Just What I Needed
Twice now I’ve been up the North Face of Burgundy Spire in the Cascade Range, there beyond the Methow. Love the approach; very direct. Hard to imagine getting lost on that one. Both times with Paul Schenkenberger, who’s last name, when properly translated means, “Man Full of Energy”.
The second time we arrived at the Burgundy Col (approximately 7800’, sleeps 6-8 comfortably), we discovered we were not alone in our endeavor. A pack was stashed by a rock and you could hear distant voices to the south from high on the wind. We dropped our stuff and climbed up the opposite side to a comfortable ledge and watched with binoculars. Two lonely figures could be seen far above, just topping out. We had originally planned on going up that afternoon, but with two people on the route and about to descend, I wasn’t going. A near hit on an alpine route in Switzerland in other days had convinced me to never climb when there are people above you, so we bagged it for the day, deciding to go early the next. We had bivi gear and were, as usual, in no hurry. The weather was settled and staying so. We puttered around and wound back up on our perch, glassing our fellow climbers. They had gotten down below the start of the steep, upper section, plus one rappel. We see them finish to a ledge, ropes swaying above in the breeze.
My eyes and mind drift about. The view towards Washington Pass and the Liberty Bell/Early Winter Spires is compelling. Climbing is rather engaging; to do. To watch it is tedious at best, something only other climbers could stay interested in for any length of time. Fortunately, the view from the office is usually fairly decent.
The second time we arrived at the Burgundy Col (approximately 7800’, sleeps 6-8 comfortably), we discovered we were not alone in our endeavor. A pack was stashed by a rock and you could hear distant voices to the south from high on the wind. We dropped our stuff and climbed up the opposite side to a comfortable ledge and watched with binoculars. Two lonely figures could be seen far above, just topping out. We had originally planned on going up that afternoon, but with two people on the route and about to descend, I wasn’t going. A near hit on an alpine route in Switzerland in other days had convinced me to never climb when there are people above you, so we bagged it for the day, deciding to go early the next. We had bivi gear and were, as usual, in no hurry. The weather was settled and staying so. We puttered around and wound back up on our perch, glassing our fellow climbers. They had gotten down below the start of the steep, upper section, plus one rappel. We see them finish to a ledge, ropes swaying above in the breeze.
My eyes and mind drift about. The view towards Washington Pass and the Liberty Bell/Early Winter Spires is compelling. Climbing is rather engaging; to do. To watch it is tedious at best, something only other climbers could stay interested in for any length of time. Fortunately, the view from the office is usually fairly decent.
After a while, it was apparent our comrades were experiencing some sort of difficulty. They had been on the ledge considerably longer than it takes to pull the ropes and set up another rappel. And, a rope was still hanging above them, what’s going on? The afternoon was getting on.
Finally, they were descending once again, but now different from the normal way down, and the rope still hung there. They disappeared behind an intervening rock rib and we didn’t see them for a couple hours. When we did, it wasn’t rappelling down the N. side as we thought. Here they were, climbing up the E. side couloir to the notch.
Finally, they were descending once again, but now different from the normal way down, and the rope still hung there. They disappeared behind an intervening rock rib and we didn’t see them for a couple hours. When we did, it wasn’t rappelling down the N. side as we thought. Here they were, climbing up the E. side couloir to the notch.
“Hey, betcha we know what you’re doin’ tomorrow!” I greeted, as they pulled up and took a breather, collecting their pack.
“No, what?” was the reply.
“No, what?” was the reply.
“Why, going and retrieving your rope,” I said.
“Nah, I’m leaving it,” one said, “in 15 years of climbing I’ve never had to abandon one.” The rope had snagged upon retrieval and they pulled as much as possible and cut it. “Whoever wants the rest can have it,” he said, further admitting that he felt the anchor was suspect and didn’t feel to re-ascend and repair the problem. So down they went.
“Nah, I’m leaving it,” one said, “in 15 years of climbing I’ve never had to abandon one.” The rope had snagged upon retrieval and they pulled as much as possible and cut it. “Whoever wants the rest can have it,” he said, further admitting that he felt the anchor was suspect and didn’t feel to re-ascend and repair the problem. So down they went.
It was a beautiful starry night after a late dinner. Days are getting shorter. Our position high on this very serrated ridge is striking. The rotation of the Earth is obvious as the sliver of sky acts as a huge timepiece. Fascinating. What was it like to make all this?
“You sure?” I asked incredulously, stashing it. “I always lose.”
My current single rope needed retiring, and I didn’t like using my alpine doubles on shorter routes. And I had been finding too much rope piled up at my feet at our local stone. On our descent, I tied it to my back, thinking this was just what I needed. It turned out to be one of the best finds in my career. Shortly after getting down, I headed south on a three-month road trip; Yosemite, the Sierras, Josh. Exploring unknown desert crags. Back home I took to our local stone; in winter, the ice. Except for the really long stuff, I always used that cord. Many times it was very close, but I always managed to make it work. That rope went with me everywhere.
Now it’s getting on in age; in fact, I have worn that thing out, and soon I’ll retire it. But it’s seen a good life. I probably used that rope more than any of my others, combined. I never got a chance to thank that guy and I want to say how proud I was to be the one to rescue it from a dismal, fraying existence high on some cliff, and give it the life it was intended to have.
Scott A. Lewis
Silverton, Id.
2.28.01
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