dylan_taylor

Layton Kor and Harvey T Carter deserve some recognition for their slew of desert and alpine first ascents. "...Not because they are there, but because they might not be there much longer..." -Kor trying to explain the reason for climbing rotten desert towers. Jim Donini, and (to an extreme effect) F Becky, for giving us hope that one can have a long and fruitful climbing career.

yes, no, pink Not that much, except that one is the ground (where you can lie around and have your belay slave massage your forearms) and the other is somewhere on the route. I admit, this stuff goes into gray territory sometimes. When Yuji Hiriyama onsighted sphinx crack in the south platte of colorado (solid 5.13), he climbed up to the roof where the sustained cruxyness is, he placed gear, clipped it, and downclimbed to a good rest. I can't remember if he was able to fenagle a "no-hands", but, knowing Yuji, he probably did. He was still well above the ground. He then shook out for a bit, returned to the crux, and sent it about as clean as can be. I give him credit for the onsight. Seems like everyone else does too. This is the first of many examples I can think of. For instance, I have gotten about 10 or 15 nohands rests on Caboose, in squamish. The thing is basically a flared chimney. I can't remember, but I might have downclimbed a move or two here or there. Did I botch the onsight? I led it clean, never hung, and what not. Things have changed since the old days of yo-yoing counting as a free ascent, but some people I know still consider that to be a valid ascent (albeit not an onsight). More power to them. Where do you draw the line? Alex Huber might be able to rest on a hold I won't be able to touch if I train for the next ten years. If he downclimbs to an enormo-jug, is his onsight blown? Seems to me we ought to just draw the line at the ground and leave it be.

Todd - See you in the cascades in a couple months!

Seems like the onsite is blown once you've downclimbed to the ground. Most people might give you the credit if you could downclimb to a good rest - even a no-hands, before heading back up to fire it.

Danalco sent me some skins and socks recently as well. I got the thin liner gloves and the thick "chill blocker" gloves. Ditto for the socks. I like the thin stuff, I don't know about the thick gloves though - mainly due to the fit. It is a little sloppy. Still, these gloves (and socks) would kick ass for the cascades during a rainy june. You could make and throw slushballs all day and your hands would get soaked by the sweat before the slush gets through. I've been using them up here in AK for a couple weeks, and as long as it doesn't go from really warm to really cold too fast, they work awsome.

Sorry, I don't know why all the pics didn't load up the first time.

Climb: Mt. Spurr, in Alaska's Tordrillo Range- Date of Climb: 3/19/2004 Trip Report: Mt Spurr TR. It was a “Spurr” of the moment trip. I had flown up to Anchorage a couple weeks ago to ski and train for a traverse of the Chugach with my friend Joe. A few days after getting off the plane, I met a guy at a party who was searching earestly for a fourth person to join him and two others on a climb and ski descent of Mt Spurr Volcano in the Tordrillo Range of the Alaska Peninsula. It was to be a six day trip, starting on the last few days of winter, and ending during the first few days of spring. Of course, in Alaska, it’s all cold anyway. They had a pilot willing to take us. It would cost $325 each, I didn’t have the money, but I had a credit card so I said OK, I’ll go. Mt Spurr is around 11,070 feet. It is the northernmost volcano in the Aleutian chain, with Mts. Redoubt and Illiamna neighboring it to the southwest. It is an active volcano, last erupting in the fall of 1992. It deposited 3mm of ash on Anchorage, but a lot more ash fell on its surrounding glaciers, leading to an accelerated period of melt and deglaciation, and an almost perennial accumulation of poo-brown snow. With about two days to prepare, I tossed all the cold weather gear I could muster into my pack. It was about 5 degrees above in Anchorage, at sea level. I was terrified. I had as much clothes as I would have taken on Denali in May or early June. I hate the cold. Two Thursdays ago, the wind was howling, and our flight was delayed one day. On Friday, the three other AK boys came by the house to pick me up. I had only met Cody, the ring-leader of the operation. In the car were his friends, Chris and Andy, and the token K-9, Taz. The four of us drove to the Lake Hood seaplane base (frozen at this time of year) and stuffed gear into the PA 8 or 12 or something until it was well above FAA limits. Then Chris and Cody hopped in the back, then Taz hopped on their lap, then they went flying off into the cold Alaskan sky. The Pilot, Jimmy, would return in 2 hours and take Andy, myself, and our newest team member “Jackson”. The golden retriever belongs to Cody and was delivered with little prior notice moments before Jimmy cranked the prop over. Once we were loaded, Andy, Jackson, and I squeezed in behind our pilot, and we aimed his trusty steed towards Spurr, about 70 miles west of Anchorage. When we landed, it was blustery and cold, and Cody was wearing everything he brought. We disembarked, said our farewell to Jimmy, checked the battery on the sat phone that we had stored in our base camp, and within a half hour we were skinning towards the flanks of Spurr. Our landing zone was at 2500 feet directly south of Spurr and the intermediary peak, “Crater Peak”, the active vent that erupted 12 years ago. Our plan was to have a “leisurely skin” up the south flanks of Crater Peak, which, unlike the surrounding terrain, was non-glaciated. Upon reaching the summit of crater peak, we planned to ski down the north side several hundred feet, and set up camp on the glacier in the col between Crater and Spurr, at around 7200 feet. With our unruly packs, substantial elevation gain in front of us, and the high wind and diminishing sunlight, we soon realized that there was no way we were making it to the col camp. We dug into a 35 degree slope in a gully partway up Crater Peak, and we set up our tents. Cody and Chris and one dog squeezed into a Barbie-sized Integral Designs tent. Andy, Jackson, and I piled in to our far more roomy accommodations, “chez Hilleberg”. Given the steeper terrain we were on, it probably would have been akin to camping halfway up Mt. St. Helens in January or something similar. In the morning, the winds had increased, but we pressed on. I had never used ski crampons or Dynafit bindings before, but I was forced to learn quickly and I was incredibly pleased with their performance. There’s nothing like sketching up a 40 degree slope with just half your ski crampons digging in, and looking 3500 feet straight down a gulley that you would surely slide to the bottom of if you slipped. Eventually, hard nieve gave way to harder ice, and we were forced to find awkward positions in which to change into our mountaineering crampons without dropping the packs or skis back down the face. Eventually we topped out on crater peak, traversed a ridge with a mondo-sized cornice, and skied down into the col below Spurr. Snow coverage on the glacier was significant, so we just steered clear of obvious crevasses and glided un-roped into our home for the next few days. We went to work building walls around our camp before retiring in a camp with one hell of a view. Supposedly, Spurr has received only about 35 ascents, so it was inspiring to spend time in a place shared by so few others. We planned to ski to the summit the following morning, but high winds made us sleep in. When the wall directly upwind of the tent I shared with Andy finally caved in, we finally got up. We labored on our new double layer snow wall, and we marveled at the warmth of the wind. Although it was gusting to 60 mph at times, we were sweating profusely with only some thin layers on. Very strange. The dogs were the only smart ones. They endeavored to remain tent-bound for the entire day. That night the sound of silence woke us. A more typical Alaskan chill had blown in during the night, but the lack of wind was appreciated. We discussed the nature of the legality of certain chemicals in a state like Alaska. We had a leisurely pre-ski breakfast, and embarked on our summit tour at the more proper alpine start hour of 10:00am. Once the sun hit us it became hot. I was skinning in my t-shirt for some time. For March 22nd, it felt downright pleasant. We occasionally stopped to re-apply s-screen, admire the view, and clean out the smoking instrument. Skinning became rather steep at times, and we did have to remove skis in order to climb a slope of around 45 degrees. We wondered how fun the skiing would be on the rather hard, steep, wind-hammered surface. But our greatest concern was how we’d ski the sastrugi. The high winds felt earlier had sculpted piles 3 and 4 feet high at times, with little valleys in between. And it formed on slopes up to 35 degrees too. Chris was a little addled from either the sun, the exertion, or some chemicals, and he couldn’t thing of the word for “sastrugi”. So he called it “sturgerewski”. “Man, tryin to ski this sturgerewski is gonna Suck!” Eventually we reached the summit plateau. It was typically volcanic, with a broad flat summit plateau not unlike Baker or Rainier. We were able to ski right up onto the summit. The only crevasse we had to step across on the entire route was approximately 50 feet from the highest point. We took in the view, moving our gaze from Iliamna to Redoubt to Neacola, to the Revelations, to Denali and Foraker. The oil platforms in Cook inlet glittered in the sun. Some of us began carrying our skiis back to the crevasse, so that we could click in just on the other side of it. Chris came back to the summit and said “where’s Taz”? We all stopped and stared at the crevasse. We all heard a yelping sound. We all ran to the edge of the crevasse and looked. There, perched on a rather unstable looking snow mushroom about 25 feet down, was Taz, anxiously pacing and squealing. I grabbed a picket and our rope, slammed in a few things, lowered Chris in, who struggled to grab hold of his dog. Then we hauled him out on a 2:1. The dog was scared, but unscathed. We clicked in and began our 4000 foot ski descent back to camp. If only it was powder! Negotiating “sturgerewski” and steep boilerplate fatigued our thighs. We stopped occasionally to rest and regain psyche. Finally we arrived back at “chez hilleberg”. Freeze dried never tasted so good. It may have been some of the worst snow I have ever skied, but the weather, the scenery, the goofy company, and the outrageously remote setting made it a trip to remember. The following morning, we packed up, and climbed back to the top of Crater Peak, where another 4000 foot couloir led back to our base camp and airstrip. Rather than ski steep couloir shots with heavy packs, we all elected to remove the heaviest items, clip them all together, and give them the “huck” down the couloir. Chris elected to huck his whole pack, and we giggled like school-kid vandals as we watched his pack descend 3500 feet in a matter of seconds. The skiing was surprisingly good. The sun had baked the couloir, softening it up to almost a corn consistency. The copius amounts of ash sitting on the snow ensured that I would be getting a free base-grind out of the trip, and when I got to the bottom, there were no more chunks of old skin glue on my bases. Upon reaching base camp, there was just enough wind to launch our power kites, and Andy and I enjoyed a couple hours of Jibing and tacking along the terminus of a glacier. The next morning, Jimmy arrived as expected, and soon we were back in Anchorage, downing libations and cheering our efforts. The snow began to fall that evening, and the weather in the Tordrillos didn’t clear till this morning. It could have been a long wait. Given the circumstantes, the trip was an incredible success. The weather was perfect, we didn’t crash, only one crevasse fall, and I got to climb a peak I had never even heard of three days before we left. Even thought I had never met Chris, Cody, or Andy until the trip, they turned out to be three great gentlemen to suffer in the backcountry with. There was a lot of laughing, wise-cracking, and dreaming about future trips. It was perfect. Here are some shots. I took barely any of these. I was shooting slide film on my SLR and I don’t know if I’ll ever have the time to scan any of them. These are from Andy’s camera that we shared frequently. Our Objective: Mount Spurr in Alaskas Tordrillo Range. Loading up our trusty steed. Note Doggy. Me, Jackson, and Andy stuffed into the back of a PA-12 somewhere over cook inlet... A first view of our objective: Coming in on final for our basecamp. Diggin in on Camp 1 on the south flanks of crater peak. "hey, I've got some real estate over here I want to show you". Nearing the summit of Crater peak with top-heavy packs and high wind. "Chez Integral Designs" and "Chez Hilleberg". Our homes for the next four days. The wall above the hilleberg blew over the next day. Even on the first day of spring, we were still able to enjoy a pleasant day of Alaskan winter weather... During a brief lull in the wind, we squeeked a run in on Crater Peak. It was only a few hundred vertical above our camp. Here's a shot of me about to cross my tips... A view of our team during our quiet and hot summit day. At this point it was too steep to skin, and we had to don crampons. A demonstration of our high morale on summit day. A token summit shot on the top of Spurr. A good day of ski mountaineering isn't complete without a little Crevasse rescue thrown in. The dog has just fallen in to the crack seen behind us, and I am equalizing a couple of anchors. Of all the places where I have practiced or performed crevasse rescue, this one had the best view. Chris hanging on the rope, and trying to grab his dog before we hauled them out. Me sloppily skiing "sturgerewski" just below the summit. A little further down things got steeper. But at least it was a uniform slope. Heading home the next day. Here's me plodding up Crater peak one last time. Site of the "Great Huck". Once tossed, our various belongings and stuffsacks careened almost all the way down the 3500' couloir. We had a competition to see whose would go the furthest. Chris Won. He tossed his entire backpack. It was completely festoned with shovel, picket,pad, wands, and the like, and still managed to roll, tumble, and slide the furthest. The lower part of the couloir had pretty damn good corn for Alaska in March. Our basecamp/landing area is in the flat area in the center of the left side of the photo. Token shameless chump-ski-poser shot. Thats (L to R) Cody, Chris, and me (with the shortest boards of course). In front are Jackson on the left, and the crevasse-fall victim, Taz, on the right. The pointy non-glaciated peak in front is Crater Peak. We skied directly down the couloir from the summit. The peak in the back is Mt. Spurr proper. Gear Notes: took Dynafit system. Loved it. Approach Notes: Flew with Jimmy from Trail Ridge Air, Lake Hood, Anchorage, AK.

Also check out the diamox discussion .

I have one of these lumps in each hand. They are alligned with my ring finger tendon. A doctor once told me it is Duypetrens Contracture (Sp?). That ailment is more common with older folks and I'm only in my late 20's, so I don't really know. Good luck finding out more. I want to hear about it.

I talked to an M.D. doing high altitude medical research on Denali a couple years ago. I asked him about pressure breathing, since there is kind of a debate. He told me that there is infact documented evidence that pressure breathing can increase performance at altitude and that it can have mitigating effects on AMS. He stressed a few important details though. First of all, the most important thing is that you breath in full breaths in order to maximize oxygen exchange. I've seen a lot of people "pressure breathing" on summit day, and all they're doing is making themselves dizzier by breathing in rapid, forcfull, but shallow breaths, thereby inducing acidosis. As it was explained to me, the full benifit of pressure breathing comes into play when you take a full lungful of air, purse your lips, and exhale steadily (as lummox already explained). When you do this, you create a simulated "back pressure" in your lungs. In other words, the air pressure in your lungs is higher (closer to sea level pressure) than the air you are actually breathing. The downside of pressure breathing is that it can theoretically lead to decreased acclimitazation when used to get up to a higher camp. If you are pressure breathing, you are in effect postponing symptoms. Its great for a summit day, when you will be turning around and going back down in a couple of hours anyway. But if you are approaching a high camp, you will soon be resting and breathing at a lower rate anyway. This can be problematic if you haven't fully acclimatized.

What I've done so far is rig 80" long 3/4" PVC (I plan on X'ing it for downhill stability) onto my paris kiddy sled by threading it with cord under tension. I put endcaps on both sides, stretched the cords, tied knots, and fixed the ends of the PVC to the sled front. It seems to pull pretty well but I don't know. On three denali trips, I've used a mountain smith sled once (I jumped on it and kicked it thoroughly at the end to destroy it) and kiddy sleds twice. The kiddy sleds worked vastly better than the mountainsmith sled. But I was climbing, not skiing, so I didn't give a shit if my sled did a few barrel rolls or tagged me in the ankles. Now I'm hoping to ski maybe 100-125 miles with a sled, mosty uphill, before I vaporize it with my ray gun and enjoy the descent. Thanks for the beta so far. I think I will go look up those old tech tips... Will update with sled performance on monday. The trial run will be this weekend. My expedition partner will attempt to kite-ski across portage lake whilst dragging his wife behind him in the afformentioned sled.

Good point! I don't want to use up any extra fuel starting the bonfire!

I looked at Ziffcos too, which seem plenty nice, but they weigh a ton, and they cost a fortion. Same with Mountain Smith sleds. I've used those guiding on denali, and I hate them. I'd rather use a kiddy sled any day of the week. Thanks for tip on Chariot, i'll check it out.

Fortunately, Exasporater has a bomber belay anchor. But this is a good point. What about routes where you build a sketchy anchor, bring your partner up on it, and then they have to lead the next pitch, where the crux is directly above your anchor? Plenty of examples on ice, on desert sandstone, and on choss anywhere else. People debate over whether the leader should clip the highest piece or the powerpoint of the anchor as they begin the lead. The belayer is often tied very close to the power point, so this doesn't diminish the fall factor that much. Clipping the highest piece in the anchor minutely decreases the fall factor for the first few feet, but if it is runout, then the fall factor approaches (but never quite reaches) 2. But of course all the load goes on just one part of the anchor if the leader whips, and if your anchor is questionable... On the other hand, if the leader doesn't clip a piece, and falls, the fall factor will initially be higher because they are falling on the belayer direclty. As they get higher, the fall factor stays at 2 until the first piece is clipped. But at least the load is distributed across the entire anchor if the leader whips. What my partners and i have done when sketchy cruxy climbing is mandated above a sketchy belay: equalize every piece of the belay as you would normally (with cordalette, etc...). Clip a biner or draw to the power point. The leader clips this as their first piece of pro. The belayer ties in with a bunch more slack, as much as you possibly feel comfortable with. I've had a belayer hanging 20 or more feet below the anchor before - and of course it can get inconvienient when they have to follow. Now, with the belayer hanging well below the anchor, the leader can clip the anchor as their first piece of pro, and if they fall right off the belay, the fall factor is vastly diminished. If you have to belay off of micro cams, RP's, bad rock, or screws in slush, this might increase your margin of safety. Regarding belaying off of harness or anchor when bringing up the second on a sketchy anchor. I think my old copy of Freedom of the Hills mentioned "Anchor, Position, and Friction"? You have to have friction. But if you have good anchor, you don't need position (i.e. hanging belay). If you have good position, you don't need anchor (i.e. Bomber stance with legs braced behind something).

Anyone had good success with constructing a functional expedition sled with PVC, a kiddy sled and the like? The important thing is that it perform better for skiing. I need the PVC to keep the sled from nipping my heels. Also, I am trying to make up my mind whether to "X" the PVC, so it crosses behind me, or just leave the PVC parallel. I wonder which way offers more stability?

I've already done that four times!

The south side is a better ski. It is more of a fall line ski from sherman peak on down the easton/squak, then ski skiers right down to the terminus of the Easton. It avoids the off-fall line skiing and traversing of the CD. Plus, If you get a late start, take a case of budweiser and a 30 foot piece of rope up to the snowpark, and get someone to tow you. I've always wondered if that would work... If you ski the coleman demming, and if there is enough snow, do the grouse-creek drainage ascent and descent. Skiing down the switchbacks on the trail in the woods sucks. You have to skin up to the west/northwest from the football field, then down heliotrope ridge a little ways, then you get a fall line shot back towards the car.

I think that because of the battery issue with the ipod I will be keeping my minidisc player for another year or so. It seems stupid to make something so small and portable, and then require you to return it to its charger daily. My Minidisc runs off of one AA battery, and that lasts for days. So far it's been the ultimate for foreign expedition basecamp entertainment.

Anyone been up there? Anyone have any info regarding the skiability of the Knik glacier side? We'd be traversing from the matanuska side, and descending the knik. Also, anyone have any info about the routefinding and glacier conditions of the upper Nelchina, Science glacer, and upper Harvard Glacier, and SE part of the Matanuska glacier? Going in April.

Is it easy to record movie dialog onto the ipod? I'm looking for an excuse to upgrade from my minidisc unit.

I wonder if it helps to be really, really, really, rediculously good looking.

try ginkgo, and if it works, great. Try viagra, and if it works, everyone else will know it. But it would be a good idea to take some diamox along. The thing that bugs me the most at altitude is periodic breathing during sleep when I ascend quickly to a new altitute. This is common in places like Ecuador and Bolivia where you can fly high and drive even higher. Periodic breathing means your blood is becoming alkalotic (your blood pH is too high). Diamox is a carbonic anhydrase inhibitor. It induces acidosis, and indirectly causes you to pee a lot more (you are pissing out loads of bicarbonate) and breath a lot more (you are breathing out CO2). I take Diamox at my first night at a new altitude if I suspect that it is going to be a difficult night of sleep. Periodic breathing sucks, and if you are sharing a tent with someone, they won't be able to sleep either. Take 125mg an hour before bed (or even in the middle of the night if you are getting frustrated) and it will last about 8-12 hours - long enough to get you through the night and into your excercise regime for the next day. Diamox is a diuretic, so take a pee bottle in your tent. And drink a ton! Avoid caffeinated beverages if you can. Drink over a gallon a day if you can. More if you are excercising. Drinking fluids is by far the best prevention and treatment for AMS besides carefully moderated ascent and rest. Enjoy Bolivia! Cruise to Isla del sol for a couple of days to acclimatize, or take your rock shoes and go cragging at that chossy crag near Zona Sur. It's less than 10,000 feet there.

I think trad is the first two options at different times. I don't think bolts make it sport, and I think the third option can be eliminated. I wouldn't condsider the "Bachar-Yerian" a "sport" route. It's definitly "sporty", definetly not "sporto". The bolted routes in the south platte, like "fields of dreams growing wild" - definetly fall in the trad realm. I think the definition of sport climbing is based on the attitude and philosophy of the sport - not the gear used. Use gear to eliminate most of the risk, so you only have to concentrate on the hard moves, and it is a sport climb. Placing your own gear (and fixed gear) on lead on the first ascent of a route with adventure and committment makes it a trad climb, regardless of the style used on subsequent ascents. The grey area being all of these new multi-pitch "sport" climbs, where extra time is spent equipping the route to minimize risk for subsquent ascents. Of course on the otherhand, many of the endless splitters in indian creek could be considered by some to be "sport" climbing. Plug and chug.

Charlet moser / Petzl still makes load limiting draws. They are called nitros and come in three convenient lengths.

Here's a link . Mike, did you go to J-tree?