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A novice climber takes on ice falls of Mount Washington

By Anne Farrar the Washington Post 7 min read
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Resting above Tuckerman Ravine on Mount Washington. (Washington Post photo by Anne Farrar.) 

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In New Hampshire, water seeps out of the White Mountains year-round, creating ice waterfalls in the winter. Willey’s Slide, shown, is a fabulous (if unnerving) destination for East Coast climbers looking to learn the sport. (Washington Post photo by Anne Farrar.)

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North Conway, NH is a great spot to start an outdoor adventure.

Conversations can get heated quickly when you’re hanging off the side of an ice fall.

“Swing harder!” my guide says. 

“Harder?” I ask.

“Yeah, harder,” he answers. “It’s a wall of ice, you’ve got to get the pick in deep!”

“But I’ve never swung an ice axe before,” I think to myself. In fact, I haven’t swung anything at all since I played softball when I was 12.

Let’s try this again … and thunk! The pick is in! Thunk! Yep, that’s better — no wiggle. One hard strike and a flick of the wrist digs the pick in deep so I can start climbing up Willey’s Slide. Pretty soon, I’m clinging by two ice axes and a pair of crampons to the side of a mountain that’s covered in a thick layer of ice, exhilarated and terrified at the same time.

Willey’s Slide is a popular training destination for ice climbers in New Hampshire’s Crawford Notch State Park. From the bottom of the ice-slathered slope, the frozen surface gently rolls down the side of the mountain the length of a couple of football fields. As guide Ryan Howes helps me get the hang of pick placement and kicking with crampons — footwear outfitted with hooks — it’s just a thunk, scrape and umf up a steep hill. Without ice, Willey’s Slide would be a bit like scrambling up Old Rag in the Shenandoahs — but add water, freezing temperatures and gusting wind, and the hill becomes a slippery slope perfect for learning the ABCs of ice climbing.

It’s early December, and the ice-climbing season in Northern New Hampshire has just begun. In winter, the White Mountain range — known locally as “the Whites” — is perfect for ice climbing, mountaineering and skiing.

The Whites drip with water year-round. So when temperatures drop, beautiful ice falls form, including those that form Willey’s Slide, Frankenstein Cliff and Cathedral Ledge, sprawling fields of ice that draw climbers from all over the East Coast.

I’ve hired Howes through Synnott Mountain Guides in nearby Jackson for two days of one-on-one ice-climbing instruction. His first lesson: how to put on crampons and walk while you’re wearing them. Moving quickly is out of the question; it’s like having bearlike claws strapped to the bottom of your boots. Every piece of brush seems to get snagged in the steel points, making an ordinary gait hazardous. Adopting a wide stance — don’t try to “walk like a lady” — is the only way to avoid destroying the pricey winter hiking pants I bought for the trip. I only snagged them a few times, and tripped a few more, but they still bear the scars of a small war with the crampons.

I’ve scaled a few mountains, scrambled over boulders and dabbled in rock climbing. But climbing on ice is a different ballgame: I have a hard time even walking on ice. This is where the ice climber’s gear comes in — no slick-soled shoes here. With every step, kick and crunch, the crampons dig into the ice, helping alleviate the slip ‘n’ slide. Then there are the pair of wicked-looking ice axes used as hand-holds while scaling the surfaces. Driving the pick in as deep as possible — getting a good “stick” –is one key to climbing safely, Howes explains. The other is making sure both axes are fixed and solid before repositioning your foot. Having three points of contact on the wall at all times is the safety standard, and especially crucial for new climbers like me.

It’s equally important to learn to install and trust ice anchors and ropes. The anchors, about seven inches long, look like hollowed-out screws with sharp points at one end. At the other end is a dual-purpose handle — it rotates so you can screw in the anchor, and you can also clip your carabiner and rope to the loop. Anchors, ropes and carabiners: These are your lifeline to your climbing partner, and what breaks your fall if you slip.

On the ice falls, it’s cold, but not biting cold –a parka would have been too much. Ice-climbing is a lot of work; it’s a constant stretch, kick, thwak from a squatting position. Then you stand up and do it again, oh-so-slowly scaling the side of a mountain like a spider. The worst is when you stop moving, waiting for your partner to set anchors and create the route. That’s when you’ll be thankful for the Gore-Tex and heavy gloves that protect your fingers from the constant seep of water. As a 40-something, though, this down time was the right time to “ice” my knees — I didn’t feel a twist or stretch until evening came around by firelight.

Four hours in — I actually made it to the top! About 700 feet of beautiful ice rolled down the hill below me, and my confidence began to grow. After a short hike through the woods and out to our parking area, I left my trusty guide with a promise to meet the next day for more challenging climbs.

Another — drier — challenge I set for myself when visiting New Hampshire was to summit Mount Washington. One of the most famous mountains on the East Coast, it reportedly has some of the worst weather in the world, with documented winds of 231 mph, as well as the tallest peak in the Whites at 6,289 feet. On my third day of climbing, Howes and I started from the Pinkham Notch Visitor Center at dawn and spent the day climbing the mountain via the historic Tuckerman Ravine route. Its ice falls were just forming, but plenty of snow was on the ground, and Mother Nature graced us with clear blue skies and relatively mild wind gusts under 40 mph. It was cold, but the panoramic view of the Whites for miles was worth the effort. We didn’t make our appointment at the Mount Washington Observatory, but knocking around on the summit was enough to merit a celebratory fist-bump.

Mount Washington is a 20-minute drive from charming North Conway, New Hampshire, an energetic little New England town as picturesque as a Currier & Ives print. Main Street is filled with multicolored two-storied homes and historic buildings that are now shops and eateries; a few short weeks before Christmas, the twinkling holiday lights beckoned me to investigate every one I walked past. From Zeb’s General Store, advertising more than 50 varieties of maple syrup, to the House of Jerky, with some 30 kinds of cured meat, the shopping offered a wealth of gifts — including for myself.

After I checked into the elegant, white-columned Eastern Slope Inn Resort — the circa-1926 building is on the National Register of Historic Places — my nose led me to its Flatbread Company restaurant, which served delicious locally sourced food and offered a great selection of brews to help temper the dents and dings of the day. The spacious dining room was ripe with chatter, and the roar of the wood-fired oven kept the room cozy as the temperature dropped outside. And, as luck would have it, my newly renovated suite at the inn included both a gas-burning fireplace and whirlpool tub.

I sank gratefully into the water as my climbing clothes dried by the fire, hoping the next day’s adventures on the ice would be as exciting as the first.

INFORMATION:

n NEClimbs: www.neclimbs.com. General information on weather conditions and locations to climb in the region.

n Appalachian Mountain Club: www.outdoors.org

n Parks and Recreation New Hampshire: www.nhstateparks.org

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