Once back at the RV, we headed further north towards Jasper and Mt. Edith Cavell. We found a very tight camping situation up there and after getting rejected from one campground, we tried another despite the sign that said it was full. The lady at the check-in initially confirmed the campground was completely full so we turned around and started to head out, but when we asked about a shower somehow it came up that they had a site, but “it was by the garbage.” Lady, can you let us decide if we want the site or not. We turned around again to check-in and now she said, “Oh, a better site has just opened up.” No one had come by the kiosk, so no new information had come to her, yet now, sixty seconds after we initially were told there were no spots, there are at least two. This was my first experience with a rude and somewhat incompetent Canadian and, yes, she was a FRENCH Canadian. I don’t think that’s a coincidence.
On Wednesday morning we moved a bit slow. After first waiting in line to get an electrical site at the Whistler’s campground, we eventually drove into Jasper to see if the guys at Gravity Gear could give us a current conditions report on the North Face. Trashy was acting a bit reluctant to get on this face, and I didn’t need anyone giving me an out. The North Face of Edith Cavell is 5400 vertical feet from the parking lot and almost all of it is technical. It is a dark, icy, forbidding place from which there is no escape but up. It is easy to find excuses not to get on such a face, but the weather was great and if ever I was to do this route, I needed to get on it now.
The owner of Gravity Gear proved to be a bit recalcitrant with route and condition information. He warmed up eventually, but wasn’t very enthusiastic about talking about climbing. He had done the route before, but only once and knew of no one that had done the route yet this year. His one recommendation was to bring a picket to protect the final moves through the cornice on the summit.
From there we headed up to check out the initial rock buttress of our route. We had decided to attempt a one-day ascent of the route and that would require us climbing the lower buttress in the dark. We needed to be across the Angel Glacier and over the bergschrund before the rockfall started to heat up. Hence, we wanted to climb the crux section of the lower buttress to familiarize ourselves with it.
Trashy and I were planning to team up for the North Face while Homie and Loobster would do the East Ridge. So while Trashy and I scoped out the lower buttress, the other two checked out the climber’s trail that led into the moraine and from there up to the saddle below the East Ridge. Trashy and I hiked up a well-defined climber’s trail for twenty minutes to the base of the lower wall. We scrambled for a couple hundred feet and then pulled out the rope as things got steeper. I led up a couple of full rope lengths, noticing the lack of fixed rappel anchors (at least for single rope raps), but not overly concerned. Once atop the technical difficulties we unroped and while Trashy relaxed and studied the face, I continued up the 4th class climbing to the top of the wall and up the talus until I was looking down on the Angel Glacier. I was pleased and surprised that it had only taken me 90 minutes from the car to get to this point. Granted I didn’t have my boots on and I wasn’t carrying a full climbing pack, but we were told this took 2.5-3 hours. My confidence grew.
I descended back down to the Trashman and we rappelled off, leaving gear at three of the four rappel stations. We’d be back early the next morning to retrieve the gear. We all regrouped at the car and headed into Jasper for an early dinner. Back at our campsite we packed for the next day. We decided to take a single 60-meter 8.1mm rope. We’d climb on it doubled up most of the time. Our pitches would be shorter, but we’d be traveling light. I put together a rack of nine Aliens, a full set of stoppers, two #1 Camalots, and one #2 Camalot. We also carried seven ice screws of varying length and Homie’s picket. We each took only two liters of water and GU’s and bars for food. I took two pairs of clothes, expecting wet conditions on the ice and snow.
We set the alarm for 3 a.m., much too early for Homie and Looby, but we’d all just ride in Trashy’s rental car up to the parking lot so they’d have to live with our schedule. They’d also get down a lot earlier than us, so they packed books and drinks to occupy their time.
We left the car around 4:20 a.m., each party going our separate ways right from the car. The Trashman and I headed up familiar terrain to the base of the lower buttress. We doubled our thin rope and I took the lead. We simul-climbed the steep section and retrieved all our gear from the day before. I led us up the upper 3rd and 4th class section and over and down to the Angel Glacier. We had taken only 80 minutes to get here from the car.
We changed into our mountain boots and crampons and pulled out one axe to climb the glacier. I was doing the entire climb in a thin pair of running tights. I had some cheap shell pants, but I’d never put them on. The Trashman’s attire consisted of shorts covered in Gortex bibs. The Trashman took the lead and we roped up for the glacier. Trashy fell in a couple of crevasses up to his crotch, but other than that we moved steadily up to the bergschrund.
Trashy found an easy crossing of the ‘schrund, then climbed twenty feet of rock before encountering solid ice. He pulled his second tool and front pointed up forty feet of ice to more rock and a belay. I followed and had the ice bridge at the bergschrund collapse down four feet on me. My heart skipped a beat, but it was over before I knew what had happened. I moved quickly over to the rock and up to the ice.
At the belay, I stripped off my crampons and just clipped them to my gear sling. I led up 4th class rock, unbelayed, while the Trashman stripped off his crampons and stowed them and his axes on the pack. We reversed this procedure at the next belay, trying to always keep the leading moving. Trashman led a long, ledge traverse to the left. He was slowed by some ice and difficult protection. I simul-climbed when he ran out of rope.
When the Trashman belayed, I took over the lead. I climbed up steep, low 5th class rock and soon we were simul-climbing again. With our doubled rope, we could only go a hundred feet before simul-climbing became necessary. With the Trashman simul-climbing below me, I climbed right up to the major ice band that traversed the entire face. There were no rock anchors here and I had to continue. It was hard ice, so, in the middle of the pitch, I pulled off my pack and donned crampons and two tools. Before doing so I yelled down, “Trashy, are you in a good spot? I need to switch to ice climbing gear.” He was at a good stance and patiently waited.
Once armed for ice, the crossing was easy. I nearly made it across before the Trashman had to don his crampons. I did manage to get in a single good piece at the start of the rock band, but we had no gear between us for at least forty or fifty feet of climbing. Once at the rock band I climbed up to a good, protected stance and belayed. When the Trashman joined me, we stripped off the ice gear once again and stowed it on our packs.
The next pitch was a 5.6 chimney/slot with a few fixed pins. The Trashman led up this, saying he wouldn’t want to simul-climb it. When he ran out of rope, I didn’t want to bother him with stressful details. I pulled the belay and started simul-climbing. I was feeling very solid climbing on this rock in my boots. I stemmed most of the way up the pitch, while adjusting the slack in the line. Trashman yelled down at one point, “How much rope do I have?” I responded, “Enough.”
Trashy set up a belay before the “thin traverse” and I was up the slot below before he had me on belay. I started leading the thin traverse right over to a pedestal below the main rock buttress. This was a bit delicate as it was steep, sparsely protected, and running with water. The climbing wasn’t too hard, though, and I took the time to be solid. When the Trashman followed he informed me that he’d rather not lead any of the steep rock pitches in his boots as he wasn’t feeling that confident in them. I was feeling great and agreed to lead the rest of the rock on the route. Trashy was our designated “Ice Man”, because he was a much better and more experienced ice climber. I wanted him to arrive at the thousand-foot summit icefield feeling mentally fresh and ready to go.
Just like on Mt. Alberta, Trashy and I were retreated to the cacophony of regular serac fall. This time it was the Angel Glacier below us that calved off every couple of hours. Rockfall was also a danger and rained down upon me a couple of times down low, before we got up tight to the steepest features, and a few times on the upper mountain when debris rained down the weaknesses we climbed.
We were now below a very steep buttress. The rock on Edith Cavell is not the crumbly limestone that we found on Mt. Alberta, but is very solid quartzite that fractures into very flat, positive edges. The climbing for the next four pitches was nearly dead vertical, but was peppered with numerous great hand and foot holds. The climbing here is rated 5.7 and we mostly agreed. We thought one pitch was about 5.8. The cruxes on each pitch seem pretty short and then you get a great rest, frequently standing on a three-inch foothold to place gear. In fact, I never was stressed placing gear as I always had a good stance. We still climbed on our doubled rope, as the pitches here are pretty short. Clearly we could have combined them by using just the single line, but belays set-up quickly and we moved well, covering these four pitches in just over an hour.
Above the buttress was lots of mixed climbing. I’m sure most climbers would switch to ice gear here and stick to the ice, but I’m a rock specialist, and I pieced together rock islands for three or four more pitches up to the final rock buttress. I stemmed across ice sections, sometimes cut a step in the ice, and kicked up a small snow section to avoid putting on the crampons. At one point, I climbed through some very loose rock and had to run things out fifty feet or more to a marginal belay. We simul-climbed a lot of this section, but re-grouped for gear a few times.
At the final rock band, I led up one pitch to the base of a very intimidating wall. It was dead vertical, mossy, wet, and with limited protection possibilities. A fixed pin at the start was evidence that we weren’t the first to run into this obstacle. I brought the Trashman up to give me a good solid belay. Our belay anchor was just wrapping our lead rope around a huge spike of rock on our sloping stance. I climbed up steep snow, trying not to crush it down too much since it would serve as my last good foothold, and clipped the old pin. I could reach up and get my hands on a big edge that sloped up and left. It also sloped out a bit and wasn’t very positive. I basically did a pull-up on this hold and put my right boot on a quarter-inch edge. I then hand traversed a bit up and left and then hung from my hands as I swung over to the left and a good foothold for my left foot. I jammed in what I thought was a marginal Alien, but I’d find out later that the Trashman aided off this piece. I had to do one more fairly intense climbing move to get up to easier ground. This climbing was at least 5.9 and the Trashman thought it was 5.10, at least with mountain boots and a pack, before he decided to aid it.
I continued up easier rock searching for a decent belay anchor, but never finding one. I eventually got in three marginal pieces and braced myself in loose rock to hold the Trashman. I was very relieved that he didn’t come off climbing this section and when he joined me at the belay, we switched to ice gear for the last thousand feet of the climb.
Trashy led out right into a prominent, broad couloir. The ice surface was covered in 6-8” of wet, slushy snow. The snow generally wasn’t enough to stand on and we’d have to use frontpoints and two axes to gain ground, but occasionally we’d be able to stand flatfooted in the snow and it provided a welcome rest. The angle was about 55-60 degrees, considerably steeper than we had anticipated.
Trashy went out about fifty feet, now climbing on a single line, and got in a piece of rock protection at an outcrop. Fifty feet higher, he put in an ice screw and fifty feet above that, more rock gear. After he ran out two hundred feet of rope, I started climbing behind him. Trashy was working hard on the front, breaking trail and setting all the screws. He was stressed about snow conditions and fearful that it would slide. After about five hundred feet, he looked down to see a single ice screw between us. The void tugged at his mind and he was not comfortable with the situation. I wasn’t that stressed out. I had Trashy leading the way and doing a great job. I felt there was no chance I’d fall and if I did, the forces would be low and the screws would hold. If the entire slope slid, we’d be in trouble, but we had no choice in our route and worrying about that was not productive for me.
Trashy was now in deep snow, a foot and a half deep, and he couldn’t find any ice for protection. Finally he dug down deep into the snow and placed two bomber screws. I climbed up to join him. He wanted me to lead a pitch up to near the summit. We had probably 300 or so feet to go. I took all the screws and set off up the slope. I found an ice runnel and followed it for a long ways, heading straight for the forbidden shale at the top. I followed this route because it was pure ice and I didn’t have to excavate placements and I didn’t have to break trail, but I knew I’d have to go left around the shale. After two hundred feet and using all the screws, save two for a belay, I stopped to bring Trashy up.
When Trashy arrived and looked up at the intimidating shale and vertical top-out, he hesitated a bit. I could tell he didn’t want to lead any more. He had done more than his share of the ice climbing. I offered to take the lead and, somewhat relieved, he accepted. He then said, “How come, after your accident, you didn’t become more fearful of climbing?” It was a curious thing to say at a time like this, but he followed it up with: “I find that as I get older, climbing scares me a lot more than it used to.” I wanted to reassure him and answering honestly did so. “Trashy, my accident was a mistake. Actually, a whole series of mistakes. I understand what I did wrong and I’ve learned from it. I know climbing is dangerous, but I’m fitter now, I’m more experienced now, and I’m more confident in my abilities now. Hence, I fear less.”
I took off on the final ropelength, placing screws every forty feet of so. I placed my last one maybe thirty feet down from the summit. I knew it would be my last piece. I had a picket strapped to my pack, but I wouldn’t bother pulling it off unless nothing else worked. I followed ice to within ten feet of the lip and then it turned into vertical snow. This section was the most precarious of the climb for me and I slipped down a few heart-stopping times, before catching in the snow. I finally hammered on of my axes into the hard snow as a picket and then mantled onto it, rolling onto the summit. We’d done it.
My hands were completely numb from being in the wet snow for so long. I put in a piece and stripped off all my gear. I managed to get Trashy on belay before the agony of defrosting hit me. For the next ten minutes I cussed silently in tremendous and all-too-familiar pain. This was one of the reasons I don’t ice climb anymore. This pain is horrific. I like alpine climbing, though, and I’ll continue, but I need better gloves for this stuff. I figured it was a warm summer day and didn’t think of the obvious: wet snow is cold, no matter what the season.
Trashy soon joined me on the summit and we were both elated. I gave him a hug. What a great partner and companion he is. I’m lucky to have done a number of my biggest climbs with him. This was our sixth 50CC climb together and that list included The Titan, Direct South Buttress of Mt. Moran, the North Face of the Grand Teton, Shiprock, and now Mt. Alberta and Edith Cavell. He’s rock solid. I walked over and tagged what looked to be a higher summit to the east. Of course, from there, the true summit a bit to the west of our top-out looked higher. We signed the register and noticed the entry for Homie and Loobster. I was a little disappointed that they hadn’t left us a note, maybe with the summit time so that we’d know how far behind we were.
A father and son team had just topped out on the East Ridge and while we relaxed and ate, we watched them flail on the descent. They obviously started down the wrong way and after a hundred feet of descending, then climbed back up. They started down the correct way, but peeled off too soon and were downclimbing some horrible loose section when we went by them. They had done a number of good mountains while up here on vacation from Georgia, though, and I wondered how they pulled it off.
The West Ridge descent is best left unmentioned, but I’ll make a few comments. It starts by descending 3200 feet of mostly nasty talus and scree. Most of it moves and most of it is far too large for any scree surfing. Tired from our ascent, we had to be careful not to injure ourselves, but we also wanted to get down and get back to the car without delay. Once off the unpleasant upper section, we found a beautiful climber’s trail that led us all the way down to the Tonquin Valley trail. Once down on this nice flat trail, I set a motivated pace, mainly to end the hiking as quickly as possible. Only thirty minutes from the car did we finally switch out of our boots and into our sticky-rubber shoes. I decided to hike fast until 15 hours had elapsed and if I wasn’t done by then, I’d take things easier. I finished in 14h59m. Things just worked on this climb.
Homie and Loobster had been down for 2.5 hours, but they still seemed in good spirits and we traded stories about our climbs. They had taken things easy and slow, knowing speed would only grant them more waiting time down at the car. They ascended in 6.5 hours, spent over an hour on the summit, and completed the roundtrip in 12.5 hours. They remarked seeing that someone claimed a 3-hour ascent of the East Ridge. They enjoyed the descent route every bit as much as we did. Homie remarked that he was a bit disappointed by the lower part of the ridge, as it was trivial Class 2 climbing. The upper section redeemed the route for him and he enjoyed the fun, exposed scrambling. They had brought a small rope and rack, but used neither. The crampons and ice axe were only used briefly as well, so they were more heavily burdened than necessary.
We headed back to the campground for a revitalizing shower and a hearty meal. On Friday morning we slept in until 8 a.m. and then unpacked the gear and stowed it away. By 9:30 a.m. we were headed into Jasper for breakfast and shopping. We managed to kill most of the day lounging around Jasper. I like this little town. This would be our one complete day of rest on the trip, besides the drive up and back, of course, but those aren’t all that restful when you never stop moving.