I see through mountaineering glasses
I don’t wear ski goggles. They annoy me. Instead, whenever I go into the mountains I wear my beat up, $15 pair of glacier glasses. Even in raging snowstorms in the backcountry, I wear this trusty pair.
Yet, each time I take a picture, I normally take off my glasses to see the world in its true colors. Then, when I get home, I process those images to reflect the bright whites and blues that I see in wilderness.
Even though this may be what the camera sees, this isn’t the world that I see.
Last week, the dry winter in the Sierra finally relented. For a week, storm after storm dropped feet of snow, building up a nice base and bringing one of 2012’s few powder days. Naturally, I dropped everything and headed straight for the hills as soon as the skies cleared, camera in hand. I spent a few days near Tahoe–one at Alpine Meadows, the other in the Mt. Rose backcountry. While I was in line at Alpine I thought, “hmm, wouldn’t it be cool to capture the experience of milking the powder in a dry year though my eyes, those covered by a beat up pair of yellow mountaineering glasses?”
The following images are just that: my friends and companions riding as much fresh snow in and out-of-bounds around Tahoe in one of the driest years in memory, but through yellow-tinged eyes that I wear everyday in the mountains.
Richard looks up the hill, anxiously awaiting his first chair on a bluebird, perfect powder day.
The mountain didn’t remain virgin for long…
An unknown boarder leaves his mark on the mountain on his first run.
Richard Mack drops in off a ridge eager to find his own fresh turns. From here out, we charged:
As we worked through the day, the fresh powder became ever harder to find and the heat of the sun thickened it into powdery crust.
We refused to quit…
The following day we headed out into the backcountry in hopes of finding great snow high and in the trees near Mt. Rose. My buddy, Paul, came along for his first day out in the BC in a few years. Having sold his ski setup, he joined Richard for the snowshoe slog.
Late afternoon light looked as pretty as ever streaming through the trees on our ascent.
And after a few hours of skinning and postholing in snowshoes, the crew finally reached a high ridge on Incline Lake Peak.
That’s right, boys. You made it. Soak it up.
And now the reward: a descent into the trees with the high desert behind you.
Paul grabs his first turns of the season.
And Richard cleans up.
As we drive back home, the late evening light paints the sky above Lake Tahoe and the surrounding basin.
Dry Winter
This year has been rough for winter sports in the Sierra. As I write this, most areas have received between 20%-40% of their typical snowfall. The drought has crippled the winter economy in areas like Mammoth and Tahoe, and it’s definitely made shooting backcountry skiing and snowboarding more challenging.
Despite the challenge, there still have been a few good days out there. This past week I spent a few days with a friend around Donner Pass near Truckee, and I was able to get in some good turns through the trees and some fun shots of him boarding in the backcountry. Getting up in the mountains was such a great change of pace. Recently, I’ve felt like all I shoot is the Bay Area and surfing. I’m not complaining, but I’ve been itching to breathe some cold air, hear the rhythm of my skis and breath as I hike up the snow and see the world transformed under a blanket of white. This week, although the storms were small, I did get my wish.
Winter sunset
Mavericks Opens for 2012 with Arrival of Massive Northwest Swell
Last week swells came in and set off Mavericks, prompting the opening of the season. Thanks to an invite from Ken Collins “Skindog”, I was able to score a spot on a boat with other photographers to shoot the massive waves. Hats off to Skindog for the incredible opportunity to witness such beauty and power, and capture the moments to tell the story.
A Day at Mavericks
Today I went out to Mavericks to shoot the big wave surfers for the first time. I learned a few things: I need a larger lens, boat and to arrive early in the morning for the best light. All the same, I still had some fun shots:
December Around the Bay
This past month I haven’t been to the mountains once. The snow has not come and it still looks like it might be weeks away. More time around the Bay has turned my eye towards the beauty of my city. Here are some of my favorite images from the past month.
Letting subjects dictate technique
The past few weeks have been hectic. The holidays are fast approaching, I’m moving to a new apartment in San Francisco and I’m getting more and more work shooting. Nearly 8 months after deciding to devote myself to my photography and the outdoors, I’m beginning to make a living with my skills without setting foot in an office. Each day there are new mountains to climb–both literal and figurative– but looking back over the past few months, real progress is being made.
This past week after sitting at my desk editing scores of photos and organizing my boxes for the move, I got out away from the computer and headed out to Crissy Field to shoot some kiteboarders and get some fresh air. My surfing partner, Paul, is a kiter and with the big Santa Ana’s that blew last week, he was interested to see how things looked on the Bay.
We didn’t make it out til sunset and we arrived to quickly fading light. I took a few shots attempting to freeze the fast moving athletes in their surroundings, but my ISO was so high, 6400, that noise and soft edges made the shots distracting and unappealing.
First shot: grainy and soft
After a few more mediocre shots and remembering that I had forgotten my tripod to shoot landscapes, frustrated, I nearly put the camera away. Then I thought more about my subjects, what they were doing and what made the scene special and fun to watch: the high winds and fast moving athletes. To bring this feeling out of my images, I didn’t need a fast shutter speed; I needed a slow one, a steady hand and some luck.
I changed gears and began shooting:
Eventually, I lost all usable light and the grain from the high ISO came back into the equation. I shot a few more frames, then packed up and called it a day, stoked for a fun afternoon of shooting and glad that I had taken pause to reflect on the scene and switch up my technique to better communicate what drew my eye to the scene.
(Wilderness)
Wilderness moves us. Our emotion towards the grandeur, drama and purity of wild places lurks in the background of our consciousness, embedded in our genes as a species. Wilderness calms and inspires us, bringing us back to the sacred and pure elements from which we once emerged. When we return to wilderness today, it liberates and purifies–the most elemental resource for our being, we are never independent from its influence.
Yet beautiful and pure wilderness around the world is ever more scarce. These scenes from California and Patagonia are still wild and protected–just barely. Even wilderness with legal protection faces the challenges of becoming fouled by growing pressure for resource exploitation. And those places still far off from drills, pollution and tourists experience the limitless destruction of global climate change. Nothing stands alone and pristine. The expansive grandeur, purity and freedom of our elemental wilderness is… limited.
Yosemite Valley, Spring Storm, 2011. Faint evening light illuminates Yosemite Valley after a stormy spring day.
Half Dome in Evening Glow, 2008. Bathed in late fall light, Half Dome glows just before dusk from the Yosemite High Country.
Coastal Calm, 2011. Waves and twilight paint the California Coast. San Mateo County, California.
Desert Sage, Sunrise, 2011. Dawn illuminates the skies above the Owens Valley. Eastern Sierra, California.
Crevasse on Osorno Glacier, Sunrise, 2011. Sunrise illuminates a crevasse and the Patagonian Andes from the Osorno Volcano. Patagonia, Chile.
Morning Reflections, Fitz Roy, 2011. A rare, clear, calm morning reflects Mount Fitz Roy in Laguna de los Tres. Parque Nacional de los Glaciares, Patagonia, Argentina.
(Wilderness): Expose Coming to the Monks Kettle
Great news! Starting on November 16, I will be displaying my work at the Monks Kettle in the Mission. I’ve spent the last several weeks out in the field shooting and back in the City editing, writing and printing. All of the images at the restaurant will be available for purchase. Come on by over the holiday season, have some amazing beer and check it out!
For those of you not able to make it to Monks, you can see the essay and images here on the blog. Enjoy!
Adapting to Change
Last week I headed back to the Sierra for some alpine climbing for the first time in a few months. The cost of gas and a lack of partners with my work schedule has kept me away for a bit. Rather than getting high off the ground, I’ve focused on surfing and shooting along the coast. Getting back to my “home field” felt amazing, even though my partner and I did not get up our desired objective, the East Ridge on Mt. Humphreys, nor did the light cooperate as much as I had hoped.
When we arrived to the Sierra, massive thunderstorms littered the horizon and we quickly noted that an attempt on an almost 14,000ft ridge didn’t seem likely. Rather than heading right for the trailhead, Ryan and I stopped into Bishop to see if we could come up with an alternative mountain that wouldn’t leave us so exposed to the weather. After pouring over maps and speaking with a guy that worked at the store, we turned our sites a bit lower and found a beautiful granite ridge on a lower mountain, Hurd Peak. We now had a new plan: wake up early, climb Hurd and if the weather turned sour, we would bail off of the peak and quickly be back in the relative safety of the meadows and forest below.
When Ryan and I arrived at our new trailhead, clouds and weather still hung over the horizon, but it appeared that the night would be dry. We cooked dinner, I shot a few mediocre photos–the light never really came–and we went to sleep underneath a rising moon and distant lightning in the western sky.
Morning dawned clear and promising, but we knew that the forecast still called for more afternoon storms. We hastily made coffee, packed our bags for the climb and set off up towards Bishop Pass and the Treasure Lakes Basin.
Dawn breaks over the High Sierra at South Lake.
The approach to Hurd Peak was easy and fast. A trail led to beautiful lakes in the Treasure Lakes Basin and ever larger peaks in the background. At the highest lake, the trail ended and our route stood before us: a sloping granite rise that sharpened and steepened as it rose towards the high peaks looming on the Sierra Crest to the West.
Ryan poses above the highest Treasure Lake.
The climbing was fun, easy and exposed. At a few points, we negotiated some exposed traverses and downclimbs, but nothing ever required us to rope up. As we climbed, the clouds built and Ryan and I checked in with each other to make sure we were comfortable with the impending risk of thunderstorms.
Ryan scrambles along the N. ridge of Hurd Peak with the Treasure Lakes far below.
As we continued making progress along the ridge, the clouds above us thickened and lowered. We reached a high point and found a notch below where we could bail if needed. When we reached the notch, Ryan and I discussed our options. The clouds continued to build overhead so we agreed that we had had a great morning to that point, and decided to bail off the mountain shy of the summit.
The summit blocks of Hurd Peak illuminate beneath menacing afternoon storm clouds.
During out descent out, Davis and I discussed what to do with our remaining time on the Eastside. With such unstable weather in the forecast, the best option seemed to descend down to the desert for some bouldering and photography in the Buttermilks.
Davis works out the flake problem.
Final climb before dark.
The Milky Way hangs over the Milks as faint light from the rising full moon hits the High Sierra.
The bouldering in the Buttermilks is always spectacular and hard and the photography can be equally as rewarding. I was hoping that now out of the storms, I could get some nice shots of the Sierra with clouds and weather overhead. If lucky, maybe the clouds would ignite in a brilliant red, orange or pink glow above the peaks.
Sage and Eastside Sunrise
It never really came either. With the exception of this favorite of mine, the light never cooperated over the Sierra Crest to the West. The shot above came when focusing in on the mountains and waiting patiently for the light. I noticed to the South some faint glowing in the cloud bottoms out of the corner of my eye. I turned around and saw the clouds over the Owens Valley aflame. I quickly repositioned my camera and tripod, pulled out my filters and shot for the two or three minutes that the light stuck around.
For the rest of the morning, the light never materialized. It got close, began to glow, then seemed to give up.
Dawn breaks over the Sierra and attempts to paint the peaks.
Golden light breaks through morning clouds in the Buttermilks
Despite the light not quite coming and the weather being subpar for an alpine climb on Mt. Humphreys, just being back in the Sierra is great. My trips to the mountains rarely play out just as I envision them ahead of time; and that’s the point. Life in the City is too planned out and I don’t want to bring that to the mountains. I like to have goals and general direction in the mountains, but the unexpected and having to create opportunities from it makes time in the wild so enriching. Even though the light didn’t come together perfectly for photography, the practice shooting these landscapes and inserting foreground elements like sage continues to help me hone my skills and develop my eye so that when the light does come together, I’ll be ready for it.
Tomorrow, I’m headed back out for three days. Time to put those skills to work… and hope for that perfect light once more.
Capturing the Milky Way
The Milky Way hangs above The Sisters, Carson Pass, CA
It seems that every time I head out to the Sierra, I can’t avoid staying up long after everyone has bedded down in their sleeping bags to shoot long exposures of the Milky Way. There’s just something about looking up into the vast, cloudy galaxy and contemplating my part in it that keeps me awake in the cold and wind, hunched beneath my tripod.
Capturing the Milky Way is challenging. In order to have a nice, crisp Milky Way, my exposure needs to be quite short: less than a minute or so. Otherwise, the earth’s rotation will blur the galaxy into a big, nondescript, celestial fog surrounded by streaking stars. However, to achieve such a short exposure with so little light, my camera’s ISO has to be pushed to levels that will could create too much “noise”, little specks in dark areas. It’s always a balancing act.
Here’s an example of a shot that did succeed in getting some detail of the Milky Way, but it is slightly blurred due to its minute-long exposure. I’m not satisfied. Time to head back out and try to capture the galaxy again.
Dawn Patrol
Since I’ve started sticking around the Bay Area more often, I’ve devoted more of my time to surfing and shooting surfers. I love the sport almost as much as I do climbing and the fast action, distance from the subject and reflections of the water add new challenges to shooting. I’ve also learned that there is a small group of surfers that are so dedicated to their sport that they pull themselves from their warm beds each morning and hurl themselves into the 53 degree water of the Pacific just to get the feeling of riding a wave before work. It’s crazy and I love it.
This morning I joined in. I woke up at five, picked up my buddy, Rich, and headed to the Marin Headlands for a morning surf session, “Dawn Patrol”. Conditions were typical: sloppy, erratic, foggy and misty. Rich and were the first ones to the beach, followed by beaten-to-hell Nissan camper with a lone, hippie surfer. We groggily suited up in the mist, then hurled ourselves into the water. As the minutes passed, a few more surfers of all ages steadily glided their way into the ocean, all smiling at one another as they awoke the same way with cold water smacking their faces. I stayed out for a few beatings in the choppy swells, then began to feel lured back to the car to grab my camera, wanting to tell the story of these few souls that brave the cold starts just to get their turns in before work.
A devoted soul takes to the waves at 7am.
An old timer works "Cypress Bowl" at Ft. Cronkite, Marin Headlands.
A surfer stomps every last bit of energy out of his ride.
Another old timer drops in.
A surfer works one last turn before his wave closes out.
Wipeout. Maybe it's time for breakfast?
Riding the Afternoon Chop
Yesterday I went out to the Marin Headlands for an afternoon surf session. The conditions were pretty typical of summertime here: choppy, windy and inconsistent, but without fog. Out here, it’s a treat to get an afternoon that’s rideable and not cloaked in misty fog. Despite the conditions, I went out and managed to get some shots of the other few guys in the water riding whatever they could. The light was nice for a few minutes before setting behind the bluff north of the beach and cloaking us in cold, windy shadow.
Dropping into the chop.
Longboard drop.
Golden Gate Bridge, Magic Hour
GG Bridge at the Magic Hour
Getting the Ball Rolling
The past few months I’ve felt what it is to be a freelancer. I work three days a week at a great restaurant job and spend the rest of my time adventuring and teaching myself what it is to be a professional photographer. It’s hard. Long gone are the days of financial stability from working in an office and signing off at 5:30 in exchange for a comfortable living. But I have time to devote to what I love and what I want to make my living doing: photography. When I feel like heading out to scout the light or weather of a location, I go. I have been reading extensively on techniques, style and business practices. This past week I even used some frequent flier miles to travel to the PDN Outdoor Photographer’s Expo in Salt Lake City to network and take some workshops from the pros. One thing I learned: many of the pros in outdoor photography had no formal training at all and are self-taught. They decided to follow what they loved. Just this example is invigorating.
This past month I landed my first payed assignment shooting real estate near Yosemite. It’s not skiing or climbing, but I am close to the Park and making money from photography is a fantastic feeling. I get paid to be creative and build a product that people want. Working to create something beautiful is far more fun than staring at a spreadsheet for hours. Being near the Park also gets me in the mountains, shooting landscapes and climbing. I have time to practice again and again, try out new techniques and situations and learn the craft. Finally I am seeing progress. It’s tough starting from the bottom again, but when I know that this career is what I love, not just something that I was educated to do, the struggles seem far easier to work out.
Moving forward, I will be publishing photos far more often from my time out in the field practicing. Check back in every now and then and enjoy. Here are some recent favorites:
Erratics, Half Dome and High Sierra
Sierra Foothills in Evening Glow
Milky Way and Mt. Dana
Weekdays in the Valley: Building skills
Cathedral Rocks in clearing spring storm, Yosemite Valley, CA.
Over the past few weeks I’ve been dividing my time between working in the City and climbing and shooting in Yosemite Valley. I seem to have found the perfect setup. I work at the Monks Kettle in San Francisco for three days, then have 4 days off a week, typically during the weekdays. With my time, I’ve ended up throwing myself all into my climbing and photography, rehearsing old climbs and learning new rigging techniques so that I can fix a line and rappel into a climb and shoot, without having to worry about the climber’s safety or belay. Not only am I now getting better angles, but the added focus on rigging systems has made me a more confident climber.
The excitement of learning new techniques and building my skills is addictive. I couldn’t be more satisfied to wake up every morning and hone my craft with the focus given to a career. And that’s the goal: making adventure photography my career.
Here are some shots from around the Valley over the past three weeks.
Dan works offwidth climb, the Gauntlet, 11c.
Dan jams his way up pitch 1 of Postively 4th Street.
Kristin places gear on Church Bowl Tree, 10a
Kristin cranks through a fingerstack on Church Bowl Tree, 10a
Clearing storm, Yosemite Valley, CA.
Getting into the rhythm of doing what I love
Poincenot San Rafael and Aguja San Exupery under equinox full moon
The past few weeks have been pretty hectic, yet rewarding since returning home. Working on projects outside of an office has been blissful, but challenging to balance with personal time. The adjustments, however, are far outweighed by my newly earned freedom. Gone are the days of cramming my thoughts of climbing, surfing and photography into my lunch breaks or hours out of work. Now I wake up, surf, climb, sail or just start working with a mate at my side whenever and wherever I choose. (Today I’m sitting in my garden). Projects for friends and clients are lined up so that I have plenty to do. Best of all, for the first time in years, I can focus on exactly what moves and inspires me–living, capturing and sharing adventures.
I’m in the process of creating a website for my work, but in the mean time I assembled a gallery through Smugmug. Check it out by clicking here. You’ll find photos from Patagonia and the Sierra and as I continue to edit, I’ll post more images from my three months on the road.
Stay tuned throughout the season. I’ve started investing in not only time, but some new equipment to create better, higher quality images. I can’t wait to see what moments lie ahead for me to capture and share.
F-unemployment isn’t that bad.
First light hits the Wheeler Crest, Eastern Sierra, CA
Coming home after traveling for nearly three months has not been nearly as difficult as expected. I love Northern California. As my plane came into final approach at SFO, I felt excited and anxious to be back on the ground in my adopted home. Even before I left Buenos Aires, I began thinking about how I would return to the Bay and take advantage of my newly discovered free time, f-unemployment.
I put the “f” in front of the dreaded word not to curse it, but to kill its edge. Sure it’s dreadful to chip away at my savings and think about how terrible the economy is and how long I might be searching. I might get a new job in a week. I might get a new job in a year. If I really want to freak myself out, I just think about that. Realistically I need to be ready for both possibilities. But on the other side of the coin, I now have time to do what I love: photography, skiing, climbing, gardening, reading and relaxing. Best of all, I have time to reflect on the trip I just completed rather than forget it in the day to day grind of a speedy return to the office. Years ago I remember someone telling me around a Yosemite campfire that in life you either have time or money, but rarely both. True. I might not have steady income now, but I do have time to do the things I love.
So after flying in on Wednesday, grabbing a Mission quesadilla and unpacking boxes of clothes and items into my Berkeley apartment, I decided that I would spend the following week in the Eastern Sierra backcountry skiing. The weather looked good and I had always dreamed of going back there with no real schedule or commitments. Even better yet, my girlfriend reminded me that she would be on a business trip to LA for the majority of the week. So on Sunday afternoon, I kissed her goodbye, loaded my car and began the six hour trek to my friend’s home in Mammoth.
The week has been just as I had hoped. I have reconnected with friends, skied mountains that had been in my gaze for years, focused on shooting skiers and even had time to reflect upon my trip to Patagonia. No, I don’t have a job yet, but that’s fine with me. Having time for myself to readjust and focus my energies on what I love most is far more valuable than a paycheck. And who knows, it might just eventually lead to getting paid for it.
Resting on the skin up Mt. Tom's Elderberry Canyon
Headwall of Mt. Tom's Elderberry Canyon
Jason takes a knee descending Elderberry Canyon
Alex harvests Sierra corn on Mt. Tom
Discussing options midway up Old Man's Bowl near Convict Lake, CA
Popping air off a cornice in Old Man's Bowl, Convict Lake, CA
Late afternoon light on the Glass Mountains, Eastern Sierra, CA
Sierra wave wraps up another great trip to the Eastside.
Argentine homecoming: returning to Buenos Aires
Rather than leaving El Chalten feeling sad, I parted from my favorite part of the journey invigorated and inspired to return next year. But my inspiration was not confined only to climbing. Jen and I flew out of El Calafate and landed in the only other city (besides San Francisco) that truly feels home.
I spent a month of 2003 and 2004-2005 living in Buenos Aires and studying Latin American history and economics. While I can’t really remember the details of the papers and countless photocopied textbooks that I read, Buenos Aires forever shaped me as an adult. I rented my first apartment, lived alone, worked in an office, fell out of love, learned how to live in a major city and, well, became an adult in a city nicknamed, “the city of fury.”
So last week Jen and I flew into Buenos Aires and I came home. We rented an apartment in Palermo with a huge terrace and a grill that had not yet been used. (I corrected the overly pristine nature of the grill.) Over the course of a week, I met with old friends and family, threw an Argentine rooftop BBQ, “asado”, and generally picked up my old ritmo porteno: wake up late, drink mate for hours, stroll about the streets, drop in a cafe for coffee, pastries and conversation, walk some more, eat dinner at 11pm, go out to dance and return home at 5 or 6am. I never thought I would be able to pick up where I had left off so quickly, but Buenos Aires breathed its familiar energy back into me.
Coming back to my South American hometown is impossible to describe without using the word tango. Tango is about ups and downs, a melancholy lament to the glory of the past, a skeptical look towards the future and a decadent enjoyment of the present. It could not be born in any other place but Buenos Aires. My emotions followed that same tango. I revisited feelings, people and places that made me feel warm and overflowing with love. Yet I regained my cold, defensive perspective that I’ve only known in Buenos Aires. I clutched my bag tight on the bus and Subte as I felt the eyes of pick-pocketers and watched my shadows on every street. I questioned everyone’s motives with cold skepticism and saw the world again through a purely socio-economic lens. Yet I still love it.
Returning to Buenos Aires and closing my trip in my old home was perfect. Now back in San Francisco and unpacking the life I left, I feel full or energy and optimism for what comes next… which is a giant unknown.
And I’m cool with that.
Here are some photos from my journey through the past in la ciudad de la furia, Buenos Aires.
Nothing like a manifestacion in the Plaza de Mayo to welcome us!
Agrupacion abajo
Jen takes in her first large protest.
Che
Breaking in the grill
Buenos Aires at night and the sax that played on the rooftop.
Mates for sale in la Boca
Wild street dog in Boca
Housefront in Boca
Sunday afternoon.
A Caminito street vendor sells her work.
Boca conventillo along Caminito
An elder porteno letting time pass.
A musician fills the streets with tango.
A street performer entertains a table of tourists in the Boca.
And a Brazilian drum group adds festive beats to the streets.
Que mina! An old tanguero sees beauty in the streets.
Weather-a-changin´: time to move on
Weathered out. That´s how my climb up the Supercanalata on Fitz Roy went. Last week Pep, Marta, Willy and I hiked up to Piedra Negra and made our base camp before setting out to climb Fitz. When we arrived, the last storm had left a blanket of snow on the ground and cold temps. Glaciers that just a week prior were spewing meltwater, were now cold and quiet. From camp, we would need to ascend another 2000 plus meters into bitter cold for the summit. We were prepared for cold, but not a full-on winter ascent. The cold reality set in our first afternoon in camp. The summer climbing season is over here. We would need to scratch the mission. The following morning, Pep and I climbed up to a pass leading to the base of the route, took some pictures, then came back to town.
Guillaomet, Mermoz and Fitz on approach to base camp
Cerro Pumone
I returned to El Chaltén a bit disappointed for not even getting on the route, but motivated and inspired to push my climbing this season so that I can come back next year and give the route another try.
With my extra free time before Jen arrived in Patagonia, I set out on a solo backpack in and around Fitz and Cerro Torre searching out some great shots of the mountains at sunrise and sunset.
Fitz and Laguna de los Tres at sunrise
Fitz and clearing storm
Wednesday, Jen finally arrived and we´ve been out exploring the Perito Moreno Glacier and backpacking around the peaks and through the lenga forests near El Chaltén. Together we set out on a two night backpack, but returned to town after one night just in time to avoid getting drenched and chilled in yet another storm.
Perito Moreno calves into Lago Argentina
Glacial blue
Today is the first day of autumn and my last day in El Chaltén. Tomorrow we move on to Buenos Aires. The low ridges around town are now white with their first significant snowfall. It´s cold, windy and rainy in town and from time to time it sleets. The internet cafés, hostels and restaurants in town are quiet. Summer´s over. The time has come to head north and start my return to California.
Here’s to going for it: attempting the Supercanaleta on Fitz Roy
Well, here goes. After days of rain/snow and high winds, Pep, Marta, Willy and I are going to head up tomorrow to check out the Supercanaleta on the west face of Fitz Roy. Never in my life did I imagine to be going for Fitz before even making an attempt at the Nose on El Cap. But here I am, as ready as I’ll ever be to put all of my successes, failures and the lessons learned from both together to give this the best shot possible.
The route we are going for involves about 1000-1200 meters of climbing a couloir (ice as snow gully) until we reach it’s head and begin climbing on rock, snow and ice for another 1000 meters. Unfortunately, we will need to pass by a fallen climber that is still in the route and who was great friends with Pep. I don’t know how I’ll react to this if/when we arrive to this point.
Beyond here, the climbing is 5.6-5.9 with one or two sections of 5.10a and it is long. We will bivy for the night around pitches 12 or 18. The route is actually quite moderate, but alpine and you never know what kind of weather the southern Patagonian icecap and south sea will throw at you. From the summit, we will rappel a dozen or so times to Paso Superior and then walk back to town for a giant asado and later next week, a long-awaited reunion with my girlfriend, Jen, who I haven’t seen in months.
Here’s to going for it. At the least, I learn about alpine mountaineering, myself and set new goals for the future. At the most, I attain the above, plus a summit and other learn new lessons that I cannot yet conceive.
Going for a grand opportunity: Fitz Roy
Today high winds and periodic showers have blown through El Chalten. The weather is supposed to be bad for the next few days with a weather window opening up this weekend.
I had envisioned spending today through the rest of the week on a long backpack through the southern portion of the park, out past Cerro Torre, over Paso del Viento and back along the side of the Viedma Glacier and the shore of Lake Viedma.
Yesterday my plans changed drastically for my last week alone here in Patagonia. During breakfast yesterday, my friend from Spain, Pep, asked if I wanted to head up this weekend to try a route on Fitz Roy. I was blown away at the idea, but also humbled. Fitz is a serious mountain and it would be by far the largest, most difficult climb of my life. After thinking and many conversations with Pep about safety, my experience and expectations for an ascent, I decided to spend the rest of my time preparing and possibly ascending the Supercanaleta on Cerro Fitz Roy.
Over the next few days, I’ll be learning aid climbing techniques, brushing up on efficiency at belays and handing off gear. The climb will likely take three or four days and require a few high, cold bivys, then a long series of rappels down the Franco-Argentine route.
As I’ve walked around town today in the howling winds, I’ve felt nervous, humbled and excited all at once. It is unlikely that I will be able to climb all of the route free without jumaring through difficult sections of ice and mixed terrain. The summit and even the technical climbing is still a long way down a series of steps that all must go in our favor before roping up. The predicted weather window holding up and the conditions of the route being favorable when we arrive are big variables that can change quickly.
For as big as the challenge is, I can’t, however, turn it down. Even if Pep and I only arrive to base camp on the glacier, it will be a magnificent experience to stare up at such a massive mountain on the edge of the icecap and meet a future climbing goal. And at best, I get to climb one of the most magnificent mountains in Patagonia to finish out a great trip.
Tomorrow, if we get decent weather, I hope to get out and start learning new techniques at the crags around town and further refine those that I know well.
Tied in 
