Barry Blanchard's article in Alpinist 29 rekindled a long ago dream, "Dragons in the Mist" is a great read. It is still a mountain I'd like to climb, it is still a passion that burns, I just might not be able to find a way to do it...

My first attempt was in 1985 on the second half of a climbing trip Mike and Lawrence and I made to Canada. It was our first journey, and we went to the then mythical Bugaboos and climbed until the weather wouldn't permit anymore climbing. Sitting around in the "Conrad Kain" hut we hatched a plan to go and do the only route we were familiar with, The Wishbone Arete, one of the "50 Classic Climbs in North America." Fellow climbers in the hut thought that maybe we should consider the SSW Ridge, which would give us a better chance at summitting...

On the drive up we stopped in Jasper on our way up 93 to Mt. Robson Provincial Park to see if they had a description of the approach. They did, and we xeroxed it... looked like a 45º line on the picture, we knew it couldn't be that steep... our plan was to go up to the Forester Hut (which we learned about from the guide in the library) then traverse across the Great Couloir. Of course this left our options to do the SSW Ridge too.

The 50 Classic Climbs in North America has a well earned reputation for sandbagging. There are still routes that have not seen a second ascent in that list, first published in 1979 now more than 30 years ago. We were just learning of the understated nature of the route description in Kruszyna & Putnam's The Rocky Mountains of Canada guides.

As you drive into the area you are aware of this massive snow mountain, Mt. Robson, "The King." A rather subdued breakfast at some delightful restaurant next to a serene river quieted our anxiety somewhat. We finished up and drove out to the Provincial Park and had a look, our first look

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And as the mists parted we see our objective, the right hand ridge of the prominent "wishbone" feature

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Not knowing what we would find at the hut, or even if we would find it... we took up the kit we'd need to spend a few days. Somehow getting ready in the parking lot seems to be a universal part of climbing, and here we are spread out and packing up.

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On the hike in, the views are spectacular, and we strain to see our approach.

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We had neglected to read the important sentence in Kruszyna & Putnam "in dry years there is seldom water on the arete or approaches to it" and took a quart of water each, assuming we'd find some. We had also no topographical map to see just what the approach was going to entail. Only later did we find that it is about 5000' up and 5000' in once you get started going up.

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Lawrence keeps saying over and over again "this can't be the way" and it seemed that every time he complained we'd find a piece of tape marking the way. Up through the forest and onto a long, dry, steep rubble field. We stopped as some point to lick wet rock, perhaps dripping a bit of water.

Eventually we got to the hut. The Japanese climbing team established there had tea ready for us as we arrived. Mike and Lawrence sitting out in front of the hut.

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This is truly a butt kicking approach. Somehow we convinced ourselves that we'd try in the morning, up the SSW Ridge. The approach had quenched our appetite for The Wishbone and in the logic of youth we'd go up the "easy way" first, then come back sometime and pluck the brass ring.

The morning wasn't too bad, but we had slept in due to the previous day's exertions. We started up late, but you could see the whole route, seemingly to the top.

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Just scrambling on rubble, then a short technical section to get around the ice field and a long snow walk to the summit. How hard could it be?

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It is a phantasmagorical place to be, and it never ceases to astonish me how putting one foot in front of the other can get you to some amazing places. If you look hard at this picture, you'll see the rectangular top of the hut down the ridge.

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By the time we reached "Little Robson" the clouds were closing in... and at some point some avalanche debris came down from the south face above, slithering its way down some ice chute off to our right. But we couldn't see where it had come from. We weren't about to go up and check it out. Now Lawrence was pleading a little "let's go up a bit higher and see." The clouds suggested otherwise. It was late August, and a big snow had hit, the storm that chased us out of the 'Bugs cut off our hopes here too.

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Lawrence catching a last look of the cloud ceiling, straining to see blue sky. Mike and me, "the old guys," were having none of it.

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Down the ridge. There is always hope, but back then we thought we'd be back soon enough.

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The next day we were tired and sore from the previous two. The weather didn't look any better and we hadn't brought enough to wait out the weather. It was the end of a long trip, and we had to drive back to New York and get back to work...

The descent had it's moments, the beautiful turquoise lakes, we could appreciate it with gravity helping us down.

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The feet took a beating, here we tend to our wounds after getting down and before walking out to the car.

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Whenever I've been weathered off a peak, I have to glance at it all the way back to the car, just to make sure it doesn't peek out of the clouds...

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Probably had we been more experienced we would have gone for it. Who knows how that would have turned out... the mountain is notorious for the weather, read Blanchard's article for more of that.

But it still has the feeling of something that could have been, some long lost love between which fate intervened.

I was back in 1995, that was an El Nino year, and no one had summitted that summer, we got to look at that giant snow mountain and wonder if there would ever be another time.

Even now, the embers of the desire to climb Mt. Robson are alive... how hard could it be?