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2009
Mugs Stump Award Winners:
Helander/Holden—Revelation
Range, Alaska
Redemption
in the Revelations — The first ascent of the Ice Pyramid
 The past year had been boiled down and rendered into the
monumental moment before us.
Crampons
clicked on, backpack straps tightened and deep breaths
echoed throughout the upper fork of the Big River Glacier.
Seth and I looked each other in the eyes under the pre-dawn
purple sky. “Hey man, this is it” I
said, eyes focused and intent. We bumped fists and he nodded. “Let's
get it.”
The Revelation mountains, a sub-range located at the southwestern
most portion of the Alaska Range. were first explored in
1967 by Dave Roberts, Art Davidson and friends. During their
57-day stay, they climbed a handful of beautiful peaks and
named many others. Since their visit, less than twenty parties
have ventured into these formidable mountains. With peaks
ranging from six to almost ten-thousand feet, the Revelations
are not high by altitude standards. However, their vertical
relief can be huge and many are reminiscent of their northern
brethren, the Kichatna Spires, some seventy-miles away.
Aside from the obvious positive qualities of such an untamed
range, the Revelations are known to be capable of producing
some of the most heinous weather imaginable. Likewise, simply
getting to the mountains is exorbitantly expensive and few
pilots are willing to even fly there.
This was Seth's and my second trip to the Revelation mountains.
Last season the two of us along with Steve Sinor made a foray
into the rarely visited alpine mecca. All of us were instantly
infatuated with an unclimbed 9,250-foot peak apparently called
the Ice Pyramid. We made two attempts on its prize, the southwest
ridge, but turned around on the eighteenth pitch on day three
when it became apparent that we were crossing a point of
no return. Regardless, we left with the first ascent of a
beautiful 8,385-foot peak we named the Exodus. It was however,
a mere secondary consolation to the Ice Pyramid. From there
on out, the Ice Pyramid filled our heads with aspirations
by day and occupied our dreams at night.
Thanks
to a Mugs Stump Award we received a second chance at the
peak, this time unfortunately without Steve. Seth and I
flew in once again with Rob Jones of R&R Guide
Services, one of the coolest guys I've ever met and definitely
the air master of the range.
As we roped up on that culminating morning, a familiar expression
covered Seth's face. He looked at me, through me, his mouth
slightly open and teeth biting his tongue. He was focused
and concentrated, completely in the zone. Such a sight made
me smile and propelled my confidence all the more. The first
few pitches put us a good distance off the ground and Seth's
block seemed to pass with finesse and ease. On our second
attempt the year prior, we had climbed ten pitches the first
day, a mere five the second and three the next before bailing.
This year we aimed to climb fifteen pitches on day one and
make it to a bivy we called the cave.
So far things were looking up. Pitch after pitch and hour
after hour fell behind us as we cruised the known terrain.
After 14.5 hours on the go, we pulled into the cave and took
to relaxing. The Alaskan sun was still high in the sky at
7 PM and even at ten it showed no signs of disappearing any
time soon. The next morning we were up at four and on the
go soon after.
A short, awkward move out of the cave led to one of the
crux pitches of the route. Since I had led it last year,
Seth took it this year just for fun. We quickly reached our
previous highpoint and bypassed it by traversing under a
series of gendarmes. Deep and unconsolidated snow over slab
still took forever to overcome. More vertical wallowing under
a massive cornice put us into the sun where conditions rapidly
improved. Seth climbed a steep snow pitch to a knife edge
ridge, where several long blocks of steep simul-climbing
interspersed by short rock steps put us directly under the
summit ridge. At a phallic looking outcrop we called the
wiener rock, I belayed Seth up and then beyond. He burrowed
through the cornice and hauled me up. The Ice Pyramid, an
object of obsession and dedication, sacrifice and commitment
was ours.
Sweat
dripped into our eyes as the sun beat down upon us. A panorama
of breathtaking unclimbed peaks pulled our eyes in every
direction. The southwest ridge lay below like a semi-coiled
snake in the ready-to-strike position. With such a beautiful
day, we decided to enjoy lunch on a flatter subsidiary
summit where we unroped and proceeded to walk to a flat
spot overlooking the Swift glacier. Following Seth, I suddenly
found myself falling. Arms and legs instinctively braced
wide and in an instant I was eye level to his boots. I figured
I had simply fallen into a rock moat, but quickly realized
the contrary. Cold dry air blew up my face as my legs kicked
into nothingness. “Shit! Seth! Oh my God! I'm in a
Crevasse. Help!” He briefly stood there, not quite
sure what to do. My crampons kicked into the side walls and
I tediously heaved myself out. My heart rate slowed to only
about 180 beats per minute and the trembling in my hands
soon subsided, but the incident had left me shaken. The fact
that I was unroped told me that I was very lucky to even
be alive. After a while, we climbed back down the other side
where we made several rappels to a small bivy platform.
In
the morning after more three rappels, I thought back to
the previous year. A stuck rope high on the northwest face
still resonated loudly in my head. A new thought, “Seth,
we can rappel into this couloir on the southwest face and
down climb the whole thing, then be off this mountain in
two hours. What do ya' think?” Though tempting, it
was exceedingly risky since it would put us in a different
valley and the threat of rockfall was ever present. Seth
cautiously took the bait and we rapped over the edge of the
southwest ridge, a point of no return. Two more rappels put
us on fast terrain and we down climbed the entire couloir
in less than two hours. The whole time, fighter jets from
Anchorage's Elmendorf Air Force base flew low over head.
Needless to say, our guests kept us terrified as their near
sonic booms sounded just like eminent rockfall. Both of us
breathed a sigh of relief once out of the gully.
A
crucial pass, one we thought Dave Roberts had taken as
part of his “Butterfly Traverse” in 1967 proved
to be nonexistent from the Swift side. When we got to the
top of what we thought was the pass, we found only a rock
wall of completely shattered shale on the other side. An
attempt to traverse a shale band set off a slush avalanche
that took everything over a cliff. “Shit,” I
said, “what now?” Seth had that same look on
his face, but this time the intense concentration seemed
to be lacking. The confidence had been replaced with wariness
and trepidation. “Ugh, I don't know. Let's go down
and see what we see from the bottom,” he said.
We
had enough food to camp out and decide in the morning when
the snow was firmer, so we set up the tent and contemplated
our options. It seemed as if the Ice Pyramid was playing
a game with us. What had been a difficult but relatively
fluid climb had become marred by an unnerving descent. “Hmmm,
I wonder how many days down the river Lime Village is,” I
thought. The answer...120 miles by river. “Well, I
guess we'll try again tomorrow,” Seth said.
During
the evening we pondered Mount Mausolus to the south, which
Dave Roberts accurately described as a “hopeless
labyrinth” in the 1968 American Alpine Journal. In
the morning, exhausted but determined to find a way over
the pass we tried again. It just didn't seem to make sense.
The pass was beautiful from the Big River side, but on our
side it appeared to be a 400-foot cliff. What was the deal
here?
As
Seth and I got to the top of the shale pinnacles, we were
enveloped by a localized whiteout. “Dude...what
the...” I said as I shook my head and threw my arms
up. “Just let us go!” We both knew that we
couldn't be more than a few pitches above our skis and that
no matter where we were, the rock band was minimal. With
a short clearing in the clouds we peered over and saw the
glacier about 500-feet below. Several manky rappels brought
us closer to salvation. At the third rappel off a dead-manned
picket, 30-meters followed by a 10-to15-meter rock band was
all that separated us from the glacier. “That picket
is bomber,” I thought, “I hope.” Sure
enough, it held and a sense of completeness filled my body
as I touched ground. Seth later told divulged that the picket
shifted about three inches as I went over the vertical section.
He came down and then we hiked to our skis and excitedly
skied back to camp in a whiteout, still feeling the mountain's
pull on us.
For the rest of the trip we toured the Big River complex
and scouted other options. All however, paled in comparison
to the Ice Pyramid. After a few days, Seth and I decided
the next best route was yet another on the Ice Pyramid, a
wide gash on the west face we called the Cataclysmic Couloir.
2,500-feet of steep snow and aerated ice culminated into
the northwest ridge where an icy wishbone arete loomed omnipotently
above. We made good time up the couloir, climbing it in two
1,000-foot blocks followed by several pitches of belayed
and simul-climbing. The glaciated ice above looked to be
AI5+/6 and with only four ice screws and a picket belay,
bailing seemed the only logical option. After five picket
and crappy v-thread rappels we hastily down climbed the remaining
1,700-feet. With one final look at our prize and an amazing
ski back to camp, we decided to pack up and head out. Over
the next three days we scoped future objectives and relaxingly
hiked 21-miles down the Big River to Rob Jones' lodge.
For us, the Ice Pyramid represented not only the culmination
of a year of training and obsession. It represented a dream
come true through sheer will, faith and the support of the
Mugs Stump Award. The southwest ridge of the Ice Pyramid
(Alaska Grade 4/5 5.8 60-degrees 2600') definitely brought
out the best of both of us. Without a doubt, this was the
most lay it out there, remote and consistently challenging
climb we have ever done. Its ascent, as well as the descent
demanded everything from us. Nothing came easy and the reward
was well worth the effort. So, to everyone involved in the
Mugs Stump Award: thank you for the opportunity to fulfill
a dream!
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