My friend Justin Lock, a 23 year old climber from Edmonton, and I had initially met at a wake for a mutual friend, Chris Hunter, who had been killed in a hundred-meter roped fall a week earlier on Chinaman's Peak, near Canmore, Alberta. We realized we both had a common interest in wanting to climb Mt. Athabasca, and decided we would attempt it together by the standard Class II route. The avalanche danger was only moderate at the time; had it been higher we would have shifted our climb to the AA Col route. The AA Col route ascends the glacier separating Mt. Athabasca and Mt. Andromeda, leading to the col which connects the two major peaks, and is generally considered the safest route for an ascent or descent of either mountain.
September 5 found us heading up the well-worn trail on the lower moraine at 4:00 a.m. It had been a beautiful clear night and the snowy giants around us were clearly visible under an incredible blanket of stars. Mt. Wilcox, Nigel Peak, Little Snow Dome, Peak A2, Athabasca and Mt. Andromeda all combined to wall us in completely from the forgotten realities of the outside world. The huge Athabasca glacier in the middle of it all glowed under the starlight. This four mile long by one mile wide sheet of crevassed ice cooled the steady wind that blew non-stop all night. It was a cold, frosty morning and no sound was present but the crunching of our boots on the packed scree and snow of the lower trail.
In less than an hour we reached the flat, benign little glacier at the top of the moraine where the real glacier on the northwest flank of Mt. Athabasca begins. We roped up and began to climb the lower glacier, the angle of the climb steepening slightly to around thirty-five degrees. The climbing went well and we were able to make good progress up the hard, frozen snow. No crampons were required, we kicked good, reliable steps, encountered no ice and saw only the occasional ridge of a snow-bridged crevasse in the moonlight. The ridges indicated the lurking presence of the deep, black, jagged slots in the compacted ice of the lower glacier. We merely jumped or stepped carefully over the solid snow bridges. We climbed by headlamp as a safety measure, but they weren't really required due to the twilight effect of the moon's rays on the snow. We could see everything around us clearly for miles, even in the dark. At daylight we stopped to have a bite to eat and to take a few pictures of the glorious day just breaking.
September 5 found us heading up the well-worn trail on the lower moraine at 4:00 a.m. It had been a beautiful clear night and the snowy giants around us were clearly visible under an incredible blanket of stars. Mt. Wilcox, Nigel Peak, Little Snow Dome, Peak A2, Athabasca and Mt. Andromeda all combined to wall us in completely from the forgotten realities of the outside world. The huge Athabasca glacier in the middle of it all glowed under the starlight. This four mile long by one mile wide sheet of crevassed ice cooled the steady wind that blew non-stop all night. It was a cold, frosty morning and no sound was present but the crunching of our boots on the packed scree and snow of the lower trail.
In less than an hour we reached the flat, benign little glacier at the top of the moraine where the real glacier on the northwest flank of Mt. Athabasca begins. We roped up and began to climb the lower glacier, the angle of the climb steepening slightly to around thirty-five degrees. The climbing went well and we were able to make good progress up the hard, frozen snow. No crampons were required, we kicked good, reliable steps, encountered no ice and saw only the occasional ridge of a snow-bridged crevasse in the moonlight. The ridges indicated the lurking presence of the deep, black, jagged slots in the compacted ice of the lower glacier. We merely jumped or stepped carefully over the solid snow bridges. We climbed by headlamp as a safety measure, but they weren't really required due to the twilight effect of the moon's rays on the snow. We could see everything around us clearly for miles, even in the dark. At daylight we stopped to have a bite to eat and to take a few pictures of the glorious day just breaking.
We continued up the well-used trail up the glacier, finally arriving at a large crevasse just below the turnoff point where you either keep heading straight for the North Face and Silverhorn route, or turn right towards the steep avalanche-prone bowl that leads to the "bench" which is encountered before arriving at the bottom of the west end of the Silverhorn. This area is quite steep; probably forty-five degrees, and a climber who slips here and is unable to self arrest will slide straight down into a maze of crevasses. We carefully picked our way along this snowy catwalk on a sketchy trail stamped in by previous climbers, aware that this was the most avalanche prone area on the whole peak. Indeed, we did encounter at least half a dozen small slides and sloughs as they swished down the bowl, one of them about two hundred yards from us. None appeared to slide more than about two hundred yards but they still looked big enough to easily knock a person off their feet and likely bury them if they were really unlucky. We heard a loud roar over somewhere over on Snow Dome that sounded just like a 747 flying overhead, (but it wasn't a jet plane!) so at least one big avalanche happened in the vicinity on this day.
At last we reached the bottom of the main Silverhorn where it meets the little col that branches over to Mount Athabasca, just before the Athabasca-Andromeda Col proper. We hiked up this switchbacked trail stomped into the snow, and happily the angle had receded to about thirty to thirty-five degrees, a relief from the slip-and-avalanche prone face we'd just climbed. We worked our way up this face after stopping for a leisurely lunch and a round of picture-taking. We had not put on crampons at this point and decided to forego their use as we had encountered no ice at this point.
At last we reached the bottom of the main Silverhorn where it meets the little col that branches over to Mount Athabasca, just before the Athabasca-Andromeda Col proper. We hiked up this switchbacked trail stomped into the snow, and happily the angle had receded to about thirty to thirty-five degrees, a relief from the slip-and-avalanche prone face we'd just climbed. We worked our way up this face after stopping for a leisurely lunch and a round of picture-taking. We had not put on crampons at this point and decided to forego their use as we had encountered no ice at this point.
At this time, around noon at around 10000 feet I began to notice I was seeing spots and feeling a little light-headed from the altitude. We took our time, adhering to my motto that it was the journey that counted and not the destination. I'm funny that way....I don't like climbing with people who are in a mad rush to reach the summit. I like to enjoy myself all the way up it. I'll get there when I get there.
By now, around 12:30 p.m. our beautiful sunny day was disappearing under a bank of clouds pushing in from the Columbia Icefields. It had been nice, admiring all the huge Icefield peaks which are not visible from the highway, the trailhead or any of the passes, but now they started to become obscured by the approaching and all-too-common afternoon squall. As we said goodbye to Mt. Columbia, Mt. Bryce, the Twins and much of the Icefields, we arrived just below the Silverhorn summit, only to find that this wind-scoured rise was stripped nearly bare of snow and we would have to negotiate about a two hundred foot stretch of thin, brittle ice with mostly scree or a little skim of rotten snow beneath it. I would have loved to have had my crampons on at this point, but it seemed like a poor spot to try and put them on so we dispensed with them and tried to place a couple of screws instead.
But no anchor or belay was possible in that mess so we carefully and gingerly picked our way up the remaining section with ice axes and hiking poles until we reached the summit of the Silverhorn. It is about thirty-five feet around, drops of sharply into ice on all sides, and we were fully exposed to the wind, which was howling along now at about thirty miles an hour, with the occasional scary gust. Out came the heavier gloves and hats, and we sat down and donned crampons for the long walk along the gently-rising final summit ridge.
By now, around 12:30 p.m. our beautiful sunny day was disappearing under a bank of clouds pushing in from the Columbia Icefields. It had been nice, admiring all the huge Icefield peaks which are not visible from the highway, the trailhead or any of the passes, but now they started to become obscured by the approaching and all-too-common afternoon squall. As we said goodbye to Mt. Columbia, Mt. Bryce, the Twins and much of the Icefields, we arrived just below the Silverhorn summit, only to find that this wind-scoured rise was stripped nearly bare of snow and we would have to negotiate about a two hundred foot stretch of thin, brittle ice with mostly scree or a little skim of rotten snow beneath it. I would have loved to have had my crampons on at this point, but it seemed like a poor spot to try and put them on so we dispensed with them and tried to place a couple of screws instead.
But no anchor or belay was possible in that mess so we carefully and gingerly picked our way up the remaining section with ice axes and hiking poles until we reached the summit of the Silverhorn. It is about thirty-five feet around, drops of sharply into ice on all sides, and we were fully exposed to the wind, which was howling along now at about thirty miles an hour, with the occasional scary gust. Out came the heavier gloves and hats, and we sat down and donned crampons for the long walk along the gently-rising final summit ridge.
This final ridge was icy, but a well- worn trail was packed into it and indeed there were already about six climbers on the summit, taking pictures of each other and their surroundings. We carefully hiked along this imposing ridge until we finally stood on the summit of Mount Athabasca, surrounded by one of the most wonderful panoramas in the entire Rocky Mountains. We took our obligatory glorious summit pictures and dropped down about twenty feet on the South Face to the wide bench that serves as a great summit resting spot. There is plenty of room on this ledge as it is at least a hundred feet long, in my altitude- impaired mind, and extends out at least twenty feet before dropping off steeply down the back side of the mountain. You do not want to slip there! It's a place where no one goes, and a helicopter would be the only answer to a search for your body, if that became necessary. You don't want to slip down the other side of the summit ridge either....that would consist of a fast fifteen hundred foot fall all the way to the bottom of the sixty degree North Face.
By now the storm was moving in, and we had to get off of there while there was still some visibility, so it was back to the Silverhorn summit, and into the descent. At this time I was surprised to see two of the two-man teams untie and pack away their ropes, then quickly plunge step down the side of the Silverhorn. I couldn't believe this....climbers rope up all of the way up for fall protection and to save themselves from crevasse falls, then take off the rope on the way down? Incredibly stupid, I thought, but it's their life, not mine. We stayed roped up. I immediately fell in the icy section near the top of the Silverhorn and had to self-arrest or face a long fall down a face with very thin snow cover and lots of protruding rocks. I arrested after about eight feet and we encountered no further problems on the way down to the bottom of the Silverhorn.
By now the storm was moving in, and we had to get off of there while there was still some visibility, so it was back to the Silverhorn summit, and into the descent. At this time I was surprised to see two of the two-man teams untie and pack away their ropes, then quickly plunge step down the side of the Silverhorn. I couldn't believe this....climbers rope up all of the way up for fall protection and to save themselves from crevasse falls, then take off the rope on the way down? Incredibly stupid, I thought, but it's their life, not mine. We stayed roped up. I immediately fell in the icy section near the top of the Silverhorn and had to self-arrest or face a long fall down a face with very thin snow cover and lots of protruding rocks. I arrested after about eight feet and we encountered no further problems on the way down to the bottom of the Silverhorn.
We were much more leery of stepping on the snow bridges we'd crossed earlier, and in a few cases we made long traverses along crevasses in order to circumvent them, and to not have to jump across them. The snow was soft and mushy, balling up under our crampons and causing us to repeatedly fall trying to descend to the main glacier. We reached the main glacier, which is well compacted and has few hazardous crevasses compared to the bench area. We were able to glissade a fair ways to the moraines, as the glacier is still at least thirty-five degrees in angle along much of the route we took. Finally, we reached the little false glacier where we'd roped up that morning, took off our harnesses and put away the rope before sitting down for a little rest. An hour later we were at the trailhead, after a quick hike on aching feet and legs down the endless moraine.
This was my first big summit. It made everything I'd done to this point seem rather inconsequential, and I was happy to have climbed the peak and seen the awesome views that I did that day. I'd recommend this as a first major alpine peak for anyone who is prepared, has the right gear and knowledge of glacier travel, and is not afraid of a long hard slog. I've been back to Athabasca many times, have been all over the glacier, explored the crevasses, the amphitheater and have been most of the way up the icy North Face twice, being forced to turn back once due to a dropped glove in blizzard conditions, and once due to a knee/miniscus injury six pitches up from the bergeschrund.
I know one day I'll climb the Silverhorn and the North Face in it's entirety. This peak has given myself and thousands of other climbers memories they will never forget.
This was my first big summit. It made everything I'd done to this point seem rather inconsequential, and I was happy to have climbed the peak and seen the awesome views that I did that day. I'd recommend this as a first major alpine peak for anyone who is prepared, has the right gear and knowledge of glacier travel, and is not afraid of a long hard slog. I've been back to Athabasca many times, have been all over the glacier, explored the crevasses, the amphitheater and have been most of the way up the icy North Face twice, being forced to turn back once due to a dropped glove in blizzard conditions, and once due to a knee/miniscus injury six pitches up from the bergeschrund.
I know one day I'll climb the Silverhorn and the North Face in it's entirety. This peak has given myself and thousands of other climbers memories they will never forget.
