Nature of Motion: How to take a rest day in the mountains.

Truth be told, the only rest day Liz and I took on our recent 7-night trip in the Enchantments was our first full day in the alpine. After slogging alongside Snow Creek and the 10-12 miles up to our base camp, a good meal and a nights rest were in order. When the next day dawned, I was up and ready, taking in the beautiful surroundings and turning over all the endless possibilities that may fill the days ahead. Although we both felt relatively well for having shouldered some big-ass packs for almost 5,000 vertical feet and 9 hours the day before, we thought it'd be wise to take a day to rest and recuperate, which took the form of a casual stroll up the broad Northeast shoulder of Little Annapurna Peak. The next day, ready for adventure, we tackled our first adventure, a combination of 5th class climbing and scrambling over the Nightmare Needles and up the convoluted Southern expanse of McClellan Peak. Check out the wright up here, or just look below, HA!

The hike/climb up Big Mac was a long day. We were exposed to a lot of sun and smoke, and what I expected to be mostly climbing and scurrying along ridges turned out to be a lot of steep slogging. That night we talked about plans for the next day, we agreed that "taking it easy" was in our best interest, and mulled over ideas that could be a little less committing, a little closer, and maybe a little more vertical, giving us the chance to use our upper bodies a little more and even out the fatigue we felt in our legs.

When the next day dawned, number 4 in what would turn out to be an 8 day adventure, we were greeted with some amazing sunrise colors striking the southern face of what we took to be Enchantment Peak. During coffee and cereal, we scoped the clean faces and cracks that littered this craggy peak, by the time breakfast was done we were in agreement of rambling up to the base of this summit and giving her a go. Feeling confident with our abilities and creativity to find a line or at least make it home safe, we were excited to head off for another day of unknown territory. It's hard to explain the sort of subdued excitement that comes with picking your own line and climbing a mountain, unaware of the technical difficulties you'll encounter, weather or not you'll make it to the top, and the very real possibility that you're treading ground untouched by the hand, or boot, of man. As a great friend mentor and once encouraged me, why blindly follow when you can blindly lead? The fact that I haven't been wearing my glasses this whole summer offers new meaning....

Headwall

The approach was easy and before we knew it, it was time to make a decision on which line to take, another couple of minutes spent glassing the walls and we found a line of clean and beautiful white slabs that lead to a triangular face on the climbers right side of the peak. High on this face we spotted what looked like a clean dihedral and made some off-handed comments on its striking nature and the possibility of climbing it...actually, I think Liz said something like, "that looks sick". So off we went, again making quick work of the rest of the approach and before we knew it we were at the base of the slabs and it was time to rope up.

View to the west. Witches Tower and Dragontizzle.

Catching my eye.

Liz took the first lead and found some amazing splitters as she jogged up the opening slabs. Quality.

Liz starting up the slabs...backpack send.

In all it was about a 30m pitch with another 30m or so of simul-climbing before we found ourselves on a sandy ledge under the triangular head wall we'd scoped from below.

My turn next. While appealing cracks, flakes, and corners shot up before me, I took what I thought to be the conservative line up a shallow gully. This turned out to be mostly rotten and crumbly rock, about 15m up the pitch I was able to break left on knobs and cracks, then up protruding fins to a belay on another great ledge. I brought Liz up and we discussed our options, just out of sight was the dihedral we'd scoped and again made some jokes on the possibility of climbing it. As we had gotten higher on the wall, with no route to follow, no clue if it would go at all, the idea of actually tackling a technical and challenging pitch was a little more scary then on the ground.

Getting higher, stoked!

It was Liz's lead and as she grabbed the gear and headed off I asked her what she was going to do. "I'm gonna go up and check it out", seems perfectly reasonable to me. Liz made her belay on a sketchy slab just underneath the imposing corner, after I climbed up to meet her we talked about how the other options weren't looking so hot. In hindsight I realize we could have gone anywhere we wanted, but that corner had been calling us all day, and we were going to climb it.

Liz sussing it out.

Obviously feeling great about the belay "ledge"...

Scared, intimidated, and excited for the unknown, I took the gear and traversed under the beautiful corner. After placing a few initial pieces I reached the realness. The difficulties began with lichen filled finger locks as the crack continued for at least 25 feet above me, splitter, hands to off, and beautiful. Fear got the better of me and although I had a piece in over my head I was unable to commit to the fingerlock-layback sequence that would deliver me to the jams above. The pack on my back, the unknown terrain, and the wish to make it to the top safely echoed in my head. I talked to Liz about my misgivings and sought her advice on the situation, she reassured me with the comforting advice that "you're on the sharp end, do what you want". Again, an obvious insight that cut to the core and put me into action. I did the only sensible thing other then send, I aided up that sucker so Liz could thrash it out and see what she thought. After about 20 minutes or so of what amounted to french freeing with some double length runners as etriers, I summited the pedestal and put Liz on belay. With a tight toprope and a little extra encouragement from yours truly, she cruised the pitch, sending me a little twinge of regret that I should have gone for the free, but we were on easier terrain, and I was stoked that we'd be getting to the summit safely and in style. After all, this was an easy day right?

The Dihedral.

Another hundred meters of simul-climbing and we reached the true summit, which turned out to be a very small spike vulnerable to the cold wind of the day. So our time on the summit was short, but memorable, with great views of the Enchantment Basin, as well as drainage's to the north. We continued to scramble and simul-climb out of the wind and finally reached easier terrain to the west, on the broad shoulder that is known as the Enchantment plateau. We shed the rope, took in the views and began our descent back towards camp.

Scrambling to the summit.

Space.

While this summer has been full of adventure and all of the climbs we've completed have been new to us, only on our way down did we begin to speculate that this might have been a first ascent. While we were climbing we had commented on the gritty nature of the rock, the abundance of lichen, and absence of any signs of human travel before us, weather it be pins, pitons, or simply a clean section of stone. Fred Becky, who after this summer I come so assume has climbed ever piece of rock I've touched, makes his route descriptions purposefully (I believe) vague and confusing. At first I found this frustrating and exhausting, but have since embraced it, for it succeeds in letting each climber experience the adventure that only climbing an unknown route can hold, figuring out where to go, what you're capable of, and wondering if you'll get to the top. Since the trip has finished I've had a chance to do some researching in books and on the interweb and have found no mention of routes in this vicinity. Our map didn't actually indicate what the mountain was even called and it took me a bit to figure out that at least one other person has referred to it as the Southeast summit of Enchantment Peak. Going out on a limb, I'm willing to call this a first ascent, and am stoked to think that out of the 250m of technical climbing we did that day, at least 150 of it has probably never been done before. We're calling the route Enchanted after the peak and surrounding area, but also for the way the perfect dihedral seemed to exert a gravitation force upon us. We're grading it 5.8 C1, but Liz thinks the corner probably goes free at around 5.10+.

The technical climbing of Enchanted, 5.8 C1

It was an amazing day with my favorite partner, and as we settled into our bags that night, we were both satisfied with a good day's (off) work. With a pile of food left, we still had days to enjoy this beautiful place, what would tomorrow hold? We'll see...

Getting Down.

This photo was a mistake but I like it. I spend a lot of time looking closely at ropes and they're usually moving, something sort of pretty about it I think, the doors they unlock, all the amazing places they make it possible for me to experience safely. When Liz and I are climbing in the mountains we're usually using this 60 meter, 8mil rope. Doubled it provides a safe way to create 30m pitches and keeps us close for those times we want to simul-climb or keep a running belay, an extremely versatile tool and I'm incredibly grateful. Thank you rope.