The Northern Run

I knew it wasn’t right. The car remained between the lines, its speed constant at 100 kilometers an hour but I was no longer the driver. Instead I sat in the passenger seat watching with horror as the car drove itself. ‘Pull over” I thought to myself, “who knows where you really are on the road.” I cringed as the car came close to an oncoming semi. Was I dreaming? Was I awake? Was this real? The car moved on, driven by a phantom of myself. I saw the reflective signs of a driveway, the only light on the dark and lonely number 16: The Highway of Tears. I begged the phantom to pull over, reluctantly, he obliged.  

It was the 16^th straight hour of driving and I had been unable to stop. The vessel was a tired Buick Century with a transmission that could fail entirely at any given moment. I had begun in Fernie where I had left my apartment. Once warmly lit with the sounds of Motown music and an ongoing card game, the apartment was a cold, empty place upon departure. Only the ghosts of memory hinted that it had ever been inhabited, and those ghosts would leave with me. I drove away from the pre fabricated rift in time with that mix of sadness of parting and excitement of being on the road. I was moving on again.

I felt the roar of the engine, screaming and unfettered by the restraints of the gears. Turning down music that was playing too loud, I felt the “chunk” of the car sinking into gear. It was still in the first hour and already the car desired its final rest. It would not be granted such a rest. 500km of highway 93 north was ahead, the most sustained mountain road in Canada. The car could drive once it was cruising, but stopping could spell death for the car. It could also leave me stranded hundreds of kilometers into the Rockies where it would be very cold.

Construction ahead

Shit

I applied the brake and felt the wobble of hot, warped rotors as they screamed against the brake pads. Ahead, a line up of cars stood in front of a chasm of rock. Inside, a machine swept away rock debris that had tumbled off a precipice above. The road climbed sharply upward, switchbacking up towards the heavens. I stopped, the worker turned the sign and the caravan started moving. All except one wine colored Buick. It wouldn’t budge in drive, I put it into first and it began to move. Up to second, and I hear and feel a loud CCHHHUNNNKKK. Up to third, quickly shifting now. The engine struggles to get up the steep hill, slipping out of gear, catching before I slip down the hill backwards. The blue cavalier behind me curses my existence, I hope he understands. Eventually I arrive on the top of the hill. I must keep in it gear but this means I must not brake too much, the turns are sharp the hill steep but as I fly down the mountain staring at the ends of switchbacks, a constant mountain vista flies by. Just don’t lose momentum.

It’s the 8th hour and the sign says 60 kilometers to Jasper. Aside from a fuel up and construction, I have not stopped. Luckily, the beauty of the mountains on this highway inspires awe. There is so much ice to climb, endless rock to climb and innumerable aesthetic lines that carve down the sharp and frigid peaks. I share the vastness with Ontario Blue Tercel and Alaska Red Sunfire. We form a group, traveling through the mountains, our beaters all hovering close to death. We gain momentum going down and glide up the steep inclines. Our speedometers dropping from helter-skelter high speeds of the descent to the 70km struggle of the ascent. Occasionally, the leader will drop to the back as we cross the frozen ice field. The new elected leader will warn the others of large potholes, a police cruiser and will be the lantern to guide though the thick clouds. I drop back and let Alaska Red Sunfire pass, my transmission just barley staying in gear on the steep hill. His car is full of gear, the back plastered with bumper stickers, he gives the nod. Ontario Blue Tercel passes and I see a similar picture. 

We hit the crossroads and we part ways, Blue Ontario Tercel heading into Jasper for a well deserved rest, Red Alaska Sunfire driving east into the darkness. Unable to downshift, I carve west, chasing the last golden rays of the sun. The road is lonely now. Robson looms up to my right. As darkness descends, it becomes harder to see. The twilight plays tricks with the mind. Suddenly it appears without warning; a moose shoots on to the road, 50 meters… I have time. I apply the brake, careful not to lose control with the violent wobble. There are no cars on the road. I am lucky. I let go of the brake and carve around the huge animal. I honk my horn and berate the animal disappearing in my rearview mirror “ya fuckin stupid gangly bastard you almost killed me!” I yell. No one is listening. So I listen to the gears, as they struggle to return to cruising speed.

14^th hour: Prince George. I smell it long before I see that sea of yellow lights and smoke. I roll down the main strip, with run down motels, shops selling porn and liquor. At this time of night, the people walking this strip are not doing it by choice. I don’t want the Buick to die here. Luckily, the car handles the one red light with minimal complaint, accepts the libations from Petro Canada and continues northwest free of the PiG. 

16^th hour: Everything seemed normal and then suddenly it was not. I was dreaming, I was driving, I was keeping the car moving, and I was not in control. The car was in control but I was not driving it. I breathed deep and tried to manage my senses, it did not help. I had to stop I could not stop but instead had to will the phantom to stop reluctantly. I could control the phantoms actions but I did not perform them. I asked the phantom to stop and to my relief, he pulled over.

It was dark. 

The car rolled to a stop and I kept moving. Was I dreaming? The realm between real and dream was still far too grey to get back in the car. The real was far to cold to stay out of the car. I could not stay here. I knew there was a rest stop in 10 kilometers. Could I make it without summoning the phantom? I rolled down all the windows, turned up Motley Crue’s Kickstart my heart. The car struggled to move but sputtered to the highway rhytmn. Finally, I saw the blue rest area sign, pulling in; I parked and turned off the car. I fell asleep within minutes.

Fernie

I stood on top of the climb. The wind whistled menacingly as spindrifts of light snow flicked across the precipices of rock and ice surrounding me. The sky was so clear, as it could only be on a day so very cold. Ice encrusted my face and my hands throbbed with pain of being constantly shaken to keep circulation in fingers that would rather remain frozen. The past 4 hours has been sheer intensity, nothing had passed through my mind except the next screw. I hung over a hundred meters high on the frozen waterfall while windblown snow pummeled me. Focusing on the belay and praying for the words: “I’m clear”. When it happened, I was then thrust into the task of reaching the next screw. My hands screamed protest and my body was sluggish with the cold but instead of going down, I went up. At the top, it felt as if I had emerged from a dream. However this dream had felt far more real than everyday life.  What had passed was something not of this world but something far more; a visceral gaze into our more primal pasts. 

I was beleaguered by the beauty of my surroundings. The sharp jagged grays, the brilliant whites and the cold blues. The sun shone fiercely, tanning the skin more than it would on a tropical beach yet not yielding any warmth for the body. The picture was one that was uninviting yet full of genuine beauty. To see such beauty, one must be prepared to work for it. Slogging through the deep snow back to the car, I looked back on the frozen mass of ice we had just scaled, feeling accomplished and content.

-----

Big fat flakes fell from the sky. The peak of Mammoth Head was enshrouded in the grays of stratus clouds. These clouds had been bombarding the hill with countless layers of snow for weeks on end. My climbing skins made a soothing whhuurr across the track as we slowly ascended from the chaos of Fernie Alpine resort into the realm of Mongolia ridge. Small avalanches floated down over the cliffbands of Mammoth head. In the center of the peak was a large cave, the eye of the mammoth. It observed us as we climbed higher up the ridge, its eye blinking when a snow sluff would thunder downwards to the field of broken debris.

We reached the top of the ridge and found the spot, empty, untouched and really deep. Meeting up in intervals, I saw my shit eating grin reflected on my buddy’s face. It was a good run.

-----

An explosive blast echoed down the Lizard Range and a slab ripped off the side of Grizzly Peak. The wave of snow, with a destructive force capable of flattening a village, ripped through trees, tearing those that were unfit to withstand its force. I watched from the safety of the elk chair. The sunny flat slopes were filled with families who had spent 80 dollars only to ride a small beginner’s area. The real mountain had been closed until nature had finished shrugging off its winter coat in preparation for spring.  It was a day of rest for those who waited for a safer chance back into the mountains.

Cruising down the slope proved high risk in its own right. Dodging the many families who struggled to get down the mountain on these awkward sticks. Happy to have only one run for the day, I headed to the lodge. On the way, I suddenly was presented with a difficult decision, a child had decided to hit a “jump” and without warning or knowledge of my presence, headed on a direct crash course for myself. To avoid the child meant hitting a large tree. With no other options I chose the tree and braced for impact. I hit and I heard the air woosh from my lungs. My shoulder smashed into the tree. I rolled out away from the impact, but the damage had been done.

The family was concerned, feeling guilty and just wanted to help. This made me angrier, why couldn’t they just leave me alone? I struggled for breath, it came out in wheezes. I felt hypoxic. I calmed myself and shut out as much as I could. I proceeded to collect my gear. I had to get home and try to sleep this one off. “I wish I had caught that on tape so you could make money off America’s funniest home videos” the dad confided in me when I clicked into my bindings. Good joke.

I got home and began the long grueling regime of recovering from an injury, testing my range of motion. I felt tension then a pop as my joint slotted back into place. It was time to rest, the next day was bound for the hospital.

I exit the doors of the hospital and look up at the Three Sisters. A picturesque line runs down the middle sister. To each side her younger sisters stand sharp and tall. The Fernie season is done, but no bones are broken. In 6 weeks with good discipline, I can be back. Back for some ski touring and spring climbing. Back in time to work. Work to pay debts and work to fund the next destination, the next climb and the next powder day. What will bring me to that destination and where it will be, only time will tell.

-----

The stationary bike makes a whirr similar to my climbing skins. It is the 5^th consecutive day of stationary cycling. Got to keep fit, got to keep moving. To my right, a see a man running with a prosthetic limb. Down below, I see a large woman struggling to meet the demands of her personal trainer. Everyone has physical barriers and mine seem insignificant in comparison with others. Rain drips off the windows and the mountains are obscured by spring rain clouds.

Febuary Ice Adventures

It was the first adventure planned out west since my arrival in Fernie B.C 3 weeks prior. Eager to keep things interesting, I decided to pack my bags and leave Fernie. Although I had no qualms with skiing everyday, it lacks the unpredictability of being on the road. Travelling solo through Asia gave me this itch that had to be scratched. The world’s best ice climbing sits a mere 400km from my house so I decided that it was time to get on it.

I left at eleven am from the cozy Fernie condo that I was living in. I chatted with a solid volunteer firefighter to Cranbrook. I hitched a ride with a second world war vet to Skookumchuck. Crossing the Kootany River on foot, I got a ride from a teacher at the College of the Rockies. 

It was now 7pm and I was in Invermere, still 200 km away from my destination. My next ride was to the junction where an old man who said fuck in every sentence and a woman who always replied ‘you betcha’. They drove me in a bald tired truck through the harrowing Radium Highway. I sat for 3 hours on the Trans Canada, 30km away from Lake Louise. Finally, a solid dude picked me up in his two door rice burner. I sat under the weight of my combined luggage counting down the km until Lake Louise.

I arrived at ten thirty and rejoiced by buying gas station coffee. It was a 5km uphill hike to the chateau and then another two km of deep snow slogging with a heavy pack to the falls. I found a good patch to dig in and I haphazardly pitched my bivy sack in a snow trench. I was cold, wet and had a long night ahead of me. 

I got out in the cold morning to make my oatmeal and coffee. After organizing my camp a bit more I went across the lake to the falls. The one-hundred-and-ten-meter behemoth was a sight to see and a few moves up, I was already pumped out. Luckily the leader, a fellow by the name of Peter had paved the way for me. By 2pm I was rappelling off the wall. 

cold morning

morning 1

Louise falls

 

cave

The whistle of the stove broke the silence in my camp as I melted snow and made coffee. I made renovations to my camp, expanding the kitchen area and getting my bivy fully enclosed into its cave. I had become more comfortable in the camp, although all my layers were damp, and my outer sleeping bag was still encrusted in ice. I decided to head down into town where I could poach a fireplace and wireless internet from the local hostel.

sleeping cave

kitchen

In town I quickly got word from Sylvain, a French Canadian school teacher driving up from Calgary. He was a solid ice leader and keen to hit up something new. Arriving in a camper van, we had a few beer and talked climbing. I was cave bound before ten pm, we had a 4am wake up planned and the next day would be a full one.  

The phone let loose a wail to signal the time to get out of my cave. The outer bag was a solid piece of ice. Turning on my headlamp, I left my cave and emerged into the brisk -25 air. Gearing up, I quickly met up with Sylvain and we were on our way.

After a long approach, we stood at the bottom of a 200 meter piece of waterfall ice. Happy to follow and learn, I started belaying Syl. With over 20 years of experience, I learned a lot by watching Sylvain climb. Most of the leading I felt capable of doing however, the crux pitch of WI5+ had me pumped and baffled as to how a person could climb, place screws and have enough confidence to lead such a pitch. I hung on, forearms throbbing, hands burning and heaving. 

climb day 2

Still, I proved to be a reliable second and we managed to cruise up the pitch in good time. Although I had an easy job, it was still a workout and a half.

At the end of the day, we grabbed a burger and a beer at the Louise Hostel. After oats and power bars for days straight, the meal was like ambrosia. Sylvain offered to drop me off at the radium exit of the trans can and so I hurriedly rushed in and took down camp. 

View of Castle from my highway spot

Stinky, wet, tired and happy, I waited for my first hitch. A rusty old cavalier with two people best described as “salt of the earth” gave me a ride to invermere. Their kindness included offering me a place to stay, orange pop and green smokables. I politely refused all offers but their kindness, despite clearly not having much, was very endearing. The lack of power steering, shoddy brakes and questionable condition of the cavalier was not so endearing. I got out at the Invermere Tim Horton’s and after grabbing a coffee, got a ride from a girl in an SUV. She was heading in to catch 3 dollar final half hour at the Fairmont hotsprings.

I soaked in the hot pool and stared at the stars at the Fairmont hotsprings. Happy for the break and eager to get out of the many damp layers it was an excellent way to soak away the cave. Fatigue started to kick in and I still had a ways to go. My next hitch was to canal flats. It was in canal flats where I stood for 4 hours on a barren stretch of road. With only my headlamp to let passers by know that I needed a hitch, time passed very slowly. Luckily at midnight, a miner bound for Sparwood picked me up. I struggled to continue the conversation despite low energy levels.

I was dropped off at the end of my street and like a zombie, I shuffled to my apartment. Opening the door, I dropped my bag, went downstairs and passed out. 

The warm house with good friends, coffee and cribbage was a nice place to be after 3 days of snow caving.

The Himalayas part 3: the conclusion.

I have been home for several weeks now and it is a sense of denial that such an incredible trip is over which has prevented me from writing the final chapter in my Himalayan tale. 

With the excitement and goal of Kala Patthar and EBC behind me and back on my own, the climax of the tale had, in many ways, already passed. Yet the final days above 5000m where the best of the trip. I felt strong and ready for anything, and my body was able to thrive in the thin air of the final passes.

Dzongla lodge was however, the worst lodge of the trip. I slept on one large bench with the porters and guides. The sherpas slept in a huge cuddle puddle, giggling and talking well into the night. Considering that they would be crossing a glaciated pass at over 5430m the next day, carrying my body weight in gear with Chuckie T's or Sandals on their feet, I was surprised at how much energy they had. Despite the daunting day ahead, they did not focus on getting a short amount of rest. Reciprocally, I also did not get much sleep. 

The lodge had 4 groups, the solo Norwegian girl, the Korean team who referred to me as Changwon Ssangsangnim (Changwon teacher), the Canadian group who where my Dad's age and all talked like Bob and Doug and a French girl by the name of Vivianne, or Vivi for short. The Koreans were out of the gate first. 4am and they were off. The Norwegian was next at 5am, the Canadians were gone by 5:30 and Vivi and I were last at 6am. The pass should be crossed in the morning if possible because of melt conditions in the afternoon which bring ice and rockfall dangers.

Vivi and I began to take the long winding dirt trail higher and higher up into the thinner air. The pace was relaxed but not slow. Vivi owned an outdoor adventure company in the UK with her boyfriend and so was not holding me back by any means. We arrived at the last push to the glacier and I saw a solo route that really tickled my fancy. It was a low angle slab to a chimney to a scramble. I started working it and the slab went by easy, though I was breathless when I entered the chimney. The chimney was easy enough but I was tired from the thin air, and the exposure was getting pretty bad considering I had a pack on and no rope. I slowly lifted myself out of the chimney. I shouldered the pack and headed up the last scramble to meet Vivi, who had witnessed the whole show from her perch on the glacier.

We then crossed the glacier which was spectacular in its beauty. The bright snow complemented the impossibly blue skies and everything shone with a sharp brilliance. Vivi snapped a few pictures and we carefully followed the path through the maze of crevasses and ice, gazing at the many peaks jutting up around us. Finally, we left the glacier and stood on top of the pass. Amid the multitude of colorful prayer flags, we could see the land drop in front of us. The land stretched on into the horizon, with miles to go until we arrived in Gokyo. Behind us was a vast expanse of glacial ice that we had just crossed.

Cho La

We began our descent, picking our way down large rocks and moving with speed. At the bottom of the rockfall, we met the Korean team. After a few bungapsumida's and trying to have a short Korean conversation, we headed on. We began to pass through rolling hills and alpine meadows, gradually descending towards the settlement of Dragnag. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of following a stream downward, we saw the first hut peeking out. Vivi decided that she would stay in Dragnag and I decided to push on the extra 3 hours to Gokyo. Saying goodbye to Vivi, I moved on quickly catching the Canadian group outside of Dragnag. I said hello and continued past, pushing a good pace. I got to the glacier crossing and picked my way across, at one point witnessing a serac fall into a glacial lake.

Gokyo Glacier

I crossed my second glacier of the day with no major difficulty but upon exiting, I had to climb a steep, sandy incline that left me destroyed by the top. Luckily, I was at Gokyo. After 10 hours of trekking, I was demolished and headed to a lakeside lodge where I promptly collapsed in a room and had a nap. I woke up and went out into the village of Gokyo

I retired early, a 4am start and another long day was ahead of me. I only had 1 5000m+ peak and one 5000m+ pass left.

November 27th,


My bladder served as a perfect 4am alarm clock in the morning. After seriously contemplating a rest day, I banished the thought from my mind and began gearing up to climb Gokyo-ri.  The 5357m  peak is located on the west side of the Ngozumpa Glacier, which is the largest glacier in Nepal, and reputed to be the largest in the whole Himalayas. From the summit of Gokyo Ri, it is possible to see five 8,000 metre peaks - Everest, Makalu, Lhotse, Kangchenjunga and Cho Oyu. I wanted to see the sun rise on these peaks.

I left the lodge and noticed a string of headlamps already making their way up the mountain. I caught the headlamps and quickly passed the larger group, which included, to my surprise, my Korean friends. As dawn approached, we saw the prayer flags of the summit flapping within sight. 

Predawn colors

Me on the summit, Everest and Lhotse in the background.

Everest Lhotse and Makalu

Missed Cho Oyu but it was over here Kangchenjunga was over in a dark area but pretty awesome to look at.

After taking in the sunrise, I began a fast descent toward Gokyo. I had to get breakfast and be enroute on Renjo by 8:30 at the latest and it was already close to 7am. I booked it down the mountain and I arrived at the lodge to find my porridge and tea waiting. The Serpani lady, a lovely kind hearted soul had made sure to have my food ready. When I confirmed my intent to move through Renjo, she voiced her approval by patting me on my cheek and saying "strong man". When I paid my bill, she presented me with a tuna chapatti sandwich and a chocolate bar and waved goodbye with a big grin on her face. These are the types of people that make the Khumbu region so special. I left for the last pass with a spring in my step and grin on my face.

Goodbye Gokyo

I weaved around Gokyo lake and then said goodbye to the prettiest settlement on the trail before beginning the steep climb up towards Renjo. I crested the hill and left Gokyo behind me and went into the rocky, barren Alpine found only above 5200m.

The pass is in the middle of this picture, I scrambled the peak to the right.

For the first time, I felt comfortable at over 5000m.  My surroundings and the sheer isolation I felt walking alone in complete silence were pretty incredible. It is a very purifying experience, free of normal concerns and I was happy to be there. I met someone coming from the other side and he snapped this pic.

After a short conversation, we parted ways, He was the first person I had met all day. Shortly after meeting him, I was at the top of the pass.  Flags adorned the top and I could scramble around. Dropping my pack off trail, I scrambled up towards a rock summit a few hundred meters away. When I arrived I was offered the broadest view of the Everest Himalayan range.

Everest in the cloud

Leaving the Everest Himalayas heading towards Nampa-la

After saying my final goodbye to Everest and its sister peaks, I began to make a fast descent towards the lake. Upon arriving at its shores, I sat on the sand and had my lunch... delish!

I finished my tasty eats and then got moving. 700m of descent in 10km went very fast as the gradual decline made the trek easy. With each step, the air got thicker and I felt lighter; the world began to get greener and full of life as well.

going down

Yak.

Before I knew it, I was finished and eating Dal Bhaat in a lodge in Langden talking with a Welsh couple. Tomorrow I would be in Namche, and in 2 days in Kathmandu. It was time to go down.

November 28th

I woke up early, had  my porridge and began my descent by 7 am. I wanted a full day in Namche and I had 15km to cover. Luckily, the 15km was downhill and so I set off cruising. The tone was light and I sang to myself as I raced the river downwards towards Thame. I was on the route to and from Nangpa la, the famous road and pass where Tibetan refugees have fled and traders have crossed for centuries.  Once they had brought sheepskins, traditional clothing and goods, now they came loaded with counterfeit outdoor gear.

It was on this route where Chinese border guards have been documented gunning down fleeing Tibetans. The highest profile case was in 2006 when a climber on Cho Oyu filmed border guards gunning down a 17 year old Buddhist nun while she tried to flee in waist deep snow. Today there was only small caravans of Tibetan traders and Yaks and no refugees, but it wasn't hard to see the importance of this route to many people. As I descended to Thame, there were more signs of civilizations.  Gompas and Prayer wheels became more frequent and more buildings began to pop up.

Gompa

This bridge was really cool.

I kept the pace up and by 11, I was in Namche. I celebrated a successful trip. First, I had a shower, my first in 11 days, then in clean clothes When this was done, I bought ice gear that had been up Everest. It was old but still functional. For 20 bucks you could get an axe.  I got a set of tools and crampons for under a hundred bucks. I hit up the rock and roll pool bar where Led Zep was playing and I shot pool with Sherpas, climbers and Trekkers. 

I was happy to be at the bar and a fellow entertained me as he lit his 10th cigarette and talked about how he would be training for Everest. The music was good and the walls adorned with mountaineering history made this a special place and a great spot to celebrate a safe trip in the Khumbu reigon. The town is just such a cool place and after the silence and emptinees of the past few days, the bar was exciting and full of life despite only having 6 or 7 people in it, including the bartenders. I left and grabbed a late dinner, the finest Yak steak in the world from sherpaland before going to sleep.

November 29/30th

I woke up and began the long descent to Lukla today, passing Gompas and making prayers to the mountain gods. I thanked them for safe travels in their realm and also sent forth wishes that I would be able to return one day, with hopes to climb Ama Dablam. I stopped in Phakding for a Dal Bhaat lunch and by dinner I was in Lukla. I read a book, ate dinner and confirmed my flight.  By 7am on the 30th, I was on a plane to Kathmandu.