by Kitty Calhoun Iceland is frozen in time. Arriving there in February 2012, it was exactly as I remembered from 1998 when I was there to climb with Jay Smith and the late Guy Lacelle – grey, windy, and remote. It is the largest land mass along a mountain ridge that begins under the ocean, where the North Atlantic and Eurasian tectonic plates are pulling apart. The soil is poor, so most food is imported or grown in greenhouses. The horses, sheep and cattle are 1,000-year-old purebreds, brought over by the Vikings. The quiet is only disrupted by the sounds of millions of birds born in the undisturbed sea cliffs.My mission, along with Dawn Glanc, Pat Ormand, and Jay Smith, was to do as many first ice climbing ascents as possible in two weeks. Prospects looked good, since Iceland’s coast is barely eroded and most of the snow on the plateau above tends to melt and refreeze. Rapid changes in temperature produce wild features on frozen waterfalls such as tunnels, hanging umbrella-like roofs, and daggers that freeze horizontally. Iceland is not well-known in the climbing world and there are only an estimated 40 local climbers – most of whom find enough ice near Reykjavik to keep them content. Or so they led us to believe. In exchange for a slide show for the Icelandic Alpine Club, we diplomatically pried inside information from a very welcoming group. They confirmed our suspicions: the West Fjords, just below the Arctic Circle, was the mother-lode.[Dawn Glanc and Pat Ormand on Angel of Mercy. All photos courtesy of Kitty Calhoun]


After a six-hour drive, we arrived in Isafjordur, founded as a salting station for the once-plentiful cod coming from Greenland. We were keenly interested in meeting Runar Karlsson and Sigi Jonsson who have a business, Borea Adventures, in which they sail to a nearby nature preserve or to the east coast of Greenland to ski, kayak, or climb. We hoped the temperatures, which hovered around 32 F, would drop so we could do some boat-assisted ice routes.After spending the first day on slow winter roads and driving as much of the peninsula as possible, we finally discovered the prize – a cliff band in a cirque an hour’s hike from the road. A dozen emerald blue smears pasted the black face, overhung by a large ice cornice. It appeared that the snow had been saturated with water and then froze, while nearly retaining its original shape. The entire quarter-mile-long wall was untouched except for one route on the far end. After three punishing days of climbing, we completed seven new routes, most of which were two pitches long, WI 4-5. [Kono Wall, Iceland] [Kitty Calhoun on Kono Wall.] [Kitty and Dawn on Captain Calhoun.]I felt like I had grown soft, having spent most of my winters climbing on well-climbed ice in calm, sunny weather in Ouray, Colorado. In Iceland, every climb had a wall or column of overhanging ice and there were massive unstable ice lenses that were too big to clean. Gingerly climbing up them was like playing Russian Roulette. To add to the stress, the winds grew by the hour and by afternoon I found it difficult to maintain composure while being battered by the gust, as my face and eyes stung from the driving snow. Yet down in the fjord, the birds were bobbing in the swell, making life look easy. In fact, the farmers below, in the town of Nupur, build stone shelters to encourage wild eider ducks to nest. The birds use some of their feathers to make the nests and farmers collect them. Iceland is still the largest exporter of eider down in the world. The next new routes we climbed were just past Haukadalur, site of one of the more famous Icelandic sagas. These are generally stories of bloody family feuds between 94-980AD. In the saga of Gisli, Gisli takes revenge for prior misdeeds by stabbing his brother-in-law through the heart. He goes on to perform increasingly violent deeds and is eventually hunted down and killed – but not before being declared an outlaw and a hero. Always searching for the crown jewel of ice climbs, we were tipped off to possibilities in “Betty’s Valley” at the furthest tip of one of the peninsulas. We were greeted by Betty, her 13-year-old son Thor, and 200 sheep. Thor goes to school on another peninsula and had not been home in three weeks because the last 20 km home hadn’t been plowed since the last storm. His mom, a single woman of 57, had post-holed two hours to get to a party a few nights earlier. Like the ducks in the swell, she seemed unfazed. Unfortunately, the hanging daggers we had come to climb above her farm were too thin, so we hurried back over the pass and up another valley to attempt a couple more climbs before heading home. We had scored though – by the end of the trip we’d done 12 new routes in seven days of climbing. [The road to Betty's Valley.] [Betty's place.]“What’s been the high-point of the trip for you?" Dawn asked me on the last day. Again, I thought about the birds bobbing on the water. Every day I had a routine – get up before dawn, eat, drive, hike up a slope, climb, and reverse the process. I shivered constantly, got pumped, excited, and scared. In hindsight, there was no high point. It was all necessary, and all good. Overnight, the wind obliterated our tracks up the slopes. Unless we told someone, there would be no record of our ever being there. It was simply a moment, frozen in time. Kitty Calhoun is a Patagonia ambassador and Chicks Climbing instructor. Chicks Climbing is the premier provider of women’s ice and rock climbing clinics in the United States. They have two desert trips planned for this spring: Red Rock in March and Indian Creek in April.
 

by Jeff Johnson


I first met Fred Beckey about 6 years ago at the Crossroads Cafe in Joshua Tree. He was sitting at a corner booth surrounded by young women (in their 40’s), empty pint glasses, and wearing an ear-to-ear grin. I was told he had more first ascents than anyone in the world. He was in his early 80s and still going at it. We were introduced and the first thing he said to me was, “What?” I hadn’t said anything yet. Aside from his earing aid, which he never uses, Fred was as vibrant and alive as a twenty-year-old. He still is. Throughout the years Fred has stopped by the Patagonia offices in Ventura to break up his long road trips. It’s always a treat. Everyone in the building can recognize that voice when he enters the photo department and hovers over Jane Sievert’s desk, commenting on photos and offering beta for obscure climbs.[Above: Portrait of Fred in Ventura. December, 2010. Photo: Jeff Johnson]


We’ve been seeing a lot more of Fred since the inception of his new book: Fred Beckey’s 100 Favorite North American Climbs. It has been a massive undertaking. “It took us just over two years from our first visit with Fred in Seattle in November 2009 to getting the printed book in people’s hands in November 2011. But Fred was working on it many years before that,” says editor John Dutton. “It was by far the longest and most complex book we have done to date.“Fred is meticulous about the details. He is old school and works only on hard copy. He would show up with these hand-written, coffee-stained additions to the book written on the back of scrap paper (fliers to events and library notices primarily) with letters - A, B, C, etc. – on the notes and in the printed manuscript itself showing where each should go. He took the manuscript along with him on his travels and kept it together with various rubber bands, manila folders, and binder clips. It was printed large format on 11 x 17" pages and double-spaced and weighed a ton. I still have a couple of rounds and it takes up almost the whole top drawer of my filing cabinet.” Project coordinator Jennifer Sullivan: “I’d get these random calls from Fred regarding the book. He would be on some peak somewhere with his cell phone. He never uses his hearing aid so I’d have to yell. Our conversations would get so loud I would have to crawl under my desk so I wouldn’t disturb everyone. I’d be under there half the time, the two of us just yelling at each other.”To work on the book Fred would often drive down from Washington and on the rare occasion, fly. Each one of us in the creative department has had the pleasure of assisting him: picking him up from the airport, taking him to his hotel room, dinner, lunch, whatever. No matter how mundane the assignment, Fred makes you feel like you are both involved in some special mission. And everyone inevitably ends up with an entertaining story. In December 2010 Fred came through town to work on the book. He rarely deviated from work and would push on all day and into the night. But this time Fred really wanted to get some climbing in. Yvon Chouinard happened to be in town as well. So they decided to go up to the Sespie Wall above Santa Barbara and climb. During the 1950s, at the age of 18, Yvon served as an apprentice to Fred. Together they bagged many first ascents, most of which have become classics. It had been 40 years since the two have tied in together. Yvon now 72, and Fred 87, they roped up for two pitches of varied sandstone. Their escapades during their formative years have become legend. It was an honor to hear them recount those times while climbing together once again.

[Yvon and Fred racking up for the Sespie Wall. Photo: Jeff Johnson]


[Fred on pitch 1. Photo: Jeff Johnson]


[Yvon belaying Fred on pitch 2. Photo: Jeff Johnson]


[Yvon and Fred re-hashing old times after the climb. Photo: Jeff Johnson]Later that week I asked photo editor Jane Sievert if I could take Fred’s portrait. He was a little reluctant because he wanted to focus on the book, but he agreed nonetheless. We set up a time and a place. I was waiting for Fred when I got a call from Jane. “Look,” she said, “He’s not into it. He just wants to work on the book – doesn’t want to mess around with taking photos. So I had to trick him. I told him I was just re-parking my car and to get in. He’s with me and we’re on the way. You have 10 minutes!” Though he was sort of duped into it, he was more than accommodating once he arrived. But I could tell he wanted to get on with things. Fred is not one to sit still. I shot two rolls of film in about 15 minutes. Wrapping things up, I looked over and he was rubbing his eyes, probably bored out of his mind.


[Portrait of Fred in Ventura. December, 2010. Photo: Jeff Johnson]As he was leaving I asked what he was up to after Ventura. “I’m driving to Jackson Hole,” he said almost yelling. “It’s ski season!”I pictured Fred, 87 years old, driving through the night on winding mountain roads in winter conditions.”“Are you going alone?” I said. “What?” he yelled putting his hand to his ear. The car wound silently out of site.In the introduction to Fred’s book, Barry Blanchard quotes Tim McAllister declaring Fred as “the grandfather of the road trip”. It couldn’t be truer.Note: Patagonia Books has taken on some of the most unique and ambitious publications over the years. The authors and photographers do not come out of the blue; they are part of an extended family – the result of long-lasting relationships, which becomes very personal. The process can be both emotionally and physically taxing. It can require sitting in one’s living room sifting through boxes of photographs and notes, recording and transcribing hours of conversations, and a ton of back and fourth correspondence. The result is always rewarding. I would like to applaud those who worked on this book.


Editor: John Dutton, Book designer: Christina Speed Project coordinator (probably the toughest job): Jennifer Sullivan Photo editors: Jane Sievert and Cameron RidgewayProduction: Rafael DunnThe topos were drawn from Fred’s originals by Clay Wadman. Barry Blanchard wrote the foreword.Jeff Johnson is a freelance writer and staff photographer for Patagonia. His sailing trip from California to Chile was featured in the film 180° South (his writing and photographs also appear in the book). You can tune into Jeff's Beyond and Back series right here on The Cleanest Line.

by Jonathan Thesenga


My college friend Chris Kalous and I had an epic weekend climbing Texas Tower, which is down between Blanding and Hanksville in southern Utah. Two-hours of aggro, axle-smashing 4x4, then two hours of heinous post-holing up to our knees through breakable-crust snow just to get to the base at 11:30am. Shoes soaked. Pants soaked. 600 feet of stout offwidths and chimneys — no time to waste. We did not free the 5.11+ crux OW — not even close. I linked the final two pitches into one and topped out just as the sun was setting. Out of food and water, knees and shoulders throbbing in pain from all the unrelenting OW action, but who cares... I was on the summit of one of the biggest, baddest and burliest towers in the desert. So psyched! Then realized I couldn't find the summit anchor, that it was buried under the 18 inches of snow blanketing the sloping north side of the summit — WTF? Desert alpine?

[Above: Texas Tower, 600-feet of pissed-off sandstone wideness, still more than an hour's hike away through snow conditions sent straight from the devil himself. Photo: JT]


I brought Chris up in the dark. I tensioned him into the snow and he dug and dug and dug with his feet, hands and a #6 Camalot. After 20 minutes he finally kicked a pin — he'd found the anchor. I checked the clock on my camera: 7:20pm. He rapped first (down the rap route, which is on the opposite, snowy side of the tower) and couldn’t find the next anchor. About 45 meters off the summit it was a confusing series of snow-covered spires and ledges (especially in the dark). Chris searched and searched for the next rap station. Nothing. 20 more minutes passed. Nothing. He had to figure something out soon and get off rappel because I was soaked and frozen from kneeing at the slabby summit anchor in the snow. A minute later he's off the ropes and I rapped down. Found Chris on a small ledge with his shoes off. His shoes got soaked from all the digging in the summit snow. His feet were frozen. The temps were plunging. Not good. A forced bivy on this tower in our wet condition was not an option. I rapped and swung all over the place looking for the anchor. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. F*** it. It was cold and pitch black — we needed to get down asap.  I rapped down a steep crack system. Built an anchor. Chris quickly followed. We pulled the ropes. After 15 feet... stuck. Sonofabitch. Chris up-rap/prussiked back to his little ledge. Got the ropes to pull. He built an anchor there and rapped to me. Rigging the next rap we discovered two major core shots to the tag line. Damnit. Taped over them so they don't get any worse. Rapped off single-cam anchors to get to the ground (if anyone wants to booty two #4 and a #5 Camalots, I know where you can find them...). Back at the packs I slammed our two PBRs straight away, put on all my clothes and massaged my frozen feet. One of Chris' socks had blown away. He had to fashion a VBL sock out of a plastic bag. Jingus, but better than a bare foot in a wet shoe. We spent the next two hours stumbling and post-holing through that evil f***ing snow. Fell down over and over again, yelling "f***" at the top of my lungs. It was way beyond frustrating. We were way beyond exhausted. Got back to the truck at 1am. Tossed out my bag and open bivied. Woke up at 9:30am to a snowstorm. Lovely. Two hours of back-rattling 4x4 later and we were back on pavement, totally thrashed, worked and roached.
Not the best tower I've ever climbed, but definitely one that I'll remember.

 


[Chris Kalous wrestling through a typical 5.10 squeeze on Pitch 3. Photo: JT]


[Kalous following the “Death Flake” pitch. Photo: JT]


[Kalous armed for battle on Pitch 6. Photo: JT]


[Once the sun began to set, the temps stared to drop dramatically. Photo: JT]


[Fun times in the final chimney of Pitch 7. Photo: Chris Kalous]


[Summit of Texas Tower or Cerro Torre? Kalous digs out the summit anchor in the dark. Photo: JT]


[Kalous brews up in the morning snowstorm before tackling the two-hour, nut-buster 4x4 out of the canyon. Packs and shoes laying in the dirt right where we dropped them at 1am. Photo: JT]

Jonathan Thesenga is a Patagonia climbing ambassador and professional arm-wrestling referee.

Parents new and old will be especially touched by this episode of The Dirtbag Diaries. Show host Fitz Cahall sets the stage:

No one skins uphill to put together a splitboard efficiently. They do it to shred down. Making a transition at a belay is part of the process, not the main event. Transitions may not be sexy, but they make or break us. They are the difference between a cold night spent shivering on a ledge and walking out in perfect evening light. Almost five years after I wrote the Monoboard and started The Diaries, I find myself in a metaphorical transition. My passions run from the mountains to the Seattle music scene and I've become adept at moving between them. My life is about to change. My passions won't. It's time to refine the transition.

Listen to "Transitions - Efficiency Manifesto"(mp3 - right-click to download)

Visit dirtbagdiaries.com for links to download the music from "Transitions - Efficiency Manifesto" or to hear past episodes of the podcast. You can subscribe to the show via iTunes and RSS, or connect with the Dirtbag Diaries community on Facebook and Twitter.

Special shout out to Walker Cahall for this episode's clever show graphic, and to Fitz and Becca Cahall as they near delivery time.

Our friend Rolo Garibotti just sent word about his latest labor of love for the region he loves so much. Previously, we updated you on his work with the Patagonia Sustainable Trails Project. Today, we're happy to share news on the launch of Pataclimb.com, an online climbing resource assembled by Rolo and his friend Doerte Pietron. 

It is raining heavily in El Chalten, the small town at the base of Fitz Roy and Cerro Torre in southern Argentina. Last week we had great weather, a window so good that we managed to climb both “big boys”, Torre and Fitz, in a mere seven days roundtrip from town. Such luck comes with a price and by the looks of the disastrous looking forecast seems like we will be paying for it in the next few weeks.

I first visited this area in 1987, when at age 15 I managed to somehow miraculously survive an ascent of Guillaumet. It wasn’t until the mid 1990s that I fell in love with this place and since then I have been coming regularly. Between 1998 and 2000 I worked hard at putting together a guidebook to this area but for a number of reasons never finished it, although the desire to do it stayed. Later, with the increased digitalization of information I realized that the best form of guidebook might be online, allowing for constant updating and correcting. I talked about this online guide idea for a couple of years until German climber Doerte Pietron convinced me to stop talking and to actually do it. With her help designing it and after more than a year of work, it has finally come to life.


Pataclimb.com does not attempt to be an “über-topo” guide – quite the opposite. In it you will find what I believe is a fairly accurate record of what has been done, with enough info to get yourself in trouble, but without too many details so you can still go have a proper adventure. In many cases we have focused on providing fun historical details, things that should not be forgotten, adventures worth remembering, rather than providing “how to” information.


This web guidebook is far from finished. In our free time, particularly on rainy days like today, we worked hard to complete it for the Patagonian summer season that is just starting, but we will continue updating it and improving it over the next months and years. We hope it will be a useful resource for all of those that might decide to set their sights in this phenomenal adventure climbing area of South America.

–Rolando Garibotti, November 22, 2010



Our hats are off to Rolo and Doerte for all their hard work. See what they've done at Pataclimb.com. For some firsthand reports on the climbing down in Patagonia this season, check out the blogs of Patagonia ambassdors Colin Haley, Tommy Caldwell and Mikey Schaefer.

Our new online Surf Catalog is a rallying call on behalf of threatened surf breaks around the world. It's packed full of stunning images, compelling videos, the best surf gear available and action alerts from our friends at Save The Waves Coalition. Give it a look and share with your friends – it's time for all surfers to come together and protect our precious surf breaks.

Sign up for FCD Surfboard emails inside the online Surf Catalog and you'll be entered to win a Patagonia Wetsuit. Click "Join Our Mailing List" to enter (lower-right corner). Existing Patagonia email subscribers must sign-up in order to be entered. *No purchase necessary; see official rules at Patagonia.com.

Our thanks go out to everyone who contributed to this issue. We hope you like it.

One world, one love, one blog. Yesterday we heard from an East German employee, today, India native Harini Ayer shares her Short on The Dirtbag Diaries. Host Fitz Cahall sets the stage:


Throughout the course of the Diaries, I'd hazard to guess that hundreds of you have written in about the struggle many of us -- me included -- experience between work and our passions. Even if work is one of your passions, the mountains, rivers, all the tiny places in this great wide world can seem impossibly far away. We are put in positions where we have to decide between pragmatism and passion. Harini Ayer's story epitomized this struggle. She came to the States from Southern India almost a decade ago and fell in love with this country, her research and climbing. Her ability to stay here has always been tied to her visa. Her work was a form of upward mobility. But there was a catch. If Harini switched jobs, or took a break from her research, she lost her ability to stay here. Climbing took a back seat, until eventually Harini made a stand for herself, her style of life and took an incredible risk.









 Listen to "Upward Mobility"(mp3 - right-click to download - music credits)


In between full-length episodes of The Dirtbag Diaries, listeners like you have the chance to narrate your own story on the show -- these are the Shorts. To submit your story for consideration, visit The Dirtbag Diaries and look for the Story Suggestions? link in the sidebar. You can subscribe to the show via iTunes and RSS, or connect with Fitz via Facebook and Twitter.