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.

Ring of Ayasayuk

Fourth Tier ice, November 2016

BLOG-LAG tremendous. The Kigsblog-year is in danger of lapping itself. It's almost time to return to Ayasayuk for the new ice climbing year. This is an update for the last two.

Quarry face, November 2016

       The idea was to blog the iterations of the quarry as it develops over the years, adding to the layers of information like successive tree rings each December when the rivulets freeze into ice, when all the ice climbers in town drive 15 miles out to the point of land with their ice tools brandished, intent on grappling the ice and frozen stone dust that glues the hanging rubble to the quarry face. Each new year brings a subtle deviation in the layout of the cliff. Or sometimes a not so subtle deviation— during the years of the Shishmareff seawall project, the entire cliff was blasted away into infinity several times, hence the iterations, but there is always a path of least resistance for water to find its way down, and so there is always some kind of thin, wandering ribbon of ice to climb, even a pillar or two, if the gods of the quarry have been kind to ice climbers that year. For the hardcore Valdez climber it would all be weak sauce, but this is roadside ice climbing in Nome, let us be thankful for any helping of that.

Quarry face, 2017

      With only minor variations in the last three or four years, the iteration has remained the same. This tree ring represents climbing adventures from the last two years, as I did not manage an Ayasayuk post last year. Each year, the game is to follow a Direct route up the entire cliff, bottom to top, incorporating as much ice as possible. Lamefully, I haven't successfully completed a Direct since three years ago with James.

Third Tier ice, 2016

    The First Tier presents only steep hiking, a chance to test the bite of your crampons in the frozen stone dust of a new day. The crux is crossing the road, the boundary of trespassing, trying not to be glimpsed by cars as you leave the road and launch directly up the quarry face— this is uncool, to climb here, and I will be cited for this blogpost. You soon come to the wide access road at the top of the First Tier. Solariums have been installed at the top from which to view the surrounding amphitheater. If you think about it, the cliff at Ayasayuk represents a 430 feet tall void left by the earthly removal of the bluff once known as Ayasayuq. But what does not remain remains a place of power to this day.

Third Tier, 2016

     More fields of hanging stone dust lead up the Second Tier. The motions involved with climbing the dust mimic those of true alpine climbing. Sometimes blobs of real water ice seep from the Second Tier, but not for the last two years, so you just kick your way up great buttresses of steep, hard dirt. The consequences of a wee slip from the dust slabs are not just a mimic of alpine climbing, however, but the real thing: possible enmanglement.

David on his first ice climb, 2017

       The Third Tier is the main business, the highest of the tiers, a pitch and a half of climbing up to the next access road. The weeps and seeps have followed variable patterns the last few years, but the usual Direct route has gone up a not-very-steep mud runnel with a ribbon of water ice at the back. The runnel pools out at the top and vanishes right into the stone dust. To complete the Third Tier the climber is forced out onto the hanging dirt fields, easy terrain, but palpably creepy, and studded with rip-raps of gneiss that look like they were arrested in motion mid-roll. Typically, I solo up to the frozen pool halfway up, where I file  for a petition of chicken-out, and downclimb. Three years ago, James and I made it up the Third Tier: we draped the rope across fins of frozen stone dust, pretending it was pro.

Random Access Flow, 2017

     They shaved away the Third Tier until the face of the quarry was about level with the the top of the bluff. However, a few more little rises remained in the bluff profile, unshaved, so a few more access roads went in, creating the Fourth Tier, a 50-foot cliff situated in a little network of roads at the  top of the quarry. This road network pools up with Fall rain in unpredictable ways to create a head-dispatching system for all the frozen flow below. With a minimum of treachery, tope ropes can be set up for practice on Grade 2-ish and 3-ish water ice, and there's often"childrens ice climbing area" with perfect soft landings in billows of drifted snow.

From the archives: 2003

     It's all coming down on you

    There's nothing you can do

   And it was me that triggered

    The death cascade.

 Cracking, shouts, thundering,

   Let your destiny ring!

 Ship is going down 

 Just jump the whole thing,

While I stand to the side

Watching you drown. 

  I'm sorry we never danced around

   Or stopped at the Safety Saloon

 The lights of town

  Were always dragging us in.

   Now the climb is gravity's child,

Groaning half ton blocks

Right down on your timeline.

  Now the climb is coming down

    Right into our face

   If ever we get back to town,

    Never go back with you to this place.

Quarry face, 2003. This iteration of the cliff was blasted
away in subsequent years.

      Peemarking, in a 2-year tree ring such as this post, presents a technical challenge due to my complete lack of recall. I do remember soloing around. I whacked tool into every chunk of ice that was present. I do remember air under the crampon points, and punch-card holes spent on objective danger. I remember chickening-out of every climb I started up. I remember David chunking his way up some wet flow on his first day ice climbing. But I do not remember enough details to lift a leg and make a confident peemark (a claim of real climbing using locations, grades, nomenclature). Any peemarking claims I might try to make would only spray, dispersing message. Too bad there so few ice climbers come to Nome. David went south. Lack of climbing partner creates such a weight of nothing. No partner creates psychological rope drag holding you back from a partner that's not there. Chicken-out is reduced 75% when there is another climber present. If only there were another climber besides the great lone ME hanging in the sky, blocking the sun.

Map showing Norton Sound Coast inupiaq place names, found in a random drawer at Nome Elementary School

      
       Earth energy streams eastward off the Pacific, into the bottleneck of the Norton Sound, and gets channeled up against the Norton Sound coast between Cape Rodney and here, bathing the bluff in PHI waves. The other key ingredient for sentience is present: a rich archaeological history of the area. There may no longer be a kasGi every seven miles, no more L.A. coastline glittering with lights, nor even a big encampment of families a fathom down where the water is now off the beach at Nook, but stone memory is slow to dissipate. Ishigait, little people, still roam the place, manifestations of morphogenetic eddies, like dust devils of PHI, potential nodes of mental process. Does an ishigak climb ice?
      Quyana, BSNC...  

Falcon Killer Buttress

Pk. 3250+ (Kirgavik Inuaqti) from the west, taken from the mouth of Tigaraha cirque. Vaughn Fetzer and I climbed on the turdlike buttress at center of photo. The attempted murder by the falcon occurred somewhere on the left skyline of the upper peak.

Pk. 3250+ from the southwest, at right. The summit tor had a few moves of 5.6.

Scroll down deeper in this post for the current blogstream. But first, a tale from the early, pre-Kigsblog era, written in 2nd person narrative, to relieve pressure on the narcissistic "I".

FLASHBACK: 

PROBABLE F.A. OF Kirgavik Inuaqti, August 2002. 

     This is what you came for: free soloing, "with one hand waving free," on good granite, deep in the Alaskan wild. You are palming a hand-sized arete, lay backing with your ass cantilevered into space. Beneath your ass is a sixty feet drop down to some ledges, but you also know that just on the other side of the arete just around the corner lies a sickening, thousand-foot drop into the canyon off the starboard bow. The day is hot and sunny. Your fear is gone, the rock solid, the lights green. You come to a hand traverse which leads horizontally from the arete. You are thinking about Peter Croft.
        Little do you know that you are being stalked, here in this remote, high location. A keen predator is busy laying a trap on the other side of the arete, and is about to make a premeditated and calculated attempt on your life.
       All day long, as you have labored up thousands of feet of scree and scrambling (with gear on your back), a nesting Peregrine couple has been hassling you from afar. You have long since determined that their nest is perched in the vicinity of some towers located a respectful half-mile away from the summit you are attempting, Peak 3025, which you will eventually come to call Kirgavik Inuaqti, the "Falcon Killer."
       "Falcons!" you say, as you press onward, "always so persnickety, not like the Eagles or the Ravens." Still, as a climber raised in Lower 48 climbing areas where wall closures are enforced during nesting season, you can't help but feel uneasy. Am I being an asshole? you think. It's not like they're endangered. As a matter of fact, they seem to be everywhere this season, hogging all the rocks! The female won't shut up: in the words of Sibley, "a slow, scolding rehk rehk rehk; harsh, raucous, each note rising." But you hiked on despite the constant screeching, and came to the summit tower, and put on your rock shoes, and now you are "dancing beneath the diamond sky," and there is no turning back.

      Rehk, rehk, rehk...  

      You make a mental note: if the bird decides to attack you (which you don't think likely) don't let go! But this is only a passing thought. All day the Peregrines have kept their distance, there is no reason to think either bird is close by. You mantle onto the flake which you have been hand-traversing, and reach up to clasp the edge of the arete. The flake provides a big foothold, but soon it ends, leaving you hanging solely by your arms.
       It is then your ears register a very faint click. You almost doubt you heard it over the breeze, the rushing of your own blood, your gruntings and gasps, but right around this point you have to thank the amazing capacity of the human ear to feed the brain data from the sounds it hears, for you make another mental note: this sound you just heard had all the characteristics of the sound made by keratinous tissue coming into contact with granitic gneiss approximately 3 ft. away. The faint click of a talon coming lightly to rest on a tiny ledge? But you can't quite see around the corner for a bird, and you aren't quite sure.
        You climb back down to the big foothold you just left. Chalk, chalk, dither, enjoy the view. Minutes pass. You try to visualize what the other side of this arete looks like: an enormous gulf of air lies between you and the spire of Tigaraha to the north. just a front doorstep to a Peregrine. You are glad you are climbing on the less exposed side of the mountain. Still, a fall would mangle. More minutes pass. You convince yourself you are being paranoid about the imaginary "click" you heard. You want this summit badly, so you remount the hand-traverse, and soon you are hanging by your arms again.

         wiSHEP koCHE koCHEcheche! 

       The peregrine bursts around the corner, wings spread, talons rampant, three feet away from your face, just as your ears had informed you. Your arms are pinioned by the hand-traverse. Good thing you told yourself not to let go! For here is a secret: birds, with their hollow bones, do not relish contact sport, and you doubt it will engage. But what sheer, premeditated artistry of the surprise attack, for all intensive purposes like a child jumping out and yelling, "Boo!" It must have been waiting all the time you were convincing yourself it wasn't there.
       With the birds in the air, the way to the summit is open. You finally have an honest, free-solo first ascent. This is what you came for. Your mind is filled now only with reversing the moves to get down. Somehow, you know the Peregrines won't be any more trouble, having already played their card... and the name of that card was murder.

Falcon Killer Buttress Off-width, 5.6

Vaughn thrutching a bit

More thrutching at Falcon Killer Buttress

Looking east towards Tigaraha. West Tig is the little hooked tor.

RETURN TO CURRENT BLOGSTREAM, June/July 2015
 (Kigsblog is now running an all-time high bloglag: 23SA, or "23 Saturdays Ago")

       Palm trees swayed off Front Street, Nome. Warm air blew in off the ocean. Live music wafted on the breeze, just enough to keep the bugs away. Children swam at the beach night and day. I hiked in to Peak Thirty-eight Fifty, as chronicled in the the previous post.  
        Vaughn arrived on the plane from Fairbanks, and in so doing joined the scant ranks of Fairbanks climbers who have bought a ticket for the Kigluait. But his arrival was the straw that caused the long bout of paradise weather to expire. Normal summer weather returned, frigid, wet. It would be "move or get cold" conditions for most of our weeklong into Mosquito Pass for an attempt on Tigaraha's south face.

In the moraines of Tigaraha

           The rock of the Kigluaik Mountains just seems to exude fear and paranoia out its very pores. Or is it me? No, it can't just be me, there really is something sketchy going on here.
       Do another move. The physical moves of climbing on Kigluaik granite can be quite aesthetic, really, but maybe that whole flake there will suddenly just explode off of the cliff as if spring-loaded.

          The big corner on the south wall of Tigaraha is out. The weather is not settled. Clouds of scud hurl along at three different levels going three different directions above our heads. So we head for the nearest low-lying buttress to grab some climbing before the rain starts again. "Falcon Killer" peak looms obtusely over our heads, as if base-jumpable. Cliffs, festooned with boulder-pudding dripping down on us.
       We don the climbing accouterments and I take off leading. Soon am busting 5.7 moves on unknown ground above a copious hodgepodge of cams, pins, nuts, and slings, but it is impossible for me to feel like a badass because I am so continuously and constantly petrified of this rock environment around me. 

       Cam, cam, equalize, nut, equalize. Three equalized pieces equals one point of protection.  Pin. "Bong! Bong! Bong!" goes the pin in rising, reassuring succession, but now the entire flake is making barely-audible sounds of strain from the outward pressure of the pin. Do another move. Pin. Equalize nuts. Try to ignore the alarm bells: "Bidot! Bidot!"  Choss! My god! It's all going to suddenly and spontaneously exfoliate apart!

       The mist is lowering, the rain manifesting. This route is heading nowhere into scabrous choss fields. So why are we spending all these objective-danger chips on it? Shouldn't we save them for a more worthy opportunity? 
       Or is it just my imagination? Is it even true we are spending objective-danger chips at the rate I think we are? Perhaps my chicken-shit mind is in thrall to irrational thoughts. I am becometh a dithering, mumbling, frightened old climber... 

       Ledge. Belay. Vaughn. My brother. Another pitch leads upward from our stance. Looks to be more of the same: fun-looking 5.7 flakes rendered tedious and nerve-wracking by the sheer engineering endeavor of equalizing all those sketchoid pieces of protection. Rappel. No, are you sure? Yes, rappel. I am sure. I want to be on solid ground again.

       We get off the rappels. Run laps on the off-width with the top-rope. Down-climb the pitch I led because there are no rappel anchors at the top. Feel a single droplet of rain on my forehead, thereby vindicating our chicken-out. All because I felt scared, all because the choss exuded danger. Then, ironically, we proceed to solo up and down the climb we just did, then up the buttress on exposed ramps littered with shattered bearing balls, with little Lucy, the Border Collie, waiting it out on fourth class ledges while the humans fifth-class on. Ridiculous, how a rope seems to generate danger, and then soloing takes it away.

(above) Cold and slimy bouldering in the moraines of the Sinuk headwaters

        A fine, mental adventure is found in a good bank of Fog! You're lost in there for days, like a temporal rift. Life is passing you by in the sun somewhere while you go round in circles in the fog. We are not men that can easily walk a straight line, let me tell you. 
       During the arduous hike to the car from Mosquito Pass, a long, dense tentacle of WHITESPACE reached out from the sea, probed up the Sinuk Valley, and absorbed the region of space surrounding our bodies. Like that scene in the Matrix where Neo finds himself within the Construct: white, empty, pixellated nothingness. If I hadn't done the hike fifty times, hadn't memorized individual bushes, hadn't assigned each knob or bluff or thicket a fantasy name to relieve the many hours of tedious slogging, we wouldn't have made it out of there. Nor would Vaughn and I have walked the torturous, three extra miles when I got us lost, until we ran into the great Sinuk River, and found ourselves again.

The Quyana-skatzi Boulder in the"Hundred-Year Old Rockfall," the finest bouldering garden in all the Kigluaiks, in oozy, clammy, perspirant conditions, July, 2015.

Pass Creek Pyramid

Inuksuit at Fox Pass. Stone guardians are usually present in significant passes of the Kigs.  

David Panepinto descending north side of Fox Col with that old ice axe standby, the pointed rock in hand.  This picture shows why the word "col" came to mind; it's just a "colish" kind of pass.

Pk. 2900+, ("Pass Creek Pyramid"), looking west. Mt. Osborn background left. 

         What put the "pass" in Pass Creek? I wanted to know. Passes are not all that plentiful across the Kigs. 
       But when I got to Pass Creek Pass last year, it was blocked by summer slushing cornice danger. So this year, I went back to the pass with David, Leonard, and Lucy. 
       We managed to cross the pass this time, as well as climb a curious obelisk (PK. 2343, "Pass Creek Pyramid") on the other side. We also located the curious stones from the picture (above) that look suspiciously like inuksuit. 
       Various inferences have led me to believe that our pass is but one of two passes in Pass Creek. For more totally absolutely fascinating inferences regarding the question: "What put the 'pass' in Pass Creek?," as well as as an internet peemark of our climb, read on!

Pass Creek Pyramid expedition, May-June, 2015.  The route up Fox Creek is emerging as a Kigs-Country Runners  testpiece.

"Fox Col" route from the northwest in Pass Creek, looking east to Pk. 3900+. It seems probable that indigenous BITD people knew about this pass as a shortcut from Mary's Igloo to Salmon Lake.

Pass Creek hiking passes from north.  "Fox Col" on the left is maybe Class 3 or 4. Gold Run on the right looked to be Class 2 or 3. Take a left and you reach Salmon Lake, go straight and you reach Grand Central. Snow-machinability?  Couldn't say...  This photo was taken years ago from a wild, exposed shoulder of Pk. 3900+ during a solo attempt in winter.

Pass Creek Kigs from north. (Manzoor Saghaffie)

        No sweeter GLUE broken than the GLUE of SCHOOL. We were free. Big blue buzzing summertime stretched ahead. An occasional nip from the flask took the pain of the load away up Fox Creek. A night and a day of hiking up a snow ravine saw us ensconced at "Fox Col" on the divide between Fox Creek and Pass Creek.
         The same summer cornice as the previous year was in evidence on the north side of the pass, but at least there weren't active calving fractures as there had been the year before. David and I scuttled down snow and scree slope into the Pass Creek Cirque, thus satisfying my "Mandatory North Side Objective" mandate placed on me by this blog, my own blog, as a penal measure. One might want to consider carrying axe and spikes for this route.

Looking west from Fox Pass. This shows why you would not want to choose the wrong pass to the west.

Looking east from Fox Pass. This shows why you would not want to choose the wrong pass to the east. Pk. 3900+, a fine and noble peak, alpha mountain of the eastern Kigs, with a secret identity of being "Tog 7" or just "the Big Tog," also called in other places in Kigsblog by the name "Kayuqtug," rises at center. A great hike or run from the Kougarak Road, Class 2 from this side.

Another look down the north side of Fox Col, David on the descent.

Looking southwest from Pass Creek Pyramid. Osborn at background center. Left of Oz is Pk. 3922, one of the Grand Central peaks.

          What put the "pass" in Pass Creek? An inference could be made that the name comes from the first USGS surveys in the early days of Nome's gold boom era-- say, 1915. Miners and Prospectors were more likely to cough up their user names for Kigs features than the indigenous peoples, who may not have seen fit to pin things with names anyway.
           Initially, I assumed the pass in Pass Creek was the route I was taking up Fox Creek fro the Salmon Lake side. But what if the real "pass" in Pass Creek is the other one that leads south to Gold Run and Grand Central valleys? Judging by the extensive signs of habitation in Grand Central (see Among the Peakbaggers) dating from the first decade of the 1900s, I imagine some number of prospectors traveling from Grand Central on the south to Mary's Igloo on the north. 
            Though I've never traveled between Gold Run and Pass Creek, it looked, well, passable. So, maybe"Gold Run Pass" and not "Fox Col" put the "pass" in Pass Creek. The big blue book at the Kegoayah Kozga Library offers no clues on the origins of Pass Creek, but the mountains offer their own inferences.

Looking west to "Gold Run Pass." This photo was the smoking gun that revealed the possibility of two passes in Pass Creek. Gold Run Creek lies over the ridge to the left of the peak in the center.

Pass Creek Pyramid in June 2014. It hides quite a precipitous (and choss) north face of granitic gneiss.

Gneiss on the Pyramid. By means of a little soloing on the south ridge, I was able to avoid a Non-Technical Climbing Foul.

Summit of Pk. 2900+ (Pass Creek Pyramid). Might not know it to look it, but Lucy and I are paralyzed with vertigo  in this photo. Our heels are poised over an absolutely Batman drop-off over a north face so steep I dare speculate it could be base jumped. Neither did I dare take out the camera. Typical of the Kigs for a summit to have a meadow on the south, and a BRINK to the north.

        Everybody knows that Inuksuit  were used by reindeer herders to corral the reindeer in the high passes. The technique must have been to chase the reindeer up the valley until they balked at the top, spooked by the stone homunculi standing in the pass.
           However, my friend Annie informed me the Inuksuit were tactical as well as territorial markers in a war between the Brevig people to the north and the Qaweraq people to the south, and that the passes through the Kigs were known and sometimes used to advantage. Encounters with Inuksuit are always accompanied by spooky action at a distance, and such things are best not sprayed upon the digital space of the internet.
           The Inuksuit at American Creek and Mosquito Pass are better defined than the stone arrangements we saw at Fox Pass. Leonard and David also examined them, and remained unconvinced. It's only a theory that the stones in the pictures below are genuine inuksuit, yet I am certain enough to declare them so, with registrations on the vibe-o-meter as primary evidence.

Lucy sheltering from the wind inside Inuksut. If you can find the black and white dog in the picture,  you might discern a vague ring of boulders around her. My theory is that this was an older, degraded, or incomplete line of Inuksut, stone people, as are commonly found in Beringia.

Mr. Lastine hanging out in the wind with Inuksut. "Inuq" means person, and "sut" is most likely a prefix meaning, "is like," so an Inuqsuq is "like a person." I'm guessing the Inupiaq guttural consonant /q/ was bastardized to a "k".