Our LC-130 cargo plane performing a flyby after dropping us off for 28 days in Antarctica's Thomas Hills.

Hello from South 84 degrees 21.394 minutes and West 64 degrees 58.013 minutes. We’re in the Thomas Hills, in the Patuxent Range of Antarctica’s Pensacola Mountains. The bottom of the world. I’m at “North Camp”, a satellite site of the Thomas Hills Field Camp, with India-1.5.6, a geo-glaciology science team in the National Science Foundation’s U.S. Antarctic Program.

We are, in fact, the entire field camp: myself, two geologists, two earth science doctoral students, and one undergrad student. We’re age dating glacial erratic rocks, examining exposed terrain for indications of glacial patterns, taking snow core samples and using ground penetrating radar on the remaining glacier features to begin to model the rate at which the glaciers in this part of Antarctica have retreated since the last glacial maximum, approximately 15,000 years ago.

There was a lot of ice here, but now it’s gone. Our camp is at 665m elevation (2,180 ft). The highest point in the Thomas Hills, Martin Peak, rises to 1,043m (3,750 ft). We climbed to that summit yesterday and found glacial scoring on the summit blocks, which means the glaciers were at one point at least 100m (330ft) deep! I looked around on the summit and realized that 15,000 years ago, the entire Pensacola Range was likely buried under about 2,000 feet of  ice.

That’s enough for a lot of Scotch glasses.

We were dropped off on the far south end of the Thomas Hills, and commuting four hours round trip to the north end didn’t make sense. So we moved to this spot, and due to a lack of original thought named it “North Camp”. We each take a day as Camp Manager, responsible for cooking, cleaning and snow-melting. Tomorrow’s Manager is today’s assistant. The Camp Manager also checks in with McMurdo Station every morning via a satellite phone to confirm we’re ok and check for any messages.

How cold is it here? I get asked that a lot. We’re lucky to be living and working between 460-1,070m (1,500-3,500 feet) – fairly low elevation compared to other sites not located right on the coast. Our daytime highs are around -5 degrees Celsius (about 22 degrees F) and our “nighttime” lows are between -15 and -20C (around 0F). It is summer here, after all!

Noting the elevation at which a rock sample has been left. The dating procedure relies on exposure to direct sunlight.

But it doesn’t get dark. Not even close. This far south, the sun stays perpetually above the horizon. Even though our latitude is due south of Greenland and Iceland, the eternal sun enables us to stay in time with South Pole and McMurdo Stations, who operate on New Zealand’s time schedule. It makes it easier when we’re trying to speak to someone about fixing a broken spring on a snowmobile, or planning aircraft operations.

We’ve had remarkably few gear failures so far. Having lots of spare parts and redundant pieces of critical equipment means that if something does break, all we’ve lost is a little time. So far all we’ve lost is one of the GPS units, a spring on a snowmobile, and a control unit for the GPR.

We done all we can here, so we’re leaving in the morning. Back to “South Camp”, our original site. And Seth, Kat and I are getting ready to spend a week back at our site from last year, a spot north in the central Pensacola Mountains called the Neptune Range. To get there, a Twin Otter is flying two and a half hours from the South Pole to “bump” us the 150km north.

Greg and Claire, the two geologists and team leaders, are psyched with the four ridge and moraine areas they’ve been able to collect from so far.

Kat’s excited about her core samples, and Matt is just excited to be here. Seth’s GPR trouble disrupted his data collection at North Camp, so he’s ready to rally for the second half of the trip.

Me? I’m happy that we’re accomplishing all of this without too much craziness. There’s a lot that can go wrong for us out here, and no one can answer quickly if we cry for help. So it’s up to us to stay safe, and to watch out for each other. Hump day is on January 3rd!

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5 January, 2012

Hello from South 84 degrees, 29.955 minutes and West 65 degrees, 35.409 minutes. That’s on the McNamara Glacier, splitting the Thomas and Anderson Hills in the Patuxent Range of the Pensacola Mountains.

Collecting rock samples in the William Hills.

Low clouds, foul weather and poor visibility have stumped us for the past few days. Kat, Seth and I are ready and waiting for a Twin Otter aircraft to come from the South Pole and “bump” us 150km north to the central Pensacola Mountains to revisit our sites from last year. The sky has cleared this evening, so we’re scheduled to fly tomorrow morning.

The major problem for the flight is visibility and contrast – overhead clouds that block the direct sun create conditions for “flat light”, eliminating any sort of definition for a pilot to recognize the depth as she looks across a monochrome field. Like a snowfield, covered with humps and bumps, and sastrugi, and sagging crevasse bridges… and how steep is that slope ahead, anyways?

It’s hard to argue against rescheduling the flight when conditions are like this.

We took advantage of the down-time to help Greg, Claire and Matt collect erratic rock samples on the “South Mainland” and the “South Island”, the two southernmost points of the Thomas Hills. Only four points are named in the 25km length – Mt. Yarborough, Nance Ridge, Martin Peak and Mt. Warnke. To keep us from getting confused, we’ve added provisional names to help steer us: Jefferson, Train, Aquinas and Channel Glaciers; Monticello, Warnke and Camp Basins; North Mainland, Monticello and South Island Peaks.

In several places in the Thomas Hills the mountain glaciers have been eroded away by the winds, creating a unique landscape.

We found a summit register on Martin Peak from a USAP/USGS team in 1962, and a cairn on top of South Island Peak, presumably from the same time. We know a team from the British Antarctic Survey passed through here two years ago, but they were here only briefly and focused their attention low on the hillsides near the Foundation Ice Stream.

The rock sampling is fantastically simple. Glaciers pick up rocks and carry them downstream, polishing them and rounding off the corners much like a river rock. When the glacier retreats, the rocks are left behind and exposed to direct sunlight for the first time since they were first frozen. A type of radiation dating can determine how long that exposure has been, how long ago the rock was deposited, and therefore what elevation the glacier must have been at to deposit the rock that far up the hillside. Collect enough rocks and include the evidence of glacial movement, and you can start to construct a picture of what the glacier and its movement must have been like in the past.

Still, after establishing that the routes from South Camp to Mt. Yarbrough, South Mainland, and South Island were safe from crevasse hazards, I’m essentially a mule.

Until tomorrow, that is. We’ll be up again at 4:30am to report weather observations to the South Pole and McMurdo. For the last two days they have canceled the flight. But tonight the sky is completely clear, the winds are calm, and I have high hopes for tomorrow!

Cheryl gets started with guidance from an instructor

Margo is an accomplished ice climber, writer, and guide; and we’re happy to count her as a member of the OR Ambassador team. Here, she shares tips for beginning to lead ice.

Many people ask me how they will know when they are ready to lead ice, and I always reply that it is only once you have a lot of mileage on a top rope. It takes experience to know when an ice axe placement is good, and to be able to read the ice. It is also imperative to get really strong before you head out on lead so that you have plenty of strength in reserve for placing screws, hanging off your axes, and dealing with the added focus of being on the sharp end.

Keep all of your equipment sharp, and this includes your crampons and screws as well as you ice axes. Not only are sharp tools more of a joy to use, they save you lots of time and energy by doing their job more efficiently.

Try out lots of gear before you choose what to buy. The ice axes that are perfect for your friend might be too light for your liking. Some people will prefer a tool with a bit more heft because it will ‘throw’ itself into the ice better. And some companies’ picks will be better designed to fit your preferences. Try out many tools before you buy, because they are all different. The same goes for belay devices, crampons, helmets, and harnesses. Read online reviews, and make sure your decisions are based on your priorities. For example, some people don’t need to worry if their belay device is 4 grams lighter if they are only taking it out to crags instead of up big alpine routes.

Cheryl leading ice out on her own

On the question of leashes, I recommend them for beginners who are venturing out into the real world of climbing. If you are doing top rope laps in a canyon then it is good to go leashless, but if you are doing your first challenging lead you might want to consider using leashes both to save energy and for added peace of mind. Follow your instincts and do not bother with what anyone else thinks or does. Leashes can add another layer of safety to your initial forays onto the ice, and you can always ditch them down the road when you feel comfortable doing so.

Practice mock leading on a top rope. Having the safety of a rope above your head will remove any stress you will have by being on the sharp end for real. This will allow you to learn how to place screws, attach slings, and clip into the rope all while in a relaxed state. When you feel ready to do a real lead it can be helpful to pre-pace screws on a top rope doing a mock lead, and then pulling the rope and climbing the pitch that you are already familiar with with the gear already in place. The final stage is to then place protection while leading the pitch. Learning to lead in this fashion allows you to introduce the next layer of challenge as you feel ready for it.

It is also a great idea to choose a climb that is well within your abilities. Don’t get caught up in grades; these will come naturally as you get comfortable with your new skills and improved fitness level.

Know when a screw is good and when it is not, keeping in mind that only mileage will give you this ability. Clean off the surface ice with your axe before making a starter hole with your pick, and then proceed to place your screw. If you see ice coming out through the center of your screw as you feel resistance in the turn, then you can be pretty sure that the screw is good. If there is little resistance and little ice pouring out of the centre of the screw, you are probably in some very airy ice and should not trust the screw. It is also good to watch for fractures developing in the ice as your screw goes in. This is not ideal, and the screw should be taken out and re-placed somewhere else if possible.

Cheryl at the top of a successful lead!

Make sure you know how to get safely down from a route after you have climbed it. Most people take lots of time learning how to climb, only to find they are at a loss as to how to descend. Make sure you know how to do both safely before you venture out as the leader of a party.

Learn how to make a bomber anchor, whether it is with screws, bolts, or trees. The same basic principles apply to all three of these scenarios. Always have enough gear with you to build your required anchors, including locking carabiners and longer slings. Know how to equalize these, where to put the master carabiner, and what knots to tie. Practice tying knots with gloves on in the comfort of your living room, and practice clipping the rope into carabiners as well. There is no sense fumbling through the learning curve in -20 when you can be doing it beside the fireplace with your beverage of choice.

Learn how to make an Abalakov, or V Thread, for a gearless retreat. Practice making these while standing on the ground so that you are well acquainted with the procedure when you need to make one off of a hanging belay.

Each time you go out, whether it is on top rope or on lead, practice good climbing technique. This will save you a lot of energy that you can then apply to other things like finding good protection, or deciding on the best line of ascent.

Have fun out there, and be safe!

_______________________________________________________________________

Margo’s Recommended Reading:
Ice and Mixed Climbing by Will Gadd

Learn the basic knots and hitches from a book or the internet and practice these:
figure eight follow through, figure eight on a bight, double fisherman’s knot, clove hitch, munter hitch

Margo’s Personal Gear Favourites:
Black Diamond Cobra Ice Axes
Petzl M10 Crampons
Black Diamond Express Screws

Margo’s favorite apparel from OR’s women’s line:
Alibi Jacket
Solitude Pant
Virtuoso Belay Jacket

All photos in this article are provided courtesy of Cheryl Wallace.

Switzerland

This time around, I found a sense of comfort.  Coming back to Saas Fee, Switzerland allowed for some breathing room. I knew this place, I’d been here before, and my comfort level was far greater this time.

Last year, in Saas Fee I competed in my first ever World Cup Ice climbing competition.  It was scary to say the least.  I didn’t know how or what to prepare whether, with the travel side of things or even the climbing side of things.  This realm that I put myself in, I was just a baby…that had just been born into a very different world.

Competing in France. Photo: Lukasz Warzecha

But this time around, Marc Beverly and I by this time had traveled around the world together.  It’s amazing how much easier travel can be when you’re doing it with someone you know.  Cheers to that Marc.  After driving for several hours from Chamonix we arrived in Saas Fee.  It was the last stop on our World Cup tour.  It was a familiar place to which, this time around, I knew how and what to prepare for.

Athletes that travel on the world cup circuit form a very unique bond.  Despite the fact that it resembles what one might call, “A traveling circus”, there’s a definite connection.  It’s been great, on this tour, being accepted into the family of “carnies”, as it certainly took the edge off in a place that I’m still very new at.

The athlete dinners, the pre-game shows if you will, are always fun to be a part of.  You get to see friends, meet other athletes from around the world, discuss “future climbing plans”, and even pick up where you last left off in an ongoing “world cup tour ping pong game” (thanks to my good, Russian, friend–Pavel).  It’s a time for all the athletes and organizers to enjoy a relaxed and calm evening “before the storm”.  But despite all efforts made for a peaceful, composed, evening…everyone knows what lays ahead–Game Day.

Entering into isolation, along with all the other athletes, there was a sense of relief.  Last year isolation was a dark, somewhat heated tent.  This year, the organizers built a loft with shelves for gear and beds to chill out on.  There was heat, food, water, and lots of RedBull.  This definitely took the edge off.

In pretty much every event I’ve competed in, whenever there’s a draw for numbers (when your turn is to compete), it seems as though I always end up going near the bottom.  Some people don’t mind this…and really…I guess it’s not all that bad…but when you’re stuck in isolation for 5hrs…it can certainly suck.  At the athlete dinner this year I prayed that I would not draw a number that put me near the bottom.  Well…to my shock… this year I drew 3.  I couldn’t believe it.  Prayer answered!  Other athletes looked at me as though I were crazy, “you’re happy with going that early?” Heck yeah I was.  I couldn’t believe it.  No waiting, no panic attacks…out of the gates early.  I was really stoked about this.

Being lead from isolation to where the climbing structure is, it feels like a lamb being lead to the slaughterhouse.  It pretty much took every bit of mental toughness I had stored up to stay focused on this, what seemed like a 10 mile walk to the climb.  As I sat on the seat, just around the corner from the main event, hearing all the cheering, hundreds of people projecting their enthusiasm…I awaited my name to be called into action.

As I lifted both feet off the ground, beginning my climb, the clock started to tick.  Placing my tools as efficiently as possible, focusing on moving fast, but being concise with my placements, I pulled through the first few moves.  Suddenly, it happened again.  My tool popped.  I couldn’t believe it.  I was only 10ft off the ground.  Noooooooo!  Quickly I realized that it wasn’t over yet.  If you fall before the first quick draw you’re allowed a second chance.  The belayer fished my tool out of the ice above and so without a second thought I “got back on the horse”.

Move after move my climbing was flowing.  There wasn’t much struggle at all with any of the sequences and I was climbing at a descent clip.  Abruptly my name was called as time had run out.  Once again it was over.  As I was being lowered down I was confused to where I had made it on the route, and why it took me so long to get there, “Really, it took me 6 minutes to make it there?”  It didn’t make a lot of sense.  I felt as though I was moving faster.  I watched several climbers after me, who looked a lot slower,  still reach the same point.

It wasn’t until about an hour later that it was brought to my attention that when you fall, and are rewarded a second attempt (like in my situation), the clock doesn’t stop.  You see, I thought the clock was re-set back to 6 minutes but it wasn’t.  I had actually exhausted two minutes out of my 6 in my first attempt at the route.  At that moment I actually became pretty excited.  I had just realized that it only took me 4 minutes to climb through ¾’s of the route.  If I had my full 6 minutes, I would have had enough time to top out the route.  This put a smile on my face.

Last year, at this world cup, I climbed at a very slow pace.  Because the structure was pretty much the same, I was able to compare this year’s climb to last year’s; speed, distance on route, etc. Last year I made it just over half way…in 6 minutes.  This year, I fell off the route early, re-composed myself and jumped back on my horse and road faster then I ever have before.  Not only did I surpass how far I climbed last year, but I did it with (what could have been) 2 minutes to spare.

No, I didn’t go as far as I had wanted or expected to in the standings of this world cup, however still, much has been gained this time around.  My goals for this year were to climb faster and stronger.  Both of those goals were accomplished.  That’s a gain.  There is still much for me to learn in this realm, and I still need a lot of mileage in certain areas, but as “Rocky” put it, “it’s not about how hard you can punch…but how hard of a punch you can take…and still get back up.” (paraphrased).

This isn’t over yet.  Game on.

Continue to Page Two: France»

The Bozeman Ice Fest returns this December from the 11th through the 13th.  Come out and hone your ice climbing skills with clinics taught by Outdoor Research Ambassador Sarah Hueniken and Outdoor Research IFMGA Team member Lilla Molnar and Adam George.

To stay on top of all events, speakers, clinics and other related news, check out the Bozeman Ice Climbing page here.

Get those tools sharpened up!

A little crass promotionalism. Hey, some one's got to pay the bills. Our high point on Day 2.

Iceland garnered its’ name from Floki “Raven” Vilgeroarson. This unlucky Viking explorer had the “luck” to land on Icelands’ frozen north not it’s more temperate southern part hence the name Iceland. Unlike Floki, the purpose of my trip was to explore the cornucopia of frozen land that gave Iceland its’ surname. What I found wasn’t entirely what I expected but then again when is it ever.

Upon first landing in Iceland, the first thing noticed was the lack of snow, ice, or anything else of a white or off white substance, excluding the white leggings which Icelandic women have an affinity for. This lack of white stuff was due to the same El “insert expletive delete here” system that has bedeviled the Pacific Northwest. Due to these conditions, it was considered a “bad” ice season by the locals and the ice festival which I’d planned on attending was postponed. Heavy drinking ensued, not hard in Iceland , and visions of vertical sod climbing just to grind the rust off of my tools and crampons danced through my head. Luckily my local contact, Skabbi, had other plans, other than the heavy drinking we still did a ton of that.

The plan was a weekend trip into the western fjords of Iceland to look for ice. Skabbi was very pessimistic about our chances to find ice, but I figured I might as well do my heavy drinking and be hung over some place other then Reykjavik. What I came to find out was that a “bad” ice season in Iceland is better than any good ice season in Washington, Idaho, Oregon or any other state in the union not named Colorado, Montana, Wyoming, or New Hampshire. There was a ton of ice with easy access, 20min or less, and most of it unclimbed.

• Climbs might be wetter then they appear. A little wet and wild fun outside of Reykjavik.

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• Due to lack of time or testicular fortitude, we were unable to climb the line in the center. I'd like to think it was due to the former rather than the latter.

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• Frozen sod and hollow ice be damned. The scary and run out WI3 on day 2.

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• Rappelling off a two pitch WI3. I am still hung over.

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• A little hung over our first morning of climbing. I felt like this picture looks.

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• Move along, move along, no ice to be found here. 1st pitch of day 2.

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• A little crass promotionalism. Hey, some one's got to pay the bills. Our high point on Day 2.

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Our first climb was a mellow 2 pitch WI3 that looked a lot steeper from the road but at this point I was just happy to be ice climbing. Since we only had a half of day we only did two pitches then retired to our quaint little abode. The next day Skabbi and I proceeded to engage an impressive ice amphitheater we’d spotted the day before. Guarding access was a beautiful WI4 that I tackled with a vengeance. This pitch led to a long ice slog of rambling WI2 that we simu-climbed. About two hours later then planned, we reached the amphitheater and were reward for our persistence with a view of some amazing and steep ice. Rather than tackle the headwall straight on, we decide to climb a flow on the left side of the amphitheater. A solid WI4 entry with ice that can only be described as climbing a snow cone on a hot summers day led to a full pitch of tenuous (read: scary and run out) WI3. Due to a lack of time, we weren’t able to finish the last two pitches, insert tear here and headed back to Reykjavik.

Skabbi’s plans also included a short day trip outside of Reykjavik before I headed back to Washington. A short drive to look at the “dearth” of ice climbing brought us to a sort of frozen waterfall. Again considering how “bad” an ice season this was, I was surprised by the quality and abundance of ice climbing within 45mins of the capital. Our day started out right with a short WI3 to gain access to a spectacular frozen water fall with numerous route options. I took on the wettest pitch which I named “I should have brought my rain gear”. A WI4 pillar with hollow ice but more hook shots then a NBA game was the apple of Skabbi’s eye. After playing around on the waterfall and some frozen seeps in the area, we made our way back to Reykjavik and beer.

In closing four eternal lessons I’ll take away from my trip to Iceland:
1) Always take your rain gear no matter the conditions
2) If you are persistent enough (read: annoying and nagging) you can make trips work by yourself, no need for a partner
3) The general “hotness” of Icelandic women is overstated. That isn’t to say there aren’t attractive women, the leggings they all wear helps, but no more than you’d expect from any metropolitan US city, here’s looking at you Seattle.
4) Iceland’s’ national drink, Brennivin, tastes like cough syrup, i.e. it tastes like shit.
5) Adventure is always just around the corner. No need to wait or put it off…Go get some!!!

So what does one do? Firstly, you have to look on the bright side. At least it happened at the start of the ice climbing season. I made my excuses at home, told my wife “I need to be alone with my grief”, packed my truck, and said goodbye to the rain in Vancouver on the WET Coast of BC. I headed out on highway one bound for Canmore, Alberta. A place that guarantees good ice and adventure.

Deciding to live it up in luxury for the first week, I booked in to the Alpine Club of Canada Clubhouse for a staggering $25 a night for FULL luxury, amazing showers, lovely lounge, and library all with great views of the valley and the mountains from every room.

Waking early for my first day of climbing, it was full of promise. I headed to Beamer, the coffee hangout down town, before checking out some of the local crags. I have been to Canmore at this time of year many times and it is often very cold and has a bunk of thick ice, so I was surprised to find myself at the Junkyards with little ice and what was there was in terrible condition.

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I decided to just step out on to it to see how it felt. Well, it felt terrible but after banging around a bit I had to keep going because I was closer to the top than the bottom. Soloing up the Junkyards is usually really easy, not so much today and I was glad to get myself back on solid ground.

Foolishly, I managed to convince myself that maybe Grotto Canyon was better, so back in the truck for the 10 min drive to the next parking area. Taking a lead fall while ice climbing is bad. Taking a fall while soloing ice is very bad. So you can imagine how bad I looked when I took a fall on WI1 (a frozen puddle) on the walk in to Grotto, mm embarrassing.  I’m glad there was no one there to see me fall, don’t tell anyone. Stumbling up the canyon I made it to the climbs only to be disappointed. I’m glad I carried all my gear up here for this.

I’m now feeling that this economy is worse than I first thought; there is no work and no ice.

Desperate times call for desperate measures. Getting up at 5am the next day I headed out to an area called the Ghost to solo a route called “This House of Sky” (THOS) Grade III, WI3-4+ 500m (for those that don’t work in metric that is 1640ft).

Nothing is as sweet as the alarm going off at 5am. Well I guess the only thing better would have been the sound of the alarm going off at 10am.

After a quick breakfast, I jumped in the truck and headed for the Ghost. The Ghost is only about 30kms from Canmore as the crow flies but it is two hours by car on bad roads. Given that it is Friday morning I should have had the place to myself, everyone should be working. Not the case, I was one of four groups on the route that morning. Doesn’t anyone work in Canada anymore?

I managed to get on the route first with a nice couple letting me go before them. Since I was soloing, I would soon be out of site given the lack of time consuming rope work. I made it to the top in a little over an hour and sat having a sandwich, then dozed off for an hour sitting in the sun watching the clouds go by.

Finally getting a little cold, I headed back down with a mixture of down climbing and 7 or 8 rappels. Back at the car by 2pm and heading for home. What a beautiful day and a great way to spend your time when you are supposed to be looking for a job.

After getting out of the Ghost and back on to the paved roads, a snow and ice storm hit causing a little delay and finally seeing me back to Canmore at around 8pm, ready for food, beer and then ready for bed.

Next….? Watch this space for more winter ice adventures.

Descending from Silverton Falls and a great day out ice climbing with Cheryl Wallace, January 2009 near Silverton, Colorado

For twenty years now I have been climbing mountains, rock faces and frozen waterfalls. It has been the perfect analogy to what I have really been doing, which is climbing the mountains of my heart.

When I discovered climbing I quickly realized that this was an endeavor that caused me to focus my energies, both physical and mental, in a way that nothing else had previously done. This focus drew forth an ability to be in the present moment that I had heretofore never experienced. And each time I went out and attained this feeling it only served to make me want to go out climbing more.

Margot enjoying a moment of pure joy while posing as a leopard in Ouray Ice Park, January 2008, Photo by Chris Giles

My close friend and climbing partner, Karen McNeill, was an integral part of this journey. Her death on the flanks of Mount Foraker in Alaska in May of 2006 sent me into a tailspin of tragedy and loss. I use the timeline of her last days on earth as the starting point for my book, and my ten-year friendship with her as the platform of the present from which I delve into the past.

Margot enjoying the barren wilderness of the Antarctic Peninsula, February 2005

I will be writing in an online journal while at Banff, and I invite you to follow me on my blog at Glitter Girls as well as on the OR VertiCulture site.