Throwback Thursday: Waddington First Ascent One Year Ago Today
On Aug. 18, 2015, Paul McSorley, Mayan Smith-Gobat and Ines Papert climbed a new mixed route up the aesthetic Southwest Buttress of Mount Waddington’s northwest summit in B.C. The new 800-metre 20-pitch route goes at 5.11+ WI3 M5 ED1. The following is a story written by Paul McSorley for Gripped magazine’s October/November 2015 issue.
“This is two-tool country,” I yelled down to my rope-mates as we moved together into one of bergschrunds that guard the western flanks of Mount Waddington. I pumped in a screw from a stance on a delicate ice bridge and my headlamp tilted skyward. Above rose an overhang of snow that had us barrelled deep. Creeping, so as not to wake the dragon, my mind drifted to fallen mountain brother Craig Leuben, who’d died in a similar feature in the North Cascades during a past guide’s exam. After sneaking over the steep flank of the frozen tsunami, I ran out easy ground to a rock rib and belayed my partners up on a couple of cams and a munter hitch. As the rope moved in, nausea crested in my throat and I expelled the meagre contents of my stomach onto the uncaring avalanche cone beneath my feet.
The idea to go climb Mount Waddington had originated several years ago with my friend Andrew Boyd. We wanted to try something new on the main peak. With Tony Richardson and Jason Kruk, we had driven to Bluff Lake intent on two distinct objectives. Richardson and Kruk rallied into the range by truck, powerboat, raft and foot over the course of a week battling bush, rain and gnarly ice. Boyd and I waited the same amount of time for a weather window good enough to get a helicopter lift. It never came. In the end, Kruk and Richardson came agonizingly close to topping out on the Southwest Buttress of Waddington’s Northwest Summit and had a grand adventure rafting out the Homathko River to a fixed-wing pickup at Bute Inlet. Boyd and I never left the tarmac and drove home empty handed.
This summer, the “Wadd” once again topped my wish list and with the arrival of my Bavarian friend Ines Papert and Kiwi sender Mayan Smith-Gobat, we seized a promising window in the forecast and made the 10-hour trip from Squamish up to Bluff Lake. The skies split and we had just enough time to organize our gear before ace Whitesaddle Air pilot Les, whisked us onto the otherworldly Dais glacier.
Though amazingly efficient, approaching the range by helicopter is less sporting than the style pioneered by Don and Phyllis Munday back in the 1920s. Starting in 1926, the Mundays made several multi-week forays into Waddington via Bute and Knight Inlets. Ultimately, they were rewarded with the first ascent of the Northwest Summit of what was then know-as “Mystery Mountain.”
With the utmost respect for the pioneers and those choosing deep commitment over convenience, my karma has no issues jumping in the whirly bird. I’ve done so much slogging over the years, the prospect of a heli-bump doesn’t make me turn my nose up any more than a trans-continental plane ride. Besides, this new-age mode of travel into the Wadd gives real bang for your buck. Less walking equates to more climbing. Greg Child describes it thusly, “A Trango Tower-sized experience for the price of a 12-hour drive from Seattle and a 900-dollar helicopter ride.”
At a quarter-to-four in the morning, only nine hours after being dropped off, we wrestled ourselves from our sleeping bags and choked down some fruits, oats and coffee, a medley that would not complete its journey through my GI track. By headlamp, we made our way to the base of the Southwest Buttress, the route Kruk and Richardson had come so close to completing. Once the puke on my lips had dried, Papert looked me sternly in the eyes and said, “You vill let me know if it gets worse ya?” It didn’t and the next several hundred metres of my block flowed quickly over slabs, choss, steep bulges and gullies, bringing us to the headwall where it was time for the business.
Smith-Gobat was fired up and she charged the sharp-end like a boss, weaving and tacking her way through steep, spicy and cunning pitches. The rock quality was good, but like any alpine wall there were always mischievous loose bits lurking throughout. Papert took over just after the sun hit us and showed her rock prowess by crimping her way across a crux that barred passage to the upper mountain.
Once we topped out the buttress it was back into mountain mode and I strapped on ‘poons and unsheathed the axes. A Cesna-sized Patagonia-style rime ice mushroom hung above our heads shedding chunks of its icy skin. We traversed underneath it for a strung-out-pitch of breathtaking sumul-climbing across a 45-degree snow slope.
Conditions warmed to the point that we could finally remove our puffy layers. This was a mixed blessing; it was daytime warming that had rendered the rime ice dangerously unstable and forced Kruk and Richardson to bail. I found out some mixed corners and climbed straightforward, but snow laden terrain, kicking steps in between rock outcrops. A climactic multi-pitch au cheval ridge led to a goulotte and topped out on the summit slopes.
Our collective psyche was still strong and with Papert out front we ambled up the final few hundred metres of snow and ice to the Northwest Summit. Mountain tops are always amazing, but this one was beyond words. Unlimited wilderness encircled us and for that moment we were deeply alone in the world with only our shouts of stoke to punctuate the otherwise uncultured landscape.
The descent proved yet again that the tippy top is only the half-way point. Onsighting the Angel Glacier added a few grey strands to my mop. Active seracs and some obligatory crevasse jumps negated the pleasure of downhill cruise control. One more ‘schrund had to be negotiated to gain the West Ridge above the Dais Couloir. Darkness caught us just as energy levels were dropping into the red, so we bivied in a pathetic scree slope that welcomed us like a cardboard box in a skid row alleyway.
Sleep eluded us most of the night thanks to a ravenous wind that flapped our bivi shelter until breathing became a challenge and we needed to crack the zipper, allowing precious oxygen into our little vacuum. A grey dawn had us grumbling off down the Dais Couloir and onto the glacier which thanks to a persistently dry summer, provided us with a maze of slots and holes.
Emotionally and physically fried we reached camp and passed out in the tents for a few hours. A quick radio call to Les confirmed our pickup and by around 6 p.m., we were sky high again, cruising over the Tiedemann Glacier and back in no time to Bluff Lake. Mike King greeted us at his ranch and we toasted our smash ‘n grab mission with beers and a whole lot of laughter.
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