El Mocho

With about 48 hours left in Patagonia, and a very sore knee, I was resigned to spending my last days in town before hopping on the bus to the airport. However, an 18-20 hour window of stable weather appeared on the forecast, scheduled to hit the area the day before my plane ride. I didn't want to pass up my last chance.

I hooked up with Jon Gleason from Yosemite (originally a native of North-Central Washington) and we headed into the Torre Valley to try and climb El Mocho, a flat-topped satellite peak to Cerro Torre.


The plan was to hike in on the afternoon and evening on Wednesday, in order to climb and hike out Thursday. The base camp on the glacier below El Mocho is called Nipo Nino, and getting there requires about 15 miles of travel over various terrain from the town.



The glacier has changed significantly in the last year, and we spent a lot of time trying to avoid all the streams and ice canyons that crossed our path.



Here are some friends negotiating the Tyrolean traverse (heading back toward town). On the day before, one of these guys had base-jumped off El Mocho for a production of 'Sender Films' and the two guys who descended El Mocho the normal way got stuck in an storm, got 2 ropes stuck on the rappels, and didn't make it back to the base until 2AM!



After leaving Chalten at 4:30pm we made it to the camp just as darkness fell. I was happy to have left my bivy bag and sleeping pad at home, because i found a cache of foam pads under a rock, and comandeered an old Argentine waterproof mail sack to use as an extra layer. There were a few other parties in camp, including the Belgian/American climbing team and musical trio that I had befriended in town. They would climb a different route on El Mocho on Thursday.

We woke up to clear weather on Thursday and after a delicious breakfast of Gu and powerbars, soon found ourselves at the baseof the peak. The route went great, with pitch after pitch of beautifully clean granite. The total length was aroun 500 meters, with most pitches 5.10, and a 5.11 crux. There was a pendulum move rated A2, but it was definitely more like A0.




Jon tops out on the crux pitch




The weather was amazing, but we could see moisture accumulating and noticed some high clouds blowing in as we finished the last few pitches. Here is a low-quality video taken high on the climb.





Here are Nico, Sean, and Mason across the way on a second El Mocho route. We had a blast hooting and hollering to these guys all day.







The summit of El Mocho is a big snowy slope, and Cerro Torre rises up another 700m or so from the far side. As I had to be back in town in 12 hours from the summit, we quickly began the descent.



We soon made it down the route, and bootiedtwo stuck ropes from the party the day before. As we pulled our last rope the wind began in earnest, and after 15 minutes more we were getting blown around and soaked from waterfall spray, rain, and the sudden gales.




The hike out must have been in world-record time, as the wind assisted out skittering back along 5 miles of ice and I ran to keep up with Jon. We arrived utterly soaked and exhausted in Chalten just in time for late-night dinner and a short nap before my ride to the airport!

The Alpine Ambience of Chalten

Every few weeks a spell of dangerously calm and sunny weather ominously parks itelf over the Patagonian spires of Fitzroy, Cerro Torre, and a dozen other granitic giants. During these times, climbers impulsively engage in masochistic bouts of intense physical activity known as alpinism. The behavior insprired by such weather can result in mental fatigue, physical injury, and even death. Luckily such weather is brief, allowing visitors from across the globe to again resume normal life camped in the Patagonian outpost of Chalten. Reached via a several-hour bus trip from the nearest town, Chalten brims with adventure and those who have come to seek it. In my fourth week here I have only now begun to appreciate the urban adventure potential all around me. Prolonged stetches of wind and rain – coveted ´weather windows´ -- provide conditions highly amenable to urban exploration. A two-week span of just such weather has been heralded by alpinists as one of the best in recent memory, allowing for unprecedented amounts of card-playing and iPod listening. And with additional storms forecast, the most ambitious and daring climbers are even considering a second read-through of their remaining paperback novels.When so many of the world´s top climbers are concentrated under such conditions, the prevailing mentality really encourages ´getting after it´ with internet kiosks and campgrounds abuzz over whose tent has recently flooded or gear cache has been blown away.

The recent weather window has also allowed me to test a full array of outdoor gear while pursuing cutting-edge objectives such as navigating potholes along the .75 miles of paved road, or fleeing from the ex-con local gaucho and his flock of equally aggressive chickens. The sprawling terrain of our youth-hostel bivy is frequented by stray dogs drawn to the bony detritus of recent barbecues. Yet my gloves and jacket have proven more than adequate protection against the social scorn resulting from frequent cultural faux paus and mistranslations. My climbing partner and I recently agreed on the bold goal of hosting a cordero, a traditional Patagonian lamb-roast. Unfortunately we had misjudged conditions, severely underestimating both the time needed to thaw our lamb, and the scale of the event which we had set in motion. An Argentine team (comprised of our dreadlocked hostel warden and his 5-yr-old son) arrived with innate local knowledge and more food in time to prevent any loss of appetite or party enthusiasm. Though no new technical terrain was covered on this adventure (we know of several prior corderos to have been held in this location) we feel that the event is notable for marking the first link-up-dinner comprised of American-style popcorn, Argentine roast lamb, and the Chilean specialty of red wine with Coca-Cola.
Faced with a forecast of steady rain, and rumors of chorizo prices at near seasonal lows, American Alpine Club president Steve Swenson also ´went for it´, comiting to an Argentine barbecue and fiesta of his own. Swenson and partner chose the light-and-fast approach, and would provide nearly all the meat themselves, relying on speed and efficiency rather than a set of fixed supply caches to keep partiers fed. Abandoning their basecamp at the southeast corner of town, the climbers quickly overcame the inital resistance offered by ¨La Candelita¨, the local brothel located next door.


Alaska and Patagonia veteran Mark Westman had reported the presence of tied-up horses and bad-tempered gauchos at this location earlier in the season, so safe passage through such terrain provided an obvious morale boost to the duo. Approaching from the opposite end of town, my partner and I recognized the fiesta objective as a worthy one. My balaclava barely prevented frostbite on my ears as we narrowly avoided crashing our brake-less bicycles into soaking mobs of German hikers or swimming-pool sized puddles. This particular fiesta contained sufficient levels of meat and wine for everyone. But by eschewing the traditional methods such as potlucking or BYOB climbers leave little margin for error as they aim higher in these endeavors. As the damp grey forecast stretches on and folks continue to push the urban envelope, there is no telling what encounters with local culture, marathon card games, or thrice-read paperbacks will be next to make news. And though a change of weather might be nice, I can already feel myself atop Fitzroy under sunny skies, longing for my next run-in with the neighborhood gaucho.


Sport climbing in the Madsen boulders, 2 minutes from town...

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My friend Beckett... onsighting


almost

Guillamet

Last Saturday was an eventful one for me. It began like so many other casual weekend mornings. Pink bunny slippers, oatmeal, a nice hot cup of tea, then a pleasant excursion around the neighborhood. And while I may have just been dreaming about bunny slippers, the scenery and location of the neighborhood certainly compensated for any lack of foot comfort. Our Friday bivy spot had been adjacent to a spring a small moraine pond, underneath the west faces of Guillamet, Mermoz, and Fitzroy (on the left).


We´d drifted off the previous evening eyeing those peaks, as well as the Cerro Torre and Cerro Pollone groups, to the West and South.



And after finishing our morning routine of soy lattes and coupon-clipping from the newspaper, David and I roused ourselves out of the ultra-classic ´table bivy´and crossed the North Fitz Glacier to the toe of Guillamet´s NW ridge.


We hope others enjoy our alpine architectural work. The specialty of the house here is Tang and instant mashed ´papas´.



For us the climb began 600´vertical feet below the standard start, following an ascethetic crest of mostly easy climbing (up to 5.9) to where the ridge steepens and blends into the NW face of the mountain. The rock quality was as good as anywhere, with a complete lack of any dirt or vegetation in the cracks. The weather proved challenging but climbable.



We were accompanied by 10-20MPH winds, frequent sunbursts, occasional fog-bound climbing, and a couple memorable sections featuring weather of all four seasons in one pitch. I led the traditional crux of the route, a 5.10+ steep corner with twin cracks, but David found a strenuous 5.11 roof variation on one of his leads as well,
though I harbor suspicions that it all may have been a ploy to hand over the backpack to me for a while.




On the summit we met an Argentine team who had come up the North Ridge, and so combined forces to rappel their route of ascent. The descent went smoothly with so many ropes, as the first person to rappel would take an extra rope with them and leapfrog ahead, with someone was always setting up the next rappel while the prior rope was being pulled.

From the base of the climb we descended again to our table bivy and were quickly asleep under clear and cold skies, looking forward to another day of nice weather.

Instead we only had about 6 more hours of decent weather, as the clear and cold void overhead was filled with charcoal grey of moisture laden clouds and precipitation. Spurred by light snow, heavy winds, and increased longing for those slippers, we packed up in a hurry and hurried our packs up and over Paso Cuadrado. The descent back to road and trail soon had us out of the snow, and down into good old rain.


At the trailhead we immediately thumbed a ride back to town with a middle-aged Chilean couple. Though to put it accurately, it was the Chilean husband who pulled over with a grin and motioned to the back seat. Meanwhile, his wife´s nervous eyes maintained their constant vigil peering at me over the rim of designer sunglasses. Perhaps it was the unsavory idea of having a scruffy, unemployed, unwashed, foreign, 22-year-old in her back seat, armed with an ice axe crampons. But as she quickly reached to roll down her window I realized the threat of an ice axe and crampons was of little concern compared with the suddenly prolific foot smell emanating from our collective 6 pairs of sweat-marinated shoes. David and I soon followed suit with our backseat windows, and the husband, seeking to minimize any forthcoming tongue-lashing from his passenger seat, made the 9-mile drive back to Chalten in record time. Today it is absolutely storming, even here is town, so my pink bunny slippers are getting some use after all.



The only other major news is that my friends Mike, Kate, and Dana climbed most of the California Route on Fitzroy, with a couple nights on the route and one sleeping bag for the three. It is usually a rock climb, but they basically did the whole thing in boots and with tools or at least gloves. Nobody has summited Fitzroy or Cerro Torre since we have been here...

A-Frey-ed Knot

Sometimes I try to be funny on my blog, or have interesting quotes. Other times, I just dont think its worth it. I have been reading the book The Shipping News by Annie Proulx and after reading some really good writing, I almost lack the motivation to even try myself. Anyhow, Frey is an awesome place and at least I have some good pictures!

From Valle Encantado, we spent one night in Bariloche, doing laundry and buying groceries for a week of camping and climbing near Cerro Catedral and the alpine refugio called Frey. The first day was extremely stormy, but that proved great for hiking up, as our packs were too heavy and a hot sun would have been much worse. The evening that we arrived in Frey we climbed a 4 pitch route located about 10 minutes from our tent, a crack climb up the East Face of Aguja (needle) Frey.

The wind was howling and a bit of rain was falling, but it was a fun route and a good intro to the area.


(Good thing the red stripe was there to show our route or we might have been lost)

The climbs are on very nice reddish granite, anywhere from 3 to 10 pitches long and spread across two alpine valleys.

We probably climbed 8 or so towers over the course of the week, and enjoyed the friendly lakeside camping, one pizza dinner in the refugio, and memorable sunsets each night.



David and our local stand-in for Mount Baker, a volcano called Tronador.



The last day we climbed ¨El Sinestro Total¨, the longest route in Frey, and perhaps the best. We topped out on the Cerro Principal along with two young climbers who are living and working at the refugio this summer and receiving some room and board while climbing on their days off. We were impressed by the confidence and skills of these guys, and gave them a bit of gear to keep and use when we left. I think in 10 years they will be the new stars of South American climbing.
Here is my partner and the two Argentine Chicos on the summit... who is more excited?

Here is the 5.10d headwall pitch on Sinestro Total...

In addition to the two boys, we also encountered an Andean Condor on the Cerro Principal, which flew by us several times during the descent.
Why did the condor refuse to check his bag at the airport? He prefers carrion.

After the final day in Frey I was off for the 36 hour bus ride to El Chalten and Southern Patagonia.

Vamos a Valle!

Bariloche is a mid-sized town on the dry eastern rainshadow of the Andes. It sits on a large lake, surrounded by other large lakes, ski areas, and granite spires. It has become one of the outdoor adventure hubs of Patagonia, and its fun to sit at one of the outdoor cafes and match up the groups of eager young travelers with their countries of origin based on the gear brands of choice. Gear from Black Diamond, Patagonia, Outdoor Research--or the presence of tennis shoes--betrays a North American right away, with Canadians favoring MEC or Arcteryx backpacks. Meanwhile, Deuter and Mammut are big among the Europeans. South Americans favor a local company called Doite and slip-on shoes or converse all-stars. Israelis form their own traveling mobs with distinct fashion, language, culinary choices, and favored hostels, usually easy to identify by the size of the group and the fact that their clothes are none-of-the-above.
On the first day in Bariloche we ran into a couple more Brazilians (here comes trouble…) but these guys were sport climbers who had a large camp set up at an area 35 miles from town called the Valle Encantado (Enchanted Valley). We all quickly piled into a pickup and headed out to Valle with a bunch of food and climbing gear.
The climbs are mostly located across the river from the highway, but luckily the Brazilians had come equipped with a rubber raft called the ¨SeaHawk¨, a burly craft fully capable of shuttling dogs, climbing gear, cases of wine, and Navy SEALs into the most remote reaches of the globe. One problem with all these Brazilians is that I was just starting to regain some Spanish, and now I was hearing Portugese. A second problem – as relayed to me by my friend David who can speak Portugese – is that most of what these guys said was slang, nicknames, and cursing that even he couldn´t understand. Additionally, nobody seemed to have an actual name, with all 10 guys going by monikers such as Skunk, Monkey, Pollack, Fatso, Skinny, etc. It was a bit like living with the 7 dwarves, if only the 7 dwarves climbed 5.13 and talked constantly about women they had slept with, wanted to sleep with, or would only sleep with when drunk. Consequently all the Portugese I know is probably not something that should ever be repeated in the presence of someone´s mother.

These two pictures oare of David and myself working on an amazing .12c arete. A good photographer could leave Valle with some really great shots.



The climbing in area was awesome, with very featured volcanic stone and steep sport climbing on big pockets, cobbles, roofs, and constant sun.


Every night we would all gather at the camp, a spot stocked with 2 dozen bottles of wine and boxes of food. Even Obi, the offical dog mascot of the trip was enjoying the super cheap Argentine wine.

The camping was so plush that the Brazilians jokingly called it their ´Favella´, a local name for the ghetto in Rio de Janiero. Each night after climbing we would all gather around the favella and play music, joke around, and give excuses about why we did not succeed on a given route that day.

After a few days of damaging my delicate fingers on the volcanic rock and my delicate ears with Brazilian vulgarity we headed back to Bariloche to restock food and prepare for the alpine granite of Frey.

Patagonia... more than just expensive clothes

I am currently sitting in the store-wracked town of El Chalten Argentina waiting for some decent weather. I figured this would be a handy time to write a little bit about the trip.

I arrived in Buenos Aries on the morning of January 9th, and immediately I could recall the voice of my mildly-senile high school Spanish teacher drilling me on verb conjugations and useful phrases. All I could really remember was ¨Donde Esta el Bano¨, but luckily much of the rest just falls into places after clearing that initial hurdle. The airport was hot an sunny, a pleasant change from the cold and slush of Seattle.

Through one of those highly dubious friend-of-friend-of-friend-of-friend connections that climbers seem to revel in (and the general public disdains) I was able to stay for free for two nights in Buenos Aries with a guy named Rocco. While excploring Buenos Aires I came across Chocolaterias with chocolate, Pizzarias with Pizza, and this place, with...?



Rocco is a chic urban DJ to pay the bills, but a climber at heart. My broken Spanish formed the model of fluency compared to his more-broken English, but was had a good time together nonetheless and he made me a traditional Argentine barbecue called an Asado.

Like many residents of Buenos Aires, Rocco had a verdant rooftop garden where he grows trees, flowers, chives, mint, and herbs of a slightly more potent variety. Rocco´s apartment is in a neighborhood called ´Caballito´, which is Spanish for ´A Little Horse´, a apt description of one´s status after spending two days shouting at homicidal local taxi drivers.

I spent two nights in Buenos Aires with Rocco, which was two more than I had originally planned, and one more than I was told after arriving on the first day.

This delay was succinctly explained to me in a word: Brazilians. My ride from Buenos Aires to the mountainous Patagonia region was with Andrea, a Brazilian friend-of-friend-of-friend, and the 3rd link in my four person chain to Rocco. I soon learned that to Brazilians, a time zone is more a state of mind than it is a state of the minute hand. Eventually the two Brazilian women (Andrea and Simoné) arrived,
and we took of at what they called the ungodly early hour of 8:30 AM for the 18 hour drive to the mountain town of Bariloche, in the Andes near Chile. My climbing partner David had rented a hostel room for us all in Bariloche and I was eager to arrive and get some sleep.

However, my longing for expediency was thwarted at every turn by the Brazilian desire to relax, take random scenic side trips, and indulge in their sudden Maté addiction. Maté is a type of loose-leafed tea that all of Argentina is crazy about and I think looks (and tastes) like the hay bales I used to buck and stack for summer work. People carry thermoses full of hot water all day to take Maté breaks on important occasions such as the top of every hour, half hour, or odd numbered minute. Adding mate (and subsequent bathroom) stops to the baseline Brazilian slowness resulted in our arrival in Bariloche at 6AM, 22 hours after starting the drive. Since then I´ve had a whirlwind of excellent trips, climbs, and new friends. And since the weather in El Chalten doesn´t look much better in the next few days, I think I´ll have plenty of time to write all about it.

Chalten

After 36 hours of bus-riding exciting, I have arrived in Chalten. The granite peaks of Cerro Torre, Fitz Roy, Pollone, and others are coated in fresh snow, and my creaky joints are moving slower than the satellite internet here in town, but we are glad to be here.

The last two weeks have been spent in some amazing places in northern Patagonia, particularly sport climbing along a river in ¨Valle Encantado¨(the Enchanted Valley) and climbing alpine granite spires near the town of Bariloche, the best of which was a 9 or 10 pitch 5.11 route on the ¨Cerro Principal¨ we were accompanied by the ever-present Andean Condor and had an amazing time. More pictures and news to come, if I am ever able to get an internet connection at non-glacial speed.

Ciao!

Blake

Famoso!

Hola from Buenos Aries!

Soy un escritor publicado hoy!

An Ice Climbing article I wrote for the Vancouver, WA newspaper...

Breaking Trail

Last Bit of Winter for Me!

After a brief stop in Leavenworth to babysit the house and cats of some friends, I took a short trip to Stehekin. Leavenworth was eventful in a few ways, mainly in that the pipes in the cabin had frozen, which necesitated a distinctly un-fun phone call to the out-of-town owners of the home. However, we also got in a little skiing, ice climbing, and scrabble playing.

Stehekin is a tiny community located 55 miles up Lake Chelan from the driveable "downlake" city of Chelan. No cars can make it to Stehekin, and in the winter there is only a single boat which runs every-other day. The community is in the heart of the North Cascades, with 9,000' peaks rising from the valley floor.

My girlfriend Allison and I skied 7 miles up to a cabin through some of the hardest trail-breaking conditions I have ever seen. The day up took nearly 9 hours ot go 7 miles, with lots of headlamp illuminated skiing. My legs were cramping and I was completely beat by the time the snow-covered roof of the cabin came into view. Then ofcourse we had to shovel out enough snow to open the front door, start a fire, get water going, and all the other tasks that needed doing before we could relax. It brings to mind the Thomas Carlyle line - Permanence, perseverance and persistence in spite of all obstacles, discouragements, and impossibilities: It is this, that in all things distinguishes the strong soul from the weak. It was entirely worth it though, and after a day of playing scrabble and messing around, we skiied the 7 miles back to the car in a leisurly 3 hours.

I'm off to Buenos Aries tomorrow, via Sea-Tac and NY city!