The Siege of Peak Grand Union

Nick Treinen chilling at summit of Peak Grand Union (Pk. 4500+), March 31, 2019.

Scroll down for a reproduction of an article that appeared in Scree, the monthly publication of the Mountaineering Club of Alaska.              

  Never in Kigsblog history have so many bails been registered, nor resources squandered,for so nebulous a quarry as Peak Grand Union. Here are links that provide evidence of the drawn-out siege:

Zero For Seven on Peak Grand Union Pt. 1 

Zero For Seven on Peak Grand Union Pt. 2 

Zero For Nine on Peak Grand Union

Attempt Twelve on Grand Union

Nick, with skis stashed at col, heads for the long-awaited triumph

         The Kigs remained formless, an undifferentiated mass of bumps and ridges, until one summer when bean-counting, list-keeping, peakbaggers from Washington  came to the Seward Peninsula and showed the locals the way of the Marilyn. Now armed with a rudimentary knowledge of the laws of prominence, the Kigs could be devolved into a series of definable summits. Down the Vin Hoeman rabbit-hole I fell, doomed to take the easy walk-ups from the south instead of north walls and real routes.

Central Kigluait from North with Grand Union River drainages

          Peak 4500+, formerly a mere northwest shoulder of Mt. Osborn, emerged under the spotlight of prominence as the second highest summit in the range, a veritable “K2 of the Kigs,” except that it’s an easy walk-up from the south. It suddenly seemed desirable, and worthy of a grand name, “Peak Grand Union” because it’s the high point of the six-forked Grand Union River drainage to the north. The formula for climbing Grand Union would be: make many failed attempts over several years until a high snow year comes, snow-machine north 35 miles over Mosquito Pass, hang an east off the Cobblestone flats, and take advantage of the big snowpack to access the five-mile long “West Cwm of Osborn” from where Grand Union looked to be an easy, blue-square run from the the south.

Westernmost glacier in North America? Remnant? This is the Grand Union Glacier below Peak Grand Union in July of 2018.

Years of ridiculous shenanigans were eventually required for what should have been a simple bag. Twelve attempts spanned four years before Nick Treinan and I finally motored up the West Cwm of Osborn on April 2, 2018, and made the ascent of Grand Union. The reason for so many bails? Not difficulty, nor remoteness, nor weather— “GLUE of TOWN” was the reason. GLUE may be defined as a force which attracts a climber back toward town, tent, addiction, car, or relationship. GLUE costs an expedition time, energy, gear, and personnel by creating friction in every phase of its execution. Eventually a bail is precipitated, a bail founded not upon exigencies of the climb itself (weather, difficulty, fortitude,) but rather, to actions made before the climb ever started, the bumbling and dithering that took place under influence of GLUE.

Drew Maurer up the wrong cwm
on a Grand Union attempt

In Nome, partners phase in and out. Drew was a true GLUE Master, entangled in webs of Front Street chaos, his entropy and dissolution exceeding even mine, but he had an old snow-machine, and had skied the steeps on St. Lawrence Island. Drew was to form the first phase of Peak Grand Union expeditions. We were rumpled and disorganized. Nome retracted us time and again like the big GLUE POT it is. Expeditions never departed before 2 pm.  On our first attempt, we went up the wrong cwm of Osborn. On the second attempt, Drew became obsessed with penetration of the West Cwm proper by snow-machine, a feat he finally achieved through hideous effort in the bushes that I witnessed from the opposite wall of the valley, having been wise enough to leave my snow-machine below on the Cobblestone. We climbed the wrong mountain (Pt. 3800+) that day. A ground blizzard came on. We tried to leave, but the West Cwm had already closed around Drew’s machine like a phagocyte around a foreign particle. We abandoned the sorry thing in its sub-nivean pit and rode double all the way back home through raging sketch-weather on my trusty Bearcat. Third trip was a rescue mission wherein any Grand Union attempt was eclipsed by the Fitzcarraldian epic of digging Drew’s machine out of the Cwm. Fourth trip, we never made it out of Nome, languishing instead in the fleshpots of Nome, the mountain far away, with GLUE Index Levels at maximum.

David Panepinto in the West Cwm of Osborn

David formed the next phase of Grand Union attempts. A less entropic partner than Drew, it still wasn’t enough to overcome the friction of impedimenta. Our strategy was to camp on the Cobblestone and ski (David skiing on a splitboard) the five miles up the Cwm, obviating the need for snow-machine penetration. But a subtle interface of HOUSE GLUE and JOB GLUE retarded initial velocity on Friday night of our first attempt. On the second attempt, we stayed too long in the tent discussing Princess Bride which chain-reactioned a bail from near the summit later in the day, like Wiessner and Gombu high on K2. There were other bails. Never could the GLUE be cut. Peak Grand Union took on white whale status even though it had started out as a mere shoulder of Osborn.

Nick stops to scavenge

Known center of Kigs universe may lie down this drainage,
the West Fork of Grand Union

 

Finally, the Nick phase brought success on Grand Union. Nick had found a line in William Oquilluk’s People of the Kauwerak that seemed to indicate the known center of the Kigs universe was located on the flanks of Peak Grand Union at some kind of giant eagle feather, and so agreed to go on a snow-machine mountaineering trip in April, 2019. Something about Nick’s free spirit, unfettered by peak bagging epistemology and nomenclature, caused the GLUE to lift like clouds over Kigs, plus the huge winter snowpack that permitted snow-machine access to the West Cwm sans Drewlike epics. The last few hundred feet were a little too icy for skiing off the top. Nick tellied from near the top, and I lower down. On the summit, Nick asked me if I felt elation at our eventual success after so many attempts, but I had to explain that the whole Peak Grand Union thing was really just kind of a grim joke to ameliorate the giant carbon footprint I made over an insignificant bump on a ridge, though the peak does look nice from the north, and we did have a ton of fun, justification enough. Nick and I motored back to Nome, where the GLUE of TOWN drew us back in with its subtle but persistent gravity. 

Success came in 2018 because it was a high snow year. Unlike previous attempts, we were easily able
to access the West Cwm of Osborn by snow-machine, which made reaching Grand Union a snap.
The red arrow in this picture shows the high shoulder on the right that allowed us to creep into
the valley on machines. 

Looking along towards Osborn.  A lot of last great kigs-problems given away here. North Ridge of Osborn, plus look at that hourglass shaped ski run.. but it's an avalanche trap.

Zero For Nine on Peak Grand Union

David and Osborn West Face.

Enter ADJUTANT. He is composed of a basal ganglia, with a few small lobes of cerebral cortex attached, two halves of a thalamus, and a brain stem.

ADJUTANT: "Kigscourt is now in session! All rise for the entrance of the Honorable Judge Adjudicator."

Audience stands.

Enter JUDGE. He consists of a very large forebrain, essentially a telencephalon minus the diencephalon, with a noticeably bulging cerebral cortex.

JUDGE: "You may be seated. (gavels)  Kigscourt is now in session! Adjutant, read the first case."

ADJUTANT: "Designation of Blame, KigsCourt v. Allapa and David P."

JUDGE: "Read the determination."

ADJUTANT: "It is the responsibility of Kigscourt to place blame upon an individual for FAILURE TO CLIMB Peak Grand Union on April 4, 2017. Co-defendants David P. and Allapa started out for the summit of Peak Grand Union upon this date, but failed to attain their goal of snow-boarding and skiing off stated summit. The dispensation of guilt to one or the other of stated individuals for not reaching the summit falls within purview of Kigscourt, sole jury, executioner, and adjudicator of blame in this matter."

Judge gavels.

Peak Grand Union, looking east up Osborn's Western Cwm, taken by badass Kevin Ahl.

JUDGE: "Prosecution, you may present your opening statements."

Enter PROSECUTION, a thalamus hitched to an imposing frontolimbic network. The superior anterior temporal lobe, the medial prefrontal cortex, and a septal region of the the subgenual cingulate cortex's are all brightly lit. 

PROSECUTION: "Viewed from the south, Peak Grand Union barely qualifies as a mountain at all. The only reason it qualifies as the second highest peak in the Kigs is because a key col with barely 500 ft. of prominence exists between it and Mt. Osborn. Without that col,  Peak Grand Union would be a just a point on the long northwest shoulder of Osborn.  Peak Grand Union viewed from the north, now that is a different matter. However, FAILURE TO CLIMB the mountain from the north is not what's on trial here. Rather, FAILURE TO CLIMB from the south, the easy side, is on trial.
     The two gentlemen you see here, David P. and Allapa, started out with everything in their favor: a basecamp at the bottom of the valley in the Cobblestone flats, excellent April snow conditions, a reasonably early start... well, when I say 'reasonably early', I should say 'relatively early'— they made it out of camp before 2 pm, which for this crew counts as an early start. Yet, eight hours later, the evening shadows found them turning around just short of the high point, just short of success.
        Organs and thought concepts of the jury... Hands of the Executioner... I intend to prove today that Allapa—  (points) —is solely to blame for the bail off Peak 4500+. I can show you that, beyond all reasonable doubt, Allapa undermined the success of the 2017 Peak Grand Union Expedition, through sloth, lack of discipline, over-medication, and dehydration. I am confident David P. will be exonerated for the bail once you are able to view the extent of the screw-ups perpetrated in series by Mr. Allapa." (rests)

JUDGE:  "Defense may present its opening arguments."

Enter DEFENSE, of a similar construction to the Prosecution, but with a souped-up amygdala, and a stripped-down hippocampus. 

DEFENSE: "Organs and thought manifestations of the jury, Hands of the Executioner, the law in this matter is very plain: Whoever first vocalizes the need for the bail gets the credit for the bail. And all parties are in agreement that it was David P. who first spoke up that it was time to turn around short of the summit. You, jury and executioner, have a responsibility to place the blame upon David P.  No other verdict can be reached." (rests)

JUDGE:  "Prosecution— you may call your witness!"  (gavels)

Peak Grand Union from north, July 2018, on subsequent fail to attain highpoint. Westernmost glacier in North America right there?

PROSECUTION: "Prosecution calls to the stand— the defendant."

Enter Defendant #1, ALLAPA, a gangly assemblage of posterior cingulate cortex, anterior cingulate cortex, medial prefrontal cortex, and insular cortex, all of it underpowered due to a compromised fornix.

ADJUTANT:  "Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help yourself?"

ALLAPA: "As Narcissus to his reflection, I do."

PROSECUTION: "Mr. Allapa, would you like to tell the jury and the executioner what happened on the day of April 4, 2018, in the Kigluaik Mountains?"

ALLAPA: "Yeah man, well, it's like, we've been trying to bag this one little peak west of Osborn, you know. I call it Peak Grand Union, cause it doesn't really have a name, you know, but if you're viewing the range from the north, it kind of rears up over the Grand Union drainage. Much more spectacular from the North, by the way. Dr. Hopkins, the Last Great Giant of Beringia guy, or no, maybe it was that guy Kauffman, said the Grand Union drainage held one of only three bona fide glaciers in the Kigs. It's the westernmost glacier in North America. I don't really know what the criteria for a bona fide glacier—"

PROSECUTION: "Mr. Allapa... perhaps you can stick to the matter of the climb itself. We're trying to pin BLAME after all."

ALLAPA: "Uh...  yes, of course. Well, so, David and I did everything right this time. We motored in our snow-machines on a Friday night and made a good camp down on the Cobblestone flats, at the base of the 5-mile long valley that runs due west from Mt. Osborn. I call that valley the Western Cwm of Osborn, which is, like, Welsh for a glacial cirque. Leonard and Lupe were there, which was really nice, cause those guys are a lot of fun.
     "We got kind of a late start the next morning. Leonard and Lupe didn't join us for the climb. They packed up and head back to Nome, sucked away by the GLUE of TOWN.  David and I melted snow for water. I took about a quart, plus one of those little mini-Nalgene bottles. We slogged and slogged. That valley is long man. I felt sorry for David, slogging on his big fat splitboard skis. I mean the split-board is great, don't get me wrong. It's just that if your snowboard is split, then it's no longer a snowboard, right? It's SKIS! I mean, just get a real pair of skis and learn to ski. Fine, so you got a split board, but now you're snowboarding about 10 percent of the time, and the other 90 percent you're ski—"

PROSECUTION:  "Mr. Allapa..."

ALLAPA: "Uh, yes, sorry. So we slogged and slogged, and then it got little bit steep. I didn't make the same mistake as last time by starting up too soon. This time we went all the way up the 5-mile valley before heading up. It wasn't hard climbing or nothing. We were totally expecting to just ski off the top, no problem. But it's kind of a big mountain, you know. I mean, it's just about as big as Osborn. 4500 ft. versus Osborn's 4714 ft. It's Osborn's conjoined twin, really.
       "So the sky started getting dark, and we were still about 300 feet below the summit. So we decided to bail, even though we were close. I had been moving like a zombie all day, so I didn't mind bailing. We took our skins off. David assembled his board, which, admittedly, he gets done very quickly these days. We turned around and skied down. All I could say was: 'Zero For Eleven on Peak Grand Union'. The thing I remember most clearly is the sweet taste of the water when we finally got down to the little place where water was burbling up from the creek.
       "The Western Cwm is rather flat, really, so it took us a while to reach this one little bit of open water we had passed on the way up. David and I were so dehydrated. Water never tasted so good. We skied on back to our basecamp and had a good time, and motored back to Nome Sunday morning. I felt kind of lame, because it turns out we could have snow-machined all the way up the Cwm. How could I have known? We would have bagged that peak for sure if we could have just zoomed right up the valley. We should have turned around after a mile, gone back to camp and got the machines, and just blasted up to the base of the mountain."

Lupe, Leonard, David, basecamp, Friday night.

 JUDGE: "Does the defense wish to cross-examine?"

DEFENSE:  "Mr. Allapa. Please tell the court what you said to David P. when the two of you decided to bail."

ALLAPA: "Well, I was feeling heavy as an accidental dump in your snow-pants, but I told David I would be willing to continue on into the darkness, and probably have a total painful epic for half the night, just for the sake of reaching the summit of this rather obscure and nebulous highpoint."

DEFENSE: "So you stated that you did want to continue to the summit?"

ALLAPA: "Well...yes, I suppose... well, kind of. What I really wanted was some water, but neither of us had any."

DEFENSE:  "Mr. Allapa, at any time during the climb did David P. state his wish to descend?"

ALLAPA: "Well, yeah, where we turned around. He said something like, 'Well then, I'd rather take Option B," and Option B was, you know, going down. I was only to happy to acquiesce. Did I mention it was cold? Well, yes, it was, very."

DEFENSE: "Let it be noted in Kigscourt that David P. was the one to suggest going down. No further questions, your Honor."

David split-boarding up Western Cwm. Looking west toward Oro Grande.

Enter AUDIENCE, an unwieldy assemblage of medial pre-frontal cortex, medial posterior parietal cortex, posterior cingulate cortex, anterior cingulate cortex, medial prefrontal cortex, and raveled insular cortex as well. The whole thing keeps lurching from one side to the other, along an axis parallel to the corpus collosum.

AUDIENCE: "Frankly, I don't see why blame has to be placed in the first place. What's the point?"

"I heard it was his eleventh try on this peak (link). And it's nothing but another nameless bump on a ridge. It's not like it's Fitzroy, or something. Peak Grand Union... makes it sound like a real mountain. Why the hell is it taking him eleven tries?"

"My sympathies are entirely with David P.  I'm married to a scatter-brain myself so I know what it's like to put up with one."

"It's a silly game he plays. It's supposed to be a type of bail filter he runs in his brain to make sure the bail is justified. It's supposed to help him get up the mountain, but he never gets up the mountain anymore."

"Ridiculous."

"Strange.

"Talk about guilt and shame. You know, neither has any place in the mountains. Decisions have to be made."

"I get thirsty just thinking about it."

After the bail, back where the water burbles up. Shadows of the Oro Grande against Osborn.

DEFENSE: "Defense calls... David P."

AUDIENCE murmurs.

Enter DAVID P. a developing network of neurons spread across a variety of domains in the cerebral cortex.

PROSECUTION: "Objection! Since this trial takes place solely in non-corporeal mental space, any representation of David P. is a figment. Any testimony would be conjecture."

JUDGE: "Sustained. Defense, really? You want to drag David into this weird head trip?"

DAVID P.: "I assure you that if it were possible for me to be objectively represented, I would declare this trial a mockery of what amounted to a very good day in the you—"

JUDGE: "Sustained." (gavels)

Exit DAVID P.

Photo taken from small stance climbing central buttress Mt. Brynteson, Iditarod time, 2018. Fantastic rime soloable with no fear.

PROSECUTION: "Prosecution calls ALLAPA to the stand"

 PROSECUTION: "Mr. Allapa, how many years would you say you have been practicing winter mountaineering? Winter camping, specifically."

ALLAPA: "Ugh... more days and nights than I care to think about it. The thought of it brings some pretty wicked smells to mind."

PROSECUTION: "Look, I have called you in to be our expert witness. You know-- the guy that knows everything about his field. So it's safe to say you're an expert on winter camping."

ALLAPA: "No, a complete goofer. But I did apprentice with Randy Waitman, master climbing guide, now a grizzled ascetic living in the middle of the Northern Boreal Forest with birds nesting in his ancient beard."

PROSECUTION:  "Good enough. So, in your experience, what is the importance of hydration in winter mountaineering?"

ALLAPA: "Oh yeah, You have to remember to drink water. Like, one reason I flamed out so bad on that trip with David was I sort of forgot the rule that you have to drink water obsessively. You have to drink so hard you're filling a pee bottle a night. You have to drink until it's uncomfortable to drink more, and then keep drinking. Like on the West Buttress of McKinley where everybody is just peeing all the time, mega-hydration culture you know. Melting snow creates distilled water, and it's harder to hydrate with distilled water because of osmosis and stuff. It had been a while since I had been winter camping, and I just kind of forgot pee culture. I think that's why I was moving so slowly the next day when we finally got out of camp."

PROSECUTION: "No further questions."

JUDGE: "Get him out of my sight."

ADJUTANT: "I wish I could. But he is all-pervasive in this courtroom."

King Mountain M-Bouldering circuit leading to top of hill, go-to climbing destinations of 2018 mixed climbing season.

PROSECUTION: "Prosecution calls David P. to the stand."

JUDGE: "Now, really. Haven't we been through this?"

PROSECUTION: "I had a thought, sir."

JUDGE: "A thought. I see. Very well. I'll allow it. We miss David a lot, anyway. Conjure a figment."

Enter David P.

PROSECUTION: "Nice to see you, sir. It would be lovely to get caught up, but I'm afraid we find ourselves occupied with the matter at hand, the placing of blame. Now... on April 4, 2018, did you ever have to wait for Allapa?"

DAVID P.: "What do you mean by 'wait'?"

PROSECUTION: "Come now, Mr. Panepinto, you know exactly where I'm going with this. There's no need to protect your friend. Did you, or did you not, wait in the trail for an interval of five minutes or more, a series of five or more times, for Allapa to catch up with you during the five-mile approach ski to the southern slopes of Peak Grand Union on April 4, 2018."

DAVID P.: "Yes, by these terms, I did wait."

PROSECUTION: "In your estimation, could the reason for your having to wait be due to Allapa's obvious dehydration and failure to hydrate in the tent the night before?"

DEFENSE: "Objection!  The night before is immaterial. Blame is to placed for April 4. That means April 4 only."

JUDGE: "Overruled. A pattern seems to be emerging."

DAVID P.: "The actual problem may have been he was hungover from the night before."

ALLAPA: "Guys, I'm uncomfortable with this. It's not right to be representing a nice guy with a figment of my imagination."

JUDGE: "I quite agree. (Turns to face the jury, and then remembers there is no jury in cases of blame) The witness may vanish back into the field potentiality from which you emerged."

Exit David P.

Looking northwest from the top of Newton Peak on a weekday evening. If there is a scene in Nome, this must be it. Plenty enough snow for a SHREDFUL 2018 season. Lots of good runs on Newton. So many of them in thick whiteout! Friends emerge out of the mist, and for a moment, are more than just a dull shape again.

PROSECUTION: "Prosecution calls Leonard to the stand."

JUDGE: "Well, now that you've let the dogs in, why not? Conjure a figment."

Enter LEONARD, a dentate gyrus, parts of a hippocampus, a subiculum, with the parahippocampal gyrus strangely wired to the basolateral amygdala.

ADJUTANT: "Do you swear to filter your nervous electromagnetic fields so as to reproduce as close a facsimile to the the actual qualia and flow patterns that occurred on April 4, 2018 in the vicinity of Mt. Osborn in the Kigluaik Mountains, from as close a viewpoint to Leonard and Lupe's as can be reproduced by this narcissistic human mind, so help you God?"

LEONARD: "If you say so."

PROSECUTION: "Good morning, Mr. L. Thank you for taking the time to appear in Kigscourt today. You and Lupe were present on the snow-machine expedition to the Cobblestone River last April 4th?"

LEONARD: "That is correct, sir. We did a little camping for a night. Lupe and I took off in the morning cause we hadda be back in Nome. Those guys went for a trek up by Osborn. They stayed an extra night. We were long gone by the time they got down from the mountain."

PROSECUTION: "So you saw them off on their climb of the mountain?"

LEONARD: "Well, no. We took off on our machines before they made it out of camp. Genius there was having a hard time finding his mittens, and such. The usual."

PROSECUTION: "So the defendant has a reputation for dithering about?"

LEONARD: "Safe to say."

PROSECUTION: "How long do you estimate it took them to leave basecamp?"

LEONARD: "Hours. We had a long chat about school, as I recall."

PROSECUTION: "You and Mr. Allapa."

LEONARD: "Correct."

PROSECUTION: "No further questions. We have more than enough already.

JUDGE: "Defense, cross-examine?"

DEFENSE: "No need. This witness was not present the day of the ascent, and offers no credible testimony with which to place blame."

JUDGE: "Witness may step down."

Exit LEONARD.

Time for one more run from the top of Newton.

Enter JUDGE, PROSECUTION, DEFENSE, DEFENDANTS, AUDIENCE

JUDGE:  "Final statements!" (gavels)

PROSECUTION: "We are gathered here today to place blame upon one or both of two individuals who, on April 4, 2018, perpetrated a UNSUBSTANTIATED BAIL before reaching the high-point of their stated objective. This constitutes a CHICKEN-OUT under Kigsblog law. One stipulation of a CHICKEN-OUT requires blame to be placed for the bail. In the case of kigscourt vs David P. and Allapa, only one decision is possible. Allapa is to be blamed for the failure to summit. Allapa is to blamed for not bringing enough water. Allapa is to be blamed for not hydrating enough in the tent the night before. Allapa is to be blamed for BONKING and slowing down the climbing party the next day."

AUDIENCE: (whispering) "I heard it took him hours just to go to the bathroom."

PROSECUTION: "Blame rests squarely on Allapa's shoulders for taking too long to leave camp in the morning. This is a no-brainer. Kigscourt must find Allapa TO BLAME for the bail off Peak Grand Union on April 4."

DEFENSE: "Organs and thought manifestations of the jury, Hands of the Executioner-- The Prosecution is correct that this is a no-brainer. Kigslaw precedent clearly states that 'blame rests upon the individual who first suggests the bail by voice or gesture.'  All lobes are in agreement that David P. first suggested the bail. BLAME is to be placed on David P.  There can be no other decision."

DAVID P.: "I was manipulated! He was ready to go down as I!"

JUDGE: "Order! Does the defendant wish to make a statement? After all, this is all inside your head."

ALLAPA: "Yes, your Honor.
     "Minions of my own brain, guilt-ridden thought processes, Hand of the Executioner— I would like to take this occasion to point out that all this is farce. Originally I meant to just send a text to David telling him he doesn't have to feel guilty about us turning back short of the high point, but the message turned into this blogpost instead.
        "I hereby banish these ridiculous thoughts of BLAME to the Deleted Folder of our mind. All that matters is the beauty of the present moment, light glinting off tiny facets of snow crystals, the taste of cold Kigswater, blue sky.
       "Peak Grand Union is not peak enough to make such a fuss over. The climb was not climb enough to merit a trial. The whole endeavor was motivated in the first place by a kind of boredom, a structure of climbing maintained from earlier days of climbing when the achievements were more real and the consequences more dire. It gets me out into the country, you know? We will certainly return to Peak Grand Union for a twelfth attempt. But here is logic for you: if the climb was not badass enough to be called a climb, then the CHICKEN-OUT cannot be called a CHICKEN-OUT.
        "The verdict of the trial must be handed over to readers of Kigsblog."

DEFENSE: "Move to absolve all parties of blame!"

JUDGE: "So be it! Kigscourt is adjourned."

Shadows of Mosquito Pass moving up Tigaraha. On the way back from Peak Grand Union, April 2018.

Fall Fell

Bouldering on the way up the south ridge of Peak 3260, "East Singtook"

Peak 3260  
     Blog-lag considerably swollen. Writing of Fall adventures from late Spring. In this post, more sacred secrets will be given away, this time the location of one of the best roadside fell runs on the Seward Peninsula: four miles of gradually ascending ridge to the summit of the East Singtook (Pk. 3260), with a surprise set of gneiss pinnacles in the middle section allowing the rare mineral of actual climbing. Also in this post: the mysteries of the Little Singtook's (Pk. 3653) North Face will be probed, as well as little turd-clumps of climbing so small and unstable they are destined not to stand into the next Millennium. 

Grand Singtook (Pk. 3870) and Little Singtook (Pk. 3653 - "Sintauyuq?") from East Singtook. This pair form a prominent landmark, which is probably why a name was bestowed upon them from days of yore.

Marianne in glue

        No doubt the GLUE of TOWN ran high that September weekend as two teachers drove west. No doubt the tack was high due to the responsibility of a new school year in session. With each unit of distance away from town, the GLUE retracted us backwards toward town an equal number of units. The extending filaments of GLUE did not start peeling off us until Nick and I had travelled twenty miles west on the Teller Road and crossed the Sinuk River. We began to forget about town, and about school, and the GLUE no longer asserted its influence upon our thoughts. We continued another ten miles west from the Sinuk and parked at Crete Creek to start our fell run up East Singtook.

A lightfoot lad raised in the Chugach

       A sentient but somnolent mist dissolved everything in and out, like a bad transporter beam. Nick could have lapped me several times, but kindly waited on the benches in the shivering wind. For me this was a mere peak bagging expedition, a statistical quest to stand on top of Pk. 3260, the "East Singtook." From the road, the ridge had always looked boring, a hike for tourists, with no climbing at all, which is why I had  skipped it all these long years, until-- the silly conceit of climbing every peak in the Kigs overtook my motivations like a disease and rendered me a mere hiker, not a climber. Now Pk. 3260 seemed desirable. But a surprise awaited in the crook of the south ridge that you can't see from the road.

Routes taken this Fall, 2017

Too cold to switch to rock shoes

      The pinnacles of Pt. 2875 suddenly popped up in the middle of the ridge! A hiker can easily side-hill around these outcrops, none of which really exceed six meters, but Nick began to navigate a little tightrope game through the pinnacles where you have to follow the exact crest of the ridge over the mini-Stegosaur's back of rock, and it was so fun to follow his heels doing all kinds of little boulder problems, both highball and low. Geologically, the rock had been granite before it was gneiss; cracks, knobs, and slabs emerged from the palimpsest of metamorphism. The ridge took us across 400 horizontal meters of cool little boulder problems, and out into the "you're going to be mangled" zone more than once. So our fell run contained this cool simulation of a real alpine rock climb. 

Fell running action

         Did I mention it was cold? Well, duh. There was to be no pleasant picnic in the sun that day. Vapors off Woolley Lagoon slapped into the Singtauyit slap after slap. The view kept pixellating into zones of grey before reloading the details between cloudbursts. A few of the most badass survivor mosquitoes tried to fly up between eddies of wind, then realized they were useless and activated their rescue beacons. Fall is the coldest season. Gloves, hats, and long johns are still buried under summer's gear, and cannot be found on a GLUE-stricken morning. Perhaps one lacks fatty tissues. The settings on one's bio-thermostat have not been recalibrated. Cold? Yes it was, alaapah.  

Evidence of uplift. In the background is the Singtook, adorned with its usual raiments of gale-force wind.

     Not only was the summit of Pk. 3260 another Marilyn notched in the silly, statistically-fabricated belt of a peak bagger, you could see lots more pointy Marilyns ripping clouds all up and down the range. Down the west ridge with airplane wing arms I followed Nick for an excellent downhill-running session. This led down to the saddle between the Grand Singtook and Little Singtook at the top of Crete Creek, the East Col, a place about which I had always been curious: would this pass go, or was it the usual Kigsian precipice to the north? Back in the two-thousand aughts, as a prelude to Nil's and my ascent of Grand Singtook's north face in 2003, I had invested significant amounts of time and energy to researching the question of this East Col, on several occasions hiking all the way around the Singtook from the west and getting terrifyingly lost in fog and furious wind. Back in the day, it took me forever to form a mental map of the confusing topography around the Singtauyit and I would wander like a dreamer in Wonderland, coming upon lost cirques full of ice and stone, with no real concept of how the hills and drainages fit together. 

Big league trundling action, looking down the north side of the Singtook South Col

    The pass looked like it would go to the north with some hideous Class 4 down-scrambling. I was happy that Nils and I had accessed the north face from several hundred feet higher and not gone down this unsavory chute. "Hello, is anyone down there?" I yelled, as if. We commenced trundling. Nick pried at enormous blocks with his runner's body like a shovel about to snap. We got on our backs and pushed with our legs, then popped upright, ran to the edge, and watched the explosions with the same sick fascination one watches crashes on youtube.

       There you have it. What value in all this verbiage? What right have I to chronicle a mere hike in the annals of a blog which is supposed to be about real climbing? Well, now you know the location of one of the finest roadside fell runs on the Seward Peninsula, that is something.

Singtooyit from the North. Grand Singtook in the center, Little Singtook to the right, and the East Singtook on the left barely poking up over a foreground peak. 

Granite Creek
      A splendid little fell-running community emerged out of the new school year. Nick bought a used Ford Bronco which served as an effective GLUE-cutting escape-mobile.  David joined us and we headed west on the Teller Road with GLUE filaments popping and peeling as we shed our psychological attachments on yet another freezing-ass, glorious weekend.

North Face of Little Singtook. Some of those white patches are ice. I went up partway and bouldered around.

      A movement was afoot to explore Granite Creek, around the corner to the northwest of the Singtook. For the fell runners, the fell run itself was a means to an end, but for this malnourished ice climber, the trip would be a chance to check out a new, north-facing cirque in the hope of finding Fall ice. Eighteen years in Nome has taught me not to get my hopes up, but Granite Creek seemed promising. With all my plotting and map-gazing to find north-facing cirques in the Kigs which are accessible in less than a day from the road, why had I never noticed Granite Creek before? The fell run would lead right up the drainage to the northwest face of Pk. 3260, which I have variously referred to elsewhere in this blog as the Little Singtook. Surely this cirque would yield a cornucopia of thick, blue, frozen waterfalls ripe for high-angle ice climbing.

Did I mention it was cold?

      In fact, it turned out I would be able to sink picks into ice, but there would be no satisfying "chunk," only an annoying metallic scraping and sparking as the pick penetrated through a thin shell of ice and sparked the rock beneath. There would be no runouts, no screws, no terror, no deep self-realization that comes with real ice climbing, only a few hurried moves over anemic verglas that had been disguised from below as real ice. But I could now check the box that said I had ice climbed that day. I could now return to town and tell them what a big-shot ice climber I was.  This was a few hundred feet above the tarn at the head of Granite Creek where a barely visible trickle of ice could be seen meandering its way across cliffs and talus. The ice did look as if it might grow with more autumnal freeze/thaw action, and I vowed to return the following weekend, but the GLUE was destined to rise up like a phagocyte and envelop my intention, thereby obviating it.

Da

Da

Da

Penny River Crags
          The next Fall weekend featured a trip out to a nameless blob of rock near the Penny River, with David. Only an aficionado of obscure bouldering could see any value in such a desiccated turd pile of twice-morphed schist, but I managed to talk David into the proposition that obscure bouldering was a type of DaDaist art form, which appealed to his avant-garde, culturally-refined nature, and he began to discern the emperors clothes that transformed a schist-pile into a jungle gym of fun. Besides, he was eager to play with his new crampons and ice axe, and quickly learned what a solid, reliable handhold was to be found in an axe sunken in frozen turf. We put up multiple major first ascents of numerous dry-tool problems including Taiguaq (Read It), Ayauppiak (Sun Dog), Suama (Fortitude), all of them so far into the V0— range of difficulty that their identity will soon fade, and their geologic structure erode.

Location of purported caldera

The Fox Creek Caldera Hoax
          Several years back, Mr. Collins and his cross-country team were developing the mountain running course destined to be the standard unit for all Kigluaik mountain runs in the future: Fox Creek. There he discovered a caldera, up at the very head of the west fork of Fox Creek. Our next, featured, Fall fell run chronicles an expedition to investigate this improbable geological feature. On a freezing-ass windy Saturday, a mass of fell runners consisting of doctors, lawyers, teachers, and dogs, headed up Fox, and hung a left at the sentient boulders, which are really donkeys that have been turned to stone through bad luck. A short series of moraines led to the caldera.

The fell running community of Nome

         A small tarn, a kettle lake, perhaps, lay at the center of a perfectly-round, glacial cirque. Any geologist will already know that our quest was absurd, a continuation of the DaDaist ethic that drove these Fall adventures. The point was all the fell running we did. I had heard theories of another caldera in the Kigluaik, this one located in the round cirque under Mosquito Pass Peak, as if the Kigs were a burbling bed of magma drizzled like salad dressing on top of a twice-subducted gneiss dome, with all the attendant glacial processes taking place on top of it.   

I had visited the caldera two summers before, when Lucy and I climbed up the hill above it.  This picture looks straight down into it, with Lucy napping on the edge of a fairly steep cliff.

Oro Grande Cirque Ski

BLOG-LAG:  16 Saturdays ago....

GLUE is the force preventing you from getting to outdoor recreation.

       Significant penetration into the Kigluaik Mountains occurred the second weekend of April. Or, should I say, significant infection, for what are outdoor recreationalists but pathogens invading the otherwise healthy outdoor environment?

David skinning up, Oro Grande Valley, looking northwest.
Click here for climbing trip report from 2012

   
        David and I prepared to go winter camping at Mosquito Pass. We would snow-machine over the pass on a Friday night and camp on the Cobblestone flats, then skin up on Saturday into the five-mile long Western Cwm of Mt. Osborn and make a ski descent of Peak 4500+, "Peak Grand Union," a close neighbor of Osborn, and the second highest peak in the Kigs.

Looking northeast from
Oro Grande Valley.

       Early last Spring season, I was hit by an injury that every alpinist dreads: I became involved in a play in town. "Good In The Country" it was called, an operetta composed of local songwriters' songs. Playing joyous music with friends, having TOTAL fun, has proved to be a substantial constituent of the GLUE of TOWN. The trip with Dave would be my last chance to get some serious training in preparation for my upcoming trip to the West Ridge of Mt. Hunter in June, before the GLUE of the PLAY would set up like epoxy around my boots, binding them firmly to Nome itself.

Not the line we skied.

      This attempt with Dave on Peak 4500+ constituted no less than my eighth attempt upon the north-side Kig. All other attempts had ended in failure and wild shenanigans, failure due to laziness, WORK GLUE, route finding error, and snow-machine hubris, well documented in the following posts:
Zero For Seven on Peak Grand Union Part 1
Zero For Seven on Peak Grand Union Part 2

The line we did ski, but it got too icy.

     PROGNOSIS:  GLUE!
       We never had a chance. Zero For Eight on Peak Grand Union, Part 3. Friday evening rolled around and the GLUE had gelled onto the surface of everything and stuck there in opaque clumps that greatly slowed the process of leaving town as planned. Sleds, lashings, linkages, caps, shelves, walls, boxes, phones, mittens-- everything had clumps of this weird, jiggling, GLUE-like substance clinging to it.
       "Hey, I'm not ready. Let's just go early tomorrow morning."

                                                           

More north-facing topography in our
side valley off the Oro Grande.

      By the time we arrived Saturday at our camp on the Cobblestone, it was 2 p.m. Too late to slog all the way up the Western Cwm to access our objective, Peak Grand Union. The weather report called for low-pressure to start barreling in the following afternoon on Sunday, so the jig was, once again, up.  Now that the GLUE had won, my switch was flipped, my plot was shot, leaving David and me free to simply wander randomly in the mountains without an agenda. Accordingly, with the remaining daylight we set out on our Sno-Gos, for all intensive purposes the Che Guevara and Alberto Granada of the outdoor recreationalist world, looking for something to do in that most holy and beautiful of ranges, the Kigluait.

Moon over Western Cwm,
looking east from Oro Grande Valley,
April 2017

         West up the Oro Grande Valley, we threaded willows in the gullet, then introduced our noise pollution into the upper valley, trying to gun our throttles over sastrugi and rocks. A fine-looking ski area came into view on the left, a north facing cirque spilling forth fresh terminal moraines, so we parked machines, disengaged boards, and from our parkas produced skins with still-warm glue which we affixed to the base of our skis and started up, me on my Tazlinas and Dave on his legendary Split-Board, until the parabola of the slope grew too steep for skinning, and the soft snow to boilerplate on the upper mountain, making our skins prone to dreadful, explosive blow-outs that sent us sliding backward down the hill, whereupon we chopped out ledges into the slope to serve as a base of operations for de-skinning and assembling our rigs for the downhill run. For some time a distinct sun/shadow line had been stalking us, and now overtook us, but as we swooped downward we passed back from the shadow into the sunlight, leaving two harmonized sine waves tracking across the zones.

A. The cirque where we went boarding  B. Camp on the Cobblestone Flats  C. Peak Grand Union

     

Bonus Pic from April 2017: Emily getting into the spirit of Beringian
bouldering. There was no ice at Dorothy Falls, so we clung to
thawing choss in order to get a workout.