The following week I received two pairs of the Ski and Board Tights, size Large and X Large. I tried both on and sent the XL’s back. They are supposed to fit snugly. When I first tried them on they were a bit confining compared to what I am used to wearing for long underwear, which is I/O Bio thin merino. But it made sense that they needed to be snug and supportive to be able to benefit from them. After my first use I was amazed to feel good throughout the day of riding at the Village and especially at the end of the day, when I normally have knee pain (post exercise), there was none! I don’t know the exact science behind them, but they were developed with the Steadman Hawkins Clinic by Mr. Gustafson, a skier who wanted to reduce his knee pain after years of hard skiing. It is my opinion that with the development of the S1 Ski Tight and Board Tight, he succeeded – with flying colors!

Me, showing off my Opedix Ski and Board Tights on top of Albright Peak, Grand Teton National Park. Click on image to increase size.

For the past several weeks I put the tights to the test…snowboarding, skiing and ice climbing…from several trips into the Tetons (on the Middle, Albright, Nez Perce) all day skinning and riding to ripping multiple Tram laps (both skiing and snowboarding) at Jackson Hole to  climbing hard ice and mixed routes in Highlight Canyon outside of Bozeman, MT, to “skiking” (skinning and hiking) Snow King, hiking and riding Glory Bowl on Teton Pass, I have put these tights to the test and they are AMAZING! They “Unload” the joint (read about it here), according to the website and research. All I know is that when I wear them I no longer experience knee pain, which I have been having for the past 5 or so years, especially in my left knee, which has had 2 ACL repairs and is missing a significant portion of the Meniscus. My knees have been through the ringer…six knee surgeries in total to repair and rerepair/replace most of the ligaments in both of my knees as well as the precious meniscus. Of all the issues from torn ligaments, it is the meniscus damage that causes the most pain. Keep that meniscus as in tact as possible. With our active lifestyles we do harm to our joints. Based on how well these tights have performed and actually eliminated my knee pain with extensive use over the past several weeks, I think that they will add years to my active lifestyle. I have a few clients who suffer from excruciating knee pain who I want to have try these. I bet that they will suffer less. Isn’t that what we all want? Less suffering? I  sure do! And to have a lot less suffering for $190 is a deal!

The pain I was experiencing after a day of riding or skiing, especially resort riding (more vertical on generally firmer snow) was getting so bad that I was no longer enjoying riding unless it was untracked powder. So that basically eliminated the Village (Jackson Hole) and other resort riding. I am happy to say that I rode and skied the Village several full days this winter in the S1 Tights and had no knee pain. This is really remarkable. I highly recommend the Opedix Ski and Board tights and look forward to trying the running tights and also the posture shirt, which will hopefully cure my “climber’s” posture (overdeveloped lats and underdeveloped pecs).

Goats caught on film mating high in the Teton Mountains!

On one trip using the tights with Darrel Miller of Storm Show Studios on Nez Perce’s West Hourglass Couloir, I took this photograph of Goats Mating in the Tetons. The one on the bottom may even be a native big horn sheep. Word has it that the mountain goats, pictured mating in this rare image taken in Lupine Meadows, may threaten the native Big Horn Sheep. Story on goats invading the park here.

On this outing I was skeptical of Darrel’s mode of uphill transport, snowshoes. They do not glide and generally sink in more than skis or a splitboard. I met up with him as he was breaking trail up Garnet Canyon. I took the route on the Morain between Taggart and Bradley Lakes and contoured into Garnet after the initial steep section above the morain’s end. I was fortunate to find a couple of sneaks down into Garnet and was happy to have my new Scarpa F1′s, with their forward lean lock throw, which allowed quick transition from uphill to down without removing my skins. Up high, as we were entering the west hourglass couloir on Nez Perce, the snow became firm and steep and I was not comfortable skinning so removed my skis (splitboard) and began postholing through the crust. I watched with envy as Mills stomped up the couloir, with much less effort than I, on his snowshoes.  I did not have a pair of splitboard crampons that fit, like these, from B and D Ski Gear, which I am soon to get. Crampons are vital for skinning in firm conditions!

Back to the Tights…There are a couple of minor annoinances: no zipper/pee hole and the waist closure is a simple shoe string type tie with elastic waistband. For $190 I would like to have a zipper to pee and a better waist closure, like an overlapping Velcro closure. At least reduce the size of the elastic where the knot is to be tied for ease of tying! I did have better results with the knot staying tight by using the surgeons knot, shown here on this fun shoe lace tying site.

Bottom line: if you want to reduce or eliminate knee pain during activities like snowboarding or skiing or want to prevent knee pain from developing in the first place, buy the Opedix S1 Ski and Board Tights.

End Knee Pain with these tights!

Squeeze Box on Grand Teton. Photo - Stephen Koch

On February 6, 2007, Hans Johnstone and I completed a new route on the north face of the Grand Teton, Squeeze Box (IV M7, A0, 1,000′). The line lies between Shea’s Chute and the Alex Lowe Memorial Route and ascends a weakness up a beautiful granite buttress. I had spotted the line during a flurry of activity with various partners in October 2004, which gave us the best ice conditions in the Tetons in years, and resulted in the Alex Lowe Memorial Route, which I climbed with Mark Newcomb. While skiing the Koven Couloir on Mount Owen on January 26, 2007, the unclimbed line looked in good enough condition for an attempt, which I made on January 28 with Brian Harder. Much snow removal was needed to reveal cracks for both torquing and rock protection. We climbed about half the route but retreated due to approaching darkness. With the clear weather and high pressure continuing I was excited to make another attempt before the next storm cycle, which have been few and very far between this dry and cold winter.

First Attempt - Brian Harder on approach ramp. Photo - Stephen Koch

Hans and I began skiing north from the Taggart Bradley trailhead at 4 a.m. Some five hours later we began the more technical climbing up and onto the north face. The climbing was both challenging and interesting with technical difficulties up to M7 (5.10 rock equivalent). A challenging squeeze chimney, too narrow to climb facing in, had me grunting and thrashing on lightly featured granite.

Photo - Stephen Koch

Above lay a beautiful ice gully, which brought us to a black chimney. For the next two rope lengths we climbed steep rock with our ice axes and crampons. The second-to-last pitch involved a tension traverse across smooth slabs to reach another set of bottomed-out seams that offered slightly more opportunity for the metal to catch on the minuscule and insecure features. In spots protection was not easy to obtain but the route unfolded nicely as we were treated to a beautiful alpenglow on Teewinot.

With great desire to complete the route I darted up the last pitch in the dark, aided by the light of my headlamp. With the insecure nature of the climbing, success was never guaranteed. We rappelled the route and down-climbed across the Teton Glacier back to our skis.

With mixed climbing techniques and skills increasing there are countless opportunities for other new routes on the north face of the Grand Teton and throughout the Range. It is a matter of conditions and desire!

Once a Teton classic ice climb, the Black Ice has dwindled in recent years from a combination of rising temperatures and dwindling snow. The prolific winter of ’07/’08 coupled with fortuitous September storms had me believing an ascent would be possible.

The footage for this video was shot primarily with a VIO POV camera I mounted on my helmet. Additional footage was shot with a couple of digital cameras.

I have a long and interesting history with the Black Ice, with many ascents and the only snowboard descent that involved some belayed turns, a rappel and a whole lot of what I used to think of as “fun.”

I had attempted the Black Ice with the intent to descend it on my snowboard 2 times before finally making turns on her exceedingly steep and exposed terrain. First time was solo and the second was with the late Alex Lowe, an alpine and ice climbing mentor of mine who was truly a gifted, positive and extremely motivated alpinist. Alex died after being hit by a massive avalanche that buried him on Shishapangma while ascending the SW Face. I occasionally still tap into his positive energy.

When I climbed the Black Ice alone I knew I needed a partner for this descent. With Alex, after making the ascent of the BI with our gear, we weren’t fired up enough to attempt the descent in the current conditions – very snow covered but with a fairly gnarly crust that would have made turning in control even more difficult than turning on 50+ degree terrain with huge exposure requires.

As a consolation for our efforts we skied and snowboarded from the upper saddle to the lower saddle and decided to climb and make the second descent of the NW Ice Couloir on the Middle Teton. I had completed the premier descent earlier in the season while working at the lower saddle.

I was scared watching Alex ski the NW couloir in, if I remember correctly, his mountaineering boots. He wasn’t going to fall, but I didn’t know that for sure at the time and his slightly out of control looking turns didn’t lend confidence. I had been with people who had lost control on my first two big routes in the Tetons, the Middle and the Grand. They took falls/slides and I thought I was going to witness someone die. They didn’t and I started soloing after that. I figured I needed my mental energy to take care of myself when doing the wild mountain descents.

Went back to BI with Mark Newcomb and snowboarded much of it…that is another story all its own that I don’t have time for at the moment but look forward to sharing soon.

Black is Back! Or at least was in wild mixed scary (loose rock) alpine conditions for another moment in time. But what is our time, and the time that the Black Ice was in over the past several hundred/thousand years anyway? A moment in the scheme of time, albeit a slightly longer moment than during this scrappy ascent…

Help support StephenKoch.com with the V.I.O. POV Video Camera from Backcountry.com. This is the POV camera used to shoot most of this movie!

Light Traveler is marked on left with green line

Five. That is the number of times that I have stopped. Stopped during the coldest, darkest and most painful time on this journey. Stopped to kick the life back into my dying toes. It feels like I am lifetimes away from safety or flat ground. Here is the upper part of the Cassin Ridge on Denali’s southwest face. Here is merely the aftermath of climbing this new route, Light Traveler, with Marko Prezelj.

Marko Prezelj - Photo by Stephen Koch

Marko and I met in February 2001 in Scotland at the British Mountaineering Council’s semi-annual International Winter Climbers’ Meet, a convergence of climbers from many countries to climb and discuss topics of concern. I was there representing the United States and The American Alpine Club after better-known and stronger climbers had been unable to attend. Though Marko and I didn’t have the opportunity to climb together in Scotland, we shared a number of fine moments over libations at the local watering hole.

Once back in the States, email contact with Marko revealed that we both wanted to climb in Alaska, and that our approach, among other things, was similar. We both liked to climb alpine style and with minimal gear. We both understood that the lighter you go, the faster you go, and the faster you go, the further you go. Language was not a problem: Marko’s English is excellent. There was, however, a major difference between us: Marko’s greater alpine experience. Marko has been on the cutting edge of alpine climbing for over a decade. Among many other climbs, he had climbed a new route to the south summit of Kangchenjunga with Andrej Stremfelj in 1991, an ascent that won the inaugural Piolet d’Or award.

SK, at 19, during first snowboard descent of Grand Teton in 1989. Photo - Tom Turiano

I am better known as a snowboard mountaineer. If something is possible to descend on skis or a snowboard, it isn’t highly technical. Climbing with Marko, I would be able to see what I was capable of as an alpinist, on truly technical terrain, without the added weight of a snowboard.

Jack Tackle had given me the idea and encouragement for a new route on Denali. Jack is not only a huge inspiration but also a legend for his new and difficult routes in the Alaska Range. We work together for Exum Mountain Guides in Grand Teton National Park and I trusted his eye for new routes.

Jack and I poured over photographs of Denali’s many faces. The most logical unclimbed feature on Denali was to the left of the Cassin Ridge and right of the Denali Diamond. No one had been on the southwest face for over 18 years. There had been no new routes done on Denali in single push style. This was my chance to complete a great climb in the best style with a stellar partner. I was ready.

I picked up Marko and Klemen Mali, Marko’s Slovenian friend who was going to work in the States to make some cash and then climb in the Kitchatna Spires, in Anchorage on May 23. We spent the first few hours together in Alaska as we had our last few hours together in Scotland: drinking.

Marko and I flew into Base camp with Talkeetna Air Taxi on May 26. After finding a deserted campsite, we went to work setting up two of our tents. Ian Parnell and Kenton Cool, our neighbors at base camp, were approaching their climbs in a fashion similar to ours.

SK with plane. Photo - Marko Prezelj

Marko and I wanted to start by attempting a new route on the Mini Moonflower Buttress, a formation that had first been climbed by Parnell and Cool the week before.

MP below Mini-Moonflower Buttress. Photo - Stephen Koch

We skied across the glacier. Fist-size chunks of serac ice covered an area as big as a football field. I kept a weary eye on the hanging glaciers above as I pushed my anaerobic threshold to get through the area.

I gladly offered the first series of leads to Marko, who had more alpine experience in the world’s ranges. Saying that Marko looks comfortable in the mountain environment is an understatement. He eats up terrain and vertical like it is candy. After catching my breath at the top of the first pitch, I told Marko I would feel more comfortable if he put in a bit more gear (another piece!).

“I will,” he responded. “But more gear takes more time.”

I knew that might mean the difference between success and failure on these routes, but not having climbed with Marko until now, I didn’t have the complete trust needed to accept his decisions without question. This would soon change.

Following the rope snaking around the ice as fast as I could left me breathless at the belay. We were finding our rhythm without even knowing it. The change-overs went smoothly and speaking was not necessary. We would comment on the high quality of the climbing or the view, but that was about it. Eating and drinking was done while belaying: we both had Petzl Reversos, which allowed the lead climber to belay the second “hands free” (you can take your hand off the brake rope because it will automatically lock).

The climbing was mostly mixed with good rock and ice protection both. As the angle kicked back past vertical, I encountered rotten ice. There were no good feet. Every time I kicked, my cramponed boot would slide through an airy mess, leaving all my weight on my frighteningly pumped arms. I was scared I could fall. Fifteen feet below I had equalized a Screamer on two pins, but I was over lower-angled rock. If I fell, I would bounce off; though I would probably only break a leg, that could just as easily mean death up here.

MP on Luna. Photo - Stephen Koch

I was able to get a decent stick in better ice high above my head, but by now I was too pumped to use it, so I clipped into my teetering tool. As quickly as possible, I punched my fist through the airy-mass and slung all of the icicles I could, then added another Screamer to this, clipped it and gently weighted the contraption with my cramponed foot. This allowed me to reach up high with my left tool for a solid stick.

Now I was on better ice and able to stem out onto the rock with one foot. Pulling the bulge felt great, and relief and gratitude washed over me. The anchor that I set up was good. Marko pulled up beside me. We were on our own and loving it. There was no sign of anyone having ever been here before.

It was still my lead. I sorted the gear and unclipped. Just as I started climbing I heard something from above. A huge mushroom the size of a small car was smashing the cliff above us, breaking into smaller pieces as it fell. It hit us just as I dove on Marko and the belay.

SK on Mini-Moonflower with Foraker behind. Photo - Marko Prezelj

When it had passed, we decided to continue. I flitted from one
protected spot to another. We tried simulclimbing, but it didn’t work well because the necessary gear was difficult to get.

Several more pitches of fun, difficult, mixed climbing and deep snow (including a tunneling section that Marko burrowed through) brought us to the summit ridge. It was double-corniced and nasty. Happy with our achievement, we rappelled directly down the face, reaching camp after 23 hours on the go.

This climb, which we named “Luna” after the moon and inspired by Lemon Luna bars, gave us the bond of trust needed to do hard routes in the mountains. Our confidence grew. A few days of rest while watching Ian and Kenton attempt the Moonflower Buttress route on the north buttress of Mount Hunter got us psyched for a go. The Moonflower entails difficult ice climbing along with a couple of A3 rock pitches on a huge alpine granite and ice-covered wall. Sharpening crampons and axes and adjusting the rack had us anxiously ready in the evening.

Kenton Cool and Ian Parnell getting friendly. Photo - Stephen Koch

The Alaskan summer light is a key factor to climbing technical
terrain without stopping. One can climb continuously throughout the night on technical terrain without the need for headlamps. On the Moonflower, we would take bivuac sacks and a stove to melt snow for water. We started climbing at 7 p.m.

Moonflower (right) and Mini-Moonflower Buttresses on Mount Hunter. Photo - Marko Prezelj

MP freeing the Prow pitch on the Moonflower Buttress. Photo - Stephen Koch

After several great ice pitches, a mixed pitch brought us to the base of the Prow, one of the two pitches of aid climbing on the route. It was Marko’s lead and he quickly climbed up using his picks in the thin crack. When he arrived at the belay where it is normal to lower off and pendulum, he clipped in one rope for protection, downclimbed and delicately traversed from one ice patch to another without falling.

This was the only pitch on which we hauled a pack; on all the
others, the lead climber carried his pack. We did not bring jumars or
aiders. We were going climbing without any extra gear.

With one of the main technical pitches done, it was time to
continue up as fast as possible. The second would literally run up the ice, doing anything to move fast and save time. The beauty of leading in blocks is that the leader is rested and ready to lead again after the second gets up and the gear is sorted. Our rhythm was ‘on’ and we kept moving up the massive ice and granite wall with, to apply a Twightism, a surgeon¹s brutal efficiency.

Mascioli’s Mushroom, as it has been called since the death of Steve Mascioli in 1999, was a danger that we were wary of, but we were able to avoid it by climbing mixed terrain to the left of the normal line. This brought us to the ‘Shaft,’ two pitches of vertical and overhanging ice that is the ice crux of the route. It was my lead and I was psyched. A stuck rope frozen into the ice offered nice (albeit questionable) protection as I clipped sections of it with a quick draw.

SK in the goodness on Moonflower. Photo - Marko Prezelj

A few more pitches brought us to the next crux: the Vision, an aid pitch originally climbed with a pendulum. I got a small cam and piton in to safeguard my passage and then went for it. My feet were skating off tiny granite nubbins, but I hung on despite the weight of my pack and managed to reach the ice with a great yell of joy. We had done it! We had freed the aid sections of the Moonflower, the route that Mugs Stump pioneered and that had been called “The Nose route of the Alpine World.” Now all we had to do was get to the top of the Buttress, but first we needed to get to the third icefield to melt snow for water and hydrate.

We had been on the go for 16 hours with only five liters of water between us. We knew there was a good-sized ledge that Doug Chabot and Bruce Miller had chopped into the third icefield. Marko and I decided to push on to there rather than stopping at a less comfortable spot on the second icefield.

After arriving at the third icefield, we started chopping out a hollow spot to set the stove. It took quite a lot of time and work; the wind was howling, and spindrift snow crept into every nook and cranny imaginable. I tried to light the stove. Nothing. Here we were, 20-odd pitches up the Moonflower Buttress with no sleeping bags and a stove that was spitting gas out the pump. My mental energy drained with the blood in my fingers as I tried to fix the stove. No luck.

SK on third icefield on Moonflower. Photo - Marko Prezelj

We discussed our options: go up or go down. We would be descending the route anyway, so it made sense to continue as high as possible without water.

We ate everything we could stomach and as much snow as our mouths could melt. I noticed a metallic taste in my frozen mouth and spit blood; I had been chewing my cheeks and tongue.

We pared our gear down to the absolute minimum and took off. We were climbing in the sun with a sense of urgency we hadn’t had before. A traversing pitch brought us to the exit pitches. From there, we slogged up the upper snowfield, arriving at the Cornice Bivy, tired but happy, after 25 hours of climbing.

We had a pow-wow and decided that going to the summit would be too great of a risk. We were already pushing it by going without water for so long. We had to get off the mountain.

Eleven hours of rappelling brought us to bottom of the face. Though we had not made it to the summit, as had been our plan, we were still elated at our achievement and skied into camp just as everyone was getting up. Ian and Kenton prepared pancakes, an exchange that would become a regularity between us.

We were really tired and needed several days of rest. Had our expedition ended there, we would have been thrilled. Two good routes in the Alaska Range is a really good season, but a new route and freeing the Moonflower would have been superb. Our confidence soared.

Ian and Kenton set off up Denali to try a new route on the Father and Son’s Wall. Steve House and Rolando Garriboti were waiting for weather to try a single-push repeat of Foraker’s Infinite Spur. Having people around climbing in a similar style was really inspiring. It felt like family. We were taking greater risks because climbing in the best style mattered. We were climbing on the shoulders of the great pioneers of the Range: Stump, Tackle, Cassin, Haston, Scott…

In order to acclimatize better, we planned to climb to the top of Denali. Slogging up to 14 was the most unpleasant part of this journey so far. I don’t like carrying or dragging much weight, but it was necessary if we wanted to spend much time up high on the mountain. Marko was ahead of me while we were going to 17. He got there and passed me on his descent as I was still going up. At 17 I met my friend Forrest McCarthy who invited me in for dinner with his clients. After dinner he offered me a place to sleep which I gladly accepted. The following day I hiked to Denali Pass and climbed the South Ridge up to the plateau, finding what appeared to be Korean pitons along the way. The following evening from 14, Marko left at 3 a.m., reached the summit, and got back at 10 a.m. He was not going for a speed record, but might have beaten it. He climbed the entire way in his down pants.

“I was farting the whole way,” he said later, “and was happy to have the company.” When he took off the down pants the ‘company’ was still around.

The weather was continuing to hold. A four-day storm was forcasted but nothing happened. Every day was sunny. We rested, ate well and caught up with friends over many chess matches and big meals.

Finally it was time to go. Our plan was simple. We wanted to leave 14 camp, climb up the rib to 15,500 feet, descend the Wickwire route to the base of the southwest face and climb a new route up the face to the top of the wall where it meets the upper Cassin Ridge. From there, we would continue to the summit. We left at 7 a.m., taking basically the same rack we had on the Moonflower Buttress but with a second pump and a bit more fuel. We had one 60-meter 9.6 mm rope with a 50-meter 5.5 mm haul line that could be used to rappel if necessary.

Getting through the lower Wickwire was both tricky and a bit
dangerous. Two scary crevasse crossings, some downclimbing below seracs, a rappel over the bergschrund and a sprint under the big southwest face serac brought us to the base of the wall five hours after leaving 14. We kept climbing, with Marko leading over the bergschrund. We simulclimbed for about 6 or 7 hundred feet to the bottom of our chosen line.

Below the challenges of Light Traveler.

The granite was of the highest quality I had seen anywhere. As we got ready to start, my stomach was acting up, so I relieved myself, but the cramps wouldn’t go away. This is what happens when someone is really scared, I thought‹but I didn’t feel scared. I felt excited. I would not have wanted to be anywhere else on this planet at that moment. That would change.

With my stomach feeling like it did and the route looking as steep as it did, I kindly offered the sharp end to Marko, who readily accepted. The route went straight up into a chimney that stopped and then to a left-facing corner with a huge roof. The wall looked smooth for the feet, and there wasn’t much ice, either.

Marko on the crux pitch of Light Traveler on Denali. Photo - Stephen Koch

Watching Marko on this first pitch didn’t help my stomach any. He skillfully worked his way up to and around the big corner. Once around, he let out a joyous and relief-filled scream. Marko later said this was the “hardest free pitch he had led in the mountains.” He hauled the pack and I followed. I wished we had hauled my pack, too, for that pitch took more out of me than the diarrhea had. Can you say flash pump?

Marko led another two difficult pitches. There was a drip of water at one of these belays with which I wanted to fill our bottles, but the need to dodge careening ice chunks from high above made it difficult. The drip was good enough to drink from if I pressed my lips to the wall, but every time I tried I got a mouthful of silt and tiny rocks. I filled a couple of bottles so things could settle out before it was time for me to climb.

Marko handed me the rack and off I went. After about 30 seconds of climbing it was time to drop my pants again. My stomach was still not right. I hadn’t shat myself in the mountains, much, and now was no time for that with well over 7,000 feet of climbing and a descent to go before any real cleansing would be possible. Fear was not part of my makeup at this point and I was frustrated with my bad stomach and loose bowels. The only thing to do was to climb.

SK on the Shower Pitch, Light Traveler, Denali. Photo - Marko Prezelj

Light was still shining as I led. My second pitch was the “Shower” pitch. It started out innocently enough, a fine-looking vertical column with a blob of ice and snow at the top and roofs. Soon, however, I was forced to move left into vertical terrain with thin cracks. My pack was weighing me down. I hung it on a piece of gear and continued into the wetness. What started out as a drip that I thought could be avoided turned into a constant unwanted and potentially dangerous companion. My shell was in the pack, along with my belay jacket and balaclava. I was climbing in a Schoeller top that was getting soaked. By the time I made the belay my jacket was icy Armor, not good with the sun setting and the pack not hauling well.

The pack kept getting stuck during hauling which meant that Marko had to manually help it. Marko was furious when he arrived, yelling, “Stephen, this was shit.” I was taken aback and hurt because it had been a difficult and serious lead and I was wet and cold and yelled back, “Stephen not stupid” and “Good Job Stephen!” with, according to Marko, a cynical smile that made him realize he would have said the same thing if he were in my position. He immediately got where I was coming from and all was good again. I told him I hadn’t hauled many packs and apologized. The temperature dropped in the Alaskan twilight but we were able to ward off the cold with movement.

We were moving so well on these pitches that neither of us put on our belay jacket. We ate and drank while belaying so as to not slow our upward progress. Climbing in blocks of three pitches each was working well and we were both getting good difficult leads.

After the first several pitches the difficulties eased in angle, but still there was not an easy pitch. Pitch after pitch, the climbing continued. Working our way up this endless wall into the unknown was thrilling.

We had been climbing through the night and now looked for a place to brew up. Our water was gone and we needed to hydrate. If we slowed down much due to dehydration, we would not have been able to get off the wall. Problematically, we weren’t finding any places to brew. We weren’t going to stop and chop a ledge. It was cold now, and stopping would mean no movement. No movement means getting cold to the core. The belay jackets wouldn’t be enough, so we just didn’t stop. It wasn’t really discussed. Thirsty? Check. Tired? Check. Hallucinating? Not yet. Still enjoying the climbing? Check.

Marko was leading again. I really wanted to stop and brew. I was so thirsty and didn’t want a repeat of the Moonflower dehydration session. Still, there was no good place to brew. We were looking for any flat rock or place to hold the stove. We didn’t want to stand and watch the water boil. If we were going to brew, we wanted to at least be sitting.
The stone wasn’t lacking much, even in the darkest twilight of the Alaskan night. The rock was made for drytooling. My warm feet were making me happy. Cold toes had always been a problem for me. Before this trip I put thermo-flex liners in my plastic shells. This combination along with overboots had me smiling with joy, the joy of knowing that on many other occasions I would be swinging my feet to force warm blood into the drained toes. Not now. Everything on this expedition was going perfectly, from the landing on the airstrip to our freeclimbing the Moonflower to now warm feet. The energy needed to swing a big leg like mine would be needed for breaking trail up higher.

I put my shell on and followed Marko up the first of two triangular icefields. After traversing leftward, we climbed together on easy terrain until Marko could find a belay. The rock quality deteriorated for several hundred feet, and I knocked off several rocks that narrowly missing Marko.

The pitches seemed endless and all we wanted to do was to find a place to brew up. We were going on 27 hours of straight climbing with our original five liters plus a couple of additional bottles from the drip. Not enough to keep properly hydrated,but even double that wouldn’t be enough to keep hydrated with the energy we were expending at this altitude.

I led up snow-covered rock for 200 feet, where the angle eased. I wasn’t going to stop until I found a place to rest and brew. Big boulders were sticking out of the snow, but they were all downsloping. Finally I decided to head for the biggest one I could see with the hope that it would meet our needs. It did. I climbed around to the top and sat down, bringing up the rope for Marko hand over hand (there was no place to belay).

We each kicked out a place to sit, Marko below and me above with the stove. The first thing we made with our precious water was tea, black tea that neither of us wanted. We desperately needed to drink, but we had brought black tea instead of herbal tea. It was triple strong and we dumped it out. Hydrating is the number one thing we needed to do, and we had just dumped out drinkable liquids. Sometimes you just don’t argue with yourself.

We were in the sun with zero wind. Sitting on our packs, we enjoyed our spectacular position on this magnificent mountain. I thought about the other climbs done on this massive wall. The Denali Diamond, the Roberts-McCartney, the Cassin Ridge and Mugs’ solo of that route. These climbs and climbers set the path for us to follow. We were taking things a step further with the first new route done in single-push style. Below us we viewed the valley of death, waiting to see the inevitable serac avalanches sweep across. I kept melting snow, filling bottles. We drank. Finally, we ate: potatoes, garlic, sharp cheddar and tuna; two Ramen, six soups, many GU and candy bars, two hot chocolates, two coffees for Marko, GU-2-0 drink supplement with electrolytes, bagels and cream cheese. Yummy in the tummy!

I would nod off for moments here and there, but neither of us were in a comfortable or safe enough possition to sleep. I wasn’t thinking about much more than trying to keep the pot from spilling over in the soft snow.

Our fuel was down to about a third of a bottle. We would get one more brew stop. We were enjoying the warm sun, which filled us with energy and warmth, but now it was time to go.

On our way again at about 4 p.m., we realized the sun had softened the snow. Our crampons were balling up terribly. Every step up required a blow to the crampons with the axe.

We were roped together and swapping leads. After a few hours, we got back into technical climbing. Marko led off on another beautiful mixed pitch. The Cassin Ridge was over to our right and the upper southwest face was to our left. Fatigue was setting into my head rather than my body. I was mentally tired, tired of belaying, tired of climbing and ready to be done.

SK literally hissing at the camera - dealing with fatigue and frustration. Photo - Stephen Koch

I pulled out the stove, only to discover there was no fuel. It had all leaked out of the bottle due to the increased pressure from our rapid ascent. I hadn’t let the pressure out after our earlier cooking session. Again we were nearly out of water and getting dehydrated.

The Alaskan night was upon us and we had to climb the Upper Cassin on our own, as we had done on the entire route. We were not climbing on the backs of others who climbed days, weeks or years before. We had no ledges chopped, steps kicked in the deep snow or topo in hand. It was Marko and me, alone. There wasn’t a third person to help break trail, talk with on belay, split the load with or to snatch a nap while belaying. There was no napping while belaying for us. We had dove into the exciting unknown of a new route. Commitment was complete. If something went wrong, we had only ourselves to save us. Our margin of safety was small, but we would have had it no other way.

We did not use any of our eight pitons. We had no jumars. We were going to climb the route, not jug. We hauled the pack only on three pitches.

MP at the top of new ground on Light Traveler. Photo - Stephen Koch

Several more moderate mixed pitches and we were at the top of our route, where it meets with the upper Cassin. We left our ten-pound rope right at the top of the last pitch. Didn’t even coil it, just belayed Marko up and untied. I didn’t have enough emotional energy to feel bad about it.

High on Denali with a long way to go to the top. Mount hunter in light. Photo - Marko Prezelj

We had to keep it together. No water again. Low light, breaking trail. We were on our own and feeling like the mountain was ours. We only had to get off it to feel good about it.

Marko got ahead while I stopped to swing my feet. My toes were cold. It would have been easy just to climb, not heeding the cold toes. But I knew better. That would have been lazy and we had done too much great climbing to get sloppy or lazy. It would have tainted the ascent to get frostbite.

We were “climbing” with our belay jackets and balaclavas now. There were no places to stop and rest and even if there had been we wouldn’t have been able to use them. It was too cold to stop for more than a few minutes.

The light got low and all turned into a blue-gray haze, both inside my head and out. My peripheral vision was going, as was my ability to judge near distance. A couple of times I had to catch myself with my spike as I fell forward. If we had listened to our bodies, we would have fallen asleep every time we stopped, and then died from the fall.

After swinging my feet warm, I would begin hiking again, only to slowly have my toes get cold after an hour or so. The swinging was taking valuable energy away from me, but I would have to have enough. I have kept my feet warm in many cold situations; this would be no different. It seemed like forever had come and gone.

Marko waited and again we were together. He would lead, breaking trail for a while, then it would be my turn. No words needed to be spoken. We were saving our energy for upward movement. The thought of not being able to finish didn’t creep into my head. I was suffering like never before: mentally and physically shattered, just wanting to get off this mountain. It was relentless and neverending; the snow would go from neve for a few moments to breakable knee-deep the next. We didn’t want to have to think any longer. Just get us off this face.

Finally, slowly, we worked our way up the Cassin to the summit ridge. Sunshine! Flat ground! Marko was sitting on his pack. I dropped my pack, sat down with a sigh of relief and was startled as Marko knocked me over with a huge bearhug. We had done it. Our new route was nearly complete. All that remained was a 15-minute walk to the summit.

After 48 Hours - Happy and tired, very tired. Photo - Marko Prezelj

We were wobbly on the flat ground for the first few steps. On top, we snapped a few quick photos and then were off. Forty-three hours of climbing, 48 including the “approach.” It took us three hours to get back to 14 where we were treated to egg burritos and liquids from friends.

We were back. From where? A new route? Or an experience that Marko and I alone hold inside us? I have tried to explain certain aspects of the climb to people, but to go deep, I am not yet ready or able. Marko and I know what went on, and that is good enough for me. Now you know a bit about our adventure.

Mark Newcomb and Stephen Koch on top of Cloudveil Dome during the first ascent of the Grand Traverse in Winter.

This was first published in Alpinist Magazine in June, 2004.

On January 17 at 4:45 a.m. Mark Newcomb and I began the Grand Traverse, a route that comprises ten peaks (in order: Teewinot, Owen, Grand Teton, Middle Teton, South Teton, Ice Cream Cone, Spalding, Gilkey’s Tower, Cloudveil Dome and Nez Perce) in Grand Teton National Park. Despite several attempts, this historic route had not had a complete winter ascent; the proper combination of good weather, stable snow conditions, mental preparedness and top physical stamina had eluded teams over the years. I had attempted the Traverse on several occasions, usually ending at Teewinot, the weather having taken a turn for the worse.

After several hours, we caught up with Renny Jackson and Hans Johnstone–who were also attempting the Traverse–midway between Teewinot and Owen. We began working together as a team of four, breaking trail in the deep snow and cold temperatures, climbing Owen, rappelling into the Gunsight Notch, and climbing out to the top of the Grandstand (at the base of the North Ridge of the Grand Teton), where we bivied.

After enjoying the first rays of the rising sun over the Wind River Range, we began preparing for the crux of the Traverse: the Italian Cracks. Hans and Mark led this section, while Renny and I followed. Once we were all safely on the Second Ledge, Mark and I soloed around to the Owen-Spalding Route. The ascent of the Grand Teton via the upper part of this route was spectacular, with much rime ice plastered to the rock.

At the Lower Saddle, Mark and I decided to continue up and over the Middle Teton in the remaining light, while Hans and Renny elected to stay at the Saddle to dry one of Renny’s boots, which had become wet the day before, resulting in frostbite damage to one toe. That second night saw Mark and me struggling to stay dry as wind blew spindrift into every nook and cranny of our stove and sleeping system.

We were hoping to have Renny and Hans with us as we departed the third morning, but after a brew and oatmeal there was still no sign of them, so we began climbing in full conditions. On top of the South Teton, where we were pounded by sixty-mile-per-hour gusts, we discussed abandoning our ascent. I suggested we continue until we absolutely had to bail, and we continued the Traverse over the South Teton toward Nez Perce. From Nez Perce’s summit we descended to the Platforms and our skis, which had been brought up by friends, and skied to the valley floor, arriving back at my truck in the dark. The following day Renny and Hans made it safely down to the valley.

The first winter Grand Traverse involved much teamwork by four friends. Winter climbing in the Tetons is a special experience, and those willing to brave the cold and avalanche danger will be rewarded with solitude and beauty.

– Stephen Koch, Jackson, Wyoming

The route climbs Raven (Prospector’s) Falls, then the steep climbing begins after a 300′ or so scramble to the business above. Seven steep, exciting and challenging pitches bring one to the ridge.

The difficulty of the pitches are as follows:

Pitch 1 – M6, Pitch 2 – M6+, Pitch 3 – M7+, Pitch 4 – M7, Pitch 5 – M6, Pitch 6 – M6 R/X, Pitch 7 – M4/5.

Sam and I completed the route in 23 hours car to car after only a few hours of sleep before heading out.

I highly recommend this route to anyone who is up for a big mixed climbing challenge in GTNP.

Following are a few images:

Photo - Stephen Koch

Freddie Heading up Death Canyon at 2:45 p.m.

I know it will be challenging to compete with much lighter and stronger climbers who also have more experience with competition. I am an Alpinist whose favorite type of climbing is what I did last Thursday up Death Canyon, remote, insecure, uncertain and with marginal gear. My partner, Freddie Botour, and I left the parking lot at 2 p.m. with the intention of climbing under the full moon and then with headlamps. Our plan worked well and we had a great adventure climbing Prospector’s Falls and four pitches above, on/in Raven Crack. Hans Johnstone and Greg Collins were up there a few weeks prior to our climb and turned me onto the conditions of the route. We made it up 2 pitches past their high point. I was doing all the leading and was unwilling to pull a final buldge to easier ground. So at midnight I placed a good nut and marginal piton, the only anchor I could get, and came down. I was home and in bed by 3:15 p.m. and made my flight the following day at 1 p.m. to do a slideshow for the Eastern Sierra Avalanche Center.

Me training for the Ouray Ice Festival and Competition.

Prospector’s Falls (lower main ice flow) with the thin line of ice coming down Raven Crack.

Full moon rising, just in time!

Freddie in the moonlight with his headlamp on.

Full moon at 2 a.m. What a magical place!

BIRDBRAIN

Obj. Sport specific Strength

Warm up:  1000m Row

Training:

(1) 6 rounds
3 WTD pull ups @ 25#
10 sit ups

(2) 4 rounds
2 WTD pull ups @ 40#
10 push ups

(3) 6 rounds
3 WTD pull ups @ 25#
10 dips
(4) 8 rounds
2x cave lap w/feet
1 sled push (heavy)

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Comments:

While the focus of this workout is developing more pulling power it is also an extreme cardiovascular workout.   The breathing is hard and heavy and there is never enough time to recover.  In addition to this “BIRDBRAIN” causes your technique to improve throughout the time spent in the cave, by the time you have finished the pull up complex your upper body should be toast.  Since these pulling muscles are already worn out when you begin climbing in the cave you really focus on moving efficiently through the steep terrain.  It was interesting to see Stephen go through this workout when he started the cave laps he was still going strong and able to muscle through the first few laps.  However by about round three of the cave he began to tire and for the rest of the session his footwork and technique improved with each round.

With “BIRDBRAIN” Stephen spent about 25 minutes total in the cave climbing.  If you recall the point system I wrote about last week this was a 40 point workout, and in the next five weeks we are progressing up to a 100 point workout.  As we move forward week to week the amount of time spent in the cave climbing is going to increase up to just under a full hour of cave time.

The beauty of this time spent in the cave is that it is giving back a full body workout; pumping out forearms and grip, taxing the core and loading those seldom trained climbing specific leg muscles.  Beautiful.

It was interesting to see Stephen in the video below, because, if you watch his climbing at the end of the cave lap verse the beginning he is moving more consistently and powerfully at the end of the lap than at the start.  In addition Stephen was moving through the cave more quickly at the end of the session than in the beginning.  This leaves me wondering can I get Stephen climbing “smart” from the start?  Or is it necessary to warm the brain up for climbing in order to perform at your highest level?

- Dan Corn

I was so nervous that I literally jump out of my seat when he asks me “why” I want to snowboard Mount Everest! If I get 15 minutes of fame, that can certainly be 6 of them! And the six minutes went by in a flash…I thought it had been only a minute or two and was bummed he was “cutting me short.”

The reference to “Kim” is about Kim Katrall, who was on before me and had stroked his microphone as if it was a special male body part. Conan was silent for over 10 seconds…I wonder if that was a record for him?

It didn’t dawn on me until after I fell that these two things happened, and in hindsight, may have been signs of something else to come (the fall). My partner for today’s climbing was Freddie Botour, a rancher and cowboy living in Big Piney, WY. Freddie is not only a rancher but also a hippie. The kind of hippie who hides his hair in fear, fear of business associates realizing that he isn’t exactly like they are (REPUBLICAN). Not that there aren’t Republican hippies. Things go more easily with him fooling the people he works with by hiding his hair. But isn’t he just fooling himself by hiding who he is? Debatable…

Since we didn’t have screws to protect us on the ice, we opted to do a dry-tooling route that had only one very small piece of ice (that is why I am not calling it a mixed route (mixed rock and ice) but a dry-tooling (a rock route climbed with crampons and ice axes vs. rock shoes and hands/fingers). This route had no evidence of having been climbed before and was not the most aesthetic line on the wall, but looked adequately protectable (with rock gear to hopefully prevent hitting the ground or ledges in the event of a fall) and would do the trick to get us climbing. The route had a crux (most difficult section) that involved slightly overhanging rock with minimal gear for protection, that I pulled through with much huffing and puffing and a grunt or two to a big ledge where I could get some descent gear and a nice shake (rest). I continued up over a 15 foot section that offered no cracks for protection. Eventually I was able to get a fist size SLCD (spring loaded caming device or CAM) in and worked my way up another small overhanging section. Here I placed a green Alien (small CAM) and climbed up to the only ice on the route, a small blob that was not even large enough to place an ice screw in for protection. I was about 15-20 feet out from my last piece of gear and wanted something in before making the next moves.

Falling!

I fiddled trying to place a cam in a crack that looked good but I couldn’t see it very well. Once placed I gave it a test pull. As I did this, the cam came shooting out with no resistance due to ice on the walls of the crack. This threw me off balance and my ice picks (attached to my ice axes) which were precariously placed to begin with came out of the ice and rock. It was at this moment that I knew I was going to fall and managed to yell down to Freddie, “Falling!” before hurtling backwards into space. I don’t know how, but was soon upside down looking at the creek far below thinking “This is how people die,” and “I am going to hit the rock ledge below and my head and neck are going to get smashed against the rock as the weight of my body smashes into them at high speed.”

Then came the pain.
The pain was on my “groin area,” which had somehow gotten pinched under the weight of the rope as it came taught with my 200 lbs. plus momentum until I stopped! On the one hand I was relieved I was not in a crumpled pile on the ledge, but this was downright painful in a fully conscious kind of way. I quickly righted myself and asked to be lowered. As I was being lowered I did a body check to assess the damage. My right elbow hurt but did not seem to be broken and besides the “groin” injury, that was it!

I think what happened when I initially fell was I pushed off from the wall or more likely, hit the first ledge about 10′ below me, and pushed off with my feet, hence ending up upside down. Falling is not normally good, especially with crampons and ice axes on your person. I felt very fortunate to not be more injured and the pain in my groin area went away after several minutes. I was a bit apprehensive to take a peek at my pecker, but when I finally did there was a large hematoma on the end. OUCH! Way more purple than is normal, at least for me.

Freddie was game for a go and went up to my high point before deciding he was too pumped to continue. He added a piece of protection before being lowered. I put my “fruit” boots (lightweight ice climbing boots with permanently attached crampons) on and climbed the route to the top without event, completing the first ascent of “Purple Koch.”

I felt wonderful getting back on the sharp end after taking such a fall. This leads me to believe that climbing is a good thing for me and my soul. I am at peace with what happens in the mountains based on the decisions I make. Nature has an indifference of my presence that makes me feel simultaneously humbled and emboldened, knowing that I am totally responsible for my actions, dealing with the laws of nature (gravity, cold, etc), not of man.

One of the best things about climbing in Granite Canyon is the soak in the Hot Springs on the way out! And this time I brought BEER!

GRANITE CANYON ICE CLIMBING INFORMATION

The best ice climbing in the Jackson Hole area is located up Granite Canyon, 12 miles from the turnoff of 189/191 and 2 miles past Granite Hot Springs. GC is located off of Hoback Canyon, about 20 minutes from Jackson. When the snow closes the road one must snowmobile the 10 miles into the hot springs then ski about 2 miles, cross Granite Creek, and get to the wonderful wall that is home to the greatest concentration of ice climbing around these parts. There are only a couple of routes that touch down and are rated Grade 5. The rest of the routes are mixed in nature, meaning that one must climb rock to get to the ice or climb a mixture of rock and ice. Gear is natural, so bring your rack and bring your sack. The rock quality is quite “variable,” with some good and some questionable. There is a lower band of the limestone that makes the stone up the South Fork near Cody seem downright good. There are several corners and cracks that are climbed to the top with anchors on trees or bushes. To date there are approximately 8 routes with potential for more. Bolts are not permitted as it lies within the Wilderness Boundary. If you want more information or photos, drop a note. Again, it is a treat to soak in the hot springs after a day of ice climbing! The Hot Springs closes at around 5 p.m., so you need to be out early to soak in the big pay pool. The other option for soaking is to walk across the pool drainage, past the propane tank and sign to the small pool below the waterfall. This is good for up to about 4 people and is not too deep. I like to go from the cold creek to the hot springs. I once did this, alone, repeatedly and was staying in the cold for over 5 minutes. I pushed it a little far when I had to crawl on all fours as I was convulsing with hypothermia with seized muscles. Once I dragged my self into the hot water I was still seriously shaking for a good 5 minutes until my core temperature warmed.

“That which does not kill us makes us stronger…” – Friedrich Nietzsche