Going Tinkle on Icefields Parkway

************************************************ GOING TINKLE March 16, 1997: 0600 am. Hilda Hostel, Icefields Parkway, Alberta, Canada: The whole experience of water ice climbing is something relatively new to me. It snowed six inches last night. Not that six inches of snow is impressive, but the new deposits in the basins draining into Polar Circus mean that Elaine "Em" Holland and I [thankfully] have an excuse to stay off this terrifying climb. In no way do we feel ready to climb the Circus. The fact that at least two of the hard-core Rec.Icers were avalanched on this route in years past grants us a reprieve. What to do? Down the road is a vertical sheet of ice called Weeping Wall. Almost 200m high, the wall stands at the side of the road, a short-approach gauntlet-in-the-face to all hard-core-wannabes like us. We decide. Weeping Wall it is. Seduced by the thought of a moderate day, we enjoy a luxurious breakfast of omelet with salsa, then pack all our gear, and trudge the trail from the Hostel to the car. In spite of good intentions, it is past mid-morning by the time we reach the base of the wall. Our chosen line, the Left Wall, is already well-occupied with two teams. Impact craters and falling projectiles announce that the easiest route on the Right Wall is under siege as well. The only lines available are some incredibly steep headwalls of ice near the center of the wall. A mule with blinders, I ignore the guidebook and start up the least-scary-looking of the two choices. 60 meters later I quiver over a final bulge onto a sloping, semihanging belay and slap in a few screws. [Well, tediously grind the screws into place is more accurate]. I'm soaked in sweat, then as I belay Em, begin to shiver as the terror and exertion of the pitch fade along with the sunshine. Soon clouds of spindrift swirl down across the vertical ice (confirming the intelligence of our decision to stay off of Polar Circus.) Em arrives. Pitch two: Few crappy screws in the rotting ice below remind me that "here" is not an optimum place to be. The frozen wall in front of my nose seems to consist of baubles and grooves. The grooves look solid until the point of the axe caresses them, then explode to reveal a lattice of chandelier ice under a thin veneer. The baubles resemble a wall of clear glass Christmas ornaments both in appearance and in how they react to the point of an ice tool. After hooking fifteen feet of this, I reconsider. A rightward traverse around a pillar will put me within reach of a fixed sling. Tinkle, tinkle... The Black Prophet taps into yet another cluster of ornaments. [Hunker blind beneath my helmet, eyes closed tight, listening for the shards to fall away. If they do, it must mean that I am still glued to the wall.] The fixed sling is closer. Looking back at my last screw, rattling around several light years away across the putrefying ice, I realize that if I clip the fixed sling, it will expose Elaine to a nasty pendulum as she seconds the section. What I SHOULD do is climb another 20 feet to better ice, then place another screw. [Scrunch my eyes shut yet again. Whimper. Re-set my right mono-point, which has ripped out in apparent impatience to be moving.] It would be a real shame to bypass this sling, climb another ten feet, then fall. Moments of desperate, adrenalized indecision fade. I will be selfish: three thwacks and some scrabbling across hollow-sounding ice [BOOM chicka BOOM chickaBOOMchickachickachicka] find me at the sling. I clip. What about Elaine? We'll jump off that bridge when we come to it. Above, the groove steepens into another over-vertical section, splintered fragments spinning lazily away, sparkling in the returning sunlight. Solid screws, finally. Many solid screws. A veritable forest. I empty the rack into the ice, and guns finally spent, belay just below an easier section, using the final steepness above to channel icefall safely over our heads, out into space. After an extended, unintelligible discussion, Em ties into both the lead rope and haul line. I will both haul and belay on these to give Em a good toprope through the traverse section. Soon she joins me at the belay, as the day spins away. Realizing this will be our only climb for the day, we enjoy a leisurely late lunch. Below, a river meanders through snowy flats, while to all sides are immense, ice-encrusted walls. I am reminded of my early climbs in Yosemite Valley, many years ago: The feeling of not only adventure, but of complete newness to the sport, is strong; A feeling of magical enchantment -- enchantment with the improbable. A low angle section, a deteriorated slab resembling a 30-foot-thick stratum of hoarfrost, then a final, vertical headwall see us to the top. In the waning light, Elaine leads us up a final pitch to a place where we can safely unrope, smile, congratulate each other, finish the water, and dig out headlamps. As the last climbers leave the parking lot far below, [their isolated headlights snaking away on the Trans-Canadian Highway] we prepare for yet another "night fight": repetitive rapelling down overhanging cliffs and unfamiliar snowy 5th class terrain; following directions from a dyslexic guidebook author; recalling the repeated calls of earlier teams who miscalculated the length of the rappels and had to downclimb the final sections; thrash-versing and searching the dark echoing vertical spaces for traces of those who have gone before us; fighting our way to freedom down the rocky walls of Snivelling Gully. Ironically, I finally start to feel like I am on familiar ground. END **************************************************