Heart of Winter: Pinnacle Gully, Mount Washington

Photo by kpthomson.

Last fall, I wrote about climbing fifty classic climbs of my own choosing, after the age of fifty-five. This is the second installment. 

February 1st is the heart of winter, halfway between the winter solstice and the spring equinox. Mount Washington is the heart of winter in New England, the coldest, windiest, iciest spot imaginable. Pinnacle Gully is the most classic, most famous ice climb on Mount Washington, and has been a goal of mine for years.

As Silas Rossi likes to say, in the mountains we have options, not goals. But the weather looked good, the avalanche risk was moderate, and so Pinnacle Gully started looking like the best option for the day.

Geology, geography, geometry…we love mountains because their shapes speak to us, sculptures that transcend human notions of time and space. The ingredients are few—rock, ice, sky—but the variety is infinite. Pinnacle Gully is such a singular sculpture, a wall of rock to the left leaning and looming overhead, blocking out half the world. The natural order of things seems inverted—there is ice underfoot, and air below.  Not only can we admire this sculpture from afar, but we can touch it, feel it, live within it for a few hours. The pleasure and challenge of movement, the infinite variety of the ice and the air, the prosaic details of staying alive and happy in an inhospitable environment; these all make for an even richer experience.

Sleep, Walk, Chat

My alarm went off at 3:06AM. After three and a half hours in the car, I arrive at the trailhead a few minutes before I’d normally wake up. I park nexted to a familiar truck, which belongs to Matt Shove, my guide. We headed into the lodge to get organized, and talk about the weather and conditions. The weather was looking relatively warm, and the West wind would be mostly blocked by the summit cone. A bit of snow had fallen overnight, but not enough to create a significant avalanche hazard, if we finished before it started snowing again. We brought avy gear anyway.

Boots on, packs on, and we started up the Tuckerman Ravine trail around 7:45AM. The trail was pretty firm, with a half-inch of powder on top of ice. Soon enough we were passed by two snowmobiles carrying the snow rangers up to the ravine. We made good time, and reached the Harvard Cabin in around an hour.

Walking.

The Harvard Cabin.

Approach

After Matt chatted with the caretaker for a while, and I had a bite to eat, we headed towards Huntington Ravine. The walking was slightly more challenging, with ice and water under the snow, and a low snowpack requiring some clambering and bushwhacking. We started to see the various gullies in Huntington. After a bit more bushwacking, the snow got steeper and harder, and it was time to put on crampons and harnesses. And then it was steep, icy, and exposed enough that I wanted the rope, and so we short-roped up “The Fan” to the base of Pinnacle Gully.

Did I mention it was snowing?

Climbing

I tucked into a nice spot under a rock, put on my puffy jacket, and Matt started up the initial section. 

You can see the ice at the start of Pinnacle Gully on the left.

He did a short, mostly easy pitch to a good belay. He was around the corner, so I just saw the rope heading up into the unknown.

Then it was time to climb. Of course I always feel awkward at the start.

And then comes the part I feared. The first real pitch is the hardest of the climb, the ice the steepest. It’s also a long pitch, which will take Matt a while. The waiting really is the hardest part. Finally, he goes off belay, rigs the rope, and I can take apart the anchor and start climbing. 

And the climbing was glorious! The ice was wet, which meant that when I swung my ice tools, they stuck really well. The setting was magnificent, with the rock wall looming overhead, climbing this improbable flow of ice in the midst of grandeur. And the climbing was fun, steep and featured, never easy but always possible. I was elated, and also much more confident that I could do this.

Photo by Matt Shove.

The next pitch was easier, less steep and less icy. 

Matt belaying.

Photo by Matt Shove.

The last couple of pitches alternated steep bulges and easier, snowy terrain. But the ice was getting dryer, more brittle, and there were occasional awkward moments.

Approaching the belay. Photo by Matt Shove.

We were reminded we were in the alpine, with the occasional spindrift avalanche. The ropes were icy. My gloves started to freeze, and felt slippery as I handled gear. But it was warm, and we were sheltered from the wind, for now. And we were the only people in Huntington Ravine!

Below, the bottom drops out of the world.

Happy. Photo by Matt Shove. 

Looking down, I see the rock wall and the void. Looking up, I see bushes and what looks like the top. One more pitch, a steep, rocky bit right at the end, and we were at the top of Pinnacle Buttress!

The top of Pinnacle Buttress. 

Descent

Joy at finishing the climb is usually short-lived, because going down is often the hardest part, and you're not safe until you're home. My hands were getting cold, and I was hungry. Time to put on the giant mittens, drink some tea, and eat a bit of a peanut butter sandwich, which had been compressed into a shapeless blob in the pack. 

Ready to go up to go down. Photo by Matt Shove.

First, we had to climb from the top of Pinnacle Buttress up to the Alpine Garden, through shrubs, rock, snow, and ice.

I forget what Matt was pointing at.

Then we walked along the Alpine Garden to the top of the Lion’s Head trail. It was slightly downhill, but a mixture of hard ice, rock, and snow drifts that concealed ankle-breaking holes. And the wind was picking up.

Once we reached the Lion’s Head, we started going down in earnest. Steep downhill hiking with crampons, mostly on rock, is not easy on the legs. A few stretches of snow provided welcome relief, but then it got really steep. We roped up again, and then hit the Hillary Step—a seriously steep downclimb. This may have been the most insecure few feet of the day.

Matt downclimbs the Hillary Step.

By this time I wasn't feeling so well. The cumulative physical and emotional fatigue of the day had kicked in. I was tired and wobbly and overheating.

What a relief to get to flat ground, the end of the technical climbing, safety! I switched from crampons to microspikes, and then it was just a matter of trudging down the trail.

Matt puts away the rope.

Aftermath

Two days later and I can barely walk down stairs. But I smile every time I think about the day. Thanks Matt! But next time I hope I can ski some of the approach :)