Astroturf is directly above the blue speck of Matt McCormick, next to Poseidon.
Nick Bullock photo.

I did a route in the Daks a few years back with Matt McCormick and Matt Horner, we called it Endangered Species. It blew all of our minds. The Matt’s and I had it our way and it was an incredibly rewarding experience. Then, Kevin Mahoney blew our minds again, a week or so later, when he skipped half the gear we spent hours excavating and sent the two hardest pitches in one quick, long lead.  The second half of Mahoney’s super-pitch is what I lead. I talked with him about it later, he loved the climbing but we didn’t seem to see things the same way.. I remember accepting that I might break my leg while he just seemed to enjoy himself.

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A bit of brilliant mixed climbing off the belay leads to the security of a fixed angle followed by a few feet of steppy climbing – giving a good head start to putting the pin well below your feet. Thunk. 1 1/2″ thick, well bonded, strong, cold, one swing ice. Nick Bullock and Matt McCormick are finally in the sun on a spacious ledge below the third pitch of Astroturf on this really cold February morning at Lake Willoughby. I’m at the bottom of the ice and realizing that there wasn’t going to be any gear for a while, but the conditions are perfect – so on I go.

It could just be that when the opportunity presents itself we jump at it, maybe we squirm out of things when we’re not ready, but in my climbing life certain pitches have come along at just the right time, and when it’s a first, the learning curve is steep and the experience is memorable.

Nick Bullock photo.

This time through though I could see the angle was consistent, there might be some gear in thirty or forty feet and the rhythm of on-your-feet ice climbing is steady and secure. Not to say that I didn’t unload four or five pieces when the opportunity presented itself, but I felt okay. With some gear below me the rest of pitch eased a bit, finally took a screw or two and soon enough I’m strapped to an ice screw and little cedar shrub belaying my buddies – as happy as can be.

Nick, has also been getting the pitches he deserves. They just tend to have even less ice. For the past couple of weeks on his New England tour, the Llanberas, Wales based climber has been hooking his way up the thinnest ice I’ve ever seen anyone climb. I have gotten accustomed to belaying these whacky leads and now I can actually watch.

After my down climbing pitch protected by toprope, Nick gets to lead delaminating 1/2″ ice with no gear. Pendulum Route, Cathedral Ledge.

A barely there Remission direct. Matt McCormick photo.

Matt McCormick’s picture taken from http://mattmccormickclimbing.blogspot.com/

That day at the Lake, Matt and I watched him re-route a bolted mixed pitch to work with the conditions, the whole time wondering what the hell he was a doing. As a result he stole, squirmed and pulled our way into a free ascent of route that would have otherwise come down to hanging on one bolt and clearing a goalie of a dripping curtain out of the way.

I probably would have gone for a more conventional approach, but in climbing we can take it as we see it. Like Kevin, Nick just seems to see things differently.

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…and, just to keep it interesting, some shots you might not have seen…

Ive been looking at this ice for a while, but how to get to it? Pendulum Route, Cathedral Ledge. Nick Bullock photo.

The Pendulum Route: Take 1 from Bayard Russell on Vimeo.

Bayard with a great top rope!
Nick Bullock photo.

Tap. Tap. Careful. Bayard Russell photo.

Will Carey on an unusual lead. Nick Bullock photo.

A little nervous, a little excited..
Nick Bullock photo.

Here we go!!
Nick Bullock photo.

…and we’re done.
Nick Bullock photo.

We got started about 2pm, after a visit from the plumber who finished the rough in for the new bathroom. We walked back and forth a bit between Repentance and Remission- they both look pretty difficult – and settled for the one on the left (Repentance). I had brought an extra hoody for the car ride and put that on, too. At this point I’m wearing more clothing than I ever remember wearing to go ice climbing.

Scott quickly leads the first pitch and I join him. This is my first ice climb of the year and the usual disaray is in full effect – slings hanging here.. and there, can’t unclip this biner, almost dropped that screw, I have so many clothes on that my ice clippers are almost where my chalk bag would be.. After taming the chaos we get going again.

The ice on the second pitch is way in the back of chimney, there’s only a little snow on the ledges, otherwise the cliff is totally bare. Screws are hard to get because the ice is so far back in the crevice, the rock gear is mostly good and dry. After whining my way through the crux bit with my picks buried in somebody else’s hooks, not really finding the excuse I was looking for, I find myself safely protected with one tool clipped to my left hip, chimneying. It was about here, halfway up the chimney, when I start thinking about how cool this whole thing is. Right in my backyard, one of the best mixed climbs you could find. Arm bars, delicate swings, high stepping on front points, heel toe camming knee bars. It was just so.. fun. Higher, the pitch gets icier and a surprisingly big spindrift avalanche floats and sprays down on me, the climbing gets thoughtful again, delicate. What an adventure.

Now, of course, it’s getting dark, obviously no one brought a headlamp and it’s really starting to get cold. We’re resorting gear, the unecesarily long half ropes are kinda lopped around everywhere, stuff is dangling, I need to retie my boots, my new gloves are too big, the wind is howling. There is a sense of urgency. I remember that we’re only one rappel form the ground. I’m trying to rush all the little things I have to do before I start up the pitch, I slow myself down. Logic prevails. I get going up brittle, convex ice. Lots of screws. My hand are fucking cold. My crampons are dull, so are my picks. Everything works out… again. Above the steep ice it is somehow warm, the ice moist, plastic. I think of Steve House as I fist jamb my head around the chockstone, steinpull, swing into dirt.

Scott’s head pops out around the chockstone and we start talking again. It is dark, there’s no moon, just the lights of Cranmore; like a mini Vegas Luxor to show the way. At 5 we’re driving home in a cold car, at 5:30 we’re stoking his multiple woodstoves and by 7:00 we’re with my wife eating roast chicken and  potatoes with gravy, with bread and salad and drinking wine.

The forecast for 2329′ on Cannon Mtn

It might suck right now out there, but that is a good forecast for kickin off the regular season!