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Brian in SLC
Social climber
Salt Lake City, UT
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Dec 13, 2014 - 01:48pm PT
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Heady stuff, Mark. Thanks for that update.
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fear
Ice climber
hartford, ct
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Dec 13, 2014 - 05:44pm PT
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Interesting stuff about those persistent pedestals...
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'Pass the Pitons' Pete
Big Wall climber
like Ontario, Canada, eh?
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Dec 13, 2014 - 08:27pm PT
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Thanks for that, Mark.
I well remember the article of the first [and only] winter ascent of the Cassin Ridge in Mountain Mag back around 1982. The guys had seven layers on their feet, and still all got frostbite. I remember they started by coating their feet with Mitchum anti-perspirant, and then wrapping their feet with some sort of vapour layer. Do cold weather mountaineers still do this?
Perhaps our resident librarian Steve Grossman could find this article, and scan it for us to read.
Brrrr.... I get cold just thinking about it.
Best of luck to buddy from Italy!
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climbski2
Mountain climber
Anchorage AK, Reno NV
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Dec 13, 2014 - 10:17pm PT
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Bunny boots are the ones you were thinking of. Inflated rubber bladder boots, You can put strap on crampons on them. They have almost NO ankle support and have flexible soles. Unpleasant to use on moderately steep ground with heavy packs. Depending on the person they can be warm to about 50 below if fit sloppily with enough socks . They are a vapor barrier boot and your feet do get quite wet in them. I seem to recal you could get some outfitted with a sole designed for clip on crampons.
Bunny boots are not the warmest boots made. There are "moon boot" or Mukluk type boots that can be purchased and will keep your feet toasty and dry to 70 below. However they are very sloppy from a technical standpoint and putting strapons on them would cut their warmth immensely and you still would not have enough control for technical climbing.
As far as I know no one has made a good technical boot that can handle 70below with real confidence. (not much of a market I guess) I wouldn't try any technical route without designing a boot for it.
Its a difficult task you will need about an inch to inch and a half of insulation on the sole without sacrificing a stable platform..You will need to hold the foot down onto that platform without compressing the above foot insulation or cutting off circulation. The upper ankle corner would need to be flexible at these temps the whole outer material could not get brittle.
I have been out for extended periods at 65 below. it is possible to stay toasty warm in those conditions. Even too warm..But it is difficult to do tasks and camp due to huge mittens. Oh and if I were to do it again I would clip my eyelashes as they tend to frost and freeze together and close your eyes or freeze to you balaclava(s) and keep them open. If there is any wind at all you can frostbite your eyes. I never did..not sure why? I didn't always wear goggles.
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Watermann2
Big Wall climber
Saluzzo Italia
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Topic Author's Reply - Dec 14, 2014 - 01:46am PT
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Good morning everyone.Excuse-me for language.
I think, as he also said the great Jeff Lowe, who climb the great Waterman to Mount Hunter, (also said by LOWE) is the largest solitary climb of all time, I would say even more difficult to do the CASSIN in winter solo( of course is just my opinion). What did the legendary WATERMAN is the greatest masterpiece in the history of solo !
The Hunter climb defies being put in perspective. It was a new route, a first solo ascent of the peak, and the first traverse. The second ascent of John's route has received wide coverage as a very serious undertaking. (See, among other articles, Peter Athans' account in AAJ, 1981.) Who can imagine how it felt to go first and solo? Yet when other superior climbers were concentrating on ever faster and lighter styles, John devoted an INCREDIBLE 145 DAYS( CHAPEAU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! to one of the slowest and heaviest climbs in history. He freely admitted to bouts of loneliness, rage, frustration and tears, yet he held himself together, nursed his food supplies, and completed the climb.
Greetings to all and thanks for your answers, Gigi (great admirer of the great super JOHN WATERMAN
Saluzzo Italy.
Six months after the winter outing in the White Mountains, Guy let Snyder take Johnny to Alaska on a climbing expedition to Mount McKinley. The teenager became the third youngest person to stand on the highest point in North America.
The ascent was the first of Johnny's many formidable achievements in Alaska and a moment of crowning pride for his father. Then, in 1978, Johnny produced his masterpiece—a 145-day solo expedition INCREDIBLE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! on 14,573-foot [4,442 meter] Mount Hunter, the third highest peak in the Alaska Range.
Of that feat, American climber JEFF LOWE once wrote, "There is nothing else in the history of mountaineering with which to compare it." Three years later, Johnny vanished while soloing on McKinley. The grief that seized Guy never really let him go.
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Andy de klerk
Mountain climber
South Africa
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Dec 14, 2014 - 10:18am PT
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Here is Mike Youngs article that was published in Mountain Mag also published in the AAJ
Cassin Ridge in Winter
publications.americanalpineclub.org/articles/12198309300/print
Leading up to the Cassin Ridge is the Japanese Couloir, a 2000-foot, 40°-to-50° gully of rock and .... Personnel: Roger Mear, Jonathan Waterman, Michael Young .
AAC Publications - http://publications.americanalpineclub.org
Cassin Ridge in Winter
Cassin Ridge in Winter
Michael Young, Colorado Outward Bound School
OUR INTENT had been to climb Mount Logan in winter. Seldom visited in summer, we knew of no winter attempts on North America’s second highest peak. Only weeks before we were to leave for the Yukon, our fourth climber opted for warmer activities. The Canadian Park Service refused to let groups of less than four enter Kluane National Park. Even farther north, Mount McKinley was a logical alternative.
McKinley’s first winter ascent was in 1967. In his book Minus 148, Art Davidson details the grim adventure of that ascent where one climber died falling unroped into a crevasse and the rest of the party nearly perished while trapped in a blizzard near the summit for several days. Horror stories like this did not seem to inhibit other winter attempts over subsequent years, but few made it further than the glacier below the mountain. Stories circulated of arctic conditions with sustained 100-mph winds and temperatures of -70°.
Why climb Mount McKinley in the winter with its arctic storms and minimal daylight? After most of the great mountain summits around the world had been climbed, the focus changed to climbing mountains by their most difficult routes. In the 1970s the emphasis changed to “classic” routes in parties of one to four without porters and with lightning speed. A winter ascent of a difficult route in a subarctic region would perhaps further extend the boundaries of mountaineering.
As climbers gain confidence and experience, they often wish to simplify their gear. Ironically, as they improve, they attempt more difficult climbs requiring more sophisticated equipment. During the planning stages for our arctic winter climb we knew that our gear could easily be a limiting factor. Much of it required extensive modifications. Wool and natural fibers were used minimally. We wore polypropolene underwear next to our skin and then a one piece Dumart suit. Covering that we had pile suits. Our outer layer was of double thickness Thinsulate covered with Gore-Tex. Our faces were hidden by goggles, silk and wool balaclavas. In the coldest conditions we used neoprene face masks and a large hood attached to the oversuit. Footwear was our greatest concern. Vapor-barrier boots are warm but too floppy for the difficult climbing we anticipated. We used plastic double boots with vapor-barrier liners and neoprene over-boots. For hand protection we brought thick wool mittens with fiber-filled outer shells.
After the typical last-minute crises of gear sorting, food purchasing and equipment modifications, in the middle of February Roger Mear, Jon Waterman and I made our way to Talkeetna. With only a minimal delay we were flown to the “airstrip” on the southeast fork of the Kahiltna Glacier. As we arrived, a party of four were vacating the airstrip after an unsuccessful attempt on the West Buttress of McKinley. They had struggled with the winds for two weeks only to make it six miles up the glacier. We stashed our things and ourselves in their old snow hole. Eager to test our gear, we attempted to assemble our new large-dome tent. In the severe cold the shock cords lost their elasticity and were unusable. A pole snapped. The tent was retired. Our alternative was Roger’s two-man tent made for people five feet seven. Roger is five feet seven. Jon and I are six feet two.
In surprisingly mild weather (temperatures of -12° to -30° F) we moved up-glacier carrying loads to the base of the Cassin Ridge. We hauled plastic sleds and wore skis with skins. To avoid the cramped quarters of our mini-tent and the winter winds, we routinely dug snow holes. Each day we learned more of the tricks of keeping warm and dry. Our days were broken down into cycles of eight hours of sleep time, ten hours of maintenance tasks and six hours of walking or climbing. Daylight was less of a problem than we anticipated. We had nearly ten hours of traveling light and our small lantern illuminated our snow homes.
Leading up to the Cassin Ridge is the Japanese Couloir, a 2000-foot, 40°-to-50° gully of rock and smooth water ice. We determined to climb the mountain in alpine style. Shouldering enormous packs, we ascended the gully, ignoring the dozens of partly buried and chopped fixed ropes left behind by previous parties. The advent of front-pointing and drooped picks has eliminated the need for fixed lines on nearly all ice routes. The thought of 2000 feet of step-chopping on ten-point crampons seemed awesome to us. At twilight we reached the ridge crest, a knife-edged cornice, dropping away to the glacier 2000 feet below us. We traversed to a rock buttress providing a two-foot ledge over 30 feet in length. Fatigue tempered our concerns about our exposed bivouac site. Too soon it was time to melt chunks of snow and ice for breakfast cocoa.
The technical crux of the climb presented itself to us early the next morning. For years climbers have argued about the difficulty of the rock on the Cassin. It is frequently described as 5.7 or 5.8. As we grunted and scraped our way with crampons over the granite slabs wearing 70-pound packs, I was sure the climb was easily 5.10. In Yosemite wearing EBs on a summer day it might be graded as 5.1.
The long nights gave us time to discuss many things, including the difference between winter and summer climbing in subarctic regions. Despite the weakness of the sun, icefalls still released blocks the size of trucks with about the same frequency as in summer. The snow on the glaciers was predictably less packed in winter but above 11,000 feet there were no consistent differences. The ridge itself was mainly blown clear of new snow and the clutter and waste of previous parties was grossly apparent. During our month the most profound contrast with summer was that the temperatures never warmed to above -12° F. There was seldom a time when we could sit outside comfortably for more than a few minutes. Our sleeping bags became crusty and meticulous attention to clothing was needed to stay dry. Discipline is needed to avoid frostbite to the extremities and it was only moments of inattention that brought me superficial frostbite later on the trip.
Above the rock ridge, the route narrowed to an arête of rock and snow. We moved steadily across the arête kicking steps under the brilliant sun until mid-afternoon when we uncovered a crevasse for our evening headquarters. In another two days we reached 16,000 feet and were able to make contact with a CB operator named Kansas Sunflower who lives just north of Anchorage. He relayed our progress and departure plans on to our pilot. Roger and I spent that night in the tent and Jon slept outside in his bivouac sack ecstatically describing the brilliant northern lights sweeping across the mountain. Satisfied with his description, I burrowed further into my sleeping bag.
Most of the climbing above 16,000 feet on the Cassin is on moderate snow-and-ice slopes. Up to that point we had moved together through the technical terrain placing occasional runners and infrequent belays, perhaps more out of habit than logic or need. Weaving in and out of the rocks in the ice gullies over short rock ramps reminded me of Scottish winter climbing. On the final 4000 feet to the summit we abandoned extra gear and, unroped, we walked up the final steep slope.
Gaining several thousand feet of altitude a day, we were far from fully acclimatized. Except when confronting freeze-dried dinners, my appetite was good and I was able to sleep at night. Sleeping fully clothed has its advantages. Morning departures, however, were slowed by our cramped tenting quarters and inertia. We had one tent for the three of us. One by one, we put on our boots while those waiting savored another few moments of warmth in their sleeping bags.
On our fifth evening on the ridge we chopped out a small platform among rocks covered with rime ice. Jon was not feeling well and woke up with a nightmare about suffocation. The next morning was clearly our coldest but the thermometer was lost or broken. Roger and I both complained of numb toes and started up the slope. In about 30 minutes we reached the summit ridge. Dropping our packs the two of us walked up the 400 feet to North America’s highest point. Approaching the summit cornice I briefly reminisced about broken relationships, family and the green world below. I noted the bamboo and aluminum rods staking out the highest snow block. Instead of exultation I felt irritation at earlier climbers for marring a sculpture finer than any art work.
Back at our packs we saw Jon struggling up the last few hundred feet to the summit ridge. I walked down to him and relieved him of his pack. He was too fatigued and we were too cold for him to climb the final section to the summit. We started down the West Buttress route. Jon resembled a man living a nightmare with sunken eyes staring at the ground. He took prolonged rest stops while Roger and I danced up and down to stay warm. At 17,200 feet we camped in brilliant sunshine. During the night the weather deteriorated. In near white-out conditions we broke camp. Jon was still suffering from fatigue. I helped him dress and pack while Roger organized the group gear. Roger walked with Jon encouraging him on while I fumbled ahead looking for wands and the best footing down the windy descent route. Jon stated that he would descend no further than the crevasse at 15,000 feet. Since we had only one day of food and fuel, Roger and I independently concluded that we would have to leave him if he refused to move further down-glacier. We were spared that choice when we spotted a party moving up the glacier. Five British mountaineers shared an enormous snow cave with us that night, as well as the English cooking that horrifies the world. Jon recovered his strength during the night. He felt that he had been suffering from pulmonary edema, but it may have been other forms of acute mountain sickness with nausea, lassitude and fatigue. His respiratory rate and pulse were normal, he had normal airway sounds and was able to sleep at night with his head lower than his feet.
Our longest day was after leaving the British party and walking the 12 miles back to the airstrip. The final mile was sadly uphill. I wore snowshoes picked up from a previous camp to protect my toes which were beginning to blister with frostbite. Ahead of me Roger and Jon post-holed but moved steadily ahead with the patience of Job.
The airstrip in summer is often a tent-city with as many as several hundred temporary residents. Except for a forlorn wooden pole guarding the entrance of our snowcave, the glacier was deserted. We dug our way down to our subterranean home where bagels and a canned ham formed our victory dinner. Exhaustion dulled our sense of accomplishment. Decreased mutual dependency diminished our tolerance for each other’s oddities. Irritably we tolerated each other’s presence over the next few days waiting for the plane. Incredibly, our pilot flew in late one afternoon, dropping off three Spaniards who hoped to climb the north face of Hunter. Later we found that he had shouted down our snow hole but the snores of two sleeping climbers and the sounds of a walkeman radio drowned out his call. He flew away believing us still on the mountain.
After five days of waiting, Roger went with one of the Spaniards to rescue gear abandoned up-glacier. Less than a mile from Base Camp, he fell 30 feet into a crevasse, tearing knee ligaments. The Spanish climbers hauled him back to camp. Jon, like me, was nursing frostbitten toes. And so we three cripples sat in our snow cave with its blackened ceiling from the lantern smoke, eating macaroni and cheese. The following day another pilot, flying up glacier to rescue gear from an airplane that had crashed earlier that winter, spotted our huge S.O.S. and initiated our evacuation to civilization.
Summary of Statistics:
Area: Alaska Range.
First Winter Ascent: Mount McKinley, 6193 meters, 20,320 feet, via Cassin Ridge; on the glacier and mountain from February 17 to March 13, 1982, on the Cassin Ridge from February 27 to March 4, 1982.
Personnel: Roger Mear, Jonathan Waterman, Michael Young.
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'Pass the Pitons' Pete
Big Wall climber
like Ontario, Canada, eh?
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Dec 14, 2014 - 10:58am PT
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I actually had to go upstairs and pour myself a hot cup of coffee, then burrowed under the covers before reading the story above!
Good grief - did they really climb the route without any down clothing? Why? Did they fear it would get wet, and use synthetic instead. Polypro underwear had just been invented then. Thinsulate certainly wasn't very warm. In the early 80's, freeze-dried food was appalling, not the tasty dish it is today.
And then, after all that, to have to sit on the glacier for FIVE days before flying out! Oh my gosh, what a nightmare that must have been. The pilot even shouted down their snow cave, but they didn't hear him.
What an epic. Holy frig. Unbelievable they made it, really. Probably one of the greatest ascents ever in North American mountaineering.
So you're really going to give this thing a go, Gigi??? Mama mia - that's-ah spicy meatah-ballah!
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MarkWestman
Trad climber
Talkeetna, Alaska
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Dec 14, 2014 - 01:27pm PT
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Jon Waterman's account of the ascent, which was an essay titled "The Winter of My Discontent", and which is contained within his fantastic book In the Shadow of Denali, is a riveting and very personal version of events.
In Waterman's story, the person named everywhere else as "Michael Young" (including the AAJ ref that Andy De Klerk posted above) is referred to as "Will Sayre". Does anyone know why that is? If you read the account, Waterman goes into very great detail describing his long and competitive friendship with Sayre/Young that started as youth in New Hampshire but which was ultimately ruined on this winter ascent. I always wondered if Waterman used an alias due to the personal details...or did Michael Young once go by the name of Will Sayre?
In the preface to In the Shadow of Denali, Waterman concludes with this poignant and telling statement:
I have already written a great deal about Denali. The mountain is clearly finished with me. Veteran Everest climbers have reportedly formed an Everest Anonymous group, whereby they vow never to return to the mountain again, or else face the penalty of paying the group $1000. I have a simpler solution. I refer to the words that I wrote while stranded with frostbite inside a Denali snow cave on March 9, 1982. It was thirty degrees below zero outside. My partners and I had just climbed the Cassin Ridge. My thoughts are preserved as a scrawl on the inside of a granola box, and the ink has run in places, but it's still legible:
"I don't think I've ever suffered so much in my life and I decided a week before the climb (on the glacier approach) that I would do everything I could to get up but afterward I would do something a little different with my life...Now I'm a little worried because I know about the flood of feelings; fine joyous moments and bliss and glow of after exertion and ego; those sensations that seem to envelop me after a big mt.; I'm afraid that I'll lose my resolve and just put all my energy into another big trip and become stupidly obsessed again- missing all those things other people have like a steady girlfriend, a place to live. (Also I'm concerned that I'll get killed if I keep doing trips like this one because there is no margin for error here at all). I miss greenness and real food and telemarking and just being comfortable....."
Just one quick read is all I need to keep me out of the shadow.
-Jonathan Waterman
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Andy de klerk
Mountain climber
South Africa
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Dec 15, 2014 - 10:54am PT
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It's called passion. High Alaska, the book, is a bible for many, me included.
I've often wondered about the subliminal connection that Jon had with the crazy John, and I've always admired Jon's writing and his ability to describe Alaska so beautifully.
I'll investigate this Mike Young alter ego thing and report back here. It has always intrigued me why their winter climb of Denali (since I was a teenager lapping up the Mountain Magazine articles 30 years ago) was so baldly and unemotionally described. I always took it at face value like we climbers normally do, but maybe there is more that we don't know or can't ever know. Might not be a bad thing.
What we do have though is a whole lot of respect. For bold ascents in hard conditions, and clear writing. I have enjoyed all of Jon Watermans books because they are keepers. Here is a 2011 review of "In the Shadow of Denali"
While all the “Shadow of Denali” chapters are worthy, three stand out. It’s no coincidence that all three delve deep into humanity and interpersonal relations. It happens that by chance or destiny (depending on your world-view), Jon shares his name with the “Other John Waterman.” This doppelganger prompts our Jon Waterman to dig into the psyche of a man (the other) for whom mountains became an illness. This obsessed other Waterman, after doing perhaps the longest and boldest solo climbs ever, climbed alone to his doom. If that is not enough (and it’s not), Jon devotes a chapter to that famous Denali death climb covered in the classic book “Hall of the Mountain King.” But instead of endless picayune analysis of the climb, Jon speaks of two survivors (competing leaders) who have to live with the deaths of seven men. Heady stuff. Then, for the third chapter in his core trilogy, Jon gets into his own most powerful Denali experience, his unprecedented winter ascent of the Cassin Ridge.
The Cassin chapter is called Winter of our Discontent, and you’ll reach for your parka while you turn pages. Come to think of it, after my read is when I gave up extreme winter climbing and nailed my ice tools to the garage wall as objects-de-art. The story starts out innocently enough. Jon splinters his leg ice climbing in New Hampshire, but bounces back and becomes an ice animal. He and his friends revel in winter. They climb ice gullies nude. They practically tear Mount Washington to pieces with their axes and crampons.
Naturally, it all leads to friendship and the ultimate challenge: Denali in winter. You can feel it. You debark a bush plane on a deep-freeze glacier, and step into a nightmarish world of thirty-below-zero dusk. You burrow into the ice like shell shocked infantry in no-man’s-land. You crap your nest. You climb. You wait for a wind that will kill you sure as a direct shell hit. You sicken. You’re dying. Your friends must abandon you or perhaps die as well. Read it.
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MarkWestman
Trad climber
Talkeetna, Alaska
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Dec 15, 2014 - 05:59pm PT
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It's called passion. High Alaska, the book, is a bible for many, me included.
+1, Andy! High Alaska, and Waterman's writing in general, instilled me with a deep respect and healthy fear of these mountains at a young age, at the same time as it got me psyched to work up to the biggest routes.
I'll investigate this Mike Young alter ego thing and report back here. It has always intrigued me why their winter climb of Denali (since I was a teenager lapping up the Mountain Magazine articles 30 years ago) was so baldly and unemotionally described. I always took it at face value like we climbers normally do, but maybe there is more that we don't know or can't ever know. Might not be a bad thing.
Thanks, I'll be curious what you find out. Waterman's account is as much about the damage to his friendship with Young as it is about the climb. Waterman admits in the book that he was revealing the sorts of discord that generally "stays in the mountains", and yet it seems an unavoidably critical element of telling the story. Their thorny relationship with all of its competitiveness seems ironically like it was critical to feeding the intense drive that ultimately got them onto and up the route, and to their survival.
What we do have though is a whole lot of respect. For bold ascents in hard conditions, and clear writing. I have enjoyed all of Jon Watermans books because they are keepers.
Big respect. I am glad those guys did the Cassin in winter so that no one else really has to! I've read In the Shadow many times over and it never gets old, the stories always resonate.
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hobo_dan
Social climber
Minnesota
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Dec 15, 2014 - 06:14pm PT
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Read Breaking Point by Glenn Randle for some stuff on the Waterman's 145 days on Hunter.
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MarkWestman
Trad climber
Talkeetna, Alaska
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Dec 15, 2014 - 07:51pm PT
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Breaking Point is a great book. It's been out of print forever and is now very hard to find.
Randall and Metcalf were instrumental in bringing the alpine style ethic to the big routes of the Alaska Range.
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ms55401
Trad climber
minneapolis, mn
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Dec 15, 2014 - 08:34pm PT
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Breaking Point is superb. Does anyone go to that side of Hunter these days? I recall seeing an unclimbed couloir around there that looks like it could go
has SE Spur even had a third ascent?
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MarkWestman
Trad climber
Talkeetna, Alaska
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Dec 15, 2014 - 08:54pm PT
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Mount Hunter South Side Ascents:
Southeast Spur- 3 ascents:
1) John Waterman (solo) 1978 (All three summits of Hunter, descended Northeast Ridge)
2) Peter Metcalf, Glenn Randall, Peter Athans, 1980 (Alpine style) (Summit plateau, descended west ridge)
3) Jeff Benowitz, Rick Studley, 1997, to north summit, descended west ridge
South Ridge- 3 ascents
1) John Waterman, Dean Rau, Don Black, David Carman, 1973 (small point just below south summit, descended the same route)
2) Ed Hart, Simon Richardson (new start variation), 1986 (to north summit, descended west ridge)
3) Mark Westman, Forrest Murphy, 2003 (south summit, descended west ridge)
Corliss-Taylor (buttress between South Ridge and Southeast Spur)- 1 ascent
1) Greg Corliss and Rick Taylor, 2001, to south summit, descended southwest ridge
Southeast Ridge- 1 ascent
1) Paul Corwin, Paul Harrison, Dan Crowley, Chris Walker, John Cleary, Dave Hawley, to south summit, descended same route
A friend of mine from Fairbanks attempted the south ridge two years ago but they didn't make it far.
The south ridge is one of my most treasured Alaska climbing experiences- partly because it gave me all I ever needed with respect to corniced ridges and I'm pretty sure I'll never do something like that again! God what a place though!
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nah000
climber
no/w/here
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Dec 15, 2014 - 10:06pm PT
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without exaggeration, this is one of the greatest threads on st in quite some time...
thanks to everyone who's posted but especially to MarkWestman, climbski2 and Andy de klerk for taking the time to drop some serious knowledge bombs...
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sac
Trad climber
Sun Coast B.C.
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Dec 15, 2014 - 10:47pm PT
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Agreed.
Much thanks to the contributors.
Appreciated
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Clint Cummins
Trad climber
SF Bay area, CA
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Dec 16, 2014 - 02:18am PT
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My wife called them "Mouse Boots", as in Mickey Mouse.
They were surplus from the Korean War.
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Clint Cummins
Trad climber
SF Bay area, CA
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Dec 16, 2014 - 02:31am PT
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The story starts out innocently enough. Jon splinters his leg ice climbing in New Hampshire, but bounces back and becomes an ice animal. He and his friends revel in winter. They climb ice gullies nude. They practically tear Mount Washington to pieces with their axes and crampons. Mike Young was the caretaker of the HMC Cabin in Huntington Ravine on Mt. Washington from October 1976 - April 1, 1977. He wrote:
With Jon Waterman, the caretaker at Tuckerman Ravine, I made mid-January nude ascents of Yale and Pinnacle Gullies, evoking memories of the Vulgarians.
Perhaps due to my painful knuckles, my climbing speed increased during the winter. Jon and I thwacked our way up Pinnacle in five minutes, and we succeeded in climbing all the gullies twice in five hours. Later I discovered I had broken two fingers. As for why Jon used the pseudonym for Mike, I don't know.
Maybe ask him?
http://jonathanwaterman.com/index.php/contact
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climbski2
Mountain climber
Anchorage AK, Reno NV
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Dec 16, 2014 - 07:32am PT
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Mickey Mouse boots are more properly the black ones. They are lighter and are not as warm. (I've only seen a few pairs of the black) But the terms are often used interchangeably.
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johntp
Trad climber
socal
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Dec 16, 2014 - 11:40am PT
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Breaking Point was an excellent read. Too bad I let go of my copy several years ago.
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SuperTopo on the Web
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Let us know!