Dear Brian,
It’s been a while since that unexpected day, May 14, 1977, when we first met. I remember it well – I was hitchhiking at the spot where the Silver Skagit Road leaves the Trans-Canada Highway in British Columbia, Canada. You and your friends picked me up, and lasting friendships were formed as of that day. We both had a lot of flexibility in our schedules, so since each of us needed a climbing partner it was only natural that we started climbing together.
I recall the first mountain we climbed, only days later. My friend Jonathan came up from Olympia and the three of us did a day climb of Mt. Lindeman, not far from the U.S. border. It was a strenuous outing, Class 3 with plenty of exposure. All in all, a fine day of climbing, and that’s what really got us going.
We were on a roll, and the climbs just kept coming. Mount Outram was one of the next ones – didn’t one of us punch through a cornice near the summit? And for our third peak ever, we went and climbed Mt. Shuksan by the Hourglass route – pretty gutsy for 2 guys who barely knew each other! Jeez, you were barely 20 at the time. Undaunted, we teamed up with Jonathan again and tackled Mt. St. Helens – those were the days, before it blew up. The three of us got together once more for a climb of Mt. Rainier on the summer solstice. The same summer, a bunch of us Canucks headed down to Mt. Adams for another successful climb. We really made a dent in those Cascade volcanoes in a short period of time, didn’t we?
After that, the climbs came fast and furious. I had a bit of climbing hardware and a rope from my days at UBC ten years earlier. We spent halcyon days at Squamish and Ruby Creek, trying ourselves on rock, seeing what we could do. Not much, it turned out. However, in the next few years you put a lot of time and effort into improving your technical skills and became a crackerjack rock climber, unlike me who stagnated and never did get much good at it.
I remember a day we spent climbing Frosty Mountain up in Manning Park. A fine, sunshiny day it was, and we were in a goofy mood as we climbed up the trail, imitating the voices of Quick Draw McGraw and Baba Looey. Even more memorable was the fact that we talked at length about someday going to South America and climbing something really big like Aconcagua. Hmmm, a sign of things to come?
By late July, barely 2 months after we met, a truly bold adventure came to pass. We hired a plane and pilot, then flew over a remote wilderness known as the Lillooet Range, making 2 food drops on to un-named icefields. Days later, we caught a ride on a supply boat that plied the waters of Harrison Lake, supplying the logging camps along its length. It dropped us off where Stokke Creek flowed into the lake, and we spent the next 8 days climbing virgin peaks in a remote glaciated wilderness, one of the most hauntingly-beautiful places anyone could ever hope to see. We never did get as far as our food drops, but nevertheless left our mark on the area by inspiring peak names that are used to this day.
We kept up the pace. A climb of both Wedge Mountain and Mount Weart in the same day from the hut at Wedgemount Lake soon followed, as did more peaks in the Cheam Range.
Came the cold, and we kept at it with the first winter ascents of Shawatum Mountain, and also Nepopekum Mountain, the latter being a 3-day snow-fest as a consolation prize from a failed attempt on Hozameen. Speaking of Hozameen, how could we forget our idea of trying it by climbing directly up the border swath at the north end of Ross Lake? The snow!! The higher we climbed, the deeper it got. By the time we gave up on our rather unusual attempt, we still had a full 4,700 vertical feet to go to reach the summit. Oh well, nothing ventured ……………. Our real tour de force came on March 12th, 1978 when we pushed through difficult winter conditions and made the first-ever winter ascent of Castle Towers, a challenging peak in Garibaldi Provincial Park. What a rush!
More climbs followed, but a year later I had moved far away and we lost touch with each other. A few years passed, and you tracked me down and reached out to me where I was living and asked me if I wanted to be part of an expedition to Mount Logan. Well yeah!! At that time, the rules were that there had to be a minimum of 4 climbers in the party, and that we each had to have a doctor fill out a form stating that we were physically and mentally able to attempt such a climb. That was all done, and we started to prepare for the trip north, but in the end one of the climbers you had conscripted fell out and the whole thing unraveled.
More years passed. By the time 1986 rolled around, it had been a full 8 years since we had climbed together. You were living in Toronto and I in Phoenix when you once again contacted me and said we should get together and climb something. You suggested the Wind Rivers in Wyoming and I was immediately on board. We met in Salt Lake City and in a Rent-a-Wreck drove ourselves to the trailhead near Pinedale. There began a week of crappy weather spent in my leaky tent, a week of little climbing dodging the storms. Although we didn’t accomplish much, it was great to have gotten back together again.
More trips came together after that, all of them in the Great White North. We spent a spell near Lake Louise attempting various things but dogged by rainy weather. Another time, we focused on the Jasper area, climbing a few smaller things but also actually getting to the top of things like Athabasca and Edith Cavell. In the summer of 1988, we found ourselves attempting the northwest arête of Mt. Sir Donald. There were 4 of us, one of whom wisely stayed in his sleeping bag at the col at the start of the technical climbing, while the other 3 of us spent the entire day trying to manage the ice-covered rock. It was pretty sad how little of the climb we got done (we could easily converse from our high point with Harry down at the col) before we called it a day and headed back down.
By August of 1989, we found ourselves at Mt. Robson. Scott, you and I had spent a lot of time contemplating a climb of this peak over the years. The 10 days we spent on the mountain became a real test of endurance – it was us against the weather, and in the end the weather won – we never got very close to the top. They don’t call Robson “The Great White Fright” for nothing. Sadly, Scott perished in a climbing accident a month later.
The year 1996 finally fulfilled a dream going all the way back to Frosty in 1977 when we talked of South America. We flew to La Paz, Bolivia and one day later found ourselves at the base of Nevado Sajama. Although we didn’t fare too well on it, we had a lot more fun and success on Volcán Parinacota, the first time we’d climbed together beyond the 20,000-foot mark. It was an exotic adventure, one I’ll always cherish
It’s funny how things work out. You ended up moving from Toronto to Tucson for your work – go figure! We climbed local peaks and also made a trip to the Sierra Nevada to climb with friends. The years you were here passed quickly and before any of us knew it, your work took you and your family back east once again.
More time passed. I invited you to come back out to Arizona to try a peak that nobody else would even consider, a real bruiser on a nearby Indian reservation known as Peak 6328. It didn’t take you long to agree, as you’ve always been up for a challenge. It was on a list of peaks that I was working on, and I think you took pity on me in agreeing to do it. What a 3 days that turned out to be! On the first day, we thrashed our way up thousands of feet to bivouac near the base of the climb and spent a restless night pondering our fate. At first light, up we went to the start of the real work. What a climb, and what leading you did! Damn, only you and I have any real idea of what that climb entailed. We made it to the top before 2:00 PM, but since it was November the days were short. We rappelled 5 times to get down to the only possible spot with enough room to do an unplanned bivouac. There wasn’t room to lie down, just barely enough to sit back-to-back through 14 hours of darkness. During those rappels, we were almost killed by a falling rock and a tree trunk loosened by our rope. I had terrifying nightmares all night long about what awaited us in the light of day. As soon as there was light enough to see, we resumed our retreat. It took another 7 rappels to make it down, several of them over large overhangs. You really did a masterful job of figuring out all of that and getting us down safely. I was so relieved to be back on terra firma, I think I may have taken a page from the Pope’s book and kissed the ground.
That climb of Peak 6328 really beat us up. Our original plan was to climb both it and its immediate neighbor to the east, but by the time 6328 was done with us, we were low on gear and beat all to hell, both mentally and physically. Being the consummate professional that you are, the fact that we didn’t try the next-door neighbor started to eat away at you, and by the time early 2006 came around, you’d waited as long as you could. You flew back to Arizona and away we went. We had come up with the nickname “The Ugly Sister” for this peak, as it looked positively ugly from our climb of its sister peak 6328 right next door.
What a climb that turned out to be! We set out early and made it up the thousands of feet to the start of the technical work where the real fun began. We spent the rest of the day in some of the most vertical real estate anywhere. You stated things perfectly when you said “To add to the fun there was a heart-stopping drop off the north side of this ridge. There must have been 400m of free air straight down.” This climb, from where the technical work started, didn’t gain much vertically – it mostly ran along a highly fractured ridge with insane exposure. To give you an idea just how steep these mountains are, consider this. Of the approximately 7,500 peaks in Arizona, Peak 6328 is the 30th-steepest, while the Ugly Sister ranks #16. We made the summit and then returned along the airy ridge. Nobody had ever set foot on either of these summits before us, and I have a feeling it will be a very long time before they are visited again. Just like on Peak 6328 next door, we ran out of time on the Ugly Sister. There was no way we were going to get off the mountain before dark. Fortunately, there was a roomy cave not far down with plenty of firewood nearby. Spending the night there was luxurious compared to what we endured on 6328.
As if the Sister weren’t enough, you agreed to lead another – why not, we were on a roll! We drove along the border with Mexico, heading farther west into the reservation. Our peak loomed large ahead of us. Officially, it’s known to peakbaggers as Peak 2650, but it is truly unique. There are 276 obelisks that mark the 1,954-mile border with Mexico. Number 153 sits atop this peak, and it is by far the most difficult one to reach. We parked on the border road, then crossed into Mexico to get up to the base of the difficult climbing. The first pitch took us right up to the obelisk itself, where we set up our belay. You then led what had to be one of the scariest pitches ever, essentially horizontal, along an airy ridge of teetering blocks with breathtaking exposure on both sides – definitely fatal with one wrong move. It was easy to see why nobody else would touch this one. While on the summit, we saw a vehicle on the Mexican side drive a rough road almost up to the border. It stopped and its occupants came out and ran for the border a quarter-mile away. Amazing, but commonplace in this lawless area of desert.
Looking back on it all, we certainly had a good run with a lot of great peaks climbed and many adventures. Thanks for everything, I’ve enjoyed it all.
Your friend, The Desert Mountaineer