Swinging in the dark: Nighttime as good as any to learn to ice climb in Hyalite Canyon
By SEAN FORBES Chronicle Outdoors
Ice climbing, to me, has always looked eerily similar to hitting glass with a hammer. There’s always something breaking, the few times I’ve had the chance to watch.
And of the handful of jargon words I’ve heard, about half involve some form of the word scream, like “screamers,” and my favorite, “the screaming barfies.”
I’m about to add plain, old high-pitched screaming to the list, thinking the first two should have been enough to keep me out of a Jeep about to careen into a snow bank on the narrow bridge at the southern end of Hyalite Reservoir. But, for lack of a better explanation, I had run out of excuses and couldn’t help being intrigued by the chance to learn to climb ice by the light of headlamps, stars and maybe even the moon.
We all got a little quiet and wedged ourselves more firmly into our seats, reflecting on a story my friend Rob Pudner had finished moments earlier about his last ride down the canyon. That trip included the same type of snow bank but a bigger truck, and a guardrail over the reservoir’s spillway.
When the Jeep started to buck on an icy corner, Tyson Roth had called it the “Hyalite Rodeo.” It’s the only adventure I’ve been on where the excitement starts well before the parking lot.
Despite the smothering darkness, the well-plowed parking lot at the Grotto Falls trailhead looked like any other modestly-busy Saturday, only with silhouettes and clusters of bobbing globes of light. It’s an ever-widening circle of friends’ solution to the 9-to-5er’s dilemma.
“There wasn’t enough time for us to get out and (climb during the day),” said Craig Delger, owner of Bozeman’s Prolite Gear. “So (Brad Baumann, a fellow Prolite employee) and I started going out on Wednesday nights and climbing at night, just out of necessity.
“But once we did, doing it at night just brings a whole new sense of adventure to it all.”
Adventure is a good word for it. But when the ice materializes from the blackness with the various hues of yellow headlamps dancing across the glistening blue, white, gold and gray pillars – with the soothing sound of cascading water a constant in the background – I’m more inclined to describe it as dream-like, almost magical.
“It’s a beautiful sport to be climbing on a frozen waterfall,” Delger said.
This particular section of ice is called Genesis I and its columns, connected by the arched remains of what has broken, could have been the inspiration of any ancient Greek architect.
“It’s incredible,” said Pudner, a newer member of the Prolite crew who makes the weekly sojourn. “(Hyalite Canyon has) the highest concentration of naturally-forming ice routes in the continental U.S. It’s got a reputation for being the best and it really is. Everything you want is right there. It’s perfect, gorgeous.”
I still couldn’t exactly imagine climbing the artistic formations, but Pudner handed me some tools, and I’d already gone through the rigamarole of getting crampons on. Feeling way too much like the proverbial bull in a china shop, I kick my first steps into the snow-covered slope leading to my first vertical pitch. No one mentioned anything about the lower-angled portion on the far edge of the coated cliff, and I didn’t ask.
Lucky for me, I was able to hook the axes into holes in the ice. The first few moves felt like any other type of climbing, so I ended up well above the deck when I had to take a real swing. I went through the motions with my right arm and it felt like using a hammer without the rebound. The pick of the ax bit into the clear ice. I briefly remembered a few hours of construction work with a touch more fondness.
The next swing with my left arm shattered something brittle, the glittering shards arcing out into space and skittering off. Even on a top-rope, I felt the steely mitts of gravity grasping at me. The sinking, weightless sensation caused a slight panic sending my heart racing and arm striking wildly, spasmodically back at the wall. The pick eventually digs in and there is really nothing else to do but go with it.
Giving in to the methodical repetition of swing, swing, kick, kick, I can’t explain with any certainty why, but each solid tool or crampon placement inspires a satisfaction bringing me closer to a new habit-forming hobby.
“It’s always changing. So you climb a route one year, it’s going to be completely different the next. You climb it one day, it’s going to be completely different the next day. You can climb it in the morning and it’s different in the afternoon,” Pudner said. “It’s a great way to exercise your mind and your body.”
And there are few greater senses of accomplishment than pulling over a bulge at the top, finding snow and in the near inkiness the anchors. My little-lighted world could just as easily be at the top of Mount Everest, though the view after leaning back into the harness and looking down the canyon dispels that mirage quickly enough – not to belittle the dark ridgelines reaching like fingers towards the warm, orange glow of Bozeman’s night lights. The only blemish is the onset of those “screaming barfies,” or, what others would describe as the torturous pins and needles of blood returning to frigid fingers.
“Once you go ice climbing a couple times, it’s pretty easy to get hooked,” Delger said.
“I just don’t think anyone can really understand until they do it,” Pudner said. “There’s not much you can say to recreate the feeling without experience. I would recommend that everyone do it.”
I have to admit, I’m starting to agree.
Related posts:
- Gallatin National Forest closes Hyalite Road to motorized use for spring break-up
- Steepfest 2010 climbing competition scheduled for this weekend in Billings
- Rockin’ the ice: Ice climbers to pursue passion in remembrance of Guy Lacelle
- Bozeman Boulder Initiative to host fundraiser at Emerson Cutlural Center
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