Adventures in Idaho - Bergman/Miller, North Face of Gunsight

Adventures in Idaho- Bergman-Miller, North face of Gunsight

         Ignored for decades, the bulk of Gunsight Peak in the N. Idaho Selkirks is like a lost world. Most climbers heading into the area aim for Chimney Rock, a popular northerly cousin. But in doing so they miss out on devious paths, lonely cirques, and hidden tarns. This peak and the surrounding expanse have fascinated me since the late ‘60’s, when the scent of smoke from the Sundance fire still lingered in the air. For years I dabbled; exploring various approaches, hiking the ridges, completing several circumnavigations. Finally, I knew I had to climb the face.

          “Let’s just go do it and get it over with!” proposed Joe Lind, my climbing partner for a number of years. It had become exactly that. The infamous 800’ North face of Gunsight Peak rivaled my every excursion to the Selkirk Crest. Many years had passed since its cold heights had felt the warm touch of man. Three routes have been authored up its broad face. Bergman and Miller were first in ’62, taking the obvious line, III 5.8 A2, with possibly only one repeat since. Then came Roskelley and Castle in 1969, ascending the next prominent line to the west, III 5.9 A1(R), with NO repeats, (three known attempts), in over 40 years!  Finally, in ’78, Oka and Bates ventured up the far right side, III 5.8, claiming the last of the three main lines. And although it pales in comparison to other great faces, it is one of the largest pieces of technical stone in N. Idaho. It is, in its own way, a rite of passage.         

    Early one day in late August of ’98, Joe and I gain the notch in the ridge west of the face. Our sights are set on the Bergman/Miller line. After a quick bite we drop into the cirque, rock-hop to the base of the route, and take a good long look. Only two or three sections appear difficult, although from directly below we are unable to see the whole thing. We begin working our way up the lower angled section. Not far above it is distinctly harder and within a few more feet I find a good belay stance. After tying in, he and I Ro-Sham-Bo, and since I always lose, Joe leads off while I lean back and enjoy the view, feeling satisfied with our surroundings. Intermittent beams of light turn to shadows as the sun passes the ridge top. Joe wanders in and out of view above, hard at work. After some delicate face climbing he finally disappears for good, then eventually,“Off belay!”.  I break everything down and take off, eager to get going. I am warmed by the exertion, especially the killer lie-back near the end of the pitch, redefining boldness as the last twisted moves, at least 5.8+, were made quite a few feet above a Lind-engineered set of stacked stoppers.

          The next lead begins with a deep, wide trench, narrows to an acceptable chimney, then a steep crack to a blank, flat roof. A thin ledge leads out and left, a couple of clean hand jams get me up onto a large protruding boulder and suddenly I’m hanging it out above everything. I spot an old piton behind a flake with some weathered sling tied to it. Beyond the pin the way is steep, the main chimney/crack system always blocked by some obstruction or corner. I mix some free and aid moves above the roof to a small alcove, dunk in a cam and slam home a pin, setting up a quick anchor.
“I’m off!” I yell and start preparing to minimize the inevitable mess. We’re deep in the shadow of the mountain now and I begin to cool off as Joe starts up. I lean out and soon he comes into view, his silhouette framed by sheer walls and the cirque far below.

           When he arrives at the belay there’s a quick reorganizing of gear and off he goes. Not far above he’s forced into an AO move and soon he’s out of sight, whooping it up about the view.  More bold face moves bring him up to another deep trough. In he dives, setting up a belay and hollering me up.

          By now, even with my jacket on, I really need to get going, and my body seeks heat as I crank up the moves. I pull out of the AO crack and take in the view. Wow. The upper middle face is impressive, curving up in a gentle sweep until, halfway up, a subtle buttress juts out right at the direct center face, gently overhanging. Someday a very difficult aid line will go up it. A tug at my waist reminds me I’m involved with something else at the moment, or should be. I look up and see Joe grinning at me and beyond him portions of the rest of the route. I join him in the trough and we discuss alternatives.

          The remainder of the chimney looks like junk, so I opt out left onto a rock rib that joins the main crack system below the obvious exit notch. After 100 or so feet I reach the base of a gigantic outward-leaning block who’s left and right sides offer the only two sane choices out of our predicament. The left side is nice and clean; and wide. Although our rack is complete, I have nothing to protect this with. I ease over to the right side. The ugly, steep gash oozed its way up, choked with moss and stones. After several aid moves I pull up onto the block, then get into some necky terrain and hit the end of the rope. Just a little more! I yell down at Joe to climb; he casts off quickly and up we go. Within a few yards I find a sound belay; plug, plug, clip, clip.
“Ok, go!” We’re feeling it now, pumped at the finish line. Just as Joe reaches me, a pair of Golden Eagles come swooping in from the south up the crest, up over down past us into the cirque, the first one folding her wings ever so slightly to gain some speed. They whoop it up awhile then cruise. We finish up to the summit awash in late afternoon light. Priest Lake shimmers off to the west…one of those last few summer evenings that seem to never quit. Finally, with heavy loads but light hearts, we follow the sun back down to camp.

Scott A Lewis

late Aug. ‘98

Rathdrum, Id.