Boot Spur

Steve Fischer and I just got home on Sunday night from our trip to Mt. Washington, New Hampshire. We had planned on having three or four people in our party, but work schedules eliminated a few at the last minute. That turned out to be a blessing, as we would have certainly had more problems with a larger group.

We had a simple goal of getting up to the summit quickly and safely, and then getting back down before we ran into bad weather. As it turned out, we started out in mild weather heading up the Tuckerman Ravine Trail for about three hours to the rescue shelter at Hermit Lake. Steve had skied at Tuckerman some time ago, so he wanted to use that trail on the way to the summit. While at the Hermit Lake shelter, the caretaker / ranger advised us that it would be dangerous, and possibly deadly, to proceed further up Tuckerman Ravine because of expected bad weather.

Warning Sign

After some private discussion, we decided to go on cautiously, since we had prepared well and had plenty of gear, clothing and food for the worst conditions. In Fisher's words "I think he's just trying to cover his ass".

Steve and Paul at HoJo Patio in Tuckerman

About three hours later we arrived at the Tuckerman Ravine headwall, which was very icy and required a left traverse to continue on the trail. At this level everything was covered with rime ice and we were in complete fog with about 50 feet of visibility. The wind really started to pick-up here and we quickly found ourselves above the treeline in icy fog with darkness coming fast. We had plenty of lighting, but never used it on this afternoon. As we finally got to a saddle to the south of Mt. Washington and to the north of Mt. Monroe, we realized that we were in an ice storm with very limited visibility, about 15 to 20 feet. Again though, we had ski goggles and continued over the saddle.

Our plan had been to get down almost 1 mile on the other side of the mountain to a wilderness tent-site just below tree line, but that quickly became less desirable as we realized how dark it would be on the rocky and icy trail. We had always had a back-up plan to get to the winter emergency shelter in the basement of the Lakes of the Clouds hut. Although the hut closed in September, the basement shelter is open for winter emergencies. After about a half-hour of following the summit markers in the storm, we stumbled onto the outline of the hut and Steve found the basement door as if he had lived there.

We slept for about three hours and then ate diner. By that time the door had a few inches of ice on it and Steve was worried that if the storm continued we might be stuck there for a while, as neither of us had crampons to get down. Six hours later I awoke to find that it was pouring rain with a least 80 mph wind. Opening the door a crack was like taking an ice cold shower.

Hermit Lake Shelter in Tuckerman Ravine

By breakfast it was snowing hard, but with pretty good visibility. We decided to pack up and get moving toward the bottom. Too late though; by the time we left, it was whiteout conditions with almost a foot of snow on the ground. We thought that we should hike North for about 1 mile, ditch our packs and make a quick run up to the actual summit. It was never a good plan, and we had several turnaround points timed out that would allow us to a least get back to the hut if it got really bad. We did make it to the summit trail and buried our gear in the snow. But as we got about 10 minutes into the final summit trail, which was less than a half-mile long, we hit one of the turnaround times and decided to observe our plan. The snow was waist deep and we didn't have snowshoes. The climb was taking four times longer that it should have, so we bailed.

We knew that the Tuckerman trail would be too dangerous in the new snow and ice, so we took a trail called Davis to a trail called Boot Spur. I should have realized that there was no quick way down, but we were now just at the beginning of the big adventure. The wind was easily 80 to 100 miles per hour. The two trails followed a completely exposed ridge for about two miles above tree line. I had never seen anything like this in my life. All of the US Forest Service signs warning about the worst weather on earth started to make sense right here. I also started to understand why the stone cairns marking the trail were 8 feet high and only 20 feet apart.

I looked back a least five or ten times to see Steve blown of the trail and holding onto the bare rock. I tried to get him roped-up, but he was afraid that we would be blown of the ridge together, so we continued un-roped for the next two hours. We only stopped about four times to drink and to make sure that the other was still warm enough to continue. We certainly could have dumped some gear in an emergency, but we never got to that point. Steve asked me at least ten times "Aren't you glad we didn't just stay at the Hermit Lake shelter like the ranger suggested?"

The Boot Spur trail looked easy on the map, but it was really a treacherous and steep, rocky descent for another two hours. Steve was complaining about not having crampons the entire way down the Boot Spur. I just wanted to get below the tree line and out of the wind, so I kept moving as fast as I could. When we got to the bottom, I expected to find the Hermit Lake shelters right

there, but it was at least another half-hour of climbing and descending in wet snow before we arrived. The place had completely changed since the day earlier. It was in the mid-teens and completely snow covered. Steve wanted to continue all the way down to the Pinkham Notch hostel, since we had both gotten wet feet during the last portion of the Boot Spur.

I would have preferred to stay the night at Hermit Lake since that was all I had been thinking about for the previous six hours, but Steve was determined to keep moving down, and we did. Below the base of Tuckerman, it was just wet snow and running water for almost two hours. I became really fatigued and cranky.

When we did get to the bottom, I crashed in the pack room of the hostel and made Fischer go and get the car. After some hot showers, we feasted on prime rib in North Conway. On Sunday we drove home, straight through, questioning each other the entire way to make sure that any of this really happened.

We might go again next month.

Dangler

I have come to learn that the most important thing to bring on trips with Steve Fischer is extra batteries for my headlamp. Steve likes to sleep late, get started late, and finish the day late. This is not a problem if you are going out to dinner or the movies, but it gets tricky when you are rock climbing or going on a winter mountaineering trip. I can honestly say that I have never been on any trip with Steve that did not end in putting my pack down before midnight, and usually without a working headlamp.


Steve on Lead at the 'Gunks


In May of 1999, Steve asked me to go climbing with two of his longtime climbing partners, Paul Pan and Alex Marx. It was a 2 hour drive to the Shawangunks, and we arrived in the nearby town for some pastry at noon. I recall starting the first climb by around 2 in the afternoon. Steve lead the first climb with just me on the rope, as Paul and Alex were off to another route nearby. We climbed a route called "High Exposure" for about two hours, up and down. "High Exposure" is probably the most classic climb at the Gunks, for good reason. Afterward, we climbed a route called "Something Interesting". I should have asked what the "Something Interesting" might be, as I now know, and it will be the subject of another post.

After we were back on the ground at the base of the cliffs, we radioed Paul and Alex to meet us. Steve and Paul immediately began searching a guidebook for another climb which all four of us could do together, me being the least experienced. All I remember is that I was noticing the sun going down while the three of them disappeared high onto a ledge on the cliff face above me. They eventually yelled down for me to "climb", and after a short and not-too-difficult effort, I arrived safely on the ledge. I was tired, and Steve tied me off tightly so I could rest while he worked.


Steve, Paul & Alex

The first thing I noticed was that Alex was gone. Paul Pan was belaying him on the route above, which evidently extended to near the top of the cliff. I decided that I had had enough, but staying on the ledge was not an option, since the others were going to need all of the climbing rope available to belay down from the top. They explained to me that there was a slight right traverse, meaning that they would not be coming back down this way. Continued ascent became a requirement for going home.

Within a half hour I found myself on another small ledge, this one smaller than the first. Again, Steve tied me off tightly so I could rest while he worked. It was dusk, and I knew I was in deep when a Cessna flew by in the adjacent Hudson River Valley at eye level. Steve told me that we would rappel down from this spot, but that Paul Pan and Alex wanted to make a try for the top by way of an overhanging ledge. When I turned around, Paul was already well underway. I watched for thirty minutes as Paul and Alex, two spidery rock climbers, worked the overhang with hands and feet. No one made it past the overhang's end, as it was far too dark too see the hand holds.


Dangler

I was one of the middle climbers rappelled down in pitch blackness so as to have someone control the rope at the top and bottom for me. It was only at this point I realized that the only reason we came down is that they ran out of headlamp batteries.