Introduction
This essay and collection of trip reports were originally published in VOCJ66 (2023-24, pp. 62-80). Since publication, I’ve had a chance to refine the ideas in the essay portion; I now think that my previous category of an “aesthetic classic” is too broad, and needs to be further subdivided. As a result, I added the category of “Quality Route.”
I have also climbed one additional “classic” worth including: the Kain Face on Mount Robson.
This version reflects my updated thoughts and experiences. Some minor edits were also made for formatting or clarity purposes.
Section 1 contains my thoughts on what it means for a route to be a “classic.”
Section 2 contains trip reports from nine classics:
- Mt Alberta, Japanese Route
- Mt Assiniboine, North Ridge
- Eisenhower Tower, Southeast Ridge (Dragon’s Back Route)
- Mt Temple, East Ridge
- Slesse, Northeast Buttress
- Gimli Peak, South Ridge
- Mt Sir Donald, Northwest Ridge
- South Howser Tower, The Beckey-Chouinard
- Mt Robson, The Kain Face
In hindsight, this format is uncomfortably close to being one of those online recipes that makes you read the author’s life story before you get to the actual recipe. In my case, you need to read (or scroll past) a rant about classics before you get to trip reports. The only thing I have to say in my defence is that these particular trip reports are not complete without my view on what makes a classic; the purpose of this article is to discuss, through the lens of nine objectives, what makes this particular type of climb a worthwhile pursuit.
§1 | What makes an alpine climb a classic?
One of the great difficulties in mountain sports is choosing an objective. Often, the source of the difficulty is not a lack of routes to climb, but an abundance. As much as we might want to, we cannot spend all of our waking hours in the mountains climbing every route on the map, and so we are left with the task of discriminating between routes and selecting one to make into an objective. Increasingly frequently, I see people choosing their routes on the basis of their inclusion in some sort of list. Peakbaggers attempt to “bag” as many peaks as possible from lists with definitive cutoffs: the North Shore Bagger Challenge, the Canadian Rockies 11,0000ers, the Seven Summits, or the 8000-metre peaks. The equivalent lists for alpine climbers, who typically care more about a route than the mountain on which it is located, are collections of “classic” climbs. Unfortunately, I firmly believe that the concept of a “classic climb” is so confused that the practice of pursuing such routes risks causing unsafe or unpleasant experiences in the mountains.
This article will aim to discuss the concept of a classic climb in the hopes of encouraging discussion about the reasons we have for valuing certain routes as objectives. My discussion has two parts. The first is a cursory analysis of the concept, where I suggest four broad categories of classic climbs. In the (more interesting) second half of the article, I review nine classic climbs that appear in two collections of North American classics (Steck & Roper’s Fifty Classic Climbs of North America and Fred Beckey’s 100 Favorite North American Climbs). I will order them in rank of ascending quality, so that we might begin with the bad and end with the good.
What is a classic climb, anyways? My take on this is simple. When we say that a route is a classic, we are ascribing to it a set of properties, and different uses of the term often involve the ascription of wildly different properties. In other words, the current use of the word “classic” is highly inconsistent and confused, and does not correspond to a natural category. This does not mean that the term is useless or “not real,” and I am not proposing we do away with the concept. Nor do I believe that I am capable of speaking prescriptively on the topic, and saying what the concept ought to be. However, what I can do is propose a way of cleaning up our use of the term classic that might help facilitate clearer communication. The way I see it, there are 5 ways the term is commonly used: classics as (1) trade routes, (2) aesthetic routes, (3) quality routes, (4) storied routes, and (5) test pieces.
A quick explanation of each category (again, I am not trying to provide an exhaustive and definitive account; this is just a cursory overview and description):
(1) Trade Routes: These routes are characterized by being popular and often-climbed. They often exhibit the traits of other sorts of classics (e.g. routes that are aesthetic or viewed as test-pieces will often, but not necessarily, get climbed more frequently than other routes). What makes a route a classic by merit of its trade route status is that someone endorses the route as a classic precisely because it represents a shared experience on a route that is well-known. These routes are often good to recommend to people who want to learn about a new region; well-traveled routes have plenty of beta available, and often (but not always) exemplify the sort of climbing typical in a region. A great example would be Mount Temple’s East Ridge; the route is a grand tour of Lake Louise’s amazing quartzite, awful limestone, and stunning views.
(2) Aesthetic Routes: I use the term “aesthetic” rather loosely here; many philosophers would take issue with my terminology. A line may be aesthetically valuable on the basis of the feature of the mountain on which it is located, the size of the route, the views from on the route, or something else. In essence, some feature of the route itself draws interest, even if the community has yet to interact with the route in a significant way. In this sense, even an unclimbed line might have classic status. This use of the term “classic” is somewhat infuriating, as is seen by the outrage concerning the inclusion of the Hummingbird Ridge on Mount Logan in the 50 Classic Climbs of North America. The line has only ever been climbed once (and many people have died trying), yet it was labelled a classic. It certainly does not count as a trade route, and shovelling through an endless ridge of double cornices sounds like fairly unenjoyable climbing. But the line is striking and beautiful beyond belief, and the position is incredible.
(3) Quality Routes: Some lines offer stellar climbing, or some other feature of the route that makes for a unique, enjoyable, or otherwise special experience. The proprioceptive enjoyment of pulling an improbable roof; the radical uniqueness of deep water tunnels (e.g. Generosity on EEOR), a tunnel through a mountain (e.g. Takakkaw Falls), or a perfect splitter (e.g. The Split Pillar on The Grand Wall) all serve as examples of properties that might make a route a classic in this sense. Perhaps the feature is nothing more than high-quality rock in an otherwise chossy crag (a “local” classic), or maybe the route is one-of-a-kind. What unites routes into this category is that a feature of the climbing or movement itself is the thing being celebrated. It need not be good, per se; it is enough that it has a characteristic that makes it worthwhile to climb (and is therefore “quality” in the sense that it has a quality that makes it choiceworthy).
(4) Storied Routes: Some routes are famous for the stories of adventures (or misadventures) they have produced. Maybe the first ascent had historical significance, or something else happened on the route that solidified its place in our mountain discourse. More broadly, perhaps, there are abstract facts about them that contribute to their status; they are viewed as a “rite of passage,” commonly done due to their proximity to an urban centre, or are necessary to access a particular summit even if the route itself is not particularly high quality. I would argue that Mount Alberta’s Japanese couloir falls under this category; as the easiest route up the “most difficult 11,000er” in the Canadian Rockies, the route itself exists not as a classic in its own right, but as a means of attaining a goal shared by many: the summit of Mt. Alberta.
(5) Test pieces: A route that serves primarily as a challenge or a test of skill. They tend to exemplify a certain grade or style of climbing. Test pieces exist at every level of ability, and what is a test piece in my eyes might be different for someone else. A professional alpinist could certainly onsight every “test piece” on my tick list; test pieces are best understood as being indexed to a certain ability level. The Kain Face on Robson is a test piece for recreational mountaineers, just as skiing it is a test piece for ski mountaineers.
Importantly, these categories are not mutually exclusive. A route can belong to two, three, or perhaps all five categories. In fact, the criteria for inclusion in each category are incredibly fuzzy. What differentiates various uses of the word “classic” has more to do with the context, and what we primarily intend to convey with each use. If I’m referring to the Beckey Chouinard in the sentence “It’s the classic Bugaboos hand crack; make sure you train lots before going!” I am trying to communicate that it is a test piece for newer crack climbers who perhaps do not yet know the limits of their crack climbing skills. If I say “Of all the classics in the Bugaboos, my favourite is the B-C. There is perhaps no better line at the grade in Canada,” then I am commenting primarily on its quality. We can even make individual uses of the word ambiguous between two or more categories; this is why the concept is a messy one.
Why does this distinction matter? I think people tend to value certain things in their climbing. For example, there is value to be had in the social aspect of climbing, where we work together in the wilderness to share in a common adventure. There is also a huge satisfaction to be had from standing on summits with a feeling of accomplishment, or when you find yourself in a flow state that comes from balancing challenge with ability. Each individual person has different motivations, values, and goals that drive them into the mountains. But this does not mean that each individual is good at selecting objectives that will maximize their particular values. Anyone who, during a long and miserable day, asked themselves “why am I doing this, again?” is probably a victim of poor judgment; we know we like climbing, and we like climbing good routes, but we do not analyze what a good route means to us. We then climb in circumstances that are not conducive to maximizing the good we sought in the first place, and blame the luck of the draw for having a bad day.
While the worst day in the mountains beats the best day in the office (or whatever your version of that saying involves), it does not follow that we ought to be happy with just any experience in the mountain; the worst day in the mountains does not beat the best day in the mountains. Judicious route selection – aiming to pursue more of the type of climbing that brings you meaning and joy – can greatly improve our experiences in the mountains. At a high level, this might look like avoiding ski traverses if you are the type of person who enjoys pow turns more than cardio, and avoiding pushing grades at the crag if your happy place is meandering 5.6 trad ridge climbs. But even at the level of selecting an alpine climb, there are nuances that can make a radical difference to your enjoyment of a trip. My hope is that this conceptual breakdown of a “classic” can help people exercise good judgment in choosing to pursue a route based on reputation alone.
This brings me to the main practical point of this article: persuading you to avoid the Japanese Route on Mount Alberta. While nominally a classic, it lacks almost all the qualities of a classic that make it choiceworthy as a route. I hope that comparing it against other routes in this review will help deter climbers.
§2 | Nine Classic Climbs
Mount Alberta, Japanese Route (V, D+, 5.6)
50 Classic Climbs of North America
Trip Dates: August 25-28, 2023.
Participants: Noah Macdonald, Oakley Werenka
RATING: 3/10
The Rockies are famed for their terrible rock quality; many lovingly call them the “Chossies.” Local climbers grow to love the art of treating trad leads like ice climbing (the leader must. not. fall.) and pressing downwards on stacks of detached blocks to make upward progress. But even if you learn to love the style, rockfall hazard is a real risk, both from your leader knocking down choss, and from spontaneous (or animal-triggered) rockfall. The climbing on Mount Alberta is, unfortunately, exemplary of all the worst the Rockies has to offer.
My attempt on Alberta began with the knowledge that the Japanese route has been called the “worst alpine climb in the world.” My intention had been to climb the NE Ridge instead; a stout Rockies V 5.10 TD+ route. Dougherty’s Selected Alpine Climbs in the Canadian Rockies had infamously declared it to be a death route, with runout 5.10 pitches over practically nonexistent anchors, but this lie (like many others in the book) has since been corrected through more recent trip reports. I roped my friend Oakley into climbing the route with the promise that I would lead all the crux pitches.
Our trip began by running into some friends who were also planning an attempt (albeit by the Japanese route) in the parking lot. Together, we made a cold but uneventful crossing of the Sunwapta river. We then spent a few hours marching upwards towards the Wooley-Diadem bivy, which is a rather pleasant hike in a beautiful place. The fun ends at the bivy, as the next section involves struggling up hundreds of metres of steep scree to reach Woolley Shoulder. It would be difficult to overstate the sheer tediousness, difficulty, and dangerousness of this section. Once on the other side, descending to the Lloyd MacKay Hut is rather straightforward. We spent the night at the hut, and set out early the next morning to attempt the ridge. Unfortunately, sections of the upper route looked wet and icy from precipitation prior to our trip. With the summit enveloped in the cloud, I lost my nerve; I did not want to set up such a committing route without knowing if the crux was in climbable shape. Without fixed anchors en-route, and the cruxes fairly high up, bailing would involve leaving behind the better part of my rack. We sent word to our friends over the radio, and they made the call to climb Little Alberta instead of going to the high bivy that night to let the route dry. I intended to bail and climb a different route on the Icefields Parkway altogether, but Oakley proposed that we switch our objective to Alberta. We could make the most of the remaining daylight by carrying the other party’s tent to the high bivy. Then, the following day, we could summit and return to the hut as our friends made their way to the high bivy. It would be a win-win; we could use their tent (as we had not brought our own), and they could arrive at the high bivy with a tent already set up for them.
By the time we returned to the hut, he had persuaded me to go after the Japanese route (we were already there, and in non-smoky conditions to boot!). Strangely enough, I had also managed to persuade him to give it up; we had swapped positions! But ultimately, the draw of the Japanese route was sufficient to bring him back around, and we set off to the high bivy. While the climbing on the lower section of the mountain is never more than hard scrambling, it is perhaps the most miserable scrambling the Rockies has to offer. It alternates between bulletproof, cement-like slab and loose escalator scree; either you’re precariously balanced on the edges of your toes, or fighting to make upwards progress. The slopes are steep enough to make arresting a fall a doubtful proposition, and each section of the route is always located right above a cliff, meaning the exposure is always lethal. By the time we reached the bivy, we had both begun questioning if we hadn’t fallen prey to the sunk cost fallacy; why should our reward for bashing up Woolley Shoulder be even worse scree?
That night, temps dropped below 0, and we woke up to a layer of frost over the scree. Now, any solid rock surfaces were as slippery as a freshly waxed ski. We aborted our alpine start and waited for the sun to rise and begin melting some of the frost. In hindsight, this was a mistake; we should have aborted the entire climb. Almost immediately, we found ourselves at the wrong end of a firing range; we dodged baseball-sized rocks as we beelined for the start of the route. At times, we had to shelter behind rock outcroppings as rocks whizzed by. Other times, we had to hold on and pray; there was nowhere to hide, and we were on hard fourth-class terrain that did not allow us to acrobatically dodge inbound rocks. The worst rock fall though happened on pitch six. This pitch requires you to cross from the left side of the couloir into the couloir proper for roughly 15 metres before exiting out right. While in the couloir, you are a sitting duck; a large region above funnels directly into the narrow slot, meaning overhead hazard is significant with no way to dodge it. I ran up the pitch, placing no gear while in the couloir. 30 to 45 seconds after exiting, a dramatic rockfall event occurred: the whole side of the mountain shook as the couloir was blitzed by rocks, ranging in size from pebbles to mini-fridges. Anyone in the couloir would have been reduced to pink mist; every cubic centimetre had been covered during the rockfall.
Besides this event, the climbing itself was easy. The route-finding was fairly easy (given how well we researched the route ahead of time), and the technical difficulties were never worse than 5.6; I led the entire route in my hybrid trail runners/mountaineering boots. This is perhaps the most damning trait of the route; the climbing is remarkably mediocre and uninteresting. The pitches involve no interesting or satisfying climbing; the route is little more than a loose, poorly protected scramble that is just technically difficult enough to make things risky. Pitch 9 in particular was a bit chossy even by bad-Rockies-route standards; I placed a single cam in the 60 metre pitch for lack of good placements, and few to no holds were properly attached to the mountain. It is hard to convey over text just how unworthwhile these mediocre pitches feel; you pay the price to access them with endless scree bashing, only to climb a route that would be ignored by most even if it could be accessed from a parking lot in downtown Banff.
The descent was equally tedious. We managed to get our ropes stuck on one of the rappels, and our use of a Dyneema tagline complicated things (it was hard to pull, and quick to tangle). By the time we got back to the high bivy, it was late enough that we decided to do an improvised bivy outside of the now-occupied tent. Using ropes as sleeping pads, we shivered our way through the night before continuing down and out the next morning.
The only reason why the route scores higher than a 0 is the summit ridge. Never before have I seen such a beautiful view. The Twins and Mount Columbia rise 2,000 metres from the valley floor. Seracs topple regularly, making otherworldly, thunderous booming noises as you climb and throughout the night. Mount Alberta is worth climbing, just not by the Japanese route.
Recommended alternative: Get stronger and climb the NE ridge. The rock is reportedly more solid, the climbing is more interesting, and the route is more protected from rockfall. Research the descent incredibly well beforehand, since you go down via the Japanese route.
Type of classic:
A storied route. A classic only because people don’t shut up about it. People should probably shut up about it before more people get hurt or killed on it. Getting drunk and playing in traffic is probably safer and more enjoyable than climbing this route. People who say they want to climb this route are probably confused about the value climbing provides to their lives, or the role that this route will play in bringing them that value.
Mount Assiniboine, North Ridge (II, AD, 5.5)
Fred Beckey’s 100 Favorite North American Climbs
Trip Dates: September 3-4, 2020
Participants: Noah Macdonald, Jesse Aj Scotland, Austin Goodine
RATING: 5.5/10
Mount Assiniboine is well-known as the Matterhorn of the Rockies; photos of it taken from the north always look spectacular. Two weeks before my ascent, I had climbed Lunette Peak (a sub-summit of negligible prominence) but verglas had turned us away from Assiniboine’s true summit. We came back with the intention of climbing the North Ridge, which is the classic route on the mountain. Graded 5.5, it is often done as an introductory alpine climb.
We approached from the BC side and made our way to the hut. We originally intended to camp outside the hut, but harsh winds forced us inside. The wind was loud enough to wake me several times over the course of the night; I doubt our flimsy three-season tent would have survived. The next morning, we set up the ridge expecting to be forced down by conditions. The winds did not abate, and I was nearly blown off the scramble portion low down several times. Luckily, the wind died down just as we arrived at the first crux, the red band. Our party soloed this step, opting to leave our one shared half rope in the pack. Above the red band, Assiniboine was blanketed in snow and ice; conditions were even worse than on our previous attempt up the other side of the mountain. But we donned our crampons (which in my case consisted of strapping Petzl Irvis crampons to my approach shoes) and began frontpointing up a sheet of moderately-steep ice to reach more snow-and-ice covered fourth class scrambling.
When we arrived at the true crux – a single pitch of 5.5 climbing called the grey band – I lost my nerve and called for the rope. Austin led the pitch, placing a single cam in an icy crack. Jesse and I followed, and exited to the summit ridge. I insisted on descending with 11 rappels, which is far more than proper summer conditions would require; I wasn’t taking any chances downclimbing verglas in strap-on crampons.
While the route looks beautiful from afar, the actual climbing is mediocre. It consists mostly of exposed and loose limestone scrambling, with two short technical pitches. Especially low down on the route, there is a distinct risk of rockfall from parties above you.
Recommended alternative: Edith Cavell’s East Ridge. This is also an 11,000er, and the climbing is similar; mostly a scramble with two technical pitches. The descent is a bit more pleasant and involves no rappels, and the route is quartzite instead of limestone.
Type of classic: Trade route. If not so easy and photogenic, it wouldn’t get done nearly as much. It is also an aesthetic route (the line is remarkable) though perhaps not a quality route.
Eisenhower Tower, Southeast Ridge (Dragon’s Back Route) (II, AD-, 5.6)
Fred Beckey’s 100 Favorite North American Climbs
Trip Date: May 26, 2023
Participants: Noah Macdonald, Carl Glaser
RATING: 6/10
My original intention had been to solo the route, but my friend Carl was also keen on the climb so I invited him to tag along. The route has a moderate approach that involves some enjoyable low-grade scrambling, before throwing you onto the “dragon’s back,” which has the feeling of an alpine ridge after a single pitch of climbing. Crossing to the actual tower is best done with a single pitch of 5.7 handcrack in quartzite; it looks harder than it is. The route itself is no harder than 5.5, with easy route-finding; there are a good number of anchors on the face, so even if you get “lost” you’ll probably be on a route of a similar grade. A good day out on mostly good rock, with some rather unexciting climbing.
Recommended alternative: Grassi Ridge on Wiwaxy peak is more enjoyable and aesthetic. The grade is similar (though perhaps slightly harder) and the approach up the Lake O’Hara road is a bit of a walk if you fail to book the bus, but I would recommend it over Eisenhower Tower as a place to apply alpine skills.
Type of classic: A trade route. It is good for introducing beginners to alpine climbing, as it is neither particularly hard nor committing, and the climbing is good by Rockies Standards. I would do it again as a quick scramble if I was passing by the area.
Mount Temple, East Ridge (IV, D, 5.4)
50 Classic Climbs of North America
July 26, 2023.
Participants: Noah Macdonald, Christopher Candela
RATING: 6.5/10
Mount Temple has a tremendous number of routes on it. The north face holds a number of aesthetic and storied routes; Steve House broke his back on the Greenwood-Locke back in 2010. The southwest ridge, on the other side, holds throngs of scramblers; I once saw a barefoot trail runner ascending it! But perhaps the most talked-about route on the mountain is the East Ridge.
Access to the route used to be reasonably easy; you would pull out on the Moraine Lake road, climb the route, then walk back to your car. However, the summer of 2023 was the first where the road was closed to all personal vehicles, complicating access. You can either sort out the logistics of accessing it with one of the commercial buses, or do as we did and bike from the Lake Louise parking lot. Parking was outrageously expensive with a fee of $21 for the day (a sum that will probably look tiny to future readers of this trip report; I imagine it will only keep getting more expensive).
The route begins with a long walk up an avalanche path. Quickly, it transitions to fun scrambling on solid rock; the lower portion of the route has some of the best quartzite scrambling around. One short pitch of easy and well-protected climbing brings you to more scrambling, which in turn brings you to the four-pitch crux (“the big step”). The climbing here is no harder than 5.7, and is rather enjoyable and well-protected. Unfortunately, the scrambling that comes after is rather tedious; the rock transitions back into limestone, and the typical Rockies scree-bashing ensues. After what feels like an eternity, you traverse out climber’s left to get into the “Black Towers.” We had no trouble finding our way up through the Black Towers, but I could imagine this being rather tricky if you do not research the route well ahead of time.
Several pitches of very low-grade (scarcely protected) climbing between bolted anchors will deposit you at the base of the summit glacier, at which point you don your crampons, whip out your axes, and meander over to the summit, sticking as close the ridge as is possible. Descend via the SW ridge, exiting through Moraine Lake, before walking back to your bikes and returning to Lake Louise.
While this route typically gets a ton of praise, I thought that the amazing quartzite was slightly spoiled by the limestone nonsense above. The summit glacier was also amazing, and the fact that the descent involves no rappelling (a walk off!) is rather nice. Prepare for a big day, possibly other parties on route, and make sure you’re comfortable on limestone scrambles and low-grade unprotected trad climbing.
Recommended alternative: The Grand Sentinel is better in almost every way. If you do both the trad line and the sport-bolted line (Cardiac Arête), you get plenty of technical climbing in a more interesting position, with less chossy nonsense. The access is also a bit easier, now that the road is closed to personal vehicles.
Type of classic: A trade route. This one is a clear step up from Eisenhower Tower, but it also gets done frequently. Perhaps the best route to show all that the Rockies has to offer, but not necessarily the most enjoyable or consistently high-quality climbing, and all crammed into a very long day.
Slesse, Northeast Buttress (V, TD, 5.9)
50 Classic Climbs of North America & Fred Beckey’s 100 Favorite North American Climbs
Trip Dates: September 6-8, 2021
Participants: Noah Macdonald, Jacob Aragones
RATING: 7/10
This was my (and Jacob’s) first alpine grade V, TD route. Appropriately, we had a bit of an epic on the route. The full trip report is a wild story, but I will spare the details here. In short: neither of us researched the route as well as we should have, we both got severely dehydrated (and there was no snow on the summit or upper ridge, as there is most years), I bonked, and we got benighted on the descent. Ultimately, we opted to descend the wrong way (towards the Slesse River Valley) instead of trying to find the rappels, since we knew we could get to water faster that way. This worked wonderfully but meant that we had a 30+ km walk out the next day, and our two-day climb turned into a three-day climb, forcing us to miss the first day of classes.
As is commonly said: good judgment comes from experience, and experience comes from poor judgment. Our epic was attributable to our poor judgment, rather than the route itself. I have since tried very hard to learn from this trip and never repeat any of the same mistakes, which is what I believe to be the appropriate response to having an epic.
That being said, there were a handful of difficulties that were not wholly attributable to poor judgment. The rock is a bit looser on this route; rockfall destroyed my helmet on the second day. Likewise, the route-finding is a bit more complicated than some other routes labelled as classics. The descent was especially confusing, though that might have had more to do with our lack of research and rather poor condition on day two. There are objective hazards on this route; namely, the overhead hazard from the Slesse Pocket Glacier on the approach. The lower portion of the route (especially the unroped scrambling at the beginning) is especially dangerous. The year after our ascent, another VOCer lost his life on this route. It ought to be taken seriously – far more seriously than we initially took it.
Recommended alternative: From the same parking lot, the other side of the valley hosts the Nesakwatch spires and Mt. Rexford. There are many routes there that require a bit of a more involved approach, but that are less committing and perhaps more solid. Those climbs also tend to be less crowded than Slesse.
Type of classic: Aesthetic route. The route is on an amazing feature of a sharp and foreboding peak. The climbing is mostly good. It can get crowded, making it somewhat of a trade route, and certainly for many VOCers it is a test piece. However, the fundamental draw is still its position and quality.
Gimli Peak, South Ridge (III, D-, 5.10a)
Fred Beckey’s 100 Favorite North American Climbs
Trip Dates: June 22-24, 2023
Participants: Noah Macdonald, Toomas Meema
RATING: 8.5/10
Conditions in the Rockies and Bugaboos were looking fairly grim, but the Valhallas were shaping up nicely. Toomas and I decided to drive out from the Bow Valley to climb Gimli, having heard good things about the route. It’s never a good sign when you need to drive for longer than you will be on the route itself, but Gimli is worth it.
Our trip had a rough start; Toomas realized in the car that he had forgotten to bring approach shoes, and was limited to his sandals and climbing shoes for the trip. We planned to stop in Revelstoke and see if he could find second-hand approach shoes or hiking boots, but our early departure meant that nothing was open. To pass the time, we went climbing at a crag called Waterworld. I cannot recommend this crag strongly enough; you rappel in over the reservoir, then pull your ropes and climb out on beautiful quartzite. Despite our detour, we were later unsuccessful at locating reasonably priced shoes, and so Toomas resolved to do the approach in his sandals.
The road to the trailhead is vaguely reminiscent of the drive into the Bugaboos; it is a forest service road that you could probably drive up in a Honda Civic if you were willing to drive adventurously. At the trailhead, we camped in my car. We were the only ones in the lot, but I suspect that is partly because of how early in the season it was. Unfortunately, it was tough to find a level place to park. While I mostly succeeded, it was not the best rest I’ve ever had.
The approach was very reasonable (even easier than the approach to Applebee Dome in the Bugaboos). A few downed trees hindered progress, but it was otherwise quite tame and quite short. Soon, we were racking up at the base of the climb, with several curious goats keeping us company.
The first pitch was a very stiff and sustained 5.8 that Toomas quickly led. I dispatched pitch two (5.7) without much hassle, but pitch three (5.7) was more runout than I had anticipated, and I was glad not to be leading it. Pitches four and five were straightforward and quickly brought us to the crux, which I found to be easy but cryptic. The route tempts you to move out left just below the obvious roof by providing a small handful of crimps; resist using them, or else the pitch might feel more like a runout 5.11. Instead, power up to the roof, where some jugs and good gear appear upon inspection. I pulled the roof, downclimbed to clean my gear out of the roof to minimize drag (I had not adequately extended), then pulled the roof once more and set off. While pitch 7 is meant to be the final technical pitch, we elected to keep the rope on and simul climb the scramble to the false summit. The climb was wet and snowy, making the scramble far more engaging than it would be in dry conditions. Upon reaching the false summit, Toomas threw in the towel; the remainder of the route was completely covered in snow. I continued, kicking steps in the snow (in my rock shoes!) to gain the true summit.
While the normal descent involves scrambling down a different (4th class) route, we opted to rappel the route. We added cord to most stations, making it down without incident. Curiously, another party had attempted the route behind us but bailed after making it to the lunch ledge halfway up. They had left no cord, and there was no boulder that they could have safely wrapped their rope around to rappel without a trace; I still have no idea how they managed to get off the climb. After a baffled look around for an anchor, we made our own with cord, and finished the descent. We slept in the car again that night, then returned to Waterworld on the drive home and climbed Pirates of the Waterworld (5.10b, 3 pitches), which takes the prize for my favourite sport route at the grade.
On the whole, Gimli’s South Ridge is a great route in the middle of nowhere. Be sure to stop by Waterworld if coming in from the east. It’s worth the drive.
Type of classic: Aesthetic route. A beautiful line on a beautiful peak. High quality climbing on good rock, most (but not all) of which is well protected. It can be popular, but not to the same extent as classics in the Bugaboos.
Mt. Sir Donald, NW Ridge (III, D-, 5.4)
Fred Beckey’s 100 Favorite North American Climbs
August 23-24, 2022
Participants: Noah Macdonald, John McMechan
RATING: 9/10
Some routes take persistence to complete, even if they are technically easy. For me, Sir Donald was one such route. I had attempted it the previous two years on my birthday – August 9th. Each year I would go up to the bivy on the 8th, then get shut down by unforecasted bad weather the next day. 2020 gave me negative temperatures and verglas, which caused me and Maria Berno to bail. In 2021 I went back to solo the route, but clouds and a few raindrops forced me to bail; quartzite is very slippery when wet, meaning rain and free soloing do not mix. I returned (albeit not on my birthday) with John McMechan to finish it off. We used the same tactics as the first time I tried it; we would solo the easiest bits, then simul climb the rest. The ridge is not hard by any account, but there have been enough fatalities on the route to motivate the use of a rope if you have enough daylight to warrant a slightly slower pace.
On the whole, the route-finding is very easy; stay on the ridge! Do not get tempted out left by easier looking terrain; if you are more than 10 metres from the ridge, you’ve made a mistake. Parks Canada has a useful brochure detailing the descent route, which does deviate from the ridge near the bottom. Be sure to take note of the first bolts you find while climbing up, as those bolts mark the beginning of the lower deviation.
This climb is mostly 4th/low-5th with a small selection of steep harder-feeling moves. The rock is mostly very solid (though people have pulled off blocks and died in the past, so be sure to still exercise caution). I find this type of climbing to be perfect for an enjoyable and easy day out; the main thing to be aware of is time, as the ridge feels like it goes on forever.
Type of classic: This one checks almost all the boxes for me. It is definitely a trade route; you’ll be very lucky if you have this one to yourself. It is an incredibly aesthetic line on a beautiful mountain, and the views are spectacular. The route is also incredibly storied, given how many people have a connection to the mountain. My personal connection is rather strong too: my grandparents were helicopter-evacuated off the mountain after a large rockfall event nearly crushed them at the lower bivy several decades ago. Perhaps it might be considered a test piece for scramblers looking to break into mountaineering, but the climbing itself is not technically challenging. Prepare for a long day if you are not confident soloing low-5th.
South Howser Tower, Beckey-Chouinard (V, TD+, 5.10c)
50 Classic Climbs of North America & Fred Beckey’s 100 Favorite North American Climbs
Trip Dates: July 21-23, 2023
Participants: Noah Macdonald, Michael Ravensbergen
RATING: 10/10
Climbing the Beckey-Chouinard feels like climbing in a dream. You have protection anywhere you could ask for it, but you don’t place it often; the jams are so good that you couldn’t possibly fall. 60-metre pitch after 60-metre pitch brings you higher up the wall, with exposure that makes you feel like you are in a climbing film.
2023 had been a particularly bad year for the snowpack; by late July, the Bugaboo-Snowpatch Col was unquestionably out, meaning the approach to the Beckey-Chouinard was best done over the Bugaboo glacier. As it turns out, this approach is surprisingly tame; the route goes up left from the Kain rather than right, and then easy glacier travel takes you to Pigeon-Howser col. There are some fair-sized crevasses on this approach, so stay roped up once the angle kicks up near Pigeon Spire. The descent to East Creek can – according to the internet – also be done via a steeper and sketchier couloir near the Pigeon Feathers. However, seeing it from the bottom and conversations with others at East Creek make me believe that this route is a very bad idea in contrast to the standard descent.
Once at East Creek, we set up camp, then set off to scout the approach while we had daylight. We hoped this would make the initial 200 metres of scrambling easier the following morning, and ultimately, we were glad we did it. An early bedtime helped facilitate our 2:22am start time the following morning; we cruised the approach then set onto the route. We chose to simul-climb the first three pitches and protected the climbing with progress capture devices. From pitch 4 onwards, I took over leading. In my eyes, pitch 4 was the hardest on the route; the flaring finger cracks below the roof did not take protection as well as I might have hoped relative to the difficulty. The “crux” move itself was an easy move on jugs though, and I managed to onsight the pitch. The climbing eased off, with the highlight of the whole route being the perfect hand cracks in The Great Dihedral; I have never climbed a more enjoyable crack.
A second crux came when I decided to follow the party in front of me up an amazing-looking hand jam on pitch 10 that was almost certainly off-route. I saw them struggle up it – which made me know it was possible – and decided to give it a burn as well. The pitch was steeper than it looked from down low, with a distinct crux move that managed to spit me off when I fumbled moving a jam higher up. Luckily, it was a short fall onto a perfect cam placement. I got it on the next try, and we ate our lunch on the bivy ledge. We quickly continued up, and I opted to climb the wide 5.9 chimney alternative to the 5.10 finger cracks. Bumping my #4 worked well here, though it was occasionally tipped out. When we reached pitch 14, Michael decided to take a stab at leading and brought us up to the base of the final pitch. One more lead on my part, and we were at the final scramble, where we unroped. Unfortunately, we messed up our route finding here, having underestimated the complexity of the final push to the summit. We brought out the rope, and one bonus 5.7 pitch unlocked the summit.
The descent went smoothly. I only brought a Gri-Gri, and so rappelled first on a stone hitch, with Michael following afterwards. The rappels are all bolted, and as long as you research the route first, they’re fairly easy to find. The main beta I can contribute is that the descent works with a single 60 metre rope (assuming it can stretch). My 60 metre, 9 mm Mammut single rope brought us to the final rappel. There, I used a blocked rappel and extended the pull end of the rope with 12 metres of 6 mm cord that I had brought up the route. This was sufficient to get us across the bergschrund with plenty to spare; the extension had probably been unnecessary.
Just over 19 hours after starting, we made our way back into camp and crashed for the night. In the morning, I had a good chat with Will Stanhope about a paper I was writing at the time about aesthetic value and risk, and learned a bit more about All Along The Watchtower: his second favourite route in the Bugaboos (after the Tom Egan Memorial route, which fell off in a huge rockfall event on Snowpatch a few months prior). It also happens to be the king line of my climbing bucket list. Alex Honnold, Tommy Caldwell, and a few other major climbing celebrities had also been at East Creek while we were there, but we never ran into them; they were off filming hard climbing every time we were hanging around (awake) in camp.
I cannot recommend this route strongly enough. It gets crowded (though we were lucky enough to share it with only a single party) so go during a weekday weather window if possible. But even then, it’s worth sharing with the crowds. I strongly recommend doing it in a day push from East Creek; it’s a beautiful campsite, and this tactic prevents you from climbing with the annoyance of heavy packs. Bring a fair amount of water, and consider bringing a double rack up to #4 (a second #4 or even a #5 being unnecessary, but possibly nice luxuries). A single 60 metre rope is more than sufficient. Make sure your ropework and rappelling skills are reasonably advanced. This should not be your first route in the Bugs, but it should certainly be on your list.
Type of classic: This one checks all the boxes. But above all else, it is aesthetic; it is a beautiful line on a beautiful peak with wonderful climbing.
Mount Robson, The Kain Face (V, AD+, 50° Snow)
Fred Beckey’s 100 Favorite North American Climbs
Trip Dates: May 7th-10th, 2024
Participants: Noah Macdonald, Charles-Antoine Leblanc
RATING: 10/10
I wrote a rather long trip report detailing my climb & ski descent of Robson, so I won’t elaborate too much here. All I can say is that Robson cannot be understood merely by looking at the grade and the distance/elevation stats; setting foot on the mountain is to experience something quite unlike anything else in the Rockies. Robson embodies a sort of grandness that is hard to find anywhere else. The Kain Face offers an experience that leaves me no doubt as to its classic status.
Type of classic: This one also checks all the boxes; it is a classic line in every sense of the term (especially if skied).
Very nice pictures. I like the goat reading the sign. But I prefer trip reports where a mob of inexperienced people make mistakes and learn from them.