Yamnuska

August 2, 2003

A month ago, while celebrating my tenth anniversary up here with Sheri, I climbed my first and only route at Yamnuska, the storied limestone cliff twenty minutes west of Canmore. Most of the luminary Canadian alpinists have left their mark on this thousand-foot precipice. Sheri and I had hiked to the top of the mountain and then I scampered up a 5.5 route called Easy Street in my running shoes. The climbing was fun and I wanted to go back for more. We planned on climbing at the cliff until noon on Saturday and then heading for home.

Fires were raging all over the Canadian Rockies. In addition to the fire near Jasper, we encountered one near Lake Louise on our way back south and then the worst smoke was around Canmore. We could barely see Yamnuska as we drove toward it that afternoon because of the smoke in the air. We noticed the “No Camping” signs as we pulled into the parking lot, but hoped that no one would check on us. We tried to get a site in Banff, but they were full and told us everywhere else would be full as well. Just before midnight a conservation officer banged on our door and rousted us. Still half asleep, I opened the door prepared to give our sob story of no campsites. He said, “You guys are illegally camping here. I’d write you a ticket, but you’re from Colorado so I have two options: arrest you or get you guys to move. I prefer the latter.” “So do I,” I said. He told us the campground just down the road still had some sites and in less than a minute we were driving out of there.

The next morning we were treated to a drunken woman screaming obscenities of the vilest nature nearly non-stop at her male companion. I half expected it to end with gunfire, but, apparently and luckily, neither was armed. We racked and packed and headed for the cliff parking lot. We were hiking by 7:15 or so and I was setting a hard pace to make up for lost time. The pace was hard enough and the trail steep enough to blow apart the peloton. First to drop off was the Trashman. After a thousand vertical feet, the Loobster cracked, let Homie pass him, and fell off the back. Homie and I dueled up the hill like Armstrong and Ullrich. I hiked as fast as I could, but still Homie was breathing down my neck. He wasn’t even breathing hard. I was huffing and puffing, but trying to minimize the noise and being in front helped this effort. I’d consciously breath slowly whenever rounding a switchback so that he wouldn’t know I was working so hard, but the sweat streaming off me was a telltale sign.

We did the 1500-vertical-foot approach in 38 minutes and threw down the packs directly under our chosen route: The Grillmair Chimneys. This 8-pitch, 5.6 route was the first one done on the cliff back in 1952 by Leo Grillmair, Hans Gmoser (later CMH heli-skiing founder), and three others. This was a 2-star (out of 3) route, very popular, and I was sure we could climb it quickly.

We should have climbed around the loose scrambling directly below the route, but I just headed up instead, dragging the rope behind me and knocking down some rocks. I roped up with the Loobster and Homie and Trashman followed us as a separate team. I led quickly up the first pitch, placing a single piece and brought the Loobster up. The next pitch up behind a giant pillar was considerably tougher and probably the crux of the route, at least the way we did it. I climbed up a steep crack to the left of the huge chimney and then traversed into the chimney and up to the top of the pillar. Homie led this pitch in the same fashion and was slowed by the steep crack, falling behind the Loobster and I. I climbed a bit fast here as I had all three of them waiting on me as I led the second pitch. I don’t like to be holding up so many people, so I worked to get a bit of a gap and reduce the stress on me.

I ran up another couple of fun pitches. At the top of the fourth pitch I yelled down to Homie, “Nice job,” as he topped out the second pitch, but got no response. At the time I thought he was either either pissed, stressed or both. I figured my pace might be adding to his woes and the Loobster and I continued at a much slower speed. As it turns out he probably just didn’t hear me or I didn’t hear his response. Homie was happy and psyched about the route when he got to the top, so I probably worried needlessly. The climbing was all fun and mostly easy so it went quickly no matter what I did. We took lots of photos and moved casually the rest of the way.

The final pitch is by far the best on the route. From the start of the pitch, things look intimidating. A chimney leads steeply to the top of the wall , apparently finishing up a steep headwall. Fortunately, we knew the route burrowed into the chimney and topped out via a hole in the back. Even the initial chimney didn’t really require any chimney technique. We all stemmed up the outside of the chimney via great hand and footholds that were unseen from below. This pitch is festooned with fixed pitons, more than the rest of the route combined, so it was well protected too. I could barely squeeze through the hole at the top with my Camelback on but once I did I was on flat ground. What a cool finish to a climb. This route is highly recommended as a fun romp.

Both this route and the Japanese Route on Mt. Alberta are rated 5.6 and both ratings are accurate, yet the former feels like a very serious endeavor while the latter is just a casual romp. Using just the technical rating to compare these climbs is a joke. The technical climbing on the Japanese Route is at least 50% longer than this route, the protection is considerably worse, the rock quality is much worse and the rockfall danger much greater. These two routes greatly contrast the differences between alpine climbing and cragging and competence at a particular cragging rating does not imply competence at the same alpine grade.

Loobster and I waited for Homie and Trashy at the top, taking photos of each one as they popped out the hole at the top like a couple of prairie dogs. Homie had swung leads with Trashy all the way up and just by chance had led most of the harder pitches. Homie could be a lot better rock climber if he cared enough to do it more. I guess it’s enough to be the intercontinental mountain champion.

We hiked down the trail to the east end of the cliff and then along the base towards where we left the packs. I wanted more. Loobster had been concerned about getting back to Boulder pretty early on Sunday, but he was game for another quick route. Homie was content with having done the one route and was feeling “grumpy,” which I now know means he had to dook, so he headed back to the trailhead. I actually thought he was truly grumpy. Homie gets real quiet and uncommunicative when he’s unhappy. Trashy decided to placate his wife and forego the drive home with us and another route. He booked back to his pack and headed for the airport to catch a 3 p.m. flight.

The Loobster and I headed up a route called Dickel that is three pitches long and rated 5.7/8. Looking up from the base at the crux second pitch was a bit intimidating. A vertical corner was split by a crack and the climbing looked sustained. I pulled on my slippers, tied into the rope and made my way up the first pitch. The guidebook gives this route one star and says that it deserves more traffic. We’d soon readily agree.

I climbed up and right beneath a roof and then up steep rock to a tricky move back to the left and the fixed belay. I thought this move was 5.7, but the pitch was only rated 5.6. The Loobster followed quickly and I headed right on the 5.7 traverse that starts the second pitch. I clipped one fixed pin and then moved up into the steep corner. The climbing here was fabulous, the best of the day. Very steep climbing was protected nicely by the accommodating crack. Four-inch footholds providing good rests and pro-placement stances interrupted steep challenging climbing. I clipped a few pins and placed a couple of pieces before getting to a nice stance. I threw in four pieces of gear, expecting the Loobster to have some trouble on the pitch, but I needn’t have been so cautious. The Loobster waltzed up the pitch easier than I did. His decades of rock experience can compensate for nearly a year without much rock climbing.

The last pitch was easy and I was on top in only a few minutes. The Loobster followed and we both made the top in less than an hour from the base. Fifteen minutes later we were back at the base of the route and thirty minutes after that we had retrieved our packs from the base of the Grillmair Chimneys and were back at the RV, driving toward home.

Getting around and through Calgary was the usual mess. Why a city of over a million people doesn’t have a highway through it is either a testament to their love of traffic lights or their lack of wanderlust. We simplified matters this time by just biting the bullet and taking Highway 1 East right through town to Highway 2 South. This was slow and annoying, but relatively simple, except for the monkey business on 2 South.

The drive home was long and hot, but thankfully uneventful. Loobster again panicked at the border crossing. This time he lied about the value of the goods that he bought. Having purchased a $500 Ammolite gem for his wife Martha, when asked by the border patrol for the total value he said, “Ah, $35?” What a Loobster…

I wrote this trip report when it wasn’t my turn to drive. These trips are great because you’re excited to go on them and have lots of fun anticipation; they are fun to do with all the nice climbing and great companions; and, finally, they’re great to come back from as I missed my buttercup and my two boys.

Photo 1: Derek and Daniel help unload the RV back at home.