After I introduced some friends to rock climbing last summer one of them showed me the cliffs near his home and asked me what I thought about them. I told him they looked like mossy chossy wet bullshit, and that we would never climb there because there are many more quality routes that are better for beginners. What I really thought was holy crap this has great potential for ice climbing.
Who can resist staring at the ice that forms on New England road-cuts, or that one scary looking icicle hanging on the cliff behind the gas station? These random ice floes and formations are not what you read about in climbing guides, and they’re not even recommended by dirtbag climbers (including myself). But for whatever reason I am fascinated by obscure climbs. The harder to get to the better; the ones you’re guaranteed not to see pick-marks let alone other climbers. Today I would travel to a climb such as this.
I told no one of my plan to come back and climb it. I had no idea whether or not there would be any ice to climb in there. On a cold weekend in November I dashed out to see what was what. The rock was dry in sunny areas as I had guessed, but the dark inside corner, only viewable from down below, was still running from its natural spring. Eyebrows of ice formed on some of the positive features of the rock face. I knew this spot would have great potential but months of cold would be needed. In late February I came back and was delighted by what I found.
To get there I had to ski cross-country about a mile to the hidden cliff. Once on the upper rim I could look down and barely see something slightly resembling an ice climb, but still wasn’t sure if it would go. This spot is unique in that you must rappel down to the base, trapping you like a prisoner with no option but to climb your way out. The prison walls had swallowed me and I would either find an escape or be entombed for a life sentence.
There was one solid column of ice running top to bottom and fat as well as other mixed lines that appeared to have started to decompose. If I had been here a week earlier with a partner we could have sent a handful of potential first ascents (albeit obscure and junky). My choice today was the path of least resistance, the icy column. While in my private winter prison I thought of Andy Dufresne locked away in Shawshank. Instead of a giant poster of Rita Hayworth disguising my escape tunnel, I had frozen puckerbrush and knee-deep snow obscuring my exit.
It wasn’t quite 15 meters but it was all mine. On my way up my face was sore from an ear to ear smile stretching it out. I was reminded of what it felt like to stand under the seemingly infinite stars in the middle of the desert outside of Ali Al Salem. Midway up the column I thought no one has been here before. Up the ice I go, my picks securely pierce the ice. I’m alone out here, I’ve told no one of my plans, and now that I’m thirty feet up on a frozen test-piece I’ve now remembered how stupid I am. Continue climbing. It’s a short climb, but as I get closer to the top I can see it’s far from attached to the rock beneath. A quick move and a couple of turf shots later and I’m released from the prison and back on top. I packed up my gear and as I headed to my skis I caught the most pristine sunset I’ve seen all season. It’s nice to hop out of your car at the parking lot at Frankenstein safe and sound and be climbing top-quality ice in minutes. But there is something magical about throwing yourself into a pit and climbing out on a hidden gem.
climb with crowley 