes a relic
of the past. So whether or not we successfully stand on top of some
rock in the woods seems to matter a whole lot less today than it might
Jim Mediatore and Dunbar Carpenter on Forbidden Peak's West Ridge.
Photo, Jonathan Barlev
have 17 years ago. Today' s outing becomes more of walk in the wilderness with friends, rather than a theatre for 'success' or 'failure' in the
grand scheme of things. Being in the mountains is no less important,
but keeping you and your friends alive and healthy is paramount. A
week in a beautiful mountain range is a time to remember how simple
and enjoyable life can be.
I stop reflecting for a moment and look up to see where Jonathan
and Dunbar are. They have scurried out of sight, but I hear a cheery
song drifting over a fold of glacier hidden from view ahead- that would
be Jonathan. Before long we discard our crampons and axes at the base
of the ridge, and start scrambling up the pristine rock as the sun steers
itself into view. In the beginning I was attracted to climbing because it
took me away from the boring details of everyday life. Now I hope my
climbing days will be as boring as possible and take me away from the
surprises and shocks of everyday life!
We make our way to the summit, fair and softly, slow and steadyjust the way I like it.
Mt. Torment
by LUKAS FILLER
A LTHOUGH
it was still dark, the absence of stars gave us a clear indication that the sky was fully clouded over. Psyched to be awake
at 0400, I popped right out of my warm sleeping bag and proceeded
to the kitchen/ dining room we had dug out of the snow and began to
boil water. Coincidentally, just as the water started to boil, the others emerged from their tents. First light confirmed a heavy low-lying
cloud layer that appeared ready to continue the weather of the past few
days - intermittent but persistent rain/ freezing rain/ snow. We spent
a few minutes reviewing the poorly Xeroxed guide to our goal for the
day - Mt Torment. Not only were the pictures and route description
poor, but the pages were now wet, torn, and stuck together.
'How are we going to find the right mountain?' reasons an undergraduate.
'We'll take bearing' confidently answers Dunbar as he pulls out a
tattered and inadequate topo and a survival compass.
Following the compass reading, we enter the clouds and visibility
drops to a few hundred feet. At some point we decide to rope up
since all we can see is the snow in front of us, and we have no features
from which to identify where we are and where the snowfield turns
[ 15]
Above: The approach to
Torment Peak involves
crossing a desert-like glacier. On this first of two
unsuccessful attempts on
Torment, the team started
out in a complete whiteout, with low expectations,
only to emerge from the
clouds an hour later. Visible in the background are
Boston (rocky peak on the
left) and Sahale (pointed,
snowy peak on the right).
Photo, Lukas Filler
Left: Hannah Waight and
Bryant Etheridge pick their
way past the bergschrund
on southwest face of Torment. Higher up, wet rock
covered in melting snow
forced the team to turn
back
Photo, Jonathan Barlev
,
,
to glacier.
'Who wants to go first?'
·
Silence.
It seemed to make sense to put the heaviest guy in front, so Lukas,
weighing in at 200lbs and 6'5" of brains and brawn, takes the lead.
Bravely and despite concern, our protagonist leads the way NorthWest, testing every step, probing, bracing for the fall into the inevitable
crevasse. An hour later we break through the clouds and are awarded one of those picture-perfect scenes. Below is the thick cloud layer
obscuring the lower portions of the mountains, but the surrounding
peaks rise out of the clouds. Of course, while beautiful, we immediately come to two realizations. The first is that somehow, amazingly, our
dead-reckoning has taken us directly to what we think is Mt. Torment.
The second is that we are not even close to where the glacier begins.
The rest of the approach is straightforward and quick. The crossing
of the lower glacier is uneventful. Lukas stops at the 15 foot straight
vertical section which marks where the snowI ice goes from a 20-degree incline to a 70 degree slope. 800 feet up this crevasse-riddled steep
slope the snowI ice meets grade 5 rock. Consulting the guide, we decide that this must be where the 'moat' is.
'It must be covered by a shallow layer of snow.' Lukas confidently
states.
The youngsters look at him for courage, leadership, and assertive
action. Lukas nods sagely and bravely pulls out a picket sling, and
mountaineering axe.
With great strength and bravery, Lukas swings his extra-long arm
mightily over the moat, landing a perfect stick at the top of the vertical
headwall. He does a test pull then stretches a crampon onto the wall
and pulls himself up. He contemplates putting in a screw, but decides
to dig in a picket at the top of the walt then clips it to his rope. Lukas
takes one mighty pull and tops out.
Lukas then climbs the steep snow to where it meets rock. As he
looks for a spot to build an anchor, he notices that he is on a huge detached snow pack and thus he coolly down climbs 15 feet and jumps
from the snow to some lower-angle rock (maybe a 5.6 move). Seeing
one member of the party below starting to try the moat crossing, he
builds a crappy anchor of 5 poorly placed nuts.
As the party starts up, Lukas realizes that he picked a poor spot to
belay. There is not enough room on the rock for 2, forget the 5 members ·
of the party. Furthermore, a cascade of water and snow continues to
fall upon him. Looking up to the source directly above, he sees a large
[ 17]
overhanging crust of snow and ice, melting. As he belays, the trickle
periodically increases to a cascade, then slows, then a scary quantity of
snow breaks off the overhang and pummels Lukas. Bravely, he stands
his ground while the others climb to the top of the detached snow slab
(where he had stopped but then down climbed off). Once everyone
was up, Lukas climbed back over (since the noise of the falling water/
snow made it too loud to communicate over the 20 feet he was separated from them).
The guidebook was consulted. Unsure of what to do next, the math
PhD student, Jonathan, who leads 5.12 trad, unsuccessfully tries climbing several sections of rock. As we are debating what the hell to do
next, the 2-way radio chirps.
'Hey, where you guys at?' transmits Papa Smurf (a.Jim Mediatore),
who was back at camp nursing a bum knee and babysitting the kids.
We report our position and check in as 'fine'.
Comparing the crappy picture to view in front of us, we have no
idea how to proceed. The grad students (Lukas and Jonathan) make
several exploratory trips, with no luck. The undergrads daydream,
make fart jokes, and pester us for words of wisdom, advice, and insight
into the ways of the real world.
'Hey, guys.' Chirps the radio. 'When are you coming down? Dinner will be done in 2 hours.'
The undergrads brighten up.
'Oh, and we had a resupply of booze.' Says the radio, 'it's almost
happy hour and-'
'-we're not going to be able to summit today, anyway.' Lukas sadly
recognizes the truth of the situation. We pack up and charge towards
camp, where Papa Smurf has popcorn and yummy beverages waiting.
Sharkfin Tower
by CAROLINE PIHL
HE blue glow of my watch read 3:30 in the morning. I listened
intently for the sound of rain on the tent fly- almost desperate to
call the climb off and sleep in. Hearing only the quiet rustle of camp,
I grumpily forced my body into rude awakening. Shuffling through
layers in my damp sleeping bag, I pulled on those that seemed closest
to dry. Unzipping the frosted tent window I gasped with the first blast
of cold mountain air. Wet liner boots painfully stuffed into their frozen
T
[ 18]
plastic shells, I slipped and slid down the hill to the kitchen tent.
Slowly, over watery oatmeal and hot tea, the rest of the group straggled in. Today, Dunbar, Jonathan, Karen, Bryant, Amar and I were
headed for Sharkfin Tower. A protruding peak aptly named, Sharkfin soars along the ridge between Boston and Forbidden peaks. With
boots and packs on by 4:15 a.m., the six of us began the steep climb out
of camp. Overcast skies during the night left us with a heavy, wet slog
through partially frozen snow up the western edge of the Quien Sabe
Glacier.
During the first hour of switchbacks, clear skies granted us aweinspiring views of the imposing ridgeline ahead. As the morning wore
on, clouds rapidly descended into a blinding whlteout. With only 10
meters of visibility at times, we roped together for safety, relying on
mental bearings for direction. Each time the damp fog lifted enough,
we quickly scanned the rock walls around us for the gully that would
take us up to the tower. After trying to wait out the whlteout, and then
three false starts up gulleys that ended with impassable bergshcrunds,
we finally found a workable route. Scrambling across a delicate snow
bridge, we climbed up a chute with two pitches of wet, crumbly rock
allowing us to get over the first cliff band. Two more pitches of nearly
hlp-deep snow to the upper part of the route just below the ridgeline.
We were almost at the base of the final tower by 9 a.m. Following
a quick lunch, we crossed a moderate snow slope to gain the gunsight
notch on the ridge between Quien Sabe Glacier on the south and Boston Glacier to the north. Wind whipped with incredible force through
the 8-foot slot covering the rocks in a hard rime and blasting us with a
cold chill. Peering over the northern cornice, we carne face to face with
Below: Amar Vutha, Karen Lovely, and Dunbar Carpenter hoping for a glimpse of Sharkfin Tower (upper right, hidden by clouds). Visibility ranged from mediocre to poor on
this foray, making route-finding a challenge.
Photo, Caroline Pihl
Opposite: Looking towards the surrunit of Sharkfin Tower (8120 feet) from the gunsight
notch. The true surrunit is the left-hand tower, barely visible through clouds. Jonathan
Barlev, Amar Vutha, and Dunbar Carpenter ascended the low fifth class ridge to the
surrunit while the rest of the team waited in the windy notch. The face to the right has
several single pitch alpine sport climbs which the team did not attempt.
Photo, Caroline Pihl
the magnitude of Boston Glacier far below, scarred by deep blue crevasses. Karen, Bryant and I settled in to the corner of the notch, building a rock wall to protect us from the wind, while Dunbar, Jonathan,
and Amar scaled the impressive exposure of the final three 5.5 rock
pitches to the summit.
Regrouped and refueled, we began the moderate descent back to
camp. A sunny view of the basin once again upon us, it was a joyful
descent indeed. Upon arrival at camp in mid-afternoon we delighted
even further in a round of popcorn cooking- highest regards to Jim for
his culinary crafts. Another successful day with the HMC.
On June 19, after nine days in the backcountry and seven in Boston
Basin, we began to pack up base camp to head out. This was a few
days earlier than originally intended, but a forecast for poor weather,
among other considerations, convinced us that it was time to leave.
The trip down was easy and uneventful.
Most of the group headed back to Seattle and went their separate
ways, but a handful of us (Jonathan, Karen, Hannah, Lukas, and Dunbar) decided to go the Washington Pass area on the eastern side of the
North Cascades. This area has a much drier climate with sparser vegetation and hardly felt like the same mountain range we were in the
week before. The five of us car-camped and climbed the classic Beckey
Route up Liberty Bell Spire. There is a group of spires around Liberty
Bell, all of which appear to offer excellent alpine rock climbing with
a moderate approach. On June 22 we parted ways- Jonathan back to
Squamish, Dunbar remaining in the Cascades, and the others returning to New England. And thus concluded the HMC's North Cascades
summer climbing camp.
The trip was undoubtedly a success in terms of the goals set out in
the grant proposal. Fourteen Harvard mountaineers managed to get
over a week of adventure and experience-building in an amazing, glaciated mountain range. Nearly everyone summited at least one peak,
and of the four peaks attempted (Torment, Forbidden, Sharkfin Tower,
and Sahale), all but Torment were successful. And this from a crew with
[ 21]
relatively little experience - fewer than half the members had been on
glaciated mountains before. We did not put up any new routes, nor did
the climbing involve extreme technical challenges, but everyone became fairly comfortable on glaciated mountainous terrain. There were
no major injuries, though there were several cases of illness. We can
definitely recommend the North Cascades as a great place for future
HMC trips, whether for climbing camps or ambitious expeditions. It is
our hope that the experience gained and precedent set by this trip can
be built upon for years of HMC expeditions to come.
Recovering and unpacking after ten days in the Cascade Pass area. The HMC made approximately ten attempts, many successful, on five different peaks in the area. Several
members of the trip stayed on for more climbing elsewhere in the North Cascades in
late June.
Photo, Caroline Pihl
[ 22]
Three Boys and Three Mountains
Immediately following the HMC climbing camp in Boston Basin, three
HMC members, Dunbar Carpenter, Brian Schroeder and James Watts, made
their attempt on three of the gems in the North Cascades. Although thetj weren't
always successful, they did learn a lot about what it takes to move efficiently
across rock, snow, and ice in a truly alpine setting.
Eldorado Peak
by BRIAN ScHROEDER
CCORDING to Fred Beckey, renowned explorer and mountain
investigator of the Cascade Range Wilderness, Eldorado Peak is
the "Queen of the Cascade River". At 8,868' above sea level, Eldorado
peak is one of the highest non-volcanic peaks in the North Cascades.
Standing watch over the largest contiguous ice-sheet in the lower 48
states not connected to a volcano, and with an unrivaled remoteness,
Eldorado Peak is famous for its Himalayan like knife-edge summit
ridge and extreme alpine exposure.
Starting at the base of Eldorado Creek, the total climb encompasses
6800' brutal feet of bushwhacking through the notorious slide alder,
scrambling carefully up talus fields, navigating around crevasses on
the Inspiration Glacier, and finally balancing up the knife edge summit
ridge. The climb can be done in one very long day, but is normally
done in two.
I had just completed a rather harrowing trip up Mount Rainier and
decided to meet up with the rest of the club as they were returning
from their trip to the North Cascades. Dunbar Carpenter had decided
to stay late so he could get some climbing in with me and James Watts,
who was expected to arrive on June 24th. I took a Greyhound bus from
Seattle to Mt. Vernon, where I was promptly greeted by a very motley
crew of mountaineers.
Lukas Filler, Karen Lovely, Hannah Waight, and Dunbar Carpenter
had just finished two weeks in Boston Basin and seemed quite happy
to be back in civilization, but much to his credit Dunbar was ready to
pack up and conquer more mountains. After dropping us off at the
trail head parking lot they left us to our devices and were off to warm
showers and soft beds. It was late afternoon by the time we had filled
our packs and carefully stashed our bear cans with the remainder of
our food. We had three days until James was to meet us back there, so
A
[ 23]
we decided to turn our trip into a leisurely climb.
After a brutal afternoon of bushwhacking through slide alder and
scrambling over an enormous talus field, Dunbar and I decided to
spend the night camped on Eldorado Creek at around 5000'. We spent
the night of June 22nd, my 25th birthday, sitting underneath a large
overhung boulder with Dunbar, eating Nestle chocolate chips and regaling each other with tales from the previous weeks of mountaineering.
On the morning of June 23rd we awoke to the sounds of birds chirping, Eldorado creek gently flowing nearby, and a beautiful clear blue
sky. It was a nice departure from the frigid glaciers of Mount Rainier,
and both Dunbar and I were ready to tackle the remainder of the approach. After leaving the talus field for snow, we continued due north
for about another hour. The relatively relaxed hike soon turned into
more serious uphill scrambling and not long after we found ourselves
at the top of a rather steep ridge, with no easy way down to the glacier
below us. After some consultation, we realized that we were looking
down at the Inspiration glacier, having gone a bit further north than
we had planned. After following the ridge west and then south for less
than half a mile we were overlooking the Eldorado glacier and a much
easier scramble down. We quickly located a campsite that had been
stomped out by a previous party and, with fresh glacial runoff not far,
decided to pitch camp and rest for the next day.
It had been rather warm lately, so we decided to embark on the
classic "alpine start" the following morning in order to obtain the best
snow conditions for our climb. We awoke to a picturesque sunrise and
a firm crust over the snow and quickly set out up Eldorado Glacier.
Where Eldorado Glacier meets Inspiration Glacier at around 7500'
there is a nice, level hike to the base of Eldorado Peak at 7600'. 2008
had been a record year for snowfall in the North Cascades so the route
up the mountain itself was an enjoyable snow climb. We had come
prepared to attempt a technical rock climb up the West Arete, but the
warm weather combined with the moist air created a bank of fog so
thick that we didn't actually see Eldorado until we were at the base.
Given the poor visibility, and the fact that we had to be back in the
parking lot to meet James later that afternoon, we decided to climb
Opposite and Above: Dunbar Carpenter ascends the Eldorado glacier.
Photo, Brian Schroeder
Below: Brian Schroeder stands just above the clouds on the summit of Eldorado.
Photo, Dunbar Carpenter
[ 24]
the classic East Ridge. After about an hour and a half of steep snow
climbing we had finally reached the famous knife edge summit ridge.
We quickly roped up, set a picket, and began the SO or so meters to the
summit proper. At around lOam the sun broke through the clouds and
we were witness to a breathtaking view of the surrounding Cascade
Range. With views of Johannesburg, Torment, Dorado, and countless other peaks, the view from Eldorado is urunatched. After a brief
congratulations and snapping a few photos we quickly descended and
returned to base camp. We reached camp around llam and, after a
brief nap and a break to refill our water, we began the trek back down
to the parking lot.
James was scheduled to meet us around 4pm, so we took our time
organizing our gear and relaxing. After waiting well past his designated arrival time, a fellow mountaineer came to our rescue. He had
just returned from an unsuccessful trip to retrieve a ski from a crevasse
into which he had fallen a few months earlier and offered us a ride
back to the ranger station. With no room to spare, we all crammed
into his surprisingly well preserved 1972 VW Thing and drove back to
town. After a smile and a wave the friendly skier was off to Seattle and
Dunbar and I sat down to pop some popcorn and wait for James. In
no short time James arrived and we packed up his truck and began the
drive to our next destination, Johannesberg.
Vertical Bushwhacking on Johannes berg
by DUNBAR CARPENTER
W
HEN Jimmy Watts, Brian Schroeder, and I set out to climb Johannesberg, we had very little idea of what we were getting ourselves into. It wasn't the technical difficulty or the seasonal conditions
or any objective hazard, rather, it was the commitment. The Beckey
guide to the North Cascades said that the ascent we were attempting,
the West Rib of the Northeast Buttress, would take 12 hours and gave
the route a commitment grade of III. Just to be prepared, and because
the descent looked non-trivial, we brought bivy gear. But none of use
had any experience with mountains that rise five thousand vertical feet
in less than one horizontal mile. Nor were any of us familiar with the
true meaning of the term 'vertical bushwhacking.'
Jimmy, Brian, and I met up in late June in the town of Marblemount with the intention of undertaking several ambitious and gnarly
alpine climbs in the five days we had together. Jimmy had just come in
[ 26]
from a family vacation in Mexico, and was itching to climb. Brian and
I had just come off a pleasant and leisurely ascent of E1 Dorado, prior
to which I had spent ten days salivating over Johannesburg's Northeast Face from the vantage point of the HMC' s Boston Basin climbing
camp. The mountain was steep and intimidating; the kind of thing you
look at photos of in a book, but don't actually climb. During the stay at
Boston Basin we heard the thunder of wet avalanches and hanging glaciers crashing down from Johannesberg almost daily, as the mountain
shed its blanket of snow in the June warmth. But the Northeast Buttress, vegetated and crowned by a gorgeous snow arete, appeared to
be safe from slides and looked like a relatively straightforward climb,
and we were going to give it a shot.
After spending an uncomfortable night in the back of Jimmy's pickup, parked at the trailhead lot, we set off around 7:30 with our bellies
full of oatmeal. The approach was an easy 3.5 miles on a road that had
been closed off some years ago. We passed the area where the trail to
Boston Basin split off, and then continued to a hairpin where we left
the trail and descended to cross the snow-covered North Fork of the
Cascade River. Only the first thousand or so feet of the mountain were
visible, while a low cloud ceiling obscured the rest. I think I was the
only one who really had an inkling of how big a project we were about
to get on, as Brian had only seen the mountain from a distance, and
Jimmy had only seen the base on the approach.
Less than an hour of walking over talus and crossing the snow
apron of the daunting Cascade-Johannesberg Couloir brought us to
the base of the Northeast Buttress. While trying to find a way to gain
the West Rib of the buttress, we were reminded that route-finding in
an alpine setting like this was much more improvisational than in the
familiar and well-trodden crags we were used to climbing back in New
England.We eventually worked our way around the right side of the
buttress and simul-climbed up mossy ledges, making our way upward
by grabbing trees, digging our fingers into loose soil, and beachedwhaling our way over rocky bulges. To gain the rib proper, we ended
up traversing out a ledge onto a steep face, after which Jimmy led up a
sketchy, vegetation-choked corner with dead trees for protection and
mossy slopers for holds. Gaining the rib was supposed to be third and
fourth class, but it had taken the better part of the morning. Figuring
this was just our tough initiation before easier climbing up the ridge,
we opted for an early lunch.
It was after lunch that we really learned what we were in for. We
immediately encountered dense vegetation, which made the climbing
[ 27]
The North Face of Johannesberg as seen from Boston Basin. The prominent twin ridges in
the middle of the photo form the Northeast Buttress ry 5.x 40° snow). Our route gained
the West (right-hand) Rib from the north, and then ascended this ridge before dropping
into the gulley between the ridges. We continued up this gulley, eventually working our
way onto the East Rib. We estimate that our high point was about two thirds of the way
to where the buttress terminates at the upper snow fields.
Photo, Caroline Pihl
technically easy, but incredibly grueling in terms of effort expended
per unit of elevation gained. Without a pack it would have been a pain
to crawl over, around, under, and between the thick branches, trunks,
and foliage of the firs that grew on the ridge. With packs, it was awful.
There is no better way to describe what we were doing than vertical
bushwhacking with an extremely high 'schwack factor. We persisted,
though, and slowly made our way up.
From to time to time we would find an opening where we
could scramble up bare rock or through more open woods. At one
point we encountered a rock buttress that we skirted, forcing us into a
low fifth-class corner that was full of spiky Devil' s Club. For this and
a handful of other short sections we roped up and had someone lead
crumbly, poorly-protected rock that was usually plastered with vegetation. These sections ate up time, but even while roped, we had a per-
[ 28]
sistent feeling of precariousness while on the steep, exposed buttress.
The day wore on and our energy started to wane. We eventually
found our way into the gulley between the two ribs where dripping
snow patches allowed us to refill water bottles and get a refreshing
drink. The gulley was less choked with vegetation and provided a clear
path upwards, but the climbing was more technically difficult and the
rock quite wet. We kept ascending, moving back and forth between the
over-vegetated ribs and the slippery gulley.
By now it was evening and the terrain began to steepen right as
we started to look for bivy spots. I knew we had made some progress, but it was difficult to determine just how high up on the buttress
we were. As the light began to fade, so too did spirits. At the top of
one particularly nasty roped section, I could tell that the mood had
changed. Brian and Jimmy were ready to call it and head down. The
glorious snow arete that I knew was waiting above still beckoned me,
but in that moment, I knew we wouldn't make it. Even if we found a
bivy, we probably had another half day of bushwhacking, and who
knows what other challenges on the exposed rock and snow slopes
above tree-line, followed by a long and precarious descent. We were
not prepared to spend three nights on this mountain. All at once the
feeling of failure and dejection and the weariness of the day hit me in
an emotional wave. Damn- Johannesberg had defeated us.
We rappelled and down-climbed, mostly in the gulley, until reaching terrain that was less steep. There we hungrily ate our dinner and
slipped into our bivy sacks (or tarp in my case, as I lacked a bivy sack).
We slept like babies after the efforts of the day, even though the only
thing keeping us from rolling off the buttress was the fallen tree next to
which we had wedged ourselves.
The following morning brought a cheerier mood, and sunnier
weather. We were already planning our next adventure on Mount
Shuksan as we quickly rappelled. The only eventful occurrence on the
way down was the severing of the sheath of one of my ropes. We figured it must have happened either from pulling it around a gnarly tree,
or from rock fall, which we'd caused a decent amount of while rappelling in the gulley. After finishing one more rappel, I decided the rope
should probably be retired.
On the hike out we got a good look at the buttress that had just
thwarted us. I remember Jimmy being especially impressed with the
size of the thing, since he'd had yet see the entire mountain. We estimate that we had made it about two thirds of the way up to the snow
arete, a fact that justified our turning back. All three of us were im-
[ 29]
pressed that we attempted a mountain of that magnitude and sheer
relief, even if it did kick our ass. Just to be on such a thing was a feat.
Later, while perusing guidebooks back at the ranger station, I found
a description of the route we had just tried that labeled it as a commitment grade V, and went on about how often Johannesberg is underestimated and how routinely parties take a day or two longer than anticipated. I cannot speak for Brian and Jimmy, but for me it is a mountain
I would love to return too. An understanding of the commitment and
the tenacity necessary to deal with thousands of feet of vertical bushwhacking are all it would take to have success on that extraordinary
face.
Mt. Shuksan
by James Watts
UNBAR Carpenter, Brian Schroeder, and I had just been handily
defeated by Mt. Johannesburg's northwest rib. After realizing that
we did not have enough provisions to safely ascend and descend Johannesburg, we set our hope and energy on Mt. Shuksan. At 9,127 feet, this
superbly photogenic peak sits in the northernmost region of the North
Cascades range. Shuksan boasts four ridges, five faces, seven glacial systems, and a classic summit pyramid made of solid, metamorphic rock
Although we were a little tired and frustrated from the previous day's
descent, we managed to keep spirits high as we made the surprisingly
warm and very scenic four mile hike to base camp on the south side of
the Shuksan Arm.
We planned on taking the Fisher Chimneys route to the summit in a
single 4,800 foot push. We began climbing at 4a.m., just as the sun began
to illuminate the summit. A warm breeze had blown across the mountain
during the night, and the snow was not as firm as we had hoped. As we
climbed, Bal<er Lake and many southern mountain ranges were illuminated by the sun, providing us with stunning views of the countryside.
We turned up the first plausible looking snow gully, but encountered a
bergshrund about halfway up. This forced us onto a poorly protected,
200 foot rock traverse in order to circumvent the bergshrund.
When we finally exited the gully onto the Shuksan arm, we found
ourselves on the Salmon Glacier, far lower than expected. On the de-
D
Opposite: Mt. Shuksan as seen from Picture Lake. Hell's Highway is on the center right,
just as the Shuksan arm meets the band of cliffs below the summit pyramid.
Photo, James Watts
[ 30]
scent we would discover that our gully had been 1,000 feet before the
Fisher Chimneys. In order to reach the top of the Lower Curtis glacier,
the exit to the Fisher Chimneys, we would have to descend to the base of
Winnie's Slide and climb up this glacial system onto the Lower Curtis.
This mistake cost us precious energy and added about 2 hours to an
already long day. Although the climbing was not difficult, we did pass
within 20 feet of 2large crevasses. Each was about 15 feet wide and 50 to
one 100 feet deep. These massive, blue holes seemed to suck all the heat
out of the air surrounding them. They reminded us that this beautiful
and dangerous mountain deserved our utmost respect.
After a few hours of slogging across hot glaciers we reached the top
of the upper Curtis. Our original plan had been to ascend the Hourglass,
a steep cleft in the cliff just below the summit pyramid. Due to an early
season warmspell, the Hourglass, which was usually a steep snow gully,
had become a gorgeous a waterfall. As a result we decided to take the
long way around: up Hell's Highway. Here, the glacier forms a perfectly
banked and very wide ski run which curves in a full U-turn around the
band of cliffs below the Sulfide Glacier. After another hour of desertlike travel on the Sulfide Glacier we arrived at the base of the summit
pyramid.
It was now one o'clock in the afternoon, and the nine previous hours
of climbing were beginning to wear on us. But, we quickly regained our
energy on the 300 foot summit pyramid because the climbing was fairly
interesting, the rock was solid, and we had a chance to leave our packs
behind. Ten hours into our journey, we arrived at the summit. The partial view we had enjoyed all day had become a full panorama. Mt. Baker
loomed to the west and Border Peak was in plain view to the north. We
also had an excellent view of Cascade Pass as well as the remote Picket
Range to the south and the southeast, respectively. Without a doubt,
Shuksan had been our proudest ascent, and its lessons about route finding and glacier travel have given us a solid foundation on which to build
our future exploits.
[i/
From left to right: James Watts,
Dunbar Carpenter, and Brian
Schroeder atop Mt. Shuksan.
Climbing is as much about the
mountains as it is about the company you keep. The friendships
developed in the Cascades will
no doubt continue to grow as this
team of young climbers progresses
to become a team of experienced
mountaineers.
Photo, Unknown
[ 32]
i
·
:
.
::
There is Adventure in New England
by Coz TEPLITZ
had been very, very wrong. I stuffed my mitts into a decomposing
crack, trying to trust the jams in spite of the ball-bearing pebbles that
coated my palms. Pulling gingerly, I torqued my feet into the same
crack, tip-toeing around a loose block, which I was sure would crush
my belayer if touched. With no reason to expect quality gear and the
sun getting low, I was certain that I had been wrong. There is plenty of
adventure in New England. I just had to know where - and how - to
look.
I
At 21 I dropped out of Harvard, disillusioned, disconnected, and
lusting after real, visceral adventure. As far as adventure goes, I lived a
spoiled existence for the next five years. I worked for Outward Bound,
leading backpacking, climbing, and whitewater canoeing excursions.
At work, I followed teenagers through North Carolina rhododendron
thickets as they desperately tried to get unlosti hunkered down in tents
lashed to a Patagonian glacier, the flappety-flap of the tent flies sounding like airplane propellers in the fierce windi paddled through inky
night in the Everglades, phosphorescence making each paddle stroke
- and each startled alligator - glow in the black waterj and exalted in
introducing thousands of students to the glory, fear, and sense of personal power that comes from pulling through a crux a few hundred
feet off the ground. When not working I was free to chase my own adventures, from the Sierra to the Valley to Indian Creek to Peru to crags
closer to home in the Southeast. My life was rich with experiencej I
became accustomed to adventure.
Thus, when I chose to take the scariest adventure I could fathom the return to Harvard - I resigned myself to the loss of that adventure.
I had grown up in New England, after all. That knowledge of place,
combined with my commitment to schoolwork, would surely mean
that I would have to go without true adventures for a while. Sure, I
would scrape my way up - or fall off- climbs at Cathedrali I would get
to know Huntington's welli I might even make it up to Katahdin. But
the sort life I had grown used to was surely gone.
So when a friend suggested climbing two routes on Cannon in a
day, I shrugged. We would have to move quickly, but Cannon really
wasn't that big. Not that committing. We weren't even aiming for
super-difficult routes- Moby Grape (5.8) and Vertigo (5.9) - a pleas-
[ 33]
ant day of moving quickly on moderate terrain. Surely nothing too
adventurous.
Initially, I was right. We did not consider an alpine start. With the
sun already high as we jogged up the talus, the wall seemed a far cry
from the intimidating hulks I had seen. A party already on Vertigo, we
opted to start on Moby Grape. The Reppy' s Crack (5.8) start proved a
delightful warm-up: fantastic jams, great gear, and way to speed past
a party using the other variation start. We led in blocks, enjoying the
solid granite and amazing features. At the Fickle Finger of Fate - a
crazy, hollow-sounding flake that requires either an overhanging hand
traverse or full-body wiggle to surmount - I began to appreciate the
climbing. This was a cool, sculpted feature, something I had not seen
anywhere else.
We topped out Moby Grape before noon. Plenty of time. We
gawked at the remains of the Old Man, which had seemed a solid part
of the cliff and New Hampshire psyche when I had left New England
in 2002. On the way down, we missed the cut-off trail that heads back
along the base of the cliff. At the pond, essentially back at the car, we
looked back at the thirty minutes of talus we would have to re-ascend
to get to Vertigo. Shrugs exchanged, we started back up the slope with no jogging this time.
Vertigo, to those unacquainted, is one of the best crack routes in
the Granite State, and perhaps in the Northeast. A pendulum in the
first pitch gains access to a beautiful finger-crack, which subsequently
yields to stemming up a polished dihedral. Higher, a span gains another crack, which widens to hands and deposits one at a nice ledge
with a perfect view of the next pitch, the storied Half-Moon Crack.
The crescent-shaped crack moves quickly from hands to offwidth; the
guidebook warns away climbers not comfortable with run-out 5.9. My
lead. Grinning, I launched up, and found it not really all that bad. Not
that run-out (maybe 15-20 feet at the crux) nor that hard. Just pure fullbody, arm-barring, ankle-scraping fun.
Most folks rap Vertigo after the Half-Moon pitch (pitch 5). We, on
our mission for two routes on Cannon in a day, launched upwards for
the top. There, in the rarely-climbed upper pitches, adventure waited.
Almost instantly the rock quality degraded to crumbling pink granite
that seemed more like congealed sand than actual rock. Moss and lichen sprouted everywhere, and ledges led to dead-ends. Left, right,
and up we wandered, grappling with loose blocks, wrestling saplings
clogging our chosen route, and sliding across wet slabs. Eventually,
tired from 14 pitches of climbing and two trips up the talus, we aimed
[ 34]
left toward the solid stone atop Moby Grape, not caring if we didn't
climb two completely separate routes that day.
On that last lead, up toward the sacred safety of good rock, I realized that there is plenty of adventure to be had in New England. I
just had to know where - and how - to look. The adventure lies where
most people choose not to go. Sometimes it lies in linking routes together to create longer endurance goals. But more importantly, it lies
in a mindset more than in a destination. Adventure is where you look
for it. And that's why this year I'll be wandering into the Pemigewasset Wilderness in search of a rumored offwidth that I'm not sure even
exists. The fun is in the searching.
The Perfect Ski (Mis)-Adventure
by KEVIN JoNES
N recent years, the Harvard Mountaineering Club has been doing a
fair amount of ski mountaineering in addition to ice climbing. The
most preferred spots of course include Tuckerman's Ravine, Gulf of
Slides, Mt. Katahdin, and Big Jay. However, during the epic 20072008 snow season many low-grade ice climbs became viable options
for ski descents. Thus, during a long shlog up Shoestring Gulley on
Mt. Webster in 2007 with Nadine Lehner '09, I toyed with the idea of
what a ski descent of the narrow NEI II ice climb would be like. In
my memory, the climb was mostly snow with two short-and rather
insignificant-ice bulges. I imagined that it would be ripe for a ski
descent with enough snow.
Less than a year later, I was recounting the idea to George Brewster
'03-'04 and Henning Reinton (KSG '09) and we agreed to attempt to
ski Shoestring when snow conditions would permit it. We put the objective up on our 'Tick-List' in the Claverly clubroom and waited for
the snow to pile up. In the meantime, we got aggressive and skied
the north face of Mt. Colden in the Adirondacks after ascending via
the Trap Dike. The skiing was borderline heinous and we thrashed
our way through dense pines only to emerge onto a slab that had avalanched clean a few days prior to reveal a welcoming sheet of bullet
proof ice and rock. George and I suspected that Henning was less
than impressed at the state of backcountry skiing in New England, as
he reigns from Norway and is fluent in the art of big sweeping turns
I
[ 35]
on wide alpine slopes. Needles to say, Mt. Colden was an exhausting
thrash and thus the paradigm of New England backcountry skiing.
It turns out that Henning didn't learn from this mistake and we easily convinced him to join us on another backcountry adventure. We
promised him a steep couloir filled with deep powder and narrow
turns, even with the possibility of jumping an ice bulge. What we delivered was far different from the glowing memory I had of shoestring
gulley, and I believe far different from that which I convinced everyone else to envision as well.
After a week of heavy snow, we drove up to Mt. Webster in Crawford Notch on a Sunday morning. George and Henning started the
route up with skis and skins, while I put my skis on my back and opted
to hike instead. After an hour of upward progress we arrived, soaked
in sweat, at the bottom of the first ice bulge. Until that point, everything was looking tasty. Below us was relatively untouched snow and
we imagined more of the same up above. After donning crampons
and taking out axes we rounded the next corner to a bit of disappointment. A short hike up led to a section of loose ice and rock. We soloed
until we gathered at the bottom of the second ice bulge, which stood
far larger than I had remembered. At that point George took the sharp
end of our 24m rope. Yes, that is correct, we opted to go to Baghdad
light and fast and therefore decided on 24m of 8mm cord that I bought
in Chamonix as opposed to the more conservative and sensible option
of a 60m double rope.
The climbing up was easy; however, it revealed a different shoestring than that which I remembered so fondly. There was plenty of
low angle ice and several bulges about the size of small SUVs spaced
every 20m. After two or three pitches worth of simul-climbing we
topped out for some lunch once swimming uphill in the deep snow
proved impossible. Lunch was almost entirely pleasant until George
spotted two snowboarders at the first ice bulge of Shoestring beginning
their descent. What we did not realize then was that the best skiing is
almost entirely before the ice climbing begins, save for 3 or 4 steep
turns in the upper half separated by exposed ice bulges. Embarrassed
that we had been scooped of our first tracks, we clipped into our skis
and began a semi-controlled ricochet down the couloir, which was no
wider than a ski length. The first pitch of skiing, though steep, skinny,
and exciting, was almost entirely useless especially since it placed us at
the top of the 3rd ice bulge.
George, AKA V-Threadster, was our chosen V-Thread tool for
the day. He was quite easy to use and fit comfortably in our backpacks
[ 36]
when we did not need v-threads. It was a good thing that George was
so efficient at setting V-Thread anchors, for we quickly realized that a
24m rope when folded in half is hardly longer than a shoestring, and
certainly not long enough to descend shoestring gulley in any reasonable number of rappels. After 6 rappels, 2 hanging anchors, and 5 ski
turns later we were at the base of the ice climb and ready to begin the
real skiing. As we stepped into our skis, we were mostly quiet on the
fact that we had taken a 4 hour detour up the ice climb which proved to
be almost entirely unskiable and at the same time we were scooped by
a couple of knuckle-dragging, snowboarding thugs. However, once
we were in our skis, we crushed it for everything it was worth. Five
minutes of uninterrupted gnar gnar shredding led us deep into a New
England forest more tangled than a climbing rope coiled by an HMC
member. Hacking and thrashing, while stumbling and bumbling we
clawed our way ever so slowly back to the car. It was another descent
that we could tick off on our list. In retrospect there were three key
ingredients to our misadventure: a foolishly short 24m rope, a wildly
distorted memory of Shoestring, and two snowboarders who- despite
their Neanderthal-like appearance-were far more capable of understanding what was choice in Shoestring gulley. We returned to the
board in the HMC clubroom to quietly and shamelessly tick off our
accomplishment---but we added a DNR addendum to the board- DO
NOT REPEAT.
[ 37]
Sawtooths: First First Ascent
by JAMES WATTS
T
HE summer of 2008, Nick Dolececk and I put up a new route on the
North Face of Mt. Cramer in the Sawtooths of Idaho (The North Face
5.11a A2-lll 300 meters). The route follows a massive capped dihedral
for two pitches. After exiting right through the roof of the dihedral, one
follows the line of least resistance to the North ridge and finally the summit. The following is an account of the crux pitch:
From down here it doesn't look so Jar away ... it's maybe ten meters to the dihedral where the crack system starts up again ... you can make it.
But my cam is in a suspicious looking flake .. .the rest of my protection is Jar
below.
Maybe you1l find gear ... you didn't climb six hundred and fifty feet to tum
around now, did you?
But the climbing doesn't look easy ... this is too dangerous ...rm twelve miles
from the car.
Stop thinking. It's too late to think. We've already started moving.
I can hear my heart throbbing and I feel my temperature rising despite the sweat that has soaked into my shirt. I move slowly up the orange granite slabs; my hands weigh heavily on every sloping hold and I
thank God for the occasional security of a pinch or a thumb catch. After
about three meters I find a small, flaring crack. It's just the right size for
a yellow TCU; it's too bad I've already placed that cam. I have no choice
but to cram two lobes of a bigger cam into the crack-there is no way
it's holding a fall but it gives me a little courage. I climb up another four
meters and realize that I had miscalculated the distance to the dihedral
fm aiming for. It's at least another eight meters away. Looking below
I realize that there is no down-climbing-! either fall climbing or I finish
the pitch.
I find hope just around the next arete. There is a tiny crack about two
meters above me which just might take a nut. I step into an awful, rightfacing comer. There are no cracks, no holds, and the rock is river smooth.
But just below my crack is a small ledge ... if I could just reach that ledge.
I smear my left foot into a dish the size of a silver dollar- trust it, it will
hold. With my right hand I palm down onto a bulge and press my body
into the comer-trust it, it will hold. My left hand finds a good smear
Opposite: The North Face of Mt. Cramer. The route follows the large dihedral onto
the face. The path of least resistance leads up through the blank slabs to the top of the
North Ridge.
Photo, Nick Dolececk
[ 38]
along the opposing wall, but I can't turn my head to look at where I'm
placing my right foot. I place it anyway- if you trust it, it will hold.
I weigh nothing;
I am afeather;
I will float.
I am a little insignificant speck hanging onto a giant granite face by a thread.
Please, grant me pemtission to stay afew moments longer.
I let go with my right hand ... my right foot holds. I palm down onto
another bulge with my right hand and bump my left foot up into a new
smear ... that awful right food holds. I press my body up and reach the
small ledge with my left hand. I've made it to the tiny crack! My heart
pounds with excitement as I place a number three nut- ifs small but oh
so good.
I climb another eight meters of difficult but protected rock before
reaching my dihedral. It takes all of my remaining energy to layback
the last couple of meters and build an anchor. Even my rack of fourteen
cams and fifteen nuts has been pared down to two cams and six lonely
nuts. I shut down from physical and mental exhaustion. That was one
hell of a pitch.
As I belay Nick, I look back across the mountainous Sawtooth landscape and realize that something about it has changed. The peaks and
faces are taller and more imposing. The deep shadows formed by their
features reveal an ancient beauty, one that is now full of danger and fear.
Will I be the one to unlock their mystery? Am I worthy of their challenge? My body and mind tell me no, but deep down I know that this is
only he beginning.
Nick Dolececk and James Watts on the summit of Mount Cramer. The summit log was
full of familiar names, but this was the first recorded ascent of the North Face.
Photo, Nick Dolececk
Climbing in Red Rocks
by Coz TEPLITZ
STEPPED off the escalator, walked through a wide door, and blinked
in the press of light. Ahead of me, a troupe of bare-chested, cowboyhatted men glared alluringly out at the crowd, a mass of bronze flesh,
abs, belt buckles, and tight jeans. To my right a brunette's bikini barely
contained her billowing bosom; I glanced once, then again, not sure
how long I could look without being creepy. To my left another woman, this one with real flesh- not airbrushed - overflowing out of all her
clothes, doggedly poked at a slot machine. Ahh, Vegas.
My bags took their usual spot in my friend's van: in the back, below
the bed, on the right, just next to the big Rubbermaid of cams. Same
bags, same motion - pushing them in over the blue carpeting, spinning one to make it fit - same van with its same smell, same friend,
same airport, same drive to the same campground. Different skyline,
though- damn but Vegas grows fast. There were condos stretching
closer to the campsite, and a new c~sino now only fifteen minutes from
the climbing. I wasn't sure I liked this new look of familiar but alwaysdifferent Vegas.
Two days later I chased that same friend down a trail, the usual
mutual competition burning the "hour-long" approach into thirty
minutes. The pitches flowed smoothly, old customs worn easily: the
quick discussions of route, the mutual efficiency, the fast belay changes
- cams clipped onto my harness in the right place while I scanned the
topo. The familiar friendship was different, though: small things that
would only be noticeable if you had spent months living out of the
same van together, had logged hundreds or thousands of pitches together. He was now the more confident climber; I still pulled hard,
but he now had the grace, that ease of being which humbly says, "I do
this for a living". His changeovers were just a little more efficient than
mine, his ropework more planned. His thinking was just a step ahead
of mine.
We still cruised twelve pitches up and down in four hours. Still
anticipated each other's actions. Still laughed, still enjoyed shivering together in the November chill. We still shared a love of coarse
sandstone crimps biting into fingertips and of the cold security of a
perfect winter hand jam. But hustling back to the van at day's end, I
smiled grimly at the irony. We had once climbed to establish our mutual friendship, to seek commonality, to build a relationship on more
!
[ 41]
than just words. We had both been college dropouts, seeking solace
in adventure and companionship. Now climbing spoke more about
our differences than words ever could. I had made my choice and he
had made his. He had chosen to stay with the passion; I had chosen to
return to the ivied halls of the mind. I had "vanquished" my villain,
succeeding where I had once failed. Standing on my success among
the skeleton of a friendship, I couldn't help but wonder if it was worth
it: friendship, fitness, free time had been exchanged for self-image, selfesteem, and respectability in society. Was it a redemption tale, or a
story of idealism broken by the harsh realities of career and money?
Had I proved myself or sold out?
I looked out the window as the red-eye took off: a glowing grid
shadowing the contours of the valley. It was the same city I had always known - flesh and sin and sun and dust and garish spectacle and yet it was different, ever growing, expanding, once-ritzy neighborhoods becoming less fashionable as a newer suburb emerged. I turned
away from the window, the music from my iPod speaking both for the
city below and for me: "Don't ask if I have changed/ because of course
I have." I settled in for the trip back to Boston, and dreamt of desert
rock.
[ 42]
Bug-a-Bugaboos
by JAMES WATTS
r-pHE first spire that comes into view as you approach the Bugaboos
1 is the Hounds Tooth. Its backside offers an easy route, but, from
the front, it looks as if the climbing is difficult and the approach impossible because of hundreds of treacherous crevasses. As Matt Upton and
I made our hike up to base camp on the evening of July 9th, we were
a little bit apprehensive about what we had gotten ourselves into. The
eighty pound packs and five thousand foot vertical gain did not help.
We spent the next couple of days getting our bearings and waiting
out weather (as it turns out we had exceptionally good weather for the
rest of our stay at the Bugaboos). We set up camp at the Applebee campground just below the Snowpatch-Bugaboo col. The col is the gateway to
the rest of the bugaboos. It provides access to the Kain route on bugaboo
spire, the backside of Snowpatch, all of Pigeon spire, and the Howser
Towers. Wind constantly blows through the col at about 20-30 miles per
hour, but, when you cross onto the other side of the col, it's like you've
landed on the moon. There is no sign of life- all you can see around you
are granite walls and glaciers. Once you move onto the glacier the wind
dies down and it becomes eerily silent.
The third morning presented an unexpected challenge: clearing two
and a half inches of snow from our two season tent. It's a good thing we
tied the stakes down with rocks and hid behind a boulder or we would
have been a sorry sight. Neither one of us was willing to let the weather
get us down, so we set out to climb the Kainroute on Bugaboo spire. The
snow turned easy third class into a simul climb and made route finding
very difficult. After losing sight of rap rings, old slings, and cairns for a
couple hours, we decided to give up the chase and come back another
day. We rappelled off of a horn and, of course, our rope got stuck Upton
puts me on belay and I go free the rope. After it's loose, I see a potential
route to our right.
"Hey Matt, I think we can climb that crack?" "Well you've got the
gear and I've got you on belay. So lead on." I'm thinking to myself, "Why
in the world did I say that?" and Matt's down there chuclding. So, up I
go, and the first thing I run into is a set of shiny new rappel rings. We
were so psyched to be on route that I continued leading without looking
at the topo. On the following pitch I missed the 5.6 to the left and ended
up going straight up into the 5.8 variation of the gendarme. Matt knew
something was up when I told him I was going to take my gloves off for
[ 43]
the next section, but he just kept cheering me on. We made it to the next
set of rings at around five o'clock Although, summit was only an hour
of exposed 3rd class away, we decided to summit Bugaboo Spire via the
Northeast Ridge on a different day.
On Day four we did Pigeon. It was a little cold, but bullet proof rock,
fun and easy slab climbing, as well as an awesome view made it worth
the effort. That evening some guys from Colorado and a couple Canadians suggested we climb the McTech Arete on Crescent spire-'the best
5.10 in Canada.' At first we were a little skeptical because the Crescent
Spire is not nearly as tall or impressive as the other spires (it's really
more of a crag near the campground). But I have to admit that after that
climb I could not stop smiling. The rock was impeccable, the climbing
was vertical and then some, and the cracks were absolutely splitter: perfect hands on the 5.9 pitches and an awesome finger crack for the 10a bit.
It was honestly the most fun and consistent string of pitches I have ever
touched. If you go to the Bugaboos do not miss out on this classic line.
Our last day of climbing was not so classic. Due to a report that there
was a possibility of bad weather, we decided to forgo the Northeast ·
Ridge of Bugaboo (one of the 50 Classic Climbs of North America). Instead we got on a very rotten 5.7 called The Ears Between which had one
decent chimney pitch at the top. Although it was a fun pitch, it was not
worth the hours of loose rock on the ascent and descent that were required to get to it. Oh well, with a little luck I'll be back to the Bugs soon
to knock off the Northeast Ridge and the Becky-Chouinard.
On our way home we had a minor hiccup. We were pulled over
in Idaho and my truck was found to be uninsured, unregistered, and
displaying fictitious liscence plates (luckily Matt was driving so he got
slammed with all the tickets). Over the next month, I took care of Matt's
tickets and made the truck road legal, but at that moment we were afraid
that we would have to spend the night in Sandpoint, Idaho all hopped
up on energy drinks and smelling like we hadn't showered for a week
After life in the Bugaboos (eat-sleep-climb), civilization was a little offputting. I guess I'll just get used to it again.
. . .although hopefully not for too long ...
Opposite Top: View from the top of the MeTech Arete. Snowpatch Spire dominates the
foreground, with Pidgeon Spire visible through the Bugaboo-Snowpatch Col.
Photo, James Watts
Opposite Bottom: The summit ridge on the Kain Route as seen from the top of the
Great Gendarme on Bugaboo Spire.
Pilato, Mathew Upton
[ 45]
Matt Upton on the "moon" with Bugaboo Spire in the background. The Kain Route
follows the ridgeline on the right to the summit.
Photo, James Watts
Reflections on the Ice
by EuGENE KwAN
HEN I first joined the HMC in the fall of 2006, I was a complete
rookie. I had climbed once or twice before, and knew that the
outdoors had some rocks and trees in it, but not much else besides.
One day, I mentioned to a grizzled veteran, who shall remain nameless, that I was thinking of buying some ice tools. No, I hadn't yet tried
ice climbing, and yes, it was impulsive and ill advised, but I was sure
I was going to like it, and in any case, buying expensive climbing gear
is, I assume, a little like ordering up an expensive hooker ... fun at the
time, but possibly a little shameful upon further reflection. Well, I was
wrong. The first week I tried ice climbing, I was absolutely terrible and
somewhat miserable, generally flailed about in an unflattering, uncoordinated way, and nearly got myself killed on a foolish climbing adventure. Oops.
Fortunately for me, angels, ministers of grace, or an invisible lucky
charm have allowed me the great fortune to become addicted to this
beautiful, somewhat dangerous, and yes, utterly pointless form of
climbing. I now relish the breathtaking beauty of the impossible-looking shapes ice can take on and the spray of the perfect swing as much
as the diciest sport-like dime-edge mixed climbing move. And, for
the first time, fve realized that, on pure ice, it's my mental toughness
which is the limiting factor, and not my endurance or technique. With
that in mind, I am finally making the transition from timid follower
to foolhardy leader. But foolhardy or not, there's just something ineffably visceral and meditative about being more or less alone, perhaps
a long way from a good screw, up on lead. Unlike in real life, where
an unholy combination of excuses, big corportations, and self-delusion
can shield one, perhaps permanently, from any self-responsibility, in
ice climbing, every swing, every kick, and every decision matters, immediately. It's a nice feeling.
It's been an eventful season. I led some WI 4s and tried Fafnir (WI
5) twice with Brian Schroeder. The latter resulted in one dropped tool,
a bunch of snarled ropes, sailor-grade cursing, and a lot of fun. I got in
over my head on a WI 4+ in the Adirondacks, ran it out tremendously,
risking a (deadly) groundfall on some dicey moves, but pulled it off. I
got to climb with some (obviously talented) beginners like Will Skinner, Lauren Onofrey, Jonathan Cox, Josh Zagorsky, and Karen Lovely,
among others, and share some of their enthusiasm and energy. I also
W
[47]
broke Jonathan Cox's neck, but, fortunately, only slightly (sorry about
that one). Safety is a primary concern of mine, I swear! I've thought a
lot about taking personal risks on lead. At one point in the season, a
particular paradox came to mind: when the climbing gets hard, one
gets more and more tired, but wants to place more and more screws,
itself a tiring operation. But I now know the answer: often, one will
simply back off, but occasionally, if the stars are aligned, the leader
is feeling great, and all fear has been temporarily left behind, one can
"go for it." But there is no room for doubt, fond feelings for one's soft,
supple organs, or loved ones (if any). In that way, it is much like free
soloing in general.
I followed a range of New England classics, linking up Fafnir and
the Whitney-Gilman Ridge in mountain boots (tough mixed climbing
and hiking down in the dark), backing off a very thin first pitch of
Remission on Cathedral Ledge, and flailing over Super-Goofer's (in
very difficult, thin and horribly candled conditions). Bayard Russell,
Jr., Kevin Mahoney, Mark Synnott, and Sean Isaac, all excellent guides,
were of invaluable help and taught me a few things about climbing
ice and mixed terrain efficiently. I even managed to top-rope an M8cleanly, which is quite an achievement for me. Together, we also did
a very challenging Dropline, an incredible Repentance, which is quite
possibly the best ice climb I've ever done, and a surprisingly easy
Omega, in what would surely some of the most exciting moments of
any aspiring climber's career.
The highlight of the season was when Kevin Mahoney and I headed out to the Canadian Rockies. Things progressed from relatively
easy and warm weather to incredibly hard and cold weather over the
course of two weeks. We ventured out into the Ghost, red-lining our
rental4x4 on logging roads full of stumps and in deep snowdrifts (with
acrid results for the transmission), and climbed some classics: Malignant Mushroom (an easy WI 5 if there ever was one), Wicked Wanda
(a complete sandbag at WI 4+), and The Sorcerer (also a r;;andbag at
WI 5, and one of my first rather committing routes--no WI 5, as far as
I know, should involve climbing an unprotected 30 foot traverse, 30
feet of extremely funky thin ice, followed by 70 m of highly sustained,
overhanging climbing; maybe that's what "not quite in" means). I did
my first WI 6 climbs: the incredibly aesthetic Whiteman Falls in a sulfurous slot canyon; the ultra-classic Nemesis on the Stanley Headwall, in
two rope-stretching, forearm-torching 70 m pitches; and Curtain Call.
Curtain Call was particularly memorable, despite being something of
a failure from an objective climbing perspective. It was below -30 F
[ 48]
when we left the car, and the ice was not only incredibly overhanging,
but also explosively brittle. After simul-climbing some easy terrain, firing the crux, and climbing almost to the belay, I dropped my tool and
we bailed off, with little feeling left in our extremities. I later found
out that even Kevin, a superman if there ever was one, found it dicey,
and it was the hardest thing he had ever led in such cold conditions.
Something similar happened to us on the Weeping Wall, but instead
of being incredibly cold, it was uncomfortably warm, and the ice was
rotten to the core.
So it's been an incredible growth year, not only for my personal
climbing, but also for the HMC. More people than ever are showing
up to meetings, people are full of enthusiasm, and intra trips are jampacked every time. The Intersession trip to the Adirondacks in New
York was particularly eventful for me, as I unwisely chose to organize much of the logistics. A record-setting contingent of some thirty
people crammed into a surprisingly luxurious, but rustic, ACC cabin
and had amazing ice climbing and skiing adventures. Our members
told an unhealthy number of (mostly apocrphyal or inaccurate) stories
while unhealthily exceeding my most conservative estimates for daily
bacon consumption. I learned, from various unreliable sources, the following: if one wants to "score points" with girls, one should not only
listen to them on dates, but memorize apparently useless trivia about
them for unexpected use on later occasions; the poor quality of certain
cheap libations is an insignificant barrier to, well, anything; and that
the members of the HMC are generally of uncommonly trustworthy
quality. I can't wait to see what the future holds.
[ 49]
Bandit Weekend
by PETER McCARTHY
HE following instructions are based on Jimmy Watts' and Peter
McCarthy's experience at Lake Willoughby:
Eat, drink, and be merry at least three days before the pre-dawn
departure on Saturday. Sleep should also be avoided.
No more than one participant ought to know how drive the given
vehicle. The value of learning to drive a manual transmission in
a Honeydew parking lot before sunrise must not be overlooked.
Stalling several times, driving in donuts around the parking lot
several more, and stalling in front of a New Hampshire state
trooper before entering the highway will increase the sense of adventrue. Stall some more.
Upon arrival, pick the approach trail closest to the parking pull off
(instead of a more direct route). Hours added to the approach by
traversing across the base of the cliff rather than casually walking
down the road augment the sentiment of an alpine climb.
"Look for the obvious ice flow the size of a football field." -An Ice
Climber's Guide to New England in reference to the Last Gentleman. Note the absence of a football field of ice as well as the first
pitch of desired NEI V. Consider mayhem traverse from neighboring NEI V+ climb. Consider value of life versus joy of placing
pitons on traverse.
Earmark said route for second day. Traverse over rock, ice, and
bramble to another climb. Squint at the ice above. Climb squinted
route. The first pitch will be slow and painful due to lack of sleep
and recent intoxication; the second will go all the way to the bitter
end of the rope and will consume all of your protection. Beach the
whale up the last several bulges. Make it hurt. Don't fall.
Find sketchy tree to serve as "anchor." Eat sandwich. Rappel.
Find car. Drive south to town to get water. Drive north to pitch
tent at roadside turnout. Cook Eat. Consider the fact that there is
only one other guy in the tent and that it is Valentine's Day. Ignore
the weirdness. Sleep inside two sleeping bags because Vermont is
cold and you don't own a real bag. Make sure to sleep by 8 pm.
Wake up late enough so that after fiddling with a stove that won't
light and packing the car, climbing starts at the same time as it
did the day before. Decide against spending the last day of your
life getting killed on the Last Gentleman. Climb harder, longer,
T
1.
2.
3.
4.
5.
6.
7.
[50]
Left: Peter McCarthy beaclllng the whale on the second pitch of Float Like a Butterfly at Lake Willoughby; Top: Frozen Carabiner; Bottom: Novice Driver
Photo's, James Watts
more sustained route than day before. Make it hurt. Place all the
screws in the rack, run out the rope to the bitter end, stare at frozen carabiner, laugh at amateur who wears alpine ski racing boots
to ice climb, take picture of (another) shady repel anchor, drop
glove hundreds of feet to the bottom, avoid repelling on French
Canadians.
8. Consider enjoying another pitch vs fatigue and time of day.
9. "Fuck it, dude. Let's go to Canada."
10. Pack gear in trunk nicely. Drive to Canada. Enjoy good and cheap
dinner at bizarre bring-your-own-beer restaurant. Have novice
driver tear into US customs stop. Receive stern look from customs
officer. Smile at customs officer. Show him nice trunk. Tear out
of US customs stop. Get pulled over for speeding in New Hampshire. Smile at officer (who is not interested in nice trunk). Receive
warning for driving "75 mph." Stall car pulling out in front of
officer.
11. Reward self with pat on the back. Another necessary step to becoming an HMC mountaineer accomplished.
[51]
El Pico de Orizaba
by JAMFS WATTS
UN climbing; not technically difficult; the altitude will get to you.
Since I was already spending a semester in Mexico, I figured I would
give Orizaba, the tallest volcano in mexico, a shot. Summitpost.com informed me about a couple of services that made the logistics very easy.
Joaquin Limon offered room and board in the town Tlachichuca as well
transportation to the alpine hut on the north side of the peak at 4200 meters. On top of that the old guy was a great host and hilarious entertainer
(think Kentucky Joe and Fred Beckey mixed in with a lot of Mexican
cursewords). At 120 pesos per night, 60 pesos per meal, and 500 pesos
per person for transportation, it was the best deal in town.
I arrived at the hut on Sunday the 14th of December at 11 a.m. I wanted to hike up to 4800 meters to acclimate, but at 4500 meters I was called
back on another team's radio to guard gear (robbery is a problem, especially on the weekends). I made myself some dinner and went to bed
very early. My heart was pounding all night long and I started getting a
headache. I slept poorly despite a nearly empty and quiet hut.
I got up on Monday morning, made some tea, and ate breakfast. The
night before I had gotten a full view of the peak and the route, but by
now the moon had set and my headlamp was now my only light source.
I left the hut at about 2:30 a.m. The initial part of the route is an obvious
trail. Then the route enters a section called the labyrinth where a mix
of ice, snow, and rock mal'e routefinding difficult. I had gotten a fairly
detailed description of this section the previous day. In addition there
was enough sign marking the route that you could probably find your
way even if you had no idea of what to expect.
I arrived at the start of the glacier (5000 meters) at 5:00a.m. By this
time my heart had calmed down and my headache had gone away. I
was feeling very confident and strong. It was still completely dark so I
took a bearing south (as well as 'up') and began to make my way across
the glacier. I set a fast pace in order to summit by sunrise at 6:30a.m.
The wind picked up to a constant 15 m/hour so I put on all my clothing, including my down jacket. I began to regret having taken such light
boots and gloves. They had helped me make quick work of the labyrinth, but now I was very cold. Normally when I get cold I just move
faster and heat myself up. But I couldn't take more than 5 to 15 steps
F
Opposite: El Pica de Orizaba from the town of Tiachichuca, Puebla.
Photo, James Watts
[52]
before stopping to catch my breath. At that point I realized that pausing and sitting on my pack actually helped warm my extremities. There
simply wasn't enough oxygen in my blood to keep moving and to keep
me warm.
I soon found myself alone on a cold, windy glacier. When the sun rose,
it shone on the other side of the mountain and provided me with almost
no additional warmth. It also meant an end to my hope of summiting at
sunrise. At this moment I began to contemplate turning around. After
surveying the descent, my strength, and my mental capacity, I decided
that it was safe to continue despite my low spirits. As I approached the
crater, a glimmer of sunlit snow appeared at its crest. It was a sight for
sore eyes. I summited Orizaba (5700 meters) at 7:30a.m. Once on the
summit I started feeling weak and sleepy. Immediately, I took refuge
from the wind behind a snowbank and soaked up the morning sun. I
had a beautiful view in all directions (although in the days before pollution I'm sure the view was even more stunning). As quickly as possible, I
took a few photos and then forced down some food and water. I wanted
so badly to be off of that mountain.
I began my descent at 8 a.m. and almost instantly began to feel better. I kept warm because I didn't need to stop to catch my breath and
because the downward motions pushed blood into my extremities. By
the time I got off the glacier I felt invincible-it was as if all the suffering had been part of a distant dream. A little oxygen had gone a long
way- I felt relaxed, strong, and energetic. I paused before the labyrinth
to consume all of the food and water I had neglected on the ascent. Care
was needed to descend the labyrinth because rock fall and 'icy' sections
make it the most dangerous part of the route. I made it to the hut around
10:30 a.m. -leaving myself just enough time to make spaghetti before
being driven back to Tlachichuca.
In retrospect I should have started later in order to get some sunlight
and warmth on the glacier. I also should have acclimated to 4000 meters
on day one, to about 5000 meters on day two, and then summited on the
third or fourth day. Even though summiting Orizaba in complete solitude (I did:n' t see anyone past 4800 meters) was a beautiful and peaceful
experience, it would have been better to have shared the joys and the
difficulties of the climb with someone else. I highly recommend it as a
beautiful and exciting introduction to high altitude climbing.
[54]
CipherEd
by MARK THOMPSON
URT. Early in the afternoon of Sunday, October 19, 2008, the
phone rang: my brother James. "Mark, I have terrible news." I
knew generally what he was about to say. Our 89-year-old parents
were in tough shape: our dad had broken a hip in August. The fall and
linked events had devastated both his high mental acuity and excellent
physical shape of just two months before. Our mom was struggling
physically to care for him. What bad news did James have about one
of them?
"Ed is dead."
Our youngest brother Ed: 47, caring, even-tempered, adventurous,
fit, gentle, intrepid, brilliant, mysterious, beloved.
I flew, the next morning, to Colorado. Amber Maggio, Medical Investigator of Boulder, had, with patience and sensitivity, explained to
me and other family members what she knew of what had happened.
Ed's body had been found, late afternoon on Saturday, beside the Second Flatiron (his favorite spot for solo climbing), just west of Boulder.
He'd fallen on Friday afternoon forty or sixty feet and had landed on
the back of his head, dying instantly. He'd worn, per the autopsy,
"Merrell hiking/jogging shoes." Carabinered to his belt were "5.10
gray/black climbing shoes." His watch was stopped at 4:43.
His absence hadn't been noted until Sunday morning, when his ladyfriend, Fordrena Griffith, had gone to his apartment, there to find
two Denver Posts lying outside it and Wampuss, his cat, mewing hungrily inside. After many calls, Fordrena had put the pieces together:
a man's body had been found late the previous afternoon. Boulder
authorities confirmed that it was Ed. He'd had a cold and had taken Thursday and Friday off from his work as a surveyor for the City
of Aurora - a suburb of Denver. Fordrena had spoken with him on
Thursday evening. He was then, she said, "antsy to write." Fordrena
knew Ed better than anyone ever had in his adult years. They'd been
going together for just over six months and it had already become clear
that she was the love of his life. He was, the next summer, to have
traveled to Gulfport, Mississippi to meet her family and she to Ithaca,
New York, to meet ours. Based on her knowledge of his routine, he'd
have driven to Boulder on Friday (he'd withdrawn cash (found, with
more, in his wallet in his bloodied fanny pack) from the ATM at the
Members Federal Credit Union in Aurora at 10:10 that morning), have
H
[55]
soloed the Second (a 5.6 route), have smoked marijuana on the summit
for a while, then have headed back to Aurora- a routine he'd devised
to optimize his psychic state for writing. He'd have planned to write
all Friday evening- probably on a neo-Malthusian essay. (He'd saved
two files relating to it at 8:45 Thursday evening and 8:36 Friday morning.)
Amber had considered and rejected on the basis of the forensic evidence the possibility of suicide. His life insurer (his policy provided
by the City of Aurora) investigated and concurred. Fordrena said (in
line with the judgments of his co-workers and with our sense of Ed in
August) that his emotional state was terrific: the antipode to suicidal.
Boulder. At Denver International Airport shortly after eleven the
next morning, Fordrena picked up my daughter Martha, arriving from
San Francisco, and me. We headed for Boulder, where Amber would
have a deputy take us to the site of Ed's death. In the parking lot for
the Flatirons were three members of the local mountain rescue outfit who'd helped to carry Ed out. We'd brought a rope, harness, and
climbing shoes, but they had us leave them in the car.
We hiked to the spot of Ed's death. They showed us where he'd
landed - where his hat had been found -- and where he'd bounced
to and had lain for a day. They didn't want us to go up to where he'd
fallen from: either one promontory forty feet above where he'd landed
or another, twenty feet higher. There were two main theories on what
had happened, advanced and disagreed on by the rescue group: first,
that he'd hiked up an easy ramp to the lower promontory and had
fallen as he'd started up higher; second, that he'd peeked over the
edge of the higher spot and had lost his balance. Subsidiary questions
abounded: why had he landed on the back of his head?; how could
he have fallen to have broken both wrists (each "on the ulnar aspect,"
the autopsy said) before landing?; why did he land so far horizontally
(fifteen or so feet) from where he'd fallen - had he sprung backward?
His autopsy reported that he'd tested "high positive for THC (marijuana) metabolite, negative for ethanol and all other drugs tested." This
supported (if inconclusively, since the THC could have resulted from
earlier use) the hypothesis of death in descent.
A version of events suggested by his co-workers was that he'd soloed the Second, relaxed on the summit, then started down. He'd done
the Second maybe a hundred times. Terrain that looked treacherous to
others (and, indeed, has now established its lethality) may have been
so familiar to him that he'd changed out of his climbing shoes. (Atop
rappels, he'd ignored urgings to anchor - holding that, if you know
[56]
what you're doing and take care, such precautions are unneeded.) He
may, in his walking or scrambling down, have been surprised by a
rattlesnake or a mountain lion (both abundant there), and have reflexively recoiled.
Or, maybe, life was just going so well for him that, with euphoria
and cannabis fuzzying his mind, he wasn't as careful as he ought to
have been or as sure on the rocks as he thought he was.
Climbing. In hiking toward Ed's death spot, we passed within fifty
yards of the Third Flatiron, where, thirteen years before, Ed's climbing
had begun. The Third is the biggest Flatiron, still showing traces of the
letters "CU," 100 feet high, which University of Colorado fratguys had
painted on it, decades before. He, Cindy (then my fiancee), and I, on
September 12, 1995, had hiked to its base. She and I had showed him
how to tie into a harness and had taught him belaying and climber calls.
I'd led a 5.4 route of several rope lengths, over the CU, to the summit.
There, after teaching him how to, we'd rappelled off. A couple weeks
later, Ed had called to tell me that he'd just soloed the route.
Most summers since, Cindy and I had flown to Colorado, to stay in
Boulder or Estes Park and to climb with Ed in Eldorado and Boulder
Canyons, on Lumpy Ridge, and at other crags in Estes Park Valley.
Twice, Ed had talked me into climbs he'd set his sights on: in 2002, we
summited (11,920 feet) Lone Eagle Peak (a stunning spire, surrounded by a cirque, maybe five pitches, of which only one was 5.7, an approach hike of nine miles, necessitating a one-night bivy); in 2005, we
climbed the North Ridge of Spearhead Mountain (12,575 feet, another
magnificent stand-alone peak circumvallated by another cirque, eight
pitches per the book of which only two were 5.6, six-mile approach).
Spearhead was generally mellow but its short crux, I thought, was 5.9
(as many climbs rated long ago are sandbags). A couple weeks later,
Ed called to tell me that he'd just soloed Spearhead in some incredibly
short car-to-car time. He had, I presumed, skirted the crux, taking the
easier line to the right. Not so, he said. (It wouldn't have been too
crazy to solo there, as he would just have been risking broken ankles
and a long crawl back At other points on our route, a fall might have
been down the sheer, 800-foot, northeast face.) The same year, Ed soloed the Owen-Spalding Route to the summit of the Grand Teton. The
accompanying picture was taken soon thereafter.
The man of mystery remained such in his climbing. Ed soloed
above the level you'd expect, based on his ability. In both 2007 and
2008, he'd had troubles seconding 5.7s- although, the same years, he'd
also cruised that grade on lead, putting in less pro than most would.
[57]
Ed, shortly after soloing the Grand Teton
Photo, Mark Thompson
In Eldo on 8/22/08, we did the 5.8+ (soft for grade, maybe 5.7) first
pitch of the Great Zot, then switched over to Rewritten (5.7) to get to
the top of Red Garden Wall. That day was the last I saw him alive.
He'd told Cindy a few days earlier that he believes in wearing a helmet
-but had left his in his apartment on 10/17/08. The medical examiners said that it would not have saved him. (Before flying out that year
to Colorado, I was imparted by our mom a hope re her youngest and
favorite child: "Mark, I wish you'd give up mountain climbing: Eddie
might get hurt." Not the first time she'd said that.)
Chattel. Over the next few days, Fordrena, Martha, and I retrieved
Ed's Subaru from the Boulder police, cleaned out his apartment (with
an enormous assist from his co-workers), and dealt with such details as
having him cremated and closing out his financial accounts. His rear
bumper sported sixteen stickers. A few were political: "At least the
war on the environment is going well." Such views had, he thought,
a few years ago, spurred someone to minor vandalism on his car.
Most, though, were whimsical: "NATIONAL SARCASM SOCIETY
LIKE WE NEED YOUR SUPPORT;" "TIME FLIES LIKE AN ARROW
FRUIT FLIES LIKE A BANANA;" "THOSE WHO FORGET THE PASTA ARE CONDEMNED TO REHEAT IT." Some (I forget which), he
admitted, were original.
In the clean out, we found such items as a tree-climbing harness
and several Rubik' s Cubes, including one spherical in dodecahedron
[58]
form, one 4x4x4, one 5x5x5. He had dictionaries in five languages;
subscription issues of Free Inquiry, The New York Review of Books,
and Skeptical Inquirer; and what was likely his first passport. Where
was he intending to travel? (Ed and Fordrena had recently seen The
Bucket List, which had prompted him to make his own: fly a glider;
ride out a hurricane; see the capitals of Europe; visit all the continents,
the Himalayas, Machu Picchu, Olympia National Park, Banff (again),
and the Amazon jungle; lunch with [physicist] Edward Witten, [former Doors keyboardist] Ray Manzarek, and [singer/songwriter] Joe
South. In 2009, in coming East, he'd said he'd plan on spending a few
days climbing with us in the Gunks - where he'd never been.)
Remembering. Fordrena and I had one last look at Ed in the funeral
home. He lay there, draped to reveal only his face: strong, handsome,
confident, just-sleeping, omni-competent. We blubbered. Fifteen minutes later, he was in the oven.
Ed's colleagues had two moments for him. We came to their daily,
pre-work meeting on Tuesday morning and shared memories. They
related how he'd sometimes arrive at work, his face swathed in gauze
from rollerblading mishaps, that he loved to argue without rancor, that
he'd won awards for the excellence of his surveying, that he seemed
to have read everything, that he'd gotten many of them into climbing. On Thursday evening, Jan Sterling, his boss, held an open house
for him. More details on The Enigma emerged. His work colleague
(and quondam heartthrob) Heather Lassner thought him consummately clumsy, as she'd sought to teach him to cancan- but she hadn't
seen him mountain-goating down the talus field from the Spearhead
summit. A main climbing buddy in 2008, co-worker Jeff Hanna (with
whom Ed was to have climbed on 10/18/08), said they'd liked to summit rock formations and would sit there for an hour or two, without
speaking, before descending. (When I climbed with Ed, we never
stopped blabbing.)
Ed had roamed. He'd ridden the rails around the country - as recently as in 2000, when he made it from Colorado to Ohio, before being
thrown off by cops. They were bemused- seeing that he was welldressed and -equipped (with a short-wave radio for listening in to train
communications)- but put an end to his fun.
He said he'd been a hobo for a while and, lacking an address, had
had to borrow books from libraries via theft. Once, he'd missed one of
the magnetic strips in a binding, got caught and had to do community
service. For years, he drove big trucks for a living all over the U.S.
He'd told a couple friends that he'd lived this life to set himself up for
[59]
writing the Great American Novel. He'd intended to survey for only
a couple years but had liked his colleagues and the job so much that
he'd stayed there for ten. In 2007, he'd said that he was happier than
ever before.
His SAT scores (which he divulged to next to no one (not to his
mom, who was thirsting to know) and which I learned a couple years
ago) put him in the highest tenth of one percent. He liked to discuss
string theory and similar topics with my physics-Ph.D. climbing friend,
Maxim Raykin. He'd gone to Oberlin in 1979 and might have been its
most intelligent and most eager-to-learn freshman: living in the library
and reading. To have attended classes would, however, have cramped
his own educational plan and he was a collegian for less than a semester.
Sherry and Fordrena
Sherry Pardee was a kindergarten classmate with whom Ed had
stayed in touch.
From "My Friend Ed," by Sherry Pardee, October 2008:
He ... loved to study the histories of mathematics, biology, and religion ... loved to play devil's advocate especially to those views you were
strongly opposed to... liked to give subscriptions as presents, always
without telling me. One year he subscribed me to the National Review
because he thought I needed a more balanced perspective ... I then got
on all kinds of right wing mailing lists ...
One October ... he was practicing up on his Christmas cookie recipes... he loved to bake. I became one of the lucky recipients of his
Christmas cookie mailings ...
We attended all the same public schools ... Though we [Ithaca, NY
kids] were all 'faculty brats' Ed was considered to be our class genius.
He told me for one paper on Lord Byron he made up the quotes that
went under the radar of the teacher ...
In surveying school he would unnerve one ofhis professors by refusing to draw a traditional north arrow. For his own amusement on tests
Ed would each time invent a new version of the north arrow and each
time his near perfect score would get marked down for [it] ...
I remember calling Ed one winter and asking what he did when he
felt he was in a rut. He told me then what Descartes would say ...
Ed wasn't driven by his worldly ambitions or consumed by a career,
which I think gave him his great contentment and allowed him to live
fully in the present.
My memories of my friend Ed give me great joy and will keep me
company in the years to come.
[ 60]
"Fallen Flatirons climber a 'nomadic adventurer, 111 by Fordrena
Griffith:
Fordrena's remembrance was published on October 29,2008 in the
Boulder Daily Camera. (The Camera had carried an early (10/18) report, "Body found between Flatirons." Someone soon posted a comment, which was sensed as gloating over the death to make a political
point. That posting was soon removed, but excited indignant responses - even before the body was identified. With identification, persons
who had known Ed - his climbing pal Ernie Port, his Ithaca friend Bob
Sweet, and my daughter Julia -followed by posting tender tributes to
him.)
It was a privilege being Edward Thompson's girlfriend. Part philosopher, instructor, writer and nomadic adventurer, no one aspect of
Ed's life defined him, except perhaps his underlying need to explore and
experience life on his own terms.
Ed spent part ofhis life as a "wanderer with no address." After a semester at college, Ed decided to live-- and learn --his own way. During
his 20s, he lived from boxcar to bridge, hitchhiking, working odd jobs,
often pretending to be a student at local universities so that he could access books from campus libraries. Later he became a long-haul trucker,
living out of motels at first, then settling into an apartment he visited
about once a month.
During those wandering years, Ed, originally from Ithaca, N.Y.,
traveled through just about every state. But he had always been particularly fond of Colorado, ever since his family passed through Estes
Park when he was 7. Inspired by a newspaper advertisement (after a
summer spent in an Alaskan fish factory) Ed decided to return to school
in Denver to become a surveyor.
After graduating, Ed had only intended to work for the cittj of Aurora for a little while, but years passed. Several months ago, he made his
10-year anniversary. The nomad had found a home.
But he never stopped dangling off the ledge, crafting out unconventional ways of living. Almost daily he biked to work and rollerbladed 10
miles along the Highline Canal once or twice a week during the milder
months. In winter he jogged and hiked in the snowy mountains -- and
he spent idle afternoons baking cookies and at night slept on his living
room floor so that he would hear his eat's cries to come in early from
the cold.
And always, always, he assessed the quality of each day by how
much closer he'd come to achieving the creative mission that had followed him through all his wanderings--to write a new, more responsible
[ 61]
world into being.
"Look at what's happening around us," he said several weeks ago.
"Socially, politically-- times are ripe for change. I want to be a part
of making things better." Thoughtful, inspired, driven -- the only way
to love such a man was to allow him complete freedom to be himself.
Ed loved solo climbing. Often he'd make spontaneous trips to Boulder to spend part of the day scrambling up one of the Flatirons. These
treks helped him to think. He'd sit at the summit for hours, letting his
mind wander and his senses breathe in lessons observed from the natural world.
After these inspiring adventures, he'd return to his "workshop" refreshed and open -- and the ideas would flow into more cohesive foml.
"Most people climb for the thrill," he said. "But I'm studying God's
book."
A week ago, he embarked upon one of these Boulder retreats, but
never returned home.
The day after learning of Ed's fatal fall from the second Flatiron, his
brother, niece and I hiked to the scene with the assistance of Sgt. Dav,id
Booten and the Rocky Mountain Rescue Group. It was harrowing; envisioning Ed's final moments, before his body broke upon the earth. Yet
there was a strange stillness, being surrounded by the beauty that drove
Ed into Chautauqua Park to seek out the face of God -- and his own
truth -- atop the mountains.
Yet even in death Ed continues to evolve. In the darkness of our
grief, we have discovered God's second face, as we reach out for one
another. We console each other by telling "Ed stories." Or we recount
his generosity. As focused as he was on his quest, Ed rarely missed an
opportunity to show kindness to those around him.
Just yesterday his friend Ollie called me, weeping, to say, "Ed was
a man of noble character. He was a man of the United Nations. He was
the friend of everybody in the world."
I am not alone in this grief-- I share it with many who knew and
loved Edward John Thompson. Yet I feel especially grateful to have sheltered his gentle, dreaming self for the brief, yet precious, time that we
were given.
Ed's computer contained many outlines: maybe hundreds of them
for pieces he'd hoped to write. It also had his novel. He'd completed
draft versions of ten chapters, plus many outtakes. Four years ago, he
sent me three chapters - a fun read, all dialogue, much between driver
and hitchhiker, a put-on call to a phone-sex line; touching on truck
driving, football, and religion. In late 2007, he declined to climb with
[ 62]
us in Yosemite in 2008, because he wanted to wrap up the novel. A
few months later, he put it aside, telling Fordrena that he was disappointed with it.
One file," cover letter," saved on 11/18/07, contained what he may
have intended to send, with his manuscript, to a publisher or agent,
written in the persona of his protagonist:
Yo,
My girlfriend told me to get a hobby so I wouldn't get drunk and get
in fights all the time. So I say, Like what? And she says, I dunno, learn
guitar. Or write a book.
Well, everybody plays guitar, and most of 'em are dinks. I never
met anyone who could write a book. But I'd read one, so I figured I was
halfway there. And bein' a writer, I can still drink all I want. The more
I drink, the better I write.
So I wrote a book about this time I went hitchhikin'. Here it is. If you
print it, don't forget to send me the money.
Take it easy,
JXRMobro
The name came in part from Ed's best friend since seventh grade:
James Xavier Lucey: "Jim" or "Lucite" to Ed. Ed had also sent Jim
novel chapters to review. Neither Jim nor I know the source of the "R"
nor can we explain "Mobro."
Postscript. Many of our family traveled to Boulder to remember Ed
on 6/15/09- which would have been his forty-eighth birthday. Jeff
Hanna and six family members were that morning to summit the Second- there to scatter a part of Ed's ashes. Jeff and I were atop it, hoping to bring up the others, when one of Boulder's seasonal thunderstorms, which usually hit shortly after noon, came early and surprised
us. Amid winds, rain, hail, and lightning, we hurriedly uncapped a
canning jar of Ed dust, told him we loved him, poured out the ashes,
and rapped out of there.
The weather cleared and, joined by another ten, we hiked around to
where Ed had died. There, Jeff and other of Ed's co-workers had cemented into the rock a round brass plaque of the type that mark mountain summits. To have secured official permission to place it would
have been anti-Ed-like. It was engraved:
IN LOVING
MEMORY OF
ED THOMPSON
6/15/61
10/17/08
[ 63]
Around the perimeter, a Tolkien quote from the right rear Subaru
bumper: "NOT ALL THOSETHATWANDERARELOST". We scattered more ashes and said what we could.
That evening, a larger group of family, Ed's co-workers and climbing buddies, Jim Lucey, and Fordrena gathered for a memorial dinner.
Late the next month, Jim and Fordrena came to Ithaca to meet with
our family- especially our parents, who couldn't travel to Coloradofor more remembrance. The third little heap of Ed's ashes was buried
with Cornell view, close to Dad's parents.
Fordrena has kept the fourth lot of ashes. She struggles still to find
her best path forward and has written more moving essays.
In closing, Ed's words in a file he saved on 9/17/2005, perhaps the
kind of penultimate thoughts he had:
"Lichen Plaque"
Here's to lichens. Nomatterwhereyou go in these mountains, whatever bleak, weather-beaten crag you find yourself on, wind rising and
sky darkening, you'll always find a lichen waiting out the stonn with
you. It doesn't take much to make a lichen happy: occasional sunlight,
occasional water, and a rock. That's about it. T11at's all the longest lasting wedding in nature, fungus and alga, has to work with. And all they
give the world in return is dirt. And to that dirt we owe all we eat and
most of what we wear.
Unnoticed, unthanked, frozen and parched, stepped on and ignored,
they must be the world's toughest living things. T11ey are old, simple,
crude fellows, most are far from pretty. Yet I have never climbed a
mountain that didn't have lichens living on its rocks. Every wind-tom,
stonn-tossed granite has a lichen happy to call it home.
The1} spend most of their lives effectively dead.
X looks like a black splotch on a rock. Who would have thought that
a black splotch could be a living, breathing guy with his kids and grandkids living on nearby rocks.
Lichens are on the side that believes in doing whatever you can to
make the world a better place, however futile it may seem. Their contribution to our biosphere is dirt. Nothing could seem a lamer gift than
dirt, but where would we be without it?
And so, I take my hat off the humble lichens, and to all those who,
like them, try to make the world a better place for others in some small
way. I'm honored to share a planet with a group that asks as little and
gives as much.
[ 64]
Bates and Washburn Obituary
by JACKSON SALOVAARA
N the last three years, the Harvard Mountaineering Club has lost
two of its earliest and most illustrious members: Robert H. Bates '33
and H. Bradford Washburn '33. These friends and climbing partners,
inseparable in their lives, have proved inseparable as they left it. Both
living to the age of 96, Washburn passed away on January 10, 2007 and
Bates on September 13,2007.
Bates, a native of Philadelphia, came to Harvard in 1929 after graduating from Phillips Exeter Academy in New Hampshire. He joined the
recently formed HMC and soon met Bradford Washburn, who would
become his climbing partner and closest friend.
Washburn was a Cambridge resident and a graduate of the Groton School. Before arriving at Harvard, Washburn had already distinguished himself as a mountaineer, summitting Mont Blanc and the
Matterhorn in the French Alps as a 16-year old and putting up a new
route on Aiguille Verte at the age of 19. He had also made a name for
himself as a photographer and writer of guidebooks, penning several
books about his exploits in the White Mountains and in France.
At Harvard, Bates and Washburn, along with fellow HMC members
Adam Carter, Charles Houston, and Terris Moore-a group known as
the Harvard Five- comprised a generation of climbers who dominated
the mountaineering scene in the 1930s and 40s and contributed much
to the sport. This group had especial prowess in researching, planning,
and executing first ascents of remote Alaskan peaks.
Bates and Washburn are remembered for several climbs in particular. In 1937, they went on an expedition with two companions to climb
Alaska's Mt. Lucania, then the highest unclimbed peak in North America. The peak was so isolated that they had to fly to the mountain base
on a bush plane. Due to unexpected weather conditions, Bates and
Washburn were separated from their companions and left stranded
deep in the Alaska wilderness. Despite these trying circumstances, the
pair decided to attempt the climb anyway. They successfully reached
the summit, but then had to trek over 150 miles out to Burwash Landing, the nearest site of civilization. In an incredible story of survival,
Bates and Washburn navigated huge tracts of uncharted Yukon territory, fording spring-melt rivers and subsisting at times on gathered
mushrooms.
Bates is also famed as a member of the 1953 attempt to summit K2
I
[ 65]
Bob Bates on the left and Brad Washburn on the right standing atop Mt. Lucania. Brad's
negatives miraculously made it through the 150 mile treck undamaged, but they were
left hanging in a tree before one of their dangerous river crossings. The first people they
met, a group of cattle ranchers who provided them with food and shelter, also helped
them recover Brad's camera bag and the precious negatives it contained.
Photo, Bradford Washbum
along with Charles Houston. After coming within 800 meters of the
summit in 1937, their expedition went awry when team member Art
Gilkey grew seriously ill. Bates was later awarded the David A. Sowles
Memorial Award for his part in their attempts to rescue Gilkey and coauthored K2: the Savage Mountain with Houston about the expedition
and their attempts to rescue their team member.
In his own right, Washburn completed numerous first ascents in
Alaska, among them the first ascent of the West Buttress route on
Mount McKinley. He also grew in fame as a landscape photographer,
pioneering the fields of aerial photography and mountain cartography.
Many of his clear and striking photos remain a standard reference for
Alaskan route-planning.
Outside of their mountaineering exploits, both Bates and Washburn
made long careers as educators. Bates, who received a Ph.D in literature from the University of Pennsylvania in 1947 (his thesis, entitled
"Mystery, Beauty, and Danger" was on the literature of the Mountains),
became an instructor in English at his high school alma mater, Phillips
Exeter. He taught there until1976, taking off the school year of 1963-4
to serve as the director of the Peace Corps in Kathmandu, Nepal. Bates
continued climbing late into his life, participating in a 1985 expedition
at the age of 74 to Ulugh Muztagh in southwestern China.
[ 66]
Washburn, who took over the New England Museum of Natural
History in 1939, had largely retired from climbing by the 1950s and
devoted himself to expanding science education. He transformed the
Museum of Natural History into the Boston Museum of Science, oversaw the construction of a new facility at the end of the Charles River
Basin in 1951, and installed a planetarium and a van de Graff generator
in his new museum. Washburn had a great zeal for bringing science to
life for all people. He served at the director of the Museum of Science
until1980 and is largely responsible for establishing it as the institution
it is today.
Robert Bates and Bradford Washburn were men of a high and special character. They lived long and rich lives, driven by a passion for the
mountains, the beauty of nature, and a desire to awaken that passion in
others, especially young people. We remember them fondly and honor
their legacy in recognizing that "the love of mountains is best."
Houston Obituary
by PETER McCARTHY AND JAMES WArrs
harles Snead Houston was born on August 24th 1913 and died on
September 27th 2009 at the age of 96. He played a legendary role in
the development of American mountaineering and was one of the Harvard Mountaineering Club's most influential members. He was also
one of the first physicians to extensively study the effects of altitude
on human physiology. The mountaineering and medical communities
will always celebrate his bravery and innovation.
Houston was born in Manhattan and raised in Great Neck, New
York He graduated from Harvard University in 1935 and went on to
attend the Columbia University College of Physicians and Surgeons,
where he earned his Medical Doctorate. From 1941 until1946 he served
as an in flight physician in the Navy. He later practiced internal medicine at Exeter, NH and Aspen, CO and finally joined the faculty at the
University of Vermont as Professor of Medicine. From 1962 to 1965 he
served as the first country director for the Peace Corps in India and he
played an important role in the development of the doctors' division
within the Corps.
Houston was one ofthe Harvard Five who dominated the American mountaineering scene in the late 30's, 40's, and early 50's. He
was a member of the British 1936 expedition to Nanda Devi in India.
C
[ 67]
When his fellow team members H.W. Tilman and N.E. Odell reached
the summit (Houston fell ill from food poisoning at the last camp and
wasn't able to joint them), Nanda Devi became the highest mountain
ever climbed. Houston also led the first American Karakorum expedition in 1938 where his team pioneered the route that would eventually
lead to the first ascent of K2 by an Italian team in 1954.
He returned to K2 in 1953 as the leader of the third American Karakorum expedition- one of the most famous expeditions in mountaineering history. One team member, Art Gilkey, became ill with phlebitis (blood clots) in his left leg after a two-week blizzard at high camp
(25,000ft). His five fellow mountaineers made their best effort to get
him down- knowing full well that they placed their own lives on the
brink. When a team member slipped and all the men became entangled
in their ropes, Pete Schoening miraculously stopped their 300 ft fall by
wedging his ice axe behind a boulder and wrapping the rope around
it and his waist (which was later dubbed "the belay"). Houston exemplified a generation who believed that success in the mountains was
based on friendship, trust, and camaraderie-what Houston called
"the brotherhood of the rope." Their valiant effort to save Gilkey, even
at their own risk, reveals the powerful bond between team members
and the true spirit of mountaineering.
During their effort to escape K2, Houston experienced delirium
due to altitude sickness first hand (and all but succumbed until fellow Harvard Five member Robert Bates roused him). Since then, he
devoted his medical career to understanding the effects of hypoxia on
the human body and find methods for overcoming altitude sickness.
In 1947, his studies with the Navy showed that carefully controlled acclimatization would allow US pilots to fly up to 15,000 feet in open air
cockpits- giving the US military a tactical advantage. He was the first
to study high altitude pulmonary edema (1958) and he penned several
books including the standard Going Higher: Oxygen, Man and Mountains. Houston published over 1,000 articles on wilderness and high
altitude medicine, including one in Harvard Mountaineering of 1963,
and he founded the International Hypoxia Symposium in 1975.
Charles Houston lived a long and accomplished life. He will be
remembered for his great contributions to the field of high altitude
medicine, his amazing leadership and tenacity in the mountains, and
his dedication to his teammates and family. It is our hope that future
generations of climbers would learn from his example and follow that
wonderful spirit of friendship and trust as they set out to climb their
own mountains.
[ 68]
Climbing Notes
In recent years, HMC members have advanced the club's experience and technical ability. This includes graduate student Eugene Kwan
who, along with other club members and guides, has climbed many of
the most technically difficult mixed and ice climbs in New England. He
boasts ascents of NElS and M8lines in Vermont and New Hampshire as
well as the Canadian Rockies. On the warmer end of things Keller Rinaudo, class of 2009, took the clubs technical rock climbing up a notch with
his ascent of China Beach (5.14c) at Rumney NH; a climb he worked for
approximately one year. Two years ago we were joined by two experienced first-years (class of 2012) who took NOLS mountaineering courses
before beginning their studies at Harvard: Peter McCarthy and Ethan
Waxman, the latter of which ascended Denali during his course.
Cabin Report
The cabin has been doing exceptionally well for the past three seasons. Jeremy Quant served as the caretaker for the 07-08 season andreported over 350 stays in the cabin and over 150 stays in the tent sites.
John Lembke found time to fill in for him during the holidays. The season was relatively uneventful except for the death of a solo climber in
Odell's gully. The climber was swept out of the gully by an avalanche-reminding us that Mt Washington presents significant risks in the winter
time. That Spring, George Brewster helped the HMC install and new
solar panel, battery, radio, and antenna in the cabin.
For the duration of the 08-09 season, George Wallace acted as cabin
caretaker. He had grown up climbing the gullies in Huntington's Ravine
and was fond of the cabin. As a result he worked very hard to maintain the wood supply, repair the doors, benches, and shelves, and help
guests feel welcome and comfortable. It was also record breaking season
for the cabin: George boasts a substantial income for the cabin and many
very pleased guests.
Rich Palatino served as caretaker during the first two months, December and January, of the 09-10 season. Our own Karen Lovely and Dunbar
Carpenter took over for the last two months of the season. Once again
the cabin was filled nearly every weekend and seldom lacked guests
during the week We have been particularly lucky to have caretakers
who genuinely care about improving the social and physical aspects of
the cabin. A number of guests reported that the caretakers during the
09-10 season were exellent hosts and helped them have a wonderful Mt.
[ 69]
Washington experience.
As a result of two great seasons, the HMC is looking into a number of smaller repairs on the cabin. These include re-chlnking the space
between logs, replacing propane lanterns, adding a lantern, putting the
oven/ stove on a soft-line, treating some logs that are beginning to rot,
improving the insulation around doors and windows, and restoring the
dark interior to lighten up the cabin's atmosphere. We want to ensure
that the cabin is a resource for future generations of Harvard Mountaineers and New England climbers. We also hope the cabin will be a place
where alumni can reconnect with the HMC and a place where our newer
club members can fall in love with a wintry Huntington's Ravine.
Club Activities
Three years ago the HMC decided to use trip subsidies to fund larger trips over the surruner break. The result was the surruner climbing
grant which awards $2,500-3,000 to the proposal which best combines
a challenging alpine environment with a place for developing climbers
to learn new skills. During the surruner of 2008 the mountaineering club
sent fourteen of its members to summit peaks in the North Cascades in
northern Washington. This last surruner, 2009, eighteen club members
climbed extensively in the Wind Rivers of Wyoming. This surruner we
are heading back to the North Cascades to climb Mt. Rainier.
In addition to the surruner grant, the HMC has also sponsored
ice climbing trips during intercession and rock climbing trips during
spring break. For the past three years, club members climbed in the Adirondacks of NY during the last week of January. We have developed
cordial relations with the Alpine Club of Canada which owns a cabin ten
minutes outside of Keene Valley. With so much accessible climbing in
such a concentrated area, the Adirondacks give club members a chance
to start the ice season in full stride. We have also sent a group of five to
ten climbers to the Red River Gorge for the past three years. It has been
an excellent place to train new rock leaders and build up endurance for
the rest of the rock climbing season.
It has been wonderful to see club activity expand over the years
as we gain new members and develop stronger climbers. This wave of
enthusiasm has resulted in the expansion of our library and gear inventory. In the future we hope to hear about HMC members having adventures in New England, taller peaks throughout North America, unclimbed routes, higher altitudes, and larger ranges.
[ 70]
Membership
of the
Harvard Mountaineering Club
ASSOCIATE MEMBERS
ALEXANDER, DANIELLE J., '09
AUBRECHT, DONALD, GSAS
BARTLETT, MEGAN, '09
BAST, ELIZABETH,'09
BRENNAN, T. J., '10
CARBALLO, DAVID, GSAS
CHAN, On-KwAN, Post Doc.
CONWAY, RYAN
CRISTELLO, ANGELICA, '12
DAVIDSON, NICK, Emerson '09
DMYIRENKO, 0LEG, GSAS
DRESSEN, DoN, GSAS
ETHERIDGE, BRYANT, GSAS
EvANGELAKOS, LEE, '11
FEDER, COREY
FINE, BENJAMIN, '11
GILLIS, CLARE M., '09
GRUNDY, JIM, '09
Gou, LIJUN, Post Doc.
Gao,Su,'10
GRENIER, THOMAS, HBS
HAMELINE, AMANDA, '12
HAVICE, TALYA,'10
JENSEN, CHRIS, '12
JoHNSTON, PHILIP, GSAS
KERNION, JACKSON, '12
KoLESAR, MICHAL
KoPPENS, FRANK, GSAS
LESAGE, DAVID, GSAS
MALE!lNSKY, pATRICK, GSAS
MENDEL, BROCK, GSAS
McCAHILL, DAVE,'09
McLouGHLIN, HEA1HER
OKEN, CHRISSIE,'09
PELAWA, SusANNE
Porrs, MoRGAN, '09
PETACH, TREVOR, '10
RAYESS, RACHAD, Harvard Staff
Sorov, ALEXANDAR, GSAS
SroKES-REES, IAN
STEINER, MARIA, '12
TANG, SUMIN, GSAS
TREDER, TIM, '10
THOMAS, KYLE, GSAS
THoMPSON, JoHN, '05
VLASSAREV, DIMITAR, GSAS
VVTHA, AMAR, GSAS
WILCOX, STEWART, GSAS
ACTIVE MEMBERS
BARLEY, JoNATHAN, GSAS
Born, LEAH, '09
BREWSTER, GEORGE, '03
BROTHERTON, SAMUEL, '12
CARPENTER, DUNBAR,'08
ERICKSEN, NICK, '11
FILLER, LUKAS, Div. '09
FORD, DAVID, GSAS
FRANKLIN, EMMA, '12
GooDALE, BRIANNA,'09
Moss, GIL, '09
ONOFREY, LAUREN, '12
PFORZHEIMER, CARL TUCKER, '13
REINTON, HENNING, GSAS
RINAUDO, KELLER, '09
Rim-NAJARIAN, LESLIE, '12
ROSENBERG, ALLISON, '12
RosENTHAL, JoNo, '13
RYLAND, CHARLIE, '09
SALOVAARO, JACKSON, '11
[ 71]
GoREN, AwN, Post Doc., MIT
HELLER, CHRISTOPHER, '12
HENDERSON-FROST, Jo, '09
:HINDAL, LOUJSE, '12
JoNES, KEVIN, '09
KENNEDY, EsrnER, '13
KURYLA, KARL, Ext. School
KwAN, EuGENE, GSAS
LEHNER, NADINE, '09
LoVELY, KAREN, '09
McCARTHY, PETER, '12
McFARLAND, Ross, '08
MEDIATORE, JIM, M.S. MIT
MooRCRAFT, PAUL, Harvard Prof.
SCHROEDER, BRIAN, Ext. School
SPEARMAN, WILL, GSAS
STEIN, Eu, '13
TARWATER, ALUSON, '09
TEPUTZ, Coz, '09
THOMPSON, EUZABE'IH, '12
TOWNSEND, CHRIS, '03
WAIGHT, HANNAH, '10
WALDO, NICK, '13
WATTS, JAMES, '10
WAXMAN, E'IHAN, '12
WIEN, JASON, '13
ZAGORSKY, JosH, '11
ZWAZINGER, CoUN, '13
LIFE MEMBERS
ABRONS, HENRY L., 3030 Deakin St., Berkeley, CA 04705
AMEs, EDWARD, 2 Spaulding Ln., Riverdale, NY 10471
ANAGNOSIAKIS, CHRISTOPHER, 141 Linden St., New Haven, CT 06511
ARNASON, JoHN, Department of Geology, Stanford University, Stanford, CA
94305-2115
ARNoN, STEPHEN, MD, 9 Fleetwood Court, Orinda, CA 94563
ARSENAULT, STEVE, 5 Tilden St., Bedford, MA 01730
ATKINsoN, WILUAM C., 343 South Ave., Weston, MA 02493
BARRETT, JAMES E., JR., PHD, 10 Ledyard Lane, Hanover, NH 03755
BEAL, WILUAM D., JR., P.O. Box One, Jackson, NH 03846
BELL, GEORGE I., 794 43rd St., Los Alamos, NM 87544
BENNER, GoRDON, MD, 33 Keswick Ct, Oakland, CA 94611-2517
BERNAYS, DAVID J., 45 Wenham Rd., Topsfield, MA 01983
BERNBAUM, Eo, 1846 Capistrano, Berkeley, CA 94707
BREEN, JoHN,8 Crescent Hill Ave., Lexington, MA 02173
BRIGGS, ANN M., 480 Hale St., Palo Alto, CA 94301
BRIGGS, WINSLOW R., 480 Hale St., Palo Alto, CA 94301
BROWN, RICHARD McPIKE, 490 Estado Way, Novato, CA 94947
BRUSHART, ToM, M.D., 3803 St. Paul St., Baltimore, MD 21218
BULLOUGH, PER, PHD, Molecular Biology and Biotechnology, University of
Sheffield, Sheffield, UNITED KINGDOM
BURKE, JAMES F., 84 East St., Foxboro, MA 02035
CALLAGHAN, HAYDIE, 22 Ashcroft Rd, Medford, MA 02155
CARMAN, TEo, 24 Chesire Street, Jamaica Plain, MA 02130
CARMAN, PETER T., Box 686, Wilson, WY 83014
CARTER, ANN, 361 Centre St., Milton, MA 02186
CARTER, MADELEINE, 5036 Glenbrook Terrace, N. W., Washionton, D.C. 20016
CARTER, ROBERTS., P.O. Box 172, Medina, WA 98039
CHAMBERLAIN, LoWELL, 100 Thorndale Dr, Apt 425, San Rafael, CA 94903
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CLARK, BRIAN EDWARD, 700 Huron Ave, 14C, Cambridge, MA 02138
CoBURN, JAY, 30 Princeton Ave., Beverley, MA 01915
COCHRAN, NAN, 233 Ash St., Weston, MA 02193
CoLLINS, JosEPH, 63-8 Commercial Wharf, Boston, MA 02110
CoNROD, RoBERT, 66 Scott Rd., Belmont, MA 02478
CooMBS, DAVID, 3234 S. Jefferson St., Spokane, WA 99203
CoULTER, DouGLAS E., P.O. BOX 48, Chocorua, NH 03817
Cox, RACHEL, 2946 Newark Street, NW, Washington, DC 20008
CRoNK, CASPAR, MD, 8 Langbourne Ave., London, ENGLAND N6 AL
CUMMINs, CuNT A., 761 Allen Court, Palo Alto, CA 94303-4111
D' ARCY, RAY, 480 4th Street, Oakland, CA 94607-3829
DANJELS, JoHN L., JR., 39 River Glen Rd., Wellesley, MA 02181
DEN HARTOG, STEPHEN L., 102 Blueberry Hill Dr., Hanover, NH 03755
DETIMAR, TED, 3501 S. 15th Street, Arlington, VA 22204
DoLGINOW, DouG, MD, 12307 Stoney Creek Road, Potomac, MD 20854-1169
DRISCOLL, TED, 11 Sanstone, Portola Valley, CA 94026
DUMONT, JIM, RR 1 Box 220, Bristol, VT 05443
DUNN, FREDERICK L., MD, 3829 22nd St., San Francisco, CA 94114
DURFEE, ALAN H., 20 Atwood Rd., South Hadley, MA 01075
ECHEVARRIA, M.D., 905 W. Laurel Apt. 213, Fort Collins, CO, 80521
EDDY, GARREIT, 4515 W. Ruffner St., Seattle, WA 98199
ELKIND, JAMES, 23 Slough Road, Harvard, MA 01451
ERSKINE, LINWOOD M., JR., 41 Brooks Rd., Paxton, MA 01612-1168
FAULKNER, NATHAN, 9 Buell St., Hanover, NH 03755
FERRIS, BENJAMIN G., JR., MD, Box 305, 10 Town House Rd., Weston, MA
02193
FETCHER, NED, Box 68, Harvard Forest, Petersham, MA 01366
FISHER, EmoTT, M.D., 65 Wallace Rd, White River Junction, VT 05001-2219
FLANDERS, ToNY, 61 Sparks St. #3, Cambridge, MA 02138-2248
FoRSTER, RoBERT W., 2215 Running Springs, Kingwood, TX 77339
FRANKUN, FRED A., PHD, Center for Astrophysics, 60 Garden Street, Cambridge, MA 02138
FREED, CURT, MD, 9080 East Jewell Circle, Denver, CO 80231
GABLE, CARL, 1051 Chicoma Vista, Santa Fe, NM 87507
GABRIELSON, CuRT, Student Canter 461, MIT, Cambridge, MA 02139
GARDINER, WILUAM, 2612 Maria Anna Rd., Austin, TX 78731
GEHRING, JoHN, MD, 206 Waltham St, Apt 119, W Newton, MA 02465-1751
GILBERT, ScoTT, 40 Holland St., Somerville, MA 02144
GRAHAM, JoHN, PO Box 759, Langley, WA 98260
GRAHAM, WILUAM, PhD, Office of the Dean, 45 Francis Avenue, Cambridge,
MA02138
GRISCOM, ANDREW, 1106 N. Lemon Ave, Menlo Park, CA 94025
HAKALA, BRIAN E., 7272 E. 37th N. Apt 1121, Wichita, KS 67226
HAMILTON, IAN M., The Grange, East Chiltington, Sussex, Lewes, ENGLAND
HAMILTON, ScoTT D., JR., 3304 Hill Rd., Little Rock, AR 72205-4108
[ 73]
HARTSHORNE, RoBERT, 768 Contra Costa Ave., Berkeley, CA 94707
HEINEMANN, H. ERic, 7 Woodland Place, Great Neck, NY 11021
HERIARD, BERTRAND, 10 Martin St., Cambridge, MA 02138
HOGUET, ROBERT L., III, 139 E. 79th St., New York, NY 10021
HooVER, WIN, 1240 Park Ave., New York, NY 10028
HoWE, DAVE, 208 Newton Street, Weston, MA 02493
IMBRIE, JmiN Z., 21 Pembroke Dr., Lake Forest, IL 60045
JAMESON, JoHN T., 1262 La Canada Way, Salinas, CA 93901
JERVIS, STEVEN A., 71 Carroll St, SC, Brooklyn, NY 11231
JUNcosA, ADRIAN M., Harvard Forest, Petersham, MA 01366
KAUFFMANN, ANDREW J., II, 2800 Woodley Rd., Apt. 438, Washington, D.C.
20008
KELLOGG, HOWARD MoRGAN, 51 Ivy Lane, Tenafly, NJ 07670
KERNEY, KEITH P., 5505 Glenwood Road, Bethesda, MD 20834
l<RAMARsic, JoE, P.O. Box 1342, Dillon, CO 80435
LEHNER, MICHAEL, 142 Chestnut Street, #11, Boston, MA 02108
LEHNER, PETER, 530 East 86th Street, #14A, New York, NY 10028
LEVIN, PHluP D., 10 Plum St., E. Gloucester, MA 01930
LEWIS, CHAo, P.O. Box 774, Intervale, NH 03845
LINDSAY, DEREK, The City College Chemistry Department, Convent Ave,
138th St., New York, NY 10031
MAcoUN, FRANCIS P., III, Spy Rock Hill Rd., Manchester, MA 01944
MANTEL, SAMUEL J., JR., 608 Flagstaf{Dr., Wyoming, OH 45215
MAREs, DAVID R., PHD, 5103 Bristol Rd., San Diego, CA 92115
MARGOLIN, REUBEN, 3 Sacramento Ave, Cambridge, MA 02138
MATEUCH, MICHAEL, 9390 Towne Centre Drive, Bldg. 300, San Diego, CA
92121
MATTHEws, W. V. GRAHAM, Box 381, Carmel Valley, CA 93924
MAxWELL, JAMES C., 4053B Trinity Drive, Los Alamos, NM 87544
McCARTER, RoBERT S., 2023 Lemonberry Ln, Carlsbad, CA 92009-6884
McGRAIL, THoMAS H., 15423 James Momoe Highway, Leesburg, VA 22075
McGRATH, MICHAEL P.R., 448 Barretts Mill Rd., Concord, MA 01742
McLEoD, JoHN, JR., 5 Maya Lane, Los Alamos, NM 87544
MERRIAM, GEoRGE, MD, PO Box 39596, Lakewood, WA 98496-3596
MEssER, KAREN, 12903 via Latina, del Mar CA 92014
MILLER, MAYNARD M., 514 East First St., Moscow, ID 83843
MILLIKAN, RICHARD G. C., 1834 4th St., Berkeley, CA 94710
MUHLHAUSEN, CARL, 10 Harvest Lane, Tinton Falls, NJ 07718
NAGLE, RoBERT, 85 Griggs Rd, Brookline, MA 02140
NEWTON, JoHN W., 20 Pleasant St., South Natick, MA 01760
NICKERSON, ALBERT W., 123 Mishaum Point Rd., South Dartmouth, MA 02748
NOTMAN, JoHN, 902 Second Avenue South, Clinton, IA 52732
0BERDORFER, ANTHoNY H., 150 Fletcher Rd., Belmont, MA 02178
ORDWAY, SAMUEL H., III, 19409 Ordway Rd., Weed, CA 96904
PAGE, RoBERT A., JR., 3125 Woodside Rd., Woodside, CA 94062
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PALAIS, BoB, 2148 South Wyoming St., Salt Lake City, UT 84109
PASTERCZ\'K, JIM,3201 Landover St. Apt 1417, Alexandria, VA 22305_1932
PATTERSON, WILUAM B., 43 Harrison St., Newton, MA 02161
PEET, JuUE MECK, 1 Irving Place P26B, New York, NY 10003-9742
PETERSON, DARELYN, 7814 Friars Ct., Alexandria, VA 22306
PETERSON, DAVID, 7814 Friars Ct., Alexandria, VA 22306
PmMAN, CHARLES,4117 West Regency Court, Vero Beach, FL 32967-1806
PoMERANCE, STEPHEN M., 335 17th St., Boulder, CO 80302
PUGH, GEORGE, 1124 Langridge Rd., Oakland, CA 94610
PUTNAM, WILUAM L., Lowell Observatory, Flagstaff, AZ 86001
RAu, DEAN, 840 40th Ave. NE, Wilmor, MN 56201
REICHARDT, LoUis F., PHD, 900 Darien Way, San Francisco, CA 94127
REisER, GEORGE, P. 0. Box 224, Lincoln Center, MA 01773
REISER, PAMELA, P. 0. Box 224, Lincoln Center, MA 01773
RICH, PAUL, PHD, Universidad de las Americas- Puebla, Sta. Catarina Martir,
Puebla, MEXICO 72820
RIDDER, WALTER T., 1219 Crest Lane, McLean, VA 22101
RIKER, JoHN L., 47 E 64th St., New York, NY 10021
RoBERTS, DAVID, 61 Dana Street #4, Cambridge, MA 02138
RoBINSON, CERVIN, 652 Broadway 9th fl., New York, NY 10012
RocKWELL, SusAN,5001 Sedgwick St., NW, Washington, D.C. 20016
RoDNING, CHRis, 4500 Cavalier Road, Semmes, AL 36575
RoTH, MARK, 100 West 89th Street #8D, New York, NY 10024
RUBIN, ALAN, P.O. Box 3115, Amherst, MA 01004
RunEY, JoHN M., 1030 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10028
SANDROF, PATIENCE, Box 305, Weston, MA 02193
ScUDDER, THAYER, 2484 N. Altadena Drive, Altadena, CA 91001
SHANKLAND, THOMAS J.,6 Mariposa Ct., Los Alamos, NM 87544
SHoR, MiCHAELS., 4306 Alton Place, NW., Washington, DC 200 I(,
SIDEMAN, RicHARD L., 14 Mara Vista Court, Tiburon, CA 94920
SILVA, WILL,MD,731517thAvenueNW,Seattle, WA 98117
SLAGGIE, LEo, 6358 Lakewood Dr., Falls Church, VA 22041-122(,
SoRGER, PETER C., 319 Highland Ave., Winchester, MA Ol890
SosMAN, JoHN L., MD, 648 Lowell Rd., Concord, MA 01742
SPITZER, LYMAN, JR., 659 Lake Drive, Princeton, NJ 08540
STEELE, BEN, 276 Hanover Center Road, Etna, NH 03750
STORY, LEON A., JR., 238 Essex St., Middleton, MA 01949
SWITKES, EuGENE, University of California, Santa Cruz, C/\ %OM
TANAKA, ToM, 13861 SE 62nd Street, Bellevue, WA 98006
THOMPSON, MARK, 5 Hampton Rd., Lexington, MA 02421
UsEEM, M!CHAEL,352 Woodley Road, Merion, PA 19066.
(,
VAN BAAK, DAVID R.,1643 Hiawatha Rd.,SE, Grand Raptds, Mltl 1 ,()(,
VAN BAALEN, MARK, 28 Madigan Lane, Harvard, MA 01451
Voss, JoHN, 187 Garfield Rd., Concord, MA 01742
17h
I
WALLING, RITNER, East Coast Salvage, 29th and Adams Ave., Camden, NJ
08105
WARREN, STEVE, PHD, Univ. of Washington, AK-40, Seattle, WA 98195
WEINER, HERBERT, MD, 16666 Oldham St., Encino, CA 91436
WEINSTEIN, NEIL, 123 N. Eighth Ave., Highland Park, NJ 08904
WEST, GEORGE, 1020 Beechwood, Little Rock, AR 72205
WHEELER, QuAD, 97 E. Hunting Ridge Rd., Stamford, CT 06903
WHIPPLE, EARLE R., Paseo de San Gervasio, 30, Barcelona, SPAIN 08022
WHITE, ARTHUR PERCY, 226 Jerusalem Road, Cohasset, MA 02025
WHITE, Emc S., 237 Oblong Rd., Williamstown, MA 01267
WILuAMS, ANDREA, 236 Chestnut St., Cambridge, MA 02139
WINKLER, JAYE S., 79 Owens Lane, Glastonbury, CT 06033
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