A traverse to remember.
At 3 a.m. the wind finally woke me–my friend and climbing partner hadn’t slept an hour. I turned over to see Ben upright, half out of his sleeping bag bracing the inner walls of the tent. Booming gusts funneled up the valley and slammed the side our shelter, whipping the rain fly and bending the poles. I leaned up and joined him.
“We’re not in Kansas anymore,” I said half-jokingly. Our camp, nestled at the base of Storm Tower in the Beartooths, felt like it might blow away any second. At 3:30 we decided to make a run for better ground. Collectively picking up the tent with everything still inside, we scampered up a mix of granite boulders and Whitebark Pine. We ran to a corner in the terrain that seemed more protected and set it down.
At this point, it was time to get ready. Ben hadn’t slept and a hell of a day ahead still lay ahead of us, but we threw on the coffee, wolfed down some oatmeal and loaded our packs. The goal was Granite Peak via Northwest Traverse. This route included picking our way around 10,700 ft. Storm Tower, scrambling up 12,745 ft. Northwest Granite and navigating the final half-mile on an exposed ridge to the summit.
Guided by headlamps, we left camp excited, charging up the initial scree field. Making good time around Storm Tower, we chugged some water at Storm Lake–our last water source for the day–and filled up. The climb up Northwest Granite was a grunt. Blocky boulders and loose talus made for fun, active scrambling, but by halfway up I was exhausted. Battling a headache I had to take a break every five steps. I’d never felt so deflated this early in the day. I wanted to be immune to altitude much higher than this and the fact I’d felt its effects at 12,000 ft. irked me.
Ben scrambling up Northwest Granite as the sun shines on distant Beartooths.
But the sun began to rise over distant peaks and our starry night turned into baby blue sky. The morning ambiance helped me accept my impermanence. At 8:45 we crested the rounded apex of Northwest and let out a few howls of celebration. To the east stood Granite, the crown of Montana.
Topping out Northwest Granite.
Now, the only thing between our objective and us was the traverse. At first glance it wasn’t all that appealing. The ridge was strident–the narrow line seamed in and around notches, up and over lone boulders, and complete with deadly exposure the whole way–no place you’d want to sneeze. After looking at it awhile I didn’t feel any better either.
“Well what do ya say we put on our harnesses and see how we feel?” Ben asked.
I couldn’t bring myself to approve.
“I don’t know man, looks pretty intimidating to me.” I didn’t want to give a definitive answer, but I’d all but made up my mind.
The gusts continued, nearly blowing us over at one point. After 45 minutes of pondering I became slightly more decisive. I didn’t want to do it and I stated so. Ben, calm and collectively, ignored my reluctance. “I think once we start doing it and focus on each move individually, it won’t be as daunting as it seems," he said. "It always looks scarier than it is.”
I stayed fixed to my place. Shortly after, he assured me he was cool with whatever I decided; for it had already been a great day. But he was right and I knew it. We were here. This was the intensive section we’d looked forward to and planned for. At this point, we could either scramble back down Northwest Granite, get back to camp by noon and fish the rest of the day. From then on I’d take up a new hobby. Or, as in most everyday situations, embrace the context and act accordingly. This is what climbing mountains is like. It’s no different than dealing with nerves before a job interview or the final exam. Worthy performances happen with a lot on the line. Existing in rugged locations and thriving under their cruel conditions sometimes involves accompanying fear–that’s just part of the deal.
So I slipped on my harness and tightened it down, terrified but willing. “Alright, let’s do it.”
Ben lowered me into the couloir and rappelled down after. We picked our way down the chute and followed the path of least resistance to the top of the Notch Couloir– our point of no return. From here it was an 80 ft. exposed rappel onto a skinny slot–like that of a gun sight–that lead to the pitches of technical climbing. The route is rated 5.7, but we’d read it was easier. This knowing calmed my nerves none. From the top of the notch, the chimney we’d be scaling looked treacherous.
Granite's chimney leading to the summit.
Ben suggested we eat something before committing in. We’d exerted thousands of calories with nothing to back it up so it wasn’t a bad idea, but I couldn’t do it. Streams of cortisol and unleashed adrenaline had been flocking through my veins for three hours–my appetite was blemished. I choked down a couple crackers, but that was all I managed.
We dropped in and scrambled to the base of the wall.
Rappelling into the Notch Couloir.
Ben led while I cleaved to the best square-foot of flat ground I could find, belaying from below. He entered the chimney right away and went out of sight. After 15 minutes of no communication but falling rock, my thoughts began to wander. I had confidence in him though, telling myself he was taking his time and playing it safe. Five more minutes and he hollered down that he was safe and I was good to climb. As I worked up the chimney I realized his pieces were well run out and the rock didn’t offer much protection.
Nearing the top of the first pitch, the chute funneled out to an exposed arête. I followed the route, anxious to gain perspective. Shimmying up, I pulled myself out onto the corner confronting the abyss. Greeting me was 2,000 ft. of outer space exposure. I hugged the rock, clinging vertical on the wall while the polar opposites of my mind–utter fear and lionized ecstasy–clashed rigorously together. From above, Ben asked how I was doing. I responded with something along the lines of “I’m having an out-of-body experience right now and I can’t talk to you.”
The second pitch ended on easier ground and the rest of the ascent was an easy scramble. We summited at 3:30, topping out the state frenzied with excitement. We ate lunch–my appetite finally normal again–took a few photos and descended via the East Ridge. It stayed clear the whole day; pure enough to even see the Tetons. After 6 rappels and some down climbing, we arrived at the saddle above Avalanche Lake at sunset. We boulder-hopped for another five hours before getting back to our tent at 12:30. Ramen has never tasted so good.
Collapsing into the tent–placed in the new location as of our morning chaos–I discovered there was a sizable rock under my sleeping pad. No matter, I dropped into unconsciousness and didn’t turn, toss, or wake for 10 hours.