BURSTThe Stanley Headwall has been the premier winter crag of the Canadian Rockies and a testing ground for winter climbing since 1974, the year when Bugs McKeith led the first ascent of Nemesis, using Terrordactyls, aiders, fixed ropes and all of the tricks of the day. Six years later, James Blench, John Lauchlan and Albi Sole made the second ascent and the first free ascent.
In 1991, Jeff Everett and Glenn Reisenhofer made the first ascent of Suffer Machine, a 200-metre mixed route in the Canadian Rockies, which Reisenhofer graded at “5.6/A2, Grade V Ice.” The first free ascent followed a decade later, in 2001, when Jason Billings and Rob Owens climbed the route at M7 WI5+. Everett and Reisenhofer’s original ascent has since become legendary. It began when they heard from a friend that a new line was forming to the right of Nemesis, though the ice did not reach the ground, and they were advised that a ladder might help.
The very next Sunday, Reisenhofer, Jeff Everett, Jeff Marshall, and a nine-metre extension ladder headed up the Radium Highway. Everett and Reisenhofer ended up carrying the ladder. Reisenhofer noted that the more experienced climbers seemed to do less work, perhaps because they had simply learned how to avoid it. Dragging a nine-metre ladder up a switch-backed Rockies trail proved miserable. The ladder was tied between their packs with webbing, an arrangement that became especially unsettling once they reached steep snow slopes. Reisenhofer couldn’t help imagining the consequences: being caught in an avalanche with a ladder tethered to two people.
They reached the base without incident and dropped the “much-hated ladder,” staring up at the bottom of the cleaved pillar. Fully extended, the ladder still fell short. Everett climbed partway up the unstable scaffolding “just to have a look,” but it was clear the attempt was over. The ladder was packed out, as both its owner, Ken Lowe, and the Park Warden would have frowned on abandoning it, and the team skied off toward Nemesis. Along the way, Marshall climbed a small pillar, dubbed The Killer Pillar, while Everett belayed and Reisenhofer played in the snow. The day wasn’t lost, and the ladder was returned to its grateful owner.
Round two followed soon after. This time, the team brought aid gear, despite having virtually no aid-climbing experience. Marshall, the aid-climbing ace didn’t join. Reisenhofer led first, thrashing up mixed ground with minimal protection, eventually placing bolts under a roof, an exhausting process, before handing the sharp end to Everett. Everett jumared to the high point, took in the blank wall, and Reisenhofer could practically hear his thoughts: “… I’m not going to free this face, forget it, I’ve got a kit, hooks and some pins and besides, I need some aid practice…” Two hours later, Everett had gained eight metres. Spindrift poured down, a drill bit snapped, and the belay was barely serviceable. They fixed the line and retreated, unsure whether a third attempt would happen.
A few days later, they returned with Dave Campbell. Reisenhofer reluctantly jugged the fixed line, unnerved by jumaring and haunted by memories of chopped ropes on Wind Tower. To make matters worse, Everett had pulled the ropes on rappel during the previous attempt, leaving all the gear hanging in place. Reisenhofer spent time penduluming to retrieve it. At the belay, he criticized Everett’s rigging, then promptly broke another drill bit. Regaining composure, he aided left into a shallow, snowy groove, climbing six metres with no protection before drilling a bolt from a ledge. His work done for the day, it was Everett’s turn again.
What followed was one of the more absurd moments of the ascent: Everett had to be hauled sideways from the ground like a human pendulum to reach the icefall. Once on the ice, for the first time after three days of effort, he carefully aided up shattered ice, then free-climbed until darkness and rope both ran out. Two days later, they returned once more, this time accompanied by Everett’s “lap dog,” Uli. Uli, Reisenhofer explained, was no ordinary dog: capable of soloing 5.6 slabs, leading approaches, and inspiring an entire Grade V waterfall named Uli’s Revenge. All of this, he noted, in exchange for a sausage.
Crossing the avalanche slopes again, Reisenhofer reflected on how familiarity dulls fear. The team rationalised their exposure with thoughts like, “… if we just stay as high as possible… sort of skirt around the base of the rock… if the slope goes we’d be on top of it at least… that’s not slumping, that’s just air pockets… we’ll be ok.” Uli was sent across first, a strategy Reisenhofer admitted made little sense, given the weight difference, but the slope held. Back at their high point, the remaining technical ice felt almost anticlimactic. The route finally went, and with it came a deeper appreciation for mixed and aid climbing, and a hunger for more winter adventures in the Rockies.
With notes from Pushing the Limits, Canadian Alpine Journal and American Alpine Journal.
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