Ice Climbing in Vail, Colorado
Tucked away in a historic part of North Atlanta sits the ruins of a mill that produced wool for the Confederacy. Union soldiers burned it to the ground in 1864, but for reasons unbeknownst to local historians, they didn't touch the antebellum home of the man who ran the mill. The National Park Service acquired it and the surrounding forest in 1978 during Jimmy Carter's creation of the Chattahoochee River National Recreation Area. This little piece of Civil War history is where I learned to rock climb.
Down a steep trail from the mill is a 50-foot-tall sandstone crag where aspiring alpinists and Boy Scout troops alike have been top-rope climbing for decades. Routes vary from 5.6 (beginner) to 5.12a (advanced). If you're lucky, you'll see local dirtbags climbing upside down on an overhang.
In college, you'd find me climbing military routes on Yonah Mountain in North Georgia and amongst the graffiti in Alabama's Sand Rock. I spent a considerable amount of time in college in the backcountry. Don't get me wrong, I never missed a game Between the Hedges, but Mother Nature had my number.
As much as I enjoyed rock climbing, I became obsessed with another form of climbing; one that involved scaling frozen waterfalls in the Rocky Mountains—ice climbing.
Explaining ice climbing to someone who's not familiar with it is met with one of three responses:
Shock: "That sounds dangerous!"
Confusion: "Why would you do that?"
Intrigue: "Interesting..."
Picture a waterfall, say sixty feet tall, but frozen. For most people, that's impossible to imagine because they've only seen them free-flowing. In the dead of winter in certain parts of the country, waterfalls freeze and turn into gargantuan masses of ice. Trapped inside is a kaleidoscope of lilac, jade, and periwinkle. They're seductively curvaceous, yet oppressive. The ice is as hard as cement, and it moans in the eeriest of ways as it contracts under the pressure of Old Man Winter.
The objective is twofold: first, kick razor-sharp crampons until you have your feet set, which means you're balancing on your tippy toes. In a matter of seconds, lactic acid burns through your calf muscles like lava. Second, swing ice axes until you hear a definitive "thud," meaning you've sunk it deep enough to be attached—and by attached, I mean there are three tiny pieces of steel connecting you to a frozen waterfall. If it wasn’t obvious enough, all of this goes against common sense; especially when shards of ice explode off the waterfall with each kick and swing.
Like any normal human being, I was plagued with a litany of what-ifs. Numero uno was: What if I fall and one of these axes punctures my abdomen, leaving me to hang like a piñata while blood pours like wine from a decanter?
The second what-if had to do with the waterfall crashing down on me. I was told not to worry about it, but if it happened, I'd be dead before I knew it. So, between scenarios one and two, I was secretly wishing for this one should the you-know-what hit the fan.
Prior to the climb, my buddies and I had been skiing in Vail for three days. I had hired a climbing guide a few months before the trip and spent the subsequent weeks training. I wanted to be in peak physical condition. The plan was to spend five days skiing and one day climbing.
On the day of the climb, we hiked through several miles of knee-deep snow—it felt like we'd never get there. The hike alone was exhausting, partly because our thighs were spent from skiing. But we eventually arrived, and when we did, I was shocked! I had never seen a frozen waterfall, let alone stood at the base of one with the intention of climbing it. It was positively overwhelming, and I couldn't wait to start.
Our guide quickly scaled it solo to set up the top rope—I was in awe. I could feel adrenaline flowing through the parts of my body that seconds before were most worn out. I was chomping at the bit.
After getting my harness roped in, I made my way to the bottom of a massive icicle—the size of a school bus but standing upright. I awkwardly took a few swings until I got the feel for it, and off I went.
Fear quickly dissipated as I increased in elevation. The mountains became silent, except for the sound of ice contracting, which I never got used to. Total immersion took over, and before I knew it, I was mainlining dopamine. The level of focus is unlike anything else as you swing and kick away. What started as a discombobulating mess morphed into an elegant dance. I figured out how to "vibe" with the ice.
I slowly moved vertically like a crab does horizontally on account of the undulations in the ice. The guide would shout where to move, and to relax, to breathe, to take my time, which is rather unnatural but necessary.
I realized a few things as I approached the top. First, I was grateful for the training leading up to the climb. And second, I wasn't going to find an adjective that could accurately explain the overall feeling. The best I can offer: I enjoyed it more than skydiving. Ultimately, I reached the top without impaling myself.
I hung up my rock climbing shoes years ago, but it wasn't a conscious decision. Life unfolded, as it's prone to. My kids were born, and to no one's surprise, golf and squash took over. But I still find time for the backcountry. I enjoy fly fishing with a cigar and hiking by myself. To take a page from Ol' Blue Eyes, "Nice and easy does it" with recreation these days. There's not much sand left in the "doing dangerous shit" hourglass.
That being said, climbing Mt. Rainier, Grand Teton, and Mt. Evans is on my to-do list. And I'm going to hike the Haute Route with my son when he gets older. God willing, he'll acquire a love for adventure and danger. Alex Lowe said it best: "When you remove the risk, you remove the challenge. And when you remove the challenge, you wither on the vine."
Clothing I Wore:
Patagonia Ice Nine Gore-Tex Jacket
Patagonia Snap-T
Patagonia Midweight Capilene Long Sleeve Shirt
Marmot Gore-Tex Pants
Patagonia Midweight Capilene Bottoms
The North Face Gore Windstopper Ear Flap Beanie
The North Face Gore Windstopper Gloves
Smartwool Socks
Vasque Skywalker Boots
*The guide provided the helmet, harness, ice axes, mountaineering boots, and crampons
Alex Lowe climbing an ice berg in Antarctica
